Bad for Her

by Christi Barth

  But Flynn was worried that the day was coming when he’d lose the ability to ever take it off again.

  “Oh, you mean tonight? Yeah. You’ve been a total dick. Pretty much every day for the past seven months, too. You bet.” Kellan lifted his mug in a fake toast, then drained almost half of it.

  Offering up as close as he could come to an olive branch, Flynn said, “This isn’t as easy as we thought it’d be.”

  “Nope.” Kellan cocked his head to the side. Those blue eyes, way lighter than his own, squinted at him. “Want to tell me what exactly you and Rafe were high on when you thought this might be easy?”

  “You know we don’t touch that stuff.”

  “Yet it’s the only explanation I’ve got for you two thinking this would be a cakewalk.”

  Before he could defend himself, a loud shattering noise had Flynn jerking around just in time to see Sierra fall to the floor in a heap, right next to a knocked-over table with a spray of broken glass all around it that she was lying in the middle of.

  He didn’t bother going down to the end of the bar and lifting the hatch. Every second he wasted was another moment that Sierra might put out her hand to lever up and cut herself. So Flynn just planted a palm in the middle of the bar and vaulted over it.

  Crouching next to Sierra, he heard the crunch of glass as Kellan rushed to his side. “Don’t move,” he cautioned her. Flynn put a hand lightly on her abdomen to drive the point home and tried not to notice the way she tightened at his touch.

  “It’s hard to serve beers from the floor,” she quipped. And those blue eyes that almost never looked at him head-on lifted to meet his with what he’d swear to his dying day was an audible click.

  Nah.

  Had to be the crushed glass shifting.

  Didn’t it?

  It was easy for Flynn to slip back into his take-charge mode. It was a mask he’d put on every day at the construction company. He knew exactly how much force to put into his voice to be sure people listened to him—and responded. “Where are you hurt?”

  A self-deprecating smile ghosted at the edges of her pretty pink lips. “My pride’s pretty well bruised.”

  “Sierra.”

  “My ankle.” She sighed. “I landed on it and sort of twisted.”

  “Kellan, we’ll need ice.” His brother wordlessly left to carry out the order. Flynn splayed his fingers wider when he felt Sierra start to shift. “Does it hurt anywhere else? Are you cut?”

  “No. Just sticky and wet from all this beer now on the floor.”

  Sticky and wet. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that the woman was trying to get a rise out of him.

  But Flynn did know better. Because Sierra rarely spoke to him outside of what was necessary to get the job done. She sure as hell didn’t flirt with him. Not ever.

  “I’m going to pick you up now,” he announced. “Once you’re vertical, put all your weight on me. Then I’ll brush off the glass.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Sierra spoke so quickly all the words merged together into one.

  Was she scared of him? Was that why she never looked him in the eye? Shit. Flynn put an arm beneath her knees and worked the other behind her neck and down her back. Glass nicked the back of his hand.

  It didn’t matter.

  Because he was finally touching her. He might as well have been lifting a dandelion, she weighed so little. Even though he consciously held her away from his body because of the glass, Flynn noticed everything. The firm calf muscle against the back of his hand. The heat of her back through the sticky shirt. The way it pulled taut against her small breasts.

  He watched to be sure she kept one foot off the floor, and then stood her up. Flynn grabbed the bar rag from where he’d stuffed it into his waistband and wrapped it around his hand for protection. Sierra white-knuckled his left arm.

  Slowly, carefully, he brushed her off from shoulders to ankles in long, sweeping motions, keeping an eye peeled for any dots of blood on her shirt that might indicate a nick. Instead, it was just the blood from the back of his knuckles seeping through the towel. Flynn tried like hell to keep the whole thing professional. Medicinal. One co-worker performing a safety check of another.

  Yeah. That angle sure as hell wasn’t working for him.

  When he finished her sides, Flynn came back around in front. Damn if her cheeks weren’t pink. “I’m going to carry you into the back now.”

  “Oh, but Flynn, you—”

  Whatever objection she was trying to get out he cut off by sweeping her back into his arms. This time, he did hold her close. Who knew when he’d ever have another chance? Flynn cradled her against his chest.

  Holy hell. He almost stumbled in shock and decided that, if her ankle wasn’t broken, this would now rank as his best day since they’d moved to this dot on the map. Maybe even his best day in the last four dots.

  Holding Sierra was like holding sunlight. Her warmth shot through him. Reminded him how good it felt to be alive. How good it felt to be a man. Reminded him that maybe life wasn’t a complete shitstorm after all.

  This rush of goodness was the way he’d heard some of the mobsters talk about doing heroin. Flynn had no doubt that Sierra was even more addictive.

  And dangerous. At least for him.

  The trip around the bar and down the hallway to the manager’s office took too little time. He had no excuse to keep holding her. No excuse to keep rubbing his cheek against Sierra’s soft hair. No excuse for inhaling deeply and appreciating the clean, floral scent that spurted want and need and full-out lust straight down to his dick.

  So Flynn placed her on the rolling wooden chair that Carlos pushed toward him. Then he knelt in front of her and pulled her bad leg onto his knee.

  Carlos put a hand on Sierra’s shoulder. His thick eyebrows joined into a single dark line of concern. “Dios mio. What happened?”

  “I was careless.” She waved a hand, dismissing the whole thing. “A couple of the darts landed way off the board. I climbed onto a table to get them, but they were stuck into the wall so well that I lost my balance and fell.”

  “The drunk who threw them into my wall should’ve pulled them out,” Carlos growled.

  Sierra ducked her head. “It’s no big deal. Really. I was just trying to be helpful. Instead, I’ve disrupted everyone and made a mess. I’m sorry.”

  The woman risked herself for stupid darts? Flynn’s worry for her morphed into anger. “You’re lucky you aren’t cut from landing on all that glass. Why didn’t you ask me to do it?”

  In a low voice, not looking at him, she answered, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

  A brick between the eyes would’ve hurt Flynn less. This was his fault. One hundred percent. He’d been avoiding Sierra for her own good, trying not to let his fucked-up darkness touch her in any way.

  Instead, it made her awkward and jumpy around him, unwilling to ask a man who topped her by at least six inches for a basic, work-related assist. Flynn wanted to howl his frustration at his own idiocy. Actually, he really wanted to find a heavy bag and wail on it for a couple of hours until his knuckles ached, his lungs burned, and his muscles cried for mercy.

  But now was the time to focus on Sierra. “I’m sorry that you didn’t feel comfortable asking me for help. For the future, I’ll do whatever you need. No matter what I’m in the middle of. Got it?”

  She nodded, long hair still shadowing her face.

  Flynn unlaced her black sneaker. It was streaked with different colors of paint. It made him wonder what she did in her off hours. Was she painting her house? Would she be climbing a ladder with a weak ankle? Would she let him help or refuse his not-yet-made offer?

  Even though he was careful easing the shoe off, Sierra’s sharp intake of breath made her pain at the movement obvious, which made Flynn’s guilt stab into his gut even deeper.

  Sierra’s ankle was already swelling. He didn’t even have to roll down her black and white polka dotted socks to
see that. Frankly, he didn’t trust himself to touch her skin again. “Ice,” he barked at Kellan.

  His brother handed over a dishtowel bulging with cubes. “I’ll go out and clean up while you two take care of her.” He grabbed the broom and dustpan from the corner on his way out.

  “Thanks, Kellan.” Carlos barely spared him a glance as he fussed over Sierra with little pats and frowns. He was acting like a grandpa instead of a hard-assed vet who’d seen multiple tours in combat. “Do you want a drink, Sierra? A couple of shots to cut the pain?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve got ibuprofen at home. I’d rather take that than make myself feel worse with a hangover.”

  Flynn pulled over the trash can, upended it, and rested her foot on it sideways, ice draped across. Then he noticed the sparkly glints of glass in her hair. “Do you have a brush?”

  “No.” She looked up at that to give him an amused half-smile. “I’m not one of those women who reapplies their lipstick every twenty minutes and carries a whole makeup counter in their purse.”

  He’d noticed. He’d noticed everything about her look. Natural. Like hippy-natural. Which he found weirdly sexy. Weird because the women he’d dated in Chicago were all big boobs, loud makeup, and bigger hair. Sierra was just . . . herself. Which turned Flynn on more than he’d been willing to admit.

  Until tonight.

  Until seeing her crumpled on the floor of the bar had unlocked all the shit he’d kept tamped down for weeks now. All the interest. Lust. Attraction. Need.

  Carlos produced a brush from his desk drawer. “Here. It’s Madalena’s.” She was his sister who did the books for the Gorse. Flynn had only met her once but appreciated her no-nonsense personality. “I’ll go watch the bar for you, Flynn.”

  “Thanks.” He carefully pulled Sierra’s hair over her shoulders so it draped down her back. “This should be the quickest way to get the glass out.”

  “Oh, but you don’t have to—”

  That was the kicker. After spending years doing what McGinty told him he had to, Flynn now did only the bare minimum of what other people expected from him. Sure, he could just hand her the brush. But this, helping Sierra, was a compulsion he couldn’t resist. “I know I don’t have to. I want to help. Let me.”

  “Okay.” Her shoulders relaxed down at least an inch as she sighed. Then Sierra sighed again as the bristles made contact with her scalp. This sigh was different, though. It was pure feminine pleasure.

  God, he couldn’t wait to make her do it again.

  Flynn made long, slow passes. A little more pressure against her head, because she seemed to like it, and then a pull through the long strands to shake out the glass. It was quiet. Intimate. Something he’d never done before for any other woman. The backs of his fingers grazed her neck as he gathered her hair in his hand.

  Sierra shivered.

  His dick throbbed at the sight. At her whole body shiver, and at the sight of her exposed nape. Right on the spot where, if he put his lips on it, Flynn knew he could tease another shiver out of her.

  Then he noticed how her hair looked in his fist. He flashed ahead past a million impossibilities to a scene that he’d never let happen. Sierra on her knees. Naked. Looking over her shoulder at him with that shy smile while he fisted her hair and drove into her.

  The ice slid off her ankle, tinkling as it tumbled out of the towel onto the floor. The moment was gone.

  Although Flynn knew he’d never be able to get that image out of his mind.

  Carlos reappeared in the doorway. “Flynn, will you take her home?”

  “I can get myself home,” Sierra protested.

  “Did you ride that bike of yours here?” At her nod, Carlos fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Flynn. “Here. Take my truck. You can load her bike in the back of it. I’ll have Jeb drive me home once we close up.”

  “That’s really not necessary.”

  “And it’s not up for discussion.” Unbelievable. First of all, a bike? Seriously? Secondly, he had to prove to Sierra it was okay to let him help. How had he never noticed the stubborn streak in this woman? “I’ll grab my jacket and be right back.”

  Carlos shut the door to the office behind them, then rounded on Flynn. He brandished a stubby finger in his face. “Be nice to her.”

  What the hell? “I always am.” He headed to his locker at the end of the hallway, right before the dry storage. Unfortunately, Carlos dogged his heels.

  “No, you’re polite. To everyone. That’s not the same as being nice.”

  Flynn spun the combination on his locker. He didn’t really get into personal conversations these days. Turned out that the easiest way to keep a life of lies straight was to say nothing at all. But he couldn’t blow off his boss without a reason. “I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.”

  “What? That you’re a decent human being?”

  “No. That I’m interested.”

  Carlos’s swarthy features twisted into astonishment, then humor. His laugh boomed out, echoing off the pans hanging from hooks above the prep counter. “Because you’re God’s gift to womankind? One smile and she’ll lose her common sense, her good taste, and her ability to resist you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So far as I can tell, you’ve got exactly one strength. Making up weird and wonderful cocktails. People go ape shit for them. You know what they don’t go nuts over? Your looks and barely noticeable charm. If you can squeeze out a smile, I promise that Sierra will be able to withstand it. She’s strong.”

  “She’s fragile.”

  “Doesn’t mean she’s not strong. People are often more than just what they look like.” Carlos cocked his head to the side. “Guessing you already know that.”

  “What you see is what you get.”

  “A guy with a chip on his shoulder?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.” That’s all he was anymore. Flynn couldn’t risk being anything but the empty shell of a man. This move into WITSEC had hollowed him out. Hollowed out everything he thought he was, who he was. No point filling that back up. No point deciding on a new persona.

  Because there was a good chance it wouldn’t last long enough to matter.

  About the Author

  USA Today bestseller CHRISTI BARTH earned a master’s degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage. A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning. Ultimately she succumbed to her lifelong love of books and now writes award-winning contemporary romance.

  Christi can always be found either whipping up gourmet meals (for fun, honest!) or with her nose in a book. She lives in Maryland with the best husband in the world.

  www.christibarth.com

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  By Christi Barth

  Bad Boys Gone Good

  Bad for Her

  Coming Soon

  Never Been Good

  Got It Bad

  Naked Men

  Risking It All

  Wanting It All

  Giving It All

  Trying It All

  Shore Secrets

  Up to Me

  All for You

  Back to Us

  Aisle Bound

  Planning for Love

  A Fine Romance

  Friends to Lovers

  A Matchless Romance

  Bad Decisions

  The Opposite of Right

  The Reverse of Perfection

  Check My Heart

  Love at High Tide

  Love on the Boardwalk

  Cruising Toward Love

  Act Like We’re in Love

  Tinsel My Heart

  Ask Her at Christmas

  A Letter from the Editor

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you liked the latest romance from Avon Impulse! If you’re looking for another steamy, fun, emotional read, be sure to check out some of our upcoming titles. We have something for everyone next month!

  If you�
�re a sports romance lover, you are in luck! Lia Riley has a brand-new Hellions Angels novel for your reading pleasure. HEAD COACH is a sexy, fun story about a sports reporter who’s determined to get an interview with a stoic hockey coach. He may hate the press—but he can only resist the tempting reporter for so long. Grab this second book in Lia’s new series and become a Hellions fanatic overnight!

  If you’re in the mood for a quick, fun, light-hearted holiday romance, you don’t want to miss the new Heartbreaker Bay novella from Jill Shalvis! In HOLIDAY WISHES, a carefree bad boy reunites with the girl he lost his virginity to a decade earlier during a friend’s wedding weekend. But now their positions are reversed, because this good time guy finally wants something real—and his one-time flame is in the mood to be a little wild!

  For historical romance fans, we also have a brand new Victorian romance from Christy Carlyle! HOW TO WOO A WALLFLOWER, the final book in her Romancing the Rules series, features a free-spirited woman who is determined to revamp her family’s publishing venture . . . except the uptight, scowling, and irritatingly handsome editor has other plans. It’s a charming, fabulously passionate story that you do not want to miss!

  And finally, for a quick, sexy, suspenseful read, you’ll want to one-click the new novella from HelenKay Dimon! THE NEGOTIATOR, about a woman who discovers her supposedly long-dead husband’s body on her kitchen floor and must team up with sexy, savvy Garrett McGrath to uncover the truth before she’s accused of murder!

  You can purchase any of these titles by clicking the links above or by visiting our website, www.AvonRomance.com. Thank you for loving romance as much as we do . . . enjoy!

  Sincerely,

  Nicole Fischer

  Editorial Director

  Avon Impulse

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.