The Virgin's Guide to Misbehaving

  Lifeless.

  Something missing.

  Not quite what we’re looking for.

  Unmemorable.

  Not enough life experience.

  How the heck did something like that show in her photographs? Elise didn’t understand. Her photos were gorgeous—not that she was biased, of course. They were crisp, the colors were good, but when she looked at them again, she had to agree: something was missing.

  She just didn’t know what that something was.

  Frustrated, Elise opened up Photoshop and stared at the pictures she’d sent to Crissy, trying to determine what was wrong. They were photos she’d taken a week or so ago of Rome Lozada, he of the gorgeous body and even more gorgeous face. He looked delectable, of course. Nothing could make that man look bad. In the photo, he was covered in mud and his skin was gleaming with beaded droplets of water. He looked insanely good and her heart ached just gazing at him.

  But like Crissy said, there was something off in the photo. It wasn’t Rome. It wasn’t the scene. It was just . . . Elise didn’t know. Heck, if she knew, she’d be able to fix the issue.

  Unable to come to a conclusion, she flicked her mouse and Photoshopped a crayon-like smile on Rome Lozada’s face.

  Take that.

  Considering the picture, she played with a couple of editing filters and ended up elongating his crotch to a ridiculous length, just because it made her laugh. The things we go through to feel better about our work, she mused to herself.

  She set the modified picture as her computer desktop background just to amuse herself, and then sighed in frustration. She’d been hoping that photo shoot would lead to a layout, and that layout would be her big break. It would have also given her yet another chance to see Rome Lozada, shirtless and sexy.

  More than anything, it would have been her chance to prove herself.

  Unfortunately, Elise was getting nowhere fast. She had a backup business in mind with Beth Ann—pinup photography. But Beth Ann wouldn’t be back for several weeks, as she’d gone to Alaska on her honeymoon with Colt just yesterday. So while the pinup photography would be fun, it was on hold at the moment. She needed Beth Ann for hair and make-up and for dealing with people. She couldn’t do it on her own.

  So Elise was more or less at odds and ends until she had a new project. She could return home with her parents, but the thought of doing that made her unhappy. She wanted to make something of herself.

  She was tired of living at home. She was twenty-four years old. She’d been out of college for two years now, and she was still only freelancing for the occasional family photo.

  Her parents wanted her to relax and take a break, since the photography was stressful. That was the problem with her parents. They sheltered her and thought she was fragile. Maybe she had been at one point, but she was an adult now, and she was tired of being protected from the world.

  She needed to see things with new eyes.

  How, she had no idea. Elise wasn’t good at jumping out of the box.

  But . . . Brenna was. Elise considered this and then grabbed the keys to her rental car. Brenna would have ideas. Sure, they’d be insane ideas, but maybe she could sift through the crazy stuff and find a decent one that would be a start.

  • • •

  To Elise’s chagrin, the tiny parking lot at Wilderness Survival Expeditions was nearly full. She squeezed her rental into one of the back parking spaces in the gravel lot and then cautiously made her way toward the main cabin. Out on the front lawn, Dane Croft stood with a pack looped over one shoulder. Four men were lined up in front of him, all dressed in wilderness gear. They had no packs, and one had painted his face with camouflage and seemed to be devouring every word that Dane said.

  They glanced over at her as she headed for the doorstep, and Elise self-consciously shrank back a bit.

  Dane gave her a quick wave. “Hey there. We were just heading out.” He nodded at the men in front of him. “You guys ready?”

  “Ready,” they chorused.

  Dane nodded at her and then gestured for the men to follow him, and they took off across the grass in quick, eager footsteps.

  Elise watched them leave, then headed into the main log cabin. Wilderness Survival Expeditions used to be a ranch, she had been told by her brother, Grant. An emu ranch, of all things. The main “house” of the business looked like an enormous log cabin, complete with rustic kitchen and enormous stone fireplace. Scattered around the parking lot were a handful of personal cabins where the instructors lived. They were all childhood friends of her brother . . . well, except for the newest one, Rome.

  The hottest, most delicious, newest one, she thought. Elise sighed as she entered the cabin, biting her lip. Part of her wanted to open the door and see Rome, and part of her dreaded running into him.

  But when she went in, only Brenna was seated at her desk, and Elise felt a pang of disappointment. No hot, vaguely scary guy to gawk at.

  “Hey,” Brenna said, waving cheerily at Elise. She had her new puppy in her hands and forced the puppy to wave a paw. “What brings you here this morning? You come to hang out?”

  Elise smiled at her brother’s fiancée and sat down in the chair across from her desk. “I was a little bored and thought I’d come and see about taking some photos. The light is great today.”

  “Working? Barf.” Brenna nuzzled her puppy. “No one’s really working today. Isn’t that right, Gollum?”

  Elise tactfully refrained from pointing out that Brenna was, in fact, at work, and seated at her work desk. “Where’s Grant?”

  “Sleeping in. I wore him out.” She gave Elise a wickedly smug smile. “I wouldn’t ask questions if I were you.”

  “Um. Okay. I don’t think I want to know more.”

  “So how goes the man hunt?” Brenna looked excited. “It’s been a week. You score yet?”

  “Man hunt?” Elise shook her head, feeling the hot flush creep up her cheeks. “I’m not looking for a man.” But even as she said it, a flurry of images flashed through her mind. Rome Lozada, shirtless and muddy. Crissy’s email. Not enough life in her pictures.

  “What about those beefcakes that Dane just took into the woods? We could always call them back for a minor emergency and send you off with them.” Brenna gave her an encouraging look and wagged her eyebrows. “That’s how Miranda met Dane, remember?”

  “Um, I don’t think any of them were my type,” Elise said in a soft voice. One had camo on his face and looked as if he’d want to skip the camping phase and go right to the skinning of animals.

  “You’re so picky. No one’s your type, according to you.” Brenna kissed her puppy’s wrinkly forehead.

  Elise gave her a faint smile. She wanted to ask Brenna how she could get more life experience—Brenna would know more than anyone.

  But there was something that held her back. Maybe because Brenna was distracted this morning by the puppy? Maybe because she’d run into a few men on the way in and that had set her on edge?

  She realized that anything she asked Brenna would be innocently blurted back out to her brother, Grant, and right now she didn’t want to have to deal with it. She could just imagine the pitying looks that Grant would send her way. His poor, fragile baby sister.

  She was so tired of being the delicate flower everyone had to protect.

  Mentally, she squashed her idea of asking Brenna about ways to get life experience. She’d simply have to think of something on her own.

  “So whatcha working on?” Brenna asked. “More pinups?”

  She shook her head. “Not until Beth Ann gets back. I have the keys to her salon, but no appointments set up. We still don’t even have a website.” And if she wanted to be honest, the pinups were fun if Beth Ann was there. By herself, she couldn’t really do hair and makeup. She didn’t have the skill. “I thought I’d see if you guys needed pictures for the paintball brochures.”

  “Probably,” Brenna said, cuddling her puppy against her chest. “Sounds kind of
boring to me.”

  “I don’t mind it,” Elise said, watching Brenna play with the puppy’s ears. It was like trying to keep the attention of a two-year-old. How on earth did she not drive ever-so-proper, work-oriented Grant insane? “Is it okay if I go ahead and head out to look at the grounds?”

  “Sure,” Brenna said. “I’ll stay here in case Grant wakes up and wants me to work. Or did you want company?”

  “No, I’m fine. I know where it is. Thank you, though.”

  “Have fun.”

  Chickening out, Elise shouldered her camera bag and headed out of the lodge.

  The day was a great one for photos. The skies were bright but overcast, ensuring that any photos she took wouldn’t be a mess of shadows. There was a hint of a chill in the air, but Elise tugged the sleeves of her old sweatshirt down over her bare hands to warm them. The breeze scattered the leaves, and she watched it for a minute, then decided that it would be good for the picture. She could always take new ones in the spring if she was still in Bluebonnet.

  Not that she had a reason to be. She was just drifting, in between everything, at home nowhere.

  She hated that. But if she set down roots in Bluebonnet, she’d need a reason to keep hanging around. The Wilderness Survival Expeditions business was too small to need a photographer on hand at all times. Beth Ann already had her hands full with her salon. Elise didn’t have a home here, or a car. Or anyone that she could say she was staying for.

  There was Grant, but Grant had Brenna. The last thing he needed was his pathologically shy sister lurking around in shadowy corners, cringing at the thought of someone talking to her.

  Elise headed up the trail to the area that had been fenced off for the paintball course. They’d set aside a few acres, enclosed it with a rail fence that was already getting covered with multiple colors of paint, and were working on adding obstacles and scenery for game scenarios. Rome and Colt’s pop had actually built a rather neat castle construct, and she wanted to get a photo of that for the brochure, since it would likely be the focus of a multitude of games.

  She pulled her camera out and selected a lens, then did a few test shots, reviewing them on the screen on the back of the camera. As a hobbyist, she loved “real” film and developing her own photos in a darkroom, but practicality meant that digital won out almost every time. There was never an issue with too many chemicals, not enough chemicals, and underdeveloped photos when all you had to do was import your file.

  Elise tucked her bag near the fence post, out of the way, and began to trek through the rolling hills and bushy growth of the paintball course. She snapped a few photos here and there, testing shots, playing with angles, and trying to mentally picture what would look good in the brochures. In several spots, mini barricades made of stacked logs had been set up at corner angles for defensible positions. Someone was putting a lot of work and thought into the paintball course, and Elise was impressed by it. Heck, she didn’t play paintball and it even looked like fun to her.

  Over a ridge, she made out the edges of the castle. Constructed entirely of wood, the castle was about twenty feet tall at its highest, and had walls about ten feet high angling over to the side of a cliff. It was defensible, but the back end was open so no team could dig in and corner themselves. The tops of the castle walls were crenellated, and an orange flag was flapping at the top of the castle itself. The side of the wall facing her was painted gray with black lines denoting a brick pattern. It was rather cool, she admitted to herself, and snapped a photo of it from afar, then moved closer to get additional shots.

  As soon as she stepped around the wall, she nearly ran into a shirtless Rome.

  Elise gasped in shock and stumbled backward, only to have Rome reach out and grab her arm before she could topple over.

  “Careful,” he told her. “Wet paint.”

  Her eyes widened and she stiffened in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting anyone out here, and she hadn’t heard him working. The shock of seeing another person was bad enough; the fact that it was Rome, the object of her crush, had her speechless.

  As always, Rome was mouth-wateringly beautiful. If she’d come up with a dream of what the ideal dangerous man would be, Rome fit the description to a tee. He was big and muscular, his torso thick and rock-hard, and his arms enormous, as if he worked out on a regular basis solely for the purpose of packing on muscle. In contrast to his dangerous body, he had a near-perfect face—beautiful blue eyes with thick, black lashes, a chiseled jaw, and a firm, unbroken nose. And he was pierced—through the nose, in both ears, in his lip. It only added to his wicked look.

  Every time she saw him, she was struck by two things: how utterly pretty those blue, thickly lashed eyes were, and how completely covered in tattoos he was. Rome looked as if he’d never said no to someone wielding a needle, and his chest was covered from neck to navel with designs; both arms were colorful sleeves of tattoos. Tanned skin peeked out between the designs, along with the gleam of sweat on his body. He was shirtless despite the chill of the day, dressed only in a pair of sweatpants and combat boots.

  Just the sight of him made her entire body lock up due to a mixture of longing and fear. Longing because he’d never want someone like her, and fear that he’d mock her or be cruel, as cocky men so often were when they came across a shy woman. His hand felt like a brand on her arm, scorching hot. She looked down at his tanned hand on her pale arm and noticed that even his long, strong fingers had tattoos.

  Elise gulped and twisted her arm out of his.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He gestured with his other hand, which held a dripping paint roller. “I just didn’t want you to trip and ruin your clothes.”

  She blinked at him, her mind racing. She should say something, she decided. She’d seen Rome about a half dozen times now, and she’d seen him without his shirt before. Every time he’d been nothing but polite. And it was just the two of them outside. This would be the perfect chance for her to smile and say something polite, like Beth Ann would, or crack a joke like Brenna.

  But she wasn’t Beth Ann, and she wasn’t Brenna. She was Elise Markham, and she was tongue-tied. So her mind raced through a list of things to say, discarded each one, and ended up remaining mute.

  “You taking pictures?” Rome asked her. “You want me to move out of the shot?”

  She clutched her camera closer to her breast, letting her hair swing over her cheek to cover it. Oh god, she was outside in natural light. That was when the stain on her cheek was most visible. What if he noticed it? What if he saw that one of her shoulders slumped lower than the other? What if he asked about her posture? She’d be humiliated.

  Hunching her shoulders, Elise skittered away a foot or two and popped on her lens cap. She stared at the ground. Say something, she chided herself. Anything! He’s going to think you hate him worse than he already thinks you do!

  But she thought back to the other day, when she’d seen him at the restaurant.

  Maybe I should volunteer to be Elise’s man-meat . . .

  Oh god. What had he thought about their drunken suggestion? Had he been revolted? He probably was. He could get any girl he wanted—

  “You okay?” Rome asked as she remained silent. She could feel his gaze on her.

  She could tell him she was fine. That she wouldn’t have fallen over, and so it wasn’t necessary for him to grab her. She’d liked that grab, though. Even now, her skin throbbed where he’d touched her. She brushed her fingers over her arm, struggling to think of something to say that would sound strong. That would come out right.

  But when nothing came to mind, she turned and bolted, hurrying away back to where she’d abandoned her camera bag.

  She was such a coward.

  TWO

  Rome watched Elise Markham run away from him as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her feet and tried not to feel annoyed at the sight.

  He’d never met a girl so completely wigged out at the sight of tattoos and a
few piercings. He knew he wasn’t the most clean-cut guy, but hell. He wasn’t that grotesque, was he? Elise Markham had probably grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth and a Porsche in the driveway. She probably thought guys like him were just the help. That thought soured him on her, fast.

  Sure¸ she was pretty. Damn pretty. Sweet and innocent-seeming, two things that cranked his chain. But she flinched and ran every time she saw him. It was either hate or fear. He couldn’t decide which one, and it was downright puzzling, considering that he was polite to her at all times.

  But he remembered the words of her pretty friends in the restaurant. There’s no one in town who’s Elise’s type.

  No one good enough for Little Miss Blueblood. That was the story of his life, Rome mused. Never good enough for the right kind of girls. He slapped the roller down into the gray paint and then ran it back over the wall, glad for the diversion of painting.

  Work was always a good distraction, and this was clean, honest labor. He’d gladly do this until the sun went down. By then, he’d have pretty, snobby Elise Markham out of his head.

  • • •

  Six hours later, Rome had the base coat of the last castle wall painted, and he’d cut down some more logs to make another mini bunker to hide behind. He was rather pleased with how the paintball course was turning out. Pop was too old to help with the grunt work, and Dane was picking up all the training classes while Colt was on his honeymoon. Grant was doing whatever the boss did. Probably fucking his cute, crazy little secretary again, Rome figured.

  That left Rome in charge of getting everything ready for the paintball course to open up next month. He didn’t mind. At this point, all it required was a little imagination and brute strength, and those were two things Rome had in spades. Plus, no one had fired him for lying about his credentials yet, so he still had a paycheck coming in and a roof over his head.