Bad Boy Valentine (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 2)

by Sylvia Pierce

  Jagger walked her to the bakery door, fighting the urge to grab her hand. As she fumbled with her keys and he stood there like a trained monkey, he couldn’t help but laugh.

  You got no game, asshole.

  “What’s so funny?” she turned to look at him over her shoulder, her smile almost shy.

  Jagger just shook his head, grinning like a first-class moron, thinking about all the times he’d walked her to her grandmother’s door when she was still in high school. She’d fumble with the keys, the two of them laughing their assess off as they tried to sneak Jagger inside, desperately trying not to wake her Gran. Half the time they’d succeeded, and Jagger spent the night curled up behind Kate on her tiny-ass single bed in a room the size of a toaster oven.

  The other half the time, Gran was chasing him out the door with a broom or whacking him with a slipper, threatening to call the cops.

  “Remember that time I showed up at your house after curfew,” he said, “and Gran lit my ass up?”

  Kate leaned back against the bakery door, folding her arms over her chest. “Jagger. It was after midnight. She and I were already in bed, and you were wasted. She thought you were an axe murderer or something.”

  “Me? She was the one brandishing a weapon.”

  “A soup ladle.”

  “Hey, that shit was heavy as hell.” Jagger rubbed his shoulder, remembering the pain. “I had a bruise for a month.”

  “You’re lucky she didn’t crack you in the skull, which is what I would’ve done.”

  “Yeah? That’s not what you said that night.” Jagger stepped closer, pinning Kate with his gaze. She bit her lower lip and lowered her eyes.

  He dropped his voice, leaning in close, teasing her. “As I recall, you pretended to tell me off, made me climb up and wait on the fire escape, then snuck me into your bedroom the minute she went back to bed.”

  “You wish.” Kate still wasn’t looking at him, but she couldn’t hide that damn smile.

  “Matter of fact,” he continued, “I don’t think either of us got any sleep after that. I’m surprised your Gran snoozed through it.”

  “Sometimes I think she just let us believe she didn’t know what we were up to in there because it was easier than dealing with us head on.”

  “No doubt.” Jagger laughed again at the memory of that night and many others just like it. He’d thought a lot about Kate’s grandmother Stella over the years—Stelladora, he’d always called her—grateful that Kate had someone to turn to after he split. He’d heard from his uncle that she’d moved back in with Stella after everything went down, and Jagger wasn’t surprised. The woman had raised Kate from the age of four on up; the two had always been tight.

  Stella had scared the piss out of him, but he respected her like no one else. She was hardcore and didn’t take shit from anybody, especially not from Jagger.

  “How is ol’ Stelladora, anyway?” Jagger asked. Part of him wished she’d wander in to Sweet Bliss one day, just so he could say hello, maybe goad her into another well-deserved soup-ladle assault. “Must be pretty proud of you. She still here in Woodside?”

  As soon as the question was out of his big fat mouth, he regretted it. A chill settled in between them.

  “Oh, Kit-Kat. I’m… shit. I had no idea.” He didn’t know. He’d stopped asking his uncle for news about Kate after the first year, all part of his grand plan to forget about her.

  Yeah, how’s that working out for you now, dickhole?

  Kate’s eyes were shadowed when she looked at him, but she forced a smile anyway. “It was peaceful, at least. No pain. I was living with her, you know, after…. everything. So I got to be with her right up until the end.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Three years ago now. On her birthday, actually. She always said she wanted to live to eighty-eight. And she did—exactly. I swear that woman was a witch.”

  Jagger offered a small smile, nudging Kate’s shoulder with his. “You always used to say that.”

  “Well, I was right. Maybe I’m a witch, too.”

  Jagger didn’t know what else to say. He should’ve been here. It was one more thing he’d missed out on, one more burden he’d left Kate to bear on her own.

  “I have to get a few things set up for tomorrow.” Kate jingled her keys again and nodded toward the bakery door. “Do you maybe want to—”

  “Yes.” Jagger didn’t let her finish. Whatever she was offering—a cup of coffee? A night of awkward silence? A kick in the nuts?—he’d take it. As long as he got to spend even a few more minutes with her, he was in—no question.

  “Where are you staying, anyway?” she asked, finally unlocking the door and leading them inside. She flicked on one of the lights in the front room and dropped her jacket and keys on the counter. “Back in Red Hook?”

  Grateful for the subject change, Jagger nodded. “Yeah. Uncle Max is down in Florida for a few more months with his grandkids, so I’m at his place until I get back on my feet again, or until he gets back home. Whatever comes first.”

  “Grandkids?” Kate asked. “Wow, Charlie had kids?”

  Jagger smirked. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he dropped this bomb. “Nah. Mikey.”

  “Mikey? Get out!” She turned to face him again, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. Jagger’s cousin Mikey had been an even bigger fuckup than Jagger, but he’d straightened his shit out real quick once he met Marcy.

  “Believe that?” Jagger said. “Got married five years ago, had twins last summer. He’s Mr. Family Man now. Spends his weekends at Chuck E. Cheese and Ikea.”

  “Bet that took some getting used to after all his time on the club scene.” Kate laughed. “So, you guys are still close?”

  “Not… exactly. Uncle Max always has my back, you know? But my cousins… yeah, we kinda drifted after I went upstate.”

  Jagger’s uncle had raised him after his parents died, and his cousins—Charlie and Mikey—had been like brothers to him. But just like with brothers, some shit just didn’t fly. Jagger’s arrest and sentencing turned out to be one of those things. Despite the fact that Mikey had gotten into his own heavy shit back in the day, he’d never been caught, and for him and Charlie, that had meant the difference between a good guy and a bad guy.

  Kate lowered her eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault.”

  After an awkward beat, she finally looked up at him again.

  “Okay. Can we make a deal?” she asked. “No more apologizing? I mean, at least for the rest of the night. Or until you do something else to piss me off.”

  “Deal.” Laughing, Jagger grabbed her hand and shook. Her skin was warm and soft, and for a minute, neither of them seemed to want to let go. He took a chance, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.

  Kate finally pulled away, heading back behind the counter and flipping on one of the big machines. Thing practically had a motor on it. “You still down with night coffee?”

  Night coffee had always been one of their things. Didn’t matter what time it was—if someone was awake in that apartment, the coffee was on, hot and fresh and never-ending. Jagger was glad to see some things hadn’t changed.

  “Hell yeah, I’m down.” He sat on a high stool at the counter while she made the coffee, taking it all in. He really was proud of her—the bakery was a nice place. Yellow and sunny up front, deep red in the back once the work was done. It was cozy. He wasn’t surprised that Mr. Fancy Pants Brit had chosen Sweet Bliss for their big event.

  “How long you been here, anyway?” Jagger asked. “The bakery, I mean.”

  “About two years now,” she said. “Gran left me a little money, and then I was able to get loans for the store and equipment. The kitchen needed a lot of upgrades to get it up to code. But now I love it. Baking in there is a dream.”

  Jagger cracked a smile, remembering her obsession with baking. She’d always made it work in their tiny galley kitchen, but dreamed of having a big, open space, with huge counter
tops and lots of storage for all of her creations. “Hey, you still make those chai cookies?”

  She stilled for a moment, and Jagger kicked himself for bringing it up, for saying the wrong damn thing yet again. But then she just shrugged and turned her attention back to the coffees.

  “Which ones?” she asked casually. “I make a lot of different stuff.”

  You know damn well which ones.

  Ignoring the burn in his gut, Jagger dropped it. “At least you finally got your dream kitchen, huh? No more baking in a shoebox.”

  “You can say that again.” She retrieved two mugs from beneath the counter, and Jagger watched with awe as she made two frilly drinks with strong coffee and steamed milk, dusting them both with cinnamon. Damn, they’d come a long way since their cheap-ass coffee-in-a-can days back in Bushwick.

  “Guess I never gave you a proper tour,” she said, setting a steaming mug in front of him.

  Grateful that her easy smile had returned, he took a gulp, enjoying the burn of it as it rolled down his throat. “Nah. You were too busy bossing me around, Miss Molina.”

  Kate laughed and took a sip of her coffee. When she set the mug down, her upper lip was coated in a thin line of white foam that had Jagger thinking all sorts of dirty thoughts. She must’ve noticed him staring at her like a dog looking for a piece of meat, because she rolled her eyes and swiped her fingers across her lips, dashing his fantasies.

  “Once a pervert, always a pervert,” she chided.

  “Baby, you have no idea.”

  “I beg to differ.” She picked up her mug and nodded toward the back kitchen. “Come on, perv. Let me show you around before that filthy mind of yours gets us both into trouble.”

  Chapter Ten

  “This one is my absolute favorite,” Kate said, picking up a plate of frosted, heart-shaped cupcakes. “To die for.”

  She was sitting on the huge stainless steel countertop in the kitchen, her legs dangling over the edge, the whole place littered with containers of half-eaten baked goods.

  After showing him around, Kate had raided the fridge, eager to give him a tasting tour of her latest concoctions. The whole place smelled clean and sugary-sweet, warm. Pure, unadulterated Kate.

  “Gingerbread Bliss,” she explained, “with cream cheese frosting, whipped until it’s light as air.”

  He watched her take a bite of the cupcake, her eyes closing as she moaned in pleasure.

  The sound went straight to his dick.

  Jagger felt like a damn voyeur, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her mouth, his cock standing at attention, straining against his pants.

  “You don’t want to try it?” She waved him closer and held the other half of her cupcake to his lips, her hand shaking slightly—the only indication that she was as nervous as he was.

  There was a tiny smudge of icing on the corner of her mouth, and Jagger couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to lower his mouth to hers and lick that spot clean.

  “Here,” she said, sliding it between his lips.

  Jagger took the whole thing into his mouth, his lips brushing her fingertips.

  He couldn’t take it, not for another minute. They’d been dancing around their attraction all night, and if he didn’t make a move soon, the whole room—or at least his pants—would go up in flames.

  “See?” she said. Her voice was trembling now. “The cream cheese literally melts in your mouth, right?”

  He swallowed it, then stepped between her legs, still dangling over the edge of the counter.

  The heat between them simmered, threatening to boil over.

  Jagger put his arms down on either side of her hips, caging her in.

  “Literally?” he whispered.

  “Literally.” Her chest rose and fell in quick, short bursts.

  Jagger leaned in close, so close he could smell the sweet frosting on her breath. “I’d rather make you melt in my mouth, Kit-Kat.”

  Kate gasped, and before he could talk himself out of it, Jagger claimed her mouth in a vicious kiss. She resisted for half a heartbeat, then gave in, opening her mouth with another soft moan that made his balls tighten. She bit his lip, then sucked on it, and holy fuck, he was gone.

  She tasted like ginger and cinnamon, like heat and fresh air and sweetness and everything he’d been fantasizing about—everything that’d kept him fucking alive—for eight years.

  He slid his hands up her back, tangling them into her silky-soft hair as he kissed her harder, deeper. She leaned into him, wrapping her legs around his hips, her short nails grazing his shoulders, his arms.

  Jagger kissed her until his lips were swollen and hot, then he pulled away, dragging his mouth down her chin, her neck, her chest. When he got to her firm, perfect tits, he took one in his hand, and then bit her nipple through her shirt.

  Kate gasped in pleasure, tightening her legs around him.

  Fuck. This shirt needs to be gone.

  She’d changed into a flannel button-down just before their bike ride, and now Jagger fisted the soft fabric and tore it open, buttons scattering all over the countertop and floor.

  “I see you still haven’t learned the art of restraint,” she teased, pulling back to meet his eyes. “You’ve always wanted to have your cake and eat it, too.”

  “Fuck cake.” Jagger was panting hard, his hands still fisting the fabric of her shirt. “The only thing I’m eating tonight is you.”

  She was wearing a black lace bra that pushed her tits together—an invitation he couldn’t refuse. He lowered his face to her cleavage, running his tongue from one soft mound to the other, his thumbs sliding over the lace that barely covered her stiff nipples.

  Her skin was like warm honey on his tongue, soft and sweet. With his tongue, he traced a line down to her stomach, swirling around her bellybutton as he slid a hand between her thighs and cupped her, nearly losing his mind as she rocked against his hand, her heat radiating through the thick denim. He could only imagine how wet she was for him, how fucking slippery.

  Fuck, he wanted to drop to his knees, tear off her jeans, and bury his tongue so deep in that pussy he’d never get the fucking taste of her out of his mouth.

  “Unless you tell me to stop right now,” he panted, “I’m taking you right here, tonight, piece by piece. I’ll start with these tits, bite you until you’re red and raw, begging me to stop. Then I’m gonna get on my knees, grab your thighs, and eat that pussy until you’re screaming so loud you wake up all the assholes sleeping on the seven train. And if you’re still conscious after all that, I’m gonna turn you around, bend you over this counter, and fuck you so hard you’ll need to be carried out of here on a goddamn stretcher.”

  The sound that escaped her mouth was practically inhuman, a cross between a whimper and a groan, her body melting beneath his touch.

  “So what’s it gonna be, Kit-Kat.” He squeezed her through the jeans, his mouth watering in anticipation as she arched into his touch. “You showed me all your favorite flavors. Do I get to taste my favorite flavor now?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  And after eight years, that was all the answer Jagger needed.

  Chapter Eleven

  What the hell are you doing, Kate Molina?

  The voices in her head were loud and many—Gran’s, who was probably still cursing Jagger from the grave. Georgie’s. Even her own.

  But Kate silenced them all. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right. She knew it was a bad idea, knew she was careening toward heartache again, but she was beyond caring—at least for tonight.

  Tomorrow, she’d go back to real life. Jagger would have to work even harder to make up for the lost time on the renovations today. She’d have to work harder to catch up on baking, on doing inventory, on stocking up for the event.

  But tonight, she’d firmly decided, was for fantasies.

  She shoved aside her feelings, her doubts, her warnings, her broken-hearted memories, and let her body take o
ver.

  And what her body wanted was Jagger.

  Right here, right now, just like he’d said.

  He’d feasted on her tits, sucking them hard through her bra, tonguing her flesh until she ached. Now he was touching her through her jeans, teasing her, whispering against her throat about how badly he wanted to taste her.

  “Please,” she said, rocking against his hand. She didn’t want his fingers. She wanted his mouth. His perfect cock. All of it.

  With a wicked grin, Jagger finally lowered his face to her thighs, biting her through her jeans, the heat and pressure driving her wild.

  Kate reached for the button on her jeans, desperate to get out of them, but Jagger grabbed her wrists.

  “This is my cake,” he said. “I’ll eat it my way.”

  Every last one of her reservations melted away, her body taking over. It was a terrible idea—the worst—but holy hell, she wanted him. Now.

  “Hope you’re okay with that,” he growled. The vibration of his voice, so close to her clit, sent a shock of awareness straight to her core.

  Okay with it? She hadn’t had a proper orgasm since… God, since—mortifyingly—the last time they were together. If he didn’t make her come—and soon—she would seriously implode.

  She wanted to tell him as much, but she’d somehow forgotten how to form words.

  “Lie back.” Jagger squeezed her legs, thumbs grinding into her inner thighs as he inhaled her through her jeans. She was powerless to resist him, desperate to obey his every command.

  She leaned back against the counter, the stainless steel a shock of cold on her bare shoulders and back, the whole room glowing with no more than the dim light above the ovens. Jagger stood between her legs, kissing her ribs, her stomach, his hands running up and down her thighs with hot, teasing strokes.

  His soft hair fell forward in front of his face, tickling the sensitive skin on her stomach, begging to be touched. Kate slid her fingers into it and closed her eyes, remembering the silky feel of his hair as she’d held him between her thighs all those nights, all those years ago.