Rough Ride: A Small Town Bad Boy Romance

by Cass Kincaid

  “I’ll give you a surprise, if you’ll come back to bed.”

  That’s enough to make my head snap up, and Izzy’s staring at me like I’m something she wants to devour. Shit, she’s incredible. I point a finger at her. “Stop it,” I smirk. “You’re killing me over here. Now, get out of bed. I’ve got something I want to show you. You can put your hands anywhere you want after that.”

  “Promise?”

  She looks so innocent when she asks, but I know better. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, Izzy. Now, get up. I’ll meet you in the truck in fifteen minutes.”

  Normally, Izzy resembles a zombie in the mornings, using only a series of grunts and head movements to convey what she needs until the coffee kicks in. But whether it’s the excitement of not knowing where I’m taking her, or the sexy, impromptu way I woke her up this morning, she seems wide awake and alert. I’ll have to keep that in mind for future reference.

  A travel mug of coffee is cupped in her hands, her hair still damp from the quick shower she took before getting dressed and climbing into the truck like I’d instructed her to. No makeup, no fussy hairstyle.

  She looks breathtaking, and I keep stealing glances at her from the driver’s seat. She might be excited, but I’m a nervous wreck on the inside. My nerves are shot, and they have been for days. Either I’ve done a bang-up job of hiding it, or Izzy just hasn’t noticed. Maybe she just has and hasn’t said anything.

  “You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Not a chance.” I reach across the console, pulling one of her hands away from the travel mug to entwine it with mine. The warmth from the mug has seeped into her palm. “We’re almost there.”

  It’s only a few-minute drive, and we’re barely on the outer limits of town, but it seems like it takes me forever to drive there. I’ve driven on this road for years, since I was old enough to drive. Hell, Izzy and I used to burn up the gas in the old Ford Ranger I used to drive, spraying gravel and squealing tires out here where no one would complain. There are only a handful of houses, but the houses are newer, more modern. And more pricey, since they’re considered the “new part” of Brooksville.

  I pull the truck over to the side of the road and kill the engine. This section of the road only has trees lining it on both sides, and the foliage is thick and full, blocking out the sun and creating kaleidoscopic patterns of shadows and light across the gravel.

  “What are we doing out here?” Izzy looks around. “It’s not really secluded enough to have sex in your truck, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “Christ, Izzy, you’re relentless. But, I do like the way you think. C’mon, walk with me.”

  We climb out of the truck, and I wait in front of it for her, taking her hand in mine before crunching across the gravel and scattered fallen leaves. “Must you always think about sex?” I ask her with a wry grin.

  “Oh, you’re a fine one to talk.” She takes a sip from the mug she brought with her to hide her amusement.

  “Good point.” I can’t deny it. If I’m not buried inside Izzy, kissing her, touching her, then I’m thinking about it. I’ve never tried to hide that fact. “Can you do me a favor and think about something else with me for a few minutes?”

  She turns to me but doesn’t stop walking. Her brows arch high on her forehead. “What else do you want me to think about?” she asks coyly.

  “Our future.” I give her hand a tight squeeze. “What you want. Where you want to be.”

  “With you,” she says simply, no hesitation. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

  A wave of intense heat rolls through me. This woman can set my emotions on fire with only a few words. “I was hoping you’d say that.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles tenderly. I stop walking, which forces her to as well. “What about Brooksville?”

  She’s watching my lips graze the back of her hand like the sight is somehow intoxicating. “If you’re in Brooksville, that’s where I want to be.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that, too.”

  “Why?” she chuckles. “Why all the questions?”

  “Because I love you, Isabelle.” I place one hand gently on her back and guide her to turn her gaze to the house that’s behind her. “And because I bought that.”

  Izzy turns around to face the house I’m referring to, a large split-level rancher with an attached two-car garage. White brick exterior, a lush yard, and a white fence outlining the perimeter of the property.

  “You...bought Sheriff Atkin’s house?” She sounds incredulous. “But it wasn’t for sale.”

  Sheriff Atkin has been retired for almost twenty years, but there’s no one in Brooksville that doesn’t refer to him as the sheriff. “He’s moving closer to his daughter in Kansas, Izzy. I bought the place privately from him. Signed the paperwork yesterday morning when I said I was running over to Mom and Dad’s house.”

  She stares at the house as though seeing it for the first time. “You bought Sheriff Atkin’s place,” she repeats, her gaze never wavering from it. “But...why?”

  “Years ago, you told me that house was the kind of house you wanted to have someday. And, years after that, I told you I would build you the life you deserve, Izzy. Just because you didn’t get that text, and just because it took me longer than I thought it would, that doesn’t make it any less true. I meant it, Izzy. I want this to be our place. Our own piece of Brooksville.”

  “You want me to live there—” She points to the house. “With you.”

  Her dumbfounded expression and repetitiveness is stirring up fear within me. I’m wondering if I misread the signals. “I’d love nothing more,” I tell her. I breathe out heavily. “Jesus, Izzy, please tell me what you’re thinking.”

  She stares at the house for a few beats longer, then slowly turns to face me. Her eyes are bright. “It’s perfect,” she says finally, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect,” she adds, laughing as a stray tear splashes onto her cheek.

  “Oh, Izzy, don’t cry.” I hug her close to me, forehead to forehead, reaching up to wipe the tear away. “Is it really what you want? I’m beginning to wonder if I overstepped.”

  She laughs again, a choked sound. “It’s amazing, Jace. I mean that. It’s more than I’ve ever wanted, more than I’ve dreamed of. You know damn well I’ve fawned over that house since we were kids. It was perfect then, and it’s perfect now. I’m just getting all emotional and insane.” She chuckles again, a sound mixed with more tears that have started to fall. “You didn’t overstep, I swear.”

  “So, you still love me, and you want to do this crazy thing called life with me from here on in?”

  Despite the lackluster way I’ve phrased it, I can tell she hears the seriousness in what I’m asking, and it brings her up short. “What? Of course, baby. You know I do.”

  I wipe another tear from her cheek before reaching into the pocket of my jeans and pulling out a navy velvet box. I pop it open with my thumb and hold it out to her. “Have I overstepped now?”

  Everything stops. There’s no more tears, no more choked laughter, no more sound at all save for the beating of my own heart in my ears. Izzy’s eyes are wide, and her mouth is slightly agape.

  I use the silence to my advantage, speaking before I lose my nerve. “Izzy, we’ve been through more than any couple should have to endure. It’s been one hell of a rough ride, but one hell of a beautiful one, too. Life led us apart, only to toss us back together when we least expected it. We’ve made it this far, baby. So, let’s go all the way. Isabelle, you’re already the love of my life. Do me the honor of being my wife, too.”

  My voice was already wavering under the weight of my own emotion, so I understood completely when Izzy’s mouth opened but no sound came out. Instead, she nodded her head furiously, then broke into a full-fledged crying fit as she flung her arms around me. Tears stung my eyes, but she was in my arms and nodding wa
s a good sign, so I gave her the time she needed to compose herself.

  Frankly, I needed it, too.

  “Yes,” she sniffed when she finally pulled back and she’d calmed a bit. “So much, yes. I want nothing more than to be your wife.”

  I kissed her mouth hard, an unspoken promise of what was to come. “You make me happy, Izzy. So damn happy.”

  “You make me happy, too.” She shakes her head as I slip the three-stone diamond ring on her finger.

  Past, present, and future. For me, Izzy is all of those things.

  “I still can’t believe we’re here,” she breathes out. “Doing this. Being us.”

  “We were always us, Izzy.” I give her a soft smile. “Miles and years couldn’t change that. That’s why I came back. To make sure it wasn’t just me that felt the pull of...us. I told myself I needed closure. But what I really needed was you.”

  Izzy sighed audibly as I touched her face, leaning into my hand. “I needed you, too. Even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I think my heart always knew, though.”

  I lean in, running my lips across her jaw. “Wine after whisky,” I whisper against her skin.

  She smiles, as that phrase has become an inside joke between us. Something that so accurately describes the fire between us, an intense burning unmatched by the touch of anyone else. “I’ve never been a fan of wine, anyway,” she whispers. “Take me home, Jace.”

  I smile down into her pretty brown eyes. “We are home, Izzy,” I remind her. “We’re together.”

  Thank You

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  Other Books By Cass Kincaid:

  Corrupting His Good Girl

  Made For Sin

  Puck Daddy

  Screwed In Sin City

  SCREWED IN SIN CITY

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  Chapter 1

  Josie

  I'm not sure why I'm even here.

  I'm not sure why I’m putting myself through this.

  The last time I let my college friends rope me into something like this, I ended up having to drive every one of them home, all the way across town, because I was the only one sober and able to drive. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now.

  Instead, here I am, sitting in a chair with a triple-sized margarita in one hand and a handful of college friends on both sides of me, all of who are more than ready and raring to see the half-dressed male dancers scheduled to come on stage in less than 5 minutes. Once again, I question my sanity for ever agreeing to come to see such a thing with these women in the first place.

  Not to mention, we’re in Las Vegas. We are in Vegas. I've never been here before, but I'm not so naïve that I don't realize that the statement “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” actually rings true for most of the people who frequent this place.

  Fortunately, I've never been one of those people who believes in doing things that require never being able to speak of them again, so not only am I out of place here, but I'm confident that Las Vegas has just as little to offer me as I have to offer it.

  “Come on, Josie, lighten up,” Beth says from beside me. “It's just one night, and you're supposed to be having a good time, not looking as miserable and serious as you are.” She points down to the drink in my hand, still untouched. “Get that into you, and I guarantee we’ll be able to turn that frown upside down.”

  “I told you this wasn't my scene,” I reply. I can’t lie, I know I look as uncomfortable as I feel. I'm really not sure this was a good idea.

  “I swear, if you're about to suggest that you should just go back to that resort of yours, I'm not sure what I'm going to have to resort to.” The look on Beth's face is serious, enough that it doesn't match the level of Budweiser currently running through her veins.

  And enough that I just nod, knowing there is no use in arguing with her, especially when the show is about to start.

  Beth and I have been friends all through college, and she's been my roommate since my first year living on campus. We’d been assigned as roommates in a ridiculously small dorm room, and to this day, we like to tell people that we had no choice but to become immediate friends. The only other option would have resulted in one of us killing the other, and that would have been awkward as hell to explain seeing as we were both criminology majors. But, while we’re inseparable and there’s no question about the solidity of our friendship, there’s also no denying the fact that Beth and I are like night and day when it comes to our personalities. She is the outgoing one, and I’m the reserved one. Completely different ends of the spectrum. She has more friends and a more active social life than I've ever had in my entire existence. She also gets more attention from the male population of our college than I could ever dream of.

  Don't get me wrong, Beth is beautiful. Long blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and an infectious laugh that makes you chuckle right along with her even if you don’t know why you’re doing it. She’s boisterous, fun, and smart. Everything any man would ever want.

  I, on the other hand, am anything but.

  Sure, I'm smart. And I'm pretty in my own way, so Beth has told me countless times. But in a muted, quiet kind of way. Not a bombshell, check-me-out kind of way like Beth.

  I tend to keep to myself, and I tend to like it that way, too.

  I’ve also only ever had two boyfriends in my life, and one of those doesn't count as I'd only been ten years old when we walked around the schoolyard holding hands...until Benjamin decided that Angie from the sixth grade was both cooler and more desirable to hold hands with than a shy, quiet bookworm who wasn't allowed to stay at the playground after school until dark like so many other kids were.

  The other boyfriend—the most important one—was Jason, the boy I'd met in my senior year of high school, who not only introduced me to the complications of being in love, but also broke my heart a few years later when he decided that our long-distance relationship while at different colleges was too much work. But, that was only after he’d been tagged in a bunch of photos on his social media with a pretty redheaded woman he’d known from his sociology class. Normally, that wouldn't have been a problem, except for the fact that his girlfriend—that would be me—followed him on all of his social media accounts, and he just happened to have his tongue down the throat of the pretty redhead in one of those pictures.

  Needless to say, that was the end of that, and I've done my best to steer clear of anyone I think might have the capability to hurt me like that again.

  Right now, my silky black hair is piled up loosely on top of my head in a semi-casual knotted style, and my hazel eyes are staring widely at Beth, trying to decide if she is buzzed enough to make a scene over me trying to leave, or just sober enough to be able to confidently argue all of the valid reasons for me to stay.

  The truth is that I know she would have an explanation or answer for any excuse I could think of. We'd come all the way from Ohio, where we just spent the last four years slaving away to obtain our criminal justice degrees. We'd done it—all five of us that had made the trip—and were now sitting in the front row at the Excalibur in the heart of Las Vegas, waiting for chiseled, muscled, gorgeous men to make their way out onto the stage and help us celebrate our educational successes by letting off a little steam and having one last raucous good time before real life gets in the way and we all end up going our separate ways, to jobs and internships and paths that won't necessarily allow us all to be as active in each other's lives as we've become so accustomed to over the last few years.

  I've never been a party girl, and Beth and our other friends know it, but
there’s no way I could turn down spending one last weekend with the girls who have been so much like family to me during my college years.

  So, here I am, doing my best to try to plaster a convincing smile on my face and pretend that I'm having at least some semblance of a good time.

  In Las Vegas. On the Strip, no less.

  I'd like to think I'm doing pretty good for a woman who's not really a fan of crowds, or too many people in general, or loud, obnoxious behavior, but perhaps that would be a lie, too, even to myself.

  Unfortunately, I don't have a chance to contemplate further as suddenly the lights in the overpopulated room go out, save for the bright single flood light pointed directly at the middle of the stage.

  Every intoxicated, horny woman in the place loses their minds, screaming and whistling as the first few notes of loud, up-tempo dance music begin to blast through the room. It's so loud that I can feel the vibration of the bass reverberating through my fingertips, and the liquid in the glass still perched between my fingers quivers with each beat.

  If I’d had any chance of getting out of the room and making it back to the resort where I could hide away in the safety of silence and solitude, that opportunity was long gone.

  Whether I like it or not, I’m about to attend a very exclusive, very raunchy, and very sexy party in a fancy casino on the Las Vegas Strip.

  With one solid swallow, I down half of the margarita in my hand, squinting my eyes as I realize how strong the drink really is.

  Good, because I know I’m damn well going to need it.

  Chapter 2

  Derek