Loving a Bad Boy (Bad Boys Western Romance Book 4) Read online

  LOVING A BAD BOY

  BEST-SELLING BAD BOYS WESTERN ROMANCE (Book 4)

  Susan Arden

  SILVER SPROCKET PUBLISHING ~ Nashville

  Sweet & Spicy Tales Imprint

  Copyright © 2016 by Susan Arden

  3rd Edition – Previously titled Breaking the Bad Boy

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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  PRAISE FOR LOVING

  I absolutely loved Rory. His character was refreshing. Having just read (yet another) book about a man-whore, I was so happy to stumble upon a male virgin.—Kelly F.

  Susan Arden did an excellent job incorporating the serious subject of mental illness into this book. It was tastefully done and did not weigh the story down. This was my first read from Susan Arden and I will go back and read the books I have missed from this series!—Syrena1

  This is the first book that I have read by Susan Arden and I can say that this won't be the last. I loved the story of Rory and Sommer and all of the things that she tried to do to get Rory to change…—Always Reading Books

  Another great story from Susan Arden. I love the detailing of the characters emotional and physical feelings. Their story didn't have much of a BDSM theme, but there was the alpha-male personality with Rory. I really liked Sommer's character. She wasn't the heroine that was needy or needed to be taken care, she was the one that wanted to stand on her own two feet...—Erin

  Alpha Male

  Alpha male. Noun.

  SPECIALIZED biology: the most successful and powerful male in any group.

  A strong and successful man who likes to be in charge of others. —Cambridge University Press

  Chapter 1

  This would go to her grave as long as Texas still served up capital punishment and death row.—Sommer.

  Sommer Kincaid elbowed her way through the crowd at the Double Diamond. Her target: the bar and a drink. She’d floored it like a NASCAR pro from Shreveport. The ninth casino on her list and the pit boss was too busy to nail her. She slipped out during the mayhem, following a plan that was hardwired into her brain, not by choice. “TGIF! Whoa, I made it!” she declared, flouncing down on the stool.

  “Girl, just in time.” Ivy pushed a bubbling concoction into her hand.

  Flanked by her friends, Sommer raised her shot glass that dripped orange-colored foam. “Here’s to getting tipsy!” And forgetting, she silently added. Using a GPS route, she’d tossed the wig and clothes that she’d worn into a dumpster in back of a gas station. Her hand trembled as she tossed the shot. God, she could use another six. Sommer waved down the bartender, “Hit us again. Same thing. Whatever it was, it was yummy.”

  “Sure thing, Kincaid.” He winked at her. “Three slippery dicks comin’ up.”

  In a blink, her face felt flame-broiled. Sommer turned to her friends and laughed, “We’re drinking slippery dicks?”

  “My idea. Until the real thing comes along,” Jen assured her with a muffled snicker.

  As the next round was mixed, Sommer fought not to squirm on the barstool as the skin at her ankle pricked and heated. She no longer wore that awful ankle monitor. Black and bulky and it had wrecked her picture-perfect accessorizing into the dust. The excessive heat of a long Indian summer this year mandated dresses, shorts, or skirts. Thank God, for cowboy boots!

  Cheering, Jen and Ivy held up their glasses, jarring Sommer back to the here and now. Second shot of the evening, and this bubbling concoction smelled amazing.

  “To getting lucky,” Ivy hooted and added, “And fifty shades rowdy!” They all clinked and chuckled.

  “Here’s to eight solid inches,” Jen hollered as they downed their drinks.

  Sommer tossed the shot. So good. The vodka, peach schnapps, and triple sec fizzled over her tongue. She smacked her lips. Ah, the magic fingers of an alcohol buzz swept over her scalp. Ladies night and the drinks were free—not an excuse to get plastered even if part of her life was unadulterated hell. It was almost over.

  Jen slammed down her glass on the bar and waved a hand at the bartender. “Who’s up for another? Let’s do a blow job next.”

  Better to focus on something like sex. Except, well, that’s the closest Sommer was going to get to eight inches of hot and crazy, unless a miracle occurred tonight. She licked a sticky droplet from the corner of her mouth, scanning the sea of faces milling around the bar. The man across the bar lifted his glass and toasted her. God, what was he doing here? On sight, everything about him made her skin crawl. She fought not to hurl her shot glass and hit him in the head. Only a fool would incite his malice.

  “I’m in,” Sommer declared to Jen. “Make it a double.” One more week, she could hold on. From the corner of her eye, she saw him rise. Crap!

  He loomed over those around and tipped his hat. His eyes flashed back in her direction along with a wide Colgate smile. Sommer gritted her teeth. That poser had better not come over and yank her chain in front of her friends. It was just the sort of thing he got off on. The sort of thing he reveled in, and most people excused. Folks in town were clueless about him and what floated his boat. If she couldn’t get free of him, an ankle monitor would be the least of her worries. One more week. Sommer, don’t be stupid.

  “Pinch me!” Jen wolf-whistled loudly as her eyes bounced from side-to-side, imitating a rowdy ping-pong ball. “Get a load of the hunks tonight. I swear Labor Day just keeps getting better and better around here.”

  “Or this year’s ranch recruits are hotter than h—.” Ivy went silent and her dark eyes went wide.

  Sommer swung around. Her heart pounded and she pretended to train her focus on whatever hunk had her friend staring with jaw-dropping intensity. From the mirrored walls, she covertly watched the slimeball in his starched uniform. He tossed cash onto the bar as if he were some high roller. This was a small-town. Everyone thought they knew him and his dirt-poor family. She doubted many were acquainted with his particular interests and her belly knotted.

  “Damn,” Ivy whispered, staring at a shaggy-haired Viking. He slowed, flashing her friend a scorching grin.

  More men poured in, shouting at the hold up, and the Viking looked over his shoulder at Ivy, mouthing something Sommer couldn’t make out. The blond hunk cut right in front of her worst nightmare: Clayton Bell.

  He said something to the Viking, who in turn flipped Clay the bird. For a tense second, Sommer watched, mutely, vicariously cheering the Viking on. Deck him!

  Like predators, they stared unblinking, then the blond hunk laughed in Clay’s face.

  “Looks like Deputy Bell isn’t happy,” Jen cooed. “Poor baby. Lord how I’d love to get him naked and in my bed. His handcuffs could use a workout.”

  “You aren’t serious!” Ivy scoffed. “He’s married and his wife is pregnant. Again. What’s it now, five…six rug rats.”

  “A girl can have a fantasy, can’t she?” Jen retorted. A gleam in her eye that sparked brighter as Bell passed by and suddenly halted.

  Deputy Bell bent down and when he rose, he held a purse. Hers. Sommer felt the blood drain from her face. Unlike Clay whose face appeared burnt from indignation and embarrassment. He wasn’t accustomed to putting up with anyone’s ego other than his own.

  “This belong to one of you ladies?” Over his hooked thin finger dangled her bag.

  “It’s mine.” She took hold of the straps.


  “Better take care, Miss Kincaid,” he offered as if he were concerned about her welfare.

  Jen giggled. “My, my. Such a gentleman.”

  Sommer pulled her bag but Clay refused to let it go. His grayish-colored eyes traveled up and down her body like a rabid creature in need of being put down. “Aren’t you due home?” he pointedly asked her. “To see after your momma?”

  Hatred and anger hit Sommer in one sharp blast. A red haze swam before her eyes. Reflexively, she clenched her jaw and channeled her loathing into her core, down, down all the way to her toes. Seething, she robotically spoke, “Thanks for the concern, but she’s fine.”

  Tittering, Jen bumped her shoulder and leaned over toward him. “For Pete’s sake Clay don’t be such a stick in the mud.”

  His eyes narrowed at Jen. “Am I talking to you?”

  Jen sputtered as Sommer hissed, jerking her purse in a hard snap, “Isn’t it time you left? Let go of my bag. Now.”

  Bell didn’t blink but kept his eyes on Sommer as though a taut rope were tied around her neck and all he had to do was yank. What she’d done to survive that noose flared brightly in her mind. For a second, Sommer couldn’t erase or pretend she didn’t notice the blatant way Bell visually undressed her shame and poked at it just because he could as a lily-white deputy.

  “See ya around, Miss Kincaid. Don’t get into trouble, ya hear. ” The razor sharp slice of his threat peeled away her bravado.

  Sommer’s stomach twisted as if she’d been kicked in the ribs. A cold chill swept up her spine and she shuddered.

  “What’s got into him?” Ivy asked. “Sommer, don’t let him rattle you.”

  “He’s just got a severe case of blue balls. Bet he isn’t getting any at home,” Jen tittered. “Just needs to get laid. Same as us.”

  Jen couldn’t be more wrong and why Sommer couldn’t stew over Clayton Bell. It was more productive to relegate him to a faraway oblivion—the place she stored things unthinkable. Deputy Demento had a large parcel of real estate in that murky void. Soon, he’d be a nasty memory that she intended on never revisiting. If she had to avoid Giles county, the district where the Diamond lay, she’d never step foot here, or in any district, where Bell worked.

  “Earth to Kincaid!” Jen snapped her fingers in front of Sommer’s face.

  “Ya man,” she replied in a Rastafarian accent.

  “Who’s up for a wager?” Jen asked. “First one to score buys drinks next week.”

  “Count me in.” Jen nudged her. “Sommer?”

  “Not about to take that wager,” she spouted. Gambling is exactly what got her into this mess and it wasn’t going to take her down.

  “Smart woman. Not me.” Winking over at her, Ivy jutted her chin in the direction of the blond guy. “Girls, that’s one hell of a hot damn and an amen.”

  “Work it!” Sommer hooted. Before she could blink, Ivy came off the barstool like greased lightning and wriggled her dress in place.

  “Don’t wait up, I’m going deep.” As Ivy made her way through the crowd, Sommer whistled. Not a second later, Jen smirked, tucking a crimson curl behind her ear. She followed up by the dialing of her hair into a twist. Telltale that the girl was about to launch into prowl mode. NASA countdown commencing.

  “Taking off?” Sommer asked and Jen giggled nervously.

  “How’d you know?” The dragon tattoo on Jen’s neck—Sommer’s design—was fully visible.

  “Lucky guess.”

  Jen jogged her chin toward the dance floor. “I’d better go keep an eye on that wild woman. Looks like Ivy might need back up with that crew encircling her.”

  Leaning over, Sommer scanned the crowd and spotted Ivy talking with a group of guys. Then she noticed one of them was staring back at her. Cocking his dark head, he winked.

  Alarmed, she snapped upward and gripped the bar. “Which one has got you reeling?”

  “Long, dark hair and tats. What can I say?”

  “Abort?” Sommer blurted. When Jen’s eyes widened, she felt guilty coming off as a wet blanket. Better to wish her well, than be a killjoy. “Leave your purse? I’ll hold down the fort.”

  Jen spun back around. “For shit’s sake, Sommer! Why don’t you let loose tonight? What’s come over you lately? Come dance and show these cowboys a thing or three.”

  “No need. Really, I’m gonna let loose. Paint-peelin’ white-hot. Rory and I… We got back together. He should be here. Any second.” A tense smile split her face.

  “Oh don’t you beat all! You’re so dang lucky.”

  Lucky? Hah! “Rory’s the lucky one.”

  “For sure. It’s all about make-up sex,” Jen screeched. “Now, wish me some luck since you already have your own personal version of sin-on-a-stick.”

  “Go get ‘em.” She held up a set of crossed fingers.

  Jen marched right over to the dark-haired dude stepping in his path, stalling his progress. If there was one thing Jen wasn’t, it was shy. Sommer did a double take, zeroing in on the guy’s half-sleeve tattooed arms.

  “Lighten up. You’re about to burn a hole in someone.” Nora bumped her shoulder, pushing a pair of empty mugs over the counter, and held up two fingers to the bartender.

  “Nope. Just looking at a guy’s tats. And watching Jen and Ivy over there.”

  “Oh my!” Nora snorted and slapped her hands on the bar. “Your friends just snagged a pair of rockers. Wild as all get out and have a scorching reputation.”

  “How do you know?” Sommer asked, then rolled her eyes. “Stupid question. Should I ask, how hot?”

  Nora ran the car wash, and she had the scoop on everyone, even before the local grapevine got the goods.

  “Let’s just say those girls won’t be walking straight. The blond Adonis is Hank’s cousin from L.A. A gifted guitarist, or so I hear. Hellhound, their band was down in Austin for the music festival last week. Came up to Annona for the barbecue.”

  Hank owned the Double Diamond and dated Nora. More than likely, every single person aged twenty-one on up would be here for the barbecue tomorrow.

  Sommer prodded her, “Well, don’t stop there. Spill the rest.”

  Nora popped a couple of peanuts in her mouth, chewing before commenting, “Stay clear of the other one. Tall, dark, unruly from what I’ve witnessed—he’s a handful. Those boys are on their way back to Hollywood, stopping in and providing the entertainment tomorrow.”

  “Live music.” She nodded in approval.

  Nora scanned the crowd. “Looks like them guys are gearing up.”

  Besides the obvious, a night of scorching-hot sex, Sommer wondered what more could they be after. “Gearing up for what?”

  “Their band is playing a set after the game. Anyway, I better get back to my own man. Where’s Rory?” Nora asked, picking up the two frosty mugs the bartender just set down.

  “Don’t know. He’s late.”

  “Whoops. Not anymore.” Nora jutted her chin toward the entrance with a smirk. “Six o’clock alert. Here comes trouble. Looks like he’s seen better days.”

  “It’s the cattle drive that’s got him going.” Sommer glanced over at her boyfriend dwarfing the doorway and bit down on the end of the swizzle stick pinched between her fingers. Her whole body clenched at the sight of Rory sporting his customary frown. Didn’t matter, he was drop-dead gorgeous. More so when he smiled. The only time his single dimple dented his cheek and teased her to the edge of sane thinking.

  A twinge flickered in Sommer’s chest. The fact that they’d dated forever and were deeply in love wasn’t the issue. “Take it easy,” she mumbled to Nora.

  Shifting on the barstool, Sommer flicked her gaze from one side of the bar to the other, taking in the number of women who had also stopped in their tracks and were staring at Rory. Why not? He was a McLemore, and that bloodline equated to towering, hard-bodied, built. He was the youngest, dark-humored, and feistiest of Wade McLemore’s sons.

/>   A server passed in front of Sommer’s line of sight and she fought to stop from craning her neck. When the waitress moved, Rory’s face came back into view, and without warning his penetrating gaze collided with hers. Blue-fire fused with Sommer’s eyes, unleashing a jolt that tore through her body and landed deep in her belly. For a beat, they stared at one another across the crowded room.

  Rory cocked a brow and his lips curved up. For her. Sommer’s chest tightened so much her nipples pebbled. She ached to feel his mouth on her skin—just once to confirm he was all she’d fantasized about and more. Her cowboy greeted what seemed like a hundred folks on his way through the place. Every second, she savored the effect of his black T-shirt, straining over the miles of sculpted muscle housed underneath. ‘Drool-worthy’ should be stamped above the tribal band she’d recently inked on his left bicep.

  Her heart hammered like a racehorse against her ribs as a heat wave billowed over her cheeks. Ridiculous to react this way to one man.

  Finally, he came up to the empty seat next to her. “Got this saved for someone special, sugar?” he asked in that baritone voice of his that rumbled in his chest and awakened every one of her nerves.

  Flicking her long blond hair over her shoulder, she arched a brow at him. “Excuse me, but have we met before?”

  “About six million times.” Rory squeezed her rear and his bright blue eye suddenly darkened. “But baby, tonight you’re a sight.”

  After he slid on the barstool next her, she whispered in his ear, “Then cowboy stop talking and come dance with me.”

  He slanted closer, his gaze drilling into her eyes, and seemingly stopped time. He smelled of the outdoors and the sandalwood body gel she’d gotten him. Together the combination had her aching. Sharper when his fingertips curled over her hip.

  “Darlin’, I just got here. Let me get something to drink.” Rory gave her a once-over hot enough to melt metal. He brushed his warm lips against hers in a kiss that was both tender and hard.