Once Upon a Bad Boy--A Sometimes in Love Novel

by Melonie Johnson

  Thanks to Bo’s pillow talk about regrets, she’d already spent enough time swimming deeper in her emotional whirlpool than she was comfortable with this morning.

  “How did you end up doing stunt work? When we were kids, all you ever talked about was owning your own stable.” Whenever they’d daydreamed about the future, Bo’s plan had always been the same. He wanted his own horses on his own land.

  “It was the accident, actually,” Bo said, one hand absently rubbing his side, over the area where the tattooed scar lay hidden beneath his shirt. “That’s what started it.” He flipped the omelets and set the spatula down. “I’d told you I was thrown from the carriage. Compared to what happened to my dad, I was lucky. So freaking lucky.” He stared at his calloused palms before squeezing his hands into fists. “But the fall still messed me up pretty bad.”

  “What happened?”

  “I busted some ribs. Punctured a lung.”

  “That’s awful.” Sadie sucked in a breath, aware of the air filling her own lungs and imagining the horrible pain he must have endured.

  “Yeah, well, like I said, I was lucky. The doctors said it could have been a whole lot worse. I could have ended up on a ventilator for life. Or landed just a little bit differently, lacerated my aorta or busted my liver and then that would have been it.” Flicking off the stove, he picked up the pan and slid the omelets onto their plates.

  “My God, Bo.” Sadie winced, cold dread icing her insides. For years, Bo could have been dead, and she wouldn’t have known because she’d been so damned angry and stubborn and scared.

  But he’d survived. He was alive and well. That was all that mattered.

  Sadie stared at her plate. The summer she’d been thirteen and Bo fourteen, the same summer he’d kissed her for the first time, Bo had ended up in the hospital with a concussion after getting kicked in the head by a horse. It was horrible. She’d felt so hopeless, so worried for him. But at least she’d been there. By his side as much as she could be.

  When Bo was released, the doctors said he needed to rest his brain, which meant he couldn’t read or watch TV or even talk much. So Sadie would ride to the carriage house every day. She’d sit by Bo’s bedside and hold his hand, reading books to him and sometimes just sitting in the quiet with him. Letting him know she was there—would always be there.

  But she hadn’t always been there. He’d been hurt in that carriage accident—badly—and she hadn’t been there for him. She hadn’t even known it had happened. Sadie was struck with the illogical urge to comfort Bo now, to soothe the pain even though it had happened long ago.

  “Maybe I missed something,” she said, forcing herself to remain nonchalant as she poked at the omelet with her fork. “How did getting thrown from a carriage lead you to decide you wanted to throw yourself off buildings for a living?”

  Bo bit into a piece of toast and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “It was almost like it was meant to be.”

  Sadie glanced up, startled. “What do you mean?”

  Bo shrugged, stirring his coffee. “Looking back, I can see how it came together. Like the pieces were all there, and the accident was the thing that set everything in motion.”

  “How?’ Sadie swiveled on her stool, staring up at him.

  “Well, I’d always been good with horses, right? And after an, um, incident, I decided to take up martial arts.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded, finishing off the piece of toast.

  “Wait, what incident?” Sadie frowned.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said, brushing it aside. “Between the riding and the fighting, I had developed a…” he paused, mouth curling in a self-deprecating smirk, “… a unique skill set.”

  Bo pushed his fork through the eggs on his plate. “It was a couple of months after the accident. I was doing better, but Dad was still in really bad shape. I’d take him to his physical therapy sessions. There was this one guy there, about my father’s age, Vic LaSalle. A cranky old guy, even more stubborn than dad.”

  “Is that even possible?” Sadie teased, rewarded with a chuckle from Bo.

  “Yeah, well, the two of them, Dad and Vic, would go at it together. Talk smack and drive the rehab staff up the wall as they tried to one-up each other during their PT sessions.”

  Sadie smiled. From what she remembered of Bo’s dad, it was easy to picture the scene he painted.

  “Anyway, turns out this guy Vic was a stuntman and coordinator who’d gotten injured on a job.” Bo scraped a pat of butter on another slice of toast. “Vic also had a side gig going where he’d help casting directors out, match up stunt guys he knew with projects filming in the city.”

  “Like a talent scout?” Sadie asked.

  “Sorta, but nothing that organized. Vic ended up recruiting me because he had a call for someone who could ride a horse. Right place, right time kind of thing. That job led to another and another and so on. At first, it wasn’t formal or anything, I’d pick up gigs based on what I looked like: height, weight, the usual. But then I started getting more assignments because of what I could do—or more to the point, what I was willing to do. There was always a show needing someone ready to throw themselves off a building or run through a wall of fire.” Bo smirked. “I got a lot of work that way.”

  “Sounds like you,” Sadie said drily, thinking of all the wild, reckless stunts Bo had pulled when they were kids.

  “Yep.” The smile he gave her now was pure impish boy. The fae prince she’d once believed him to be.

  Sadie melted like the butter on Bo’s toast.

  “A lot of action films were coming to Chicago, television series too. Vic was getting hit up to place performers so often, I suggested he turn it into an actual business. It was my idea but his contacts, you know? We became partners and formed Windy City Stunts.” Bo took the last bite of his eggs. “I turned that haphazard list of his into an official collective. Created a central database of professional stunt people in the Chicago area. Fall guys, fight guys, wheel guys.”

  “Wheel guys?”

  “Stunt drivers, guys who can do all the fancy car-racing shit.”

  “Girls can do that shit too,” Sadie pertly informed him.

  “If you say so.” Bo wiped his mouth with a napkin, but Sadie caught the teasing grin beneath.

  She narrowed her eyes. He was baiting her. “You better watch it, or I’ll have my friend Cassie do an exposé on underrepresentation of females in the stunt industry.”

  “To be honest, she’d probably have a story,” he admitted. “But not with WCS. I’ll have you know, our best wheelie is a woman. Alexis.” Bo shook his head. “The shit Lexie pulls on a motorcycle scares even me.”

  “Wow. Now that I’d like to see.”

  His grin widened. “Also, I recently cast a female stunt double for this action movie that’s filming in Chicago. I think you may have heard of it?”

  “Now you’re patronizing me.” Sadie rolled her eyes.

  Bo changed the subject, glancing at her almost empty plate. “You liked your eggs, then? The omelet was good?”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but really good.” Sadie speared the last bite and popped it in her mouth. “Even Jim would approve of that breakfast. Now he won’t have an excuse to torture me more than usual.”

  “I’m assuming Jim is your trainer?” Bo asked.

  “Trainer, dungeon master, whichever.”

  “Sounds like he’s doing a good job.” Bo laughed. “Are you finished?”

  She nodded and waited at the table while Bo took the dishes to the sink. And yes, she did check out his ass as he walked away. Even in khakis, the man looked good.

  Suddenly Sadie recalled she was not wearing any underwear. Holding on to the edge of her dress, she primly slid off the stool and gathered up the butter and juice to put away in the fridge. Spying the container that had caught her interest earlier, Sadie pulled it out and held it up. “What’s in here?

  Rinsing the plates, Bo toss
ed a glance over his shoulder. When he saw what Sadie was holding, he gave her a slow, sexy smile, lips parted, nipping his tongue between his teeth. On any other guy, she would have thought the move was ridiculous. But he managed to make it radiate sex.

  Which made Sadie extra curious about the contents of the container. Shutting the fridge, she set it on the counter and popped off the lid, a sugary-peppery aroma tingling in her nose. She didn’t even have to look in the bowl to know what was in there, the scent triggered a host of special memories, making her hop in excitement. “Mexican fruit salad!”

  Her mouth began to water, lips tingling in anticipation of the sweet and spicy treat. Sadie set the lid aside and admired the gorgeous bouquet of colors formed by a mix of tropical fruits and chili flakes. She reached into the bowl and plucked out a chunk of pineapple, popping it into her mouth.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, as flavor exploded on her tongue. “I haven’t had this in ages.”

  “Slow down there, chica impaciente,” Bo chided, grabbing a spoon and a dish.

  “I know that one,” Sadie said around another bite of fruit. “Girl impatient. No, wait. Impatient girl.”

  “Bueno.” Bo scooped a heaping spoonful of fruit into the dish and handed it to Sadie. “Do you remember why?”

  Sadie licked lime juice and chili flakes from her fingers and thought for a minute. She closed her eyes, pulling the memory out of hiding. “Because Spanish flips the noun and adjective.” Her eyes popped open, and she grinned, recalling a snarky teenage Bo’s explanation. “That way you know what it is before you know what it’s like.”

  “Muy bueno.” He clapped his hands.

  “Gracias.” Sadie bowed. When they were kids, Bo had taught her some Spanish. And her first lesson took place the same day she’d tried ensalada de frutas for the very first time. Sadie’s cheeks heated, and not from the spices. There’d been another first that day as well.

  “Here.” Sadie pressed a piece of watermelon to Bo’s lips.

  He opened his mouth, thick dark lashes fanning out against his tan cheeks as he watched her slide the fruit in.

  The sight did funny things to her insides. Sadie shifted her attention back to her bowl, selecting what looked like a cube of mango. Spicy heat prickled on her tongue, the contrast making the tart sweetness of the fruit even sweeter.

  She licked her lips, almost certain she felt the weight of Bo’s gaze on her mouth. “Do you remember—”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know what I was going to ask?” Sadie demanded.

  “Give me a little credit, abeja.” Bo took the bowl from her hands and stepped closer, then closer still. He tilted his head.

  She tilted hers.

  He leaned forward, brushing the tip of his nose against hers.

  Sadie remembered this. The soft tickle of his nose. The way her thirteen-year-old heart had thundered like a stampede of horses. She couldn’t say how long they’d stayed like that, only their noses touching.

  Until finally one of them, or maybe both of them, shifted the tiniest bit. But it was enough. Their lips touched. And Sadie’s heart had jumped fences.

  Closing her eyes, Sadie let the memory take her. She could still recall the delight she’d felt when she discovered closing her eyes made kissing even better. With her eyes closed, she could focus completely on Bo’s mouth, savor the taste of him, warm and spicy sweet—a little ticklish—but in a good way. A way that didn’t make her want to laugh, but made her tingle from the inside out.

  When she opened her eyes, coming back to the present moment, Bo was right there. Staring down at her, his gaze golden brown and intense.

  And Sadie could. Not. Breathe.

  “How old were you, again?”

  “Thirteen,” she whispered.

  “Which means I was fourteen,” Bo mused. “A decent age for a first kiss.” He shook his head, a secret smile stealing over his features.

  “What?” Sadie asked.

  “It’s just,” he hesitated.

  “Bo?” Sadie could swear he was blushing beneath his beard. What on earth could make that man blush? “Tell me!”

  “It’s just, in the shower today … I remembered another first we shared.”

  “We shared a lot of them,” she reminded him.

  “I think it was the fact you were wearing my shirt that triggered this memory.”

  “Oh,” Sadie said. “Oooh.” Now she was blushing too. She cleared her throat, moving to the sink to wash her sticky fingers. “Thanks for the fruit salad.”

  “Thank my abuela.” Bo joined her at the sink, rinsing his hands as well.

  Again, the domesticity of the moment jarred her.

  “She watched every episode of your show, you know. Hope General.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  Bo nodded and handed her a towel. “I did too.”

  Sadie almost dropped the towel. “You did?” She didn’t know what to think about that. Wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

  “The show was kind of a train wreck, but you were good.”

  She laughed. “Thanks?” Sadie folded the towel, trying to collect her thoughts. “And thanks for the hospitality.” She handed the towel back to him. “While I’ve had a lovely time at Bo’s Bed and Breakfast, I probably should be getting back to my place soon.”

  “If you don’t mind another ride on the bike, I can drive you home,” he offered.

  “Um, yeah,” Sadie began, “about that.” She smoothed her dress over her hips. “I’m going to need to borrow some sweatpants or something. It was one thing to ride on a motorcycle while wearing a dress. But to ride in a dress and no panties … um, no. Hard pass.”

  “Wait.” Bo stared at her. “All through breakfast you weren’t wearing any…” His eyebrows rose as his gaze drifted lower, focus sharpening, his tawny eyes making Sadie think of tigers, or jaguars, or other sleek cats stalking their prey through the tall grass.

  Oh. Her breath quickened, coming in shallow gulps as he moved closer. She was the prey. Sadie backed up. A moment later her butt bumped against the kitchen island.

  And a moment after that, he was on her. A fierce growl erupted from his throat, and Sadie experienced a flash of déjà vu as he leaned into her, hefting her onto the counter, his hands reaching under the hem of her skirt.

  Bo dragged his fingers up the bare skin of her thighs, reaching around to cup her ass and pull her closer.

  Whoa. Beneath the thin fabric of his khakis, Sadie could feel every inch of him—every very thick and very hard inch. “Maybe Cassie’s Scot is on to something,” she teased. “Walking around sans panties. Commando. This is what does it for you?”

  Bo drew back, face taut with desire. His eyes flashed as he bent closer, brushing his nose against hers. “You are what does it for me, abeja,” he said, voice achingly tender. “Only you.”

  CHAPTER 17

  A FEW DAYS later, Bo sped south down Lake Shore Drive, the wind off Lake Michigan seeping through his jeans and whipping down the neck of his leather jacket. The chill bite in the air a clear indication fall was in full swing. Somehow, the fact that the year had passed into October had slipped his notice. They were almost halfway through filming Fair is Fair. By mid-November, shooting would be over, and the project would move to post-production.

  While at a stoplight, Bo mentally reviewed his work calendar. Next up was a holiday episode for Chicago Rescue. He’d signed the contract for that assignment ages ago and was concerned about how close it bumped up against the end of his current schedule. If anything were to go wrong and delay the filming on this movie, Bo would be in a bind.

  That was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show Vic he had everything under control, and part of that was being able to juggle multiple shooting schedules. Currently they were on target. But the call he’d received this morning from one of Sylvia’s assistants asking Bo to come to the studio made him wary.

  They were supposed to begin a week and a half of filming at a stable
the production company had rented. It was a tight schedule with little wiggle room. Luckily, aside from the nip in the wind, the weather was perfect. Sunny and clear, the leaves just beginning to change. And the forecast called for more of the same all week, so they were good there.

  The weather had been perfect this weekend too. In fact, everything about this weekend had been perfect. The time he’d spent with Sadie had been better than perfect … he didn’t have the words. Bo hadn’t wanted the weekend to end. He’d even been considering risking the wrath of his family and skipping Sunday night supper until she’d told him she had to get going.

  At first, he’d felt like an idiot for getting carried away, and the disappointment had struck deep. But she’d explained she needed to be at her parents’ house by sundown for the start of Rosh Hashanah. Bo should have remembered it was the Jewish New Year. Just as he’d taught her bits of Spanish and shared pieces of his family’s culture with her as they’d grown up, she’d done the same for him.

  A horn honked behind him, and he startled, realizing the light had turned green. Waving a hand in apology, Bo tightened his hold on the bike’s handlebars and hit the gas. He needed to get his head straight. Especially since he would be working closely with Sadie pretty much every day these next two weeks. The fact they’d be shooting at a stable and riding horses together guaranteed there’d be minefields of memories to navigate.

  Bo parked his bike in the lot behind the warehouse housing the studio and made his way to the conference room, wondering why Sylvia had called a meeting here. The production had taken a break on Monday for the Jewish holiday, but the plan had been to resume filming on location.

  Maybe there was an issue with a permit at the stable, or maybe the set team hadn’t finished their prep work. Or … maybe the lead actress decided she couldn’t work with the stunt coordinator after spending a weekend fooling around in bed with him.

  He tucked his helmet under his arm. That last thought was ridiculous, but it kept creeping back. Probably his guilty conscience. He shouldn’t be messing around with Sadie. As he told himself over and over, getting involved with her was opening a can of worms for a host of reasons, both personal and professional. But he hadn’t been able to help himself.