Bringing Home the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

  She wiggled against him and when her hands tightened in his hair, he figured he’d achieved that goal. Leaving her wanting more left him wanting more.

  He stepped back and started toward his house. “Got a chubby to walk off.”

  “Crude,” she said, but her grin suggested she liked what she heard.

  Too bad it was true. He did, in fact, have a chubby to walk off. He took his time strolling home, and tried to think of something other than Charlie.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The knock on Charlie’s back patio door came around four a.m.

  She bolted out of bed, getting a heck of a dizzy spell as she did, needing to hold on to the wall to anchor herself for a few seconds until her head straightened out.

  Her first thought when she heard the knock was of Lyon and her second thought was of Evan. Her third thought was the phone battery had died and that’s why she didn’t get a call about whatever trouble they were in.

  When she slid the door aside and found Gloria on her deck, her head swam for a different reason. Confusion. A lot of it.

  “Gloria?”

  Not only was Gloria Shields standing on the back deck, but her eyes were red from crying and her makeup was gone, also from the crying, Charlie assumed.

  “Is… Evan okay? Lyon okay?”

  “I think so. I thought you’d be over there.” Glo blinked a few times at Evan’s house and then back at Charlie. Fat tears rolled down Gloria’s cheeks. “Which makes this awkward.”

  Charlie wasn’t completely awake yet, but she was pretty sure Glo’s pronouncement didn’t make sense. “Why did you knock if you didn’t think I was here?”

  “Because I secretly hoped you were.”

  Which didn’t make a lot of sense, either. “Want to come in?”

  She shook her head. “Can you come out? With coffee?”

  “I can do that, sure.”

  Glo collapsed on the porch swing and crossed her arms as she studied the dark lake. Charlie moved to the coffeepot, noticing the clock on the stove read 4:15. It was way, way too early to be awake and caffeinated, but this was an emergency.

  Obviously, if Gloria, who was more Evan’s friend than hers, had come to her house hoping / not hoping she was home.

  Well. Glo was in luck. Because if Charlie knew one thing it was how to entertain on her fabulous patio. Two mugs of coffee and a bag of Pepperidge Farm Milanos in her hands, she went outside to deliver them to her guest.

  Gloria Shields had yet to stop crying.

  “Her name is Jordan.”

  Charlie blinked. “Jordan?”

  “That’s how the skank at Asher’s house an hour ago introduced herself to me.”

  Oh gosh. Asher.

  Not a catch, Ace. A mess.

  He was right. He was a mess.

  “I was up late working.” Glo swiped her eyes. They filled instantly. “I missed him so I drove to his cabin and knocked on the door.” She turned her watery eyes on Charlie. “He didn’t answer. But Jordan did. Wearing a skimpy little scrap of silk and looking at me like I was the piece of trash.”

  Charlie’s heart lurched. “No.”

  “That’s not why I’m here,” Glo blurted.

  “It isn’t?”

  Glo blinked her tears away and slid into that no-nonsense woman Charlie knew her to be. “Nope. I’m here because I am full of shit, and I thought you should know. I give bad advice. I gave Evan bad advice. I give myself bad advice.”

  “Evan?”

  Glo lifted a brow and dug a hand into the Pepperidge Farm bag. “I told him you needed space.” She shook her head, took a bite of the Milano. “You don’t. You need smothered. You need caveman dragged to his house by the hair.”

  Maybe it was the early hour, but Charlie wasn’t sure what Glo was getting at. Hugging her mug, she repeated, “Caveman… dragged?”

  With a nod, Glo said, “Girls like us do. We need to be pursued because our families have already proven we can’t win their love. Right?”

  Huh. She made an excellent point, actually. Hadn’t Charlie’s dad proven that years ago when he left Charlie and Dani on their own? Hadn’t he continued to prove to them now, by keeping his distance, that he couldn’t care less if he had a relationship with either of his daughters?

  “You want a guy who will pursue you,” Glo said, eating the rest of her cookie. “Not a guy like Asher, who when you give him an inch of space, fills it with Jordan.”

  Having no idea what else to say, Charlie whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “Total jerk.”

  Asher had sabotaged his and Glo’s relationship before they even had one.

  Charlie reached for Glo, wanting to comfort her in some way, but the other woman stood before she could touch her.

  “I have a flight back to Chicago to catch. Take care of your boys.” With a wave of her hand, Glo marched around the back of the house and to her car waiting in Charlie’s driveway.

  After she left, Charlie thought about going over to Asher’s cabin, guns blazing, then changed her mind. Asher’s self-destruction was his problem. Charlie had problems of her own. Like the fact she’d backslid a bit. Thankfully, Gloria had delivered some of the best news Charlie had ever heard.

  Evan hadn’t wanted to back off; he’d only done so at his friend’s suggestion.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Rolling Stone.

  Rolling. Freaking. Stone.

  Charlie could hardly contain herself as she watched the somewhat wrinkled yet pleasant-looking reporter from Rolling Stone magazine interview Asher and Evan.

  If it’d set in for Evan yet that he was going to be in a nationally distributed, extremely cool magazine, it didn’t show. Asher, meanwhile, looked like the kid who found a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

  He sat on Evan’s patio furniture, elbows on his knees, leaning in close to consider the questions. But when the reporter turned away to speak to Evan, Asher’s feet began bobbing, or he’d rub his hands together nervously.

  Super excited. Charlie’s smile faded as her thoughts returned to last night—er, early this morning.

  Asher Knight was a mess.

  Poor Gloria.

  Since Charlie had been busy working before rushing over to watch the interview, she hadn’t had a chance to set Evan straight or tell him about Gloria’s visit. Or about all the thoughts pinging around her head while she hunkered over her computer this morning.

  Despite her misgivings about Rae, Lyon, or her fitting into the family, Charlie was beginning to think this was a gift horse she was most assuredly looking in the mouth.

  So, here she was, keeping an eye on Lyon while Tiger Thompson, reporter with Rolling Stone, interviewed Evan and Asher.

  Lyon got a big kick out of Tiger due to their similar names—though Charlie doubted “Tiger” was the reporter’s real name—but had since retired to the living room to watch a movie. Charlie simultaneously peeked in on him and clicked photos of the guys.

  Interview completed, they stood. Tiger shook Asher’s and Evan’s hands, then walked her direction, a smile on his face. “Ms. Harris. Get any good shots?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “May I?” He gestured to the camera.

  Slightly embarrassed, Charlie started to turn Tiger down until Evan sidled up next to her and dropped a hand on her lower back. “Show him, Ace.”

  She tilted her camera to show him the photos she’d snapped of the interview, and at Tiger’s encouragement, kept scrolling back, through the photos she’d taken when Asher first got there and he and Evan were chatting and cracking open beers waiting for Tiger’s arrival.

  “I didn’t know you took those,” Evan commented.

  “Long as I look good,” Asher called from across the deck.

  “These are great, Charlie,” Tiger said with what sounded like genuine appreciation.

  She scrolled back a few more, to the ones she’d snapped of Evan painting before he knew she’d ent
ered the studio. “Oh, sorry, too far.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Tiger said gently. “Wait. That last one.”

  Her favorite. Evan’s paintbrush raised to the canvas, head turned toward the camera, eyebrows slanted, eyes bright and surrounded by a thick shroud of dark lashes. This was the photo when he’d sensed her behind him and turned. In what he called “the zone,” she had seen by the look in his eyes that he was half in it, lost in concentration. Wrapped in the passion of his project.

  It was her absolute favorite shot. An honest portrait of the man standing with her now, his hand on her back. In short, it was beautiful in a way that made her throat tighten.

  “That,” Tiger said. “That’s what we need.”

  “Sorry?” she asked at the same time Evan said, “Excuse me?”

  “The inset photo of you,” he told Evan. “I was going to ask if you had a professional headshot, but your talk of painting and what inspired you and how you and Asher arrived at these characters…” He gestured toward the display on her camera. “Well. There it is. In that shot.”

  “Thank you,” Charlie said, honestly flattered.

  “Asher’s flying out to do a shoot with us for the cover and a few pages inside, but this is the shot I want for my article.” He shot her a huge grin. “Can you e-mail it to me?”

  “I—”

  “She’ll have our agent call and negotiate a sale,” Evan returned.

  Her jaw dropped. Our agent? She didn’t have an agent.

  Tiger lifted his chin like he might challenge Evan, then his smile curled up on one side. “Fair enough.” He offered his hand to Charlie. “Ms. Harris. I’ll be in touch.”

  She shook his hand and watched as he shook Evan’s again. Once he’d rounded the deck and she heard his car start, she turned to Evan with wide eyes.

  “Negotiate a price?”

  “Yes, Ace. You don’t e-mail a vulture like Tiger Thompson your work for free.”

  She looked down at the photo she knew was good, but still… “It took me only a few seconds to line up and snap. How much could it be worth?”

  He clasped her neck with both hands and feathered his thumbs along her jaw. “Took you a decade to hone that kind of skill. You deserve a fair price for it.”

  “Is it okay? It’s such a private photo.” It was, too. Evan was raw, real, and perfect.

  Evan lifted the camera, held out to the side since he’d stepped in so close, and studied the display. “He’s right. It’s perfect.”

  “It’s you,” she said simply.

  Something in his eyes changed. They grew soft, then warm. Then downright hot. “Meaning?”

  She swallowed thickly and told him the truth. “It’s the real you. Passionate, wild, dedicated.” On a whisper, she finished, “It’s beautiful.”

  His eyes never left hers and something in them intensified. Then his hands speared into her hair, and he put his lips on hers for a long, slow kiss. Her eyes sank shut as she savored the feel of his mouth.

  Until a seven-year-old boy’s voice lifted on the air. “Dad, can I have…”

  Her eyes popped open. She jerked her head back on her neck and pried her lips away from Evan’s. Her heart raced as a thousand thoughts hit her. Lyon saw her kiss his dad. Rae. Evan hadn’t let her go yet. Why hadn’t he let her go yet?

  Charlie tried to twist out of his grip, but he held her fast and palmed her jaw at the same time he turned his head to greet his son.

  “Can you have what?”

  Lyon’s face was scrunched into a combo smile and grimace. “Are you kissing Aunt Charlie?”

  Oh. My. Gosh.

  “Yeah,” Evan answered.

  “Gross!”

  Evan’s fingers slid around to cup her nape. “Better get used to it, buddy.”

  Her heart hit her throat.

  “Remember how we talked about her being around more?” Evan asked his son. “Her staying over sometimes? Well, I’m going to be kissing her more, too.”

  Oh gosh. He said it. Just blurted it right out. Why not tell the kid I’m replacing his mother?

  “Evan,” she whispered. “I don’t think—”

  “Why?” Lyon giggled.

  “Because Aunt Charlie is a girl and girls like kisses,” Evan supplied.

  All true. She chewed on her lip.

  “Whatever, Dad!” Lyon was over it, hanging on to the door frame and leaning out of the house.

  “Yeah, whatever, Dad,” Asher said.

  Oh gosh! She forgot all about Asher.

  “Can you have what, Lyon?” Evan asked, steering his son back to the original question he’d interrupted their “gross” kissing to ask.

  “Ice cream.” He pointed at Asher. “You can get it for me.”

  “Me? You’re lucky you have stitches or I’d throw you over my shoulder, body-slam you on the couch, and tickle you unconscious.”

  “Whatever!” Lyon yelled back.

  Asher turned to Evan. “Dad? Can we have ice cream?”

  “Up to Charlie.”

  “Me?” she gasped, still in shock about… well… about everything.

  Asher tipped his head. “Mom? What do you say?”

  “She’s not a mom!” Lyon said, laughing again.

  The entire patio went quiet for a few seconds.

  “She could be,” Asher replied. “She’d be a good mom, don’t you think?”

  Oh, Rae.

  Charlie’s nose stung with impending tears. Evan slid his hands from her neck and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She lifted a hand to her lips and pressed. Why, oh why, had Asher asked that question?

  Lyon squinted up at her. “Yeah.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut to dam the tears as Asher turned Lyon toward the house. “Come on, kid. Ice cream.” He sent her a small smile as they disappeared inside.

  The moment they were gone, she lost it.

  A great mom. A boy. A family.

  Evan pulled her close and she collapsed into his chest and sobbed for a few brief seconds while he shushed her.

  “Ace.” Hands rubbed her back and she lifted her face and wiped away the tears on her cheeks.

  “Sorry, I’m—”

  “You’re what?”

  She laughed a watery laugh at the fact that she’d said the “S” word. “Nothing.”

  With a grin, he let her off the hook. “Want some ice cream?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.” He kissed her lips, took her hand, and led her inside.

  * * *

  Finally.

  Finally, finally, finally.

  The word echoed in Evan’s head, though he was surprised any words could penetrate the canvas of lust covering his brain.

  Things had been good between him and Charlie over the last few weeks. Really good. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought they could get better. Now, watching her take his cock deep into her mouth, he reconsidered.

  Definitely better.

  Lyon had started school last week and since then, Charlie joined them each morning for breakfast. Sometimes she was already there, having stayed the night with him; other times she slept at her house but came over.

  He accepted this.

  He accepted this because of the moment in his studio when he’d stated that if they threw down again, she would do the throwing.

  Lately, and more since his son started school and was gone for the day, Charlie had done a lot more throwing.

  As was the case now.

  This morning, she’d walked through his back door, as per her usual. He had poured himself a cup of coffee after dropping Lyon off at school. Prepped for a run before painting—painting had to happen today—he was wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung shorts.

  Ideally, nighttime was best for him to work, but deadlines loomed and he and Asher had received a surprise announcement from the publisher requesting a third book in the Mad Cow saga. That would keep him busy in the upcoming months, which he was not dreading. The nightmares had all but ceased, and wh
en they did come, he’d go to the studio. But the darkness he used to paint on canvas didn’t come. Instead, farm animals in capes and surly cows poured from his brush.

  Thanks to Charlie.

  He was getting used to the new “normal” settling in around here. Asher was back in LA, Glo was back to selling anything and everything she could. Including some of Charlie’s photos she’d relinquished after Glo had forced Rolling Stone to pony up the dough for the shot of Evan.

  And if this was the new “normal,” he thought, watching Charlie’s lips take him in again, hell. He was all for it.

  She wore some sort of calf-length sheer wrap-thing over her hot pink bikini, blond hair spilling down her back, wide eyes looking up at him. And her tits—God help him. Cleavage for days.

  Enough to make his brain check out. He couldn’t think.

  Thankfully, his dick didn’t need his brain to function.

  “Ace,” he said on a growl.

  When she first sank to her knees, his eyes cut to the back door, and he hoped no one in town popped in for an impromptu visit. If so, he wasn’t stopping to shoo them away. It’d take an act of vengeful, abnormal weather—Sharknado, he decided with a small smile—to get Charlie to stop what she’d started.

  If then.

  Now, his eyes rolled back as one hand came to rest on the back of her head. He tightened his fingers in her hair each time she slid her lips up his shaft, and she let him press her back down, which he did gently. Carefully. She was exquisite: all cheeks, tongue, and lips. The sensations rippling over his body built fast, and built hard.

  “Ace.” He opened his eyes to watch what she was doing, what she was enjoying doing, and promptly closed them again. Not that he didn’t want to see, because God, did he ever want to see… But if he kept watching her do what she was most definitely enjoying nearly as much as he was, he’d come, and he’d come hard.

  “Baby,” he tried again, his voice slightly more firm.

  “Mmm?” He watched her, his mouth dropped open, but she wasn’t stopping.

  His grip tightened on her hair and the countertop, his eyes welded to hers. He took several short, fast breaths and tried to think of anything except the woman of his dreams going down on him in his kitchen.