Loving a Bad Boy (Bad Boys Western Romance Book 4)

by Susan Arden

  Clearing arrivals in the airport, he scanned the plastic seats filled with people, and jutted his chin at seeing Haden stand and wave. “Hey, dude. Welcome to Tinseltown.”

  Rory fist bumped Haden. “Thanks for coming without much of a heads-up.”

  “You got anything beyond a carry on?” Haden slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

  The image of gold eyes flashed in his mind, brimming with tears, and he grimaced. “This is it.”

  “Cool.” Haden chuckled. “I travel light, too. A guitar, amp, and smokes. Hell, maybe I don’t travel that light.”

  “Heard you’re all set to leave for your tour,” he said, avoiding about a million people coming and going.

  “Yeah, but you’re good to stay. As long as you like. What are your plans tonight?”

  “Need to connect with Sommer. But she’s not answering her phone.” She still hadn’t texted him back, and all his calls had gone to her voicemail. Either she was minus a phone charger or he didn’t know what to think.

  “It’s been crazy today. I saw her over at Vince’s, involved in some interview. Don’t sweat it. There’s a party in the hills and I’m pretty sure she’s there with Ivy and Vince. We’ll swing by my pad, pick up my girlfriend, and then hook up with your chick.”

  Chapter 26

  “Why don’t you set up your ink machine and we’ll take a few shots of you in action.” Amy power walked a circle around the living room. “Over there at that table and then at the sofa.” That was no question, not even a suggestion—more like an edict from Amy, the journalist from Rolling Stone.

  “Sure thing,” Sommer said in response, meeting Ivy’s eyes. Her friend did a rapid mini-eye roll that made her grin.

  The journalist directed Sommer with a pointed finger held motionless as she took out her cell and barked an order to a nameless someone.

  “Let’s go.” Amy followed up by snapping her fingers and motioning to the three staffers lingering near the terrace door to follow her outside. “Vince, we’ll go out by the pool first. The lights are all set.”

  “Ivy, help her,” Vince said, flashing his baby blues over his sunglasses at his fiancée. He squeezed Ivy’s hand, right over the chunk of ice that glittered in the sunshine streaming into the living room.

  The cream-colored tiled floors gleamed with more glare and she squinted, searching for an electrical outlet. Most surfaces around LA had a white light reflecting outward, and took the guesswork out of why most people went around wearing sunglasses.

  “Seriously, I’m good,” Sommer returned, tipping her head toward the terrace. “If you want to go with Vince outside for the shots by the pool.”

  Ivy shook her head stubbornly. “No. I’d better help you. The photographer will be back here and ready to start shooting. And good god, if Commander Amy comes back and you’re not set up, heads will roll.”

  “Does anything happen at a normal pace in L.A.?” she asked, her mind still spinning.

  She and Ivy had arrived in West Hollywood from the airport in a blur. Without a second to sit down and say howdy-do, here she sat getting ready to talk shop with a famous journalist.

  “Girl!” Ivy stopped and laughed. “This adventure must seem insane. It did to me when I first arrived. Pretty crazy, but you get used to it, somewhat. I guess it’s like an adrenaline rush.”

  Equipped with a headpiece attached to her sunglasses, Ivy drove as if she’d lived here for years. She was in charge of picking up and delivering various people on the way to the condo. They’d pulled in and stopped outside, with Ivy tossing the car keys to a valet as they charged inside past a doorman and into a private elevator. Instead of a quiet apartment, the door opened into a rooftop oasis, filled with a troupe of people, waltzing through Vince’s home.

  Hollywood was akin to a speed trip, and she hadn’t yet caught her breath after touching down.

  Sommer observed, “Adrenaline infused with a white noise buzz.” So far, she’d been offered an espresso twice, a cup of chai, an energy drink, and a hit of coke. Jostled in an SUV filled by an assortment of people who needed a ride during the hour it took to cross the city.

  “Not to worry. Trust me, you’ll adapt. Now about the shoot. Since Amy only signaled to the table not which seat. Any preference on what side you’d like to set up on?” Ivy picked up the metal case of extra ink cartridges.

  “What about over there? I don’t want the ink to leak, not on this gorgeous rug.”

  “Definitely. You’re right and just in case, I’d better go get a towel.” Ivy sauntered away, appearing so darn chic.

  Sommer glanced around the apartment as she unwound the cord of her gun. Down the hall, Ivy stopped and spoke to one of the staff members from the magazine. Wearing a dress with dolman sleeves, a colorful beaded necklace, and lace up high-heeled espadrilles, Ivy appeared to fit right into the Hollywood scene. She was tan and had lost weight, and looked like a million bucks. Ivy seemed at ease, chatting and smiling, giving directions or answering questions. Ivy had worked at a small real estate firm before coming out here, and apparently, the West Coast frame of mind melded with her friend pretty well.

  So much for a tank top and shorts. Sommer plugged in her machine, connected the gun with the needle bar, and sat there feeling very much out of place in her white eyelet sundress and ballet flats. Next to Ivy, she was a pale version of the Lone Star State. Everyone around here was tall, lean, and gorgeously golden. And they all seemed equipped with a wide smile, perfect veneers, and a pair of designer sunglasses.

  “What kind of machine and gun do you use?” a male voice came through the patio doorway and she swung around.

  “A coil by Relentless. I also use a shader and liner by Hillderfire,” she answered.

  “Interesting. I prefer a pneumatic,” the man said and held out his tattooed arm. “Jimmy Hart.”

  “Sommer Kincaid.” She shook his outstretched hand, then noticed the camera slung over his shoulder.

  “Don’t pay attention to him,” another guy said, coming through the doorway. “He’s a sod and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m Royce, and you’re the ink artist?”

  “Sure am,” she replied, staring up at the two men, new variations of tall and at ease.

  Ivy returned, carrying a towel, and smiled brightly at Jimmy and Royce. “Are you guys ready?”

  “Almost. We want a promise that you’ll bring your adorable friend to our little soirée this evening.”

  “That’s way too easy. Sommer is already coming with us, so no need no worries, gentlemen.” Ivy laughed and cocked a brow. “Did you all meet? Sommer, this is Royce and Jimmy. Respectively photography director and photographer. They’re cool.”

  “We have and I agree.” Sommer smiled as her cheeks flushed.

  Royce glanced over to her and winked. “How many times have you heard, God, I love your accents.”

  Sommer deadpanned him. “As in a lifetime or just today?”

  “Brilliant and it’s settled. I’d enjoy playing host while you’re here. Love, why not come stay with me for a few days?”

  She exchanged a look with Ivy who gave a short shake of her head as if to say not to worry.

  “There’s just one thing.” Ivy’s grin grew mischievous. “She’s taken, so don’t get too attached.”

  “Pity. Such a tasty little morsel.”

  Vince entered the living room with Amy laughing a little too loud, and Sommer caught Ivy’s expression transform from easygoing to tense. Vince had his shirt off and the journalist had her fingers around his arm, giving directions to one of the magazine staff, “How about on the sofa? Relaxing. A tight shot.”

  “Point me in the direction of where to go and what expression you’re looking for.” Vince came off as serious-minded.

  Jimmy snapped his fingers as if mocking the journalist’s over-the-top style. “Amy, reel it in. Better do the shot by the table. When was the last time an inking was done on a sofa? Especially w
hite leather.”

  “It was just a thought. But I suppose you’re right.” Back on track, Amy frowned, letting go of Vince’s arm.

  Without waiting, he raked his fingers through his blond locks, and nodded to Ivy with a sexy wink while he walked over to Sommer. “It’s time, if you’re ready. Can you take a look at my tattoo and see if it needs anything?”

  “I am and will do. Any reason why you might need an actual touchup?” She picked up her ink gun and followed Vince, studying the condition of his tattoo.

  “Negative. No lie, I did exactly what you said. I’m game for another while you’re here.”

  “We can talk later,” she said as Jimmy whispered a direction to her.

  “Sit here. Vince straddle the chair and face Sommer.” Jimmy held up a light meter and gave a ton of directions while snapping his camera as a staffer arranged the lights. The photographer did more positioning of them at the table, rather than conversing. Royce and Amy sat on the sofa, discussing the piece and asked Sommer point-blank questions about her job, being a tattooist in a small town—followed by Amy rapidly typing on a laptop.

  Two hours later, the wave of media staffers vacated the condo and Ivy had disappeared with Vince into a room down the hall. Sommer took refuge in one of the spare unoccupied bedrooms. This one was filled with musical instruments and equipment, surrounding a pullout sofa where she plunked down, kicking her feet up across the cushions. The other bedrooms had guests, and she didn’t know how Ivy rolled with the stream of people, ebbing and flowing within the apartment. It was getting dark, and Sommer’s body felt heavy after not sleeping last night. She stretched her arms, wondering about the party later, and then about tomorrow when Ivy promised she’d begin her tattoo work for real.

  Ivy knocked on the doorframe and Sommer called out, “Come on in.”

  “Almost time to go. In about half an hour. You want to change?”

  “I should, but—” Sommer looked down at her dress. “I don’t have anything else that would work for a party. Not here with me.”

  “Okay girls, I’m taking off.” Vince appeared in the doorway. “Meet you both over at the studio.”

  Ivy leaned over and planted a full-on mouth-devouring kiss. Vince smiled down at his fiancée, skimming one of his knuckles along her jaw. “See you soon. Don’t be late.” He waved to her. “Sommer, catch you later.”

  “Later,” she echoed, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles of her dress.

  “I have a solution. Come with me.” Ivy looped her arm through Sommer’s and steered her down the hall, not stopping until they were inside a closet the size of her bedroom back home. “Take your pick. Most of them are samples. Used during photo shoots for albums and videos. Things that got left behind and the studio was hankering to toss them out. I volunteered to pack them up and I brought them here. Why not, right?”

  “Wow, what a perk. These are incredible. It’s like your own boutique.” On one side of the closet, Sommer ran her hands over every shade of coral under the sun. “People like orange here. Huh?”

  Ivy giggled. “Those were for a video shoot for Big Orange. A new album by All Them Bitches.”

  Sommer’s mouth formed a big ‘O.’ “I see. Can I pick anything?”

  “Girl, go for it. We don’t wear the same shoe size, but so what? Some of the higher heels will fit you. They pinch my toes something horrible. But don’t take too long, ‘cause we gotta split. Vince doesn’t like it if I’m late.”

  “Vince is super structured. Even in a rush?” Sommer asked with her back to her friend.

  “Umm, kinda,” Ivy murmured. “It’s just his nature. Speaking of which, I’d better go get ready.”

  “These styles are unreal. I’ve never seen anything like them.” She walked her fingers over the hangers, flipping through Ivy’s endless selection of dresses, shirts, skirts, but not a pair of jeans in sight. Probably because she was so tall then all thinking ceased. The dress hanging on the rack right in front of her was beyond compare. More than gorgeous. Off the shoulder in the slinkiest material and done in golden tones. God, she’d love to own something like this dress. Lifting the hanger, she turned the dress around and sucked in a breath. Okay, where’s the back?

  Sommer held the dress up, peering at herself in the closet mirror. This wasn’t the city to start being shy about clothing. With her risqué T-shirt art, she teetered on the edge, and this wasn’t that far over the top. She draped the dress over the island inside the closet and sunk down, on the prowl for heels.

  “Perfection.” She scooped up a pair of metallic stilettos and went to pivot, knocking her knee against the corner of one of the drawers. Shards of pain darted through her leg. “Son of–!” she hissed.

  One of the drawers was ajar in the island, enough to view a pair of handcuffs as she rubbed her knee. Out of idle curiosity, she pulled the drawer open and her eyebrows shot up. Inside resembled an adult toy store and she slammed the drawer shut. But the image of dildos, paddles, ties, and a few things she didn’t even know what they were, scorched her brain. Slowly, she reopened the drawer and scoured the contents. How much control did Vince actually assert over Ivy, and in what ways?

  “Nope,” she whispered to herself. “Not my business.”

  Sommer rose with the pair of shoes in hand and lifted the dress, exiting from the closet. Ivy stood in the en suite bath that was open to the master bedroom. She gazed at her from the mirror while applying her makeup. “Find something?”

  “Oh yeah.” Sommer held up the dress. “This one okay?”

  Ivy wiped the tip of a wand of lip-gloss back and forth over her lips before she smiled broadly. “Never wore it, but it’ll look killer on you. Sensational choice. You know there will be a few of your future clients there tonight. If I learned anything in real estate and marketing, it’s the first step to a sale is selling yourself.”

  “Err…” She snapped her head upward, and grimaced. She understood Ivy’s point, only the idea of selling herself—been there. Done that! Didn’t work.

  “Don’t look like you’re facing a tank of sharks, Somm. Everyone will love you.”

  She brushed back her bangs and felt her face completely flush as Ivy watched her expectantly. “Let’s hope. Give me a couple minutes and I’ll be ready to roll.”

  “Great.” Ivy turned around and dropped the towel that had been wrapped around her body.

  Sommer gasped, letting go the breath she’d virtually been holding during their talk on self-selling as she studied the tiny red lines, crisscrossing over Ivy’s back and downward.

  “What the shit?” She stomped to the sink, darting her gaze from the flayed skin on Ivy’s back to the mirror. Several times, in rapid succession, she looked back and forth. “Girl, what is going on?”

  “This is nothing,” Ivy said, but the quaver in her voice belied her surface calm.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing. Nothing doesn’t leave red marks. Or bruises.”

  In the next moment, Ivy’s mask of confusion gave way as her beautiful face became animated as if she were reliving a memory. “Okay, but it’s something I’m totally game for. Vince is beyond a hot lover. He’s more than anyone back home ever was and gives me something I thought I’d never find.” Ivy’s voice lowered to a husky realm, a tone saturated with an aching need. “Sommer, he makes me feel so energized. Like everything outside of our bedroom is irrelevant. The world out there is just inconsequential. When we can, we spend hours in bed. So when the world blasts by at a crazy speed, all the while we’re trying to get back here and do more of this—it’s so freaking mind-blowing.”

  A nervous laugh escaped Sommer. “You’re racing to get back here…to do what? Get whipped?”

  “I want this,” Ivy said. “Don’t make it seem like you don’t know anything about scorching hot—”

  “Not judging! Please, that’s wrong of me.” Sommer interrupted and held up her hand. “Just be careful. If this is what you two do in the priva
cy of your bed, no need to justify it to me or anyone. Heaven knows, I have enough of my own issues to deal with. Or hadn’t you heard?”

  “I heard.” Ivy shrugged and slipped into a strapless dress while standing at the sink. She began finger combing her hair and styling her dark tresses into a casual French twist. “Somm, if it matters, sex isn’t the act of a guy and girl fucking. It’s so much more. Don’t try and tell me you and Rory haven’t explored one another.”

  The memory of them in Rory’s hall flashed. Sommer’s face blushed red-hot as she handed Ivy a couple of bobby pins. “We have. Things just don’t seem to settle. It’s either me, or lately him, who’s hot to race toward the finish line. He asked me to marry him. Again.”

  Ivy laughed. “Sommer, how many times does that make?”

  “This time, I wanted to say yes. But first, I’ve got to take care of my finances.”

  “Holy cow!” Ivy bumped her hip against Sommer’s. “We could have a double wedding.”

  “Do those even exist?” Sommer scoffed, but smiled. This was the first time she’d admitted out loud that she was ready to tie the knot with Rory.

  “Who knows, but it would be freaking memorable.” Ivy hugged her and Sommer laughed.

  “What will be memorable is if I show up like this, while you look like that. If I didn’t say it yet, you look amazing.”

  “Thanks, Somm. I feel like this is where I belong, with Vin and out here. That’s something I always believed you and Rory had together.”

  Crud, she still hadn’t heard from Rory, but it was no wonder why. Her phone was dead. “Then I’d better go get dressed so we’re not late.” She stroked a hand down the soft material of the gold dress and met Ivy’s gaze in the mirror. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine is dead. I want to let Rory know I made it and am not stuck in some den of iniquity.”