Love Hard Read online

  Love Hard

  A Hard Play Novel

  Nalini Singh

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Jacob Esera vs. An Aggravated Ghost in Stilettos

  2. The Bad Influence and Her Cold, Dead Heart

  3. Featuring an Indigestible Mouse and Goo-Goo Eyes

  4. It Involves Jake’s Thighs

  5. Juliet and Her Blowtorch

  6. The Lady Parts, They’re Misbehavin’

  7. Juliet Nelisi Is Not a Chicken

  8. Jake Starts a Fight (and Texts a Cat)

  9. How to Murder Your Brother

  10. Jake Takes Off His Clothes (No Other Enticement Necessary)

  11. Trouble

  12. The (Unwanted) (HIGHLY) Return of Reid the Pinhead

  13. Bring It On, Cupcake

  14. One Night of Nakedness and One Night Only (What Could Possibly Go Wrong?)

  15. Clever Hands and Orgasms to Ruin a Woman (*Fans Face*)

  16. It’s the Quiet Ones Who Have Alllll the Moves

  17. Breaking News! Major Scandal!

  18. NO ONE Messes with Jake’s People

  19. Ice Cream

  20. Do Not Mess with Juliet Nelisi

  21. International Mostly Naked Jake

  22. Danny Becomes a Man of the Cloth

  23. A Deadline (Also, Phenomenal, Circuit-Blowing Sex May Come Up)

  24. Jacob Esera’s Steps to a Stealth Courtship

  25. Five Children, Three Dogs, Four Cats… and an Honest-to-Goodness Goat in the Backyard

  26. Juliet Nelisi: Explorer of an Alien World

  27. Juliet Breaks out the Scary, and p.s. Esme Sees and Knows All

  28. An Invitation to Misbehave

  29. Jake Improves His Grade

  30. A Kiss in Times Square

  31. Shield

  32. Threats of Stiletto Thievery

  33. Game On

  34. In Which Jake Has One Thing on His Mind (Lucky Juliet)

  35. The Resurrection of the Gearhead

  36. Love

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Nalini Singh

  Prologue

  One Afternoon in Detention

  “Yo, gearhead!”

  “If I make like I can’t hear you, will you go away?”

  “Nope. So what’d you do to get in detention? I thought you were the Upstanding Student of the Year. Isn’t that what the shiny trophy said?”

  “What’s the deal with detention? Do we just sit around?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll give you the lowdown—after you tell me what you did to land your golden-boy halo in here.”

  “I helped lift and carry Mr. Boucher’s car to the other side of the school. He thought it’d been stolen.”

  “Hah! That’s pretty funny. Especially since Mr. Bozo’s the reason I’m in here.”

  “Yeah? What’d you do?”

  “Told him to his face that he was a big bully with a small dick. He was hassling Callie about answering stuff aloud in our last class, like getting in her face and whacking his stupid ruler down on her desk. And you know Callie.”

  “Shit. She okay?”

  “Got the guilts because I have detention, but hey, she didn’t make me point out Mr. Bozo’s small dick. She wanted to go to the dean and explain and stuff, but I said, ‘No way, Cals. I earned this detention, and I’m gonna do it proudly.’”

  “You’re all right, Jules.”

  “Ugh. We are not friends, Jacob. That’s Juliet to you.”

  1

  Jacob Esera vs. An Aggravated Ghost in Stilettos

  Jake’s big brother was getting married.

  Gabriel had taken his sweet time falling for a woman, but when he had, he’d fallen hard. Charlotte Baird owned Gabe’s heart, and Gabe was not only fine with that, he reveled in it. Not surprising given how the Bishop-Esera men had grown up—in a home with parents who adored each other to this day.

  Their mum kissed their dad each and every morning, rain or shine or occasional grumpiness. And while not an overly demonstrative man, their dad had never shied away from admitting that their mother was his lodestar.

  As Charlotte was Gabriel’s.

  “Have you seen Charlie today?” Jake asked Gabe as the six of them finished getting ready.

  Gabriel, Sailor, Jake, Danny, Fox, and Harry.

  Four brothers; Fox, a rock star who’d been adopted as family because his wife was best friends with Gabe’s Charlotte; and last but not least, Gabe’s best friend from his pro-athlete days—tall and quiet Harry with the big body and massive shoulders of a rugby prop. He and Gabe had stayed close even after Gabe’s injury took him out of the game. Jake had actually played alongside Harry for a year before the other man hung up his rugby boots in favor of a new career as a pilot.

  “I wish,” Gabe grumbled as he put on his suit jacket, his shoulders wide and his body as muscled as when he’d played professionally. “I tried to lure her out of the apartment last night while the women were having their party, and she messaged me emojis of champagne glasses, flames, and a fireman. I’m probably going to go home to find a stripper pole in the living room.”

  Jake glanced down to fix his tie. He and Charlotte had become good friends since Gabe introduced her to the family, so he was well aware that Charlotte had been teasing Gabe. Strippers weren’t Charlie’s style.

  The champagne though, that was real. Jake had delivered the box himself after picking up the special order featuring not just the bubbly but bottles of blueberry and strawberry wine.

  A bright blue and vivid pink respectively.

  It being early morning, Charlie and her friends had been readying themselves for a champagne breakfast. Their plans for the day included manicures and pedicures and a trip to Auckland’s Sky Tower for a harnessed bungy jump. Petite Charlie had been wearing a T-shirt that said: T-Rex Tamer on the front. The back had borne a cartoon drawing of a bow-tie-sporting T. rex holding a bespectacled mouse in his arms.

  The mouse had been wearing a wedding veil.

  Cake and cocktails had featured heavily in the women’s post-jump plans.

  When Jake checked on their hangover status this morning, he was told that everyone was functional. Apparently Charlie and the others had jumped off the Southern Hemisphere’s tallest building not once but twice. They’d been the last group of the day, and when—high on adrenaline—they’d asked the instructor if they could book another jump even though jumps were over for the day, he’d winked and taken them up for free.

  None of which Jake was authorized to reveal.

  While the women jumped off tall buildings, the men had gone black water rafting deep in the caves of Waitomo, finishing off the day with beers around a campfire. Included in the group had been a number of others. Those men were already in the church, acting as ushers, while the six of them stood in Sailor’s large living area, only minutes from getting into cars for the drive to the ceremony.

  It was the second time in his life that Jake was to be a groomsman.

  The first had been eight years ago, at Sailor’s wedding. He’d been a carefree sixteen-year-old kid then, with no awareness that his life was about to change forever in the two years to come. That kid might be long gone, to be replaced by a single dad with the sweetest little girl anyone could want, but one thing hadn’t changed: he was as happy for Gabe as he’d been for Sailor.

  “So you’re leaving for your honeymoon right after the reception?” Fox said after Danny helped him knot his tie; Fox could belt out a rock anthem like nobody’s business, but he was no expert at the whole suit-and-tie business.

  “Yeah.” Gabe stood in place while Harry pinned a “rose” to the lapel of his suit jacket. Fashioned from the pages of an old romance novel, the flor
al artwork looked ridiculously delicate against Gabriel’s stone-gray suit, but the juxtaposition worked. Just like Charlotte and Gabriel did. The last part of the men’s outfits would be the open leis of green foliage they’d wear around their necks, the ends falling on either side of their chests, a respectful nod to Gabriel’s stepfather’s culture.

  “Flights to Samoa are all booked. Bags are packed and waiting in the car.” A smile creased Gabriel’s cheeks.

  Jake’s phone rang into the low murmur of male voices. Glancing down, he felt his stomach clench. “I better take this. It’s Coach.”

  His brothers all looked over. “Good luck,” they said in unison.

  Breath tight in his lungs, Jake ducked out and into the rambling garden of Sailor and Ísa’s sprawling single-level villa. He loved his brothers but couldn’t take this call in front of them. He needed time to gather himself back together and prepare to lie through his teeth if it turned out to be bad news—no fucking way would he ruin Gabe’s wedding day.

  The grass was a lush green under the winter sunlight, the vines crawling up one side of the villa dotted with small blooms of bluish-white. Camellias in blush pink glowed against the fence in the distance, behind a garden planted with winter color—Jake recognized the vibrant pansies and yellow-orange polyanthus blooms because he’d helped plant them. A child’s bike stood propped beside the garden, its frame a glossy red and the handlebars festooned with ribbons.

  Jake saw it all, processed none of it.

  “Coach,” he said after putting the phone to his ear, “just give it to me straight.” He’d been out with a broken arm for a good chunk of the previous season, but he’d played his heart out for his regional team—the Harriers—in the months leading up to selection for New Zealand’s upcoming championship series against Argentina, Australia, and South Africa.

  The Harriers had taken the regional championship, though their archrivals, the Southern Blizzard, had made them earn the trophy. The pundits were predicting a heavy Harrier and Blizzard presence in the national squad, along with several standouts from teams that hadn’t shone as a group.

  That squad was being announced on Wednesday.

  Danny’s selection was a certainty, his current form phenomenal. According to all three of his brothers, Jake was the best first five-eighth in the world right now, but the New Zealand selectors had a deep pool in which to fish—and the shadow of injury haunted him. Also, no one usually called the players ahead of the official announcement. Legend was, Coach only called when it was bad news… like if a player was being permanently dropped.

  “I figured you’d say that,” Coach Lincoln Graves said. “Short version: you’ve done a fine job getting back into fighting shape, and you’re playing the best I’ve ever seen you play. Safe hands and magic feet. Well done, Jake—you’ll be in the squad we announce next week.”

  Jake slumped against the white wall of the villa.

  “I’m giving you an early heads-up because I wanted you and your brothers to feel free to celebrate the wedding without this hanging over your head,” Coach continued, his voice barely penetrating the buzz in Jake’s skull. “If anyone but Gabriel, Sailor, Danny, or your parents ask, you know nothing.”

  Jake managed to get out a few words. “I won’t tell anyone else.”

  “Right. I’d better head out or Neeta and I’ll be late to Gabriel’s wedding. Talk more at the reception.”

  Jake just stood there in the sunshine after Coach hung up, gulping in huge lungfuls of the crisp winter air. He hadn’t known how terrified he’d been until this moment. Rugby was the only thing at which he’d ever truly excelled—the one thing he could use to build the kind of future he wanted for Esme. He might’ve started off as a teen parent, but he was well on the road to making sure she’d never be disadvantaged because of that.

  No one would ever make his daughter feel small or a mistake; the children of rugby professionals got treated with respect. That went double for the children of those who played in New Zealand’s famous black jersey; Esme would be a little superstar on the playground.

  “Flippin’ flip!”

  He frowned at the sound of that husky female voice, a strange sense of knowledge murmuring at the back of his mind. That hadn’t sounded anything like Sailor’s wife, Ísa, but he’d been a bit zoned out, so it wasn’t as if he’d been paying full attention. What reason would any woman but his brother’s wife have to be here right now? All the women in the family—his and Sailor’s daughters included—were with the bridal party.

  Stepping away from the wall and through an arbor of fragrant purplish-pink blooms, he said, “Ísa? Did you forget...?” His eyes landed on the woman currently balancing on one foot while she slid her black stiletto heel back on the other foot.

  That heel had grass and dirt on it.

  Not only was her footwear inappropriate for a garden, her dress was… Narrowing his eyes, Jake hauled his primitive male brain past the sensual impact of her lush body, the heavy weight of her breasts revealed by the vee of her midnight-blue dress—a dress that wasn’t dealing well with her current precarious position. It was also of a soft, satiny material that made his palms itch to touch.

  Itch or not, if a rugby groupie had managed to get past the property’s locked gates, he’d throw her out on her shapely rear. He’d permit nothing to ruin Gabe and Charlotte’s day.

  Silky black hair streaked with bronze and red shifted over her shoulders as she lifted her head, her skin a creamy shade of brown. Dark eyes full of fire and annoyance smashed into his.

  “Juliet?” His neurons misfired, his brain white noise. “What are you doing in my brother’s backyard?”

  A roll of those wildly vibrant eyes as she finally lowered her foot to the ground. Her dress fell over her curves to reveal a wrap design that was technically decent, but—on that spectacular body—was the definition of indecency.

  Wrangling his mind into some sense of order, Jake scowled and squared his shoulders against the visceral sexual heat in his gut. For Juliet.

  “Esme broke her glasses.” Her body might no longer be all pointy elbows and gangly bones, but her voice was that same low contralto with an edge. “Ísa said you’d have a spare set in your car.”

  Jake still had no idea what the hell this ghost from his past was doing in Sailor’s backyard, but his paternal instincts trumped any and all other questions. “Is she hurt?”

  “No, she’s fine.” Red-lipsticked mouth glossy and full, a hand with manicured nails featuring tiny glittering stones. That hand held a set of keys. “She and Emmaline were playing and she tripped—right onto a bunch of cushions. Glasses just landed wrong.”

  Jake was already moving to where his gray SUV was parked in Sailor’s drive. The electronic gate was open at the other end, a hot-pink compact blocking the exit. The number plate read: S3X11.

  His lips tightened as he unlocked the SUV and reached into the glove box. Grabbing the glittery white glasses case his daughter had chosen with glee, he handed it over. He’d long ago become used to keeping a spare—having a little girl who wore glasses and who was despondent when the world became a blur was a quick learning curve.

  “Thanks.” With that, Juliet sashayed back down the drive, her skyscraper heels making any other form of movement impossible. Her hair was longer than he’d realized, reaching almost to her lower back. His eyes caught on her hips, on the curves of her butt, before he realized what he was doing and flushed.

  “You’re not wearing that to the wedding are you?” he asked in desperation.

  A hitch in Juliet’s stride, then a scalding glance over her shoulder. “Still got that stick up your butt, I see.” Sliding into her car with a slammed door, she zoomed off down the street.

  Jake slumped back against his car.

  And his brain finally connected the dots.

  “You’ll get to meet my friend Jules at the wedding,” Charlotte had said. “The one from pastry class. You two apparently went to the same high school.”
>
  As that high school’s roll of students had been well over a thousand, Jake hadn’t really thought anything of Charlie’s statement. Neither had he seen Juliet when he dropped off the wine and champagne. She’d either not attended the festivities or had been in another part of the apartment.

  And never, not once, had he connected Charlotte’s pastry-making friend Jules with snarky and tough Juliet. Why the hell would he? The Juliet he’d known had been all detentions and trouble and a messy braid.

  Now she was making pastry? And he’d been checking out her breasts?

  “Jesus Christ. Juliet.” He shook his head, trying to shake out the crazy.

  2

  The Bad Influence and Her Cold, Dead Heart

  Juliet strode into the den of chaos that was Charlotte and Gabriel’s home. “Ta-da!” She held up the spectacle case while keeping a tight lid on her simmering temper.

  Jacob Esera was lucky this was his brother’s wedding or she’d have had him eating grass. Juliet was no athlete, but her throwing arm was hella-accurate. A whack on the head with a well-aimed stiletto, and Mr. Judgy McJudgypants would’ve face-planted. Because she wouldn’t have aimed for the head on his neck. Oh no, she’d have aimed much lower down, right where it would’ve hurt the most.

  The image mellowed her temper into grim satisfaction.