Rescuing the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Worth it, Scampi.” He wrapped his arms around her, his thumb coming up to brush the matching heart Evan had tattooed around her infinity sign. “Wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Me neither.”

  He palmed her breast.

  She kissed him. He savored her, the way he had since he won her back years ago.

  “How are you still this sexy?” he murmured against her mouth.

  “Hmm. I could ask you the same question.”

  After another long kiss under the hot water, she pulled away to ask, “So… what are you doing Saturday?”

  “I’m planning a quiet evening at home with my wife and kids.” He narrowed one eye.

  “You only turn forty once.” She grinned but couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Scampi.” His tone was a warning. “We talked about this.”

  A warning she ignored. “I think you should keep your schedule open.”

  “No surprise parties.”

  Her mouth dropped open in feigned offense. “Who said anything about a surprise party? I’m saying be prepared… just in case your friends want to come by and see you. And in case the ballroom is already decorated with black balloons and streamers.”

  Carefully, so she wouldn’t slip, he navigated her until her back was against the tiled shower wall. He pressed against her, as close as he could get around her protruding belly.

  “I told you there would be consequences if you plan a party.”

  “Sounds terrifying.” Her eyebrow arched.

  Like that, he was hot for her. He’d married the sexiest woman on the planet. No one got him like she did. No one had ever bothered trying.

  “I’m not sure you can maneuver around this.” She gestured at her belly between them.

  “Wanna bet?” His fingers found her nipples. He slid a hand between her legs.

  Sofie’s mouth dropped open, her head tilting back. He found a familiar sprayer and moved her so she was standing in front of it, and then his fingers went to work.

  Then he proved his wife wrong.

  He could maneuver just fine.

  Cassidy and Carmen Pate were born at eight forty-two p.m., small, squealing, and bright pink.

  Sixteen years later, his twin girls were both driving, both drop-dead gorgeous with long, black hair and their mother’s moss green eyes. Against Donovan’s will, they also had permission to date.

  Miranda’s prediction was accurate.

  He was in big trouble.

  DONOVAN’S SHRIMP “SCAMPI” A LA SOFIE

  Inspired by Rescuing the Bad Boy

  Seven years ago, Donovan Pate was sweating over four sauté pans when he warned his then-coworker Sofie Martin not to sell one more Shrimp Scampi special or he’d brand her for life. Sofie took that bet, marched out of the kitchen, and sold three. Today, RESCUING THE BAD BOY’s broody hero still addresses Sofie as “Scampi,” and was nice enough to share his secret recipe for the dare that inspired her name.

  Ingredients:

  ½ lb jumbo shrimp, deveined and peeled, patted dry and laid in one layer on a plate

  1½ Tbsp of butter

  1–2 cloves garlic, minced

  ⅓ cup vegetable broth

  1 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

  2 tsp lemon zest

  1 Tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley

  ½ cup orzo pasta

  sea salt, freshly ground black pepper, and cayenne to taste

  Directions:

  Fill a medium pot ¾ of the way with water and bring to a boil. Add pasta, cook 9 minutes.

  Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add 1 Tbsp of butter.

  Salt and pepper both sides of the shrimp.

  When butter is bubbling, turn heat down to medium. Invert the plate over the skillet so that all the shrimp hit the pan at the same time. Add garlic. Cook 1 minute. Flip each shrimp, cook 2 more minutes. Set shrimp and garlic aside in a bowl.

  Add vegetable broth and lemon juice to the hot skillet. Scrape with a wooden spoon to get brown bits off the bottom.

  Add drained, cooked pasta to the broth mixture in the skillet, then add lemon zest, parsley, and remaining ½ Tbsp of butter. Toss in shrimp. Add more salt, pepper, and a dash of cayenne to taste.

  Serve immediately, with warm, buttered bread and a cool, crisp salad.

  About the Author

  A former job-hopper, Jessica Lemmon resides in Ohio with her husband and rescue dog. She holds a degree in graphic design, currently gathering dust in an impressive frame. When she’s not writing supersexy heroes, she can be found cooking, drawing, drinking coffee (okay, wine), and eating potato chips. She firmly believes God gifts us with talents for a purpose, and with His help, you can create the life you want.

  Jessica is a social media junkie who loves to hear from readers.

  You can learn more at:

  JessicaLemmon.com

  Twitter @lemmony

  Facebook.com/AuthorJessicaLemmon

  After four years in Afghanistan, Connor McClain moves to Evergreen Cove to keep his mind off the war. And when he meets a certain long-legged beauty, the only thing this bad boy can think about is how to get her into his arms…

  Please see the next page for a preview of

  A Bad Boy for Christmas.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Glitter.

  Glitter everywhere. Lining the seams of the car’s seats, sprinkled liberally across the floorboards, and at this point, probably a part of her DNA.

  Faith Garrett had spent the day gluing glitter onto the surface of one hundred foam pumpkins in various shapes and sizes. The pink-bedazzled vegetables were for a Breast Cancer Awareness dinner. Meg Dillon, who was in charge of said dinner, had oohed and ahhed over the dinner’s centerpieces, going as far to throw her arms around Faith’s neck and sing the praises of Make It an Event, the planning company where Faith worked for her best friend, Sofie Martin.

  This was the good news.

  The bad news was the shop vac she’d hauled out of the mansion’s garage was not working. Tape. Maybe she could use tape. She kicked the Off switch on the machine and ran the back of her hand over her forehead. For October, it sure was warm today. High in the seventies, not a prayer of a breeze blowing through the colored leaves still clinging to the trees lining the mansion’s drive.

  Yes, her best friend now lived and worked in a mansion. Sofie hadn’t expected to be very much entrenched here when she’d planned the charity dinner last year, but neither had she expected the man who’d taken her virginity years ago to sweep her off her feet.

  Donovan Pate had come crashing into Sofie’s life, and she into his. Faith had a front-row seat and watched it unfold. The year before that, she’d watched her friend Charlie succumb to a similar fate—falling for the last man she never dreamed of falling for: her late best friend’s husband. Evan, a widower who’d battled his own demons after losing his wife, had moved to Evergreen Cove with his son Lyon to start over. Charlie and Evan had been inseparable since. She was a mother to an eight-year-old boy, and a very happy wife to a sexy tattoo-artist-slash-illustrator.

  Yes, as of late, the Cove had played host to fairy-tale romances. Someone looking in might believe Faith, whose love life came to a screeching halt last year, might want a fairy-tale romance for herself.

  That someone would be wrong.

  The last thing she needed, the very last thing she wanted, was a relationship. Been there, done that, cleaned the toilet with Michael’s T-shirt. No, what she wanted more than anything was not a man. What she wanted—what she needed—was to find her independence. Freed of her fiancé and, finally, freed from living with her mother for way too long, Faith was on a path to find her inner strength.

  It had to be in there somewhere.

  She wasn’t going to rely on a man any longer. Donny and Sofie, Evan and Charlie, they may have worked things out, but theirs were extenuating circumstances. Each couple had meaningful history together. There was no man in her past hovering on the edge of her l
ife, waiting to explode back in and rescue her. There was only a handful of unmemorable boyfriends and Michael.

  Sad, really.

  But, she thought, bucking up, she was moving on. Her life had taken a turn, but not for the worst. For the better. She’d see to that.

  Leaning back into the car, she snagged her fountain Coke from the cup holder and took a long, delicious, sugar-laden sip. While she stood basking in the noonday sun, she admired Pate Mansion, her home away from home. The quartz blocks twinkled, the gold turrets standing regally against a blue sky with puffy white clouds. Admiring the house that looked more like a castle never got old, not ever. And she’d seen it a lot over the past year-plus. She spent most days here, planning events in the library-turned-office with Sofie, drinking coffee in the gorgeous kitchen, or helping set up the massive ballroom for the occasional fundraiser.

  She strode toward the front door taking in the thick, trimmed hedges lining the building, the purple and orange flowering mums interspersed in between. The saplings planted out front stood strong and tall, accepting their new homes in the dirt like they’d been there from the start.

  The beauty of the grounds never failed to amaze her. The door opened, and she turned her head expecting Sofie to appear, cell phone to her ear. Instead, Connor McClain strode out, and Faith’s tongue promptly welded to the roof of her mouth. Another thing that never failed to amaze her was the way this man’s muscular thighs filled out a pair of well-worn jeans.

  Since she was very tall, five-ten to be exact, she guessed Connor around six-one. She couldn’t be sure, unless she was within kissing distance of his incredible mouth, but that was something she filed under N for Never happening. Never ever, she reminded herself as he grinned at her.

  Her heart thrummed.

  Broad shoulders molded by a long-sleeved henley, wide frame in perfect proportion, thighs pressing against worn, soft-looking denim. Yeah. There wasn’t much about the man she couldn’t appreciate. Not to mention the fact he was ex-military, worked tirelessly for his friends, and had a flirty sense of humor that almost threatened to break down the barrier she’d so firmly erected since Michael had raided the Cookie jar… so to speak.

  Around a penetrating grin, Connor spoke the words, “Afternoon, Cupcake.”

  Faith was sort of known for her sugar addiction. And last year when all of the crap hit the fan with her ex, it was Connor who’d caught her devouring a bakery box full of Sugar Hi cupcakes. She knew she’d never live that down.

  “Good afternoon to you, Beefcake.”

  His smile didn’t budge. Okay, so she wasn’t all that creative with the nicknames. But after the third time he’d teased her by calling her “Cupcake” she had to think of a retort.

  Those eyes left hers, narrowing and traveling her face. Self-consciously, she smoothed the hand over her forehead where she felt her hair tickling her face. “What?”

  He stepped closer to her, lifted one rugged, workingman’s hand, and brushed his fingers along her forehead. Then he held his hand up for her to see. Pink glitter.

  She traded the Coke from one hand to the other, frowning down at the glitter still stuck stubbornly to her palms.

  “I’ll never get this stuff off!” she said.

  Brushing his hands on his jeans, his grin widened to a distracting degree. “You? How am I going to explain looking like I had a run-in with a stripper when I go on my date tonight?”

  She felt her face blanch as her blood raced from her cheeks to her toes. Not at the stripper reference, even though that was mildly insulting. But the other thing. Connor had a… a date?

  She tried to reel in her emotions but feared it was too little, too late. No doubt he’d seen the abject disappointment briefly flit across her face.

  A reaction that made no sense. She should have expected the man to go on a date now and again. Connor was a ridiculously attractive man. This date was likely not the first date he’d had since she re-met him for the second time. Faith knew he had to date. It was just that she preferred not to know who he dated. Or what they did together…

  Which confused her. He was her friend. She should be rooting for him.

  Even though, it took a lot of effort to get the words, “Ohh, a date. Have fun!” past her lying lips.

  “Plan on it.” His eyes jerked to one side, a strained silence settling between them. “I should get started so I can get out of here on time.” He lifted a tool belt full of garden trowels and other implements for digging in the dirt.

  “Yeah. I have to get back in there.” She showed him her pink-glittered palm. “Try and clean myself up.”

  His grin returned and she had to remind her knees to stay strong. Her entire body seemed to forget it was a cohesive unit whenever he was around. One by one, parts of her turned to jelly. Kneecaps oozed, her spine melted, and the part between her legs… Well, she wasn’t going to think about that part.

  “Have a good day,” she told him.

  “You got it, gorgeous.” He stepped past her, not sending another look over his shoulder, not giving her a flirtatious wink, not saying another word. Just a brief interaction before he walked to the far side of the house and vanished around the wall.

  Faith reminded herself yet again that what Charlie and Sofie had was fine for them, but not something she wanted personally. One look at sunny, smiling Connor McClain and she’d forgotten.

  But she couldn’t afford to forget. A relationship with a man from the Cove was not in Faith’s future. No man from anywhere was in her foreseeable future. Because she had accepted the fact that her mother, Linda Shelby, as harebrained and crazy as she was, was also right.

  The Shelby curse was real. Shelby women didn’t marry. Couldn’t marry. No matter how hard they tried.

  Faith had attempted an engagement with Michael and failed. A failure that ended up being a blessing. Yes, she thought as she reached the front door.

  Things had turned out exactly as they should have.

  Connor sneaked a glance over his shoulder as he walked away.

  Legs. Heaven help him, legs up to her neck.

  How he encountered a woman who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model but was as down-to-earth as they came on a daily basis and hadn’t begged her to go to bed with him was an epic accomplishment on his part.

  Admittedly, parts of him had wanted parts of her since he laid eyes on her for the first time years ago when they worked at the Wharf together. But then, he’d been an eighteen-year-old busboy, and she the leggy waitress, waify but all woman—even in her early twenties.

  When he’d run into her again a little over a year ago, he learned that want wasn’t just leftover from a horny teenage crush. He still responded to her looks. Then again, who didn’t? But he wasn’t an idiot. Sleeping with the girl who was his buddy’s girl’s best friend was the crowning jewel in the crown of Stupid. And, after the shit that went down with Faith’s ex, it’d be some time before she was interested in crawling into bed with Connor.

  With anyone.

  Damn if the thought of her crawling didn’t insert an image into his head of her tiny, pert ass in the air, those mile-long legs…

  He blinked out of the mirage, blaming her outfit today: a dark blue dress that matched her navy eyes and a pair of shoes that made those long legs even longer. Was she actively trying to kill him?

  So, yeah, it hadn’t escaped him she was beautiful. And it hadn’t stopped him from teasing her as often as possible to get those pink lips to part into a smile. He was a sucker for a cheap laugh, and in spite of what she’d been through, it’d been fairly easy to get her to laugh. Which swelled the head on his shoulders almost as much as the one in his pants.

  She hadn’t been laughing a moment ago when he mentioned the word date, though, had she? He’d be lying if he said he didn’t find that more than a little interesting. His “date” was more an appointment—with his sister, Kendra. Ken was having trouble with her car, and he offered to come over and take a look.

  On
e of the many services he provided since he’d moved back to town. Not that he minded. He’d do anything for his two older sisters.

  Connor’s family was tight. His father owned McClain’s Handyman Services, a business that had served the town of Evergreen Cove since before his oldest sister Dixie was born. A few years after, they had Kendra, and five years later, Connor was born the baby of the family.

  Roger McClain had been overjoyed. A boy to take over the business. When Connor grew up and showed zero interest in fixing anything, save for himself in front of a science project, Roger began applying pressure. The pressure kept coming, driving Connor right out of the house at age eighteen, where he’d met Donny and the two of them had shared an apartment and made some spectacularly bad decisions.

  Last year, after moving back to New York, Donovan had returned, deciding to stay in the Cove after all. They all had Sofie to thank for that. Connor smiled up at the mansion looming in the light, her clean windows shiny, gleaming. He was glad. Donny belonged in this town, and belonged with Sofie.

  Connor dug out a pair of shears from his tool belt before dropping it into the grass and starting on the scraggly lavender bush at the side of the house. No matter what he did to save it, the thing tried to die. Part of him wanted to dig it up, toss it in the fire pit, but another, more stubborn part of him thought it might be saved.

  A few minutes into his pruning, the patio door opened and out ambled Gertie, a big white and brown mutt Donny had rescued last year. Sofie followed close on Gert’s heels. When she reached him, she licked his face without warning—Gertie. Not Sofie.

  Sofie gestured to him with her cell phone. “Mrs. Anderson called and asked when you’d be over to set up for the Harvest Fest.”

  “On the docket for this week.” Like he’d told Mrs. Anderson already. Twice. Persistent little old lady, he was learning. And tough. He’d attempted to backtalk her once and suffered her wrath. She was not a librarian to be trifled with.