Bad Boy Valentine (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 2)

by Sylvia Pierce

  “Just say it,” he said, trying to catch her eye. She refused to look at him.

  “I just… look. I really am sorry about yesterday.” Kate stopped drumming on the table just long enough to tuck her hair behind her ears, her blue eyes glued to a spot on his shirt. “I shouldn’t have hit you like that. I… It was like seeing a ghost, Jagger. You were the very last man I expected to walk through that door.”

  “No shit.” Now he was the one laughing, but there was nothing happy about it. He still couldn’t believe he’d ended up here at Kate’s, of all places. It was like the damn universe was conspiring against him.

  Kate finally stopped fidgeting and met his gaze, unblinking, and what Jagger saw there nearly knocked him over. The look in her eyes was so vulnerable, so sad. He realized then how much she’d aged in his absence. Not with wrinkles or gray hair or laugh lines, but something in her eyes. A crushing, bone-deep weariness.

  Jagger’s name was stamped all over it.

  Jesus, Kit-Kat.

  Anger flared suddenly in his chest.

  He dropped a half-eaten cookie on his plate and jabbed his finger toward the door. “You think I expected to walk through that door yesterday and find you on the other side? Last time I saw you, you were working your ass off at that bookstore. Now you have your own place. This bakery. A life. Damn, Kit-Kat.”

  She opened her mouth, probably to scold him for using her nickname, but then she let it pass.

  His feelings were a tangled knot of wires inside him, all crisscrossed and shorting out. He wanted to tell her that he’d never doubted her. That he was proud. That he was so happy that she’d moved on with her life, even though it shredded his heart.

  But he was pissed, too. Pissed that she’d wasted even a minute pining for him. Pissed that she’d let his bullshit put that look in her eyes. That she’d let him get away with that shit instead of just forgetting about his ass.

  But nothing made sense in his head. All the words got jumbled up, and there was no point in saying them anyway.

  I should’ve been here with her. Right by her side.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” Kate said. “I spent a long time trying to convince myself you were dead. I have a life, Jagger. And then you show up and—”

  “You think I wanna be here? Seeing you every day, seeing that look on your face? Knowing that you can’t stand me? That I deserve it—and probably worse?” He shoved his plate away and jerked himself out of the booth, heading to the back room, but Kate was right on his heels.

  She grabbed his forearm and yanked him around to face her again.

  “Oh, no. You aren’t allowed to be angry with me,” she said, that temper shooting into the red zone, five seconds flat. “You gave up that right the night you bailed on me.”

  “Bailed on you? Everything I did was… You don’t…. Fuck. You know what, Miss Molina? No. We’re not doing this today. Or tomorrow. Or ever.” Jagger backed off, shame heating his blood.

  Saying that everything he did was for her? That was a bullshit excuse, and he fuckin’ knew it. He hadn’t done it for her. He’d done it for himself, because he was too immature and fucked up to be a man about it and walk away from Rage when he had the chance. He was too stupid to find a better way, too incompetent to take care of his woman, too much of a child to get his own shit together.

  That had nothing to do with Kate, and everything to do with him.

  Anger? Yeah, Jagger understood that. Anger was some heavy shit, but regret weighed a hell of a lot more. Jagger had spent his whole life lugging around both—especially when it came to Kate.

  He couldn’t—wouldn’t—do this with her. Not now. She had too much going for her.

  Leaving her was the best thing he could’ve done for her. It hadn’t been easy for her, but that’s the way it had to be. Opening those old wounds wouldn’t do any good—for either of them.

  Jagger took a deep breath, waiting for the muscles in his neck and shoulders to uncoil.

  “Kate—Miss Molina, listen. I’m sorry I snapped. Let’s just focus on the task at hand. There’s a lot of work to do, and I need to go over a few things with you about the project before I leave today.”

  Electricity crackled between them, the tension threatening to spark into a full-blown battle. He needed to diffuse this shit before it got any more out of hand. Before they both said things they’d regret.

  “I’m real grateful for the breakfast,” he continued, lowering his eyes. “And for the job. I just don’t see any point in bringing up the past. What’s done is done. The sooner I can wrap up the work, the sooner we can go back to our separate lives. Agreed?”

  After a long moment, Kate finally nodded. “Agreed.”

  And just like that, the walls of detached professionalism were back up between them, the heat of their argument rushing out the front door like a bad smell that just needed some fresh air.

  In the back room, Jagger gave Kate an overview of the wiring issues.

  “But this has to be done by the thirteenth,” she said, her voice edged with panic. “No exceptions. I’ll have a hundred people an hour rotating through here on Valentine’s Day, including corporate sponsors and the media. Everything has to be absolutely perfect. There’s no room for error on this, Jagger. None. And I—”

  “Can’t you just hold the event in the front room, save the renovation for another big shindig?”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Jagger. You’ve seen the front. Two booths, two small tables, and a four-stool counter bar? Give me a break. The expansion was part of the deal—I promised the sponsors I’d have the space available.”

  He hated his next idea, but he was obligated to make the suggestion anyway. “Alright. What about bringing in another guy or two? With three of us on it, we could probably—”

  “Not possible.” Kate slid down against the drywall, burying her head in her hands. “No budget. And I’ve already gone through half the contractors in the city.”

  “Then you got one choice, Miss Molina.” Jagger knelt down in front of her, a smirk stretching across his whole damn face. “And you ain’t gonna like it one bit.”

  Chapter Six

  “Sorry—can you repeat that?” Kate leaned forward across the counter, trying to translate what her customer had just asked for.

  For the third time.

  Thankfully, Marco was a regular with the patience of a saint—not to mention the ass of a pro football player—but still. Her level of customer service had plummeted tenfold in three days, and it pissed her off.

  “Regular soy vanilla latte,” Marco shouted again, enunciating every word to be heard over the screech of Jagger’s saw. “Two small dark roasts, and an earl gray tea!”

  At least, that’s what Kate heard. For all she knew, he was asking for a scone and some cinnamon hot chocolate. Or maybe he just wanted directions to get on the BQE.

  Offering an apologetic smile, Kate turned around and got to work on the drinks. She was mentally calculating how much she’d already lost that morning on throwaways after screwing up nearly every order, not to mention all the freebies she’d offered up to make up for the noise and the long wait.

  At this rate, she’d be totally out of business in a week.

  Three days ago, Jagger had convinced her that he needed to work longer hours—that is, work during business hours—to make up for the shoddy work the previous contractors had done. After the first day on the new schedule, Kate had made the tough decision to temporarily close sit-down service, offering takeout orders only. She just couldn’t have customers lingering in here while Jagger was back there demolishing half the building. Not only was it a safety issue, it was damn annoying. Half the time he worked without a shirt on—totally unprofessional—and despite his promises to keep the mess under control, he’d turned the whole place into a construction site.

  All that was missing were the orange cones and the catcalls.

  Kate shook off her negative thoughts, packing up Marco’s drinks and
throwing in a couple of chocolate pecan mini-tarts at no charge.

  “Thanks, Kate!” he shouted. “I love those things!”

  “No worries!”

  “What?”

  “I said, no worries!” Kate slid the coffee carrier and paper bag across the counter, wishing she didn’t have to shoo him out so quickly. Marco was cute, and usually she liked flirting with him, even though it never went anywhere. “Sorry about the—”

  An impossibly high-pitched whine cut her off, one of Jagger’s awful drywall sanders that sounded like a thousand dental drills and seemed to get louder and more frequent whenever a cute male customer was inside the café.

  It bothered her that she was now able to tell the difference between the saws and the sanders based on sound alone. She did not want that knowledge in her head.

  Marco shrugged, finally gathering up his stuff and bolting out of there.

  “Noise,” Kate finished. But he was already gone.

  Cleaning off the steamer wands, Kate gazed out at the pedestrian traffic rushing by in front of the café, an endless stream of commuters and dog walkers and nannies who used to come into Sweet Bliss for a break, to get away from the hustle and bustle of Woodside Avenue. But that was before the place became known as Demolition Diner.

  Just beyond the sidewalk, Jagger’s motorcycle gleamed in the sun, taunting her. New York was experiencing a freakishly warm February, and once he’d unloaded his tools from the Callaghan and Sons van that first day, he’d started showing up on the Harley instead.

  Probably to torment her.

  Kate knew how much he loved that bike, but seeing it now was like a punch in the gut. She used to love riding with him.

  Kate took a deep breath, counting backward from ten. Georgie’s words echoed in her head.

  Be nice… don’t scare this one off…

  Of course, that was before either of them had realized that “this one” was Jagger Barnes. She wondered what Georgie would say now.

  Didn’t matter. Kate couldn’t let this go on. Yes, contracting work was loud and messy. Yes, Kate had a tendency to overreact, and yes, maybe she was a bit of a hyper-anal control freak with impossibly high standards.

  But sometimes people just had to be put in their place.

  She tossed her rag into the sink and stormed into the back room, ready to give him hell. But there he was again, the shirtless wonder, a freakin’ marvel of powerful muscle that made her thighs clench.

  She watched him for a minute, despite herself, fascinated by the tattoo on his shoulder—two wolves, side-by-side, one large and dark, the other lithe and gray, lighter than the first. He didn’t have it while they were together, and Kate wondered if he’d gotten it recently, or if someone had given it to him in prison.

  Her eyes trailed down his torso and back up again, drinking in the lines and ridges of his strong body. His skin gleamed with sweat, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippling as he ran the sander over the drywall, working the same spot of plaster over and over and over… rubbing it… stroking it… caressing it with his big, strong, determined, capable, calloused hands…

  Holy shit, snap out of it!

  Kate blinked, finally tearing her eyes away. Her panties were damp enough with Jagger around—no need to further encourage those fantasies.

  You’re here to set boundaries, not obliterate them.

  “Jagger,” she called. Twice.

  After being ignored for a full minute, she finally crouched down and yanked the cord out of the wall, silencing the beastly sander.

  Jagger turned around with a jolt. When he saw her standing there with the cord in her hand, he yanked off his face mask. “What the hell?”

  “Are you trying to run me out of business?”

  “Are you trying to drive me fucking crazy?”

  “Excuse me?” Kate tossed the cord to the ground, her arms instinctively folding across her chest. “I’m running a business here, Jagger. It’s how I make my living now, remember?”

  “Yeah? Well I’m trying to do my job. The one you hired me to do. Remember?”

  “Really? Does your job involve scaring off the male customers? Or is that just a pissing-on-your-territory thing?”

  “You’re out of your mind.” Jagger shook his head, staring at her hard, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. It was as if everything in him was just daring her to push him, to escalate this fight into the stratosphere.

  It was a familiar scene. They’d always fought hard and dirty.

  They’d loved each other just as fiercely.

  Kate shut her eyes, blocking him out. Once again, she felt that Jagger-induced rage boiling inside her. It started in her gut, a white-hot swirl that quickly fanned outward, heating her entire body, jolting her heart into a furious, impossible beat, making her limbs tremble, her throat dry.

  It wasn’t a new emotion—not by a long shot. Hell, she’d been angry since she was four years old and the state had taken away her mother, a heroin addict who’d ended up dying in prison Kate’s freshman year of college.

  She just thought she’d dealt with it. Had it under control. Never let it get the best of her—especially not in front of someone else.

  Especially not in front of Jagger.

  Eight years ago, when it’d become clear that Jagger wasn’t coming back—and that he’d wanted nothing more to do with her—Kate was beyond angry. But instead of letting it destroy her like it almost had when her mother died, she buried it. Jagger had refused to see her. She wasn’t about to go after Rage and those guys. So instead, she shoved all that anger and hatred and ire way down deep, where it simmered in the darkness, fueling her.

  Gran was worried about her, tried to get her to see a counselor, but Kate refused. That ember inside got her through her darkest, loneliest nights, through mornings that’d had her contemplating ending her own life.

  And since then, she’d spent a long time tending that fire, keeping it in check, letting it burn just hot enough to remind her of that pain.

  To remind her that she’d never put herself in a position to feel anything like that again.

  But with one look, one touch, one flash of those dimples she’d once loved to kiss, Jagger had undone all of that careful, dedicated work, dousing her single flame with gasoline, setting her insides ablaze.

  She was lying to herself, pretending she wasn’t still attracted to him. Pretending she didn’t want to ask him a million questions—what happened that night? How have you been? Why wouldn’t you let me visit you? Did you miss me?

  Do you still think about me the way I think about you?

  The last one stuck in her throat, hot and sharp. She’d been denying it for so long, but now that the words were there, written in her mind, she couldn’t let them go. She did still think about him.

  Every.

  Single.

  Day.

  And especially at night, alone beneath the sheets, only the darkness and her memories to keep her company…

  God. Right now, as crazy as it was, she wanted to… she wanted to kiss him.

  Jagger shoved a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of white plaster dust in its wake. He puffed up his cheeks and blew out a breath, then leaned back against the wall.

  “What do you want from me, Kate?” His tone was low and broken, so soft she’d barely heard him.

  “Jagger,” she whispered. And when he finally looked up and met her eyes, she saw the hurt in his. All of his walls were down. He was completely open, completely raw. All she had to do was say it.

  I want you to kiss me. Take two steps forward, pull me into your arms, and don’t you fucking let me go, ever again.

  There was so much she wanted to say, but the words just wouldn’t form. After eight years, everything she’d been thinking, dreaming about, wishing, screaming… all of it wanted to come out at once. She didn’t trust herself to get it right. Not yet.

  Sensing her struggle, or maybe just wanting to be near her, Jagger finally took
a step forward. His eyes hadn’t left hers. Kate’s heart hammered in her chest, her breath ragged, everything in her hoping he’d take just one more step, close the gap that had been forced between them so long ago.

  He did it. Took another step. And then he was there, right in front of her, sliding his hand along her jaw, tangling his fingers into the back of her hair…

  Her heart railed against her chest. Please, please, please…

  “Hello? Anyone about?” A voice called from the front room, and the thin gossamer thread that had held them together snapped.

  Jagger lowered his hand and took a step back.

  Without looking at her, he cleared his throat, turning back to his work. “Sounds like you got a customer.”

  Kate nodded. She’d known immediately who that voice belonged to—the man was hard to miss.

  There was a time in her life when Kate would never have put another man before Jagger, even a man like the one waiting for her up front.

  But everything was different now.

  A reminder she desperately needed.

  “Be right with you, Mr. Blackwell,” she called out.

  Smoothing out her hair and dress, Kate turned away from Jagger and headed toward the front room, leaving her past behind her in the dust, right where it belonged.

  Chapter Seven

  The unmistakable sound of a kiss turned Jagger’s stomach.

  “Hello, Kate,” the man said, and Jagger pictured him holding her out at arm’s length, scanning her body, the fuckin’ pervert. “You’re looking radiant, as always.”

  Obviously a douchebag. Perverted, radiant fuckin’ douchebag.

  Jagger could just tell by the way he’d said her name, that clipped and proper English accent, the deep voice that probably had women throwing their panties at him left and right. Kate had practically sprinted at the chance to greet him.

  “Time for high tea?” Jagger grumbled under his breath. “Shall I fetch the queen?”

  He couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation, just the low timber of the guy’s voice, but when the prick made Kate laugh, Jagger was a heartbeat away from totally losing his shit. He jammed the drywall sander cord back into the wall and fired the thing up, running it over another patch of plaster until that shit was as smooth as a baby’s ass.