Breaking A Bad Boy Page 28

  Miller interjected, “It wasn’t the Marshall’s call, from what I can decipher. Part of the case the Feds are working. Apparently, it’s been in play for over a year now.”

  God. How he hated that this was on the forefront, and was yet another round of gut-wrenching news he had to share with her. Effectively, he was on the side that had opened a doorway and her dad had stepped through, never to be seen again. That was his fault. What the hell had he been thinking? He had to go and tell her. Even if it meant she never wanted to see him again, she deserved the truth and needed to hear it sooner than later.

  “Okay. Keep in touch if you hear anything else.”

  “Will do. You still coming home tomorrow?” his brother asked.

  “That’s Sommer’s call. I’ll let you know.”

  He exited the bedroom and raised his eyebrows when he met the expectant stares from the guys waiting in the living room.

  “Almost ready?” Jeff asked. “I was thinking about the ceremony on the terrace. Under the stars?”

  “Let me go and get Sommer,” he replied, wanting to whisk her outside the master bedroom and have Paul perform the ceremony, buying time to find the right words. Soothing words. He silently treaded across the room in thought.

  Jeff cocked his head. “Everything okay?”

  “Give me a minute to get the bride and we’ll be set,” he replied. His heart hammered at a screeching non-stop clip, speeding up with each step he took toward that door. His target. But what the heck could he say to Sommer once he was on the other side? He silently stormed, refusing to accept that mere sounds tangled on his tongue and about to exit his mouth, could somehow right this torrentially fucked up wrong.

  “Sommer,” he said, facing the door and knocking.

  From inside the room he heard the patter of footsteps on the floor. Had to be her heels clicking against the marble and meant she was near ready. His girl didn’t put on heels until she was fully dressed. The door opened, and his breath hitched.

  “Impatient much?” She smiled, a steady gleam in her golden eyes.

  “Beautiful, we’ve been over this. Affirmative.” He wound his tongue around the word as though he were stroking it across her skin. All too soon his brain reconnected, and he remembered why he came to her. He walked inside, doggedly pressing his lips. He closed the door, the click of the lock echoing loudly behind him.

  “Rory…” Her laughter faded, and she held his gaze.

  From the sound of his name on her lips, he was ramped up as if walking a tightrope. A vibration jetted under his skin which felt several sizes too small. He stalked closer to her, needing to feel her skin next to his. There was no way for him to hide what was running through his mind, even though she lowered her gaze. She already seemed to grasp the reason he’d barged into the bedroom.

  Like clockwork she asked, “What happened?”

  He took the last two steps, eating up the distance between them, and stopped to capture her hands. At that moment, he wanted to make her world more than okay, and his frustration burned a hole in his soul. He wanted her so much, only his hunger to possess her crystallized in his head as he absorbed the way she looked, the way she sounded, the way she was his everything. “Sommer, baby. Just heard from Miller.”

  “Good or bad news? Strike that. How bad?” Her fingers turned icy in his hands and he tugged her gently toward the bed. As she walked, her dress floated around her in a dreamlike cloud that notched his level of torture upward. A filmy version of sunrise colors, and against her skin, resembled layers, meant to be peeled away until nothing remained but her, opened to him.

  Staring at her, he unclenched his jaw and his mouth went dry as she returned the stare with her fluid, bottomless eyes. “Your dad and stepmom had to take the deal from the Marshalls.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that Frank Kincaid had opted to leave town voluntarily, without saying goodbye. Even if her father had left a note, a sorry excuse for a permanent goodbye, it still would hurt her. She never talked much about her dad—he understood that the man had walked away without doing a lot to see to Sommer’s wellbeing. Now, another facet of his rage roared to life in his inability to staunch more pain coming to find her.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “So he and his family will go into a program for sure.”

  All the air in the room vanished as he watched a stream of emotions playing out on Sommer’s beautiful face. She was trying to make sense of it, and he had to say something, not just let her assume her dad would be waiting to say goodbye.

  “Baby, your dad and his wife are already in the program. Seems like Mike is involved in worse things, and their entry was out of even the Marshalls’ hands on the where and when. The bet won’t matter. Mike is going down.”

  She blinked, her hurt-filled eyes shifted away from him, and he felt his chest begin to tear into pieces, shred into tiny, razor sharp bits that threatened to pierce him for every tear she might shed.

  She wrenched her hands from his and pleaded, “Please. Just let me go.”

  He didn’t try to hold onto her. He had no right.

  Sommer walked to the terrace doors and stopped, not exiting the bedroom. She just stood there, her beautiful body so still she looked like one of those statutes he’d seen in a museum in Dallas. A Greek goddess poised in flight.

  Clueless as to what she was thinking, his mind began filling in the blanks. She’d asked him to help her arrange a goodbye. One she’d not live to regret, and he’d failed. Broken his promise. If he could return to Annona and fix this mess, he would. But that wasn’t gonna happen.

  Did she want to call our wedding off? He got up and approached her, inhaling her mind-blowing scent.

  He reached out to her and laid his hands over her shoulders. “Talk to me, sugar.” He drew her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist and channeling their fingers together. Gently, he nuzzled his chin to her cheek.

  For seconds she didn’t say a thing, just breathed. He looked down and watched her chest rise and fall, holding onto her hands and giving her a chance to digest the news. “I can’t believe my dad left without saying a word. I tried to phone him. Can you believe it? He could have called me back. I’ve checked my messages, and not one was from him.”

  “This news is pretty heavy.” The words were shards on his tongue, slicing him, and still he refused to back off. He’d wait forever to marry her. Sommer was more than his everything, but he wanted her to choose him freely. Be as crazy-delirious as he was for her. He grazed his fingers along her hands, savoring her smooth skin. Slowly, he curled his hands around her wrists, rubbing his thumb over the softest skin he’d ever felt and asked, “Do you want to wait…to get married?”

  She looked over her shoulder and up at him. Their gazes locked, unleashing an electrical tremor he felt deep inside his bones. The jolt of fire she lit in his bloodstream nearly had him lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. He was so ready to claim her as his, and never, never let her escape. The longer it took for her to say something, the more insane he started to feel.

  Finally, her lips parted and she whispered, “No.”

  “No?” he parroted, as hope and dread circled inside him, weary warriors in his head. “No you don’t want to wait or no you don’t want to get married, or no you don’t want me—”

  Sommer turned in his arms and pressed her fingers to his lips. “No. I don’t want to wait. Listen to me, cowboy. It sucks so many shades of awful that our children won’t have a granddad on my side, but we have got enough love to go around. I wish things were different, but I’ll be okay. With you, I’m always fine. Marry me, Rory, and let’s make lots and lots of beautiful babies together.”

  “Sugar, that’s a promise I look forward to keeping,” he said, shaking his head at the sight of his golden-eyed spitfire and her unshakeable strength. A lioness stared back at him, bearing the weight of disappointment with the grace of an angel.

  His angel.

  His love.

/>   And in a little while, his wife.

  He brushed his mouth over hers, tenderly kissing her. The tangle of her tongue had him encircling her waist, wanting to feel more of her against him. “Mine,” he groaned into her mouth.

  “And you’re mine,” she returned, smiling up at him. With a raised brow, she asked, “The wedding party arrived without a hitch?”

  “All set. If you are?”

  “With all my heart, I’m ready,” she said, exhaling and squeezing his fingers.

  They both walked out of the bedroom, free from the burden of getting married just to clear a debt. Rory threaded his fingers with hers, tugging her lightly and laughing at the low gasp that spilled from her lush lips as their bodies bumped.

  “Oh good Lord!” Jeff gushed, jumping up from the sofa. “Here comes the bride!”

  Jeff managed the introductions—good thing, because at the sight of Paul opening the Bible, all thoughts become tumbleweeds inside Rory’s brain.

  Sommer laughed softly at what Jeff said about getting married in Hollywood. When she looked over to him with a wide, perfect grin on her face, he felt a thud that gave way to a sonic boom deep inside his chest.

  Paul began the traditional ceremony and he tore his gaze away from Sommer to face forward. He and Sommer were looking in same direction, holding hands, and about to fucking get married!

  CHAPTER 21

  WHEN RORY CAME into the bedroom and the pained expression in his sapphire eyes transformed into something far worse than a raging storm, Sommer thought, holy crap. An icy chill skated up her spine as she waited for him to speak. Holding on to her popsicle-like fingers, Rory relayed the news about her dad and stunned her into silence. From frozen, her whole body felt torched—some freakish icy fire battled in her blood.

  “Please. Just let me go!” She broke free from Rory’s grasp, blindly searching for something. Anything to keep from crying.

  Like what, I’m not worth my dad’s time or energy to say goodbye? This chaos could not be happening…again! Staring out the terrace doors, a freaking tear slipped from her eyes.

  Batting it away, she wanted hurl something and hear glass break. Not dissolve into a cloud of frustration and anger, or miles and miles of hurt and disappointment.

  Dad had left before—walked away, and that was his issue. An old mantra that no-the-fuck-didn’t fit this time. No way would her father walk away again, and take even more of her with him this time. No! No! Hell no!

  Not on the night she was getting married to Rory McLemore, the man of her dreams.

  Rory came to her, stood behind her, and then brought her to him. They stood together for seconds until he asked if she still wanted to get married.

  Meeting Rory’s intense blue eyes, she refused to stumble because of her father, a man who obviously had made a hurtful choice taking the easier route, and had left without a word. If anything, she was reclaiming what she’d let go the last time. The pieces of her dreams. The particles of her soul. The tears she’d shed. These would be her gift to Rory. Her gift to her unborn children. And mostly her gift to herself, on her wedding night.

  Dad’s exit burned a hole in her heart, but a lot of things in life burned, if not cut her to the core. And lots of things in life were totally awesome. Top of her list—every great list—was Rory. Over four years ago, she and Rory had officially fallen in love. Been an inseparable pair and ever since, her life…her world was filled to brim, overflowing with love.

  “I don’t want to wait…” she’d said at first, and then relayed to him what was in her heart. Everything and yeah, especially that she was ready. Without a doubt. Totally, irrevocably ready to tie the knot with her gorgeous cowboy.

  STANDING out on the penthouse terrace, under the hazy glow of the stars, Paul announced that Rory could kiss the bride. Her. With a dose of his Texan charisma, her cowboy’s mouth crashed down on hers and it was like they were on a deserted island. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist, nothing short of bands of steel, and he hauled her close and then closer to him in a kiss that couldn’t be quenched, not on the first go round.

  Nervous laughter from the sidelines erupted and she and Rory sucked in their breaths, laughing a little as they shared a scorching glance. His full of fire and promise, flash burning her in sparks, and sending tingling jolts racing through her body while she bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

  “Lucky lip,” he whispered, brushing his cheek near her jaw. “It’s mine, just so you know, Mrs. McLemore.”

  The cork from the champagne bottle popped, actually flying upward and she let out a little screech—obviously, the bottle wasn’t the only thing letting off a little pressure.

  “Can you believe it,” she whispered, leaning against Rory’s hard body and giggling. “We’re married.”

  He leveled her with another devil-hot gaze. Long, unblinking blue fire, all at once powerful as it was cocky when coupled with his dimpled grin and raised eyebrow—hers until kingdom come. “And I plan on delivering each of my promises, sugar. In due course.”

  She smiled, and then softly gasped, recalling one hot promise about his palm and her bottom. “All of them?”

  “Every. Last. One.” He winked before piloting her toward the champagne being poured.

  Paul passed out the flutes, pressing one into her hand. “To Mr. and Mrs. Rory McLemore.” Glasses clinked, each person to another, and the sounds of ringing crystal filled the night air.

  She and Rory tapped their glasses together and drank the fruity effervescence. So many bubbles raced over her tongue, tickling her nose as the alcohol went straight to her head.

  “A little something.” Antoine presented her with a small box, wrapped in white paper with a silver bow.

  “Don’t open that right now,” Jeff said while patting her hand. Sipping his champagne, he winked over at her and smiled. Antoine, his partner, was just a cute as a button in his nervous solemn fashion, but it was a no-brainer that he was a closet romantic. His teary eyes gave him away.

  “Thank you for everything,” she leaned over and whispered to Jeff. “I’ll never, ever forget you.”

  “You’d better not. I sent Antoine’s sister a photograph of your shirt featured on Diehard’s website, and we need to talk. Serious talk. She also owns a boutique in Beverly Hills. Very nice stuff. Just over yonder.” Jeff pointed his finger over the edge of the terrace railing.

  “I’ll keep in touch, and not just because of fashion,” she vowed.

  “Antoine, Paul. It’s getting late,” Jeff announced. “Nearly one in the morning and these kids need to get some rest.”

  “Ah, yes.” Paul chuckled, shaking both of their hands simultaneously. “It was a pleasure marrying you. Sommer, you’re a lovely bride, and congratulations to you, Rory. Best wishes to you both.” The minister joined her and Rory’s hands and squeezed.

  “Paul,” Rory said and removed a white envelope from his back pocket. “Spectacular ceremony.”

  “Goodnight.” Antoine smiled, his eyes tearing up again. He appeared as though he were about to walk past, but abruptly stopped and reached out for a mini group-hug.

  Rory thumped him on the back in that decidedly male way. So sweet to see someone crying at their wedding. Their wedding. In a snap, her throat tightened, clogged by a mad rush of joy, expanding inside her body.

  Blinking away the mist stinging her own eyes, she released her own ecstatic bubble with a giggle, woven into her gasp. “Thanks for coming, and for the present.”

  Pushing up his glasses at the bridge of his nose, Antoine nodded and his smile widened. “I have a distinct feeling, Jeff and I will be traveling back to Texas in the near future. We’ll get together then.”

  Now it was Jeff’s turn to gasp. He followed it up by laughing loudly and exchanged a knowing look with her. “I’d say this has been a very productive evening. Sommer, I’ll be in touch. Rory, take care of this young lady…she’s very special, but I take it you already know that. Don’t you, cowboy?”

&n
bsp; “I do, and I will.” Rory nodded, his blue eyes glinting over to her before shifting back to Jeff as he extended his hand. “I owe you. Thanks, Jeff. Our door will always be open to you. All of you.”

  She and Rory walked their guests to the elevator and stood in the foyer as their wedding party departed. When the elevator doors closed, her cowboy’s stare galvanized her, setting off a series of fireworks inside her body.

  “What shall we do now?” She backed away from him a step, then another, all the while watching his reaction. A muscle twitched along his square jaw and his eyes became rimmed with glittering blue as his irises were consumed by total, bottomless black. She recognized the predatory pupils staring back at her and shivered, he was so mesmerizing to watch.

  “Nothing to do with watching television or playing cards…if that’s worrying you.” He stepped forward and she backed away, and over a step, until the round entry table was between them. Rory growled a warning, “Darlin’, what are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” She traced the edge of the smooth wood, ramping up her excitement with the distance between them and his stealthy stalking.

  “Doesn’t seem like nothing. Sure you want to play this little game?”

  “Are you saying you’re not up for it, stud?” she shot back and relished his eyes widening for a beat.

  “I’m coming for you, sugar. Better be prepared.” Rory feinted, reaching out for with his left hand, forcing her back toward the elevator. Too late, she recognized her error. He laughed when she was the one with the three walls surrounding her, while he stood with the living room, terrace, and the nightscape of Hollywood behind him.

  Slowly, he unbuttoned his cuffs and then the front of his shirt, as if he were getting ready to lay down the law.

  “What are you doing?” The twisting threads composing her tummy tightened into knots when he removed his shirt and laid it on the table next to the vase of flowers. The tight definition of each ripped ab muscle over his stomach tensed with his movement. Flexed with each breath he took. For a second, she stared, lost in the memory of touching the smooth bare skin of his expansive chest and shoulders. The feel of trailing her fingers downward to the bulge in his pants, and freeing his cock.