Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Pineiro, Charity

  She racked her memory for everything Cousin Jeremy had taught her about changing a tire. She got out the jack and shoved it under the car, pumping hard to raise it from the ground high enough to remove the flat. With two hands gripping the wrench, she grunted and groaned and put every ounce of strength into unscrewing the bolts that held the lug-nuts in place. She ignored the stream of rainwater that poured inside the neckline of her slicker and slid down her spine into the back of her jeans as she squatted beside the tire. When the last bolt finally came free, Veronique rocked back with the force of her efforts and landed with a wet splat in the mud, on the soggy seat of her jeans.

  She let out an exasperated snort and shoved her sopping hair out of her eyes, tucking her stray curls behind her ears. Normally, she didn’t mind getting wet, but this was ridiculous. Summoning her last reserve of energy, she put the spare on, then forced herself up and put away the flat tire and tools. Her muscles twanged with the effort of keeping balance as the wind and rain swirled around her. She covered the car seat as best she could with the damp towel. It was disheartening to see that her foot quivered when she hit the accelerator. Ignoring it, she clutched the steering wheel and focused on the road ahead.

  A bit worse for wear, but triumphant, she was on her way. Dusk was settling in as Veronique pulled up to Nick’s. She noticed that the windows had since been shuttered. Well, at least the tyrant wasn’t taking the hurricane lightly. She honked the horn and waited a few minutes. When Nick didn’t appear, she blared it until she saw the front door swing open.

  That got his attention. Wild-eyed with aggravation, he looked like a wicked pirate ready to pounce on her with a vengeance. “What are you doing here?” he roared.

  “I brought you stuff,” Veronique called out.

  When Nick didn’t budge from the front door, she lied, “I need help. My foot is hurt.” It wasn’t really a lie. Her right foot had been trembling earlier and she felt gravel grinding into the heel of her foot.

  “I have plenty of hurricane supplies,” she yelled when he didn’t move. “You’re going to need this stuff tonight.”

  The blistering look on Nick’s face was priceless before he slammed the front door.

  Stunned, Veronique closed her eyes and prayed he would come to his senses and be civil. She got out of the car, adopted an exaggerated limp and hobbled up the path to his front door.

  Just before she reached the veranda, Nick darted outside and came toward her in a yellow fisherman’s slicker. He snatched the car keys out of her hand and looped one brawny arm around her midsection, hefting her against his hard side. He carted her up the steps in that inglorious way, her feet dangling above the floor.

  Within moments, he flung the door open and carefully deposited her in the small foyer. Nick’s longish hair grazed his corded neck above the plastic slicker. He smelled good, an appealing mixture of rain and male. Veronique suddenly felt lightheaded. She couldn’t blame it on not having eaten lunch today—Nick’s heady proximity made desire zip through her like lightning.

  He briskly helped her out of her wet slicker and handed her a beach towel. “Dry off. You’re dripping on the floor.”

  Veronique gratefully wrapped herself in the towel and used one corner to absorb the water dripping from her hair so it wouldn’t leak on the wooden floor. Mortified, she realized she was shaking. It had to be the lack of food all day.

  Nick’s large hand curled around her nape as he peered into her eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

  Veronique nodded and swallowed hard, determined not to let his tender touch open the floodgates of emotion precariously held in check. All the brashness was knocked out of her at the remembrance of a much younger Nick bandaging her scraped knees after a horse had thrown her, or putting an ice pack on her aching head after a run-in with a soccer ball. Even when she’d driven him crazy, he’d treated her with consideration, just like he’d treated the other kids away from home for the summer.

  The most vivid recollection made her eyes well up unexpectedly. She was transported back fifteen years to mid-July at a ranch house in North Carolina where she had huddled in the bushes around midnight, terrified at the police circling the grounds, searching for her.

  Nick had been the first to spot her and coax her out. But instead of scolding her because it was the second time she’d tried to run away that summer, he’d patted her back and soothed her while she’d cried her heart out. She had loved being with her friends at camp, but she’d also been desperate to go home, fearing that her dad would self-destruct and die while she was away. Tragically, her fears had been realized when Daddy died that very summer.

  Exhausted, hungry, and drenched to the bone, Veronique felt physically and emotionally spent. Nick’s gaze met hers with a mixture of exasperation and concern. She wanted to thank him, but she couldn’t risk her voice sounding as quivery as she felt—vulnerable and too exposed before his eyes.

  “Where are you going?” she asked when he turned and pushed open the front door against a strong gust of wind.

  “To unload your stuff before the storm gets worse,” he said.

  “I’ll help.”

  “No, you’re hurt. How bad is it?” he asked, eyeing her foot.

  She looked at her foot and twirled it cautiously. “Actually…it feels better now. Must have been gravel in my shoe.”

  He gave her a baleful look. “Stay here.”

  “I’d rather help.” She felt silly being caught in the lie and didn’t like the censure in his scalding eyes.

  “No.” The rigid set of his jaw convinced her to stay inside while he carried in box after sopping cardboard box of supplies.

  In the kitchen, she peeked inside the Sub Zero refrigerator. Surprisingly, it was well stocked with fresh fruit, milk, bread, cheese and cold cuts. The freezer had several neatly stacked frozen meals and a pint of dulce de leche ice cream. The state-of-the art kitchen had a stainless steel Jenn-Air six burner gas cooktop and a microwave/convection double oven. The frozen meals had probably been made by a housekeeper, unless he’d taken up cooking. Nick had to have a housekeeper; the place was too tidy and sparkling clean for bachelor’s digs unless he was a neat freak and the Nick she remembered wasn’t.

  Nick returned with the final box and when everything was laid out on the black granite island counter, he turned to her with an incredulous look.

  “Who taught you how to prepare for a hurricane?” He gestured toward the batteries, Sterno cans, flashlights, small portable radio, LED lantern, bottled water, canned and dried goods.

  “I wasn’t a girl scout and summer camp regular for nothing,” she retorted with a grin. She pulled a bottle of wine out of her shoulder bag. “Look what I brought for the hurricane party.”

  “You are a hurricane,” he stated bluntly. “You look like hell, yet you’re grinning with that feisty look in your eyes. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I aim to find out real soon.”

  She shrugged. “When Abby hits, you’ll be thankful that I saved your hide for the next few days.”

  “It’ll be your hide that needs saving if you don’t clear out of here by morning, if it doesn’t,” he said grimly.

  Veronique ignored his rude threat. “Do you realize that within hours we might not have any power? The roads will be blocked by debris and fallen power lines. We might be—”

  “We?” he cut in. “I don’t like the sound of that, Veronique. There’s nothing I’d like more than to toss you out of here, but you can stay until the storm passes.”

  She wondered why he was calling her Veronique now. No doubt to get some distance from the past.

  “Thanks for letting me stay.” He was reluctantly allowing her to stay. Score one for me, she thought, ineffectually hiding her joy. “Since you’re in such a generous mood, I’d like to request a hot shower. If you don’t mind, kind sir.”

  “I do mind. Not that it seems to bother you.”

  “You used to have a beautiful smile. Why don’t you smile more often?”
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br />   He responded with a snort and abruptly left her in the kitchen. He returned carrying two folded towels and one of his T-shirts.

  “Thanks. Which way to the bathroom?” she asked.

  “Down the hall to your right.”

  She lingered beside him, not wanting to go yet.

  “Have you eaten dinner?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “No wonder you looked lightheaded when I set you down.”

  “I didn’t have time to eat.”

  “Canned soup and a sandwich will have to do.”

  She smiled. “Fine with me. I’m not picky.”

  The air between them was clogged with tension as neither spoke. Veronique was the first to break the silence. “I’m looking forward to a nice, hot shower. I had to change a flat tire on my way back here.” She wriggled and gave him an impish grin. “It feels like I have mud and leaves in places a lady shouldn’t mention.”

  “Since when were you ladylike?” The corners of his mouth quirked up sardonically. “You wouldn’t be complaining about mud if you’d evacuated like any other sane person.”

  “Is that an admission of insanity?” When he didn’t respond, she chided, “Don’t be ungrateful. I brought the goods, remember?”

  “I didn’t ask for them, remember?” He took her elbow, causing gooseflesh to rise where his callused fingertips touched her skin. He led her down the hall, stopping in front of the bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom. “Here you go. You’ll find what you need in there. My housekeeper keeps it well-stocked.”

  He turned and started walking away.

  “You’re leaving? I might need my back scrubbed,” she said with a coy smile.

  “Get going.” He opened the door for her and lightly swatted her bottom as she stepped forward.

  “Hey, watch it,” she said, her hand flying to her bottom.

  His mouth twitched. “There’s more where that came from,” he said dryly.

  She rolled her eyes. “Not bloody likely. I know some Tae Kwon Do.”

  His derisive snort told her what he thought of that as he ambled away.

  Veronique entered the black and white marble bathroom and groaned when she saw herself in the wall-to-wall mirror. What a bedraggled mess! No wonder Nick hadn’t been tempted to scrub her back…or anything else.

  He hadn’t been kidding earlier when he’d said she looked like hell. That had been a kind understatement. Black streaks of mascara crisscrossed her pale cheeks. Her freckles stood out in comic relief, the last of her concealing powder and glossy apricot lipstick long gone. Her bangs, usually side swept, were plastered to her forehead and her wet hair was encrusted with leaves and mud thanks to changing the tire in the storm.

  She turned away from the mirror and ran her palm across the sleek, white marble counter, marveling at how much Nick’s circumstances had changed over the past years. Through hard work and brilliant strategy, he had single-handedly risen from a disadvantaged childhood to a life of wealth and privilege. Despite his fall from grace last year, Nick still indulged his finer tastes. She rummaged through the black mahogany cabinets and delighted in finding the highest quality soaps and shampoo.

  She chose a eucalyptus scented body gel and shampoo and stepped onto the wooden floorboard of the glass paneled steam shower. She looked around, entranced by the many choices before her: a hand held showerhead, an eight-jet acupuncture massage shower beside a small cedar bench, and an oversized rainfall ceiling shower. Within seconds, she stood in the soothing mist of a eucalyptus-scented rainfall, feeling as if she were in a tropical rain forest.

  Fifteen minutes later, restored and invigorated by the hot shower, Veronique rubbed her squeaky-clean body with a plush towel. Good thing Nick’s black T-shirt reached her knees because she’d have to go sans panties and bra until they dried.

  She washed her delicate under things by hand, but her outer clothing needed a good washing in a machine. Hopefully, she could get them in the washer and dryer before the power went out. She hung her panties and bra on a towel rack and rolled her jeans and tee in the towel she’d just used to dry off. The other towel was snugly wrapped around her head, turban-style.

  Veronique had just taken a deep whiff of Nick’s after shave when loud knocks on the door nearly made her drop the bottle. She jumped at the sound of his deep voice.

  “Aren’t you finished yet? You’ve been in there a long time,” he said.

  “Yeah, be right out.”

  She recapped the bottle and put it back in the cabinet so quickly, the door closed shut with a loud thump.

  “Quit snooping,” he said gruffly.

  She giggled at being caught red-handed, rifling through his personal stuff. Nick knew her too well.

  “Hurry up. There’s someone here to see you,” he added.

  Veronique’s heartbeat tripped up and her throat constricted. Who could it possibly be? Nobody knew where she was, not even Teddy, her close childhood friend whose family lived in South Beach.

  Who would be there to see her in the middle of the storm?

  She felt the blood drain from her face as her body tensed, remembering the reason she was there.

  Chapter Four

  “Who’s here to see me?” Veronique cautiously opened the door and craned her toweled head from left to right, her eyes apprehensive as she scanned the area.

  “Rrruff!”

  She jumped when a chocolate Labrador retriever puppy nudged her knee with his wet nose and barked.

  “Why are you so jumpy? I just wanted you to meet Baxter,” Nick said. Ronnie sure was acting agitated over nothing.

  “Baxter?” She pointed to the lab suspiciously. “Is this who you said was waiting to see me?”

  “Yeah.” Nick watched her struggle to regain her composure as she pet Baxter’s fur and cooed over the dog. She’d always been an open book and it galled him to suspect that she was trying to hide something. “Who did you think it was?”

  She gave a dismissive shrug. “Never mind. I’m glad you have a dog. He’s so cute. Where’d you get him?”

  The alluring curve of Veronique’s pale, slim thighs snared Nick’s attention when she bent forward and scratched Baxter’s ears. He noted the sway of her high, round breasts. She probably wasn’t wearing a stitch underneath.

  Nick looked away and cleared his throat as he hardened with unbidden desire. “He’s the gardener’s dog. I offered to keep him during the hurricane. He spends a lot of time here anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” she said, giving Baxter a snug, little rubdown. “But why didn’t your gardener evacuate and take his dog? Does he live on the island?”

  “Yes, there’s a group of workers who live in a small house on the grounds of a large estate on the northern tip. They live there in exchange for taking care of the house and gardens while the owners are up north. They only come down in February and March.”

  “Sounds like a good arrangement all around.” She straightened and tugged at the T-shirt’s hem, making a production of smoothing it over the backs of her bare thighs as she sauntered by.

  Nick’s gaze gravitated to the cheeky sway of her bottom. From the way it jiggled slightly, he was certain she was bare there too. Hot lust swelled in his veins, thick and opulent.

  “I’m starving,” she said over her shoulder. “Can we eat now?”

  “Sure,” he said and forced his gaze away from the tempting sight.

  “Looks delish.” She smiled as he served her a bowl of minestrone soup and a ham and cheese sandwich. “Let’s have some of that wine I brought.”

  Nick filled two wine glasses with Malbec and joined her at the kitchen table.

  “Thanks.” She clinked his glass with hers. “Here’s to old times, Nick.”

  He wondered at the vast relief on her face when she’d found out the visitor was his dog. Just a few minutes ago, she’d looked shocked and then relieved. Now she looked too damned comfortable.

  With her face scrubbed clean and her shampooed hai
r wrapped in a towel, Veronique looked fresh and appealing. Her small pink earlobes drew his attention as he imagined how they’d taste between his lips. His gaze roved over her velvety neck and lower to her nipples where they pebbled against the soft cotton fabric of his T. Another tightening of lust made him adjust his position on the hard chair.

  She was going to be trouble.

  “How come I didn’t meet Baxter earlier?” she asked, drawing attention to her pursed mouth.

  “He was in the backyard.”

  “No wonder I didn’t see him. It’s an awfully big yard.” She motioned toward her bowl. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

  “I’m not hungry. I ate a while ago.”

  “That never stopped you before. You used to wolf down every meal or snack that came your way.”

  Well hell, I was making up for the lack of food during the rest of the year. It was feast and famine during the four years he’d worked as a summer camp counselor. Famine during the school year when his mom could barely feed his little sister and him, and feast at camp when he could eat all the good food the rich little kids turned their noses up at.

  Nick’s paychecks those summers had gone toward paying for the family groceries. His mom had worked two jobs to make sure he and his sister ate and had a roof over their heads. They’d never gone on food stamps, but they’d also eaten the cheapest ground beef in every way imaginable. He had vowed early on never to eat ground beef or peanut butter again.

  “I never saw anyone eat so much,” Veronique continued.

  Nick snorted. “Yeah, unlike you little rich girls who thought the camp food beneath you.”

  “I did not. I wasn’t eating because I thought a hunger strike would get me out of there so I could go home and check on Daddy.” She jutted her chin. “When that didn’t work, I gave up because I was starving.”

  He hiked a cynical brow. “How long did it take before you caved—one skipped meal?”

  “No. Two or three,” she admitted with a wry smile.

  “You girls didn’t know how good you had it. Even if I was working 24/7, it was a luxury to do camp activities I’d always craved growing up.”