Breaking A Bad Boy Read online

  “Boyfriend. Worse.”

  He snickered. “Don’t you just love a hot-blooded man? I got one of those. Dressing room is over here. My name is Jeff. I own this shop.”

  “I’m Sommer, and very, very pleased to meet you.”

  WHEN she came out of the dressing room, her breath hitched. Rory was standing at the counter and he had his phone out. Both he and Jeff stopped talking. “Hey, sugar,” Rory said. “Try these on.”

  “Took the liberty of selecting some shoes,” Jeff interjected, showing her a pair of flats. “They just arrived. I have most sizes. Seven?”

  “You’re good,” she replied and sat down on the bench next to the open shoe box.

  “I was just showing Jeff some pictures, and telling him about what you do.”

  “Have an interest in ink?” she asked, bending forward and removing her shoes. She straightened and slipped on Jeff’s suggestion.

  “Personally, no. I enjoy a nicely inked body, but tell me about those shirts you fashion with the serious knots and laces. I’m always in the market for new fashion finds. This isn’t my only shop. I have one in the other Four Seasons hotel and another two around town. Usually I’m not behind the counter, but my sales manager here decided to have her baby today and I’m filling in.

  She traded glances with Rory and he nodded. “Don’t be shy, Sommer. Tell him, baby.”

  Jeff held out his card. “I’m serious. What I saw is hot, trendy, and with you modeling your wares, you should think about marketing.”

  “I do have a shop on Etsy. Sommer Wear. I get shirts and I learned how to tie and arrange the material. Anyone can do it.”

  “Apparently not anyone,” Jeff said. “Do you have a card?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t gotten that serious.”

  “I do. And I’ll write down her website,” Rory said, reaching for his wallet and removing an Evermore Ranch card. She watched him write out her website and contact information, not even realizing he knew it by heart. His pen glided along without stopping and when he flashed the card to her, holding it out at eye level for her to read, she nodded. Speechless.

  After tonight…or really this week, she shouldn’t be stunned, shocked, or surprised by her over-the-top cowboy. Yep, he was hot-blooded, and she smiled up at Rory, her heart singing beat after beat. She’d been lost in the realm of trying to live some sort of imagined existence, while the only person who mattered had gotten pushed, squeezed, and put through the wringer from her growing pains. But through it all, every second, every breath and every heartbeat, it was Rory who stood by her. Sure she had those fleeting moments that made her see red—and not the pretty dress kind. But she knew, soul deep, Rory was her all. He’d followed her, kept coming back, and it was that way for her with him. He was her extreme, her high-voltage wire, and her safe haven. All rolled up into one hot package, her shot in the dark. Her fix. Her next breath.

  “Marry me,” she said, the idea bubbling up inside her and she repeated it again. “Marry me, Rory.”

  Rory looked up and laughed. “’Bout time,” he said.

  Her heart galloped in her chest, and she insisted, “I’m serious. Marry. Me.”

  “What’s in that shoebox?” Rory smiled but as they continued to stare at one another, his face went from joking to thoughtful.

  “Maybe a whole lot of sense.” She went to lower herself to her knee, but Rory interceded and lifted her up.

  “You’re not the one who needs to get down,” he whispered and she watched him kneel in front of her.

  “Sommer Anastasia Kincaid, please do me the honor of marrying me. I’ll always be there for you and you’ll never want for anything. You have my heart and I promise, baby, I’ll cherish yours.”

  “Rordan Richard McLemore, you’re all I have ever wanted. All I’ll ever need. Yes. Let’s get married.”

  Rory came at her, a force she’d love to reckon with, and now she’d have days and days to navigate the rough and hard, protective yet tender terrain of this man.

  “Lord, have mercy,” Jeff said, dabbing at his eyes. “First time I ever witnessed that. Never had a marriage proposal shared in one of my stores. Please, can I take a picture? I won’t post it. Just want to show my husband that romance is not dead. It’s alive and well, right here in Beverly Hills, and came all the way from Texas. Gosh darn it!”

  “Fine by me,” she said and smiled over at Rory. “You okay with one?”

  “Take ten…a hundred. Post them all, as far as I’m concerned,” he replied as his gaze met hers, those dazzling sapphire eyes of his burning a path right through her. Hotter than ever tonight.

  “Wish we could tie the knot tonight,” she murmured.

  “There’s always Vegas,” Rory answered. “If you’re serious about getting married soon.”

  “We can do better than Vegas,” Jeff said, showing them the photographs. “Give me your phone, I’ll take some for you as well.”

  They posed then Rory asked, “What do mean better than Vegas? Are there places to get married on the spot in Hollywood?”

  “If you know where to look. Sure. In thirty minutes.” Jeff returned Rory’s cell.

  “Let’s do it,” she said. “Why not?”

  “Sommer,” he said her name in his customary deep masculine voice. “What about your mother?”

  Momma. On one hand, her mom would be shocked, but on the other, this would be a blessing to come back home married to Rory.

  Sommer shook her head. “The stress of a wedding would unhinge Momma. This is so much better. She’d get so overwrought with a bout of nerves if she had to face me getting married. And what if she got sick? I’d be a wreck because I’d be worried about her. I promise, if I came home and it was a done deal, she might be a little upset, but she’d also be ecstatic. I don’t want her to worry. Besides, we could have a reception. But not all formal or stiff—”

  “A big party. But not too big.” He captured her hand in his and squeezed her fingertips.

  Nothing remotely similar to what they’d been to tonight. From Rory’s expression, she could tell he was thinking the same thing. “The kind we like. Family. Friends. Good food. Good times.”

  “Here you go. Hollywood Poetic Peace and Paul’s number,” Jeff said, handing them a slip of paper.

  She tilted her head. “Is that the name of an organization?” Sounded like a song.

  “The name of the chapel where you can get hitched without waiting. They even have rings available to purchase and the minister does travel. Who knows, he might be available this evening.”

  “Rings,” she whispered. Rory had spoken about getting rings for so long. “A minor detail. Can we wait until we get back, and go to Dallas?”

  “That depends on you, sugar.”

  “I can wait on our rings. So are we getting married tonight?” she asked.

  “If the minister is available, let’s get married,” Rory said and picked up his phone. “I’ll call and find out.”

  “You’ll need something else to wear besides a red dress,” Jeff said.

  “We’re fine,” Sommer replied slightly dazed.

  “Don’t argue. Rory, catch the door. Lock it. I’ll have you fully outfitted and ready to roll or my name isn’t Jeff Bridges.”

  “Is it really?” she asked. “Like the actor?”

  “Yep. But I’m better looking. Wouldn’t you say?” Jeff winked and held out his hand. “Jeffrey Malcolm Bridges, at your service.”

  THE elevator went all the way up to the penthouse, and opened to the foyer. A mirrored entryway and the circular table was a miniature version of the one downstairs. Same kind of flowers, set in unbelievable arrangements. Loaded down with shopping bags, she and Rory entered the hotel suite, with him lifting her up into his arms.

  “Can you manage?” she asked him, giggling at the way the doorman saluted them.

  “Baby, you’re a featherweight and where you are concerned, I can do more than manage.”

  “Dang, I wish I had m
y cell phone to take some pictures.”

  “You can use mine. We’ll get you a new phone tomorrow, Kincaid. One that you can keep charged, and have ready to take my calls.”

  “I will,” she whispered, tracing the line of his jaw, and a day’s worth of sexy stubble teasing her fingertips and memory.

  “We’re in need of a bed.” Rory walked into the living room and paused, then headed in search a bedroom.

  “Soon I’ll be Mrs. McLemore. Better keep track which Mrs. McLemore you’re phoning.”

  “Baby, you have always been number one on my speed dial.”

  “Is that supposed to go both ways?” she joked.

  “Better. Speaking of…which way?” He shifted her in his arms and jutted his chin to the different doors.

  “What?” she glanced around and counted several. “People in Hollywood sure like their doors.”

  “This suite goes in four different directions.”

  “Babe, this place is Hollywood ginormous. I bet a voice echoes in here. This is so beautiful,” she yelled, twisting her head from side to side, trying to take it all in.

  “When you were getting decked out, I went back to the front desk, and I asked for the best room in the hotel. Left or right?”

  “Left. That door. Closest to the terrace.” He veered left and targeted the first doorway.

  “Excellent choice,” he whispered, stopping for a millisecond in the threshold, then sauntering all the way inside and tossing her gently onto the king-sized bed. “Here,” he said dropping his phone next to her on the bedspread.

  She turned over, lying on her belly, and double-pressed the button on his phone. “Say something sexy,” she prompted him, drinking in her hot cowboy’s long, lean body built to please.

  “Something sexy,” he parroted her, smirking before he came down next to her on the bed. Rubbing his hand over her hip, he hauled her over the mattress, closer to him. “In a little while you’re gonna be my wife. And I’m going fuck you for days and days.”

  A shiver of pleasure shot up her spine, and then splintered into a million tiny jolts of tingling heat, racing through her body. When Rory reached for her, his eyes darkened, and all the tingling coalesced into a coiled soul-consuming lust—as scorching as it was untamed. She stared back at his beautiful dimpled grin and another shiver shot through her.

  For a second, she dropped his gaze but just as fast he jostled her. “Hey, tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispered.

  With his fingers touching her, she felt his power tap into her twining desire: hunger laced with need—tight and tense. “That what you said is very sexy and for the record, I can’t wait,” she choked out, melting inside.

  “Better not start something or I’ll have us naked, hollering, and jumping the gun,” he said, running his hand along her hip.

  “Yeah, baby. Can’t have you tempted this close,” she teased him.

  “Damn. You tempt me, Sommer.” His voice grew serious, but that didn’t stop him from lifting her dress and taking a peek at her.

  “Let me take a picture of us. The last ones before we leap.” She snapped several pictures, then snuggling closer, couldn’t stop and took several more of them together kissing and hugging each other and classified them as pre-wedding. “This is so crazy. So out there. So perfect!” She blurted out.

  “Rich coming from you, wild thing.” He pushed her back against the bed, tracing her jaw with one of his fingers. “Remember when you didn’t want to deal with knowing what came next?”

  “Hey, you showed me the error of my ways. I can admit when I’m wrong.” Sommer opened up his Facebook app and went to post the pictures on her wall, but stiffened. “Holy, holy, holy shit. I’m going to kill him.”

  “Who?” Rory shook her lightly. “Sommer, what’s going on?”

  “Drew.” She gagged on the name, wondering if she were having a stroke. She couldn’t breathe; her chest felt well beyond constricted. But she doubted a stroke came with a suffocating desire for retribution. Revenge. Wishing for a slow, painful death for one idiot rocker. All her senses fragmented. She had to go and find Drew. Make him remove two very revealing photographs of her that he’d posted—right this instant!

  “What did that SOB do now?” Rory demanded.

  “He’s thrown up and tagged some pictures of me online. From when he walked in on me in the bathroom.” She turned the cell screen in his direction and watched Rory’s face change. An ominous expression washed over his handsome features.

  “Son of a bitch,” he hissed in a voice dangerously low. “He’s a stalker. I’ll take care of this.”

  “Please, don’t do anything. I’ll figure something out.” A chill replaced her anger. A sliver of fear for how Rory might handle this. Might handle Drew.

  She watched him roll off of her and scrub both his hands over his face before he raked his fingertips through his hair. He’d not worn his customary cowboy hat to L.A., and his thick dark hair threaded between his fingers. All the while Rory’s skin tightened over his cheekbones, and a muscle ticked along his jaw. He stared at the ceiling for several long, silent seconds before responding.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to lose it, Sommer.” He turned to her, unsmiling. “How far are you willing to go to save your father and possibly shut the door on this type of crap forever?”

  Jesus H. Christ. For hours she’d actually pushed her personal mess to the back of her mind in the massive Hollywood-party confusion. Hearing the truth spill out from Rory’s mouth—tumble out—shocked her. “Y-y-you know?” she stuttered.

  “Phones have a strange way of delivering news.” He removed his phone from her fingers and scrolled down a ways in his voicemail list. “I didn’t even know about this message until my brother came by that night…back at the trailer.” He played the message he’d gotten from her.

  “When Brandon came over?” she asked, her voice cracking she was so upset.

  “Yes. But ssshhh,” he said.

  He was trying to get her to listen to a piece of his plan to help her. Same thing he’d done back in his trailer—only then he’d done it wordlessly. Oh Jesus. Rory hadn’t spilled the truth of what he’d found out. Never let on a clue that he knew. But he was talking now. He’d come all the way to L.A. to tell her about her family—his family. That’s what he’d said…had tried to alert her to a problem.

  Now, gritting her teeth and seething, she listened to the recording of that slimeball Mike with his fake drawl. Then she could barely breathe upon hearing Carlo’s icy tone and his threats.

  She recalled shoving her phone into her pocket that afternoon when Mike had visited the tattoo parlor. “A butt call,” she whispered when the message was over.

  “Considering it involves two assholes, it’s a butt call all right,” he said, closing the message. “I think I know a way out. Maybe. It might work.”

  She didn’t have to think twice. “If it’ll help my dad, I’m in. I hate Mike. I can’t stand Drew. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  He turned on his side, and brushed his hand over her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Somm, this isn’t a problem that your dad brought on by himself.”

  “You don’t have to spare me. I’m a big girl and I get that my dad has issues. I don’t come from a family like yours.”

  “That ain’t true.” Piercing blue eyes locked onto hers and he shook his head. “Far from true, sugar.”

  “Rory, my dad is in deep. Twenty thousand dollars deep.”

  “Oh baby,” he said. “Your dad is covering for his wife. Your stepmom. This is Gloria’s debt and it’s a hell of a lot more than twenty thousand. More like a hundred thousand.”

  She gasped and stared at him, unable to formulate words right away. “He didn’t tell me. Does he know? Wait, how do you know this?”

  “Miller went and spoke to them. This isn’t the end of the story.”

  “Why is Miller involved? Oh. He’s the one you got the information from.”

  “You
r dad is doing something I’d do in a heartbeat. He’s trying to cover for his wife. He’s stand up to refrain from shifting the blame to Gloria. But it won’t stop this Carlo dude from collecting the debt from your family. If something isn’t done, your dad and his wife will have to leave Clarkesville.”

  “Hold on,” she said. “No. That’s not possible.”

  “It is and they can. Miller’s got a contact with the U.S. Marshall’s department. Within their protection program. Mike and Carlo aren’t the worst of their kind, but they’re bad news.” Rory inhaled, his ribcage expanding and contracting.

  “My dad is going to move away,” she said. “Just up and leave. What about his business?” She couldn’t imagine having to relocate to another city to escape someone like Mike or Carlo.

  “Mike has these betting pools like he talked about when he visited you.”

  “I still have no idea how that works.

  “Some lines of action are covert. It’s like betting on a horse race without knowing exactly where or the exact kind of race. Not all the factors are known and that’s why those betting pools are termed blind. The bets placed are blind bets and it’s a risky type of action.”

  “That makes no sense to me,” she huffed.

  “Gamblers who can’t get action elsewhere, go this route. An outlet for high-risk bettors and the stakes are off the charts. I’m going to see if Miller can get a line of action where he’ll place the bet with Mike. That greedy sack of shit will lose. And when that happens, he won’t have the funds to pay the winnings. He’ll have to hand over a note…an I.O.U., and we’ll hand it over to Carlo. We’d use Drew’s posts and his stupidity to leverage the action and get the spread to widen. We have an opportunity to rake in enough funds to cover what your father owes. A once in a lifetime wager and we won’t earn a cent. Just payback your dad’s loan, and even get some payback for what these jackasses have put you through. If you’re game.”

  She nodded and reached out to Rory, squeezing his arm. “I’ll do whatever it takes to settle the score. I want my day. I want some form of justice.”

  “Don’t know if these photographs can ever be completely wiped from the Internet, but you can have the last laugh. I know it’s not enough and won’t repair—”