by Ruthie Knox
How to Misbehave is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Loveswept eBook Original
Copyright © 2013 by Ruth Homrighaus
Excerpt from Along Came Trouble by Ruthie Knox copyright © 2013 by Ruth Homrighaus.
Excerpt from Flirting with Disaster by Ruthie Knox copyright © 2013 by Ruth Homrighaus.
Excerpt from Room at the Inn by Ruthie Knox copyright © 2013 by Ruth Homrighaus.
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing
Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
LOVESWEPT and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Cover design : Lynn Andreozzi
Cover photograph © Claudio Marinesco
eISBN: 978-0-345-54530-5
www.ReadLoveSwept.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books by This Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Excerpt from Along Came Trouble
Excerpt from Flirting with Disaster
Excerpt from Room at the Inn
By Ruthie Knox
Ride with Me
About Last Night
Room at the Inn
How to Misbehave
Chapter One
Friday, July 16, 1999
When the tornado siren began to scream, Amber was alone in the building with him.
Him.
The foreman. The guy with the deep tan and the hard hat and the oh-my-lord arms.
Everybody had a different name for him. One of the lifeguards called him “the Italian Stallion.” A patron had referred to him as “Mr. Yummy.” Rosalie, the weekday receptionist, said his name was actually Patrick Mazzara, and he was trouble.
Amber just thought of him as “him.”
She thought of him a great deal more than was good for her.
Gusts of wind flung the sound of the siren at the building, drowning out whatever noises he might have been making behind the thick plastic curtain that separated the construction zone from the rest of the center. But he was definitely over there.
Knowing when he left was part of her job. As program director, Amber opened Camelot Community Center at seven in the morning and locked up at five. Sometimes, like today, she had to wait around for him after everyone else had gone home. She would sit behind the counter of the tall, curved reception desk and imagine herself pushing aside the plastic curtain to ask when he might be finished cleaning up. It’s twenty after. I need to head home.
She never actually did it, though. She’d never been brave enough to initiate the conversation, and there was nothing so pressing on her agenda that she couldn’t wait for him.
Except, right now, the siren seemed kind of pressing. Herding all the people in the center down to the basement in the event of an emergency was another one of Amber’s responsibilities, which meant she should probably get off her tush and round the man up.
But then she’d be alone with him in the basement.
The notion simultaneously thrilled and frightened her. On the one hand, it felt a little bit like Providence tapping her on the shoulder. Is this what you wanted? Here you go! Carpe diem!
On the other hand, she was female and alone. She didn’t go into dark basements with strange men, and especially not with large strange men who’d been described to her as “trouble.” Because what if? What if seven hundred different horrible things happened?
Smart girls didn’t ignore the what-ifs.
They didn’t ignore tornado sirens, either.
She might have sat there forever, immobilized by indecision, if the phone hadn’t rung at the exact same moment his shape materialized as a red-and-blue blob behind the plastic sheeting.
“Camelot Community Center. This is Amber. Can I help you?”
“Why are you still by the phone? Don’t you hear the siren?”
Her mother. Perfect.
“Yeah, I hear it.”
He shoved the curtain aside and walked across the lobby, past the desk toward the front doors. Surely he wasn’t—
“—have to go to the basement,” her mother continued. “It’s not safe near all that glass. Really, you should be—”
He was. The man pushed open one of the entry doors, and Amber shot out of her chair.
“Hey!” She dropped the phone and scooted quickly around the desk. “You can’t go out there. The siren.”
When he frowned, he looked even more intimidating than usual. “I’m only checking it out.”
He had the door propped open with his right arm and leg. Not leaving.
“Right. Sorry.” All the blood in her body attempted to relocate to her cheeks. “I’m, uh, supposed to take you down to the basement. Hold on a second, and I’ll get off the phone.”
She crossed back to the desk in a rush and leaned way over to retrieve the phone from the far side. “Mom, I have to go. Be safe. I’ll call you when it’s over.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“The guy from the construction company.”
She didn’t know if he was technically the foreman or the owner or what. He seemed to boss a lot of people around, particularly another man who looked like a shorter, angrier, tattooed version of him, but he also did plenty of work.
She’d mentally designated him the foreman on the basis of the fact that he seemed to come and go as he pleased. He did half days sometimes and skipped other days altogether, which made her think he was off running the show at another site.
“You mean that man who keeps you late? You can’t go down to the basement with him.”
“Of course I can. I have to.”
“He’s a stranger.”
“Yes, but there’s a tornado.”
The storm noise died down as the door eased shut behind him.
His boots squeaked over the polished linoleum of the entryway, and then metal clicked on plastic as something hit the desk beside her.
She looked sideways. His belt buckle. Holy Toledo.
“I know there’s a tornado,” her mother was saying. “That’s why I called. But you can’t go running down into the basement with a man. It’s unsafe.”
“I think this is one of those situations where you have to pick your poison, Mom.”
“Ask him his name, at least, so if something happens I can report him to the authorities.”
“His name is Patrick Mazzara.” Her face got even hotter. Why not just wear a sign that read, I Know Your Name Because I Have a Huge, Inappropriate Crush on You? “I have to go.”
He shifted beside her. The buckle scraped over Formica.
“Mazzara? Is he the one who—”
“Bye, Mom.”
Amber hung up the phone and closed her eyes. Inhale, exhale, inhale, gosh darn it, she hoped he hadn’t heard that.
But she wasn’t any good at lying, even to herself. She worked the phone all the time, and she knew perfectly well that the volume stayed cranked up loud enough that it was possible to hear both sides of any conversation from several feet away. Rosalie
was a little hearing impaired.
He wasn’t several feet away. He was breathing. Right next to her.
He cleared his throat.
She turned.
“Basement?”
She beamed as if she were offering him a cocktail. Because she was excellent with men. So very excellent and savvy. Not at all a flushing, bumbling Bible college graduate who’d lost the faith and misplaced her virginity but somehow accidentally managed to hang on to her air of dewy inexperience.
It was her face—her giant eyes and big round cheeks. She looked like Bambi. The kind of men who were attracted to her wanted her to be as sweet and innocent as her face.
“I’m not Patrick.”
Amber blinked. I’m not Patrick was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Though to be fair, she was hard-pressed to come up with a list of things he might reasonably have said.
I adore you, Amber.
I want to marry you.
Or maybe, I want to take you out to my truck and teach you what sex is supposed to feel like.
She wasn’t innocent enough to think it would be romantic if he said any of those things. Not at all. It would be creepy. And probably also terrifying.
“Patrick’s my brother,” he added. “My name’s Tony.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s all right. People get us confused a lot.”
Patrick had to be the tattooed guy, then. The shorter brother, who didn’t do as much of the work or the bossing around.
Patrick the troublemaker.
Maybe Tony was the nice one.
Though if he’d looked like the nice one, she certainly wouldn’t have developed such a desperate, inadvisable crush on him. No, she liked his rough edges. The way his hair stuck out underneath his hard hat and clung to the back of his neck, a few weeks overdue for a visit with the scissors. The way his hands always looked so beat up when he held the door open for her—a dark blood blister under his thumbnail, a crack in one knuckle.
A man who worked hard, knew what he wanted, and didn’t take flak from anybody.
“I live over in Mount Pleasant,” he said. “Sunnybrook Lane.”
She flapped one hand and made a dismissive shape with her mouth, as if to say, No, no. Though what she was denying, she couldn’t say. That she’d wanted to know where he lived? That she minded going into basements with strange men?
She did mind. Or she would, normally. It was just that the tornado siren had short-circuited her brain.
And also, his voice was rich and dark and delicious. He wasn’t a big talker, and maybe that was because his voice was such a valuable substance, he had to ration it. She might actually be able to live on it for the next week.
“You need to know anything else to be sure I’m not gonna maim you?” he asked. “Social security number? Height and weight?”
She shook her head with too much energy.
He smiled.
Amber thought she just might die.
It was dazzling. Tony Mazzara had a dazzling smile. Like a toothpaste commercial dipped in a porn movie.
“Now we’re at the part where you tell me your name,” he said.
“Sorry?” She had an urge to shake her head and clear away the smile vapors, but she managed not to. Just.
“Your name, honey.”
“Amber.”
“Amber what?”
“Amber Clark.”
His eyes were laughing at her, but they were doing it kindly. He had nice eyes. Dark, dark brown eyes and wavy black hair. A face like his name, like it should have been chiseled out of marble, with a big Mediterranean nose, high cheekbones, and one of those brows that could go dark and menacing and make a girl shiver.
His mouth was probably illegal.
She needed to stop cataloging him, because it only made the blushing, perky thing worse. The guy she now realized was his brother gave her sly looks whenever the two of them passed her. Looks that said, I see the way you watch him. Everybody sees.
She wanted to tell him, It’s not like you think. I’m not mooning over him. I’m trying to figure out a way to drag him into my bed and tie him up.
But that was such baloney. She was mooning over him.
“And you live …?”
She pointed out the door in the general direction of her place. “Camelot Arms apartments. A mile or so over that way.”
“And if I go into that basement with you, you’re not going to attack me? Compromise my virtue?”
“I’ll call your mother and swear to it if you want.”
He huffed, half a laugh, and his mouth curved into a sideways kind of smirk that lit her panties on fire.
“All right, Amber Clark. Shall we go find ourselves a corner to huddle in?”
Chapter Two
By the time Tony’s boots hit the basement floor, he could barely hear the storm. The buzz of the fluorescent lights overpowered the sound of the rain.
They might not even notice the all clear when it went off. If he’d been thinking, he would have brought the radio with him. Or pulled his cell phone out of his truck instead of leaving it lying on the front seat like an idiot.
“You have a cell?” he asked.
“No, sorry.”
“Is there a phone down here?”
“I don’t think so, but I’ll look.”
While she was searching around, Tony glanced over the tidy rows of rack shelving. It was a full basement, one he’d been in before several times, but he’d never paid much attention. He’d usually been focused on the electrical box or the ductwork or some other thing he needed to mess with to get a job done.
Now he really looked, impressed with whoever had imposed order on the large space. There were several rows of shelves with neatly stacked and sorted equipment—balls, uniforms, climbing harnesses, pool chemicals and floats—all kinds of stuff.
The building used to belong to the college, but they’d given it to the village of Camelot after they constructed a new athletic center a few years back. Now some rich local had died and left money to pay for the new wing, which would add a studio for aerobics classes, a big workout room, some meeting areas, and another locker room just for families with little kids.
By the time it was done, the center would be twice as nice as the Y in Mount Pleasant, which was where Camelot residents had to go now if they wanted to belong to a gym.
Amber returned, frowning an apology. “No, sorry. No phone down here. I couldn’t even find a jack.”
Tony imagined his father berating him. You’re always so careless. Didn’t you listen to the weather?
He had, but he’d figured he’d be done and home before the storm hit. Then he got distracted by the unholy mess the electrical guys had left behind. Tony hadn’t wanted the site to stay trashed all weekend long. Stuff like that made the company look bad. He’d picked up, started running the shop vac, and the next thing he knew the siren was going off, and he’d kept her late again.
Kept her from her mother.
His mouth twitched into a smile at the memory of the conversation.
Amber flicked on a bank of switches in the middle of the room, illuminating the back half, and turned around. She stuck her hands in the front pockets of her khakis.
“So,” she said. “How ’bout that weather?”
She was so damn cute, with that face and her ponytail and the whistle around her neck. Not cute like she was trying to be, but cute like she couldn’t help it. Like a baby rabbit. It made him want to follow her around to keep the foxes from eating her up.
Except he was one of the foxes.
“We’re not likely to get hit,” he said. “The radio put us right at the edge of the storm. If it touches down anywhere, it’ll probably be around Brevard.”
“Yeah, I heard that.”
“Don’t suppose you got dinner down here?”
“There’s nothing to eat, sorry.”
“TV/VCR? Deck of cards?”
“Just a bunch of sports equipment.
Oh, and we’ve got Youth Theater costumes. We could play dress-up.” She threw him a little smile.
He managed not to tell her he’d rather play doctor. “I’ll be the princess,” he offered, “and you can be the pirate.”
Another smile. She had a dimple. Naturally.
“I think there are some chairs in the back.”
She led him down an aisle of metal shelving to a tower of orange and blue plastic chairs stacked against the far wall. Tony pulled two off the top.
“Ladies’ choice. Blue or orange?”
She took the orange, and they sat. Amber crossed her legs one way, then the other. Crossed her arms. Folded her hands in her lap.
He wondered if she was uncomfortable because she knew about the accident. People got that way. But it didn’t seem to fit, not considering how she went all pink and bashful whenever he walked by.
Could be she was just afraid of him because he was a man, and she was a woman, and here they were, alone.
Only one way to find out.
“So is it the storm you’re afraid of, or is it me?”
“Who says I’m afraid?”
“You can’t sit still.”
She wrinkled up her nose. “We’re in an unusual situation. I’m a little … apprehensive.”
He threw her a grin. “Don’t go busting out the big words on me.”
“Oh, sorry. It means—”
“It’s okay, I know that one. Fancy word for ‘afraid.’ ”
This smile was shy and fleeting. “Yeah.”
“I’m pretty harmless. We should play Twenty Questions or something. Truth or Dare. Get to know each other.”
Her eyes widened, and then she started to cough. The coughing got the best of her. She had to cover her mouth with her hand and double over, giving Tony a view of her slim back.
The polo shirt was made of thin, smooth cotton, and one of her bra straps was twisted, making a knot beneath the material. What kind of bra did Amber wear? Plain white cotton? Black lace?
He could ask her, but she might pass out.
When she sat up, her eyes were red-rimmed, the lashes all clumped together. No smeared mascara, though. No makeup.
She didn’t need it. Not with that olive skin, those big eyes in her sweet face, and that mouth that gave him way too many dirty ideas.