Bad Boy Valentine (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 2)

by Sylvia Pierce

  “Why… why did you show me those dimples? I don’t want to see them again. I don’t want to see you again. Ever.” Kate was one second away from stomping her foot like a child. She knew she was being crazy, but she couldn’t help it. The words just tumbled out of her in a pathetic rush. Still, it was better than crying. She did not want him to see her cry. Not like this.

  She’d shed enough tears for Jagger Barnes already, and that well was long dry.

  At least, it should’ve been.

  She took a deep breath and channeled Georgie’s voice of reason, wishing her friend was still there. Georgie had come into her life years after Jagger had left it, but Kate had confessed the whole sob story one night over a few bottles of wine and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and she knew Georgie would’ve had her back today.

  Don’t let him get to you like this. You’re stronger than this—come on!

  Turning her back on Jagger, Kate ducked behind the counter, searching around for something—anything—to occupy herself. She just needed a minute to get herself together, then she’d turn around, strong and sure, and send him marching back out that door for good. She’d rather go outside and round up a bunch of men off the street to do her renovations than spend another second with the man who’d shredded her heart.

  “Kate,” Jagger said softly. Closely. Too close. She felt the air shift behind her, and then his hands were on her shoulders, warm and gentle. Part of her wanted to shrug him off, to shove him away, to hit him again—throbbing hand and all.

  But another part of her—the weaker part—liked the feel of his touch on her shoulders. The warmth.

  “Tell me to leave,” he said, his voice low, his breath stirring the back of her hair. “Tell me you really don’t want me here, and I’m gone, Kate. But you have to look me in the eye and say it to my face.”

  Involuntarily, Kate leaned back against his chest, a solid wall of muscle that had only gotten stronger, more defined. She closed her eyes and traveled backward in time, year by year, day by day, until she was back in their Bushwick apartment, falling into his embrace after a long day at work at the bookstore café gig she’d landed after college.

  Jagger may have broken her heart, but Kate’s body was the ultimate betrayer. She should’ve been repulsed and enraged, doing whatever she could to put some serious distance between her and that… that criminal.

  Instead, everything in her was reaching out for him, craving his warmth, desperate to hold on to the touch she’d once known so intimately.

  He’d called her bluff; she didn’t want him to leave—not really.

  The truth was, she’d spent eight years planning for this moment, imagining all the ways she’d tell him off, send him packing, let him know how little he’d come to matter to her. But now that he was here, standing in her café, his strong hands on her shoulders, she couldn’t do it. Every brick of denial she’d stacked up around her crumbled the moment he’d said her nickname.

  Kit-Kat…

  Of all the contractors in the city, all the companies and partnerships and one-man gigs, all the possible people who knew how to swing a hammer, the guy who walked through her door just had to be Jagger.

  She was practically obligated to punch him at least once.

  But now she had to face the facts.

  Kate opened her eyes, looking out into the new, unfinished space that sprawled in a gaping, ugly mess behind the counter. It needed serious electrical work, and several sheets of drywall were still stacked up along one side, waiting to be hung, plastered, and sanded. After that, the walls had to be primed and painted, lighting fixtures needed installing, the floors needed a good polish, and someone would have to set up the new tables and chairs that were being delivered early next week.

  Kate sighed. She had neither the skills nor the time to do the work herself, and five other contractors had already come and gone, unable to work under her demands. There was no one else. Kate was out of options.

  And part of her—a deep, buried, pathetic little part of her that should never be allowed to see the light of day—was glad she was out of options.

  She wanted him to stay.

  Jagger finally released her, and slowly, she turned around to face him.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She lifted her hand to his jaw, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch his face. It was too intimate, too close. “I shouldn’t have hit you.”

  “Nah. I had that one coming.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  He shook his head. “You?”

  Kate flexed her fingers, trying not to wince.

  “Got any ice?” he asked. “You need to ice that, or it’ll swell up like a bitch.”

  She held her injured hand between them, droopy and bent like a bird that had fallen out of the nest. “Do you think I broke it?”

  “Doubt it.” Jagger smiled, those damn dimples flashing again. “You didn’t hit me hard enough to break it.”

  She pointed him toward the ice chest under the sink, and he scooped some ice into a clean rag, wrapping it into a pack and setting it on the counter.

  “Give me your hand.”

  Reluctantly, she allowed Jagger to check her over. His skin was rough and calloused, but his touch was gentle as he cradled her aching hand. His head was bent over her hand, his hair tickling her nose as he stretched and moved her fingers, one by one.

  Kate tried not to shiver.

  “That hurt?” he asked, his eyes snapping to hers, full of concern.

  Kate shook her head. It wasn’t her hand that hurt so badly. It was everything inside of her, all the parts that had been so lost in his absence. She didn’t know what to do with herself.

  “Good. It’s definitely not broken. Not even sprained, far as I could tell.” He stood up straight and let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re lucky you didn’t break the skin. Jesus, Kate.”

  “I—”

  “Right. I meant Miss Molina.” The warmth faded from his eyes, and with clinical efficiency, he wrapped the ice pack around her knuckles and tucked the ends of the rag into her palm. “Twenty minutes on, twenty off. Keep icing it like that for a few hours. And no more violent outbursts. Got it?”

  She nodded dumbly and closed her eyes, still trying to comprehend everything that had happened in the last ten minutes. Jagger Barnes, back from the grave—that’s how it felt, anyway. By the time she opened her eyes again, Jagger was on the other side of the counter, lifting up his tool box and heading for the door.

  “I’ll tell Callaghan he’s gotta send someone else.”

  “But… won’t you get in trouble?”

  Jagger shrugged. “I don’t want to make things any harder on you than I already have.” He held her gaze for a moment, then looked away, scanning the entire café. “Looks like you’ve done really well for yourself, Kate. I’m proud of you. I mean it.”

  “I… thank you. Thanks.”

  What was even happening? Fifteen minutes ago, she was sitting in the booth with Georgie, simmering in frustration about her late-for-work contractor, stressing about the renovation. In the short time since, her past had come back for her, sending her into an utter tailspin.

  Kate could still feel his touch on her shoulders, on her hand, and with a sudden flash of urgency, she knew she couldn’t let him leave. Because if she let him go, if she let him walk out that door, it really would be the last time. He’d make sure of that. And no matter how angry and hurt she was, no matter how confused and discombobulated his return had left her, no matter how much she’d tried to convince herself otherwise, Kate wasn’t ready for that possibility just yet.

  “Take care of yourself, Kit-Kat,” he said, pushing open the door and turning away from her.

  “Jagger, wait!”

  He waited a beat, shook his head, then finally turned to meet her eyes.

  “Listen,” she said. “As long as you’re working for me, I don’t want to see those dimples. I don’t want to see that smile. I don’t want to see any part of your stu
pid face.”

  Jagger’s eyebrows rose.

  Kate knew she was being completely ridiculous again, but she couldn’t help it. She needed to put those walls up again, and fast. Because all it would take was one moment of weakness, and she’d let him back in. Working here, sharing space… she could maybe possibly probably deal with that. But getting close? Emotionally close? Physically close? No way.

  “Is that clear?” she asked.

  Jagger nodded, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling. He stepped back into the café, one hand still on the door. “This mean you’re letting me keep the job?”

  “The job is yours.” Kate tightened her grip on the ice pack and took a deep breath, shoring up her resolve. “But I’ve got a few conditions. And you’re not going to like them one bit.”

  Chapter Five

  There was something so damn satisfying about pounding a hammer into a wall. Especially when that wall belonged to his ex. His very demanding, pain-in-the-ass, hot-as-fuck ex.

  Jagger swung the hammer, knocking out another huge chunk of drywall. One of the last morons she had working for her had fucked up the electrical, which meant that unless Kate wanted to start a fire every time she flipped on the lights, Jagger would have to rip down two panels of drywall, fix the botched wiring, then patch the whole thing up again. None of the wall outlets had been properly grounded, and the primary light switches had been installed on a back wall in a room that would be full of tables and chairs.

  Kate wasn’t gonna like it, but nearly everything would have to be redone.

  She was supposed to come in at six this morning, which meant he had just about two hours left to figure out the best way to break the bad news.

  He was exhausted—damn woman had insisted he work the night shift, ten to six. After smoothing things over with her yesterday, he’d gone back to his uncle’s place in Red Hook to crash before his shift, but Kate had gotten him so worked up, sleep was impossible.

  She’d said the ridiculous schedule was their best shot at staying out of each other’s way.

  Problem was, now that he’d seen her again, Jagger didn’t want to stay out of Kate’s way—no matter what promises he’d made the night they threw his ass in jail. Every last one of those vows flew out the fucking window the minute she turned those blue eyes his way.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Remembering her. Remembering them, together…

  Fuck. The only thing that kind of thinking was good for was a constant hard-on.

  Check.

  At least the work gave him a purpose, something to focus on other than his usual obsessions—regret and guilt. There was a shit ton to do and not a lot of time to get it done, but Jagger appreciated the challenge. Despite the bullshit hours, he liked the routine of it, too. Set schedule. Specific tasks that needed to get done in a specific order by a specific deadline. Jagger prided himself on knowing exactly what to do and how to do it. Order. Predictability. Results.

  After nearly a decade behind bars, it was the surprises that fucked him up.

  Like the one walking through the front door right now, long before she was supposed to.

  “Good morning,” Kate called out, her voice high and tight. Forced. Jagger didn’t claim to know her anymore, but some things about a person never changed. It was clear that Kate was supremely uncomfortable around him—not that he blamed her—which meant she’d be doing her best to put on a little I’m-fine-you’re-fine-we’re-all-fine show.

  Here we go.

  Jagger glanced over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her.

  Her hair was twisted into some kind of fancy-ass knot at the top of her head, exposing her bare neck. She had on another dress today, a light blue little number that clung to her curves like water, swishing against her body as she darted around the front room doing who knows what. Girl couldn’t seem to stand still around him.

  “Mornin’,” he finally said, dragging his eyes right back to the wall in front of him. Jagger had a job to do. Couldn’t afford to get sidetracked with another guilt-ridden trip down memory lane, and every time he looked at her, that’s exactly where he went.

  Pack your fuckin’ bags, asshole.

  “A little early, aren’t you?” he asked, keeping his tone casual. There’d be plenty of arguing later, after he told her about the extent of the rework. “Wasn’t planning to wrap up here for a couple hours yet.”

  Ignoring him, Kate flipped on some of the lights at the front of the shop, casting everything in a warm glow. He heard her rummaging around under the front counter, dishes clanking, coffee beans grinding. The sounds were homey, familiar. The whole thing made his damn chest hurt.

  Kate didn’t have her own bakery back when they’d been together, but she’d loved making stuff for them at home, especially breakfast. Waking up with her had been one of the best things about his days, second only to going to bed with her.

  Jagger set down his hammer and lowered his dust mask. A minute later, the smell of hot coffee wafted into the back room, and his stomach rumbled. He’d been so wound up about Kate, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

  “I picked up some food,” Kate called out from the front. “Coffee’s on, too, if you’re interested.”

  In the restroom off the main work area, Jagger washed his hands and face, doing his best to shake the plaster dust out of his clothes before heading out into the front of the café. Kate was sitting in the booth by the window, a whole spread set up in front of her—steaming egg sandwiches, two mugs of hot coffee, a plate piled high with cookies. Ice waters, too.

  She thought of everything, as usual.

  She hadn’t heard him approach, and he took a moment to check her out in earnest. She looked just as he’d remembered—lush lips, big blue eyes, wavy hair the color of honey. He liked it natural like that. She used to spend hours in front of the bathroom mirror straightening it, freaking out if Jagger tried to turn on the shower while she was still in there. The steam! You’ll mess it all up again!

  Jagger smiled at the memory, wondering if she still straightened her hair sometimes. If she still changed her outfit four times before walking out the door every day. If she still did her makeup, then washed it off and started over again until she got her eyeliner just how she liked it. Waiting for her to get ready was an event in itself.

  Jagger never had a lot of patience for anything in his life, but Kate was different. He’d actually liked waiting for her—to do her makeup. To get dressed. To pick a movie. To decide what toppings to get on their pizza.

  To come.

  He’d zipped up every one of her dresses, clasped her delicate necklaces with his big, meaty hands. Hell, some days he’d done it at least a dozen times.

  Jagger’s throat felt tight.

  Who’d done that for her in his absence? Who sat on the couch flipping through channels while she took a million years to get ready for a party? Who stared at her like he was the luckiest bastard alive as she finally came out of the bedroom, looking like a goddamn queen?

  He pictured some scruffy son-of-a-bitch with his hands on Kate’s soft hips, whispering in her ear about all the things he’d do to her later…

  Fuck me. This shit needs to stop.

  Stepping out of the shadows, Jagger cleared the tightness from his throat and took a seat across from her, plastering on a passable smile. “What’s all this?”

  “You still like bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll?” she asked brightly. “Figured you’d be hungry. The cookies are oatmeal chocolate chip, by the way. Sandwiches are from Danny’s.”

  Damn, he hadn’t had a Danny’s breakfast sandwich in years. The place was legendary. And Jagger was starving.

  “Miss Molina, I could kiss you.” Laughing, he reached for the sandwich, the roll squishing between his fingers, gooey cheese dripping down the side of his hand. It was halfway to his mouth before he realized what he’d said.

  “So. I thought we could start over,” Kate said. Her tone was all business, but
her cheeks were dark pink, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Yeah, she’d heard him, all right. “We got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”

  “And this is your peace offering?” Jagger nodded. “I accept.”

  He opened his mouth, finally taking that bite. But holy fuck, shit was on fire.

  “Hot! Hot!” Through a mouthful of food, he gulped down his entire glass of ice water and reached for Kate’s.

  Kate cracked up, her whole damn face lighting up with it. “Graceful as always, I see.” She slid her glass toward him, still laughing her lush little ass off.

  Fuck if he hadn’t missed the sound of that. He used to make her laugh all the time. Especially after she came.

  Do it again. Just keep laughing, just a little longer…

  But the moment passed, and Jagger wasn’t quite ready to burn himself again just to amuse her. Give her an orgasm, though?

  Now there’s an idea that’ll get you in deep shit, asshole.

  He took a sip of her water to douse the pain—the one in his mouth and in his balls—then slid the glass back to her, their fingers brushing.

  “How’s your hand?” he asked.

  She flexed her fingers. “A little sore, but I’ll live. How’s your face?”

  He gave her a devilish grin. “Haven’t had any complaints.”

  She was laughing again, a sound he wished he could put in a damn bottle. But like most of the good things in his life, that sound came to its fucking end faster than it should have, and the uncomfortable silence crept between them once again.

  This is how it is now. You did this to her, fuckface. Deal with it.

  He shoved in another bite of sandwich, only marginally less hot than the last, but good as hell. They ate in silence for a few minutes, stealing looks at each other across the table like a couple of kids on a first date, both trying to pretend the situation was anything other than completely fucked.

  Jagger had demolished his sandwich and was already working on his fourth cookie when he felt the energy between them shift again. Kate took a breath, let it out slow, took another one. Her fingers tapped against the edge of the table.