The Troublemaker

by Lili Valente

  He shakes his head. “The board decided we need a big summer fundraiser. In three weeks. And they still haven’t found an event coordinator.”

  I grunt. “So, work stuff. Nothing to do with Kim?”

  “Yes, work stuff,” Tristan says, crouching down to pick up a freshly cut post. “Kim moved last week.”

  “Moved where?”

  “Australia.” Tristan jabs the stake into an empty hole in the earth. “She took an assistant winemaker job in Coonawarra, sold her car, and left. And if all goes well, she’s never coming back.”

  “I’m sorry, man.” I grab the bucket of pre-mixed concrete and fill in the hole around the post.

  “Don’t be sorry, just don’t give me anything else to worry about,” Tristan says, voice dropping as he adds, “I saw you ride up with Carrie on the back of your bike. You two looked pretty chummy.”

  Inwardly, I curse myself for not taking the view from the back of the property into consideration. Outwardly, I shrug. “Just trying to cheer her up. She’s pretty down about those pictures her ex leaked to the press. I thought a ride and some time with the animals would cheer her up.”

  “Just make sure the ride doesn’t end in her pants.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” I say.

  Tristan shoots me a hard look over the top of the post he’s holding in place while the concrete sets.

  “Fine.” I lift my hands to my sides. “I promise, Carrie and I are just friends, and that’s all we’re ever going to be.”

  Friends, who sleep together, I add—silently, because I know better than to try to explain the situation to Tristan. As far as I know, Tris has only slept with one woman—Kim, his high school girlfriend and the one true love of his life.

  Or at least she was the one true love until she told him she wanted to see other people and moved halfway around the world.

  He’s never experienced sex without emotion, and he certainly wouldn’t believe me if I assured him that Carrie and I are a zero-risk proposition.

  Better to tell a white lie and spare him the stress.

  “Good,” Tristan says after a beat, apparently satisfied. “Everything’s solid with the family right now, and I’d like for it to stay that way. And I don’t want Carrie to get hurt, either. She’s sweet.”

  A soft grunt of laughter escapes my throat before I can swallow it down.

  “She is. Have you read her books?” he asks, a challenge in his voice.

  “No, I don’t read fiction. Especially kid fiction.”

  “Well, you should. You’re missing some good stuff. And I think Carrie’s stories would give you a window into who she really is.” Tristan grabs another post from the freshly-cut pile. “I’m telling you, the tough girl act is just that—an act. She’s sensitive, and I’m sure she’s even more so after all the shit that’s going down right now. So, either be her friend, or leave her alone. I don’t want to be pissed at you. I’m already pissed off enough.”

  Ignoring the irritation sparking in my chest—I don’t appreciate being painted as a womanizing monster, especially since I’ve always done my best to be good to the women I’ve been involved with—I nod. Tristan is going through a hard time himself, and he has a right to take his turn being a cranky bastard. Dylan and I have certainly done our share of grousing over the years while Tris remained the steady, thoughtful, even-handed brother.

  “I hear you,” I say. “And I’m glad you’re pissed. That means you’ve moved on from feeling miserable and depressed, right?”

  “Hell, I don’t know.” Tristan adjusts the post, making sure it’s straight as I pour in the concrete. “I guess so. At least for today. It helps that it’s already Monday where Kim is. We’re not even living in the same day anymore. She’s in a future that’s not my future, and I’m just…going to have to make the best of it.”

  “Want to go grab beers later? Maybe play some pool?” I ask, even as my libido howls in protest. It wants to spend quality naked time with Carrie in our blanket fort of silence, not hanging out with anyone with a dick. But Tristan is on my list of people I’ll pass up getting laid for.

  It’s a short list—very short—but he’s on it.

  Thankfully, however, he shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’ve got to take Luke to the vet in town after we’re done. He broke into Zoey’s apartment above the exam room again and ate one of her socks.”

  I arch a brow. ‘This is a common occurrence?”

  “Sadly, yes,” Tristan says. “He’s got a hardcore dog crush on her, and it manifests in a compulsion to break into her place and eat her clothing. At least he didn’t get her underwear this time. Last time, he got a pair of pink briefs. She was so mortified, poor thing. I’ve never seen someone blush that red. I was afraid she was going to quit and force me to hire three people to take her place. No way anyone else would get as much done as she does and agree to live on site so someone’s always here in case of an emergency.”

  “Want me to take a look at the lock on her door while I’m here?” I ask, figuring I can spare the time since the paddock repair is going faster than I expected.

  “That would be great. Thanks, man. I picked up a new lock at the hardware store this morning, but you’ll be able to install it faster than I could.”

  We finish with the paddock, and while Tristan cleans up, I head up to Zoey’s and swap in the new lock, but I can already tell this is going to be a continuing problem. The mounting screws in the door jamb are too short. Until they’re replaced, Luke is going to keep shoving his way inside and laying waste to Zoey’s panty and sock collection. I make a note of the size screws I’ll need to grab for a final fix and head back down to the main office to find Carrie behind the desk, flipping through a small mountain of paperwork.

  “Don’t tell me,” I say, “you caved and adopted a Saint Bernard we’re going to have to figure out how to get back to your place on a Harley built for two.”

  Carrie looks up with a distracted grin before squinting at something on the page in front of her. “No, I did something worse—I got a job.”

  “Carrie’s going to coordinate the summer fundraiser,” Tristan says, popping out from the office on the other side of the desk. “Thank you again for agreeing to help us out, Carrie. You’re a lifesaver. I might actually be able to sleep a few hours tonight.”

  “My pleasure,” she says, clicking a window closed on the computer. “And we shouldn’t have any trouble pulling something together in three weeks. In my old job at the bookstore, I pulled off fundraisers in less time and we always had great turn outs, even without adorable animals to suck the public in. This will be even easier. I’ll send Zoey a list of everything I need to build the web page tonight and get back to you tomorrow with a few options for event themes.”

  “Perfect,” Tristan says, giving her a thumbs-up. “Zoey popped out to go grocery shopping, but I’m sure she’ll get back to you quickly—she always does—and I’ll send over your independent contractor paperwork tonight so we can make sure you get paid before the end of next week.”

  Carrie shakes her head. “No way, Tristan, I don’t need—”

  “We insist on paying you,” he cuts in with a warm smile. “So don’t even try to argue with me. We don’t take advantage of people around here, especially family.”

  “Well, thank you.” Carrie rises from the chair and gathers the stack of folders into her arms with a smile. “You Hunters are a generous group of people. No doubt about that.”

  Her tone is pure innocence, but her words are pointed enough that once we’ve said our goodbyes and are ambling down the path to the parking lot, I can’t resist asking, “I agree the Hunters are generous as a rule, but I’m the most generous, right?”

  She grins. “You were so generous yesterday that I’ve felt guilty all day.”

  “Ridiculous.” I stop beside my bike, opening the saddlebag. “You shouldn’t feel guilty. I enjoy being generous.”

  “But I do, too,” she says, sliding her folder
collection inside the bag and snapping it shut again. “I love it, in fact, so I insist on going first today.”

  “Going first?” I ask, though I have a pretty good idea what’s on her mind.

  “Going down first,” she clarifies, sending a bolt of awareness surging between my legs. She steps closer, tilting her head back to hold my gaze as she adds, “I want you in my mouth, Valentine. I want to know what you taste like when you lose control.”

  “Rafe in public,” I correct, but my heart isn’t in it. My heart is in my throat and my balls are heavy and pulsing and my dick is trying out his Incredible Hulk impression, determined to burst through my jeans if that’s what it takes to get to Carrie ASAP.

  I’m dying to wrap an arm around her curvy body, pull her close, and devour her mouth with mine, giving her a taste of the way I intend to claim every inch of her as soon as we get back to my place. Instead—aware of the prying eyes that could be watching from the main building—I make meaningful eye contact.

  Hot, intense, I’m-going-to-fuck-you-so-thoroughly-you’ll-be-screaming-my-name-before-the-night-is-through eye contact and whisper, “Get your helmet on. Now.”

  “Why? Are we in a hurry?” she teases, but her voice is breathy and her nipples are hard beneath the thin cotton of her tank top.

  Soon, they’re going to be in my mouth and she’s going to be squirming beneath me like she was last night, but this time I won’t have to be a gentleman.

  This time, I’ll be able to keep going until we’re both wasted on each other and feeling no pain. Not even a little bit.

  Chapter 10

  Carrie

  I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on.

  My entire body is hot, sensitized, alive in a way I haven’t been for far too long. My blood is rushing, and my nerve endings are humming, and when the exit for downtown finally appears on the side of the 101, I’m so grateful I experience a full-body shudder of relief.

  “Cold?” Rafe asks as we roll to a stop at the red light.

  “No.” I tighten my grip on his delicious body. “Just glad we’re almost to your place.”

  “Me, too.” He reaches back to squeeze my thigh, sending a fresh wave of longing rushing across my skin. “I can’t wait to get you out of your clothes, Haverford.”

  “Ditto.” I bite his tattooed shoulder through his T-shirt, eager to discover how much real estate that sexy ink takes up on his chest.

  “Watch it, woman,” he growls in response, fingers digging deeper into my thigh.

  “Why? Don’t you like biting?”

  “I like it too much. Keep it up and I’m going to pull over and fuck you against the side of that building up there.”

  I consider calling his bluff and biting him again—just for the fun of making him growl—but then the light changes and the bike leaps forward, forcing me to hang on tight. The man is clearly in a hurry, and I’m not about to tell him to slow down.

  Moments later, Rafe roars into the alley behind the shop and glides into one of two empty spaces behind his apartment. I slide off the back of his bike and rip off my helmet, ready to race him up to his place, but when I turn back to the historic brick building, I notice something I didn’t before.

  There, in the triangle of shade near the stairs, is a girl in tight black jeans, spike-heeled black boots, and a red tank top the same vibrant shade as her full red lips. Her silky black hair is pulled into a ponytailed adorned with a polka-dot scarf that lends her outfit a vintage feel, and her black bangs are a little too short, but the look works for her. With a face like a 1950s pinup girl and the boobs to match, she’s completely easy on the eyes.

  Though I’m guessing she wouldn’t say the same about me. Her gaze sweeps critically up and down my cut-offs, tank top, and combat boots, lingering on my face for a long beat without looking me directly in the eye.

  I’m about to introduce myself—simply to put an end to the awkward silence—when Rafe curses softly behind me and Pinup Girl’s attention shifts his way, her dark eyes lighting up. “There you are! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten our date.”

  Their date.

  Oh, dear…

  Well, this is unpleasant. I don’t have a jealous bone in my body—especially when it comes to fuck-buddies—but this girl’s appearance on the scene is disappointing, to say the least. I was really, really looking forward to getting Rafe naked, which isn’t going to be easy if he’s out on a date with another woman.

  Inside my chest, my heart sobs and flings itself dramatically onto my stomach while my pussy curls up into a neglected ball and weeps for what might have been. What might never be now that Rafe’s been reminded that there are other hotter, sexier, less-complicated vaginas wandering around out there, eager to enjoy all the bounty that he has to give.

  “I’m sorry, Alicia,” Rafe says, moving in front of me to stake out neutral territory between his double bookings. “I did forget. I’m sorry. I totally spaced. I had to help my brother with a few things this afternoon and lost track of time.”

  “Oh, well, that’s okay,” she says with a resilient bounce of her shoulders. “I haven’t been waiting long, and you’re here now.” Her gaze shifts uncomfortably my way before sliding to Rafe again. “I mean, unless you’ve got other plans…”

  “Of course he doesn’t,” I say, waving a breezy hand. “I’m just his sister. I mean, technically his sister-in-law’s sister, but same difference.”

  Rafe turns back, shooting me an unamused look that I answer with what I hope is a chill smile. If he wants to go with this girl, I don’t want to stand in his way. Yes, I want him like I haven’t wanted anyone in a long time, but I don’t want him if he doesn’t want me. I’m no one’s pity fuck.

  “We’re just family,” I insist.

  “Oh, okay.” Alicia’s expression brightens as she holds out a hand and steps over several cracks in the asphalt to reach me. “I’m Alicia. Nice to meet you.”

  “Carrie.” I take her slim, soft hand and give it a firm squeeze, a little sad to notice that she’s even more stunning up close. And she smells like sugar and vanilla, a bit of a childlike scent, but far preferable to the smells I picked up from playing with semi-feral cats before jumping onto a Harley for a ride through the hot sun in clothes I’ve been wearing for going on two days.

  Alicia’s eyes narrow as she releases my palm. “Carrie. Why does that sound so familiar?”

  I’m about to suggest that a good number of people are named Carrie—literally thousands in California alone—when her eyes go wide, and she lets out a squeal loud enough to make Rafe flinch.

  “Carrie Haverford!” Alicia covers her smile with her hand, muffling her second shriek. “Oh my God, you look just like your picture! I grew up reading your books! Dude, I’m such a fan!”

  “Grew up reading them, huh?” I ask sweetly as I arch a brow in Rafe’s direction. I’ve only been published for six years. How old is this girl he’s taking out for beers?

  Is she even old enough to drink? To vote? To drive?

  I’m about to ask Alicia if she’s jailbait and save Rafe from himself, when she loops her arm through his and gives it a familiar squeeze, making me fear it might be too late.

  “This is so cool, man,” Alicia says. “I can’t believe you’re related to one of my favorite authors! We should all go out for beers, don’t you think?” She stands on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to his cheek that sends a sour taste rushing through my mouth.

  I’m not the jealous kind—I’m truly not—but that’s my cheek. I was kissing it less than twenty-four hour ago. I should have dibs. At least until Rafe and I have a chance to bang the attraction seething between us out of our systems.

  “I mean, we can go out just the two of us anytime,” Alicia continues, wiggling her hips back and forth like a sexy puppy, “but how often is your sister in town?”

  “Sister-in-law’s sister,” Rafe corrects with a stormy glance my way. “What do you say, Carrie? Do you want to go get beers with
Alicia?”

  His tone infers that he would rather be stripped naked, covered in honey, and tossed into a room filled with killer bees, but apparently, Alicia isn’t great at reading subtext.

  “Oh yes, please!” She bounces up and down, making her generous breasts bounce, too. “Please, please, please. You would make my day, my week, my life!”

  And though I would also prefer some breed of exotic torture to drinking beers with the man I’m dying to get naked with and the girl he’s probably going to get naked with later instead of me, I force a smile and say, “Sure.”

  There are few things in life that would compel me to step this far outside my comfort zone, but I’ve never been good at saying no to a fan. This girl read my books and they spoke to her. My brain took her brain on an adventure, and now we’re connected by the bonds of holy pretend.

  The least I can do is go for a beer with her, make small talk, and pretend I’m not desperate to jump on her date’s penis, right?

  “Fine,” Rafe grinds out through a clenched jaw while Alicia continues to bounce happily and obliviously, proving she’s probably a lot more fun in bed—and everywhere else—than I am. “Russian River Brewing company’s just down the street. Might as well go someplace close.”

  I hear what he’s left unspoken—the sooner we get there, the sooner this hellish experience will be over—loud and clear. But I choose to ignore his bad attitude.

  After all, I’m not the one who forgot she had a date and double-booked her vagina. Alicia and I are both innocent parties here. So in the spirit of female solidarity, I hook my arm through hers as we start around the building to the alley leading onto the main street. “So, Alicia, tell me about yourself.”

  And she does—in detail.

  So much detail, that by the time we reach the line of people waiting to get into Russian River Brewing Company I know that Alicia works as a wash girl at her sister’s salon, is going to community college to get a degree in fashion design, loves Mexican food, playing bongo drums in her brother’s band, and collecting miniature pig sculptures in equal measure, and has been in a book club since she was twelve years old.