Bad Boys for Hire_Ken_Hawaiian Holiday

by Rachelle Ayala

  The music thumped with a loud, fast beat, and Carol twisted and turned in her chair, whipping her neck and cracking her shoulders. Sherelle and Leanna bopped and kicked, twisting their lithe and perfect bodies to the hip-hop rap.

  Carol closed her eyes and let the sweat run down her face. She worked her muscles harder and put all her energy into the dance routine.

  She could never forget what happened that horrible day when she slipped on ice and fell off a cliff. She’d been stupid and foolhardy that day, insisting on the climb despite the tricky conditions. It had been going well, too, until she found herself tumbling down the side of the mountain.

  Gut grinding fear ripped and clawed through her body as she slammed and bounced down the rocky face. Pain exploded like a million dentist drills whirring through every nerve ending. When she hit the bottom of her fall, she wasn’t sure whether she was alive or dead.

  Did the dead feel pain?

  Could the living not move?

  Lying on her shattered back, blinded by the sun and waiting for help had been the longest, most horrifying moments in her life. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she dreaded the truth.

  She was paralyzed. Frozen in time. Trapped. The active life as she lived was over.

  Later, she learned that she had tumbled like a rag doll down the entire face of Baldy Bowl—roughly 1,000 vertical feet. Thanks to her climbing helmet, she’d escaped brain damage and death, but she’d lost all sensation and control below her waist.

  Carol shuddered at the flashbacks that still plagued her and threw herself into dancing. The hip hop music pulsed and boomed as the rappers spit out their lyrics. Carol let herself go. She raced across the studio, spinning and popping wheelies, throwing her head back and forth. Let the lazy half of the Bumblebees sit out. They didn’t appreciate what they had: a pair of legs that still worked, beauty, sexiness, and most importantly, a normal life.

  Terri and Jolie were married to hot and fit men, and Nikki flirted with every man she could bat an eyelash at. Leanna always had one or two guys sniffing around, although she wasn’t serious about any of them. As for Sherelle, she didn’t date—but that was by choice. She thought most guys were dweebs, and she never could tolerate fools.

  Which left Carol as the only one going to the Bumblebees’ Christmas Gala without a date, not by choice.

  The music stopped in an instant. Carol’s stepsister, Marisa Monroe, had turned off the sound system. She stalked toward her, displeasure written on her face, as she pointed to her watch. “Your time’s up. We have to take you to the bathroom.”

  Grrr … Marisa was a nurse, and after Ken moved out to marry Jolie, she’d moved in and decided Carol couldn’t be trusted to take care of her own health.

  “I’ve been sweating. I’m sure I don’t need to go,” Carol said, as the rest of the Bumblebees took deep drinks out of their water bottles.

  Since her injury, she could no longer feel the urge to go to the bathroom, and she relied on scheduled pit stops to keep her systems functional.

  “We wouldn’t want you to get an infection.” Marisa pushed on the back of Carol’s wheelchair.

  Carol locked the brakes to prevent it from moving. Why, oh, why, had she let Marisa move in? It wasn’t as if she needed a housemate. When she was first injured, her brother Ken had lived with her. He did the housework and driving, while she cooked and took care of herself. Now, after more than ten months, her arms were muscular enough that she didn’t need help getting in and out of the shower or moving herself with her chair.

  She not only drove with hand controls, but also bought her own groceries. But Marisa seemed to think she couldn’t do anything.

  “Stop being stubborn,” Marisa said, pushing harder.

  Sherelle stepped forward. “Carol doesn’t need your help. Why don’t you go find someone else to worry about?”

  “We’re ready to dance some more,” Nikki said, switching on the music.

  Jolie, Terri, and Leanna wedged Marisa away from the wheelchair as Carol spun back onto the dance floor.

  Marisa stomped back to the sound system and shut off the music again.

  “Marisa!” Carol shouted. “Stop being bossy. Why don’t you go back to your guest?”

  She nodded toward a pregnant woman who had been sitting with Marisa, taking notes on the dance routine.

  “Mom told me to watch over you,” Marisa said. “Remember that infection you got when Ken took you surfing and you lost track of time?”

  “Well, I’m not on a beach,” Carol said. “I can go any time.”

  “Why not now?” Marisa insisted.

  “Why not?” A deep male voice sounded as the double doors to the studio flapped open. A predatory looking man, dark-haired and bulging, sauntered in like he owned the studio. He took off his sunglasses and let his eyes rove from female to female, skipping over Carol. It figured he would pass over the only woman in a wheelchair.

  Seven pairs of female eyeballs, eight if she counted the visitor sitting at the side, rolled toward the stranger who flaunted himself in a skintight t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans.

  Tall, dark, and hot didn’t even begin to cover it.

  Marisa immediately forgot her nursing professionalism and smiled at the intruding hunk. “How may I help you?”

  “Nick Wolff, from Bad Boys for Hire, here about the Toy Drive you’re doing for Wheelympics,” the hotlicious hero sandwich replied.

  Wheelympics was an adaptive sports program for young wheelchair users, and Carol was the volunteer who was in charge of the party.

  “That would be me,” Carol wheeled toward him, only to be headed off at the pass by Leanna who jutted her ample chest toward the musclebound man.

  “What can I do for you?” Leanna said in a sweet, syrupy voice. “I’m Leanna Rivera.”

  “Wait, wait,” Nikki blinked rapidly and fanned herself. “Talk to me, Nikki Chu. I’m president of the Bumblebees.”

  Terri pushed herself between Nikki and the scrumptious stranger. “Terri Slade. I’m the sergeant at arms.”

  “Well, I’m vice president,” Jolie chimed in, sweeping her flaming red hair over her shoulder. “Jolie Becker Cassidy.”

  Only Sherelle stood back with her eyes narrowed. She was the treasurer and had control of the purse. The Bumblebees needed someone wise as the banker.

  Carol was inclined to agree with Sherelle. Men who worked for escort services were so full of themselves they were like ticks on a hound dog’s ear. The god-man in front of her preened and puffed at the attention of her friends. What an immature dick.

  She hadn’t expected someone quite so young when she’d called Bad Boys for Hire and asked for a Santa impersonator.

  No matter how tempting this delectable dish was, she couldn’t have him ruin the toy drive with his overactive sex appeal. Look what he was doing to their rehearsal!

  Carol’s mouth watered, and she swallowed her drool as she steeled herself. She was the secretary, and the girls had shoved the job on her, so she was within her rights to force her wheelchair into the midst and park right in front of the hired help. “Listen, there must be a mistake. I asked for a Santa impersonator, not an exotic dancer.”

  The man held out his hand, looking down at her. “Nick Wolff, at your service.”

  Heat flushed Carol’s cheeks at the way he drawled the word “service.”

  She lifted her hand and found herself eye-level with his belt buckle. Slowly, her gaze traveled from below his belt, wandered up his well-defined abdominals, skittered over his pectorals, tickled his collarbone, grazed his cleft chin, and brushed over his smirky lips, to lock onto the dark, hooded bedroom eyes.

  In slow motion, or so it seemed, she grasped his offered handshake.

  Even though she wore half-fingered leather gloves, electricity sparked and zapped, flushing the upper half of Carol’s body with a web of tingles as Nick’s strong palm enveloped her firm handshake.

  “Uhm … If you have a Santa suit, you’re hired,” C
arol heard the words tumble from her mouth. “But no stripping. It’s a kid’s party. Got it?”

  “Any stripping I do will be in private.” Nick zeroed his sexy gaze straight through Carol’s eyes, and a faint sensation zinged down through her belly and tickled between her legs. Was it even possible for her to be aroused?

  Carol’s eyes widened as she held Nick’s mesmerizing gaze. What was he doing to her? Did he have the magic touch? For the first time since she was injured almost a year ago, she felt a slight throbbing lower down.

  Holy moly! She was still alive!

  Buy or Borrow BAD BOYS FOR HIRE: NICK to continue reading.

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  Do you like small town romances? Please turn the page to read an excerpt from Going Hearts Over Heels, a Sapphire Falls Kindle Worlds romance.

  Going Hearts Over Heels - Excerpt

  Welcome to Sapphire Falls: My Country Heart! I’ve been given the opportunity to write in Erin Nicholas’s Sapphire Falls Kindle World. Please read an excerpt to this charming romance where a country boy trades places with a city girl.

  Going Hearts Over Heels

  Ginger is a fast talking New Yorker who wants to try life in the country—along with hot country boys. Marsh yearns for the excitement of the big city and a certain redhead who has his imagination sparked. Ginger and Marsh decide to trade places over Valentine’s Day, except neither one expected their hearts to get in the way of their heels.

  Chapter One

  “Marshall Pierre Wolff! You get your butt down here right now. The pigs are out of their pens, and ol’ Bill’s got some kids treed up in the north pasture.”

  Marsh let his finger linger on his phone screen a second longer. He was twenty-seven years old and still living at home—well, not exactly in the family farmhouse since he’d built himself an apartment in the loft of the old barn, but close enough.

  “Marsh, did you hear me?” His mother’s voice came closer. “Looks like the pigs busted through the corner gate, and Bill followed them out.”

  Bill was the cantankerous bull, and he’d been out of sorts lately, huffing and banging around the pen.

  Marsh tucked his phone away and left the airplane ticket unpurchased. He’d been working for his parents since he could walk, and now that he had two brothers, Max and Mike, living in Sapphire Falls, he was due for a short vacation.

  Clambering down the metal staircase, he put on his jacket and gloves and met his mother at the barn door.

  “Where are Dad and Mike?” Marsh asked. He was going to need help corralling all those animals.

  “Your dad’s downtown at the diner for poker night, and Mike is on a date.” Mother’s simple statement was loaded with layers of meaning.

  “That doesn’t mean he’s scot free,” Marsh groused under his breath. “I’ll need help getting the pigs and that bull back in their pens.”

  “Mike hasn’t been on a proper date in a long time.” Mom wrinkled her nose. “Neither have you.”

  “Don’t start.” Marsh strode toward the sacks of feed and hefted one into the bed of the pickup truck.

  The problem with living his entire life in a small town was he already knew every woman of dating age, from the time he entered the church nursery to the present. Now that he was the oldest unmarried son in the family, his mother looked at every single woman, no matter her age, as a potential daughter-in-law, and word got around fast if he as much as winked at a pretty woman.

  “I’ll call Mike to help me get the pigs,” Mom conceded. Being a farmer’s wife, she knew how much damage the pigs could do, rooting their way through the pasture. “You go on and distract that bull so the kids can get off the tree.”

  “I’ll give Travis Bennett a call,” Marsh said, digging out his phone.

  He glanced wistfully at the half-booked airplane ticket and closed out the browser window before punching in his buddy’s number.

  Travis had a farm not far from theirs, and he also had cows. In fact, it was calving season, and the bull got ornery because all the cows were either heavily pregnant or occupied with their calves.

  “Marsh, I’m on my way.” Travis answered on the second ring. “My mom already called me about your bull treeing two of Tucker’s kids.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you out there with the truck and a pan of feed. Got some pigs on the loose, but my brother and mom are going to take care of them.” Marsh ended the call.

  He drove his pickup down the rutted snow-covered lane and met his buddy who was there with Nellie, his Labrador retriever.

  Nellie was a calm dog, unlike the two wolfhounds his family had, Romulus and Remus, who would have excited the bull further. Those two were most likely lounging around the fireplace, and were more pets than working dogs.

  Travis got in the truck bed with Nellie. He knew the drill. They’d try to lure old Bill back to the pen with food, and if that didn’t work, they’d have to herd him on foot and with the truck.

  Marsh backed up the truck close to the bull who was snorting and circling the tree. Travis rattled the pan with the feed and Bill took notice. He bent his head toward the truck and took two steps, but the flashing of the cell phone cameras in the tree drew him back.

  “Stop taking pictures of him,” Travis shouted at the kids, who were his nephews. “You keep doing that and we’ll be leaving you with old Bill all night. See how you like sleeping in a tree.”

  “It’ll be cool,” one of the boys answered.

  “Yeah, we’re posting it live,” the other one said.

  Marsh slapped the side of the truck to get Bill’s attention and Travis rattled the pan.

  “Come on, boy. You get going, and I’ve got a sweet cow for you,” Marsh joked. “She’s back at the barn with her hair up in rollers and cold cream on her face, just a waiting for you.”

  Slowly, the bull changed direction and came toward the truck. Marsh drove slowly, but not so slow as to let the bull catch them. By the time they got to the pen, Marsh could see that the old corner gate was busted. He’d been meaning to replace it, but hadn’t found a time when his brother could help.

  He got out and opened another gate. By now, Bill wanted to go home, so he obediently trudged into the pen and lowered his head to the round feeder.

  “Thanks, bud,” Marsh said to Travis. “Looks like they got the pigs back in the barn already.”

  “Let me give you a hand on that broken gate,” Travis said.

  “Sure thing.” Marsh grabbed baling wire to tie the gate until he could get to the lumberyard.

  While they walked out of the barn, Travis asked, “You ever going to get away on that vacation you’ve been promised?”

  The entire town knew his parents promised him a vacation, especially with his mother hinting about him bringing back new blood, as if he were going out of state to buy livestock.

  “I’ve been looking at some websites,” Marsh said. “Trying to decide where to go.”

  “Go somewhere tropical. Get some sun, sand, and babes in bikinis. Do it while you still can.” Travis chuckled. “I never traveled to exotic places when I was young and single.”

  “It’s hard to get away when you have a farm. There’s always something to do. Repairing fences, maintaining equipment, and then there’s the planting and all that.”

  “So, you better get away while you still got brothers here.” Travis held onto the broken pieces of wood while Marsh lashed them together with the wire.

  “I should go before we have to start planting,” Marsh agreed. “Except I’m not into beaches, at least I can’t see the fun of lying on a pile of sand. I’d rather go to a big city and see all the sights, taste the food, ride on the subway, and go to the top of the skyscrapers.”

  There was also another reason New York City interested him—a bright, fiery redheaded reason, but he kept that to himself.

  It wasn’t wise to speculate out loud in Sapphire Falls where every
one got into everyone’s business. He’d met Ginger Myers over Christmas when he was a groomsman for his brother Max’s remarriage to Ginger’s sister, Honey.

  She was lively and outspoken, a riot to be around, but he’d been too slow and too country, and by the time he’d worked up the nerve to ask her out, she was already gone.

  “Valentine’s Day is coming up,” Travis said. “Maybe you’ll get lucky with some city girls. Hit the shows in Vegas and go to a party there. Levi could tell you where to stay.”

  Levi Spencer was a wealthy newcomer who had grown up in the casinos in Las Vegas. But Marsh wasn’t interested in going to a tourist trap where they had replicas of the landmarks of the world. He wanted to see the actual landmarks and walk in the actual streets, not the themed park version.

  “Actually, I want something more real and grittier.” Marsh could almost feel the swelling of the crowds, the noise of traffic, and taste the sights and sounds of a large city—or at least his imagination of one, since he’d never been anywhere bigger than Omaha, Nebraska.

  “There’s nothing more real and grittier than the Big Apple, New York City.”

  Marsh grinned, glad that his friend brought it up. Now, no one could say he planned on going because of Ginger. Travis would tell everyone New York City was his idea.

  “Yeah, the biggest and the best.” Marsh checked the gate to make sure it held temporarily. “I wonder how it would feel to be in the middle of Times Square on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Too late for that, but I hear they’re having an all-out Valentine’s Day party.” Travis clapped a gloved hand on Marsh’s back. “You should go.”

  Chapter Two

  Ginger Myers never knew when to shut up.

  Not even for her own good—actually definitely not for her own good.

  Especially not when the woman sitting in the salon styling chair next to hers wouldn’t shut her trap.