Taming the Legend (13 page)

“What’s a monkey’s toss?”

Oh God.
Ash’s gaze met hers and
bounced quickly away. They must be sharing a memory. She couldn’t remember how the conversation had started, but they’d been snuggling on the balcony of the hotel room Ash had rented in Barcelona, watching the moonlight make the Mediterranean sparkle. Ash had used the expression, and she’d asked the same question Hannah had. He’d gone all quiet, and she’d glanced up to find him biting back laughter.

“What? Tell me,” she’d asked.

“Okay, you know what it means to toss off?”

“Is it like jack off?”

“Yeah. So a toss is…what a bloke produces.”

“So you just told me that you couldn’t give a monkey’s ejaculate?”

He’d laughed. “Listen to you, all medical.”

She glared at him now, annoyed he used the phrase in front of the girls and trying to warn him away from defining
it.

He caught her look and said, “I’ll explain it to you later, if I think you’ve worked hard enough to deserve it. Look, I’ve spent my career training with men, but I don’t care that your bits are different than theirs. They worked hard, and they’ve achieved great things. I expect the same from you, so I’m going to treat you the same. Now grab a ball and throw it in the air a few times to
get a feel for it.”

He didn’t yell or shout. He didn’t have to. He had that
thing,
whatever that intangible quality was that commanded attention and respect. And he knew it. He’d started the practice with a pack of teenage girls ready to rip him apart. Five minutes later, they were all grabbing a rugby ball from the sack Camila had brought to practice. They made sure everyone could see their
reluctance—enthusiasm was
so
uncool. But they did it.

She’d underestimated him. The thought made her a little sick with herself.

He stepped over to her and muttered under his breath, “I think my testicles retreated back into my pelvis.”

She blinked. “You don’t
seem
scared of them.”

“Not them. You. That glare you gave me withered my man parts.”

She rubbed at the pain that
suddenly returned to her temples. “While I like that you’re not treating them differently because they’re girls, please keep in mind that they’re not adults either.”

“You’re right, Mila. They’re that horrible in-between age when everyone’s telling them to be as responsible as adults but without letting them enjoy the freedoms adults get. I’ll be constricting their lives enough over the next
month. Letting them drop the f-bomb is the least I can do.”

She couldn’t fully agree, but she understood where he was coming from. “You won’t take it any farther than that, will you?”

“What, you’re worried I’ll give them the right to vote?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I need you to trust me to be their coach.”

Trust him. So much easier when it was just an idea and not something
she had to put into action. But finally she let out a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah. I think.”

“Don’t worry—I’ll let you know if you overstep any boundaries.”

“Gee, thanks, Ash.”

“No problem.” His expression grew harder, and she did her best not to shrink under the weight of it. “Speaking of trust—”

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush. “Really.”

“You fucking lied to me, Mila. You know how much I value honesty. You know how hard I try to be honest. How could you do that?”

Shame washed over her. “I really need you—to coach them, I mean.
Please
understand. You’re world famous, and I run a little camp in the mountains. You wanted nothing to do with me. I was worried you’d turn me down, and I couldn’t let that happen so I massaged
the truth a little.”

His brows shot up, and his body vibrated with barely leashed frustration. “
Massaged
it? Fuck, you gave it the world’s hardest rub-and-tug.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she shot a glance over his shoulder to make sure the girls were out of earshot.

“Now would be the time to come clean about anything else you’re hiding.”

“Nothing.”

“Promise?”

“If I say
something once, I mean it,” she tried to joke, repeating his comment from yesterday.

“I wish I could believe that. You tricked me into coaching a bunch of novices for the San Diego Sevens.”

Fear brewed deep inside her. “You can do it, though, right? I mean, if anyone can…”

“I’ll do my best. But I won’t lie—it’ll be tough.” He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe the past
ten minutes had happened. “Now, it looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me. I’m tempted to make you join us for line sprints—”

She threw her hands up and stepped back. “I’ll let you get on with your work.”

She gathered her paperwork from the bleachers and rushed back to her office to avoid the worst exercise known to man—and to avoid the man she was growing more eager to exercise
her frustrations with.

Chapter Twelve

Camila was determined to stay away and let Ash do his thing. She told herself she didn’t want to distract him, but she also didn’t want to torture herself by being around him. Guilt had grown into a hard ball in her gut. She was embarrassed by her lies and even more troubled by how badly she wanted him. It would be too easy to let him breach her defenses, and that
would lead to a hellish heartache when he went back to London.

She thought he was too disappointed and angry to have anything to do with her, but two mornings after she’d left him on the field, she discovered she’d thought wrong.

While the sun was starting to peek over the mountains and bathe the lake in morning light, Camila made her way down the path to the dock, just as she did every
morning to write in her journal. But she stopped when she saw she wasn’t alone. There wasn’t a person in sight, but a rugby ball sat at the end of the dock. She stepped onto the wooden boards and walked carefully so she didn’t accidentally make it roll into the water.

She bent to pick it up and found it was weighing down an envelope with her name on it. At least, it would be her name, if
she spelled her name with two hearts instead of
A
s. She bit back a snort of laughter. He’d copied her juvenile writing style from the letters she’d sent as a teenager.

Grabbing them both, she glanced around but couldn’t find Ash anywhere. How on earth had he figured out her morning routine so quickly? She sat down, cradled the ball in her lap, ran her finger under the seal and drew out a
piece of paper.

Dear Mila,

Anyone who looks online can find out how many trophies I’ve won, tries I’ve scored or times I’ve been capped for my country.

But you’re the only one who knows I cried at the end of
Like Water for Chocolate
.

Ash

P.S. Your turn.

She pressed her palm over her mouth and shook with repressed laughter, remembering how excited she’d been to discover
the movie playing at a theater in Barcelona. She’d seen it before and thought it was ridiculously melodramatic, but she’d also wanted to introduce him to a Mexican film—and have an excuse to lean into him as she whispered her translation of every romantic or erotic line into his ear. She hadn’t expected him to be overcome with an emotion other than lust. But when the film’s climax had come,
he’d turned away to keep her from seeing him swipe at his tears. She’d buried her face in his chest and cuddled him. Neither of them had ever acknowledged what a softie he was or how she’d completely lost her heart to him in that dark room.

She tucked the letter into her journal and sat on the dock for a long time contemplating it. So much of his career had been public, and that must’ve bled
over into his personal life too. This letter was a reminder that he was a private person as well as a world-famous one. It was also a reminder that she was one of the few he’d let get close enough to see him vulnerable. Was this his response to her pointing out that his talent was far greater than her camp?

She didn’t reply to his letter. Writing back would defeat the purpose of keeping her
distance. It was bad enough that she’d woefully misjudged the effect his presence would have on her. She’d thought she would have to deal with her anger. She hadn’t expected the bone-deep longing for his body, his voice, his laughter.

The next morning another letter waited for her on the dock, along with a nasty-looking sports cleat. She managed to pull the envelope out without actually touching
the shoe.

Dear Mila,

Here’s something not even you know: When I grow up, I want to be an astronaut.

P.S. Sorry about the rugby boot. I didn’t bring many heavy objects with me. If you give my ball back, I won’t have to resort to germ warfare tomorrow.

She laughed and tapped the letter against her knee. She usually arrived at the dock around 5:30, just a few minutes before sunrise.
He had to be getting up early to beat her down here. Later that morning, she left his ball and cleats on his porch along with a fat tome all about California’s indigenous, Spanish, and Mexican history. She stuck a brief note inside the book, keeping it impersonal:
In case you’re jet-lagged and need help falling asleep.

Hopefully he would take that as a message that he should find other ways
to fill his time than to write to her.

He didn’t. The next morning another letter waited for her, inside a book outlining the official rugby sevens rules and regulations.

Dear Mila,

I’ve had girlfriends other than you, but none of them taught me as much as you. Who knew a history book would be such an effective sleep aid? (Actually, I figured that out when I was at school. Turns
out Californian history is even less exciting than the Tudors.) Now here’s one for you.

P.S. Thanks for leaving my rugby boot on the porch yesterday. Sorry you had to touch it. I would’ve picked it up from the dock to save you such a horrible task. I hope you washed your hands.

She rubbed the letter against her chin. One line of his letter stuck out. None of his other girlfriends taught
him as much as she had? That could’ve been the set-up for a dirty joke, considering he’d been a virgin when they met, but Ash had avoided the obvious. Why did that matter so much to her? Why did it send a weird combination of relief and surprise through her?

The answer hit her hard. Because it showed that he considered her a person, not just a body that had fucked him. For a woman who’d known
too many men who thought that way about her, it was a heady discovery—and one she wasn’t sure what to do with.

She tucked his letter into her pocket. With great care, she opened her journal to a fresh page and wrote:

Dear Ash,

Rugby balls are not just white footballs.

Sticky toffee pudding is worth dying for.

Sometimes old friends see us better than we see ourselves.

These are all things you’ve taught me.

P.S. Thank you—especially for the sticky toffee pudding.

He would never see the letter. But she felt better for having written it.

That afternoon she was sitting in her office signing off on various orders for food and other supplies when Becca rapped her knuckles against her open door and said, “Mail’s here. You got a package.”

Eyes
blurry from staring at line after line of text, Camila leaned back in her chair and pressed the tips of her fingers into the corners of her eyes. The window was open and she could hear the chatter and laughter of campers passing by on their way from the lake to the cabins. She was doing this for them, and she had to keep that in mind. “Does it look like it’s stuffed with cash?”

“Sadly not.
But it is heavy and from Gabriel. Maybe it’s a cuckoo to go with the clock he made you.” Becca laid the box on her desk, and Camila cringed.

“Or some wooden batteries to make that clock work?” Her brother had a stressful job, and he relaxed by doing woodworking projects. And by
doing
Camila meant
destroying.
He had absolutely zero talent for it, but he tried hard and that was the important
thing, right? Of course, that meant she had quite a few unrecognizable wooden objects in her cabin, things she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of. She grabbed the box and a pair of scissors and sliced through the tape holding it closed. “Thanks for bringing it in. I’ll—”

Suddenly Ash filled the door behind Becca, and the room shrank to a fraction of its real size. His eyes met hers, his
lips tilting up in a knowing half smile. Her whole body simmered with awareness of all the things they’d done to each other…and all the things they had never gotten around to. “Can I come in?”

No no no. Please take your sexy self somewhere else.

When she didn’t respond, he stepped into the office and glanced at the box she was trying to open. “Oh, so your hands
aren’t
broken.”

She gave him a dry look and his smile widened. “Was there something you needed?”

“Just checking in.” He settled into a chair across from her desk and casually crossed his legs. “Thought you might like a progress report.”

Becca cleared her throat. “I’d better get back to work. I’ll be bent over my desk if anyone needs me.”

Camila squeezed her eyes closed and let her head fall back
against her chair as Becca gave a smarmy chuckle and closed the door behind herself.

“I never should’ve told you to bend over,” she muttered.

Smart man that he was, Ash covered his mouth as he smirked. “Still more than willing to oblige.”

“Please, I can’t take it right now. I think my head’s about to explode.”

His face sobered. “Anything I can do?”

“Yeah.”
Leave me alone
so I don’t lose my mind and jump your sexy bones.
“Win a rugby tournament.”

He cringed. “About that—how did you choose these girls?”

Oh, crap. “The truth?”

He raised his brows, and she grimaced. “Right. Obviously. Well, I contacted lots of parents after I got back from London and asked if their daughters would be willing to try rugby and take part in a tournament. Most of them said
it sounded too dangerous. You got the girls whose parents said yes.”

He curled his lip in a silent snarl.

“That not the answer you were looking for?”

“I was hoping you’d say there were tryouts or they were national champions at some other sport.”

She laughed. “Ha! Keep dreaming. Anyway, what do you think our chances are?”

She held her breath, praying he would say they
were naturally gifted.

He shrugged. “Pretty fucking terrible.” Her hopes collapsed. He nodded at the box in her hands. “Maybe we should hope that’s stuffed with cash.”

She gasped. “That’s what
I
said!” She pulled the top flaps open and reached into the plastic packing peanuts. “But it’s from Gabriel, so it’s probably something more like a wooden deer head with only one antler, or—” She
pulled out a long, thick, cylindrical object.

“What the fuck?” Ash leaned forward and they both stared at the object in utter bafflement. It looked like a big wooden dick.

With splinters.

“I don’t think I’d use that, if I were you,” Ash said.

“What the
hell?
”

“Exactly how creepy is your relationship with your brother?”

“Not creepy in the least. This is…it’s…” She
shook her head. “It can’t be what we think it is.”

“I’ve seen a lot of cocks in my life, Mila. That’s a cock.”

She turned it over in her hands. It had ripples and grooves and a thick, bulbous head that ended in a rounded point. There was a small hole drilled into the very tip of it. She dropped it on her desk, grabbed her phone and tapped out a message, reading it aloud as she typed.
“Thanks for the present. Why did you make me a dildo?”

Ash snorted and waited till her phone buzzed. Camila tapped the screen and read Gabriel’s reply. “You sicko. It’s a candlestick.”

They both stared at the object again. “A candlestick?” Camila stood it on its flat end. It was about eight inches tall and round on top. “How am I supposed to put a candle on here?” she texted Gabriel.

A minute later her phone buzzed again. “There’s a metal rod in the box. Put it in the hole in the middle of the candlestick, and ram it up the bottom of the candle. It works, I swear.”

Ash burst out laughing. “Put the rod in the hole and ram it up the bottom. I’d like to meet your brother.”

He said it so casually that it took a second for either of them to hear the underlying message.
If things were different, he might one day be able to. But Gabriel lived in Montana and Ash lived in London—despite his temporary residency here. He’d be gone in a month, and his life would never mesh so deeply with hers that he’d meet any of her brothers.

She gave him a small smile. “I’m sure you’d get along well.”

Kids’ voices floated past the window again, cursing and laughing, and
Ash’s gaze wandered over her shoulder to the trees outside. The kids were on the path several yards away, but their voices carried through the trees. Even though they couldn’t hear, Ash leaned over and dropped his voice. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“You said you called parents and asked if their daughters wanted to play. Why did you immediately go for the girls? At a camp like
this, don’t you think you’d find more boys ready to try a sport like rugby?”

A swish of unease fluttered in her gut. “I thought about that. But I knew they’d be playing other high school-aged kids, and I figured there were probably more boys’ rugby teams established in the country, so the competition would be tougher. I looked online and there didn’t seem to be as many teams for teenage girls.
Hopefully our kids will be playing against teams like ours, novices who are there because of the prize money or because it’s a good opportunity to try a new sport in a fun way.”

He nodded, and the easiness of talking to him made the room all the more intimate.

She cleared her throat. “Do you have a real progress report for me, or was that just an excuse?”

“Both. The progress report
is this—they’re not making progress. A couple of them are athletic, but the rest can’t run from one end of the pitch to the other without doubling over and heaving. One of them shows interest in the sport, but the others couldn’t give a shit.”

Shivers raced through her as she felt the camp slip farther out of her grasp. She’d messed up in so many ways, but making decisions in a panic was
never a good thing. She needed his help now more than ever. “Tell me what to do, Ash, and I’ll do it.”

“Find a way to light a fire under their arses. That’d be a good start.”