Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Pineiro, Charity

  “Hi, yourself,” she said, giving him a hug and a light kiss.

  He growled when she pulled away, cupping her head and pressing her close for a longer, deeper set of kisses. Before she knew it, he was backing her into their bedroom and going at her clothes with a determination that made her laugh.

  “And here I thought you were tired.”

  He tsked. “I'm never too tired for this.”

  Once he had her naked, he laid her back on the bed, smoothed his hand over her stomach, then froze. He leaned in closer, pressing her thighs apart to get a better view. With the lightest of touches, he ruffled the dainty curls that had been shaped into a heart.

  “Wow.”

  She pursed her lips. “That's it? Wow? Do you have any idea how traumatic it is for a woman to get waxed?”

  “No.” He rubbed her lower stomach in soft, soothing circles. “If it's uncomfortable, then stop doing it.” Kissing her stomach, he slowly skimmed his way down to her core and nuzzled her. “But I have to say, this heart's damn sexy.”

  “Then it's worth a little embarrassment to have it done.”

  He raised a questioning brow. “Just what happens at these wax places?“

  She pushed his head down. “Would you stop talking and get back to what you were doing?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” he said. As always, he put his best effort forward with magical results.

  An hour later, they were lying content in each other's arms when Melina remembered. “Lucy called.”

  “And?” There was no mistaking the wariness in Rhys's tone.

  “She said the dean is bugging her about doing another presentation with Jamie. Apparently, they made quite an impression the first time.”

  “How fast did she say no?”

  “Actually, I was surprised. She said yes. She grumbled about it the whole time, though. She said she's trying to soften the dean up so she'll get some extra grant money.”

  Rhys snorted. “Soft isn't really Lucy's thing. She's got the hots for the professor.”

  Melina gasped. “Are you kidding? Lucy and Jamie? No way. That's like…like putting together—”

  “What?” Rhys questioned. “A footloose professional magician and a small-town entomologist?”

  He tugged on her arm, and she curled back into him. “I suppose anything's possible, but that would be truly shocking.”

  “As shocking as Max having the hots for Grace?”

  “What?” she shrieked. She shoved him away, stood, and slipped into her robe. After tying her belt, she propped her hands on her hips. “Okay, now you're just playing with me.”

  Rhys threaded his fingers behind his head and shrugged.

  “When?”

  “The night after you accosted me on stage wearing nothing but your bikini. Grace called the theater to check in with you, and Max answered the phone. I have no idea what was said or if and when they've ever met in person. All I know is that he's been walking around in a daze, muttering her name. He's reverted back to his old ways, nothing like the new-and-improved Maxwell Dalton, magician and host of the getting-to-be-quite-famous Dalton Theater.”

  Still trying to imagine Grace with Max, or heaven forbid, Lucy with Jamie, Melina walked to her dresser and touched the little box she'd set there earlier. Smiling wickedly, she decided to wait a little while longer before she gave it to him. “Well, I suppose he deserves some time off for good behavior. Let's not forget we're together because of him.”

  Rhys snorted. “Let's not forget he's the reason I didn't get into your pants when you were sixteen.”

  “Like that would have happened.” When he stared at her, she smirked. “Okay, it would've definitely happened. But who can blame him for being jealous of you? He felt bad and tried hard to make amends.”

  Eyes wide, Rhys stood and waved his palm in front of her face. “Hello? This is the same man who copped to taking an ax to Metamorphosis.”

  Melina smacked his hand away. “Impulsive, but determined. He knew you weren't going to be happy with Seven Seas so he made sure it didn't happen. Then he worked like a madman to get you guys signed at the Portofino Casino. You both did.”

  “I suppose,” Rhys grumbled. “In any case, the meeting with the attorneys to nail down the final contract went well today.” He lit up. Rubbing his hands together, he started untying her belt. “Now I get to enjoy the fruits of my labor—at home and in my bed with my own little sex dynamo—while he has to slog through standing-room-only performances in the newest luxury resort in Vegas.”

  Melina rolled her eyes. “Yes, I'm sure all that fame and female attention will get old eventually.” He knelt in front of her, peeled back her robe, and kissed her stomach. She ran her hand through his hair and peered down at him. “Sex dynamo, huh?”

  “Hey, you're the one who bought the crotchless underwear and crop. I was just your hapless victim.”

  She jumped on him and pushed him down at the same time, digging her fingers into his ribs even as he did exactly what she wanted him to. Flipping her onto her back, he covered her with his body and pinned both wrists above her head with one hand. “I love that this is your favorite position,” he whispered, then laughed when she tried to knee him. He easily deflected the blow, pushed her legs apart, and rubbed the hardest part of him against the softest part of her.

  They moaned together, and he took that as his cue to get busy with his free hand.

  “Before you—” She gasped when he sucked her nipple into his mouth, then flicked it with his tongue. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she tugged to get his attention. “Before you distract me with sex, can I ask you a serious question?”

  He groaned dramatically and dropped his forehead lightly on her chest. “If you must, but make it quick. I have a wife to satisfy.”

  “Be honest. Do you have any regrets about leaving the act?”

  He sighed then met her gaze. “Just one,” he said.

  She jerked in surprise, inadvertently rubbing against his erection. He bit back a moan even as he shook his head. “Don't look like that. I love my life. I love our home, love being able to travel with you when we want, love that I get to manage my brother's flourishing career and charge him an obscene amount of money for the tricks that I invent for him. Most of all, I love that I can have all that and you can be happy studying your bugs at UNLV. I love you.”

  “Then what's your one regret?”

  He lowered his head and whispered in her ear.

  She smiled. This time when she rubbed against him it was deliberate. “That's okay. That pair of cuffs has bad memories, anyway. Think how fun it'll be to find our new favorite pair.” It shouldn't be hard, she thought, given the assorted restraints that now waited on her dresser. But for now, she wanted only to enjoy his touch.

  THE END

  Thank you so much for reading Bedding The Wrong Brother!

  If you enjoyed Bedding The Wrong Brother, I would love to ask you a favor and have you go back to wherever you purchased this book and leave an honest review.

  Authors live and die by their reviews, and the few extra seconds it takes you really helps us authors out.

  And if you enjoyed this book, the sequel Bedding The Bad Boy (Grace and Max's story) will be available April 1 at all eRetailers and Bedding The Billionaire (Lucy and Jamie’s story) will be coming soon. Join my mailing list at www.virnadepaul.com for an update. In addition, you'll find the same heart and heat in my other books, whether they are contemporary, paranormal, romantic suspense, or erotic romance.

  About the Author

  Virna DePaul

  Virna DePaul is a former criminal prosecutor and bestselling author of steamy, suspenseful fiction. Whether featuring vampires, a Para-Ops team, hot cops, or swoon-worthy identical twin brothers, her stories center around complex individuals willing to overcome incredible odds for love. She writes for Harlequin Romantic Suspense, HQN, and Random House, and is also a bestselling indie author.

  Readers can check out Virna’s books at her web
site, http://virnadepaul.com/.

  You can also find her on Facebook or Twitter

  Email: virna@virnadepaul.com

  Additional Books by Virna DePaul

  BEDDING THE BAD BOY: This sequel to Bedding The Wrong Brother is rated HHH ("Heat, Heart & HEA") and includes naughty activities in a moving vehicle, sexting and dirty talk, a baby daddy plan, a southern magnolia fighting her kinky side, and a bad boy willing to do whatever it takes to make her fly. Full steam ahead!

  WILD FOR MR. WRONG

  CHOSE BY SIN

  CRAZY IN LOVE

  by Kristin Miller

  A Blue Lake Novel

  Chapter One

  Rachael McCoy had never rented the entire Blue Lake Historical Inn to a single person before. But a rock star like Cole Turner had never come to town, either.

  He was playing at StoneMill Winery Friday and Saturday night, from what she’d heard. She’d also heard he was voted “Rock Vocalist of the Year”, but hadn’t written a single song since he signed his first music contract. He was more of an entertainer than a musician, really—a music industry puppet with a pretty face and a hot body—and willing to sing anything for the right amount of money.

  At least that’s what the Google article said.

  If it was true, she couldn’t fault the guy. After all, the only reason she agreed to leave all the rooms in the inn vacant for the next four days was because he’d offered to pay a hefty sum of cash in exchange for privacy. She was in the middle of a massive inn expansion—the out-building to the east would soon have a few rooms with a separate living room and small kitchen. By letting Mr. Turner rent out the inn, she was making four times as much as she would’ve if the rooms were full of regular paying tenants.

  She stopped vacuuming the throw rug in the main living space and checked the clock.

  Five on the nose.

  Mr. Turner wasn’t scheduled to show up until eight, which gave Rachael plenty of time to stock up the fridge and make sure the rooms were still in order. She drove to SawMill Market just before dark, and picked up some basics that’d make a few solid meals.

  Cole Turner was on everyone’s lips.

  He’s staying at the inn for the next four days, and then driving to Lake Tahoe for a mid-week show at Harrah’s. Will he have extra tickets to the show? Will he be bringing his manager…I hear she’s a woman, a real looker.

  Refusing to get caught up in the gossip, Rachael rushed through the register, loaded up the back of her Rav4, and drove to the inn. She pulled into a tiny driveway on the side and parked near the back door. After she unloaded the groceries, she kicked the door shut, and paused…listening.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Suddenly, the upstairs shower faucet squeaked and water flushed through the pipes.

  The inn was not unfamiliar with light paranormal activity from time to time. No one had ever seen a ghost, but they rattled pipes, tweaked picture frames, and shook beds. This was different. There was a lingering scent on the air—saffron, cedar wood, and something heady—and a leather jacket thrown over the back of the couch.

  Someone was in the house.

  She’d locked up before she went to the store, and Mr. Turner’s manager said he’d call when they were getting close to Blue Lake. No calls. Doors still locked, the way she’d left them.

  Chills gathered at the nape of her neck. Yanking open the cabinet drawer, Rachael grabbed the biggest knife she could find, and gripped it tight.

  “Hello?” she called. “Hellloooo!”

  Footsteps overhead.

  Couldn’t be a thief. Thieves didn’t pass up televisions and radios to shower. Was it a bum? Some drunk on his way home from the brewery who broke into the wrong house?

  It had to be Mr. Turner. He must’ve arrived early. Looking out the front windows, she scanned the drive and sidewalk. No cars. No entourage. No groupies. Didn’t they still follow rock stars around?

  Even though the logical part of her thought Mr. Turner was upstairs, she’d seen enough horror movies to know that under no circumstances should she go check. Being hacked to pieces didn’t sound appealing.

  As she dug around in her purse for her phone, footsteps pounded overhead.

  “Holy fuck!” a man screamed from upstairs. “Cold! It’s fucking ice—cold!”

  Out of instinct, she ran to the first landing and yelled, “You have to let it warm up first!”

  More cursing blared from the direction of the bathroom.

  “Hello?” she called. “Excuse me!”

  “Coldcoldcoldcold.” Someone hopped around over the tile. “What the hell kind of place is this? Rita didn’t say shit about cold showers.”

  Definitely not a thief.

  She trudged up the stairs and stopped when she reached the top.

  “I’m going to kill her!” he hollered.

  Murderer, then.

  “Who’s there?” Her hands slickened with sweat and when she turned the corner into the hallway, the knife slipped from her fingers. She bent to pick it up, and when she stood upright, a man stood in the middle of the hallway…buck freaking naked. She gasped, averting her gaze, but she’d already seen enough. Rock hard body. Golden skin dripping wet. Hung like a horse.

  Wouldn’t get that sight out of her head for a while.

  “Rachael, I presume?” he said.

  She nodded, shielding her eyes from his manhood. “And you are?”

  “Not here to hurt you. You can put away the knife.”

  Wasn’t that what every killer would say to disarm a woman? She held it up, just in case.

  “Listen,” he said, covering his junk with his hands. “I’ve got a lot of flesh showing and you’re wielding a knife around. Those two don’t mesh. Why don’t you put that away so we can introduce ourselves properly? I’m Cole Turner, your guest for the next few days. I believe you were expecting me.”

  The worry in her mind eased, but her body remained tight. On high alert. “Rachael McCoy.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  He held out his hand, exposing himself.

  She yelped, covering her eyes once more. “There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door.”

  “Robes are for women.”

  She pinched her eyes shut, but images of his soaking wet bod kept flashing through her head. “Okay, then. Nice to meet you, Mr. Turner. I wasn’t expecting you until later, but everything should already be good to go. I’m going to start dinner—it should be sexy in about an hour if you want to meet downstairs in the dining room.”

  “Sexy?”

  She blocked the lower half of his body with her hand and met his honey-brown eyes. They were narrowed. Hungry. Like a predator eyeing its prey.

  “Excuse me?” she said, repressing a shiver.

  “You said dinner should be sexy in an hour.”

  “No, I said it’d be ready.”

  He nodded, smirking. “My mistake.”

  “I can show you around the place, if you’d like,” she said, her face flushing hot, “or you can check it out yourself. There are five bedrooms upstairs, and four downstairs, one bathroom on each level.”

  “I saw that,” he grumbled. “I also noticed the freezing cold water. Does it ever get warm, or do I have to bathe in a glacier every morning?”

  “You have to let it run for a few minutes first.” She started down the stairs, fighting the urge to steal one more glance at his body. “And you probably won’t have much hot water when it warms up, so I suggest you bathe quickly.”

  “Thanks for the tip. And, hey, sorry about scaring you. The side door to the den was open and I was filthy. I didn’t think you’d mind if I showered.”

  Filthy. Oh yeah, he was probably dirty to the core.

  Something deep in her belly squirmed excitedly at the thought.

  “No problem,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She’d completely forgotten to ask him about how he’d gotten in.

  When she reached the first floor,
the air whooshed out of her lungs and her legs wobbled. She nearly collapsed against the wall, laughing from her body’s reaction to this man. He oozed raw sex appeal. Not only from his body—though good gracious, she’d never seen a man with so many muscles—but from his caramel-colored eyes, the subtle pout of his bottom lip, the way he stood in front of her buck naked with more confidence than she had fully dressed.

  Don’t get involved.

  He’s staying less than a week.

  She had steadfast rules about these things: no sleeping with guests. It never panned out well. Single men who stayed at the inn had propositioned her more times than she could count. They wanted flings over their vacations, something to go home and tell their buddies about. They promised to call, swore to come back and visit.

  They never did. Not one of them.

  Cole Turner may’ve flustered her, but she was over it…she had to be.

  Chapter Two

  The innkeeper was one hot piece.

  Who would’ve thought?

  Cole slicked back his hair, dabbed on some cologne, and checked himself in the mirror. He’d planned on going out tonight, seeing what Blue Lake had to offer in the women department, but now…he was going to stay right where he was.

  Convenient.

  Did Rita scope this place out before booking it? She probably thought she could keep him out of the bars and questionable pictures off the Internet by reserving somewhere with a hot host.

  As the tour moved along, she was getting better and better at her job. He’d have to give her a raise.

  Making his way downstairs, Cole scoped out the place where he’d be spending the next few days. The walls were painted cigar-brown with wood accents and long, draping curtains. In the living room, a large stone hearth was surrounded by leather chairs and couches, lending to the cozy cabin feel. Down the stairs and to the left, a hallway branched off—to the four bedrooms she mentioned, he supposed—and to the right, an entryway led to a large dining room. Five tables and chairs provided ample space for guests to dine; it was probably hopping in the summer.