Rules of
Entanglement
a Fighting for Love novel
Gina L. Maxwell
Table of Contents
Other books by Gina L. Maxwell
Vanessa MacGregor’s “Lucky 7” Rules To Live By
Day 1: Sunday
Day 2: Monday
Day 3: Tuesday
Day 4: Wednesday
Day 5: Thursday
Day 6: Friday
Day 7: Saturday
Epilogue
Jax’s “Lucky 7” Rules To Love By
Seducing Cinderella
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Acknowlegments
About the Author
Other books by Gina L. Maxwell
Seducing Cinderella (Fighting for Love, #1)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Gina L. Maxwell. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit www.brazenbooks.com.
Edited by Liz Pelletier
Cover design by Heather Howland
Photo by Josh Williams Photography
ISBN 978-1-62266-794-9
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition March 2013
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Jeep, Jekyll and Hyde, The Prince of Tides, Cocktail, Heineken, Miss America, Gilligan’s Island, Jedi, Benadryl, Adirondack chair, G.I. Joe, Barbie, Ken, Playboy, Powerade Zero, Godiva, Velcro, Spiderman, “Don’t Cha,” Patron, National Geographic, NCIS, CSI, Valium, Jet Ski, SeaWorld, Anne of Green Gables, The Chronicles of Narnia, Say Anything, UFC, Tarzan, The Jerry Springer Show, Survivor, The Love Connection .
For my readers, who waited so patiently—and sometimes not so patiently—for this book. I can’t begin to tell you how truly grateful I am for each and every one of you. By making a space for me on your shelves, you’ve made a space for yourself in my heart. Thank you.
Vanessa MacGregor’s “Lucky 7” Rules To Live By
7. Never take your responsibilities lightly.
6. Never indulge in the poison of lies.
5. Never let a fling last more than three days.
4. Never date a man who chooses fists over words.
3. Never date a man who lacks a stable future.
2. Never relinquish control.
1. Never fall in love.
Day 1: Sunday
“He’s now officially an hour late.”
And talking to yourself out loud makes you crazy as well as hungry and stranded.
Vanessa MacGregor sat on a bench next to her suitcase and carry-on outside the Honolulu airport, trying to ignore her grumbling stomach. She’d finished gaping in awe at the picturesque scenery about forty minutes ago when she realized her best friend Lucie’s brother, who lived on the island, was running more than just a tad past the arranged pickup time.
Drumming her manicured fingernails on the back of her cell, she debated whether or not to call Lucie, but she didn’t want to worry her friend the week of her wedding. She was already stressed out to the max. And that was before some bad sushi had her praying to the porcelain God from severe food poisoning.
Instead, Vanessa had kept trying Jackson’s phone several times, but her calls went directly to voice mail. She was starting to worry something might have happened to him. And if he didn’t show up soon, he might wish something had.
Vanessa pressed a button on her cell phone again to illuminate the screen and check the time. She couldn’t spend all day at the airport. She’d flown down to the über-posh Mau Loa resort four days early, an entire week before her friend’s wedding, to meet up with Jackson and stand in for Lucie and her fiancé with some crazed wedding planner who insisted on the happy couple being on site during the preparations.
If it weren’t for the potential clusterfuck of missing Jackson while she was en route to the Mau Loa, she’d have taken a cab by now. Staring at her cell and releasing a heavy exhale, she decided to try his phone one more time. Hitting redial, she checked her manicure and listened to the rings mocking her.
“You must be Vanessa.”
She looked up at the sound of a sexy baritone voice, but the sun instantly blinded her. Squinting from the sharp pain to her retinas, she shielded her eyes to try and make out the features of the man in front of her, wearing a pair of navy board shorts and a skin-tight wifebeater.
Dark and delicious. Those were the first words that popped into her head. His short, dark hair was damp, and his beard looked like it had at least a day of growth. Starting mid-bicep on his left arm, a Polynesian tattoo of ocean waves in black ink stretched up to the top of his shoulder. His skin was tan, but not the typical golden shade. It was just a tinge darker, almost like he’d lived here so long his body had adapted to the native heritage. The only part of him that didn’t fit the dark motif was his topaz eyes, reminding her of caramels rimmed with thin lines of dark chocolate… Shit, she needed to get something to eat before she tried licking his eyeballs.
She’d never met Jackson in person, but she’d seen plenty of pictures. Enough to recognize that the owner of the sexy voice was indeed Lucie’s brother and champion MMA fighter. Hearing his voice-mail message come through her phone snapped her out of her momentary stupor long enough to take the phone away from her ear and end the call. The airwaves didn’t do his vocal chords justice, she decided as she stood and held out her hand.
“Jackson, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”
He looked at her outstretched hand with what seemed to be an amused smile before finally grasping it in his own. His hand was rough with calluses and deliciously warm.
“Nice to finally meet the infamous best friend of my sister,” he said with a boyishly charming smile.
Oh, he was definitely doable. Did Hawaiians have the saying “Save a surfboard, ride a surfer”? If not, she was totally starting it. She wondered if he even surfed.
Getting her head back in the game, she asked, “Is everything okay?” At his questioning look she added, “You said you’d be here at eleven and it’s past noon. I tried calling but only got your voice mail.”
Jackson shrugged. “Yeah, my phone died. I don’t pay much attention, since I mostly use it to keep in touch with Lucie. I’m sort of a caveman in terms of technology.”
Vanessa didn’t point out that he’d told Lucie to have her call him on that phone when she landed. Which she had. Five times. “Huh. Must be nice to be that carefree.” She mentally cringed at the judgment in her voice. Just because she was a little cranky from sitting in the sun while hungry for an hour didn’t mean she could abandon all her manners. “So did you have car trouble or something?”
“To be honest, I was surfing and sort of lost track of time.”
Well, that answers the surfing question. Glancing at his wrists, Vanessa noticed he must have sort of lost track of his watch before leaving home with his dead cell phone. All her pleasantries ground to a halt, and the smile on her face morphed from genuine to a tight imitation. Any warm and fuzzies her lady parts had begun ha
rboring for the MMA stud in front of her went poof.
Rule #7: Never take your responsibilities lightly.
What happened to the responsible, shoulder-the-world man Lucie had always described?
“I wish I would’ve known it was going to be an issue for you to come and get me,” she said, trying hard to keep irritation out of her tone. And failing. “I could’ve just as easily taken a cab.”
He put his hands up, palms facing her in resignation. “You’re absolutely right. I was a thoughtless jerk.”
“I didn’t say—”
“And I totally deserve a thorough tongue-lashing,” he said with another smile, “but let’s do it on the way to my Jeep because I’m double-parked and I’d rather be lectured by an angry woman over a burger and a beer. I’m starving.”
Angry? She’d barely even portrayed miffed, much less angry. But he was on the fast track to front row seats if he kept feeding her bullshit and trying to push her around.
Without waiting for her response, Jackson popped up the handle on her suitcase and walked away. A potent cocktail of shock, panic, and indignation lit up her insides. Before he could take two steps with it rolling behind him, she pulled the bag from his grip. He looked at his hand as though stunned she’d taken her luggage back, then glanced up, a brow cocked in question.
“There a problem, princess?”
Princess? She gritted her teeth. Hell, yes, there was a problem. Several, in fact, not the least of which was him acting like he was running her show. Vanessa couldn’t remember the last time she’d let anyone control her or her circumstances. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.
She’d waited for him out of respect for Lucie, despite wanting to find her own way to the resort. Then when he finally arrived, he thought to whisk her luggage from her, expecting her to fall in line behind him. Then apparently he had plans of stopping for lunch—which actually sounded pretty glorious, but that wasn’t the point. He hadn’t even bothered to ask if she was hungry. Then, after that, who knew, maybe he wanted to stop by his house and do some laundry before dropping her off at the resort so she could help his sister.
It was clear Jackson was the wrong guy to get involved with on any level. If she had time to get her itch scratched while on vacation, she’d have to find a different scratcher.
Vanessa sighed. Meeting the wrong men seemed to be the case more often than not over the last couple of years. Another one bites the dust, Nessie. But now wasn’t the time to wallow in thoughts of never finding her own happily ever after. This week was all about making sure Lucie’s fairy tale came true, and clearly her brother wasn’t on the same page.
“You know what?” she began with a gracious smile—fake though it was. “You don’t need to worry about me. I know Lucie asked you to pick me up, and I’m sorry for your trouble, but it’s not necessary. I’ll just take a cab.”
“And risk the wrath of my baby sister the week of her wedding? No thanks. I’d rather fight a kickboxer without a cup. So come on.” This time he slung the strap of her duffel carry-on over his shoulder and turned to walk away.
“Oh my God!” She jammed her hands on her hips, the incredulity at his arrogance preventing her from doing much else. “You really need to stop taking my things.”
He lifted an eyebrow while holding back an amused smirk. Unsuccessfully, she might add. “Not big on chivalry?”
“There’s a distinct difference between chivalrous and pushy. You are being pushy.”
“Pushy?” He made a face like he’d never heard the word before. “I’m just trying to do what I came here for. I apologized for being late and now—”
“No, you didn’t,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. Remembering every word of a conversation could sometimes put a damper on social situations, but as a prosecutor in the DA’s office it was a valuable asset. And calling dickheads on their “chivalrous” behavior? Priceless.
“Yes, I did.”
She sighed. She’d already hopped on the damn train, so she might as well ride it out of the station. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I—”
She crossed her arms in front of her and cut him off. “Your exact words were, ‘To be honest, I was surfing and sort of lost track of time.’”
“Wow, nothing gets by you, huh? I’ll have to remember that,” he mumbled. Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he actually had the gall to grin at her from under his impossibly long lashes like a lying teenager who knew how to charm his way out of trouble. Un. Effing. Real. “Then I’m definitely sorry I didn’t say ‘sorry.’”
Vanessa bet there weren’t many women who told Jackson Maris “no.” Even with the irritation from his high-handedness still riding her, the idea of giving in to him sprouted in the back of her brain. Thankfully, she still had enough sense to squash it before it grew into a Garden of Dreamy Sighs and Head Over Heels. Squash.
“Let’s just forget it. I’m going to take a cab to the resort, and you can do…” She waved her hands around. “Whatever it is you do, and I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner on Friday.”
There. That wasn’t so hard. Despite being tired, hungry, and disappointed in her Welcome Wagon, she refused to cave in to the desire to be snippy and rude. Just because she lived by a certain code didn’t mean the rest of the world did.
Forcing herself to remain civil for the sake of her friendship with Lucie—and to prove she had complete control over her emotions—she said, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Jackson,” and grabbed the strap to her carry-on, still perched on his shoulder.
His hand covered hers as he leaned in, eclipsing the sun and most of the world around her. When he spoke, his voice dropped an octave and the low vibrations snaked their way through her body, hitting every erogenous zone she didn’t even know she had. “You don’t sound all that pleased, V.” He paused, his gaze flicking to her mouth a moment before offering a sinful smile. “Come with me.”
Unbidden images of hot Hawaiian sex with Jackson flashed in her mind at warp speed, messing with the signals from her brain to the rest of her body. Certain parts of her clenched tight with need, while others, like her knees and jaw, slackened with lust.
Either her desperation for some adult one-on-one time was worse than she thought or this guy affected her way more than she could safely handle. Thankfully, both problems had only one solution. Squash, squash, squash!
“Good-bye, Jackson.”
Grabbing her bags, she took off in the opposite direction. Luckily, a cab waited only a few yards away. She’d already put her things in the trunk and was reaching for the door handle when he called out after her.
“I’ll just meet you in the lobby of the resort, then.”
Civility dissolved in the acid now churning in her gut. Did he take some sort of sick pleasure in aggravating the hell out of people, or was he really just that clueless? Unfortunately for him, she assumed the former.
Turning around slowly, she addressed the man now leaning against a large concrete column, hands in his pockets, an easygoing smile gracing his face. “That won’t be necessary. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
He pushed himself off and sauntered over into her personal space. He smelled like the island itself, of salt water and sun.
“I have no doubt of that, princess,” he said. “But there’s one little detail you’re not aware of.”
“And what’s that?”
“The celebrity wedding planner Reid hired insists that for any destination wedding, the couple needs to be on location a week beforehand to meet with him and go over all the arrangements.”
“I know that. Why do you think I came down this early? I know Lucie’s tastes well enough to do this with my eyes closed.”
He didn’t even acknowledge her statement. “And due to the celebrity clientele at the Mau Loa, absolutely no one other than the guests registered to the room may claim the reservation.”
She cocked a hip out to the side and cr
ossed her arms over her chest. “Then why am I down here if I can’t check in?”
“You can’t check in,” he said, “but Lucie can.”
She was about to ask him if he was smoking something, for all the sense he made, when the way he cocked his eyebrow in her direction suddenly made everything clear.
And so completely messed up.
“Oh no,” she said, hands rose to ward off his message already sinking its fangs into her brain. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes.”
“You’ve got the wrong girl, Maris. That’s lying, and I don’t lie. I’ll simply speak with the manager and explain the situation.” She turned and yanked the cab door open.
“That won’t work. Look, the Mau Loa is the most exclusive celebrity resort in all of Hawaii. You need at least three forms of ID just to check in. The rich and famous like it because, with the exception of hanging out of a helicopter, it’s impenetrable to the paparazzi and crazy fans when all they want is a little time to themselves and maybe a private wedding ceremony.”
Her heart beat rapidly, trying to escape the confines of her ribs. “Then I’ll stay in another hotel and go to the Mau Loa for the meetings with the planner,” she argued weakly.
A grouchy voice came from inside the cab. “Hey, lady, in or out? You’re costing me money!”
Jackson ducked in front of the open passenger window. “You want to say that again?”
“Yeah.” The driver clearly intended on setting things straight. But as soon as he saw the hulking figure curling his fingers into a fist and shooting him a dare with his eyes, the cabbie’s bravado fell dead away. Clearing his throat and shifting in his seat, he finished with, “I meant, take all the time you need.”
“Appreciate it.”
As Jackson straightened to loom over her again, Vanessa was reminded of the fact that he made a living from using his fists. And though she knew it was a sport and not the drunken beatings she’d grown up with, she had to wonder how much of that contained violence leaked into his personality.