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Synopsis
He's a mess...
Asher Knight has three constants in his life: music, beautiful women, and a bottle of Jack. He lives for the next gig, the next city, and dreams only of a life spent in front of an arena full of screaming fans. But Asher's nomad ways come to a sudden stop when he learns he's the father of a three-year-old from a past relationship and suddenly this rock star bad boy is forced to put down roots.
Only she can clean up
Gloria Shields is no one's fool. Sure, the sexual chemistry between her and Asher has always been intense, but she'd never risk giving her heart to a man who has a perfect record for breaking them. Except the man desperate to make things right with his newfound son is nothing like the rock god she's guarded her heart against for years. And it isn't long before she starts to wonder if life with this bad boy might be the best thing that's ever happened to her.
Asher Knight has three constants in his life: music, beautiful women, and a bottle of Jack. He lives for the next gig, the next city, and dreams only of a life spent in front of an arena full of screaming fans. But Asher's nomad ways come to a sudden stop when he learns he's the father of a three-year-old from a past relationship and suddenly this rock star bad boy is forced to put down roots.
Only she can clean up
Gloria Shields is no one's fool. Sure, the sexual chemistry between her and Asher has always been intense, but she'd never risk giving her heart to a man who has a perfect record for breaking them. Except the man desperate to make things right with his newfound son is nothing like the rock god she's guarded her heart against for years. And it isn't long before she starts to wonder if life with this bad boy might be the best thing that's ever happened to her.
Release date: April 26, 2016
Publisher: Forever
Print pages: 416
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Return of the Bad Boy
Jessica Lemmon
Prologue
Last December
Pate Mansion
Will you just— Gloria, dammit,” Asher Knight, visiting rock god, client, and consistent pain in her ass, called from behind her. “Stop running!”
Gloria Shields had picked up speed on her way out of the ballroom of Pate Mansion. In tall heels and her strapless purple gown, she guessed she looked pretty good doing it. But she wasn’t trying to catch the eye of the man following her; she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.
“Sarge!”
Dammit. A charity toy drive wasn’t the time or the place for this conversation, but here they were.
“There. I’m stopped!” She spun, arms out and eyebrows aloft.
Asher, mouth agape like he was about to say something else, seemed to think better of it. But even as he shut his mouth, he moved toward her instead of away. Closer, closer. Until he had her back flat against the wall. She pressed her hands to the patterned wallpaper, wishing this were one of those mansions with a trick door she could disappear through.
No such luck.
Soft music trickled out of the ballroom as the doors swung open. Connor and Faith strolled out—Faith dressed in an amazing fuchsia gown and Connor dapper in his tux. Faith spared them a quick glance.
“We have company,” Gloria mumbled, feeling her face redden as she looked away from her friends.
“I don’t care.” Asher shrugged.
She believed him. He cared about little.
Connor and Faith didn’t stop to chat, instead continuing to the great room, where they disappeared.
“If I swore on a stack of Bibles, you still wouldn’t believe me, would you?” Asher growled, continuing the argument that started at the bar moments ago. Gloria lifted her chin, displeased at how even his snarling lip was attractive.
She really hated that about him. Or wished she could anyway.
Her eyes grazed his all-black outfit, darted down to the cowboy boots, and snapped up to the dark, styled hair and eyes so deep brown she could get lost in them like an enchanted wood. They’d started out civilly tonight, but quickly deteriorated as their potent mix of oil and water—or, well, more like kerosene and a lit match—devolved into this discussion yet again. And, yet again, Gloria stuck to her proverbial guns.
“You don’t need to swear anything,” she said. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.”
He licked his lips, looking guilty about something. Probably fucking that brunette years ago. The skinny, groupie bi—
“Sarge, I don’t want to fight with you about Jordan.”
Jordan. Hearing her name sent jealousy paired with regret surging through her. The emotion was so palpable, Gloria could photograph it and sell it on eBay. She wished she could forget the other woman’s name, or the fact that she’d found her outside of Asher’s rental cabin in naught but a nightie. But, no, Gloria’s mind was a steel trap that held on to every minute detail, especially things she preferred to forget. Every second of what happened—both good and bad—was tattooed onto her frontal lobe.
“There is nothing to fight about!” she hissed, trying to keep her voice low while being supremely pissed. “We are past tense. We aren’t even a we in any other faction save for work.” Her job was to be his agent and sell the children’s books he penned. That was it. Hell, some days that was too much.
He placed a palm on the wall next to her shoulder, leaning in. Crowding her.
“We are always a we.” She watched his tempting lips form the words, his voice a seductive murmur in the empty hallway. “No matter what.” His fingertips touched her chin and she tried to jerk away. He didn’t let her, grasping her jaw and gently but firmly turning her face to his. “How long are you going to try to resist me?”
Forever was the answer, but every time she saw him, the vow became harder and harder to keep.
“One more night, Sarge.”
She let out a weak laugh. One that trickled to every part of her warm-and-getting-warmer body that should be saying No way instead of Yes!
His fingers moved down her neck, leaving twin trails of heat on her flesh. His long lashes draped over hooded eyes filled with the promise of things Gloria hadn’t let herself want in a long time. Namely, him. More specifically, sex with him.
“I beg of you. I’m a drowning man.”
Those damn eyes. They muddled her mind. Cracked her foundation. She watched helplessly as her hands grasped the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and pulled him closer instead of pushing him away. He looked as good in this outfit as he did in anything else he wore…or didn’t wear.
“Please.” He clasped her waist, firm but gentle.
“Ash…” She was losing the ability to say no. Or maybe she’d lost it the moment she’d reached for him.
“I miss you, Sarge.” Melted chocolate eyes, sincerity on his face…He was killing her. Absolutely killing her.
“Well, I hate you,” she whispered, wishing she could mean it.
He let loose a sideways grin. “You don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” she said with a petulant pout, even as her arms moved to his neck and draped over his shoulders. Bad idea.
He took advantage, laying his lips on hers as he tugged her flush with his torso, pressing her breasts to his chest and slanting his mouth to deepen their connection.
Oh God. So good.
She opened to him, savoring the flavor she hadn’t tasted in years. Years was a long time to go without Asher’s kiss. She’d kissed men before and since, yet none of them compared. But she wasn’t going to waste her time thinking of them. The nice, hazy little brain vacation she was partaking in at the moment was the dominating sensation in her world.
So she enjoyed the smoky, whiskey flavor of his mouth and the way his tongue stroked hers, zapping electricity through her entire body like a hair dryer dropped into a tub of water. She touched his stubbled face, tugging him closer as she rocked her hips against one of his thighs.
Hopeless. She was completely hopeless when it came to him.
When he finally lifted his lips from hers, it was to breathe a command she wouldn’t refuse. “My room.”
Gloria didn’t think. For once, she didn’t think about their past, or other people, or the fact that she was jumping from the Frigidaire to the frying pan. She simply allowed him to link his fingers with hers and lead her up the mansion stairs to his guest room.
* * *
“Fucking perfect,” Asher praised from over Gloria’s head.
Of course it was. If there was one thing she had perfected, it was the blow job. He was propped, his head on a pillow, one hand nested in her hair, his fingers stroking her scalp. She continued tasting him, and he tasted really, really good.
Just like I remember.
She grasped his shaft, taking the length of him, which was substantial, onto her tongue. He groaned, his rings scraping her head as he continued to thread his fingers into her hair, and a thought came that she couldn’t push away.
This is going to end badly. Not the blow job, but the evening in general.
He’d talked her into it because he was Asher Knight. With a pair of assaulting dark eyes and charisma to spare, he could cause the mass swooning of every female within a mile radius without trying. After what had happened between them, she could almost expect trouble to follow wherever he went. But he couldn’t resist her, and she couldn’t resist him.
So here they were.
His hips bucked and she shut down the tumultuous thoughts and smiled around her work, pleased with herself for pleasing him so thoroughly. His breathing went shallow and he lifted the length of her black hair from her face so he could watch what she was doing. She sneaked a peek to see his mouth dropped open, eyebrows pinched together in a so-much-pleasure-it-hurt expression.
He was a beautiful, beautiful, sexy beast of a man, but that wasn’t the only reason why she liked being with him. Asher pushed her. Encouraged her to let go, to give in, to stop, at least for a little while, trying to control every tiny detail of her life. When she was with him, she could be present in the moment. As present as he was with her now.
His fist wound in her hair and on her next upward sweep, he tugged her mouth off his cock. She licked her lips, arms still locked around his thighs, his leg hair tickling her breasts.
“Get your very fine ass up here and ride me.” He gave her a lopsided smile, an irresistible tilt she couldn’t deny.
Since she and Asher had imploded a little over two years ago, she’d been with other guys. And she knew he hadn’t kept his hands (or any of his other body parts) to himself since she quit him cold turkey after the Jordan Disaster. But now that they were here and they were naked and she’d had him in her mouth and he’d had his mouth all over her…
God. She wanted him. Still. No matter what the truth or their past entailed.
She vowed to just be here in this beautiful moment, take her release, give him his, and move the hell on. Tomorrow she’d reinstate her “no personal stuff with Asher” rule and they could go back to the way things were. Only she’d be a little more relaxed having achieved an orgasm that was better than “okay.”
No guy made her feel the way Asher did—out of control but in it, safe while taking a risk. He was a portrait of opposing forces, and for the moment, he was all hers.
Gloria crawled to meet him, sliding up his lean, muscular body. His chest and arms were inked, but she didn’t take the time to trace the patterns of his tattoos. Instead she focused on the lazy smile resting on his lips as she straddled his thighs. His fingers found her center and stroked, but there was no need to get her ready. Turning him on had turned her on and right now—in this bed, at this hour—getting turned on was all that mattered. She couldn’t let anything else matter. Not if she wanted to go back to business as usual tomorrow.
He gripped her hips instead. “Slow, Sarge.”
Sarge. The nickname came about because Ash insisted she “barked orders” at him whenever she had her “agent” hat on. He’d never let it go and she secretly liked that he’d kept referring to her as such, even though they weren’t together any longer. Or maybe not so secretly. She suspected he knew how much she liked it.
He made short work of rolling on a condom and lined the head of his cock with her entrance. She held her breath as he slid deep, and threw her head back, a gasp leaving her lips. She hadn’t forgotten how great he felt, but she had tried. Oh, how she’d tried. The last thing she’d needed after he’d wronged her was to remember what she’d be missing. Now there was no denying it.
Pushing onto her knees, she lifted off him and came back down, taking each of his nine inches—that rumor was one hundred percent true. She continued riding him, pressing her breasts together with the sides of her arms and resting her hands on his chest.
“That’s it, honey.” His eyes slid to half-mast, focused squarely on her swaying breasts. “Fuck me. Fuck me.” His command was more of a plea, and Gloria felt her lips curl into a smile. She liked having control over him. In the constant play for who would end up on top, this time it was her. Literally.
He took some of that control a moment later, sliding his hand from her hip to her lower back, his long fingers draped along the cleft of her ass as he drove her down onto him again. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations assaulting her body. The way she tingled from head to toe. The way her mind blanked and welcomed the oblivion; the rare moment when all she did was feel and not think.
Utter bliss.
“Give me your eyes,” he said, his voice low and deep and broken.
“No,” she breathed, keeping them closed.
She didn’t want to connect in any way other than the obvious. Nothing beyond the slippery penetration that would give them each what they needed. An orgasm. Anything more was…dangerous.
His hand smoothed around her ass and at his next thrust, he anchored her to him, preventing her from moving. “Yes.”
Her eyes snapped open. She stared down at him, her fingers moving over his chest hair. She opened her mouth to argue, but the moment she locked onto his dark eyes, she froze. His expression was soft, open. Revealing everything he’d kept hidden from her since they parted on not-so-great terms.
“That’s it, Sarge,” he said like he’d hypnotized her. Maybe he had.
She wanted to close her eyes—wanted to break the connection tying them together like a strong, unbreakable band. She just…couldn’t.
Both palms on her hips, he encouraged her off him slowly, using his hands to slide her onto him again. Oh, that was the best. The way he sank deep, then pulled away, making her anticipate the next entry. Her mouth dropped open and a sigh of satisfaction eked from her throat. She put pressure against his chest, using her hands to assist him in lifting off her again. When she impaled herself this time, she kept her eyes trained on his.
After a few minutes, their rhythm grew frantic. Asher’s eyes and mouth lost their lazy forms as a fierce, almost animal expression took its place. With a growl, he plunged, slamming into her. Then he pulled out, abruptly dropping her to her back and entering her. Taking charge of her again.
“Oh!” she shouted, the sound sharp and satisfied.
“Eyes,” he demanded when she focused on a spot over his shoulder.
“Ash…”
He grasped her chin, not forcing her but letting her know he wasn’t accepting half measures. Not tonight.
She obeyed, watching him as he held her in place and stroked into her over and over.
“Could fall into those pools, Sarge,” he muttered. “Blue skies, ocean waves”—he paused to suck in a satisfied breath when she clenched around him—“irises in the spring. Windows to your soul.”
Sweetness oozed from each word he spoke. She hadn’t experienced many men being sweet to her in the past. But she had with Asher. His sweetness had a tang to it—a flavor she could taste on the back of her tongue.
“God, I missed you.” His humor vanished as quickly as it came.
Her heart seized. She’d opened up for him when she’d given him her eyes. It was the tiniest crack, but he’d widened the gap. This was a bad idea.
A bad, bad, bad-boy idea.
“That’s a song, baby.” He grinned.
No way.
“Well, you’re not stopping to write it down,” she informed him between erratic breaths, trying her damnedest to regain footing even as she fell apart beneath him. This was sex for sex’s sake. She needed to remember that.
“Fuck, no, I’m not,” he said. “But you can help me remember.”
Help him remember to write a song about her? No, she did not think so. It was one thing to be in his bed, to extract pleasure from him—to give him pleasure, to be on the receiving end of his teasing. It was another to have Asher pen a song about her.
No, thank you very much.
“My turn. On your back.” She pushed against his shoulders, desperate to regain some control.
“Forget it.” His eyes sparkled in that playful way she’d always admired. “I’m going to hold you down and make you come and you’re going to look at me when I do it.”
She lost the will to argue whenever he watched her this intently. This single-mindedly. And wasn’t that what it had been like to be with Asher from the start? When she was with him, he was thinking only of her. She’d never been with a guy who was so undeniably present. Fleeting though it was…
Their gazes locked, and all of her softened. From her fingernails raking over his pectoral muscles to her heels resting on his ass. His playful spark shifted into something much more intense. He slowed his movements, lowering over her, and she realized there was no escaping the shared intimacy between them. It was there, carving a path into her very soul.
And she wasn’t the only one feeling it.
Reverence was written on Asher’s expression. He was in control, moving in and out of her, thumbing her nipple the way he knew she liked, kissing her while he plunged deeper and deeper still. Gloria, her legs wound around him, tilted her hips to accept every last inch of him.
She never looked away. She watched him. Up until the very moment her orgasm hit her with the intensity of a battering ram, rocketing through her as he came into the condom, his hips frantically pumping as he said her name. Not “Sarge” but…
“Gloria.”
Over and over, he said her name until his voice was hoarse and scratchy. Until he dropped his forehead onto hers. He pulled out and fell to his side, his breaths shallow and labored.
“God. That was incredible.” He wrapped a tattooed arm around her waist and tugged her close. She went, even as tears pricked the backs of her eyes—blue eyes he’d said he wanted to write a ballad about. Eyes she’d given him as requested while he’d literally rocked her world.
Eye contact during sex was a line they’d never crossed before, and now that they had, it was like a little piece of her had torn wide open. Her heart, if she had to guess. And Asher had taken advantage, reaching inside and extracting part of her.
Shit.
Chapter 1
Present day
The envelope in Gloria’s hand was damp. Her palms were sweating, which was not attractive, but what was she supposed to do? July heat combined with walking toward Asher Knight’s new Evergreen Cove vacation home had given her nothing but jittery nerves.
And not for any reason one might think. Yes, seeing him was hard and talking to him difficult after they’d “done the deed” last Christmas. Not helping matters, she’d since learned the reason why he’d settled on a second home here in the Cove.
He wanted to be closer to his son.
He’d purchased his house back in May, and then had deliveries made: equipment for the recording studio he was setting up. Furniture trucks from Cozy Home. His vacation home was beginning to look a little permanent, and Gloria wasn’t sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, she got it…Asher wanted to be close to his son, and his son lived in the Cove. Which she couldn’t think about without admiring the hell out of him.
He also wanted to be closer to his buddies, and one by one, Evan, Donovan, and Connor had settled here for the long haul. Hell, even Gloria had relocated from Chicago at the beginning of the year. The Cove had a way of doing that. Vacuuming you in and not letting go. It had the wealthy air of a vacation hot spot, and the laid-back small-town vibe without feeling like Mayberry. In a word, it was perfect.
Was being the key word. Before her client-slash-ex-slash-best-lay-of-her-lifetime moved in down the road, into the very house she’d dreamed of owning herself.
Before she’d moved here, she had her eye on this place. Her eye, her good credit, and every penny she could scrape together for an offer barely over listing price. She’d dreamed of moving into the luxury lakeside house, setting up her office in the back, facing said lake and the sea of pines, and living and working in the comfort of this gorgeous retreat.
Then the owner accepted a higher offer. A higher offer from Asher Knight.
Of course, Asher hadn’t known that Glo had been waiting for an acceptance on the very same house, and of course he called, ecstatic about finding the “perfect” lake house. She casually asked him how much he offered and determined that coming up with enough to trump his offer would require her selling an organ. Or two. She didn’t tell him he’d outbid her. Why? Easy. He’d have rescinded his offer. She did not need Asher Knight’s pity house.
Since he’d moved in three weeks ago, she’d been avoiding coming over. Him she could deal with, even if she was uncomfortable. But here? Where she’d crafted a number of future dream scenarios in her head? That was going to be harder to get over…
“Come on, Shields,” she grumbled to herself. It wasn’t like her to become this attached…to anything. This pile of lumber was not hers, and that was something she’d have to get used to.
Asher’s home away from LA sat on the edge of the lake, not a new build, but an older cabin that had been recently remodeled. The entire back wall was windows, so no matter what room you were in—dining room, living room, and kitchen—you could see out to the patio, to the dock, and the lake beyond.
At the front door, she took a steeling breath and knocked three times. She straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair, down in spite of the heat. Hey, a good hair day was a good hair day. When her long, black locks deigned to lie straight and smooth, she wasn’t about to waste a ponytail holder.
She’d sent Ash a quick text that she was coming over to drop off a royalty check the publisher had accidentally sent to her agency instead of him. She could have mailed it, but then that was silly. No sense in delaying the inevitable. If they were kind of, sort of going to be neighbors, she was going to have to get used to—
The door swung open and Asher stood on the other side of it, all tall, dark, and sexy wearing a dark gray tank. His tattoos were on display, his torn-at-the-knee jeans slung low and fitting in all the right places. As usual, his wrists were adorned with hemp and leather bracelets, but he only wore a few rings today. Both on his left hand—the hand holding the phone.
He tipped his head, motioning for her to come in, glancing away before she had time to really get pegged by those bourbon-colored eyes. Phew.
“Yeah. I can handle it,” he said into the phone. He strode away from her, barefoot, pant legs frayed, and Gloria’s heart clutched. She hated her heart sometimes. Sure, she appreciated the whole “stay beating so I can live” thing, but where Asher Knight was concerned, her heart veered from its routine and decided to take up tap dancing instead. It was his gelled, sort of shaggy hair and the lazy way his eyes never opened all the way. It was the cross inked on his left arm and his who-gives-a-fuck style.
It was him. All of him.
She’d just have to learn to deal with her hectic-patterned heart because she was here to drop off a check and that was it. There wasn’t any other reason for her to hang out in his house. Especially while he looked so—
He leaned on his kitchen island and she enjoyed the way his jeans showed off his ass. The way he crossed one bare foot over the other. The way he propped his chin on his palm and carried on his conversation…What had she been saying?
Oh, right. Yummy. She’d just have to learn to deal with him looking yummy. It was a fact of life. Like the weather. It was eighty-eight degrees and only nine a.m. and there wasn’t a thing she could do but endure it. She’d have to do the same with him.
“Because. I’m Hawk’s father and completely capable of handling him longer than a few hours.”
Hawk. Father. At the mention of the name, and Asher’s newfound role as parent, her stomach twisted. The envelope crunched in her hand. Asher turned in her direction, straightened, and pointed to the blender. In it sat some sort of green sludge she guessed was a nutritious drink. She wrinkled her nose. He mouthed the words “it’s good for you” but she only shook her head vehemently. Good for her or not, she needed coffee.
“Listen, Jordan, I have to go. Check with your mom on that weekend and get back with me. I want him here. I want to get to know him.”
Jordan. That name didn’t make Gloria’s stomach twist; it made her stomach toss. Like a tiny boat in a big, angry ocean.
“Yep,” Asher was still speaking to Jordan as he moved across the kitchen to a single-serving coffeepot. He put the pod into the machine, pulled a mug from the cabinet, and pressed a button. “Okay. Later.”
He ended the call and leaned a hip on the counter as the coffee sputtered into the mug.
“You really should drink my Green Goodness shake instead of a cup of acid.” He gestured to the beautiful black brew rapidly filling the mug.
“I live on cups of acid.” Gloria smiled brightly.
“Sarge. I want you healthy. Good agents are hard to find.” A sideways smile tugged at his lips and it took everything in her not to remember kissing his mouth.
She accepted the mug from his outstretched hand, trading him for the envelope. “Your monies.”
He tore it open and was silent for a handful of seconds as he studied the check. “Holy fuck.”
“I know. It’s bigger than we thought. Hitting lists makes big money, honey.” She’d tacked on the “honey” with most of her clients, but with Asher, it sounded a tad…inappropriate? Probably because she didn’t sleep with any of her other clients. It was a rule she’d enforced years ago, but then Asher came along and broke it. The way he broke everything else.
Like my heart.
She sipped her coffee, then blurted, “So, how are things with the coparenting?”
His eyebrows shot up like he was surprised she’d asked. She’d surprised herself, too. She’d made it her job not to bring up Jordan or Hawk. But she was trying to get back to normal—whatever the hell that was—and if he were any other client, she would ask how his personal life was going. It just so happened that this bit of his personal life intertwined with hers.
Which was unfortunate in every way.
Jordan was the groupie he’d slept with in his rented cabin in the Cove during Gloria’s visit a few years ago. The same year Evan and his son, Lyon, moved here permanently. See, Gloria had made the epically bad decision—fueled by whiskey and undeniable attraction—to get physical with Asher. She’d shared his bed more than once…and then, one fateful night, the unthinkable happened. She couldn’t sleep, so she went over to see him in the wee hours, and Jordan answered the door of his cabin wearing next to nothing.
Gloria had run straight to Evan’s now-wife, then-friend, Charlie, and had a lovely and completely humiliating breakdown. Asher tried to convince her he hadn’t taken advantage of Jordan’s offer, but really, what was Glo supposed to believe? That a rock star with a penchant for easy women had turned down a cute groupie in a nightie?
No matter how many times he’d actually taken Jordan to bed, there was one undeniable, indisputable fact: It only took one time for them to conceive Hawk.
“She lets me see him for an hour or two,” he said, “and half the time won’t leave him with me. I was trying to put off bringing in a lawyer, hoping we could work it out for Hawk’s sake, you know?”
This was the part she couldn’t be selfish about. He wanted to do right by his child, and that meant something to her—like way down deep. Glo knew too well how easy it was for some parents to discard a child, and here was Ash, fighting for time with his son. Every part of her . . .
Last December
Pate Mansion
Will you just— Gloria, dammit,” Asher Knight, visiting rock god, client, and consistent pain in her ass, called from behind her. “Stop running!”
Gloria Shields had picked up speed on her way out of the ballroom of Pate Mansion. In tall heels and her strapless purple gown, she guessed she looked pretty good doing it. But she wasn’t trying to catch the eye of the man following her; she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.
“Sarge!”
Dammit. A charity toy drive wasn’t the time or the place for this conversation, but here they were.
“There. I’m stopped!” She spun, arms out and eyebrows aloft.
Asher, mouth agape like he was about to say something else, seemed to think better of it. But even as he shut his mouth, he moved toward her instead of away. Closer, closer. Until he had her back flat against the wall. She pressed her hands to the patterned wallpaper, wishing this were one of those mansions with a trick door she could disappear through.
No such luck.
Soft music trickled out of the ballroom as the doors swung open. Connor and Faith strolled out—Faith dressed in an amazing fuchsia gown and Connor dapper in his tux. Faith spared them a quick glance.
“We have company,” Gloria mumbled, feeling her face redden as she looked away from her friends.
“I don’t care.” Asher shrugged.
She believed him. He cared about little.
Connor and Faith didn’t stop to chat, instead continuing to the great room, where they disappeared.
“If I swore on a stack of Bibles, you still wouldn’t believe me, would you?” Asher growled, continuing the argument that started at the bar moments ago. Gloria lifted her chin, displeased at how even his snarling lip was attractive.
She really hated that about him. Or wished she could anyway.
Her eyes grazed his all-black outfit, darted down to the cowboy boots, and snapped up to the dark, styled hair and eyes so deep brown she could get lost in them like an enchanted wood. They’d started out civilly tonight, but quickly deteriorated as their potent mix of oil and water—or, well, more like kerosene and a lit match—devolved into this discussion yet again. And, yet again, Gloria stuck to her proverbial guns.
“You don’t need to swear anything,” she said. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.”
He licked his lips, looking guilty about something. Probably fucking that brunette years ago. The skinny, groupie bi—
“Sarge, I don’t want to fight with you about Jordan.”
Jordan. Hearing her name sent jealousy paired with regret surging through her. The emotion was so palpable, Gloria could photograph it and sell it on eBay. She wished she could forget the other woman’s name, or the fact that she’d found her outside of Asher’s rental cabin in naught but a nightie. But, no, Gloria’s mind was a steel trap that held on to every minute detail, especially things she preferred to forget. Every second of what happened—both good and bad—was tattooed onto her frontal lobe.
“There is nothing to fight about!” she hissed, trying to keep her voice low while being supremely pissed. “We are past tense. We aren’t even a we in any other faction save for work.” Her job was to be his agent and sell the children’s books he penned. That was it. Hell, some days that was too much.
He placed a palm on the wall next to her shoulder, leaning in. Crowding her.
“We are always a we.” She watched his tempting lips form the words, his voice a seductive murmur in the empty hallway. “No matter what.” His fingertips touched her chin and she tried to jerk away. He didn’t let her, grasping her jaw and gently but firmly turning her face to his. “How long are you going to try to resist me?”
Forever was the answer, but every time she saw him, the vow became harder and harder to keep.
“One more night, Sarge.”
She let out a weak laugh. One that trickled to every part of her warm-and-getting-warmer body that should be saying No way instead of Yes!
His fingers moved down her neck, leaving twin trails of heat on her flesh. His long lashes draped over hooded eyes filled with the promise of things Gloria hadn’t let herself want in a long time. Namely, him. More specifically, sex with him.
“I beg of you. I’m a drowning man.”
Those damn eyes. They muddled her mind. Cracked her foundation. She watched helplessly as her hands grasped the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and pulled him closer instead of pushing him away. He looked as good in this outfit as he did in anything else he wore…or didn’t wear.
“Please.” He clasped her waist, firm but gentle.
“Ash…” She was losing the ability to say no. Or maybe she’d lost it the moment she’d reached for him.
“I miss you, Sarge.” Melted chocolate eyes, sincerity on his face…He was killing her. Absolutely killing her.
“Well, I hate you,” she whispered, wishing she could mean it.
He let loose a sideways grin. “You don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” she said with a petulant pout, even as her arms moved to his neck and draped over his shoulders. Bad idea.
He took advantage, laying his lips on hers as he tugged her flush with his torso, pressing her breasts to his chest and slanting his mouth to deepen their connection.
Oh God. So good.
She opened to him, savoring the flavor she hadn’t tasted in years. Years was a long time to go without Asher’s kiss. She’d kissed men before and since, yet none of them compared. But she wasn’t going to waste her time thinking of them. The nice, hazy little brain vacation she was partaking in at the moment was the dominating sensation in her world.
So she enjoyed the smoky, whiskey flavor of his mouth and the way his tongue stroked hers, zapping electricity through her entire body like a hair dryer dropped into a tub of water. She touched his stubbled face, tugging him closer as she rocked her hips against one of his thighs.
Hopeless. She was completely hopeless when it came to him.
When he finally lifted his lips from hers, it was to breathe a command she wouldn’t refuse. “My room.”
Gloria didn’t think. For once, she didn’t think about their past, or other people, or the fact that she was jumping from the Frigidaire to the frying pan. She simply allowed him to link his fingers with hers and lead her up the mansion stairs to his guest room.
* * *
“Fucking perfect,” Asher praised from over Gloria’s head.
Of course it was. If there was one thing she had perfected, it was the blow job. He was propped, his head on a pillow, one hand nested in her hair, his fingers stroking her scalp. She continued tasting him, and he tasted really, really good.
Just like I remember.
She grasped his shaft, taking the length of him, which was substantial, onto her tongue. He groaned, his rings scraping her head as he continued to thread his fingers into her hair, and a thought came that she couldn’t push away.
This is going to end badly. Not the blow job, but the evening in general.
He’d talked her into it because he was Asher Knight. With a pair of assaulting dark eyes and charisma to spare, he could cause the mass swooning of every female within a mile radius without trying. After what had happened between them, she could almost expect trouble to follow wherever he went. But he couldn’t resist her, and she couldn’t resist him.
So here they were.
His hips bucked and she shut down the tumultuous thoughts and smiled around her work, pleased with herself for pleasing him so thoroughly. His breathing went shallow and he lifted the length of her black hair from her face so he could watch what she was doing. She sneaked a peek to see his mouth dropped open, eyebrows pinched together in a so-much-pleasure-it-hurt expression.
He was a beautiful, beautiful, sexy beast of a man, but that wasn’t the only reason why she liked being with him. Asher pushed her. Encouraged her to let go, to give in, to stop, at least for a little while, trying to control every tiny detail of her life. When she was with him, she could be present in the moment. As present as he was with her now.
His fist wound in her hair and on her next upward sweep, he tugged her mouth off his cock. She licked her lips, arms still locked around his thighs, his leg hair tickling her breasts.
“Get your very fine ass up here and ride me.” He gave her a lopsided smile, an irresistible tilt she couldn’t deny.
Since she and Asher had imploded a little over two years ago, she’d been with other guys. And she knew he hadn’t kept his hands (or any of his other body parts) to himself since she quit him cold turkey after the Jordan Disaster. But now that they were here and they were naked and she’d had him in her mouth and he’d had his mouth all over her…
God. She wanted him. Still. No matter what the truth or their past entailed.
She vowed to just be here in this beautiful moment, take her release, give him his, and move the hell on. Tomorrow she’d reinstate her “no personal stuff with Asher” rule and they could go back to the way things were. Only she’d be a little more relaxed having achieved an orgasm that was better than “okay.”
No guy made her feel the way Asher did—out of control but in it, safe while taking a risk. He was a portrait of opposing forces, and for the moment, he was all hers.
Gloria crawled to meet him, sliding up his lean, muscular body. His chest and arms were inked, but she didn’t take the time to trace the patterns of his tattoos. Instead she focused on the lazy smile resting on his lips as she straddled his thighs. His fingers found her center and stroked, but there was no need to get her ready. Turning him on had turned her on and right now—in this bed, at this hour—getting turned on was all that mattered. She couldn’t let anything else matter. Not if she wanted to go back to business as usual tomorrow.
He gripped her hips instead. “Slow, Sarge.”
Sarge. The nickname came about because Ash insisted she “barked orders” at him whenever she had her “agent” hat on. He’d never let it go and she secretly liked that he’d kept referring to her as such, even though they weren’t together any longer. Or maybe not so secretly. She suspected he knew how much she liked it.
He made short work of rolling on a condom and lined the head of his cock with her entrance. She held her breath as he slid deep, and threw her head back, a gasp leaving her lips. She hadn’t forgotten how great he felt, but she had tried. Oh, how she’d tried. The last thing she’d needed after he’d wronged her was to remember what she’d be missing. Now there was no denying it.
Pushing onto her knees, she lifted off him and came back down, taking each of his nine inches—that rumor was one hundred percent true. She continued riding him, pressing her breasts together with the sides of her arms and resting her hands on his chest.
“That’s it, honey.” His eyes slid to half-mast, focused squarely on her swaying breasts. “Fuck me. Fuck me.” His command was more of a plea, and Gloria felt her lips curl into a smile. She liked having control over him. In the constant play for who would end up on top, this time it was her. Literally.
He took some of that control a moment later, sliding his hand from her hip to her lower back, his long fingers draped along the cleft of her ass as he drove her down onto him again. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations assaulting her body. The way she tingled from head to toe. The way her mind blanked and welcomed the oblivion; the rare moment when all she did was feel and not think.
Utter bliss.
“Give me your eyes,” he said, his voice low and deep and broken.
“No,” she breathed, keeping them closed.
She didn’t want to connect in any way other than the obvious. Nothing beyond the slippery penetration that would give them each what they needed. An orgasm. Anything more was…dangerous.
His hand smoothed around her ass and at his next thrust, he anchored her to him, preventing her from moving. “Yes.”
Her eyes snapped open. She stared down at him, her fingers moving over his chest hair. She opened her mouth to argue, but the moment she locked onto his dark eyes, she froze. His expression was soft, open. Revealing everything he’d kept hidden from her since they parted on not-so-great terms.
“That’s it, Sarge,” he said like he’d hypnotized her. Maybe he had.
She wanted to close her eyes—wanted to break the connection tying them together like a strong, unbreakable band. She just…couldn’t.
Both palms on her hips, he encouraged her off him slowly, using his hands to slide her onto him again. Oh, that was the best. The way he sank deep, then pulled away, making her anticipate the next entry. Her mouth dropped open and a sigh of satisfaction eked from her throat. She put pressure against his chest, using her hands to assist him in lifting off her again. When she impaled herself this time, she kept her eyes trained on his.
After a few minutes, their rhythm grew frantic. Asher’s eyes and mouth lost their lazy forms as a fierce, almost animal expression took its place. With a growl, he plunged, slamming into her. Then he pulled out, abruptly dropping her to her back and entering her. Taking charge of her again.
“Oh!” she shouted, the sound sharp and satisfied.
“Eyes,” he demanded when she focused on a spot over his shoulder.
“Ash…”
He grasped her chin, not forcing her but letting her know he wasn’t accepting half measures. Not tonight.
She obeyed, watching him as he held her in place and stroked into her over and over.
“Could fall into those pools, Sarge,” he muttered. “Blue skies, ocean waves”—he paused to suck in a satisfied breath when she clenched around him—“irises in the spring. Windows to your soul.”
Sweetness oozed from each word he spoke. She hadn’t experienced many men being sweet to her in the past. But she had with Asher. His sweetness had a tang to it—a flavor she could taste on the back of her tongue.
“God, I missed you.” His humor vanished as quickly as it came.
Her heart seized. She’d opened up for him when she’d given him her eyes. It was the tiniest crack, but he’d widened the gap. This was a bad idea.
A bad, bad, bad-boy idea.
“That’s a song, baby.” He grinned.
No way.
“Well, you’re not stopping to write it down,” she informed him between erratic breaths, trying her damnedest to regain footing even as she fell apart beneath him. This was sex for sex’s sake. She needed to remember that.
“Fuck, no, I’m not,” he said. “But you can help me remember.”
Help him remember to write a song about her? No, she did not think so. It was one thing to be in his bed, to extract pleasure from him—to give him pleasure, to be on the receiving end of his teasing. It was another to have Asher pen a song about her.
No, thank you very much.
“My turn. On your back.” She pushed against his shoulders, desperate to regain some control.
“Forget it.” His eyes sparkled in that playful way she’d always admired. “I’m going to hold you down and make you come and you’re going to look at me when I do it.”
She lost the will to argue whenever he watched her this intently. This single-mindedly. And wasn’t that what it had been like to be with Asher from the start? When she was with him, he was thinking only of her. She’d never been with a guy who was so undeniably present. Fleeting though it was…
Their gazes locked, and all of her softened. From her fingernails raking over his pectoral muscles to her heels resting on his ass. His playful spark shifted into something much more intense. He slowed his movements, lowering over her, and she realized there was no escaping the shared intimacy between them. It was there, carving a path into her very soul.
And she wasn’t the only one feeling it.
Reverence was written on Asher’s expression. He was in control, moving in and out of her, thumbing her nipple the way he knew she liked, kissing her while he plunged deeper and deeper still. Gloria, her legs wound around him, tilted her hips to accept every last inch of him.
She never looked away. She watched him. Up until the very moment her orgasm hit her with the intensity of a battering ram, rocketing through her as he came into the condom, his hips frantically pumping as he said her name. Not “Sarge” but…
“Gloria.”
Over and over, he said her name until his voice was hoarse and scratchy. Until he dropped his forehead onto hers. He pulled out and fell to his side, his breaths shallow and labored.
“God. That was incredible.” He wrapped a tattooed arm around her waist and tugged her close. She went, even as tears pricked the backs of her eyes—blue eyes he’d said he wanted to write a ballad about. Eyes she’d given him as requested while he’d literally rocked her world.
Eye contact during sex was a line they’d never crossed before, and now that they had, it was like a little piece of her had torn wide open. Her heart, if she had to guess. And Asher had taken advantage, reaching inside and extracting part of her.
Shit.
Chapter 1
Present day
The envelope in Gloria’s hand was damp. Her palms were sweating, which was not attractive, but what was she supposed to do? July heat combined with walking toward Asher Knight’s new Evergreen Cove vacation home had given her nothing but jittery nerves.
And not for any reason one might think. Yes, seeing him was hard and talking to him difficult after they’d “done the deed” last Christmas. Not helping matters, she’d since learned the reason why he’d settled on a second home here in the Cove.
He wanted to be closer to his son.
He’d purchased his house back in May, and then had deliveries made: equipment for the recording studio he was setting up. Furniture trucks from Cozy Home. His vacation home was beginning to look a little permanent, and Gloria wasn’t sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, she got it…Asher wanted to be close to his son, and his son lived in the Cove. Which she couldn’t think about without admiring the hell out of him.
He also wanted to be closer to his buddies, and one by one, Evan, Donovan, and Connor had settled here for the long haul. Hell, even Gloria had relocated from Chicago at the beginning of the year. The Cove had a way of doing that. Vacuuming you in and not letting go. It had the wealthy air of a vacation hot spot, and the laid-back small-town vibe without feeling like Mayberry. In a word, it was perfect.
Was being the key word. Before her client-slash-ex-slash-best-lay-of-her-lifetime moved in down the road, into the very house she’d dreamed of owning herself.
Before she’d moved here, she had her eye on this place. Her eye, her good credit, and every penny she could scrape together for an offer barely over listing price. She’d dreamed of moving into the luxury lakeside house, setting up her office in the back, facing said lake and the sea of pines, and living and working in the comfort of this gorgeous retreat.
Then the owner accepted a higher offer. A higher offer from Asher Knight.
Of course, Asher hadn’t known that Glo had been waiting for an acceptance on the very same house, and of course he called, ecstatic about finding the “perfect” lake house. She casually asked him how much he offered and determined that coming up with enough to trump his offer would require her selling an organ. Or two. She didn’t tell him he’d outbid her. Why? Easy. He’d have rescinded his offer. She did not need Asher Knight’s pity house.
Since he’d moved in three weeks ago, she’d been avoiding coming over. Him she could deal with, even if she was uncomfortable. But here? Where she’d crafted a number of future dream scenarios in her head? That was going to be harder to get over…
“Come on, Shields,” she grumbled to herself. It wasn’t like her to become this attached…to anything. This pile of lumber was not hers, and that was something she’d have to get used to.
Asher’s home away from LA sat on the edge of the lake, not a new build, but an older cabin that had been recently remodeled. The entire back wall was windows, so no matter what room you were in—dining room, living room, and kitchen—you could see out to the patio, to the dock, and the lake beyond.
At the front door, she took a steeling breath and knocked three times. She straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair, down in spite of the heat. Hey, a good hair day was a good hair day. When her long, black locks deigned to lie straight and smooth, she wasn’t about to waste a ponytail holder.
She’d sent Ash a quick text that she was coming over to drop off a royalty check the publisher had accidentally sent to her agency instead of him. She could have mailed it, but then that was silly. No sense in delaying the inevitable. If they were kind of, sort of going to be neighbors, she was going to have to get used to—
The door swung open and Asher stood on the other side of it, all tall, dark, and sexy wearing a dark gray tank. His tattoos were on display, his torn-at-the-knee jeans slung low and fitting in all the right places. As usual, his wrists were adorned with hemp and leather bracelets, but he only wore a few rings today. Both on his left hand—the hand holding the phone.
He tipped his head, motioning for her to come in, glancing away before she had time to really get pegged by those bourbon-colored eyes. Phew.
“Yeah. I can handle it,” he said into the phone. He strode away from her, barefoot, pant legs frayed, and Gloria’s heart clutched. She hated her heart sometimes. Sure, she appreciated the whole “stay beating so I can live” thing, but where Asher Knight was concerned, her heart veered from its routine and decided to take up tap dancing instead. It was his gelled, sort of shaggy hair and the lazy way his eyes never opened all the way. It was the cross inked on his left arm and his who-gives-a-fuck style.
It was him. All of him.
She’d just have to learn to deal with her hectic-patterned heart because she was here to drop off a check and that was it. There wasn’t any other reason for her to hang out in his house. Especially while he looked so—
He leaned on his kitchen island and she enjoyed the way his jeans showed off his ass. The way he crossed one bare foot over the other. The way he propped his chin on his palm and carried on his conversation…What had she been saying?
Oh, right. Yummy. She’d just have to learn to deal with him looking yummy. It was a fact of life. Like the weather. It was eighty-eight degrees and only nine a.m. and there wasn’t a thing she could do but endure it. She’d have to do the same with him.
“Because. I’m Hawk’s father and completely capable of handling him longer than a few hours.”
Hawk. Father. At the mention of the name, and Asher’s newfound role as parent, her stomach twisted. The envelope crunched in her hand. Asher turned in her direction, straightened, and pointed to the blender. In it sat some sort of green sludge she guessed was a nutritious drink. She wrinkled her nose. He mouthed the words “it’s good for you” but she only shook her head vehemently. Good for her or not, she needed coffee.
“Listen, Jordan, I have to go. Check with your mom on that weekend and get back with me. I want him here. I want to get to know him.”
Jordan. That name didn’t make Gloria’s stomach twist; it made her stomach toss. Like a tiny boat in a big, angry ocean.
“Yep,” Asher was still speaking to Jordan as he moved across the kitchen to a single-serving coffeepot. He put the pod into the machine, pulled a mug from the cabinet, and pressed a button. “Okay. Later.”
He ended the call and leaned a hip on the counter as the coffee sputtered into the mug.
“You really should drink my Green Goodness shake instead of a cup of acid.” He gestured to the beautiful black brew rapidly filling the mug.
“I live on cups of acid.” Gloria smiled brightly.
“Sarge. I want you healthy. Good agents are hard to find.” A sideways smile tugged at his lips and it took everything in her not to remember kissing his mouth.
She accepted the mug from his outstretched hand, trading him for the envelope. “Your monies.”
He tore it open and was silent for a handful of seconds as he studied the check. “Holy fuck.”
“I know. It’s bigger than we thought. Hitting lists makes big money, honey.” She’d tacked on the “honey” with most of her clients, but with Asher, it sounded a tad…inappropriate? Probably because she didn’t sleep with any of her other clients. It was a rule she’d enforced years ago, but then Asher came along and broke it. The way he broke everything else.
Like my heart.
She sipped her coffee, then blurted, “So, how are things with the coparenting?”
His eyebrows shot up like he was surprised she’d asked. She’d surprised herself, too. She’d made it her job not to bring up Jordan or Hawk. But she was trying to get back to normal—whatever the hell that was—and if he were any other client, she would ask how his personal life was going. It just so happened that this bit of his personal life intertwined with hers.
Which was unfortunate in every way.
Jordan was the groupie he’d slept with in his rented cabin in the Cove during Gloria’s visit a few years ago. The same year Evan and his son, Lyon, moved here permanently. See, Gloria had made the epically bad decision—fueled by whiskey and undeniable attraction—to get physical with Asher. She’d shared his bed more than once…and then, one fateful night, the unthinkable happened. She couldn’t sleep, so she went over to see him in the wee hours, and Jordan answered the door of his cabin wearing next to nothing.
Gloria had run straight to Evan’s now-wife, then-friend, Charlie, and had a lovely and completely humiliating breakdown. Asher tried to convince her he hadn’t taken advantage of Jordan’s offer, but really, what was Glo supposed to believe? That a rock star with a penchant for easy women had turned down a cute groupie in a nightie?
No matter how many times he’d actually taken Jordan to bed, there was one undeniable, indisputable fact: It only took one time for them to conceive Hawk.
“She lets me see him for an hour or two,” he said, “and half the time won’t leave him with me. I was trying to put off bringing in a lawyer, hoping we could work it out for Hawk’s sake, you know?”
This was the part she couldn’t be selfish about. He wanted to do right by his child, and that meant something to her—like way down deep. Glo knew too well how easy it was for some parents to discard a child, and here was Ash, fighting for time with his son. Every part of her . . .
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Return of the Bad Boy
Jessica Lemmon
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