Broken Rules: A Rescuer Romance

by Gunn, Jenna

  I sputter, “Whoa now, we didn’t say this show was going to be rated R.”

  Brandon picks up a napkin off the bar and wipes the last of the beer off his arm. “There is a patio, wanna get some air before we end up in the middle of that again?”

  I angle my head toward Mave and her party-people. “Is it rude not to hang with them?”

  He looks over the crowd to where Mave’s group is. “They're still busy.”

  I smile. “Good, let’s go.”

  Brandon grabs my hand, tugs me off into the crowd. His palm is big and rough and warm. A shiver races up my arm and lands in all my girl parts. Suddenly my feet tangle on themselves.

  A shocked squeak leaves my throat as I try to regain my balance. “Hold on, King Kong, you almost ripped me off my feet!”

  He laughs, holds his beer up and mows a clean path through the wiggling, singing mass of people.

  Ten seconds later, he’s shoving open the patio door and dragging me out onto the dimly lit patio. A couple of people glance over as I stumble out the door. My feet have yet to catch up. He saves me by tugging my hand. “Whoa, girl. Sure you haven’t been drinking?”

  “You walk too fast with those damn long legs.”

  He shrugs, “Maybe you walk too slow.”

  “We’re gonna have to talk about this if we’re going on the road together. You can’t be dragging me on stage like that.”

  When he drops my hand, the cool night air weaves around it. I curl my fingers into a ball. My skin craves the feel of his heat again. I shove my hand in my pocket.

  Brandon leans a hip against the rail, crosses his leg over at the ankle. Amusement dances in his eyes, “Come on, it could be our schtick.”

  I kick at his shin playfully, “And what’s the fun in that for me?”

  “Like I Love Lucy. They call that physical comedy, right?”

  “Something like that, but that’s not really my specialty. I’m more of a one-liner kind of girl.”

  I see a wave of something dance over his face— mischievous and masculine. Was that desire?

  Brandon swallows down a big drink of beer. “Are you a one night kind of girl?”

  I play-slap his arm. “How dare you? Do I seem like that?”

  “I take that as a no.”

  “I’m not a one night kind of girl. Are you a one night kind of guy?”

  He shrugs those big thickly roped shoulders. “I’m not a bar scene kind of guy.”

  “You can pick up one-night stands at places besides bars.”

  “Well, Ms. I’m-Not-A-One-Night-Girl, do tell me where someone should pick one-night stands.”

  Heat rises up from my neck into my cheeks. “You know… other places. Like the gym.”

  “Not at my gym. It’s all a bunch of sweaty jar-heads trying to out-macho one another. Maybe I should try your gym.”

  I grin, “That would be the ocean. And yes, maybe if that’s what you want, you could find a one-night stand of the bikini wearing kind. But hey, you’re a lifeguard. I’m sure you have women falling all over you. Women think lifeguards are the sexiest thing on earth.”

  Silence hangs between us. The corner of his mouth tilts up, light dances in his eyes. “Is that what you think?”

  I can’t hold his gaze. What am I doing here? This is really no time for me to be flirting, I’ve got too much to worry about as is without a guy complication. Especially my friend’s brother. “I’m not saying.”

  Brandon sips his beer, never taking his mischievous eyes off me. “That’s a yes.”

  Waving him off, I say, “Cocky bastard.”

  His eyes are still dancing, “Aren’t all lifeguards?”

  “Not your brother.”

  He laughs a loud bark of laughter. “That’s the funniest thing you’ve said all night.”

  “What?” I cry. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Bishop is cocky as hell. You try living with him, and you’ll see different.”

  I chew my lip for a second, thinking about my friend. He just seems defeated. Love ripped him to shreds, it’s hard to imagine him being cocky. “Speaking of Bishop, where is he tonight?”

  “There was a big family party. It was winding down when I left, which means he’s probably working on that car restoration that eats up all his time. I asked him to come, but he’s definitely not into bar crowds.”

  “He should try to meet someone.”

  “He should. But that’s a conversation that will take us hours.”

  I spin my glass around on the wooden railing, leaving water circles. “I worry about him.”

  Brandon sets his empty bottle next to my glass. “That’s kind of you. You’ve been a good friend to him. Or whatever you are. Which is why I shouldn’t be thinking about asking you out.”

  A tiny choked noise escapes me. I wish I could cover it by saying something clever, but my mouth refuses to work.

  How do you respond to a statement like that?

  “That’s a pretty interesting look you’ve got on your face. I guess I gotcha.”

  Pinching my lips together, I try to decide how I feel about what’s just been said.

  “Bishop and I are just friends.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Absolutely. We’re not like that. All we do is surf together. He’s made it more than clear he’s strictly a friend. And I like that.”

  He reaches out, slowly traces a thick finger over the frost on my glass. “So you’re not into dating?”

  “Now hold on King Kong, you’re making some pretty crazy assumptions there.”

  He looks up and holds my gaze for a few seconds in another of those heavy, silent exchanges. Then he reaches a big, strong hand out toward me. He grazes a knuckle along the back of my hand.

  The heat from him sizzles the nerve endings, and sends some kind of signal to my knees because they suddenly feel really, really weak.

  “All right pretty girl, I’ll cut through the assumptions and get to the ask.” He takes a measured step forward, close enough that a wave of heat comes off his body and wraps around me like tendrils of smoke.

  “How would you feel about trying out our comedy routine on a real date?”

  Something inside my chest… a million little fireflies, pulse and dance.

  I shrug.

  A little smile pulls my lips up, “I could be down with that if my name goes first on the marquee.”

  He leans down. And I find myself being magnetically pulled up.

  He winks, “I could be alright with that. May I?” There’s a questioning look in his eyes.

  How could I say no to a man that makes my body pulse from just his proximity?

  I find my lips parting, my head nodding, as I melt into those amazing vivid blue eyes of his.

  Brandon Archer, one of the hottest men in all of California, is about to kiss me—I might just have to reconsider my opinion of dive bars.

  Everything in my world narrows. Time stands still for the tiniest of spans. And it’s perfect. Him. Me. Nothing else. No worries. No debt. No pressures.

  Then when I think it’s impossible to get better, it does.

  His lips touch mine.

  Heat blooms from the place where our mouths connect. A shiver races from my spine out to my fingertips, causing them to arch against him—fingers that have somehow found their way to his chest.

  There’s a growl in his throat as I open to him. He angles, lowers himself down more to meet me.

  His kiss is fantasy worthy.

  Just the magic amount of everything.

  He’s cocky—that’s undeniable. And rightly so.

  It’s like his touch was made for me. Answering some deep unspoken craving.

  There’s none of the neck-breaking, tonsil-stabbing, water-hosing that every girl fears.

  No, this is so freaking sensual that my toes curl inside my boots and I find myself pressed against his perfect, hard body without a single thought in the world other than I WANT.

 
; When he steps back, his hands are cupping my face. He rubs his thumb across my cheek. A sultry glimmer dances in his bright eyes. “I’ll be looking forward to the encore.”

  “Me too,” I breathe.

  2

  As much as I want to get my hands all over Anya, I stop myself at lacing my fingers into her incredibly soft curls. Her eyes flutter closed as I brush my thumb across her sun freckled skin.

  My brother is going to fucking kill me.

  But I don’t give a rat’s ass.

  Crazy questions fill my brain. Would a woman that’s so perfect ever fall for a man like me?

  Bryce found his person—he found his soul mate, the woman that accepted him just as he is. That’s when the faintest glimmer of hope sparked inside of me.

  Could I ever be so lucky that this is her? Is this some primitive knowing in me that recognizes her?

  Because fuck, the drive to claim, to make her body mine, runs hot through my veins like an energy from something ancient.

  And if I’m reading her right. She wants me just as much. The way she melted into me as we kissed…

  The head in my pants wants to drag her out the door right damn now and into the big back seat of my truck. But for some reason with Anya I want to savor every little second—from the first kiss, to the first time we touch skin to skin.

  I want to explore every aspect of her. The funny, sweet girl, and the blushing sexy as sin one. And everything between.

  It takes everything in me, but I jam down the raw desire in my veins corralling it like a bull back into its pen.

  I need to get the hell away from her...before I lose my grip.

  I draw in a gulp of the cool night air to extinguish the fire in my loins. “Let’s say our goodbyes, then I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She touches her fingers to her lips, looks up at me with mischief in her eyes. “That was a really good kiss. I’m drunk off it.”

  “You’re a cheap date.” Laughing, I clasp her fingers in my hand and weave us into the crowd again.

  When we near the partiers that know us, I let her lead the way. I stay back so the rumor mill doesn’t go wild.

  Anya hugs Mave, speaks to a few people. Then excuses herself. As she fades back, I slide up to Jeremy and two other guys from work. We fist bump. “I’m out for the night, guys. See ya at the station.”

  They nod and forget me a second later when a round of shots show up. Which is perfect. I fade back into the crowd and grab Anya’s hand. “All right. We’re free to get out of here. Obligation met.”

  We’re almost to the door when I feel Anya’s hand bite into mine. I glance back and see her eyes wide, her face pale. She’s so distracted she rams into me.

  “Are you okay?” I pull her in front of me. If someone groped her, they’re gonna lose a fucking hand. Concern bristles my skin.

  Her shoulders are stiff. She nods sort of vaguely, “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I just bumped into someone.”

  I hustle her out into the parking lot, away from whatever frightened her. The sounds from the bar disappear behind us as the door closes. “Where are you parked?”

  “Over there, gray Prius on the end.” I recognize the car from the neighborhood.

  Anya fishes out a key fob from her pocket. As we approach the car, she clicks to unlock it. She’s definitely rattled. Her movements are stiff and jerky.

  “Are you sure everything is okay?”

  She glances around me, toward the bar. That’s when I see her eyes flash with fear. She chokes my name out. I whirl around just in time to see a man striding toward us. The same man that almost ran me down in the road in front of...Anya’s house. It hits me then that I was walking by her place when the car nearly clipped me as it sped away.

  And here we are, obviously something’s happening, and it’s all tied together.

  The man’s a human fire-plug. His black clothes do nothing to hide his build. No wonder he scares the hell out of her.

  His eyes are narrow slits of cold black menace, his jaw is tight.

  I take a step forward to intercept him before he gets too close. Maybe I’m misinterpreting this situation, but her reaction speaks volumes.

  I assert myself, “Hey, What’s up, man?”

  He holds up two ham-hock size hands, “Just need a word with the lady.”

  “I don’t think she’s up for talking right now. You can talk to me instead.”

  His mouth turns up into a half sneer. “This is between me and the woman.”

  I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t like it. He’s not getting anywhere near her.

  “And I’m between you and her. So if you’re going to talk, it’s going to be to me.”

  The man’s thick jaw clenches. “If you’re smart, you’ll get out of the way.” He takes a half step forward.

  “Back the fuck off.” I growl.

  His cold black eyes cut from me to Anya. “Two minutes, that’s all I want, then you can go back to working on getting laid.”

  The man’s face turns to a sneer. “Hey bitch, you might want to listen to what I have to say. Your brother’s gonna disappear into the bottom of a lagoon if he doesn’t pay Carlos the money he owes.”

  I never take my eyes off the man, but I bark. “Anya, call the cops.”

  The car door snaps shut behind me.

  Meathead glares, “Stupid bitch. I’ll catch her alone next time.”

  A surge of white hot rage rips through my veins. Adrenaline sets the stage for the trouble that’s about to go down. I growl and take another step forward. “You ever come near her again and I’ll break that stubby fucking neck of yours by shoving you through that windshield.”

  The thick-necked bastard rises on the balls of his feet, his silent way of saying we’re not done here.

  Good. I want nothing more than to smash his ugly face. And if he thinks he’s gonna get the first punch, he’s wrong. I’m on him before he breathes his next breath. My punch is solid, honed from years of sparring with my brothers.

  When I hit his jaw, his head whips back—a spray of blood hits my shirt.

  I don’t give him a chance to recover. I swing again. But he moves, and my right hook is only a grazing blow. We jab at each other. He’s fast for a human cinder block.

  I duck, but a bare-knuckle shot connects to my cheek—jarring my teeth. I lunge for him and knock him off his feet. He scrambles up and I grab him again, but this time I only catch his shirt.

  We circle, our breathing ragged.

  The door of the bar opens. A group of guys spill out, laughing. They fall silent as they see us. “Hey! Whoa, now!” Yells one of them. Two of the men rush to break up our fight. Their friends join in to pull us apart.

  “Let go,” I snarl as they wrestle me backwards. The same happens to the slimy bastard.

  I try to shake them off.

  “Come on, now. Let’s end this shit before someone gets killed.”

  That’s when I hear sirens over the pounding pulse in my ears. Everyone’s eyes pivot to the road. Suddenly the hands that were holding me fall away.

  That’s when I realize that the bastard is gone, escaped during the distraction. I scramble after him.

  But a booming voice over a police PA system stops me in my tracks, “Put your hands in the air!”

  Son of a fucking bitch. I slowly put my hands up. The guys surrounding me do the same, even though I’m the only one covered in blood with bruised up knuckles.

  The bar owner shoulders through the group. He points at me. “We saw that one throw the first punch on the security camera.”

  It’s probably pointless, but I try to defend my actions. “You’ll see on that video that the other guy was harassing us before it started.”

  I flinch as a handcuff is slammed around my right wrist. My arm is yanked behind my back.

  “On your knees.” The cold metal of the handcuff bites into my other hand.

  “Aren’t you going to chase him?”

  “You worry about you. Let
us cops worry about him.”

  I know the cop. It’s Campbell. He’s not my favorite guy. Every time I’m on guard duty and he has to come to the beach to deal with a call, he’s a cocky dick. I clamp my mouth shut. There’s no use talking to him.

  The crowd disperses, and I can finally see Anya. My heart twists right out of my ribcage. Tears are streaming down her face as she talks to a female police officer.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I’m suddenly hauled to my feet and hurried to the police car. “What am I being arrested for?”

  “Disorderly conduct.”

  “I was–”

  Campbell pushes my head down into the doorway of the cop car, “You might want to be quiet now, Archer.”

  * * *

  The bench below me is cold, which is half of the reason my ass is numb. The other reason is that I’ve been sitting in this cell for three hours.

  The town of Lynn’s Cove is small—hell, all of Ocean County is small too. It’s not a stretch that I recognize most of the half-dozen men who’ve been in the lockup with me. One guy was in the same grade as me in high school—although it took me thirty minutes to realize who he was.

  He’s not aging well. I’d have put his age at forty plus, not thirty as I know he is. Drugs and alcohol rode Chris hard and put him up wet.

  It didn’t take long to grow real bored with the others.

  So, I sit and stare at my feet as I wait for the young jail employee to open the cell and let one of the flunkies out. Sooner or later it will be this flunkie.

  It’s pretty obvious what has landed most everyone in the jail tonight, drunkenness. Which I am not. Maybe sitting here wouldn’t suck quite so much if I was. But no—I’m stone cold sober and annoyed as fuck that I got arrested for this bullshit.

  I haven’t even gotten a damn phone call yet.

  That’s going to be a real fun phone call. Which of the Archers will bitch me out the least?

  Dad’s a definite no-go.

  I’d just disappoint him—once again. This would be just another excuse for me to be the least favorite twin. Another reason in a long line of reasons that started in grade school.

  Maybe Bishop would be the easiest because he’ll be glad as fuck I protected Anya… but then I’ll have to explain to him why I was walking her to her car.