Broken Rules: A Rescuer Romance

by Gunn, Jenna

  Broken Rules

  A Rescuer Romance

  Jenna Gunn

  Copyright © 2021 by Jenna Gunn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction, any similarities to real life people or locations are coincidental.

  About This Book

  Trouble comes in many forms:

  A first kiss that ruins me.

  A night in jail.

  Landing in my brother’s crosshairs.

  And that was all in one night.

  All because I’m a sucker for a girl in distress.

  Especially the quiet ones.

  Something about blushes and sweet smiles…

  Turns me into a primal animal.

  Screw my brother. That best friend he had...now she’s mine.

  I had to claim her.

  And what’s mine I cherish and protect.

  So when her brother’s problem becomes her problem...

  I have no trouble bringing trouble to him.

  This is Book 3 in the Archer Brothers Series. A steamy, standalone, action romance set in the seaside town of Lynn's Cove, California. If you love a sexy lifeguard then get ready to meet your next book boyfriend.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peak- Boss Rules

  1

  The skin on my arms turns to gooseflesh when I hear the screen door creak open. My breath is frozen in my chest as I stand perfectly still, waiting on a knock.

  It never comes. The door simply snaps shut.

  My heart thuds with dread as I press back the blinds enough to see a gray Explorer out front. The driver guns it backwards. Horrible timing has a pedestrian walking by at the same instant.

  I cover my eyes. When I get the nerve to open them again the Explorer is gone. There’s no dead body in the street. I’m weak with relief.

  The man who missed getting creamed by mere inches is flipping the driver the bird, yelling, but I can’t hear the words.

  Something about him is familiar. I finally get a good look at him when he turns and crosses under the streetlight. He’s one of the Archer brothers. A neighbor, and the brother to my good friend Bishop.

  His shape gave him away. The five Archer brothers have a distinctly masculine body—tall, muscular, with narrow waists, and broad strong shoulders.

  Thank heavens the jerk that undoubtedly left a note on my door didn’t run him over.

  After a few seconds, he shakes his head, turns, disappears from beneath the streetlight, continuing down the hill toward town.

  When I pull open the heavy wooden door, a note is there, just as I expected. The dull yellow paper is haphazardly stuck to the paint with clear packing tape. I snatch the note, slam the door, and stand with a shiver coursing through my body.

  The handwritten note says: Your brother owes a lot of money. Ugly things happen to people when they owe us.

  The words are more or less identical to the last two notes. Three in a span of a week. Seven days during which I have not been able to reach Cameron.

  “Dammit, Cam.” I groan, as the cold fear grows in my gut.

  Problems aren’t new to us…but owing money like this is something I’ve never dealt with.

  There are about a million reasons why he might owe money, but one is front and center—his not so recreational use of illegal substances.

  I dial Cam’s phone again–third time today—as I plod back to the bedroom. When I pull out the top dresser drawer, I see the two other notes, folded, tucked in next to my socks. This note joins the others.

  Cameron’s phone rings for a long while, then goes to voicemail. “Cam, call me. Some guy left another note about you owing money.”

  My tossed phone bounces on the bed, landing next to the two pairs of jeans I was considering wearing tonight.

  Not that I feel like going out—especially now.

  The last thing I feel like doing is celebrating a birthday when I know I’m going to be digging Cam out of another bad decision.

  But if I spent every day I was upset over Cam staying in the house in despair, I’d never have a life.

  Plus, I promised I’d go.

  So I make myself get dressed.

  I pull on a black, slim fitting tank top, and a pair of cute jeans that I got at the consignment shop. At the last second I slip on a grey sweater—it’s going to be chilly out tonight down by the ocean where the sea breeze cools the night even more.

  The final touch, and the only make up I ever wear, is a coat of pale peachy-pink lip gloss. It’s the only color that goes with my freckled complexion.

  Before I head out the door, I peek out through the blinds to make sure the gray SUV is nowhere in sight. Last thing I want to do is run into the messenger. Once I know the coast is clear, I hustle to the car and lock myself inside.

  It takes 2.5 minutes to drive down the hill to the strip of businesses.

  The closer I get, the more the desire to go back home grows. I don’t do bars.

  But somehow here I am, pulling into the parking lot.

  I turn into the small, crowded driveway for the bar. I have to wait on someone to leave so I can park, but it only takes a few minutes.

  The windows of the Sea Slug, one of Lynn’s Cove’s only bars, are blacked out. Or...so dirty I can’t see through the glass.

  The place is exactly what I would expect from the ancient dive bar.

  I have no clue what’s inside. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never been inside.

  I hate dive bars. Drunken antics annoy me.

  I’m in no mood for the social scene, as a matter of fact I’d rather be anywhere else—like scrubbing toilets, picking cactus barbs out of my feet, or even vacuuming behind the fridge. Anything but this.

  But here I am. Dammit. Doing something I never do, dressed more like I’m going to lunch with an aunt than out to a club. I mean, who wears a cardigan to a nightclub?

  Fidgeting with my sweater, I berate myself for not leaving it in the car. I should have gone for the tank top and jeans alone. I’m tempted to turn back to where I parked, but I know if I get close to the car I might just drive away.

  Get it together, Anya, you don’t have to stay long.

  With a sigh, I walk right toward the front door of the bar because I’m a decent friend. When I give my word, I’m good for it.

  Mave made me swear I’d come tonight to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.

  Twenty-one. An eon ago for me. I didn’t even celebrate my birthday that year. And in the six long years since, I’ve had enough knocks and dips to count for three lifetimes.

  When I pull open the door, a rush of beer-air swooshes out, the buzz of drunken voices floating on it
s back. The interior is dark, the belly of a cave, punctuated by a few neon lights behind the bar. Loud music starts pulsing as soon as I cross the threshold.

  Great. That’s even better. I’ve walked into exactly the kind of place that reminds me how my parents wasted away their lives. I fight down the urge to turn right around and run.

  Blinking, I try to settle my gut and command my night vision to work.

  Hovering by the door, I strain to catch sight of someone I know. The sooner I get this over the better.

  How in the heck do you find someone in here?

  A sudden booming voice splits the air. “All right people! Let’s bring the rooooooooooof down!” A heavy beat shakes the whole building. It’s like a cattle call. A herd of people rush to the dance floor and morph into one big loud messy mass of humans.

  Suddenly I realize I’m standing right below a speaker. I’m going to be deaf for a week.

  I jam my fingers in my ears–time to move out. The search begins in earnest.

  A parade of young women roll by as I head away from the speakers. They’re wearing cut-off shorts, crop tanks, and weird jelly wedge shoes.

  How old are they?

  There’s no way they are of age.

  Or wait...god, am I that old already?

  I’m mourning the passing of my youth when I miraculously hear Mave’s distinct but weirdly adorable donkey laugh. The laugh goes on and on. It makes me grin. Birthday girl must be tying one on.

  As I navigate toward the sound, I recognize other people I know—surf instructors that work with Mave and me, and a few of the lifeguards from Lynn’s Cove beach. Their faces are rosy—from beer and sun.

  When I catch Mave’s eye with a wave, she promptly jumps on me, throwing her willowy arms around my neck in a too hard hug. “You came!”

  Gagging, I try to nod. I croak out a few tight words, “I told you I would.”

  Jeremy, one of the lifeguards gently pulls Mave off me. “Easy girl, she’s turning blue.”

  I rub my throat. “Thanks for saving me.”

  Note to self, Mave is a dangerous drunk, even if it’s only to the necks of friends.

  A round of cheers from her little group raises the roof as one of the guys in the group does a shot. He tosses it back and picks up another from a tray loaded with colorful shooters. A drinking game. One I have no clue about. I’m so far out of my comfort zone; I don’t even know what I’m seeing. I couldn’t even tell you what a single drinking game is. I’ve avoided alcohol like the plague after watching my parent’s spiral down to the ground with its lure.

  I shake my head, driving the thoughts out. This is about Mave, and her birthday. Not me. I’m not here to judge anyone.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Asks a male voice from right behind me. The voice is familiarish. I twist around and peer up at the face that’s a good foot above me. My eyes land on the square jaw and neatly trimmed beard of one of the Archer Brothers.

  Ah, that explains the familiarity of the voice. They all have a different version of the Archer baritone. He sounds an awful lot like Bishop.

  The tall, gorgeous creature looking down at me, however, is one of the brothers that I don’t know too well, one of the twins, Brandon. And I’m pretty sure it’s the one who nearly got creamed while walking past my driveway.

  “Water please….” I reach out and touch his arm, “Actually, I’ll come with you.”

  He’s just given me the perfect excuse to avoid getting sucked into a drinking game. With any luck I’ll be able to stand around, sip some water, and excuse myself in time to get in bed by ten, which would be like a dream-come-true.

  Brandon’s massive. Standing next to him is like standing in the shade of a big tree. He’s the perfect path-cutter for reaching the bar. I tuck in behind him and enjoy the wake of space he leaves behind.

  I shout, “Whew, thank goodness you busted through, I’d never have gotten here.”

  He laughs as he raises a hand for the bartender. His voice booms over the music, “Corona with lime and a glass of water, please.”

  Magically a spot at the bar opens for him, he reaches out and pulls me into the too small space with him. I’m suddenly mashed up against his broad chest, I wiggle around a bit putting some space between us so I can breathe—so I can pretend to ignore the hard planes of muscle he’s got in all the right places.

  Brandon takes a step back pushing someone else down the length of the bar giving me a little more room. “Better?”

  I bob my head and yell up at him, “Yeah, you saved me from suffocating in your manly pecs.”

  He shakes his head, “Funny girl, huh?”

  “Sometimes,” I shrug.

  He leans down toward me, drops his volume. “I don’t think we’ve ever really talked, one-on-one that is.”

  He and Bishop are so much alike. And so different. The voice is close. The way they move is closer. The humor is totally different. And Brandon’s eyes are—wait, is one eye darker?

  He rolls those big interesting eyes of his, “Yes, they’re different.”

  “Guess a lot of people do a double take.”

  “Everyone.”

  I grin. “Well, I don’t feel so bad then. They’re cool though.”

  “Thanks, I forget about them until someone stares.”

  Maybe I should feel bad for staring. I know I get enough weird looks. “People stare at my hair too.”

  His brows knit together. “It’s red. That’s not weird.”

  “It’s also curly. Like really curly. Which makes people find me fascinating for some reason.”

  His eyes scan over me, skimming over my hair, then my face, and then down lower...“I can see that.”

  Brandon Archer just looked right into my cleavage, as if that spot between my breasts is the most interesting thing in the world.

  A flush of heat dances over my flesh.

  Suddenly I feel too warm. Shoot! There’s a blush coming. I know it.

  I try thinking cool thoughts… babbling brook, Pacific Ocean, cold shower, chilled lemonade… anything.

  I know I’ve failed when he grins. “Your face is turning red too.”

  “Shush, you’re not supposed to notice.”

  He tilts his head and drills into me with his exotic, thickly lashed eyes. A shiver dances over my shoulders.

  Why is my body doing this? All he’s done is look at me.

  His voice is thick. “That would be hard for me to miss.”

  I thought I was hot before. I’m liable to shoot sparks any second now if I don’t get something to extinguish whatever this is he’s caused.

  The bartender shows up and hands over a cold Corona with a slice of lime jammed in the top, and a frosty glass of ice water. Thank god. I’m gonna guzzle the whole damn glass—or pour it over my head.

  Brandon passes over his credit card, “I’ll buy.”

  “Gee thanks, especially since this glass of water was so expensive.”

  He chuckles as he squeezes the lime into the golden beer, “And the laughs continue. Shall we go back to watching kids play drinking games, or shall we stay here for some more of the Anya comedy hour?”

  My eyes go wide over the top of my half-empty glass of water. He’s smiling and I like the look of it. Witty and playful. A helluva lot different than his brother Bishop.

  “I vote for the Anya show. I’m not really into the drinking game and dive bar scene.”

  He clinks his beer on my glass, “Cheers to that. It’s not my thing either. I was in the mood to get out of the house, and knew that a lot of our crew was coming this evening. I thought I’d see if I’ve gotten over my allergy to bar scenes.”

  “So, how’s that going?”

  He scratches at his neck, “Have any Benadryl?”

  I giggle. Then my real laugh bubbles out. This is not the one I put on for polite company, but the laugh that rarely gets to come out and play.

  Brandon lets my laughter die off before he speaks. “Maybe it’s the Anya and Br
andon show. We could make millions.”

  “I could use them.”

  He grins. “Couldn’t we all? I’ve got a yacht in mind.”

  My mind drifts off as we sip our drinks. Money isn’t far from my thoughts, ever. Now that my brother has gotten himself in financial trouble, I’m bearing the weight of his burden and my own. Again.

  I try to forget for a few moments at least. I go back to people watching. “Quite a crowd.”

  “I know, and they all seem so young.”

  Brandon’s eyes scan over the crowd. He’s got a helluva view from up there. Short people like me are jealous of people like him.

  My view is reduced to boobs, pecs, shoulder blades, and lint on people's shirts.

  Suddenly I realize the dance floor has morphed its way to us. A booty shaking ménage suddenly gets all in our space, grinding on each other as they hold their drinks high. Suddenly the red-faced guy stumbles backward toward me with his beer sloshing to the side. Brandon quickly inserts his body between me and the guy, saving me from getting crunched and taking a shower in beer.

  My eyes go wide. The beer that would have landed right on my head sloshes down Brandon’s arm, across the front of his jeans.

  I burst into laughter.

  He sets the man straight and the trio dance off. Beer drips off his arm. He looks down with a shake of his head. “My crotch got wet.”

  “Better than my head.”

  His laughing eyes flash to mine, “If we’re going to talk about wet crotches and head, my brain is going to the gutter, just be warned.”