Bad Boy Valentine (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 2) Page 3

  Georgie had crashed into Ronan’s life—quite literally—on a trip to Colorado over Christmas, and the girl had been floating along on cloud nine ever since, spending so much time in the Rockies that Kate was lucky to get an appointment with her in New York this week.

  Georgie pressed a hand to her heart and sighed happily.

  “That good, huh?” Kate got up to refill their lattes.

  “You have no idea.”

  Over the whir of the cappuccino machine, Georgie chattered a mile-a-minute about her upcoming plans. She and Ronan would be hiking into the backcountry, camping out in the snow. Definitely not Kate’s idea of a good time, but Georgie was practically vibrating with excitement. Kate couldn’t blame her—Ronan was sexy as hell, and he adored Georgie. Meeting him had been so good for her.

  Kate’s heart squeezed, just a tiny bit. She was so happy for her friend, but prolonged talk of romantic trips and passionate kisses always left her with a dull ache inside, poking at painful memories that should’ve been long gone by now.

  She’d tried to move on like a healthy, normal, non-obsessive person. But dating certainly hadn’t helped. Yoga hadn’t helped. Knitting, bar-hopping, learning French, spending more time with Georgie and her other friends… none of that had helped. All she had was her work, and she’d been pouring herself into that for almost a decade—working out of her Gran’s apartment for years before she got the bakery—wondering when the day would come that she’d finally get her spark back. Finally feel that pulse of energy inside, that inner fire that seemed to burn for only one man, no matter how long ago he’d walked out of her life.

  You are so much better off without him.

  The words echoed in Kate’s head, her own personal mantra. She’d repeated them so many times in front of her bathroom mirror, but no matter how often she’d said them—no matter how much the evidence pointed to the truth in those words—she could never make herself believe them.

  Putting her smile back into place, Kate loaded up a tray with their lattes and a plate of black-and-white cookies she’d made that morning, and headed back to the table.

  “What do you think about these images?” Georgie flipped her iPad around to show Kate a few different comps for the final online ad campaign they’d launch this weekend. Kate picked out her favorites and made a few suggestions while Georgie took notes. Unlike Kate’s contractors, Georgie was a total pro, and Kate had no doubt that she and her designers would knock the campaign out of the park. That part, at least, she didn’t have to worry about.

  As they finished going over the designs and finishing up their lattes, a dingy white van maneuvered into a parking spot along the curb, just outside the front door. CALLAGHAN & SONS was painted on the side, the letters cracked and peeling.

  “See?” Georgie smiled, sweeping her iPad and files into her bag and rising from the booth. “Told you he’d show up. Perfect timing, too. I’m all set.”

  “Late timing. I’m opening for customers in twenty minutes. I don’t have time to hold any hands today.”

  “Go easy, remember? And breathe.” Georgie leaned down and kissed Kate’s cheek. “Text me later if you need anything. I’ll get the revised comps over to you tomorrow for final approval, then we should be good to go.”

  Kate got up to clear the table, she and Georgie peering briefly out the window to watch the contractor got out of the van.

  “Yum,” Georgie said. “This one looks mighty fine.”

  “Too bad I’m not hiring him for his looks.” Kate rolled her eyes and headed for the counter with the dirty dishes. “Have fun in the Rockies.”

  “You know I will, girl.”

  “Text me some pictures.”

  “Ha! Maybe if we take any G-rated ones.” Georgie laughed as she pushed open the door. “See you soon.”

  “Safe travels,” Kate called out. “Safe sexcapades.”

  “You, too,” Georgie said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Left a little something in your purse, just in case.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Cute. Real cute.”

  Georgie was always leaving condoms in Kate’s purse. In the register drawer. In Kate’s bathroom cabinet at home. Kate never needed them—she’d even gone off the pill years ago when it became clear that her sex life wouldn’t be resurrected anytime this century—but Georgie was an eternal optimist.

  Smiling at her friend’s antics, Kate watched Georgie step off the curb and cross the street, flagging down a yellow cab. Mr. Fix-It out there was still struggling to get his shit together.

  Late and disorganized. Great.

  Kate took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, the last shred of her patience evaporating. Cute or not, the man was obviously completely incompetent, and Kate needed to let him know who was boss, straightaway.

  He finally slammed the van door shut, turning toward the door with a large toolbox in his hand, his chestnut hair gleaming in the sun like a shampoo commercial.

  And then, without warning, the world just… stopped.

  Stopped spinning.

  Stopped moving.

  Stopped existing.

  Kate’s heart leapt up into her throat, everything inside squeezing into a tight, painful knot. All of Georgie’s advice flew out the window. Kate couldn’t even breathe.

  The man hadn’t met her gaze yet, but it didn’t matter. Even without seeing his eyes, she knew. She knew the thick, corded muscles of those arms, the hard angle of that jaw, the long slope of neck as it connected with shoulder in a spot she still had deliciously erotic dreams about biting. She knew every line, every curve, all the shapes and edges and spaces that composed him as well as she knew her favorite cookie recipe, and time had done nothing to dull those memories.

  The man was walking toward the front door of her café, shaking the wavy hair out of his eyes, reaching for the doorknob. Any second now, he’d come crashing into her life.

  And no matter what happened after that, nothing would ever be the same.

  Kate dashed behind the counter, her legs suddenly weak.

  Jagger Barnes…

  But that just wasn’t—couldn’t be—possible.

  Jagger Barnes was in prison.

  Chapter Three

  Jagger Barnes was so fuckin’ late, he’d be shocked if the owner hadn’t already called his boss to bitch about it. He wished like hell he could just call it a day, go get his Harley and take it up to Bear Mountain, get the hell out of the city. But after fighting through bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Queensboro Bridge, talking his way out of a moving violation, and finding a parking spot right in front of the bakery, he wasn’t about to turn back now.

  He double-checked the work order and matched it up with the name on the bakery door: Sweet Bliss. Yep, that was the place. Real slice of heaven, no doubt.

  Shaking off his funk, Jagger yanked open the door and hauled his toolbox inside. An old-fashioned tinkling bell announced his arrival, but the woman standing behind the counter kept her back to him.

  He took the opportunity to enjoy the view, dragging his eyes up her muscular legs to her lush little ass. She had on a tight, knee-length dress, brick red with tiny white flowers all over it, and her honey-blond hair curled over her shoulders, pinned up on one side. She reminded him of a poster one of the guys on B-block had in his cell—some 1940s movie star that the dude jerked off to every damn night.

  That sort of thing had never worked for Jagger, though. He needed the real thing. Warm, wet, and willing.

  He stared at her ass, his cock stirring. God, he’d love to sink his teeth right into her…

  Not the time, fuckface. Shut it down.

  Jagger forced his eyes up to the back of her head and cleared his throat. “Ma’am? I’m here from Callaghan about the renovations. You the owner?”

  She nodded once, that silky hair sliding over shoulders. Even without seeing her face, Jagger could tell she was tense, probably pissed. Her entire body seemed spring-loaded and ready to pounce, and not in a good way.

 
; He didn’t know much about the gig—only that it was short notice, shit budget, and the woman who was presently cold-shouldering him had just run off the last guy because apparently, despite the sweet ass, she was a real demanding piece of work.

  Beautiful start to another beautiful fuckin’ day.

  Jagger set his toolbox on the floor just inside the doorway and ran his hand through his mop of hair, letting out a deep sigh. He’d bailed on jobs for less in the past, but these days he didn’t have the luxury.

  Suck it up, asshole. Last shot, remember?

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Got stopped on the bridge, huge clusterfuck over there.” He forced out a nervous laugh. “New York, right? What can you do.”

  Silence.

  Damn, she wasn’t giving him an inch.

  “Look, ma’am. I really am sorry. I know I should’ve—”

  “Said it eight years ago.”

  “Said… excuse me?” He took another step toward the counter, but his heart rate kicked up a notch. Something sharp and painful was worming its way inside him, like a drill bit to the skull, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Her words had made no fuckin’ sense.

  But still…

  That voice…

  She finally turned to face him, and all at once, the air left his lungs. She pinned him with her gaze, full of rage and shock and a bunch of other shit Jagger could only guess at.

  Holy fuck.

  Jagger pressed a hand against his chest—didn’t even think about it; it just happened. His heart was a damn jackhammer, threatening to pound its way right out of him. He felt like he’d been kicked in the ribs.

  When he finally found his voice again, it was totally shot, barely a whisper. “Kit-Kat?”

  He wasn’t even sure he’d spoken the name out loud, but then she sucked in a breath, flinching like he’d taken a swing at her.

  “You—you work at this bakery?” Jagger stammered. He felt like a damn idiot. Of all the fuckin’ bakeries in the tri-state area, of all the possible contracting gigs, he had to show up at her place. He didn’t even know she was still in the city—he’d tried his damnedest to lose track of her over the years.

  “No,” she snapped. “I own this bakery.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him hard, a look of simultaneous fire and ice so familiar it cut right through him. How many times had she stared him down like that? How many nights had he come home a little too drunk, a little too late, only to find her waiting behind the front door, ambushing him with that exact look?

  Memories rushed him from all sides. God, she was still stunning, still radiant and full of fire. The only difference between eight years ago and now was that he couldn’t smile, promise, kiss, or fuck his way out of trouble with Kate Molina anymore.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I, uh…” Jagger cleared his throat, which was suddenly dry as hell. “I work for Callaghan. Got assigned the job this morning.”

  “Oh yeah? Funny.” She could barely keep her anger in check. “What are the chances?”

  “Wondering that myself.”

  While he stood in the middle of the café with his dick in his hand, Kate grabbed a wet rag from beneath the big, boxy coffee machines and attacked the countertop with a vengeance.

  “So you’re out then,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “Since when?”

  “Few months now.”

  “I hadn’t heard.”

  “I figured.”

  Fuck. The last thing he needed to do was to get mixed up with Kate Molina again. She had a life now—a good one, if the bakery was any indication. She’d moved on, just like he’d hoped she would.

  Wanted? That was another thing entirely. He’d wanted to spend his life with her. She was the fuckin’ one, hands down. Didn’t matter how much longer he had on this earth; Jagger knew that in ten years or a hundred, he’d never meet another woman like Kate.

  And he’d let her slip right through his fingers.

  Jagger glanced over his shoulder, looking out at the work van, parked at the curb. What he wanted now was to bolt right out of there, get in that van, and drive as fast and as far away from this place as he could.

  Unfortunately, that was not an option.

  “Listen, Kit-Kat. I know this is—”

  “Don’t call me that. You don’t know shit.”

  Jagger sighed. Obviously, she was just as thrilled about their reunion as he was. Still, he pressed on. No choice.

  “If you could just point me to the work, I’ll get out of your hair and get to it.” Hard as it was, he had to make this work. He’d screwed up one gig already, and in his thirty-two years of living, he’d already used up all his second chances. Nothing drove home that point harder than the look in Kate’s eyes when she’d finally faced him.

  But her repulsion didn’t change the fact that he needed this job. Desperately.

  She tossed the rag into a bin behind her and got to work rearranging stacks of tiny mugs next to the coffee machines, turning them around and around until all the handles were facing the same way.

  “I’m surprised you’re not working for your uncle again,” she said.

  “Can’t. Against the rules. Uncle Max knows Callaghan, though. Decent guy, for the most part. I’ve met worse.”

  “Right.” She came out from behind the counter, walking past him to flip on the neon OPEN sign in the front window. He caught a whiff of her scent, and it damn near knocked him to his knees. It was the same cinnamon-sugar-spiciness that had seeped into his sheets, his clothes, their apartment. The scent that had seen him off every morning, the one that had welcomed him home every night. Well, all but that last night.

  He knew the moment he’d done it that it had been a mistake to leave the apartment that night, to leave Kate alone in their warm bed, to get caught up in that juvenile shit with Rage. But he’d made his choices, and he’d earned every last one of those consequences—including his time upstate.

  And including—hard as it was to accept—losing Kate.

  “Well, it’s been great catching up,” she said, smoothing out the front of her apron as she headed back to the counter, “but I’ve got a bakery to run, and—”

  “Kate.” His hand shot out instinctively and grabbed her wrist. The feel of her skin, so warm and silky beneath his calloused fingers, sent a jolt of heat up his arm. He closed his eyes, and for a split second, he was back in that fifth-floor walkup shoebox in Bushwick, pinning her against the wall, inhaling the scent of her skin as he thrust inside her, driving her right to the fucking edge…

  Stay with me, Jagger. Please don’t leave…

  When he opened his eyes, Kate was glaring at him again, but despite the anger in her eyes, she hadn’t pulled away from his grasp.

  God, there was so much he wanted to say to her. So much to explain, to make up for.

  But he’d left her high and dry that night, and after eight years, he knew this wasn’t the time for speeches and apologies. He’d blown his chance, lost the best thing in his life, and there was no sense in wishing things were different.

  Right now, all he cared about—all he could afford to care about—was the work.

  So he let her go.

  Again.

  Something like disappointment flashed in her eyes, but before Jagger could be sure, it was gone, replaced with that old familiar fire.

  “I’m here to work,” he said. “Obviously, this isn’t ideal. But whatever you need done, I’ll do it. I’m good for it, Kit-Kat.”

  Kate bristled again. “I told you not to call me that.”

  “Fine. Kate—”

  “Miss Molina will do just fine.”

  Jagger raised an eyebrow.

  So that’s how it’s gonna be?

  He stared at her good and hard, wondering if she could read his thoughts. The last time I saw you, I had my tongue buried in your pussy, and now I can’t even call you by your first name?

  But of course, Kate didn’t say anothe
r word.

  “Look, Miss Molina. I ain’t here to argue.” Jagger sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “Fact is, I need this gig. I screw it up, boss calls my parole officer, and I’m fucked eight ways from Sunday. It’s that simple.”

  “You? You’re fucked?” Kate stared at him, incredulous and open-mouthed. The fuck coming out from between her luscious lips, the inviting “o” of her mouth, the passion in her eyes… Jagger couldn’t hold back.

  “Well, maybe not literally fucked,” he said. “Unless…” He flashed a half-smile, letting his eyes trail down her body. It was a dick move, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt like a kid in Sunday service with his Aunt Rose, all wound up and crazy, desperate for some kind of release.

  After an eternity, Kate finally smiled back. It was small, but it was real, and for one entire minute, it was like the goddamn sun coming up after a yearlong winter.

  The tension between them evaporated, and just like that, they were twenty-somethings again, making up after another battleground fight, wondering whose turn it was to make the first move.

  “Ah, Kit-Kat,” he whispered, taking a step closer. “Been a long-ass time.”

  Kate lowered her eyes and nodded, his name escaping her lips in a soft moan that made him instantly hard.

  He didn’t stop to think about what it meant, what it didn’t, whether it was a terrible idea. He just leaned close and brushed his lips against her cheek, soft as a breath.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, putting his damn heart out on a platter. “Even more than the last time I saw you.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  And then she cocked her arm back and punched him squarely in the jaw.

  Chapter Four

  “What the fuck?” Jagger grabbed his jaw and stumbled backward, the drama queen. It was obvious to Kate that she hadn’t really hurt him. She, on the other hand, was in total freaking agony.

  “Why is your face so hard?” she demanded, shaking out her now-throbbing hand.

  “Why the hell did you hit me?”