Reforming Kent: A Stand-Alone Angsty Bad Boy Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 10)

by Siobhan Davis

  Presley

  “I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces,” I say, purposely avoiding looking at my husband, because I know I won’t be able to hold my laughter in.

  My husband.

  It’s only been a few hours since we got married, and I still have to pinch myself to believe this is my life. I am so unbelievably happy I could scream.

  “Red better have kept it a secret,” Kent says, sliding his hand up under my skirt. “Remind me to thank her later for this.”

  I swat his hand away, forgetting I’m not supposed to be looking at him, as Rachel takes control of the microphone in the marquee. We are standing just outside, hiding so we don’t ruin the surprise before it’s time to make our grand entrance.

  I burst out laughing as I take in the state of Kent in the fitted white, black, and red sparkly Elvis jumpsuit. Kent’s motto is go big or go home, so he’s wearing an Elvis wig on his head with matching fake sideburns, and he’s got a pair of gaudy shades on too. He looks ridiculous, but I’m glad he’s a good sport and that he instantly said yes when I suggested doing this. We’ve been rehearsing for the past few weeks, and we have the lyrics and the routine down pat now.

  It’s just after ten, and the party is well underway. The kids are tucked up in bed, our guests’ bellies are full of food, and they are enjoying the complimentary bar. The band is taking a short break so we can do this.

  Kent swats me harder on the ass. “Keep laughing and I’ll have to take your naughty ass outside afterward and spank it.”

  I lean in, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Is that a promise, Mr. Kennedy?”

  He reels me into his chest, planting a hard kiss on my mouth as Rachel demands quiet inside the marquee, preparing to introduce us. “It is, Mrs. Kennedy, and one I intend on delivering in full.” He bites at my earlobe. “You look fucking hot, and I’m so screwing you in this later.”

  “I wish I’d been born in the sixties,” I say, admiring the gorgeous dress Rachel made especially for tonight. It’s got a fitted black bustier top with wide straps, a full black skirt with white and red polka dots, and a wide belt with a big red bow. My hair is up in a ponytail with my bangs puffed up high and styled back off my brow, and I feel every bit as beautiful as I did wearing my wedding dress earlier.

  “I don’t,” Kent says, running his hands along my sides, his fingers brushing against my breasts. “Though I love this dress, if you’d been born in the sixties, we never would’ve met, and that’d be a travesty.”

  “The worst kind,” I agree. “It’s showtime,” I add just as Rachel announces us.

  Kent takes my hand, flashing me a wide grin. “Let’s get our cheese on.”

  The room erupts into a chorus of laughter and a round of spontaneous applause when we burst into the marquee to the opening strains of “The Lady Loves Me.” It’s a song from Viva Las Vegas, a movie Elvis made with Ann Margaret back in the sixties. They duet on this song, and the lyrics are hysterical, reminiscent of how Kent and I first met, so when I went looking for an Elvis song for us to sing at our wedding, this was the perfect choice.

  We step up on the stage, taking the microphones from Rachel, performing our routine exactly how we rehearsed it. Kent’s Elvis impersonation has improved a little over the years, but it’s still pretty terrible, and I’m not exactly the world’s greatest singer either, but we make it through the song, and it’s the most fun I’ve had in ages. The audience is laughing, dancing, and singing along, and Kent’s brothers are whistling and hollering while recording it on their cell phones.

  When we get to the end, to the part in the movie where Ann Margaret pushes Elvis into the pool, Brad throws a jug of water over Kent, and it’s so unexpected, and so fucking funny, that I can’t sing the very last line, breaking into fits of laughter as I fall to my knees, clutching my sore stomach, while looking at the shell-shocked expression on my husband’s face.

  “You’re dead, motherfucker,” Kent says, wiping water off his face as he jabs his finger in Brad’s direction.

  “Payback is a bitch, Kennedy,” Brad shouts, chuckling as he pulls his pregnant wife into his arms.

  “Oh my God. That was classic.” Faye is giggling as she approaches with Kyler, and they are both red in the face from laughing.

  “I can’t decide which was more entertaining,” Kyler says in between bouts of laughter. “You two doing that or Brad finally getting his revenge after years of you fake hitting on his woman.”

  Kent helps me to my feet. “You can add a third option to your list.” He smirks as the song switches. “This one’s for you two.” He blows them a kiss as he helps me down from the stage just as “Kissin’ Cousins” starts playing, and the crowd cracks up laughing again.

  We race around the marquee, laughing hysterically as Kyler gives chase, shaking his fists, pretending to be mad.

  Keven approaches with his pregnant wife when Kyler gives up, returning to Faye. “That was the fucking funniest thing I have ever seen.” He shakes his head, grinning as his gaze roams the length of Kent’s Elvis costume.

  “How the hell did you even get into that thing? Looks tight as fuck,” Kalvin says, materializing alongside us with his arm slung over Lana’s shoulders.

  “You’re telling me.” Kent tugs at the silky material pulled tight around his crotch. “My balls are fucking constricted and turning blue as we speak.”

  “We’d best let you attend to that,” Cheryl says, winking at me, as Keven leads her out onto the dance floor, quickly followed by Kalvin and Lana.

  Kent pulls me into his arms, and we sway to the music. “Today is the best day of my life. Well, it’s tied with the day Shania was born,” he adds, correcting himself. He leans down, kissing me slowly. “Are you happy, Presley baby?”

  “Happier than I ever thought I could be,” I admit, wrapping my arms around his neck. “And that’s all down to you. Thank you for giving me everything my heart has ever desired, Kent.”

  “Thank you for sharing your life with me, Pres.” Tears pool in his eyes, and it’s not the first time today. “I didn’t imagine I’d ever get to have this, and now I have everything.” He tightens his hold on my back. “I promise to never take what we have for granted. We have fought so hard to get here, and I will never forget that.”

  “I love you, Kent.”

  “I love you, Presley baby. Now and every day for the rest of my life.”

  ***

  THE END

  Want to enjoy another one of my series? Check out my Rydeville Elite Box Set, a fully completed trilogy, available to download now, FREE from Kindle Unlimited. Turn the page to read a sample from Cruel Intentions.

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  In the power struggle between two elite groups, one feisty girl will bring them to their knees…

  Life is a cruel game where only the most ruthless survive. It’s a truth my mother rebel
led against, and she paid for it with her life. Now, I play their game. Publicly accepting the destiny that lies in wait for me when I turn eighteen.

  But, behind closed doors, I plot my escape.

  Trent, Charlie, and my twin, Drew, rule the hallways of Rydeville High with arrogance and an iron fist. I execute my role perfectly, hating every second, but they never let me forget my place in this world.

  Everyone obeys the rules. They have for generations. Because our families have always been in control.

  Until Cam, Sawyer, and Jackson show up. Throwing their new money around. Challenging the status quo. Setting hearts racing with their gorgeous faces, hot bodies, and bad boy attitudes.

  Battle lines are drawn. Sides are taken. And I’m trapped in the middle, because I made a mistake one fateful night when I gave my V-card to a stranger in a blatant F you to my fiancé.

  I thought it was the one thing I owned. A precious memory to carry me through each dark day.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Because the stranger was Camden Marshall, leader of the new elite and my perpetual tormenter. He hates me with a passion unrivaled, and he won’t be the only one. Fire will rain down if the truth is revealed, threatening alliances, and the power struggle will turn vicious.

  My life will hang in the balance.

  But I’ll be ready, and I’m not going down without a fight.

  ***

  FREE TO READ IN KINDLE UNLIMITED.

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  CRUEL INTENTIONS (Rydeville Elite #1) – Sample

  PROLOGUE

  Waves crash against the empty shore, summoning me with invisible arms, and my feet move toward the icy water as if I’m pulled by a string. I’m numb inside. Hollowed out. And I just want to put an end to this… charade that is my so-called life.

  I never remember a time in my seventeen years on this earth where I had free will. Where every aspect of my life wasn’t controlled and mapped out.

  And I’m done.

  Done with the mask I’ve no choice but to wear.

  Done with the elite crap I’m forced to participate in.

  Done with that monster who calls himself my father.

  I want out, and the turbulent sea offers me salvation. I scarcely feel the deathly cold water as it swirls around my ankles like the tempting caress of a destructive lover. My silk robe offers little protection against the bitter wind whipping my long dark hair around my face, and goose bumps prickle my skin in everyplace it’s exposed.

  I walk farther into the water, my body shivering and shaking as the wild waves lap at my calves. An eerie voice echoes in my mind, urging me to stop.

  Imploring me to go back.

  Pleading with me not to give up.

  Suggesting my world is about to change.

  I ignore that taunting voice, tilting my head up, surveying the crescent moon in the dark nighttime sky, casting strangely shaped shadows on the land below. My ears prick at the sound of splashing behind me, and my heart beats faster as adrenaline courses through my veins, but I don’t turn around.

  “Hey. Are you okay?” a deep masculine voice asks from close by.

  I’m standing knee-deep in icy-cold water in the middle of the night in minuscule clothing. Does it fucking look like I’m okay? My snarky alter ego mentally responds to his question, but I remain mute. I can’t summon the energy to speak or to care what the stranger thinks of me.

  I just want him to go away. To leave me alone. To at least give me this.

  But no such luck.

  He wades through the water, his darkened form brushing against my arm as he moves around me, positioning himself directly in my line of sight so I’ve no choice but to look at him.

  A flicker of warmth enters my chest as I stare into sultry brown eyes that are so deep they’re almost black. The glow from the moon casts a shadow around his form, highlighting his masculine beauty in all its glory. He’s wearing low-hanging cotton shorts and nothing else. His bare chest is an impressive work of art that speaks to incredible dedication in the gym. His cut abs are so sharp they look painted on. But it’s the tattoos on his chest and lower arms that grab my attention. None of the guys at Rydeville High would dare ink their skin. It wouldn’t fit the reputations they’ve so carefully cultivated or suit their obnoxious parents’ plans for their futures. The elite wouldn’t dream of lowering themselves to something so provincial.

  This guy is an enigma, and the first sparks of curiosity ignite inside me.

  My eyes trail up his delectable torso, refocusing on his face. He’s watching me carefully. Absorbing my gaze like he wants to bury deep inside me and figure me out. My fingers itch to run along the fine layer of scruff adorning his chin and jawline. To mess up his hair which is styled long on top and shorn close to his skull on both sides. A craving to explore his chiseled cheekbones, and to taste his full lips, hits me out of nowhere, reminding me I’m still very much alive.

  I can’t ever recall having such a strong, physical reaction to a guy upon sight. None of the guys back home have affected me so potently, except for Trent—he makes my skin crawl with the barest of looks—but this is the complete opposite.

  One glance from this stranger heats my blood and stirs desire low in my belly. I cock my head to the side, intrigued and aroused, my previous self-destructive mission all but forgotten.

  We don’t speak. We just stare at one another and an electrical current charges the small space between us. My body emerges from its semi-comatose state, and I’m equally hot and cold. A shiver works its way through me, and I wrap my arms around my slim frame, desperately trying to ward off the biting cold air clawing at my pale skin.

  “You need to get warm.” The stranger extends his hand. “Come with me.”

  I wrap my hand around his without hesitation, and we tread through the water back toward the shore. His callused palm is firm against my skin, sending a flurry of fiery tingles coasting up and down my arm. We don’t speak as we emerge from the sea, walking across the clammy sand toward a small wooden cabin in the near distance. I hadn’t noticed it when I first arrived because I had singular focus.

  A thin stream of smoke creeps out of a narrow chimney, and I watch the cloudy spirals with fascination as we walk hand in hand toward the neat wooden structure. In the distance, a sprawling mansion occupies prime real estate, the property submerged in darkness at this late hour.

  He pushes open the door, stepping aside to allow me to enter first. A blast of heat slaps me in the face from the roaring open fire, and my body relaxes for the first time in days. The cabin is small but cozy and welcoming. The main room contains a compact kitchen with a stove, sink, and a long counter with three stools. On the right is a three-seater couch positioned in front of a coffee table and a wall-mounted TV over the fireplace. A side room suggests a bedroom with en suite bathroom, and that’s the extent of the space.

  My bedroom is bigger than this entire cabin, but it isn’t half as inviting.

  A bright rug resting atop the varnished hardwood floor, the soft colorful throw on the couch, and an abundance of vibrant cushions injects a comfortable, lived-in feel. The old bookcase tucked into the corner between the wall and the door is crammed full of books, DVDs, and mementos, creating a homey atmosphere. The only light is from the flickering flames of the fire and an old-fashioned lamp on top of the coffee table.

  He shuts the door and steers me in front of the fire. On autopilot, I raise my palms, relishing the heat as it wraps around my chilly skin. He moves around behind me, but I don’t turn to look. I stand in front of the fire, allowing it to thaw my frozen limbs and fracture the layer of ice surrounding my heart.

  “Sit down,” he commands in that rugged voice of his, draping a blanket around my upper body.

  I sink to the ground without a word, tucking my knees into my chest as I peer at him. He drops down in front of me, gently uncurling my legs, drawing one into his lap as he dries my damp skin with a soft blue towel. We stare at one anoth
er as he dries both my feet and legs, and that same pull from before pulses between us, rendering some invisible connection.

  “I feel like I know you from somewhere, yet I’ve never seen you before,” I admit, eventually finding my voice.

  He stalls with his hands on my feet, piercing my gaze with his intense chocolate-colored one. “I know,” he says after a few beats.

  When he tosses the towel aside, I move closer to him, sitting up on my knees with my body resting on my ankles. I keep my eyes locked on his as I reach up and touch the shorn side of his head, my fingers trailing over the velvety soft hair, tracing the edge of his skull tattoo. It was too dark outside to notice it, but now, I’m even more intrigued by this elusive, hot stranger who appeared out of nowhere to rescue me.

  The tattoo is in the shape of a cross, and I wonder if the symbolism means something personal to him. All I know is it’s sexy as hell, and my body naturally responds to him, arching in closer.

  He pulls my hand away from his head, pressing a feather-light kiss to the sensitive skin on my wrist, and I feel his tender touch all the way to the tips of my toes. His gentle touch is in direct contrast to his edgy look. With his defined abs, bulging biceps, and ink-covered tan skin, he looks like the quintessential bad boy every girl gets warned about. “Why were you out there?” he asks, keeping his gaze locked on mine.

  I could lie, but I’m tired of all the lies.

  I’m tired of saying what’s expected and pretending to be someone I’m not.

  “I didn’t want to feel anymore.”