I recite one of her mantras. “Wine makes everything better.”

  “And when I’ve had a glass or two, I’m convinced my hedgehogs and otters and foxes rock. Want to see them?”

  “I would love to.” I mean that from the bottom of my heart. This is a whole new side to her.

  She takes out her phone, slides a thumb across the screen, and shows me some shots of simple paintings. They aren’t Picassos, but they’re cute.

  “That’s impressive. A woman of many talents.”

  She lifts a brow, a curious look in her eyes. “What’s your hidden talent?”

  “You know my hidden talent,” I say in a dirty tone.

  “What do you mean?”

  I inch a little closer. “Giving multiple Os.”

  She trembles. “You are quite good at that.” She taps my thigh. “But I meant other talents.”

  “But that’s a good talent.”

  She meets my gaze, her eyes a little darker. “It’s a great talent,” she whispers. “But it’s not hidden from me. Tell me a talent I don’t know about.”

  I hum, considering, then hit upon it. “Don’t tell a soul, but I can do a few kick-ass hairstyles.”

  “On you?”

  “No. Please. On women. Did you forget I have three younger sisters?”

  “Why did they teach you to do hair when they had each other, plus your parents?”

  “I lost a bet in eleventh grade.”

  She laughs loudly. “You and your losing bets. What was it over?”

  “A game of Scrabble. I bet I’d win, but my little bookworm sister, Amy, beat me. She built onto my E and spelled ‘maximize,’ thoroughly decimating me. So, I had to learn to do hair.”

  Haven flicks a few strands of her lush hair. “So, you could do my hair in a twist?”

  The thought sends a wave of heat through me. I nod. “I can do a twist.”

  Another flick. “A French braid?”

  The flames lick higher. “That too.”

  She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “A ballet bun?”

  And I’m roasted. “Yes.”

  “How about Princess Leia buns?” she asks, defusing the sexual tension.

  But only a little, because as I stare at her face, I heat up. “Yes, and you’d look beautiful. Like you do every single time I see you.”

  And this right here is why I think I’m going to lose the bet, the client, and my whole damn mind.

  She holds my gaze, her lips parting, her shoulders rising and falling. “So do you,” she whispers.

  If Vaughn weren’t here . . .

  If we weren’t rivals . . .

  If my phone wasn’t buzzing with a text . . .

  Fuck.

  My phone is buzzing with Dom’s text notification sound. I grab it and click on the message.

  * * *

  Dom: Good luck this weekend. Get him for us. Get him.

  * * *

  Yes, the reminder. Business. I need to think of business, not of Haven’s hair, or Haven’s face, or of the sweet side of her that makes me forget everything else.

  I need to focus on the fact that getting along is better than firing arrows. “This is better, right? We’ll be able to manage business better without slinging mud at each other.”

  “It’s so much better,” she says.

  When we arrive, Alicia greets us with a smile the size of the sky. Decked out in running shorts and a sports bra, she points this way and that, showing us the guest rooms. Vaughn calls dibs on the first one, and Alicia tells him to go for it. She guides Haven and me to the other side of the house.

  “That leaves these rooms for you two. Haven, take this one,” Alicia instructs.

  “Works for me,” Haven says.

  “And this is for you,” Alicia continues, showing me my room.

  I’m right next to Haven, a Jack and Jill bathroom connecting the two rooms.

  “Just make sure to knock before you go in,” Alicia says, then laughs. “Or you’ll get more than you bargained for this weekend.”

  I push out a chuckle.

  Haven seems to do the same. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Let me show you the view.” Alicia returns to the living room overlooking the deck, and we follow her there. She waves to the beach. “I have to run down to the end of the beach and take some pictures of Jackie while the light is perfecto. Be back in two hours.” She gestures to the deck. Stairs lead down to the pool below. “You guys can relax or nap or sunbathe. Or you can enjoy the pool. It’s the perfect temp. Ciao.”

  She spins on her sneakers, darts out, and leaves us in the living room, where Vaughn looks up from his phone.

  He stretches, then says he has some buds from San Francisco who have a volleyball game going on a mile down the beach, so he’s going to join them.

  “See you at the pool?” Her eyes are full of questions.

  “Yes, the pool,” I answer.

  I have to go to the fucking pool with Haven. Well, there’s only one thing to do to prep myself to handle this.

  Inside the guest room, I send a quick text to Jason as I grab my swim trunks from my bag.

  * * *

  Josh: Pray for shrinkage. I’m heading to the pool with Haven.

  * * *

  Jason: One, I never pray for shrinkage. Two, yours is already shrunk.

  * * *

  I laugh then write back.

  * * *

  Josh: That worked. Thank you.

  * * *

  Jason: I’m always here to help.

  * * *

  When I step onto the deck and look down at the pool, the woman I’m trying to resist is stretched out on a lounge chair, wearing a black triangle bikini as she lifts her face to the sun.

  I’m officially unshrunk.

  18

  Haven

  As I lounge at the pool, I rewrite my rules of resistance. Clearly, they need addendums. Hell, my addendums need addendums.

  Since I’m obviously back at square one. The kindness approach didn’t work. It only escalated my desire. As well as my interest. And, yes, my feelings.

  * * *

  Herewith, are my new rules.

  * * *

  1. Consider being simply businesslike when I talk to him, rather than flirty.

  * * *

  2. But is that possible? Because that man. That damn man. He can do my hair anytime.

  * * *

  3. Focus on the competition. Get in that competitive zone, and all those other feelings will fade away.

  * * *

  My phone rings. It’s the office, and that’s perfect – this will

  put me in the right frame of mind for when Josh comes down. I’ll be businesslike on the phone, and then with him I’ll only be businesslike.

  19

  Josh

  As I walk down the wooden stairs from the deck to the pool area, I hear the tail end of her conversation.

  “That sounds great. My fingers are crossed that Wu Media loves the pitch. And be sure to send Sadie a thank you for taking the time to meet with us. Thanks, Jenna.”

  She ends the call as I reach ground level. The blue tiles on the pool bottom make the water shimmer like sapphires beneath the sun.

  “How’s Girl Power?” I ask, figuring that should help matters below the belt. It’s not like I’m turned on by her charitable organization.

  “Great,” she says brightly. “My assistant and I were working on some plans to expand our reach and put some new programs in place. There are things I want to do for girls who are totally kick-ass on the field, but I just don’t have the money to fund their sports.”

  “This really drives you, doesn’t it?” I park myself on the lounge chair next to her. Such a brilliant strategy for making my wood less obvious.

  “Absolutely. I’ve seen the power of athletics and teamwork help girls who need a boost. I was lucky my parents funded all my dreams growing up, so this is my chance to give back. It’s something I couldn’t really do at CMA.”

  I tilt my head, curious. “Why’s that?”

  “My time wasn’t really my own. I control my own schedule now, so I have more hours to devote to Girl Power. If we hit a few more fundraising goals, then, along with what I can put into it, I can fund the next crop of programs.”

  “Wow. That’s . . . just incredible.” I am thoroughly impressed with her dedication. “I knew you wanted to do that, but it’s really taken off in the last year. You should be proud.”

  She straightens her shoulders. “I am. Thank you.”

  That worked. Boner be gone. But I’m turned on in a different way, one that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her heart. Her big, giving heart.

  Great. Just great.

  Now I’m getting aroused by my fucking admiration for her.

  I can’t win with this woman. Every little thing she does Svengalis me.

  “And on that note, I’m going for a dip.” I head to the deep end, and like a man walking off the plank, I jump into the pool, sinking down, down, down, letting my feet touch the bottom, wishing and hoping the water—something, anything—will eradicate the hold she has on me.

  When I rise up from the depths, more water sloshes on me than I expect. Ripples. I break the surface, and there she is.

  Wet.

  Mischief fills her eyes, her hair’s slicked back, and her skin is kissed by the water. “Race ya, Summers.”

  “You’re on.”

  I power my way down the pool, slapping a hand on the shallow side a second before she does. Surely a friendly competition will be the diversion I need.

  I kick off, torpedoing to the deep end, unsure of the race’s finish line but not caring. I can keep going. This is a perfect distraction. Especially when she catches up and we reach the edge in unison, go under, and push off, freestyling it to the shallow end.

  I pull ahead of her—height, longer arms, and that endless reserve of competitiveness help—but as soon as I slap the concrete edge, there’s a tug on my foot.

  She’s right beside me, and I snap my gaze to her. “Interference? Is that how we’re doing it now?”

  “Yes!” she shouts playfully. I love the delight in her voice.

  I smirk then flop over so I’m floating on my back. “All right. You just keep up the illegal play and see how far it gets you.”

  I kick some water at her. She darts back, grabbing my ankle again and tugging me under. When I pop up, I flick my hands through the water, splashing her.

  She laughs then splashes back as she stands straight up. “You’re evil.”

  “So are you,” I say, sinking under, where I nibble on her toes.

  She yelps, laughing, and tries to hopscotch away from me. I surface and take a breath, then I sling an arm around her waist so I can toss her over my shoulder and dunk her.

  But the second I make contact, I realize I’ve made a grave mistake.

  It’s like when you overrun a pass. You can try to correct, but it’s damn near impossible.

  I overestimated my ability to play nice.

  I don’t want to play nice.

  I want to play dirty.

  She’s still laughing, but quickly, so damn quickly, her laughter trails off.

  Her smile fades as my fingers tap-dance across her skin.

  Her hands dart out, and she presses them against my stomach.

  Sparks of lust run roughshod over my body. I wrap my arm around her waist more fully.

  “Kiss me,” I growl.

  She closes the inches, sliding her wet skin against mine, lifting her chin, offering those delicious lips to me.

  I drop my mouth to hers, and we’re not goofing off in the water anymore.

  We’re not doing anything but the inevitable.

  That’s how it feels with her. Like this is our true north.

  Touching, kissing, tasting—this is our inevitable end point. Anything else is trying to tug a magnet away from its opposite. My body craves her contact. Total contact.

  I haul her in closer as she ropes her hands in my hair. Our lips crash together, our bodies collide, and my senses speed into overdrive, firing the same message over and over—get closer, get closer, get closer.

  Water droplets slide down her cheek and over her lips. I taste chlorine and Haven, and it’s spectacular. Nothing can ruin the taste of her. Nothing can change my want for her.

  I kiss her deeper, and she climbs me, wrapping her legs around my hips, looping her arms tighter around my neck, pressing and pushing and driving me over the edge.

  There is no more shrinkage. There is only growth.

  The sun beats down as I consume her lips in someone else’s pool, someone else’s house.

  Somewhere, I’m keenly aware that this is a very bad idea. The thought isn’t even in the back of my mind. It’s front and center.

  Kissing her is a dangerous risk. But it’d take the entire defensive line of the best team in the NFL to stop me now. I’m on a mission, and I want one thing and one thing only.

  I break the kiss, panting. “One more time?”

  She scans left then right. “Like a final run down the slopes.”

  We are speed demons, exiting the pool, grabbing towels, and drying off. The empty house echoes, and I send a silent thank you to Alicia for her dedication to golden-hour photos. I’ll do one better with Vaughn and send him some craft beer as a thanks for his volleyball buds.

  Inside my room, I shut and lock the door. Once it’s closed, Haven is on me. Her hands rush down my chest, over my stomach, grabbing at my trunks and pushing them down.

  But wet swim shorts aren’t the easiest attire to push off. I help her along, practically peeling them down my legs and onto the tile floor.

  My cock springs free, announcing its intentions loud and clear.

  She wraps a fist around my length and drops to her knees. In seconds, she takes me in deep.

  “Fuck,” I groan. “Didn’t expect that.”

  She looks up, her eyes blazing. She lets go. “Why not? You know I love your dick.”

  Hearing that never grows old. I curl my palm around her head. “Then show me how much.”

  “Mais oui,” she says. I groan loudly because she’s driving me fucking insane. That voice. Her touch. Her mouth.

  She’s treating me like a king, sucking and kissing my cock, flicking her tongue along the underside. Squeezing with her hand, too, as she blows my mind with her mouth. The sheer pleasure incinerates me. It obliterates all reason, all sense.

  It erases the world.

  I’m in a prospective client’s house, and I don’t care that the competition is deep-throating me. I don’t care one bit because Haven is on her knees, sucking my cock like it’s the source of everything good in the world.

  “You’re a fucking goddess,” I moan as she licks the head then drags my length to the back of her throat. She opens her eyes and wiggles her brows like she’s saying, Yes, yes, I am.

  “A beautiful, dirty goddess,” I add as I thrust into her mouth, clasping the back of her head.

  I can barely stand how good this feels. How spectacular it is. How helpless I am with her. She moans around my dick, humming, and rocks her hips like she can’t help herself. Holy hell. She needs to be fucked. And I need to take care of her, need to bury my cock in her pussy and drive her out of her mind.

  Right. Now.

  “Stop,” I rasp out.

  She obeys, looks up, and licks her lips, a goddamn pussycat after a feast. “Pourquoi?”

  She kills me. She totally kills me.

  “You know why.”

  She shakes her head. “Tell me.”

  I grab her under the shoulders, haul her up, and look into eyes that look back into my soul. “I need you. All of you. I need to be inside you. I have to have you.”

  “Then you should have me.” She reaches her hands behind her and unties her bikini top. It falls to the floor. Her nipples are still pebbled from the water, and the sight of them sends a shockwave through me.

  “Jesus Christ, Haven. Why do you have to be so fucking beautiful?” I ask, dipping my mouth to one rosy nipple and sucking.

  “Oh, God. That’s good,” she whimpers.

  I let go and slide my hands to the tiny scrap of fabric between her legs, work it down to the floor, and then admire her nudity. Her curves, her muscles, her golden skin—she’s so stunning, my breath catches.

  I clasp her hips. “Why? Why the fuck are you so goddamn sexy? Why do you do this to me?”

  She grabs my chin, yanks me closer. “You think you’re the only one affected? You think this thing between us doesn’t make me as crazy as it makes you?”

  A rumble works its way up my chest. “How crazy does it make you?”

  Her lips are centimeters from mine. No, make that millimeters. I expect her to whisper an answer. Instead, she grasps my hand, guides it between her legs, and shows me.

  I burn every-fucking-where. She’s soaked.

  “That crazy,” she whispers.

  I walk her to the bed, sink down on the edge, and drag her on top of me. “This crazy—it’s four in the afternoon, and I’m about to fuck you on the job. Need a condom—”

  She shakes her head. “I’m still on the pill. And it’s only been you.”

  Those words. Only been you.

  I’m stepping off a cliff with her. There is no safe landing. I jump anyway, gathering her close, settling her over my thighs. I hold the base of my cock, offering it to her.

  She nibbles on the corner of her lips, rises, and rubs her sweet heat against me. I unravel. The sound I make is obscene and necessary.