Breaking A Bad Boy Page 24

  “What are you doing in here?” she gasped, holding up the dress to her chest as her heart raced and her face heated.

  “Just watching you, beautiful. Shit, Sommer you have had me going since Labor Day. But it was worth the time it took to get you to come out here,” he replied, holding his cell phone out and snapped a picture. “You’re more stunning than I remember.”

  “Are you depraved or just the spawn of the devil? You have no right to sneak in here and watch me—take a picture of me—while I’m trying to clean up.”

  “Then you should have locked the door,” he said, looking like he could barely restrain his smile. The familiar, repulsive Cheshire cat grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, and she itched to slap the smile off his face.

  “You’re a freaking stalker!” Her chest heaved and she wanted to hurl something at Drew’s head. She stood there, half-clothed, and unable to move, feeling frozen to the spot as she scanned the room. The bedroom door was shut…he entered and must have shut the door behind him.

  On this side of the house, who would hear me if I called out for help? The music outside was loud, and inside the room, echoes of drunken laughter rose and fell. This had to be on the far end of the patio—actually, she had no idea how the patio was laid out.

  She went to the bathroom doorway, watching his eyes widen, and slammed the door shut. She thought she heard him laugh. Low and sure, as if he thought this were a game she was playing.

  Inside the bathroom, she was truly caged, and her heart hammered faster. Shit! No window she could climb out of, and the bathroom door handle jiggled, pricking her senses. She pulled on the dress that felt damp and chilly against her skin.

  Drew knocked. Two slow thuds on the door. “Sommer, come out. I just want to talk. Get to know you better.”

  She stepped backward and bumped into the edge of the vanity. The only thing inside the bathroom, herself aside, was TP and a hand towel. She couldn’t even make a run for the bedroom door with these god-awful stilts on her feet—she just had to choose neck-breaking heels.

  “Leave. Me. Alone,” she replied, staring at the door as though she could will Drew away.

  “Now that’s something I just can’t do,” Drew said and the doorknob rattled again. “I can always get a screwdriver and take this handle off. Wouldn’t be the first time I had to.”

  CHAPTER 18

  HAYDEN CLAPPED RORY on the back. “I’m going hook up with my band. We have a meeting, and I’m late. Traffic in L.A. is so fucked up compared to back home.”

  “A meeting…here?” Rory asked, glancing at the masses coming and going, not to mention the loud, ear-popping music. Haden was practically hollering as they approached the front doorway. A person would need a microphone to be heard.

  “Don’t be fooled. A hell of lot of deals are brokered in places like this.” Haden held out his hand to his girlfriend. “Sin?”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” Rory replied, distracted by the booming music he felt thrumming in his chest. An erratic beat, out of synch with his already chaotic thoughts, irritated and reminded him of his singular desire: to go inside and find Sommer.

  “Vince’s band is here. I just saw a few of their road crew. I guarantee Sommer and Ivy are around,” Haden said, threading his fingers together with his girlfriend. Sin smiled shyly up at him, reminding him of one of those fancy cats, the way her almond eyes blinked slowly.

  “Thanks for the lift.” The muscles all over Rory’s body constricted over his bones. “I’ll find her.”

  “We’ll meet up later and deal with your bag,” Haden replied, waving and weaving his way through the swarm of people with Sin in tow. Jesus H. Christ. He’d never been to a home this clogged with guests, and more were behind him.

  Following in the wake of Haden and Sin—or in the general direction they’d disappeared in, Rory walked through the house, within a stream of folks, and out to the huge patio overlooking the hazy glow of the city below. He directed his gaze across the crowd from where he’d come with the intensity of madman, until the sea of people melded into swatches of color and sound, swirling all around him. Only over by the railing were there uncluttered spots, devoid of chatter and bodies.

  Near the corner, he leaned over the railing and dialed the number from Sommer’s one and only message. After calling three times earlier without anyone answering, he’d left a short message on hearing that the cell number belonged to Ivy.

  Holding the phone up to his ear, he listened to the droning ring, gritting his teeth, and scanning the crowd for any sign of Sommer. He targeted his focus on blond heads, but so far, his Pavlovian response didn’t get into the game. In a sea of blondes, none were quite the right shade. The heights of the women were off. The contours each possessed weren’t the ones branded into his brain. The mesmerizing, golden gaze unique to Sommer eluded him, face after face, ratcheting up his frustration.

  Finally, the line clicked and he heard a faint, “Hello?”

  Relief eased the torqued set of his jaw, but before he could say a word, a sharp, ‘Holy cow! Watch it, buddy!’ filled his ear from his phone.

  “Sommer?” He listened to more noise and random voices. About time he finally connected with Sommer—only this wasn’t her on the other end.

  “Hello? Crap. Hold on…can you hear me now?” the girl blurted loudly.

  “Hey, Ivy,” he said, recognizing her voice.

  “Rory?” Ivy’s voice was washed out by the sound of music all around him. “Is that you? Hellooo?” She sounded like she was going to hang up.

  He glanced down at the bars on his phone that alternated between one and none. He lifted the phone to his cheek, and asked, “Ivy, can you hear me?”

  For the last hour, he’d called and texted Sommer’s phone, which he was now convinced, was dead, then switched back to the phone number she’d called him from. He skated a fine line between wanting to howl, and needing to verify she was okay. He’d kept his cool in place by a thread. And that thread was ready to snap.

  Ivy’s voice wavered. “Hey. Welcome to L.A. The city where cell reception bites it. Big time.”

  “Listen, I tried calling earlier.” He cupped his phone, a grin spreading over his face. “Let me speak with Sommer.”

  “Well okay. Ummm, Rory,” Ivy faltered and instantly, he felt the smile vanish from his face. “We’re at a party and it’s insane. I can’t find her.”

  “I’m here with Haden.” He straightened and scanned the crowd, looking for Sommer or Ivy. Or anyone from either of the bands.

  “What did you just say?” Ivy asked, her voice rising in volume so much he grimaced.

  “Ivy, I’m here in Los Angeles. You’re at the blowout in the hills. Correct? I’m standing out by the pool, overlooking the valley.”

  “Do you see a leopard raft in the pool?” Her voice trailed off.

  Swinging his focus over to the pool, he spied slices of bright blue, water in between the cluster of guests, and walked over to the edge. Sure as shit there was a raft, resembling a drowned leopard, and two naked women were bouncing on top. People were standing around with only a few actually paying much attention to the women in the pool. Most were in small groups, their eyes shifting as though on a hunt, and prey lurked near. Another woman joined the pair in the pool. This one fully clothed, but once inside the pool, she began tearing off her top.

  No wonder Ivy didn’t continue. “Confirmed. We’re at the same party,” he said.

  “Don’t worry! Sommer has got to be around here somewhere. I just left her at the bar a few minutes ago. Look, I’ll do a sweep inside and you keep your eyes peeled out there. Eventually, one of us will run into her.”

  The line clicked and he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Where the hell to begin? He walked over toward the bar; that seemed to be one of the hot spots, with the loud laughter of people milling around. The house hugged a large terrace, and the perimeter ran in an ‘L’ shape along two sides of the pool. He walked a line as if the
patio was part of a grid and he was searching for a wayward calf back on Evermore. More like a wayward filly out in L.A. The multi-colored lights streaming over the crowds made tailing a blond head that much harder, and slowed his progress. He wove through the throng, coming up empty-handed, except he met Vince’s stare a few yards in front of him. The guy nodded as though something clicked inside his head, then he smiled and waved him over.

  “Hey dude,” Vince shouted. “Heard we’re on a mission to find your girl.”

  With a bottle of Jack in one hand and a shot glass in the other, Vince didn’t appear to be on any search and rescue team looking for Sommer. The guy standing next to Vince seemed memorable…possibly from Hellhound. He swayed unsteadily and looked totally wasted.

  “I doubt Sommer’s inside that bottle you’re nursing,” Rory bit out.

  “This place is a madhouse. I tried, but couldn’t find Sommer. You just get here?” Vince asked.

  “Just got off the plane,” Rory said.

  Vince laughed and tipped the bottle against his mouth. Anger roiled deep in Rory’s gut as he continued scouring the crowd, and no one commented for a few beats.

  “Girls are always hard to keep track of at these things,” Vince offered. “They go off and come back. I learned long ago to just let a chick do her thing.”

  Wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone searching for Sommer, and in his memory bank, the odds where just as Vince suggested. Sommer would probably appear out of the blue, with a drink in her hand, and a fresh coat of gloss on her lips, tempting him to kiss her mouth. Not likely he was going to repeat the night that he’d rescued her from Lonny. That shithead.

  Rory glanced wearily across the patio, hot to capture Sommer in his arms. “What’s over there?” He pointed across the pool to the other side of the house.

  “Don’t know. Never roamed around inside the place. Belongs to the photographers. Those guys.” Vince jerked his chin over to a small group of men seated in a Jacuzzi, kissing. “I guarantee if you stay put, she will come to you.”

  An attractive woman leaned over Vince’s shoulder, and whispered something that made him laugh louder than before. After which he shrugged and replied. “Go ask him.”

  “Oui, avec plaisir,” she said in what Rory thought was a French accent. He had no idea what she just said as he watched her saunter over to him.

  “My lips are sealed…except when it comes to Jack.” On that, Vince took another swig from the bottle.

  “Care for some fun, cowboy?” the woman asked, curling her hand over his forearm.

  The wedding ring on her finger told part of the story. Older than him, she didn’t hide her interest, but wore her hunger and experience in an expression he’d seen before around Annona; married women who were bored and sought a diversion. He pulled his arm from her grasp but that didn’t deter her gaze from roaming down his body, before resurfacing and meeting his eyes.

  “Already have my own version of fun, and she’s all I can handle,” he replied tightly.

  “All the way from Texas. Aren’t you?” she said with a sharp twist of her mouth. “Prickly beast. I bet no one has tamed you. Eh?”

  Rory shrugged one of his shoulders, and arched a brow. “Good evening, Ma’am,” he said and nodded to Vince. “See you around. If you see Sommer, tell her I’m looking for her.”

  The woman changed tack, latching on to Vince’s buddy, and they walked away, gobbled up by the crowd surrounding them.

  “Ma’am?” Vince snickered, only this time his voice pierced the air with a jab, an unmistakable taunt. “Dude, I’m from here and in this part of the world, we don’t go and chase a chick. She must have you by the short hairs. Lightened the fuck up.”

  Vince held out the bottle of Jack and Rory shook his head. “Don’t believe my need to locate Sommer is tied to geography. I’m not the type who lets my girlfriend get lost.”

  “Have it your way. Start inside.” Vince smirked. “I don’t see her anywhere out here.”

  “Catch you later,” he replied and walked around the pool, taking the long way to the open terrace doors, swung wide like arms inviting him back into the house. On this side of the pool, the chaotic view of the massive amount of people coming and going didn’t do it for him. More and more frustrated, his hunger to find Sommer roared to life within him. He couldn’t put a finger on Vince’s attitude—some shit over not taking his advice. He’d met guys like him before. Easy to spot: control demons.

  A door flung open, outside his line of vision, but a flash in the periphery. The room was on the far side of this monstrous house and didn’t face the pool. Instead the doorway faced the valley with a private patio.

  The door might be in a relative blind spot, but the feminine voice splitting through the night air took hold of his complete attention. “Get the hell away from me!”

  Sommer? Every atom composing his body knew he’d heard her distinct voice. But she was out of his line of direct sight.

  “Babe, don’t be like that.” A guy’s voice responded to Sommer. “Where you going? Dressed like that, you won’t make it far.” The dude laughed, spurring Rory to find a way past the metal railing.

  “Sommer!” he called out as his gaze spanned the fence railing. The railing ran the perimeter of the cement patio, separating the expansive terrace from the declining landscape that dropped precariously on the other side. Whoever designed this home made certain there wasn’t much of a ledge to walk along beyond the railing. Didn’t matter.

  He grasped the railing with one hand, and hoisted his body over top, like he was swinging onto a saddle. Landing surefooted with a muted grunt, he didn’t waste time in evaluating how close he’d come to the edge. He hopped onto the private patio that lacked proper fencing, but not a breathtaking view.

  He tore around what could only be described as a wing of the house when he heard Sommer cry out. “Touch me again and I swear I’ll pierce your ears with these heels.” Up ahead, there she was backing away from that motherfucker, Drew.

  “Sommer,” he said, more to alert her. He was about three yards away and he slowed, not wanting to inadvertently frighten her on the narrow walkway that ran along more wide-open space that disappeared downward. What the hell kind of fascination did people in California have with building homes on the side of a cliff?

  Sommer held her high heels in her hands like weapons even as she spoke, “Rory? Oh, thank god.”

  “Hell, here we go again,” Drew snickered and tried to reach for Sommer’s arm. “Is this some freak magic trick you two have got going on?”

  “Get the hell away from me you loser,” she said, still holding up her shoes, and he didn’t doubt she’d clobber Drew if he so much as moved toward her. Sommer was dressed in some golden-colored slip of gown, her hair spilling around her shoulders, and one thought speared Rory’s spiraling mind: she was his. And he refused to allow what was his to be threatened.

  He pushed past Drew, snarling to the musician, “Back off, jackass.” He stopped at Sommer’s side and said, “Let’s go.” He was prepared to walk away from Drew and never look back, if it meant she wasn’t hurt.

  “I think we can reach the front this way,” she replied, curling her fingers around his arm.

  What the hell was Sommer doing dressed like that, barefoot, and out here with Drew? Didn’t she know dicks like Drew didn’t get that women weren’t just created for his own disturbed amusement? On this side of the house, there were so many ways that messed up could go. For Sommer’s sake, he wasn’t going to lose it on that shithead and do something he’d live to regret.

  “What the fuck is up with you?” Drew shook his head. “We meet again, and damn if your timing doesn’t suck. Seriously, like what…does she have some homing device in her cunt?”

  He’d had every intention of playing it cool. But no. The cretin had to start flapping his jaws. Rory swung and landed a straight punch to Drew’s jaw, effectively silencing him and watched him stagger backwards.

  “Asshole, if
you want another taste of what I’m thinking, keep running your mouth,” Rory shot back, but stopped talking, absorbing the blanket of worry haunting Sommer’s eyes.

  He hated seeing this vulnerable part of her twisted by morons like Drew as well as his own aggressive nature. One of the hundreds of reasons he tried to protect her while controlling his nature to use his fists.

  Sommer refused to believe that people had to earn trust sometimes—but how to get her to comprehend that the world that wasn’t altogether good or altogether bad, just required distance before jumping into the mix, and expecting everything to turn out all right? That argument had never been won. Not in his mind. Certainly not in hers. And seeing a little part of her innocence stolen or snuffed, beat the tar out of him. Worse than any fight he’d gotten into.

  Rory curled his hands into fists—he was ready slaughter this guy, but held himself in check. “You okay?” he asked her, relaxing his grip, and looking for the means to walk away from Drew with the least amount of friction.

  “Yes. It’s about time, Lady Luck finally came through for me.” She nodded. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Coming for you…as promised,” he replied hoarsely.

  “Well, hot damn if I don’t love a reunion,” Drew muttered, rubbing his jaw, and following in their tracks. “How about we find a bedroom? We can both get the girl. You up for it?”

  Drew took a step closer, jeering after his last asinine wisecrack, and it set fire to Rory’s ability to harness his temper. Right then, he wanted to hammer Drew repeatedly, or until he was neck deep in the ground.

  “Shut your damn mouth and take a hike, asshole.” No way in hell, he’d further mark this as one more McLemore snafu. With every ounce of control in him, he slowly yoked Drew upward by the front of his shirt and forced him into a line of landscaped bushes growing near the exterior wall of the house. And abruptly let go. No punches. No shoves. Just gravity.