The Virgin's Guide to Misbehaving

by Jessica Clare

  Elise blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. Then, in a halting voice, she explained to Emily what was going on. Her shy, slow romance with Rome. Their weekend together. Returning and finding out that not only had he gone, but Grant had threatened him. The discovery of Rome’s past. Everything.

  Emily Allard-Smith was a great listener. She said nothing, only making sympathetic noises when appropriate, and she poured extra coffee when Elise gulped hers down.

  “I . . . don’t know what to do,” Elise said, numb, the cup warm in her hands.

  “How do you feel about Rome now that you know the truth about who he is?” Emily reached out and squeezed her hand. “Betrayed?”

  Elise thought for a moment. “Actually, I don’t feel any different about him. I love him. He’s still the same person. It’s just like . . . a few pieces of the puzzle have been filled in. Things that didn’t make sense before now suddenly make a lot more sense.” His loneliness that matched hers. His isolation. His constant commentary that he wasn’t good enough for her.

  “I have to ask, as your friend.” Emily said, taking a bite of fresh bread and then setting it down. “This isn’t some sort of martyr thing where you think you can save him and change him, right? Redeem the bad boy? I don’t get that vibe from you, but I have to ask.”

  A wry smile twisted Elise’s mouth. “He may look like a bad boy, but he’s the nicest man I’ve ever met. And he treats me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world to him.” Her lower lip trembled. “And now he’s gone.”

  Emily looked over at Elise. She exhaled slowly, and then pulled her phone out, thumbing through her contacts.

  “What are you doing?” Elise asked, her heart racing with hope. Did . . . did Emily know Rome well enough that he’d answer her call? Could it really be that easy? She peeked over Emily’s shoulder, watching her phone screen.

  But Emily thumbed to a listing in her contacts labeled CARPENTER and dialed it. A moment later, she spoke. “Hey, Jericho? It’s Emily over at the Peppermint House.” She paused. “Yeah, that’s the one. The big red Victorian.” She looked over at Elise and rolled her eyes, amused. “I need you to come over for a bit, please. I want you to take a look at something.” Pause. “Great, thanks.”

  She hung up and gave Elise a mysterious look.

  “What was that all about?” Elise asked, a bit confounded by the change in topics. She’d been pouring her heart out to Emily and it made Emily decide to call her carpenter?

  “Just someone you should meet,” Emily said in an enigmatic voice. “He might have some info on your missing sweetheart.”

  Elise gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Em.”

  • • •

  An hour later, the rumbling purr of a motorcycle came from the front of the Victorian, and Elise’s heart pounded with excitement. Was it Rome? She dashed to the front of the house and peered through the curtain . . . and frowned. There was a bike there, but it wasn’t the beat-up old Harley that Rome rode. This bike was sleek, shiny, and new, and the owner pulled off his helmet, revealing shaggy black hair that was entirely too long for Rome.

  But his face looked remarkably familiar. So much so that her heart gave a little flip anyhow.

  He flipped his hair back and began to saunter toward the door, and she was struck by how similar and yet different to Rome he looked. Whereas Rome was bulky with muscle, this man was extremely tall and lean. When he got to the door, though, she saw a stud under his lower lip. He didn’t have the ring that Rome did.

  She realized she was staring and hurried back to the kitchen to hide. A moment later, the doorbell rang and the front door opened. “Emily?” a deep voice called. “It’s me.”

  Emily came down the stairs, and Elise realized she’d changed shirts and freshened her makeup. She beamed at the man just as Elise emerged from the kitchen. “Hey, Jericho! Thanks for coming by. I wanted you to meet Elise.” Emily gestured at where Elise hovered in the doorway to the kitchen.

  He stuck a big hand out for her to shake, and as she did, she realized he had the exact same, long-lashed blue eyes that Rome did.

  “Elise is a friend of Rome’s,” Emily said, and then turned to Elise again. “This is Jericho Lozada. My carpenter.”

  She blinked in surprise. “You’re Rome’s brother?”

  “One and the same.” He gave her an assessing look. “You must be the reason he stuck around for so long.”

  Her face heated with a flush and she pulled her hand from his, then crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Elise is upset that Rome left town,” Emily said, heading toward Elise and putting an arm around her protectively. “They just spent the weekend together and then he up and left.”

  Jericho rubbed at his mouth. “He texted me last night and told me he was leaving.”

  “Where did he go?” Elise asked.

  He shrugged. “Anywhere that he can avoid family, I imagine. He didn’t tell me. I think he worried if he did it might somehow get back to our parents.”

  “I don’t understand,” Elise said.

  Those familiar blue eyes narrowed at her. “How much did he tell you about his past?”

  “I know he went to prison,” she said. “Drugs. But I also know that’s not who he is. I’m trying to make sense of it all.”

  “You seem very confident that you know just who Rome is,” Jericho said, eyeing her.

  “I do,” she replied easily. “And he’s not a drug dealer. Or if he was, that’s not who he is now and I don’t hold it against him.”

  A hint of a smile touched Jericho’s hard mouth. He looked over at Emily. “This why you called me over?”

  To Elise’s surprise, Emily giggled like a schoolgirl. “Maybe. I also did some baking this morning. You’re welcome to help yourself.”

  He grinned at Emily, and Elise suddenly felt like a third wheel. Was there something going on between the two of them . . . ?

  “Come on into the kitchen,” Emily told them. “I’ll put on more coffee.”

  A few minutes later, they sat at the kitchen island again, plates of cookies in front of each of them and fresh coffee in their mugs.

  “So,” Jericho said, looking over at Elise. “You want to know about Rome’s past.”

  “I do.”

  “You’re right that Rome’s not a dealer. Never was.”

  Elation flared in Elise’s heart. “But then . . . why did he go to prison?”

  “He went for Mom.”

  Elise’s jaw dropped. “They were his mother’s drugs?”

  Jericho gave her a wry look. “Whatever picture you have in mind of motherly love, you might as well get it out of your head. Mama Lozada is a lot of things, but she’s a shitty parent. Both my parents are, actually. The polite word to use to describe them is probably ‘hippies’ or ‘bohemians,’ but the reality is that they’re just drifters. You move from place to place, following the party.” He shrugged. “I spent my childhood crashing on couches and watching my parents spend their last few dollars to light up with friends. They’ve never stopped partying, not even for their kids. It was a shitty life. We barely went to school, and any time someone got concerned for our welfare, we’d skip on to the next town. It’s hard to get a real job when you’re homeless, so we panhandled, did odd chores, lived with friends, you name it. Mom and Dad sold drugs, too.”

  “It sounds awful,” Elise whispered.

  “It was,” Jericho said flatly. “I hated every fucking minute of it. Always felt bad for Rome, too. I hated our parents, but he so desperately wanted to see them as real parents and not shitty human beings. As a result, they’d act up and get into some sort of trouble, and would throw Rome out there to take the rap. By the time I hit seventeen, the kid had a rap sheet a mile long, and a lot of it wasn’t his.”

  Her mouth went dry at the thought. “But why did he—”

  “Mom was great at figuring out what made Rome tick. He was always super responsible, even when they weren’t. I remember she used to cry when s
he got in trouble, because she knew he couldn’t stand to see a woman cry.”

  Her eyes widened. She remembered him saying that to her. Don’t cry, Elise. I can’t stand it when girls cry.

  “She sounds manipulative,” Emily commented.

  “Oh yeah. She could teach a master class on manipulation, my mom.” Jericho sipped his coffee and devoured another cookie. “That’s why I got out of there as soon as I was old enough. Had to leave Rome behind, but didn’t have a choice. Told my family I was running off to join an MC.”

  “MC?” Elise asked, puzzled.

  “Motorcycle club. Actually I just joined the Army.” He grinned, and for a moment, he wore the same mischievous little boy look that Rome had so often. “Spent four years in there. Came back and found out my brother was serving time for a drug deal sentence.” He snorted. “Mama was real good with them tears.”

  “That’s awful,” Elise whispered.

  “That’s my parents. Here, let me show you something.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a driver’s license, then offered it to her.

  She took it from him and studied it, trying to figure out what she was supposed to see on it. Then she realized his name was very familiar. “John Lozada,” she murmured.

  “Number two,” he said with a laugh. “Dad is John Lozada number one. Rome is John Lozada number three. All the better to steal your identity with.”

  “What?” Emily sputtered, lifting her coffee cup to her lips. She took a sip and then shook her head. “You expect me to believe that your parents named you the same so they could steal your identity?”

  “I’m sure it didn’t start out that way. Maybe they just wanted me to be Junior. But by the time Rome arrived? No doubt in my mind that is what they were doing. We’ve had credit cards opened in our names for years.”

  “And bankruptcies,” Elise said, thinking of the credit report for Rome. She’d wondered at the timing of his bankruptcy, since it would have happened when he was a very young teenager. It made sense now. “Your parents are awful people.”

  “Yes, yes, they are. That’s why I left. I’m only sorry I didn’t get Rome out before they fucked over his life.” He shook his head. “So if he runs out the door at a whiff of family, that’s why. We keep up with each other, but we’re not close. He’s been burned too many times. Now he doesn’t let anyone close to him.” Jericho gave her an up-and-down look and then smiled. “Before now.”

  “He must not have cared for me that much,” Elise said softly, and hated how whiny she sounded. “He left me.”

  “Probably hated to, if I know my brother. You were the only reason why he stuck around so long in the first place.”

  An aching knot formed in her throat. “So how do I find him again?”

  He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I doubt I’ll hear from him again for months.”

  She didn’t want to wait months. She wanted him back now. She wanted to pull him into her arms and comfort him for his awful life, and let him know that she loved him and things would be different from now on. But he wouldn’t even return her calls.

  She needed to find a way to get his attention. To make him come back to her. If she got him in front of her, she could let him know that she didn’t care what Grant thought, or if his parents were awful people. If he’d gone to prison.

  She just wanted to love him and be loved in return.

  “By the way,” Jericho said. “Don’t tell him you talked to me or he’ll think I betrayed him, and then I won’t hear from him for years.”

  “I won’t say a thing,” Elise promised.

  • • •

  That night Elise took over one of the guest bathrooms on the second floor of Emily’s bed-and-breakfast. She sealed the doorframe with painter’s tape, set up a folding table over the toilet, and screwed a red lightbulb into the light socket. She set out her trays of processing chemicals and her tongs, and set up her enlarger on one end of the sink. She’d put her film into a developing tank overnight and was ready to process the negatives. As she pulled out the newly cut strips, she held them up to the red light, admiring her work.

  Rome was stunning. She picked one negative in particular, slid it into the enlarger, and then flicked the light off so she could set up the photo paper. Using her hands in the dark, she set up everything, flicked the enlarger on to stamp the image onto the paper, and then flicked it off again. She turned the red light back on, then dropped her photo paper into the developer bath, waiting for the image to come up.

  When it did, she sucked in a breath, watching Rome stare out at her from the photo. She quickly drained the developer off the photo and then dropped it into the stop bath, admiring it as she agitated the photo with her tongs.

  It was one of the best pictures she’d ever done. It was a head shot of Rome, looking over his shoulder at her. Candlelight bounced off his gleaming skin, and his face was half hidden in shadow, but those blue eyes stared out at her from long lashes, and his lip ring curved over one full lip.

  The look in his eyes was sultry and full of heat. Desire. Good lord, how had she ever been unsure that this man wanted her? He was practically making love to her camera. Just seeing the expression on his face made her sigh with pleasure.

  She pulled the paper from the stop bath, gave it a dunk in the fixer, and then washed the print and hung it to dry on a small cord she’d strung from one end of the curtain rod to a nearby towel rack.

  These pictures were incredible, and she’d never felt more proud of her work, or more in love with Rome. How could this beautiful, wonderful, sexy man think she didn’t want him?

  The next morning she retrieved her stack of dried photos from her makeshift darkroom and began to scan them into her computer. On a whim, she sent one to Crissy with just the email title of What do you think?

  An email popped into her box a moment later.

  YES YES YES!!! Crissy sent back. I love it! Look at that smoldering face! That is exactly what I wanted to see in your photos. Good job, girl! They’re not right for City Girl, but I know a friend who works at a tattoo magazine who would die for something like these. You interested?

  Elise considered it. She considered it for a good long moment. These pictures were great, and not just in her own biased opinion. They oozed personality and lust. They could get her in the door for a couple of magazine spreads, and with a few professional pieces under her wing, she’d have her “in” for other magazines.

  But when she wrote back, she said,

  No, thank you. I just wanted to see if I was on the right track.

  Actually, she’d known she was on the right track. She just wanted that validation from someone else. More than that, she wanted that other avenue open.

  Because she wanted to know what she’d really, truly decide if she had all options open to her.

  And she wanted to stay here. She liked the quiet lifestyle of the small town. She liked the idea of opening her own studio here, amongst family and friends. She liked the thought of taking photos of regular people and showing them a side they never saw. Elise knew herself pretty well, and she knew that she liked the idea of living in New York City and working for a magazine more than the reality of it. The reality would mean long hours, lots of travel, and low pay. It would mean living in a city that crawled with people who were used to a city that never really allowed anyone to be alone.

  And that wasn’t her.

  Smiling, she hit “send” on the email, feeling good about her decision. Maybe she’d go walk a few blocks in the morning and check out the tiny storefront to see what she’d need to make it a real business.

  It’d keep her distracted while she waited—and hoped—for Rome to answer her messages.

  SIXTEEN

  A week later, Elise was curled up on one of the couches in the main lodge, hugging a pillow and watching Brenna flick through one of Miranda’s wedding magazines with an expression of horror on her face. “These are awful,” she leaned over and whispered to Elise, p
ointing at a pink taffeta floor-length creation. “She looks like she’s going to the world’s gaudiest prom.”

  Elise grinned. “I thought you wanted your colors to be pink and orange?”

  “I really don’t want any colors,” Brenna murmured, ripping the page out of the book and then crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the fireplace nearby. “It’s your brother who’s making me go through this farce.”

  “Hey,” Miranda protested from across the room. She came storming over. “You said you wanted to borrow a magazine, you doofus. You didn’t say you’d be defacing them!”

  “Trust me, I’m doing the world a favor with that one!”

  “Bren,” Miranda huffed, wrestling the thick magazine out of her friend’s arms. “I have to return that to the library. You can’t tear pages out of it, you nut.”

  Grumbling, Brenna let Miranda have the magazine. She lay back on the couch and flopped dramatically, then looked over at Elise. “Why aren’t you doing something exciting tonight? It’s Saturday night. You should go out, get drunk, and get laid.”

  “Brenna, please,” Grant called from his desk. He was still working, despite the fact that it was the weekend. “That’s my sister you’re talking to. Let’s not encourage anything of the sort, all right?”

  Elise smiled at the face Brenna made at Grant. “I thought I’d hang around and see how Beth Ann and Colt are.” She looked over as Miranda curled up on one of the big leather couches opposite them, magazine in hand. Miranda’s fiancé, Dane, had gone to pick up the couple from the airport. “Should we order food?”

  “I’m picking up pizzas as soon as they get here,” Grant called again, still listening in to their conversation. “Their plane was delayed, so we don’t know what time they’re getting back.”

  “Where’s Pop?” Miranda asked, glancing up from the magazine.

  “Um,” Brenna said. “I might have left an ATV out in the woods with a flat. He went to go fix it.”

  “Brenna,” Grant warned.

  “What? Oh, come on, baby. You saw how anxious he was about Colt and Beth Ann getting back. The man needed something to do.” She winked at Elise. “Plus, sabotage is fun.”