“Perfectly,” he replied, imagining taking that woman over his knee.
“Good. Cause I think the money we’re making off her stay will go a long way toward paying for that day camp idea.”
That was a sneaky tactic on Amber’s part, and she knew it. He seethed. “Can I ask, did the princess complain about me?”
“Nope. I noticed it the other day as she was leaving one of your riding lessons. I watched your interaction and the way you talked to her. If it had been me, I would have cleaned your clock. But then again, I was raised around cowboys like you all my life, and don’t scare easy. Something tells me that Miss Peabody has led a rather sheltered life, and doesn’t quite know how to take you. So lay off being an asshole, or I will bloody your lip for her.”
He had considered that too about Bianca, but figured he was simply being fanciful because of what she did to his internal combustion. But if Amber saw the same thing? Then shit, he was being a dick. It didn’t matter that he got a sadistic thrill out of sparring with her. Not if it truly caused her pain. They weren’t going to be seeing each other every day, and less interaction between them would help.
“I’ll see what I can do, but I won’t make any promises. And it was your brother who taught you how to protect yourself and take someone down. Well, who the hell do you think taught him?”
Maverick strode out of the conference room. The princess hadn’t complained about him, and that was something, at least.
Damn woman. He rubbed a hand over his stomach at the thought of her, at the need clawing at him to be set free. The last thing he needed to do was consider what the princess looked like naked.
9
On Saturday evening, Bianca stood before the canvas that was bursting with vibrant life—one she had created—and rejoiced. She hadn’t lost her abilities. If anything, her skill with the brush was better than she remembered, like she had been waiting for the right push and place to truly begin.
Her phone rang. She didn’t look at the name before answering. She was too full of herself and the glorious image on her easel. Elation swam through her. Joy spilled out of every pore.
“Hello.”
“When are you coming home? You are being reckless and foolish. Peter is worried sick about you.” Her mother’s voice blasted through the phone.
Oh really? If he was so worried, then why hadn’t he called her at all this past week?
Only one week.
That was all the freedom she had garnered from her mother. It was Bianca’s fault. She should have checked the caller’s name on her phone screen before answering, and sent it to voicemail like all the others. All the elation and pride that had infused her moments prior took a nosedive. Well, her day had gone all to pot rather quickly.
“I can’t talk to you right now, Mother. I am busy.”
“That’s rubbish. Now listen to me, missy, you will collect your things and head home immediately.”
“No. I can’t do that.” Even the thought of it made the spurting flame inside her, the one that moments before had glistened at wattages to compete with the sun, dim.
“Nonsense. You can, and you will. Stop being difficult. This is so typical of you.”
“I’m sorry you see it that way, but I’m not coming back yet.”
“Well, when can we expect you back?” she sniped.
Never. If Bianca had her way, then she would never return. “I’m not sure. I will let you know.”
“Now listen here and listen good, if you think to back out of your commitments and embarrass your father and me, the consequences will be severe.”
“I’m not doing this to hurt you or anyone.” It was just that Bianca was drowning, and no one from her life had even noticed. Not a single person saw that she was merely going through the motions and couldn’t even see herself any more.
“Of course you are. This is the thanks I always get.”
“I’ve got to go, Mother. We’ll talk later.” Bianca hung up without even giving her mum a chance to say goodbye.
Her mother would just go on and on for infinity. And Bianca would cave then, like she always did, to make her stop.
She swiped at the stray tear. Not once had she ever measured up to her mother’s impossible standards. Bianca had tried for her entire life, putting aside what she wanted, and yielding to her mother’s tedious demands.
But recently, she had come to the realization that no matter how hard she tried, she never would measure up. Her mother would always find fault with her, be it her looks, actions, or words. She was either too loud or didn’t speak up enough. She wasn’t thin enough or she was too thin. When it came to the ample size of her cleavage, she was told she really should get something done about it, and her mother had just the doctor Bianca should see to take care of the problem… and on and on.
Bianca was exhausted from her failed attempts. She couldn’t continue living a life she hated—not just hated, but loathed with every fiber of her being. She had plenty of friends, but not a single one she was truly close to. She didn’t even know if her friends liked her for herself, or because of who she was and the position she held in polite society.
None of them had called to check up on her, not even her bridesmaids or maid of honor.
She removed her smock, not caring that there were a few smudges of paint that had made it past the apron onto her oversized button-down shirt and black leggings. Leaving the sanctuary of her pseudo art studio, needing fresh air after the talk with her mum, she headed for the porch outside. On her way out the door, her mobile rang again. It was her mother calling back. She tossed the bloody thing on the couch and kept on walking.
No more answering the phone until she knew who was calling.
Barefoot, the wood smooth beneath her feet, she made it across the porch and descended two steps down. As the fight leeched out of her, she lowered herself and plopped her butt on the top step, swimming in such misery, not even the spectacular color palette the setting sun had turned the sky could shake her out of her malaise.
Bianca lowered her head into her hands, with her elbows resting on her thighs. It was exhausting talking to her mother. She hadn’t realized just how much a conversation drained her until she’d escaped this past week.
“Everything all right, princess?”
It bloody well figured. Like her day hadn’t descended into the eleventh circle of hell already. What was one more trial? Would the man mock her supreme embarrassment just to cap off a perfectly wretched day?
“Go away,” she mumbled, not bothering to lift her head. She didn’t have the energy to deal with Maverick—or anyone, really. But the blasted cowboy was the last person she wanted to be around.
When his dark brown boots entered her line of sight, she sighed. Why wasn’t the man going away? With a snarky retort on her tongue, she finally lifted her face. But she was struck again by the hard angles of his rough-hewn jaw covered with dark stubble, by the sharp blades of his cheekbones, adding strength and resolve to his features, and at the firm slashes of his thick, dark brows, shrouding eyes that, in the descending sunset, looked like pools of liquid gold.
Testosterone belched off him; he was encased in a ruggedness that tripped all the angry wires inside her. Every time she was near him, those stupid wires got their signals crossed and her body hummed with potent arousal, much like an electrical grid powering up.