Page 7 of Fashionista's Playbook

The contract I’d signed for the Texas Outlaws was the largest I’d ever been offered. If making them happy meant hiring a personal assistant, I was down. But like everything else in life, I’d do it my way.

If I had a type, Moriah was it. It wasn’t just the banging body, but she was smart. She hadn’t judged me when she’d walked into the jeweler’s, designer bag over her arm—hadn’t even known who I was.

But what taunted me, waking and sleeping, was the way her eyes had darkened the moment she’d wrapped her fingers around my wrist. What would those eyes look like after I’d kissed her, after I’d run my hands over those curves?

I hadn’t had a fucking crush since middle school. Vin would give me shit for sure if he knew. Maybe hiring her hadn’t been the best idea.Fuck it.I tucked the ball under my arm, grabbed the tablet, and stalked across the kitchen.

I shoved open the side door just as the leggy, full-figured woman in question climbed from the backseat of a small SUV.

I bit down to keep my mouth from hanging open.

There’s no way I’d take back hiring Moriah; not when she showed up looking likethat.

She was definitely the sexiest prospect from the bunch. The curve of her high waist was the perfect place for my hands. Not thin, but something I could hold on to. I flexed my fingers on the tablet, before switching it for a tennis ball I could toss and catch.

Anything to keep from staring at the ample swell of her breasts, visible through the deep cut in her suit jacket.

Fucking shit.Clutch was always prancing around with some social media influencer-lingerie model. But none of them had more curves than a southern backroad. Moriah did.

I needed to get laid or something—and fast.

As I stepped out onto the driveway, she beamed at me. Not that I needed to be reminded she wasn’t just built like a brick house, she was damn beautiful. A heart-shaped face framed large, beguiling blue eyes, a pert nose, and a bowtie mouth that was painted an enticing shade of pink.

When she smiled, a dimple flirted from her right cheek, and I was a goner, past the fifty-yard line and right into the redzone.

“Hi, Mr. Madera, nice to see you again.” She offered her hand.

With a grimace, I enclosed her palm in my free hand. “Travis… please.” My stomach jolted with electric shock at the contact. I pulled my hand away quickly to rub my palm over my jaw to rid myself of the tingling sensation.

I could barely form a coherent thought as I stood there, staring at her. I cast a glance at the watch on my wrist. “You made the right call.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and she peered down at her feet. “I’m sorry about all that, but thanks.”

“Nah, don’t apologize.” I held the door for her and led her into the house. The scent of her as she breezed by me could only be more alluring if she’d been flushed and sweaty from sex.

I shook that thought away before I embarrassed us both.

Her heels clicked smartly on the floor as she followed me into the kitchen, leaving me feeling like an oversized gorilla.

Get it together, Madera.

I didn’t bother looking at Vincent, he’d point out exactly how oaf-like I was. An older brother was a great way to keep a guy humble.

Once in the large, open kitchen I dropped the ball, and gestured with the tablet I still

held to the marble topped island with highbacked stools. “That’s my brother Vincent, you met him briefly. And my tattoo artist, Jace. Guys, this is Moriah.”

When her skirt stretched tightly across her ass as she climbed onto a stool, I turned away and coughed. Ogling her every chance I got would make me no better than a common pervert. When Vincent raised his eyebrows, I glared at him with so much steel he ducked his head and grinned.

Older brother or not, I was the biggest—and I paid the damn bills.

“Here’s several reference letters.” She slid the stack across the island. I glanced over them briefly. None of that stuff mattered all that much, what I wanted to know was more about her.

“How’d you end up in Texas?”Do you have a boyfriend, do you want one?

She pursed her lips and shifted around, like it was her turn to feel uncomfortable in her skin. “Got a degree in Fashion and Design, did several internships in New York. Some work in Miami. That didn’t work out, my best friend was here, and that beat running home to my parents.” She didn’t continue.

Fair enough. Wasn’t really my business.

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