Breaking A Bad Boy

  SILVER SPROCKET PUBLISHING

  Sweet & Spicy Tales

  Nashville

  CHAPTER 1

  “CHICKLETS, THIS NIGHT is gonna get wild,” Sommer Kincaid hooted and raised her shot glass high. Sitting on either side of her at the bar of the Double Diamond, Jen and Ivy held up their glasses in response. Second shot of the evening, and this bubbling one was Jen’s idea.

  “To getting wild!” Ivy echoed, tossing her dark hair. They all clinked and laughed at the sight of foam drizzling over the rims of their glasses.

  “Bottoms up!” Sommer said, tipping her shot.

  “Here’s to enjoying a slippery dick!” Jen hollered as they downed their drinks.

  Sommer’s cheeks burned at the thought of oral sex. On no hands could she count the number of times she’d given head. Same as sex. A big fat zero. If her friends had a clue as to her lack of experience, they’d keel over from the shock.

  She smacked her lips as the vodka, peach schnapps, and triple sec fizzle slid over her tongue. “Yummy,” she said, licking a sticky droplet from the corner of her mouth and scanning the sea of faces milling around the bar. Well that’s the closest she was going to get to slurping down a dick, unless a miracle occurred tonight.

  “Pinch me!” Jen whistled as her green eyes shifted from side to side, imitating a rowdy ping-pong ball. “Just look at the herd of men tonight. I swear Labor Day just keeps getting better and better around here.”

  “Or this year’s ranch recruits are hotter than hell,” Ivy remarked, making eye contact with a shaggy-haired Viking who just sauntered by with a wide grin.

  Before Sommer could blink, Ivy came off the barstool like greased lightning and wriggled her dress in place. Winking over at her and Jen, Ivy jutted her chin in the direction of the blond guy. “Girls, don’t wait up. I’m going deep.”

  “Work it,” Jen snickered boisterously as Ivy made her way through the crowd. Not a second later, Jen leaned over and whispered, “I’d better go with that wild woman. Looks like she might need back up.”

  “See you around.” Sommer watched Jen tuck a crimson curl behind her ear followed by the dialing of her hair into a twist. A telltale sign that the girl was on her game, and about to begin stalking. NASA countdown commencing now! 3-2-1…launch!

  The eye-catching dragon tattoo on Jen’s neck—Sommer’s design—was fully visible.

  “Once again, I’m the last man standing,” Sommer muttered to herself. “Not that I mind.”

  Jen spun back around, cocking her head. “For shit’s sake, Summer! Why don’t you let loose tonight? Come dance and show these cowboys a thing or twenty.”

  “No need. Really, I’m just talking nonsense. Rory and me…we got back together,” Sommer spluttered, a tense smile splitting her face.

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

  She shrugged, unwilling to comment on getting lucky other than to say, “Rory’s the lucky one.”

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

  “Go get ‘em,” Sommer replied, holding up a set of crossed fingers to her friend and secretly wishing herself well too.

  Jen didn’t get far before a dark-haired dude stepped in her path, stalling her friend’s progress. Sommer’s eyes widened as she got a good look at 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. “Those two just snagged a pair of rockers visiting our sleepy little town. Those hombres are untamed and can show a girl a helluva good time.”

  “How do you know?” Sommer asked, then rolled her eyes. “Stupid question. Should I ask, how much of a good time?” Nora ran the car wash, and she had the scoop on everyone, even before the local grapevine got the goods.

  “Let’s just say your girls won’t be walking straight. The blond Adonis is Hank’s cousin from Hollywood. Their band was down in Austin for the music festival last week. Came up for the barbeque. Gifted guitarist, or so I hear.”

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

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

  Nora popped a couple of peanuts into her mouth, chewing before commenting. “Stay clear of the other one. Tall, dark and dangerous from what I have witnessed—he’s a handful.” Nora scanned the crowd. “Those boys are on their way to L.A., stopping in and providing the entertainment. Looks like them guys are gearing up.”

  “For what?” Sommer asked, not daring to suggest the obvious: a night of scorching-hot sex.

  “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.”

  “Not anymore.” Nora smirked and jutted her chin toward the entrance. “Six o’clock alert. Here comes trouble.”

  Sommer glanced over toward the bar’s doorway and clamped her teeth down on the end of the swizzle stick she held poised in between her fingers. Her whole body clenched at the sight of Rory coming through the entrance. My god! His panty-melting grin worked his gorgeous face, making a pair of dimples flash and tease her. All the way to edge of sane thinking. The fact that they’d dated forever and were deeply in love wasn’t the issue.

  She sucked in a mouthful of air and just as fast, bit back a moan. “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 and were staring at Rory. Why not? He was a McLemore, and that bloodline equated to tall, hard-bodied, built—all of them blue-eyed versions of a bad boy. He was the youngest and feistiest of Wade McLemore’s sons, and her blood boiled each time she laid her eyes on him.

  A server passed in front of her line of sight, and Sommer huffed in frustration. When the waitress moved, Rory’s face came back into view and without warning his penetrating gaze collided with hers. The breath froze in Sommer’s lungs. For a few beats, she and Rory stared at one another across the crowded room. Blue-fire fused with her eyes, unleashing a jolt that tore through her body and landed deep in her belly.

  He arched a brow and his grin widened. For her. She swallowed and her chest tightened so much her nipples pebbled, pushing her sensitive and recently pierced tips against her shirt. She ached to feel his mouth on her skin—just once to confirm he was all she’d fantasized about and more. He greeted what seemed like a hundred folks on his way through the place as 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. She admired her handiwork that he sported, recalling the feel of the firm contours of his body under her fingers while working the ink gun.

  Finally, when she was nearly panting, he came up to the empty seat next to her. Her heart hammered like a racehorse against her ribs and she glanced down, a heat wave billowing over her cheeks. Ridiculous—to react this way to one man.

  “You got this saved for someone special, sugar?” he asked, in that deep voice of his that rumbled in his chest and awakened every one of her nerves.

  Get a grip, Sommer.

  “Funny,” she choked, removing her pu
rse off the stool. She turned back to him, flicking her long blond hair over her shoulder, and arching a brow. “Excuse me, but have we met before?”

  “About sixteen years’ worth of times. But tonight, baby, you’re a sight,” he said, towering next her. He looked down, meeting her eyes and seemingly stopped time. He smelled of the outdoors and the body gel she’d gotten him; together the combination had her aching. Sharper when his fingertips curled over her hip and he patted her rear.

  “Then cowboy stop talking and come dance with me,” she whispered in Rory’s ear after he slid onto the barstool next her.

  He leaned over and brushed his velvet lips against hers in a kiss that was both tender and hard. The kind she’d like to turn the flame up on and see where it led. And that was part of the problem. Flame. Fire. Getting naked. So far, it hadn’t happened. Not for her with him—or any other man.

  Four years.

  Seven months.

  Twenty-two days.

  And counting since they’d officially first started dating. And until the moment they’d do more than kiss, dry hump, and drive each other stark raving mad! Lately, being near Rory made her go all kinds of crazy. They might not be doing it for real, but they were blowing each other’s minds and he tormented her imagination every which way from Sunday.

  She squeezed her fingers around Rory’s bronzed, flexing bicep, savoring his warm skin against her palms, and admired her inking up close. Double crisscrossing bands of black ink and damn, her freehanded artwork looked unbelievable on his arm.

  “Baby, I just got here. Let me get something to drink,” Rory replied, giving her a once over hot enough to melt metal. “You look mighty appealing in that skirt. How about you come sit on my lap and tell me about your day?”

  “Rory—” Her voice was drowned by a cavalcade of greetings that suddenly filled the air.

  A line of men shuffled past; some wore work clothes, while others were clean-shaven and drenched in cologne. A few of her friends hung onto these boisterous guys like Christmas ornaments. They laughed and called out to her with a chorus of “Hey, Sommer!”

  The locals came here to enjoy the game, beer, and food that the Diamond served up during football season. For a Sunday night, the bar was overflowing with customers, what with this weekend’s combination cattle drive and the first NFL game. The sexual tension was thick enough to slice and serve on a plate. No question—afterwards, a majority of the couples were going home and getting busy.

  Someone called out, “Rory. Hey, dude!”

  Two guys from Evermore Ranch walked up and tipped their hats to her.

  “Sommer,” Ely said and smiled. Mike, the other man and a new hire, flicked his eyes to her for a second but said nothing.

  She recognized the men, ranch crew not much older than Rory. But he was their boss, now that he’d decided to stay put in Annona and follow in his family’s ranching business. More greetings filled the air. Some of the guys were temporary ranch hands, hired to help with the cattle drive, and others were guys she grew up with.

  “Hi Ely. Mike.” She forced herself to remain poised with a neutral expression yet couldn’t help bunching her shoulders as more and more men entered the area. Single studs—on the prowl, whooping and hollering. Yep, things were heating up.

  Rory fist bumped his crew and asked, “What did I miss? First quarter. Anyone score?”

  Mike pushed his cap back on his head. “Devils are ahead. Your soon to be brother-in-law caught a pass, but he got sacked on the thirty yard line.”

  “What the…are you talking about Brett?” Rory asked, cutting a glance toward the widescreen, though a commercial was on.

  “Unless your sister got engaged to another player?” Mike lifted his mug and drank.

  Rory snapped his focus to Mike. “Damn. How bad did he go down?”

  “He’s fine.” Mike nodded, and then frowned. “But I bet mad as a hornet. He got slammed. Rough. The Giants are dead serious tonight. The play just went down. Look, it’s on replay again.”

  Rory swung his attention to the widescreen television, watching the play, and Sommer cringed at the way Cory’s fiancé took the hit.

  She bit back from entering the conversation. No matter how many times she crossed paths with Mike, he left her with a bitter taste in her mouth in how he took people’s bets like it was nothing. About a year ago, Raeanna Kincaid her momma had made the mistake of getting involved with a man like him. A bookie. It had cost, her mom, a whole paycheck—one of the few Raeanna earned, from a string of jobs that hadn’t lasted. Luckily, it was a one-time deal, as were many of Momma’s forays prompted by manic bipolar spells. A condition her mom had and liked to ignore by refusing to take her medication consistently.

  Sommer focused on watching Brett Gold run and weave down the field on the TV screen. That NFL tight end was head-over-heels in love with Rory’s twin sister, and she’d met him a few times. Sommer was well acquainted with the McLemore clan. Went to school with Rory and Cory, starting in kindergarten and all the way until they’d graduated together from the high school down the block.

  Rory shook his head. “So the Giant’s defense is on the warpath. What are the points on tonight’s game?”

  Mike set his beer mug on the bar. He leaned on his forearms, smirking, and pulled on the bill of his ball cap. “You want in?”

  Rory peered over to the television screen then back at Mike. “You know it.”

  She pursed her lips, and inhaled sharply. She imagined in Rory’s book, tonight equated to football, beer, and laying down a few bets with his friends. Another raucous Sunday night in Annona, and far removed from the hot and sexy kind of boisterous behavior she was angling for this evening. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the bar, dousing herself in a round of self-talk. Just smile. Just keep smiling. That’s what her mom always said and the reminder lit a fire under her bottom. Some good it had done Momma, who probably right this moment was sitting on the sofa, watching Family Feud, and waiting on a man who wasn’t ever coming back.

  “Sommer.” Ely tipped his hat to her before slapping Rory on the back. “Boss, take it easy on Mike.” He also said something about playing a game or two of pool later on and moseyed down the bar.

  But Mike remained, and was now talking with Rory in a hushed voice. Probably taking his bet on tonight’s game. Mike and a few others around town booked bets, from real football to college ball, fantasy football, and other sports. Mike, like a lot of the guys on the ranches, had a thing for laying odds on anything that had more than one possible outcome. Sports, pool, cards, darts…heck, even the gender of the offspring of a prized breeder’s cow or horse sparked a betting pool of late. And her gorgeous cowboy had a way with winning. Lady Luck seemed to follow Rory around.

  Not her. Lady Luck gave her wide berth—another reason why Sommer had to fight tooth and nail to tempt Rory.

  Nibbling on her bottom lip, she let her gaze roam across Rory’s six-foot-three frame. He was just starting to get that bulk that his older brothers sported, and the stubble on his face had turned darker over the last year, casting a shadow of ruggedness across his carved features. She wondered what his beard would feel like scraping across her in other places besides her face and neck…say, skimming over her breasts or belly, and maybe between her thighs. She sucked in a breath, gripping the bar at the thought of doing something truly wild with Rory. For once.

  “Hey, dude,” the bartender called out from behind the bar. “What’ll ya’ll have?”

  Mike had pushed off, wandering down the bar, talking with some other guys. Rory touched her arm, running his fingers down her skin, and eliciting a shiver from her core. “Draft and whatever this spitfire is having,” Rory said, motioning to her and for a second, his attention flickered to the football game on the widescreen in front of them before returning to her.

  “Another slippery dick?” the bartender asked.

  “Tequila,” she supplied, her face heating when Rory’s jaw clenched and his brows drew toget
her.

  “Is that what you’ve been drinking?” Rory’s eyes were the shade of sapphires, backlit with a flame that had a tendency to blaze when he got angry.

  “Does it matter?”

  When he really got going, his eyes darkened like a stormy sky, and how she’d love to see those eyes darken for her in a bedroom.

  “Baby, I’m asking aren’t I? Did someone buy you that drink?”

  “No, just me and the girls. They’re out dancing and having fun.”

  Rory leaned over closer. “Just how long have you been here?”

  She stared back at him, her heart beating faster than a war drum. Stupid heart. “Long enough to know I’m tired of sitting and waiting.”

  His eyebrow lifted a titch, but enough to let her know he caught her meaning. She wasn’t talking about marriage. Hell, if she were, he’d be all over her. She and Rory didn’t see eye to eye on the idea of holy matrimony, although they did meet mouth to mouth, chest to chest, belly to belly, but that’s as far as it went.

  Down south was out of the picture.

  For him.

  Not for her.

  “Sommer, don’t start.” He tried to pull her to him, but she slipped off the other side of the barstool, out of his reach, and he came up empty, slapping his palm against his muscular thigh. His eyes glinted, smoky and intense in their depths, and she shivered from the heat that he kept harnessed.

  Damn. If he’d only unchain that side of him.

  Maybe she was the problem; something she lacked, and the reason he kept himself in check.

  “C’mon, darlin’. Give me some sugar before the game starts up again.”

  “Come dance with me first,” she said, bracketing her hips and enjoying the way his eyes shifted down her body, stalling at the neckline of her new shirt. One from a line of slinky T-shirts she’d created by learning how to cut and fashion material into body-hugging clothing. Tonight she wore an off-the-shoulder red version that draped over her breasts, with cut-outs along the sides. No way to wear a bra, and with her nipples fully erect, oh she was pretty certain she knew where Rory’s eyes feasted. Even so, her cowboy refused to bend to her will. He’d kept his jeans zipped and had given her a choice: marriage or celibacy.