Welcoming the Bad Boy: A Hero's Welcome Novel

by Annie Rains

  Welcoming the Bad Boy is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Annie Rains

  Excerpt from Welcome Home for Christmas by Annie Rains copyright © 2016 by Annie Rains

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Welcome Home for Christmas by Annie Rains. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  ebook ISBN 9781101964798

  Cover design: Georgia Morrissey

  Cover photograph: © DenisFilm/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Annie Rains

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Welcome Home for Christmas

  Chapter 1

  Val was in an epic stare-down with her blank computer screen. She tapped her lilac-colored fingernails on the edge of her desk and waited for her muse to feed her the next great love story.

  A knock sounded on her front door and Val flinched as the small but loud Pomeranian in the next room went berserk. The stare-down was lost. So was Val’s concentration.

  With a growl—she’d learned that from Sweet Cheeks since she’d been caring for the little yapper while her neighbor Alma Edwards recuperated from hip surgery—Val stood up from her desk. It was the end of her first week of summer vacation from her school secretary job. She’d been hoping that by now Sophie Evans, her much smarter, way cooler alter ego, would have finished writing the first few chapters of her next book. Instead, Val had typed one sentence, deleted it, and repeated for five days running.

  She walked to the front door and picked up Sweet Cheeks, rubbing her softly between her ears. “Good girl,” she lied, then went to see what the UPS man had delivered. She hoped it was the Train Your Dog in a Week book she’d ordered last night, when she’d been desperate and grieving over the lost glass of wine she’d planned to enjoy while enduring yet another stare-down with her computer. Except Sweet Cheeks, aka Devil Pup, had promptly gotten under her feet as she’d carried the glass to her desk and had sent her flying forward and spilling the red wine all over her tan-colored rug. At least she hadn’t ended up with a broken hip like Alma.

  Val picked up the box on her doorstep and smiled to herself. She would be reading this book just as soon as she got back from her book club at Seaside Harbor nursing home this morning. The last thing Alma needed when she returned home was another puppy-induced fall. Collecting the little dog and the purse that she rode in, Val grabbed her keys and headed to her old Volvo in the driveway. Book club with a group of elderly women wasn’t exactly going to get her creative juices flowing so that she could meet her August deadline, but it would take her mind off things like bills and devil pups, and that first gray eyebrow hair she’d discovered while tweezing this morning. She was only thirty. Thirty-year-olds did not have graying hair. Not without undue stress, which her latest deadline was causing.

  As she drove, Val tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, singing along to the music. Then she squealed as Sweet Cheeks jumped onto her lap and slid her grainy wet tongue across Val’s cheek. Disgusting. Slobber was one reason she didn’t have a dog of her own. Sweet Cheeks licked her again. “Stop that,” Val said, shooing the puppy away. Maybe it was the vanilla ChapStick she’d applied that had Sweet Cheeks all but French-kissing her as she drove. The puppy wasn’t giving up. Hopping over the center console, Sweet Cheeks landed back in Val’s lap and dug her little nails into the bare skin of her thighs. Then the little dog started licking her again.

  “Get off me!” Val turned her face side to side, trying to see past the puppy to the road. She screeched as she realized her Volvo had crossed the center line. Jerking the steering wheel to the right, Val jumped at a loud honk from an oncoming motorcycle. She overcorrected her car and went off onto the bordering stretch of grass on her right.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said, pushing the determined puppy back into the passenger seat. Her heart was pounding from what couldn’t have taken longer than five seconds. She slowed to a stop on the side of the country road to catch her breath, because in those mere five seconds her life had flashed before her eyes. Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but that’s what authors did. They exaggerated both the good and the bad.

  Sweet Cheeks barked at her side.

  “You are in so much trouble,” Val growled, glancing in her rearview mirror. Her spine withered as she saw the motorcycle she’d nearly plowed into turn around and pull over as well. She was in so much trouble, too. She watched as the driver removed his helmet and came walking toward her.

  Tall.

  Lean.

  He had black hair and wore dark jeans and a leather jacket. Everything about him screamed trouble. And sex appeal. In any other circumstance she’d be considering how to get this guy to notice her. Instead, she’d cut him off with her car and nearly killed him. He’d definitely noticed her, and judging by the grim set of his mouth—a very nice mouth—he was about to toss some choice words in her direction.

  Val opened her car door and got out, deciding to face this challenge head-on like she did everything else in her life. Wit was one of her God-given gifts. In an argument, she’d always excelled at having a quick reply. Her mouth was dry right now, though, and she was willing to bet that her “gift” had crawled into a corner to hide. Sweet Cheeks’s claws tapped at the inside of her car window behind her. The puppy barked, then growled low in her belly at the man walking toward them—like she could save Val from impending doom. If this was a Sophie Evans book, the stranger would look directly into Val’s eyes, forget words, and start peeling her clothes off like a man possessed.

  Fiction is so much better than reality.

  “You okay?” he asked, bringing her back to the here and now.

  “I should be asking you that. I’m so sorry,” Val said, leaning against her car door and mentally willing Sweet Cheeks to shut up. “The puppy jumped on me as I was driving and I jerked the wheel.” She was talking fast, her wit nowhere in sight. “I think she likes my ChapStick.”

  He hesitated, which made her squirm just a little. He was wearing dark sunglasses, but she got the distinct impression that he was now staring at her dog-slobbered lips.

  “You’re Valerie Hunt,” he finally said.

  She knitted her brow and realized he did look fa
miliar. She usually saw him under the local bar’s dim lighting, but she’d never actually exchanged words with him. “Hi,” she said for lack of anything better to say. “You’re Lawson’s friend,” she added.

  “I’m Griffin Black.” He held out his hand for her to shake, as if she hadn’t nearly maimed him for life two minutes earlier.

  His skin was rough as he took her hand in his, holding on to it for a second longer than necessary. She’d spent way too much time alone in her apartment lately because this was all it took to completely turn her on. A little buzz zipped from her hand down through her stomach, lighting up those dormant places she’d ignored over the last year.

  “You need to keep your dog in a crate when you drive,” he said. “It’s not safe to have her on your lap.”

  Val nodded. She’d never been a dog owner so it hadn’t occurred to her to do that. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  He smiled, slow and deliberate, then pushed his sunglasses up on the top of his head, revealing rich brown eyes that she could stare into forever.

  Stare into forever? Val mentally chastised herself. She was still in writer’s mode and her overactive imagination was continuing to navigate all the creative avenues that brought a man and woman together, which wasn’t happening here. In this situation, she had said her apologies and was now going to continue on her way to the nursing home.

  “I’ll definitely put her in a crate next time. I promise. Thank you, and I’m sorry again.” She turned to reach for her car door. But if she did that, Sweet Cheeks was going to launch herself at Griffin or, worse, into the road. She couldn’t allow Alma’s precious puppy to become roadkill.

  She’d paused, contemplating what to do, when Griffin headed around the car toward the passenger side door.

  “I wouldn’t do that. I’m not sure if she bites,” Val started, holding up a hand.

  Not listening, he opened the door anyway. Sweet Cheeks hopped over the center console, barking all the way to the passenger seat, and stopped at his outstretched hand. Sniffing every square inch, her ears perked to his gentle speech. “Sit,” he ordered.

  The devil pup hesitated and then, magically, sat. Griffin pulled a treat out of his coat pocket and slipped it to her.

  He has dog treats in his pocket?

  Val stood dumbfounded for a second and then opened her driver side door and got in. Sweet Cheeks turned and hopped back into her lap.

  “You can’t drive like that. You’ll get yourself killed,” Griffin said, dipping his head in the passenger side of her car. “Do you have a leash for her?” he asked.

  “Um. Yeah.” She reached for the jeweled leash in the middle console and handed it to him, watching as he pulled a MacGyver-style maneuver with the lap belt. Sweet Cheeks moved an inch in each direction, then relented and lay down on the seat, lowering her head between her paws. “Wow.”

  Griffin nodded. “You should be safe now. And so should everyone else in your path.” He winked, which did silly things to her stomach, and closed the door. She wondered if he’d just walk away and leave it at that. That’s what she needed him to do because the morning and this incident had her all out of sorts.

  No such luck. He reappeared at her window and knocked. She rolled it down, pulling her lower lip into her mouth as she met his dark eyes again.

  “It was nice to finally meet you, Val,” he said. “Maybe next time we see each other at Heroes, you won’t be stuck-up and you’ll say hello.”

  Her mouth fell open. WTH? Before she could reply—and how did you reply to such a rude statement?—he turned and headed back to his motorcycle. She watched as he straddled the bike—which also did all kinds of silly things to her stomach—and steered it back onto the road. Then he drove away in a blaze of dust.

  She continued to sit there for a long moment. He’d been joking, right? She wasn’t stuck-up. She just hadn’t wanted Griffin to ever catch her staring at him at the bar—all for research, of course, because she was the preacher’s daughter and he looked like sex on a skewer. He was what she could fantasize about when she was writing under her pen name, Sophie Evans, but not what she could bring home to Daddy for dinner.

  Stuck-up?

  Val looked at Sweet Cheeks, who looked equally offended at the comment. Pulling new air into her lungs, she checked her rearview mirror and pulled back onto the road to go in search of chocolate before reaching her destination. After that incident, chocolate was in order. If she ever saw Griffin Black again, she would indeed be exchanging words with him.

  —

  Griffin pulled his Harley back on the two-lane road, heading east this time. Before his near collision, he’d been taking a drive to clear his mind, a thing he often did before going to the nursing home where he’d recently had his mother transferred from California. He shook his head, his thoughts more convoluted than ever, thanks to the beautiful woman and frisky ball of fury at her side. Trooper, his retired military K-9, could’ve eaten Val’s puppy—if you could call it that—for a snack. Not that Trooper would’ve. He was a gentle German shepherd who’d seen too much during their tours together in Iraq and Afghanistan, and who now deserved “the spoiled life,” as Griffin called it. He was happy for Trooper’s freedom. He, on the other hand, had at least another ten years to serve before he was eligible for early retirement, which was fine by him. He loved his job as a military K-9 officer.

  Griffin pulled into the parking lot of Seaside Harbor nursing home and cut the engine, leaving an empty space on either side of him because, while Trooper was his closest friend, his motorcycle came in at a close second. Yeah, he had human friends here, Lawson and Micah to name a couple, but his dog and bike were…hell, with his mom in her current condition and the rest of his family in California, they were as close to family as he had these days.

  He laid his helmet in the metal compartment off the back of his bike and headed inside the large brick ranch-style facility. His mother hadn’t called him by name or even recognized his face in over a year. That’s why he’d moved her here from the facility she’d been in before. He would be stationed at Camp Leon for at least another two years. That was time he could spend helping his mother remember, if possible.

  “Hey there, Griffin,” Louise, the head nurse who often manned the front desk, called.

  “Hey. How’s Mom?” he asked.

  “She only ate a few bites of her lunch, but she declared it the best food she’s ever had. Now she’s watching TV in the community area.”

  Best food she’s ever had? As a prestigious professor who’d lectured around the globe, his mother had eaten at some of the finest dining establishments in the world. Now Seaside Harbor evidently had the best grub. Things had changed a hell of a lot over the years.

  “Thanks.” He kept walking toward the end of the long center hall where the community area was. Inside there was a large flat screen TV, several chairs, and a sofa. There was also a table in the corner for playing card games, which his mother no longer understood.

  Several residents looked up as he entered the room.

  “Griffin!” Alma Edwards cheered. She was in a housedress like she wore every day and her hair made perfect rolls that added two inches to her head’s diameter in each direction. She clapped her hands in front of her chest, smiling at the sight of him. Whereas his own mother stared right through him, like he was a stranger who was here to visit someone else.

  “Hey, Alma. How are you?”

  “Ready to go home and see my precious,” she said, folding her lower lip down.

  “No, you aren’t. You like it here. Admit it,” another elderly woman said. “Now come join us to look at Marge’s new magazine.”

  Alma nodded, holding tightly to her walker. “Her family brings the best magazines,” she explained, waving at Griffin and following the other lady across the room.

  Griffin turned to look at his mother. “Hey, Mom,” he said, walking over to where she sat in a rocking chair. A small smile stamped her thin lips as her gaze fluttered
up to meet his.

  “Hello there,” she said, confusion lacing her expression. She was just as polite as ever, not saying what her eyes clearly read: Who the hell are you?

  “I’m Griffin. Your son,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  She quickly drew hers away. Strangers at best.

  “How’re you doing, Mom?”

  His mother’s forehead bounced softly as she seemed to be figuring out what to say. The doctor he’d spoken to about his mother’s condition said her early onset Alzheimer’s could affect more than memories. She might “lose her words,” he’d said. Or forget basic things like what to do with a cup. She might remember those things again, temporarily, but for the most part, this disease was progressive. It only got worse.

  Not responding to his question, his mother returned to watching the TV, where The Golden Girls was playing. Griffin watched, too. They sat together quietly for a long moment until a commotion arose among a few of the women sitting on the other side of the room. Griffin watched the spunky woman who’d nearly killed him ten minutes earlier walk in. She had a long bag draped on one shoulder and a little purse with a puppy head peeking out on the other side. The puppy inside spotted him first and started yapping loudly, poking a leg through the hole and doing its best to wiggle out of confinement.