Rescued by the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 4)

A
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^V2

M
ax Killian
, head lifeguard and staff supervisor at Starfish Cove, had a serious fucking problem.

Picture it: Postcard-worthy sunset over the Pacific. Swank party, fancy-ass hors d'oeuvres, open bar. Beach packed with scantily clad women as hot as the southern California sand.

Yet this pathetic jackass was completely off his game.

He couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen.

Memorial Day weekend had always marked the start of the Cove’s big tourist season, and this time last year, Max was patrolling the shore with Luke, his best friend and second-in-command, the pair of them regaling a group of surfer girls with epic tales of their close calls in the water. There’d been a lot of them, too—storm rescues, drunken boaters, sharks—and every time they told the stories, their antics got a little more bold, a little more wild. Hell, Max had loved his job. Loved the ocean, the rush of danger, the power of the waves. Even on his days off, he couldn’t stay away.

Until two months ago, when the ocean he loved suddenly turned on him, damn near killing him in the process.

Now, it haunted him.

Taunted him.

Fuck you.

Max turned his back on the water. Back up on the shore, the Orange County socialites were enjoying the hell out of that open bar and the bonfire he’d built for them. For every one of those guests, the pre-wedding beach party was the perfect way to kick off summer.

But for Max, everything was wrong.

There were no surfer girls tonight. No lifeguard buddies. No rescue attempts and daring, close call stories to share over a few beers. Tonight? Max was on asshole patrol.

He was five minutes away from DEFCON choke-a-bitch status.

“No smoking on the beach, ma’am. Sorry.” He narrowed his eyes at the offending woman—fake tan, fake hair, fake tits—for the third or fourth time that night.

She glanced at the bonfire, then back to him, her eyes lingering on the bulge in his shorts. Also for the third or fourth time that night.

In a voice she probably thought was sexy, she said, “You’re kidding me. I can’t smoke, but you can build a fire the size of Texas?”

“I don’t make the rules.” He held out the coffee can he’d been carrying around all night. It was half full of wet cigarette butts, beer caps, and trash, and it smelled precisely how he felt.

Like absolute shit.

“Whatever you say.” The woman flashed him a fake smile, taking a last drag before dropping the butt into the sand. It was getting to be a game with them—one that had started when he’d refused her earlier advances.

If he wasn’t already on probation—not to mention his supervisor’s personal shit list—he might’ve shared a few choice words with her. But like the chump that he was, he knelt down and ground out the smoldering lipstick-stained butt, tossing it into the can with the others, keeping his yap shut tight even when she smacked him on the ass.

Fucking drunk-ass cougars.

What he needed was a distraction—preferably in the form of a soft, beautiful woman yanking on his hair while he buried his face between her thighs.

He already had her picked out, too—and it certainly wasn’t the cougar.

No, his girl was the sister of the bride, he’d heard someone say, though he hadn’t figured out her name yet. Everything about her was perfect: Wavy, shoulder-length black hair. Bright green eyes. A pouty little mouth he wanted to kiss. To fuck. He’d spotted her as soon as the first guests had rolled onto the beach, and he hadn’t lost sight of her yet. It was the only thing keeping him from losing his shit tonight.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to work up the balls to talk to her—a sad new affliction that made him grateful none of his friends were around to see. Max’s charms used to be legendary; he’d never had a problem flirting his way into a girl’s bikini bottoms before.

You never had a problem with a
lot
of things before, asshole. Get used to it.

Keeping one eye on the girl, he did another sweep of the party, busting two more smokers and a pierced, faux-hawked, punk-ass kid trying to con the bartender into hooking him up. No dice. Max knew the guy behind the bar—they’d crossed paths at all of these parties before. Used to love scaring the shit out of these kids together, doing the good-cop-bad-cop routine and convincing the punk he’d be spending the night in jail.

But Max just wasn’t feeling it tonight, and the bartender—like everyone else who worked at the Cove—couldn’t even meet Max’s eyes.

Just as well. He could do without the awkward silences bound to follow. Around here, no one knew what to say to him anymore. “Sorry” didn’t cut it—it wasn’t
his
loss. His grief.

It was only his fault.

He shoved the whole stinking coffee can into the trash bin and went in search of more driftwood for the bonfire, trying to stay busy. Keep his thoughts occupied. As much as he hated patrolling parties like this, it was better than being alone in his cottage, staring at the fucking wall, begging for sleep—or something more permanent—to take him.

Not that he’d admit that to the boss, or to anyone else for that matter. A confession like that was a one-way ticket to the staff shrink. He’d seen enough of her that first week to last a lifetime, and the only reason he wasn’t still seeing her now was that he’d put on a damn convincing show.

Nothing to see here, everything’s just fine, yes, all part of the job, let’s move it along…

Max tossed a bundle of sun-bleached wood onto the fire, catching a face full of smoke as he watched the sparks launch into the sky. It wasn’t yet dark, and about a half-mile down shore, Max caught sight of one of the dark green lifeguard Jeeps—had to be Luke. His best friend was patrolling the north shore tonight with a couple of rookies—college kids who worked the Cove for the summer season to stay in shape and meet girls. Not a bad gig, if you could get it. It’s how Max had started out fifteen years ago, a seventeen-year-old kid working his ass off every summer to pay for college. After graduation, he’d been promoted, again and again, and now he was head lifeguard in charge of the whole damn place.

At least, he used to be. Max had no idea where he stood now. His boss had been cool about everything so far, allowing him to keep his job and avoid suspension without pay, but even that had been a compromise: six months probation to start. No rescues. No swimming at the Cove. No partying. No alcohol.

For legal reasons, no one could make any promises beyond that.

What a fucking mess.

Max turned his attention back to the bonfire, leaving Luke and the new recruits to do their thing. But in the time he’d spent staring into the distance and feeling sorry for himself, he’d lost sight of his fantasy girl.

Served him right. Dwelling on all the shit he couldn’t change had never done him an ounce of good. Not that he could stop—his obsessive brain had taken over long ago, and for the last two months, he’d been walking around in a complete fog. Most days it felt like his body was still pinned under that boat, lungs burning for air, his ass halfway to the grave.

And you’re the lucky one, asshole. Don’t forget it.

“Um, excuse me.” A soft voice floated up from behind, yanking him out of his morbid thoughts.

Grateful for the interruption, Max shook off the gloom and turned to face her.

Damn.

Not just any her—but
her
. His girl. He’d been pussying out all night—had lost her in the shuffle—but suddenly there she was, right in front of him, a hell of a lot closer than polite company ought to be.

She was even sexier than he’d thought, with big, bright eyes and a smile just this side of devious. She wore a little yellow dress with no straps, her face and shoulders dusted with tiny freckles he hadn’t noticed before.

Oh, hell, he loved freckles. He wanted to kiss them. Every fucking one of them. Peel off that dress and find out just how far down they went…

“So. Totally random question.” The girl seemed nervous and a little hyper, and the sudden blush in her cheeks was sweet as hell. “Are you, um… do you have a wife?”

Intrigued, he arched a brow, returning her flirty smile. “Ah, nope. You?”

This made her laugh. “No. How about a girlfriend?” she tried again, counting down on her fingers. “Partner? Friend-with-benefits? Anyone that you’re even
remotely
attached to?”

He shook his head, more amused than anything else. But before he could ask why she was so damn concerned about his personal life, she whispered a quick apology, stretched up on her tiptoes, and kissed him straight on the mouth.

Holy fuck.

Max was so shocked he almost pulled back, but within seconds, his body took over, easing into the kiss. She was so soft, so sexy, and God
damn
she tasted fine—like peach pie and cinnamon and every good fucking thing left in the world.

He didn’t know what this was all about—hell, he didn’t care. She tasted so damn good, so right, everything else went up in smoke. Max slid his hands behind her neck, threading his fingers into that silky black mane as he pulled her closer. She moaned softly, the sound going straight to his dick, and parted her lips, her tongue darting out to trace his lower lip.

Fuck.

His cock throbbed beneath his shorts. Max deepened their kiss, sucking her tongue into his mouth, not bothering to hide his desire as he pressed against her warm, soft body. Her nipples were rock hard behind the thin fabric of her dress, rubbing against his chest.

Behind them, the party raged on, people laughing and lost in their own conversations, but Max and his mystery girl showed no signs of letting up. Without breaking their kiss, she looped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer, another sweet little moan escaping her mouth, and holy shit, he wanted to fucking
own
her.

Everything else fell away—the people, the laughter, the roaring bonfire, the ocean—all of it a distant blur as the two of them kissed and touched, hearts hammering, heat gathering between them. Max could think of nothing but the silky feel of her tongue sliding into his mouth, his hard cock pressing against her stomach, wishing like hell he could drop to the sand and bury his face between her legs.

He was supposed to be working, and if the boss rolled by, he’d be fucked. Totally unprofessional to make out with a party guest on duty, and his situation was precarious enough. But fuck it. Max didn’t care. Nothing short of a tsunami could’ve stopped him from taking whatever this girl wanted to give him.

Well, a tsunami… or an asshole loudly clearing his throat behind them.

Reluctantly, Max pulled away, turning to check out the jackoff whose face he was about to smash into the sand.

“You lost, man?” Max asked. “Bar’s up there.”

The guy ignored him, his eyes lingering on the girl.

Jesus. Max could read this shitshow like a book.

The girl inched closer to Max. He put his hand on the small of her back, and she leaned into him as if she’d done it a hundred times. She was watching the guy, but her green eyes were still glazed, her cheeks pink, her lips swollen.

“Hey, Brian,” she said coolly. “Need something?”

The asshole scowled. “Do you even
know
this guy?”

“Yeah, I think it’s time for you to go,” Max said, angling his body so he was between the girl and this dickwad trying to talk to her. The dude puffed up for a second, and Max practically
willed
him to take a swing. God knows he had plenty of anger stewing inside, looking for an outlet. This asshole’s face was as good as any.

Just give me a reason. One tiny reason…

But the moment fizzled as quickly as it’d arrived. The guy backed off, lowering his eyes. He sucked his teeth at the girl, then sulked away, tail between his legs.

“I’m
so
sorry about that.” The girl pulled back, attempting to smooth out her hair. “Thank you. You basically saved my ass.”

Max lifted his eyebrows, waiting for her to explain both the kiss and the guy. Not that he’d minded. Not that he’d mind doing it again. Hell, if that was her idea of being saved, he wouldn’t mind taking her home and rescuing her all night long…

“Shit,” she said, nervous laughter bubbling up. “I know that was a little forward. And possibly crazy.”

And sexy as hell.

“A little?” Max laughed.

“Okay. I really needed to send a message, and I saw you watching me earlier and kind of hoped you’d be cool with it… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped you like that. I just… I had to do something crazy, you know? Brian isn’t good with subtle hints.”

“Brian, huh?” Max scratched his jaw. “Friend of yours, then?”

“Ex-friend,” she said. “Emphasis on ex.”

“Yeah, something tells me he didn’t get the memo.”

“He’s not the brightest star in the sky. Unfortunately, he
is
the best man. Free advice?” She sighed, then smiled up at him suddenly, her green eyes sparkling. “It’s not a good idea for you and your sister to date best friends, no matter how cool it seems at the time.”

“Good to know.”

Someone squealed from the other side of the bonfire, and the girl closed her eyes. Max recognized the look that came over her face immediately—like she was steeling herself for something she
really
didn’t want to deal with.

He knew it well.

Whoever was making all the racket by the fire was shouting again. She sounded drunk and annoyed—not a combo he wanted to be around.

The girl in front of Max opened her eyes, letting out a soft sigh.

“Bridezilla calls,” she said with a cute shrug. “Can’t say no to Anna.”

Max nodded. “No, I guess not.”

“Hey.” She squeezed his arm, her touch soft and warm. “Thanks again for the kiss. Sorry for the ambush.”

“Not a problem. I mean it.” Max leaned in and brushed his lips along her cheek, enjoying the shiver that wracked her body as he whispered in her ear. “Ambush me
any
fucking time, sweetheart.”

“Hmm. I might just take you up on that.” She backed away toward the fire, smiling, keeping her eyes locked on his until the last possible second. He watched her go, watched her get swallowed up by a crowd of girls and the screeching woman—the bride, Max assumed. He watched her as they headed up to the bar for shots. He watched her raise her glass to toast the bride, watched her laugh at the girls’ jokes and jabs.