"So, when are you going to grace the gallery with your presence again?" Jenelle asked, taking a healthy bite of her hotdog.

"Soon as the hullabaloo dies down," she said, pulling her eyes away from Marshall and over towards the field as the game kicked into gear. She tracked Payton's movements as she took charge of the ball and steered through the opposing team's offense like they weren't even there.

"I've finalized an offer with Declan Mackenzie for Lavender Cottage."

Jenelle snapped silver eyes popped in surprise and she lowered her hot dog to her lap. "Seriously? When did this happen?"

"I met with him yesterday evening."

"And you're only telling me now? Jesus, Eva, what happened? What did he say?"

Eva worked through the gist of the conversation and their negotiated deal; a copy of which she had signed and tucked away in her desk at home. And bit down on her lip as Payton set up the goal, took aim—but was thwarted by a goalie out to make her daughter work for it.

Good. The last three games Payton had cleaned the scoreboard; it was time someone gave her a bit of a challenge.

"But...didn't you have some credit issues?" Jenelle asked when the ball was back in play. "Wasn't that why we had to take the lease for the gallery in my name and not yours?"

"Yes, I know, but I've been saving up for a while and some funds cleared recently. I was hoping to put down a sizeable payment so I could pay him directly and avoid the banks altogether."

"I guess I should tell you we had a bidding war over Proceed with Caution the other day that resulted in a sale price just shy of two thousand dollars." Lips drawn into a smirk, Jenelle bumped shoulder to shoulder as Eva sat agog. "You're welcome."

Eva shook her head. "What, is that a Davis catchphrase or something? Your brother said the same thing to me last week."

"Maybe it should be. If I hadn't gone ahead with our social media presence, we might not be seeing the numbers we are now." Tossing copper locks over her shoulder with a bat of her lashes, Jenelle set a hand to her chest. "By the way, I expect a sizable bonus for my efforts. I hear Milan in September is stunning."

"And what do you plan to do in Italy?"

"Besides shop?" Jenelle laughed. "Find some gorgeous Venetian hunk, preferably heir to a stunning little vineyard, and have a reckless, passionate affair."

"I think Dwight might have something to say about that," Eva said, referring to the Samoan hunk from Vancouver's mainland.

"I had to cut him loose," Jenelle said around a dainty bite.

Eva shifted her gaze from the game, assessed her friend. She didn't look upset, but she knew that Jenelle was good a keeping emotions close to the chest. It was one of the reasons they both got along so well.

"What happened?"

"He was getting too serious for my taste," she sighed, brushing a hand across her thigh. "I liked him. But not enough for long-term potential. I'm holding out."

"For what?"

Jenelle's teeth sank into her bottom lip and she rolled it carefully. "Fireworks. Fierce. Consuming. I want that punch the second I see him. Someone to make me feel all..." she shivered dramatically, eyes widening to match her glorious smile. "Tingly."

Taking the last bite of the hot dog, Eva paused mid-chew to lick ketchup off her finger. "That's the feeling of common sense fleeing your body, otherwise known as lust. Not love."

Shrugging with a grin, Jenelle balled up the foil and tossed it in a plastic bag of garbage at her feet. "All the same. You know what I mean."

But she did know. She knew exactly, because right at this moment, a similar surge of electricity was skipping over her skin, firing across some pretty sensitive nerve endings leaving her hot and cool and breathless all at once.

Annoyed at having her hormones stirred up by the likes of Marshall, Eva decided to steer her attention back to the field and away from sexually charged territory.

"You know, Eva, in all seriousness, we're doing good but not that good. If you want to buy Lavender Cottage...you're talking hundreds of thousands of dollars. You should consider working with Marshall. His articles would give us serious traction and create the leverage you need."

"Don't worry about me, Jen. I'll find a way," Eva said, swiping a hand through the air. Drawing a line on the subject.

"This seat taken?"

She barely had a moment to register the question when a heavy male body plunked down on the bleachers next to her. The stretch of seating rattled beneath his weight. Using his height and long legs to his advantage, Marshall had climbed up the side of the bleachers rather then wasting time with the stairs. She turned, scowling at him; half a hotdog crammed into his mouth and eyes glued to the field.

"Which one's yours?" he asked, mumbling around a mouthful of food.

"Number eight," Jenelle said, speaking around her.

Eva saw the tracking movement of his eyes as they searched the pitch and settled on Payton as she drove the ball into the opposing net. She was a streak of blue and gold, dancing and steering around her opponents. Payton slid around and, lobbing the ball up with a flick of her ankles, spiked it with her forehead, tying the numbers.

"She's good," he said as Eva and Jenelle's screaming cheers died down, adding an impressed nod. "Quick on her feet."

"I'm trying to watch the game."

He was too damn close, his thigh pressing heavily against hers. Eva tried to shift, to lessen that point of contact, but Jenelle was tight on her other side leaving not so much as an inch to pull away. Heat poured into her from that simple connection. And sent warm tingles coursing through her body.

Marshall kept his gaze on the field, and observed Eva from the peripheral line of sight. She sat rigid as stone, eyes locked to the game, in part because she wanted an excuse to ignore him. Fine, he thought. He was used to her freezing him out.

But whether she was aware of it or not, she let her mask slip once of twice as number eight danced and wove around midfielders and forwards. The kid was sharp. Fluid. And a hell of a team player, stepping back to pass the ball to her teammates, creating the perfect setup and letting another take the glory.

A real mark of character, he mused, and a testament to the woman who'd raised her. As the breeze shifted around them, he caught the subtle hint of honey and cream and something entirely Eva. Whatever it was, he liked it. Wanted more of it.

So she paints her toes and enjoys sweetly scented lotions. The woman was a puzzle. And, Marshall thought with a smirk, he was good a solving puzzles.

When the whistle blew for halftime, Eva shot up, muttered something about going for a walk to stretch her legs, and sliced around Jenelle for the steps.

"Well," Jenelle asked and gave him a knowing look, tossed a nod in Eva's wake. "What are you waiting for?"

Why the heck not? Thanking his father's side for the gift of long legs, Marshall caught up before she'd reached the last step.

"Hold up, I'll walk with you." He swooped a friendly arm around her shoulder but Eva dodged and Marshall laughed, not the least bit offended.

"I thought we agreed to be friends?"

Rounding the field, veering towards the cars and away from prying eyes, or ears, Eva glowered up at him. "Why won't you stop pestering me? A story can't be worth this much aggravation?"

"Maybe I like you."

"Then you're a sadist."

"Every day but Sunday." She turned her head, but Marshall saw the quirk of her lips, and swung around, keeping pace with a backward stride. "Was that a smile? Did I actually get Ms. Eva Turner to smile?"

Groaning, Eva stopped, set her hands to her face and dragged them down slow. The mask was gone and she couldn't hide the smile any longer, or the laugh. And Marshall had to admit it did wonders to her face. Softening and rounding all those hard, tense lines. Lighting her eyes so they glowed like amber caught in the sun. They really were quite incredible.

For reasons he couldn't quite grasp, he wanted to draw her closer, until that firm little body was snug against him. And that mouth, beautifully sculpted and smiling, was his for the taking.

Where, he thought with a sobering shake of his head, did that come from?

Adjusting the bill of her hat, Eva looked up at him. He'd left his hair out today. And the wind teased and pulled and made her want to draw closer, to reach up and thread her fingers through those gilded layers. With the sun at his back, light haloed him, making him appear almost ethereal.

And for a moment she wished she'd brought her camera, one of the older models, so she could capture him in film, just like this. All bronzed and scruffy and masculine. He couldn't look more perfect if he'd tried.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked, head listing to the side.

"Why?"

"I was thinking I could join you in the field. Watch you work."

"Why?" Eva echoed again.

"You won't let me interview you, but you did say it was okay to focus on the art. You in the zone would make for an interesting feature."

Eva sighed, crossed her arms over her chest, eyes shifting down and back up to him. Working through all the angles. Trying to find a way around him. Or to shake him loose.

"You could bring me along with you," he said, brows winging high. "Or I could follow you around like a second shadow. Your call."

Eva ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth, a glint of challenge in her gaze. "I never shoot in the same place twice. Can't follow me if you don't know where to find me."
"I'll find you Ms. Turner. It's what I do. What I'm good at."

"I'm better."

His smile flashed and Eva's belly knotted with the thought of what that mouth could do if it were pressed against hers. "Wanna bet?"

"Only a sucker would go up against a hustler." Christ the man was relentless. And dammit, she liked him. Eva chewed the inside of her lip to keep from smiling a second time. Tossed in a 'Hailey-esque' eye roll, though an idiot could see it only went skin deep.

"What do I have to do to get rid of you?"

He drew closer, smiled, and, though a very female flutter winged in her belly, she held her ground.

"The sooner you give me what I want, the sooner I'll be out of your hair." Swiping her cap off her head, he mussed a hand through her hair. As she sputtered and cursed, he tossed the hat up. She caught it deftly, and with a snarl.

"God, you're like a damn kid."

"All I want are a couple of measly articles, Eva," he said, reaching up to tug on a lock of dark hair curling around her ear that she hadn't tucked away. "There's got to be a way we can work together. I scratch your back, you scratch mine."

Eva opened her mouth to cut him off cold when Jenelle's words echoed back to her.

Bidding war over Proceed with Caution. Sold for two thousand dollars...

Closing her mouth, she pressed her lips into a thin, determined line. Nodded. As the saying went, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

"I'll let you have your articles, on three conditions."

"Shoot."

"First, we adhere to the same strict understanding that I am kept out of them. My name. My face. My girls. All references to me as a photographer will be done using my alias, Eddie Blake. Period and non-negotiable."

Marshall pursed his lips, weighed his options. "Done. Next?"

"I review the articles before they go to press. If I don't give the okay, they don't print. Also non-negotiable."

"And third?"

"With each article we tag on a limited edition piece that will be auctioned to the highest bidder."

His blue eyes flashed with understanding. "You're looking to drum up a bidding war. Why?"

"Not your concern."

"Eva. Come on." He said, settling a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not asking as a reporter. I'm asking as friend." She shrugged off his hand.

"We're not that friendly."

"Yet," Marshall countered with a smile though the statement stung, and he couldn't quite figure out why. "I'll agree to all of that, but you've got to meet me halfway, Eva. I've got editors with lofty expectations. They want you. I can sell them on this weekly art spotlight so long as I've got something to dangle at the end of this."

Eva gnawed at her lip. Sighed. "I'll agree to another brief interview. I want a short list of questions up front and will only answer the ones I'm comfortable with."

"How brief."

"Five questions."

"Ten."

"Five."

"Eight," Marshall countered. "Eight and I promise to cap it there. Scouts honour."

"Eight," Eva agreed. "We work together on this, Marshall, or we don't work at all."

"You're the boss," he said, miming a salute. "Do we need to seal this in a blood oath or spit-shake?"

Eva rolled her eyes again, smile spreading fast and bright. "I start early. Seven sharp. Meet me at my place. Be on time," she tossed over her shoulder, walking away, "or don't bother coming."