Bad Boy Valentine (4 page)

T
here was
something so damn satisfying about pounding a hammer into a wall. Especially when that wall belonged to his ex. His very demanding, pain-in-the-ass, hot-as-fuck ex.

Jagger swung the hammer, knocking out another huge chunk of drywall. One of the last morons she had working for her had fucked up the electrical, which meant that unless Kate wanted to start a fire every time she flipped on the lights, Jagger would have to rip down two panels of drywall, fix the botched wiring, then patch the whole thing up again. None of the wall outlets had been properly grounded, and the primary light switches had been installed on a back wall in a room that would be full of tables and chairs.

Kate wasn’t gonna like it, but nearly everything would have to be redone.

She was supposed to come in at six this morning, which meant he had just about two hours left to figure out the best way to break the bad news.

He was exhausted—damn woman had insisted he work the night shift, ten to six. After smoothing things over with her yesterday, he’d gone back to his uncle’s place in Red Hook to crash before his shift, but Kate had gotten him so worked up, sleep was impossible.

She’d said the ridiculous schedule was their best shot at staying out of each other’s way.

Problem was, now that he’d seen her again, Jagger didn’t
want
to stay out of Kate’s way—no matter what promises he’d made the night they threw his ass in jail. Every last one of those vows flew out the fucking window the minute she turned those blue eyes his way.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Remembering her. Remembering
them
, together…

Fuck
. The only thing that kind of thinking was good for was a constant hard-on.

Check.

At least the work gave him a purpose, something to focus on other than his usual obsessions—regret and guilt. There was a shit ton to do and not a lot of time to get it done, but Jagger appreciated the challenge. Despite the bullshit hours, he liked the routine of it, too. Set schedule. Specific tasks that needed to get done in a specific order by a specific deadline. Jagger prided himself on knowing exactly what to do and how to do it. Order. Predictability. Results.

After nearly a decade behind bars, it was the surprises that fucked him up.

Like the one walking through the front door right now, long before she was supposed to.

“Good morning,” Kate called out, her voice high and tight. Forced. Jagger didn’t claim to know her anymore, but some things about a person never changed. It was clear that Kate was supremely uncomfortable around him—not that he blamed her—which meant she’d be doing her best to put on a little I’m-fine-you’re-fine-we’re-all-fine show.

Here we go.

Jagger glanced over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her.

Her hair was twisted into some kind of fancy-ass knot at the top of her head, exposing her bare neck. She had on another dress today, a light blue little number that clung to her curves like water, swishing against her body as she darted around the front room doing who knows what. Girl couldn’t seem to stand still around him.

“Mornin’,” he finally said, dragging his eyes right back to the wall in front of him. Jagger had a job to do. Couldn’t afford to get sidetracked with another guilt-ridden trip down memory lane, and every time he looked at her, that’s exactly where he went.

Pack your fuckin’ bags, asshole.

“A little early, aren’t you?” he asked, keeping his tone casual. There’d be plenty of arguing later, after he told her about the extent of the rework. “Wasn’t planning to wrap up here for a couple hours yet.”

Ignoring him, Kate flipped on some of the lights at the front of the shop, casting everything in a warm glow. He heard her rummaging around under the front counter, dishes clanking, coffee beans grinding. The sounds were homey, familiar. The whole thing made his damn chest hurt.

Kate didn’t have her own bakery back when they’d been together, but she’d loved making stuff for them at home, especially breakfast. Waking up with her had been one of the best things about his days, second only to going to bed with her.

Jagger set down his hammer and lowered his dust mask. A minute later, the smell of hot coffee wafted into the back room, and his stomach rumbled. He’d been so wound up about Kate, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

“I picked up some food,” Kate called out from the front. “Coffee’s on, too, if you’re interested.”

In the restroom off the main work area, Jagger washed his hands and face, doing his best to shake the plaster dust out of his clothes before heading out into the front of the café. Kate was sitting in the booth by the window, a whole spread set up in front of her—steaming egg sandwiches, two mugs of hot coffee, a plate piled high with cookies. Ice waters, too.

She thought of everything, as usual.

She hadn’t heard him approach, and he took a moment to check her out in earnest. She looked just as he’d remembered—lush lips, big blue eyes, wavy hair the color of honey. He liked it natural like that. She used to spend hours in front of the bathroom mirror straightening it, freaking out if Jagger tried to turn on the shower while she was still in there.
The steam! You’ll mess it all up again!

Jagger smiled at the memory, wondering if she still straightened her hair sometimes. If she still changed her outfit four times before walking out the door every day. If she still did her makeup, then washed it off and started over again until she got her eyeliner just how she liked it. Waiting for her to get ready was an event in itself.

Jagger never had a lot of patience for anything in his life, but Kate was different. He’d actually liked waiting for her—to do her makeup. To get dressed. To pick a movie. To decide what toppings to get on their pizza.

To come.

He’d zipped up every one of her dresses, clasped her delicate necklaces with his big, meaty hands. Hell, some days he’d done it at least a dozen times.

Jagger’s throat felt tight.

Who’d done that for her in his absence? Who sat on the couch flipping through channels while she took a million years to get ready for a party? Who stared at her like he was the luckiest bastard alive as she finally came out of the bedroom, looking like a goddamn queen?

He pictured some scruffy son-of-a-bitch with his hands on Kate’s soft hips, whispering in her ear about all the things he’d do to her later…

Fuck me. This shit needs to stop.

Stepping out of the shadows, Jagger cleared the tightness from his throat and took a seat across from her, plastering on a passable smile. “What’s all this?”

“You still like bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll?” she asked brightly. “Figured you’d be hungry. The cookies are oatmeal chocolate chip, by the way. Sandwiches are from Danny’s.”

Damn, he hadn’t had a Danny’s breakfast sandwich in years. The place was legendary. And Jagger was starving.

“Miss Molina, I could kiss you.” Laughing, he reached for the sandwich, the roll squishing between his fingers, gooey cheese dripping down the side of his hand. It was halfway to his mouth before he realized what he’d said.

“So. I thought we could start over,” Kate said. Her tone was all business, but her cheeks were dark pink, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Yeah, she’d heard him, all right. “We got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”

“And this is your peace offering?” Jagger nodded. “I accept.”

He opened his mouth, finally taking that bite. But holy fuck, shit was on fire.

“Hot! Hot!” Through a mouthful of food, he gulped down his entire glass of ice water and reached for Kate’s.

Kate cracked up, her whole damn face lighting up with it. “Graceful as always, I see.” She slid her glass toward him, still laughing her lush little ass off.

Fuck if he hadn’t missed the sound of that. He used to make her laugh all the time. Especially after she came.

Do it again. Just keep laughing, just a little longer…

But the moment passed, and Jagger wasn’t quite ready to burn himself again just to amuse her. Give her an orgasm, though?

Now there’s an idea that’ll get you in deep shit, asshole.

He took a sip of her water to douse the pain—the one in his mouth
and
in his balls—then slid the glass back to her, their fingers brushing.

“How’s your hand?” he asked.

She flexed her fingers. “A little sore, but I’ll live. How’s your face?”

He gave her a devilish grin. “Haven’t had any complaints.”

She was laughing again, a sound he wished he could put in a damn bottle. But like most of the good things in his life, that sound came to its fucking end faster than it should have, and the uncomfortable silence crept between them once again.

This is how it is now.
You
did this to her, fuckface. Deal with it.

He shoved in another bite of sandwich, only marginally less hot than the last, but good as hell. They ate in silence for a few minutes, stealing looks at each other across the table like a couple of kids on a first date, both trying to pretend the situation was anything other than completely fucked.

Jagger had demolished his sandwich and was already working on his fourth cookie when he felt the energy between them shift again. Kate took a breath, let it out slow, took another one. Her fingers tapped against the edge of the table.

“Just say it,” he said, trying to catch her eye. She refused to look at him.

“I just… look. I really am sorry about yesterday.” Kate stopped drumming on the table just long enough to tuck her hair behind her ears, her blue eyes glued to a spot on his shirt. “I shouldn’t have hit you like that. I… It was like seeing a ghost, Jagger. You were the very last man I expected to walk through that door.”

“No shit.” Now he was the one laughing, but there was nothing happy about it. He still couldn’t believe he’d ended up here at Kate’s, of all places. It was like the damn universe was conspiring against him.

Kate finally stopped fidgeting and met his gaze, unblinking, and what Jagger saw there nearly knocked him over. The look in her eyes was so vulnerable, so sad. He realized then how much she’d aged in his absence. Not with wrinkles or gray hair or laugh lines, but something in her eyes. A crushing, bone-deep weariness.

Jagger’s name was stamped all over it.

Jesus, Kit-Kat.

Anger flared suddenly in his chest.

He dropped a half-eaten cookie on his plate and jabbed his finger toward the door. “You think I expected to walk through that door yesterday and find you on the other side? Last time I saw you, you were working your ass off at that bookstore. Now you have your own place. This bakery. A life. Damn, Kit-Kat.”

She opened her mouth, probably to scold him for using her nickname, but then she let it pass.

His feelings were a tangled knot of wires inside him, all crisscrossed and shorting out. He wanted to tell her that he’d never doubted her. That he was proud. That he was so happy that she’d moved on with her life, even though it shredded his heart.

But he was pissed, too. Pissed that she’d wasted even a minute pining for him. Pissed that she’d let his bullshit put that look in her eyes. That she’d let him get away with that shit instead of just forgetting about his ass.

But nothing made sense in his head. All the words got jumbled up, and there was no point in saying them anyway.

I should’ve been here with her. Right by her side.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Kate said. “I spent a long time trying to convince myself you were dead. I have a life, Jagger. And then you show up and—”

“You think I
wanna
be here? Seeing you every day, seeing that look on your face? Knowing that you can’t stand me? That I deserve it—and probably worse?” He shoved his plate away and jerked himself out of the booth, heading to the back room, but Kate was right on his heels.

She grabbed his forearm and yanked him around to face her again.

“Oh, no. You aren’t allowed to be angry with me,” she said, that temper shooting into the red zone, five seconds flat. “You gave up that right the night you bailed on me.”

“
Bailed
on you? Everything I did was… You don’t…. Fuck. You know what, Miss Molina? No. We’re not doing this today. Or tomorrow. Or ever.” Jagger backed off, shame heating his blood.

Saying that everything he did was for
her
? That was a bullshit excuse, and he fuckin’ knew it. He hadn’t done it for her. He’d done it for himself, because he was too immature and fucked up to be a man about it and walk away from Rage when he had the chance. He was too stupid to find a better way, too incompetent to take care of his woman, too much of a child to get his own shit together.

That had nothing to do with Kate, and everything to do with him.

Anger? Yeah, Jagger understood that. Anger was some heavy shit, but regret weighed a hell of a lot more. Jagger had spent his whole life lugging around both—especially when it came to Kate.

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—do this with her. Not now. She had too much going for her.

Leaving her was the best thing he could’ve done for her. It hadn’t been easy for her, but that’s the way it had to be. Opening those old wounds wouldn’t do any good—for either of them.

Jagger took a deep breath, waiting for the muscles in his neck and shoulders to uncoil.

“Kate—Miss Molina, listen. I’m sorry I snapped. Let’s just focus on the task at hand. There’s a lot of work to do, and I need to go over a few things with you about the project before I leave today.”

Electricity crackled between them, the tension threatening to spark into a full-blown battle. He needed to diffuse this shit before it got any more out of hand. Before they both said things they’d regret.

“I’m real grateful for the breakfast,” he continued, lowering his eyes. “And for the job. I just don’t see any point in bringing up the past. What’s done is done. The sooner I can wrap up the work, the sooner we can go back to our separate lives. Agreed?”

After a long moment, Kate finally nodded. “Agreed.”

And just like that, the walls of detached professionalism were back up between them, the heat of their argument rushing out the front door like a bad smell that just needed some fresh air.