Wild Zone (Rough Riders Hockey 4)

“Maybe you need to raise your prices. Jessie’s daddy would buy her the moon if it were for sale. Bailey’s daddy is still negotiating with God for the deed to the universe.”

She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “How did you know she goes by Jessie?”

“I’ve worked for her father, Stan.”

He’d actually had dinner with Stan and his family numerous times. He’d co-acted with Jessie’s future husband on several big films, and they were friends. He’d been invited to Jessie’s wedding this weekend. But that would probably be overwhelming and unnecessary information at the moment.

She searched his eyes, but then nodded and gazed into the dark again. “He’s a nice man. Stan, I mean.”

“I knew who you meant. No one would ever mistake Simmons as nice.”

She hummed in agreement. “My prices are already high. My biggest problem isn’t getting what the dresses are worth, it’s cloning myself. There aren’t enough of my bloody fingers to go around.”

She lifted her hands, looking at them. Even in the dim light, Jax could see her torn, roughened fingertips.

“The price of success, huh?” he murmured and drew one of her hands to his lips, kissing each fingertip.

Lexi sighed, and as soon as he lowered her hand, she turned in his arms. “I really don’t want you tired while you’re working. That’s dangero

us. You need to get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

He loved the way she tried to take care of him. “I’ve got a night shoot tomorrow. I won’t go into the set until late.” He eased the backs of his fingers over her high cheekbones. “God, you’re crazy beautiful. Why did you want to hide this?”

“I’ve had some bad experiences…” She looked away, her golden lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes.

Jax’s mind filled with the words she’d spoken shortly after she’d stepped into his hotel room. “The truth is that men are attracted to me for my…body.”

God, it all clicked. Men wanted her for her beauty, not just her body. Men used her as window dressing, the same way women used Jax—for dressing, a reputation boost, favors.

A dry huff of laughter drifted from his throat. “Baby, we are far more alike than you know.”

Pulling from his arms, she walked toward a wall and flipped on a bank of lights, filling the store with soft spot lighting.

Jax found himself standing in a near replica of his mother’s living room—every surface marble, chrome, smoked or etched glass. Overstuffed furnishings dressed in thick jacquard or leather dotted the small series of rooms. A fountain drowned out the exterior noises with a tranquil gurgle. Dresses on mannequins and hanging on racks sparkled like fireworks.

His gaze skimmed the space, taking in all the detailed woodwork, paint, displays. A few things struck him at the same time. He suddenly felt overly big and bulky and rough in the delicate, refined space, and terribly out of place. He realized what caliber of people Lexi must deal with every day, people far above what she believed of Jax’s life. And he recognized how much she’d accomplished. More than probably any other woman he’d dated.

“Let me just clear a few things up before they become problems.” Lexi strolled up beside him, arms crossed, then continued past and into a room with carpet so thick it swallowed her small feet and sparkling sandals. “Everything here is mine. Everything you see I’ve created, designed, sewn myself. I have a few seamstresses that help me out. They work out of their homes. But the work is so specialized and my clients so particular, I have to do all the finish work myself.”

Jax met her eyes. They looked as dark blue as the Pacific in the dim light.

“I’ve been building this business since I could draw. I didn’t go to college. Don’t have a fancy degree from a design school. I grew up poor. Dirt poor. So every success for me is that much sweeter. I’ve never borrowed a dime. Never had a financial backer. Everything about Lexi LaCroix Designs is one hundred percent…mine.”

“Fuck,” Jax whispered, rubbing a hand over his eyes, wishing he could take his impulsive words at the bar back. “Lexi, I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m telling you. I don’t need anyone to do or give me anything to succeed. I’m already there. I’m trying to refine that success to give me a better quality of life. But I have everything I need to do it on my own terms, in my own time, through opportunities that come to me because of all that hard work. I’m proud of that.

“And with how little I know about you, it’s hard to imagine what you could possibly have that you fear I would want. Money is the obvious answer, since as I told you in New York, Hollywood contacts hold no value for me. So let me just set your mind straight right now. My friend, Rubi, has been trying to push millions on me for years. I’ve had three different investors approach me. I’ve turned everyone down. I don’t want to leverage my business. I want to build it. Grow it. Myself. That’s what the business opportunity in New York was about. And that’s not panning out very well either.”

“Your rough day?” he asked.

“Partially, yes.”

Things were starting to fall into place—making him want her more and pushing her farther away at the same time.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip and looked around the shop. “And the reason you wouldn’t see me here in LA is because…” He gestured to the surroundings, his gut aching. “I don’t fit into that image you’ve worked so hard to create.”

She dropped her arms and raked both hands through her hair, then turned and wandered away, toward a rack of pristine white gowns, each sealed in a clear plastic cover.