Return of the Bad Girl (3 page)

She jerked away from him and snapped, “Touch me again, and I’ll gut you.”

As she walked away, he called, “Oh, how I missed that fire. For a second there, I thought you’d lost it.”

As she climbed into her car, she caught sight of him kissing two of his fingers and waving them at her. She wished for half a second she’d gone with a lifted 4x4 truck instead of her little Corolla, just so she could climb over the rocky, landscaped yard between them and plow into him. If she took the house down too, so be it. It would be worth it to never see his smug, disgusting face again.

Peeling out, she sped down the road, oblivious to speed limit signs. She wanted to put as much distance between her and the bastard as possible. She had planned to spend at least half an hour or more with her father, but that was shot to hell. It was only ten in the morning, and she wasn’t due to pick up the keys to her new apartment until eleven thirty. Maybe Gemma Bowers wouldn’t mind if she stopped by early.

Caroline had decided several days earlier—right after the third night in a row of her sister Ellie coming home at three in the morning, giggling and bumping into things—that she needed to find a place of her own. When Val had offered to let Caroline stay at her place, she’d failed to mention that Ellie was already taking the spare room and the only place available was the living room couch. The first week had been fine, with them taking turns at the hospital, but by the time her father was released, it became business as usual at Casa de Val, which essentially meant sexy noises from Val’s room and Ellie’s midnight stumbling.

So she’d jumped onto Val’s computer and found Gemma Bowers’s ad on Craigslist for a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment with private parking. She’d called Gemma that morning and set up the showing. The place was perfect, and they’d shaken hands on the spot. Gemma had agreed to have a one-year lease drawn up to be signed that morning. Val hadn’t been happy about the news, acting like Caroline was abandoning her again, but Caroline had been living on her own for too long. Plus, all of the “what have you been up to since you left home” talks were grating on her. She was used to having space to breathe, and that was exactly what Gemma Bowers’s two-bedroom apartment was going to give her. Space and an excuse to get away from all the probing questions.

And, of course, seeing Kyle had sent her into a twister of rage and turmoil all its own. Even the shaking in her hands hadn’t subsided.

She needed a place to chill out, to feel safe. A place to decorate however she wanted and to relax in when she got home, where she wouldn’t have to listen to Val’s disturbing sex noises or deal with Ellie tripping in at all hours, waking her up. Caroline needed all that and a comfortable bed. Valerie definitely hadn’t bought her couch for guests to sleep on, that was for damn sure.

Exiting off of Main Street, Caroline turned down a narrow alley behind the row of shops. The older stone and brick buildings of Rock Canyon looked dingier from the back, but her new parking spot was behind Gemma’s bookstore—Chloe’s Book Nook—and right next to the stairs that led to her new place.

Caroline wasn’t worried about the stairs, since everything she owned currently fit in her trunk and on her backseat. She usually rented furnished apartments to keep from having to sell stuff when she moved on, but once she had everything unloaded here, she planned on making a few shopping trips to Twin Falls to pick up new furniture and décor. She had been saving up for so long, it was about time she splurged.

Caroline saw the parking spot, but as she began to pull in, she almost plowed into the back of a midnight blue motorcycle already parked there.

What the hell?

Glaring at the crotch rocket, she thrust her gear shift into park and turned off her car, not giving a tinker’s damn if someone else tried to come through the alley. She couldn’t wait to kick this asshole out of her parking spot.

She jumped out and passed the bike slowly, reading the license plate with disgust.

BBYBLUE.

What a sissy name for a street bike.
It was probably some jerk who was afraid of his poor baby getting scratched out on the street. But that was no excuse for taking her spot. Trying to cool her already-hot temper, she hummed the lyrics to her favorite Fleetwood Mac song as she came up to the bookstore’s back entrance and knocked. First, she would pick up her keys, and then she would call a tow truck to remove the motorcycle.

Gemma Bowers opened the door, her dark hair pulled back from her face, drawing attention to the paleness of her skin. Gemma was curvy in a natural way and soft-looking, with a sweet face. Her hazel eyes were wide behind her glasses, and Caroline could see how she’d won the heart of country rock star Travis Bowers who was, from what Caroline remembered, a total hottie. And although Caroline hadn’t known her in high school, when she’d come to see the apartment the other day, Gemma had been very nice.

“Hey, Gemma, I’m sorry to show up so early, but my morning plans fell through. Is it okay if I sign the lease now?” Caroline asked, wondering now at the woman’s deer-in-the-headlights look. “By the way, do you know who I can call to get a tow? There’s some douche wad in my parking spot.”

Gemma opened her mouth as if to speak, but a deep voice out of sight beat her to it.

“It’s my parking spot.”

Caroline poked her head past Gemma to see who it belonged to. The man behind the voice was a panty-dropper for sure. He was leaning against the counter of the shop’s break room, but Caroline had a feeling he was as tall as he was muscly. Wide shoulders and rippling arms were hugged by the light cotton of a tight, army-green T-shirt, and she couldn’t miss the bumps and ridges of his pecs and abs—proof that this guy worked out hard, in all the right places.

Caroline tried to say something, but her mouth was too dry, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth.

She hadn’t even gotten to his face yet. How long had it been since a man had tongue-tied her with his body alone? Too long, apparently.

Her gaze finally met his obsidian eyes—complete with ebony lashes framing them thickly, unfairly. His coffee-and-cream skin was smooth except for the hint of scruff around his chin and a two-inch strip of dark hair running down the middle of his head, like a short, tamed Mohawk. She could see the tip of a tattoo on the side of his neck, just above his T-shirt, but it was his smile that finally brought her back to reality.

It was stretched wide—with an edge that told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her, that it happened to him all the time—and his arrogance was like a bucket of ice water. This man was dangerous, cocky . . . and he had stolen her parking spot. Worse, he’d called it
his
spot, and here she was, basically going into heat. She wasn’t this girl, the one who panted after whatever hot guy crooked his finger at her.

Gearing up for battle, she placed a hand on her cocked hip. “As pretty as you may be, I am going to have to call bullshit on that one. Gemma leased the upstairs apartment to me and the parking spot along with it.”

Tall, dark, and douchey stood up, forcing her to tilt her chin skyward and curse her lack of heels. She normally wore them everywhere, but since today was moving day, she had worn comfy shoes for running up and down stairs. Which put her about four inches shorter than normal; at five foot three and a quarter, she was on the shrimpy side when dealing with average men. This guy was definitely above average, probably six foot two in his bare feet. What really pissed her off, though, was the way he was leaning over her now, as if he was trying to intimidate her with his bad-boy aura.

Please, I eat assholes like you for breakfast.

He took a few steps closer, that smug smile never slipping. “Well, Travis, Gemma’s husband, rented the apartment—and parking spot—to
me
as well. So, looks like we have a bit of an issue here.”

That threw Caroline, and she swung her focus to Gemma, who looked like she was ready to wring her hands and cry. “Please, tell me he’s kidding.”

“I wish he was, but apparently, Mr. Moriarty—Gabe—met with my husband yesterday. I didn’t even know about this until last night.”

“And you couldn’t have given me a heads-up?” Caroline snapped.

“I tried to call your cell phone, but it kept going to voicemail.”

Damn it. That’s because her sister’s monster of a dog had taken a shine to stealing her things. Her socks, her phone, her underwear. By the time she’d realized it was gone this morning, it was dead, and there was no way to coerce information out of a dog.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Caroline glared at the man who was trying to steal her apartment. “So, what happens now?”

“Now you take your sweet little ass out of here and find another place to live,” Gabe said. Caroline had the sudden urge to flip him off or kick him in the balls. Maybe both.

“Bite me.”

“If you can wait until I get my bed moved in, I’d love to take you up on that.” His voice had taken on a dark, husky tone, and she told herself it was so
not
going to work on her—even as goosebumps prickled her flesh.

The thought of those white teeth nipping along her skin made undeniable heat pool between her legs, but she had learned a long time ago that talk was cheap. Despite a short wave of curiosity, there was no way this guy was ever going to get in her pants. Or her apartment.

“Tempting, but I’m not interested.”

“That’s not what your girls are saying.”

Following his gaze down, she saw her nipples were hard and pushing against the sheer bra beneath her T-shirt. Her eyes snapped back up to his, and she sneered, “So, I can add
inappropriate perv
to the long list of nicknames you’ve already earned in our short acquaintance.”

“Just stating the obvious, princess,” he drawled.

Before he could open his mouth further, Caroline turned to Gemma. “How are you going to fix this?”

“I—”

“There’s nothing to fix. I was here first, and I’m taking the apartment.”

Caroline clenched her fists and counted silently to calm herself. Places to rent were hard to come by in Rock Canyon, and she didn’t know how much longer she could stand listening to Val and her boyfriend getting it on while she slept on the couch.

Focusing her attention on Gemma again, she asked, “Has he signed the lease yet?”

“No, I—”

“Good. Then you can just hand me the lease you drew up for me, and I’ll sign it now,” Caroline said, giving Gabe a shrug. “Sorry, but I saw the apartment first.”

“Like I said, princess,” Gabe said, moving closer until he was nose to nose with her. Unconsciously, her eyes moved to those damn kissable lips. “Get your sweet ass out of here—”

“I’m very sorry about the confusion,” Gemma broke in loudly, and when both of them swung their attention her way, Caroline saw her swallow hard. “I think I need to talk to Travis before I make any decisions.”

Caroline gritted her teeth and wanted to scream in frustration, but Gabe’s dark eyes were watching her again. It was on the tip of her tongue to rip into Gemma about having to ask her husband’s permission, but she refrained for the sake of pissing off her potential landlady.

Besides, if she threw a bitch fit, it might make hot shot look like a better choice of tenant, and she couldn’t let him win. Especially when he was so damn sure of himself.

Taking in a deep breath, Caroline said, “Fine. I’ll call you with another number to reach me in about ten minutes.”

With one last hostile glare at Gabe, Caroline stormed out of the shop.

His apartment? Not gonna fucking happen.

Chapter Three

“Attention all the single ladies: Fresh meat has arrived! Oh, and get this, he has a motorcycle. Mmm . . . I smell a bad boy.”

—Miss Know It All

G
ABE
M
ORIARTY WALKED
out of Chloe’s Book Nook, yanking on his gloves. He had been
this close
to signing the paperwork to the Bowerses’ apartment until that little wildcat had stormed in, making demands. Now he had to wait until Gemma talked it over with Travis and they decided what to do.

Gabe could tell that Gemma had been distraught, and he hadn’t wanted to add to her stress by voicing his displeasure, but damn it, he was there first. That uppity witch could go take her attitude somewhere else to live. Speaking of Miss Temper, there was no sign of her. She was probably off to speak to her lawyer or maybe off looking for that tow truck. He snorted. As if anyone was going to touch his bike but him.

It was too bad too, ’cause despite her putting a monkey wrench in his plans, she was fucking hot. With her long dark hair pulled back from her face, her brown eyes had drawn him in, and although he’d tried to play cool, he’d felt his heart beat faster with every sassy word out of her mouth.

You mean that lush mouth? The one that was probably good at a number of things?

Straddling his bike, Gabe shrugged into his jacket before grabbing his helmet off the back and slammed it down onto his head, cursing.

It didn’t matter how hot she was, she was the pain-in-the-ass reason he wasn’t getting his apartment, and that pissed him the hell off. Gabe had a plan, and he hated when things didn’t go smoothly.

He’d driven into town the day before yesterday, planning on surprising Chase Trepasso, an old friend of his, only to find out that Chase was out of town until today. He’d wanted to be settled, already set with a place to live before he dropped in on Chase, just in case the welcome wasn’t as warm as he’d hoped. It had been sixteen years since he’d seen his former best friend, and that last time had been a blur of disbelief, confusion, and rage. Now, he was stuck staying at the Rock Canyon Inn, and when he walked into Chase’s tattoo shop, there was a chance that Chase would tell him to get the hell out of town.

He wasn’t going anywhere, though—even if the Bowerses gave into that prickly princess’s temper tantrum.

One of the things he’d been working on—during the five years he’d spent in that tiny Nevada state prison cell—was a list of all the mistakes he’d made to get there.