Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Pineiro, Charity

  “I do.” He kissed her neck and the gentle swoop of her jaw. He wouldn’t stop until he’d kissed every delicate inch of her. “Upstairs.”

  He ran upstairs, rummaged through his luggage, and pulled out a condom. As he ran back down, taking the narrow steps two at a time, he pocketed the lifesaver.

  Rachael was leaning against the counter in the exact position he’d left her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were kissed pink, and she was buck naked, except for the robe that hung from her shoulders.

  Hurricane Turner had left a provocative wake.

  He charged through the kitchen, cupped her chin in his hands and crushed his mouth to hers. Groaning, he coiled his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet. He kept his eyes closed as he fumbled his way out of the kitchen and into the dining room. He knew he’d reached the living room when he accidently kicked over one of his guitar cases.

  “You didn’t break something, did you?” she asked, giggling into a kiss.

  “Don’t know,” he said. “And don’t care.”

  Nearly tripping over another case, he tossed Rachael onto the couch. She landed with her robe splayed out behind her, a curtain of red against her pale skin. She smiled wide and nailed him with a sultry, come-and-get-me glance.

  Sexiest sight ever.

  He committed the image to memory and got busy stripping out of his clothes. He kicked off his boots and jeans and slid the shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. In his frantic rush to be inside her, he’d forgotten the condom. He dug into his jeans pocket, tore through the wrapper and rolled it on.

  Seconds dragged by.

  Shaking with anticipation, Cole gripped her backside and slid her to the edge of the couch.

  They groaned in unison as their hips met. He stilled inside her, buried to the hilt.

  “Know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he said, as he slowly thrust in and out of her wetness. “Since you caught me in my towel.”

  She rested back onto the couch. Tilted her hips so his length would sink deeper into her heat. She was a hot glove of molten ecstasy. A perfect fit. Every muscle in his body clenched into a tight fist.

  “I wanted you that night, too,” she said.

  He stilled. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

  The corner of her lips pulled up into a grin. “Get down here, you cocky sucker.”

  “Cock and suck in the same sentence?” He plunged deeper. “Music to my ears.”

  She rose up, grabbed him by the back of the neck and brought him down over her. As skin met sweet-smelling skin, their bodies rocked together in an undulating rhythm that drove him to the brink. And when her inner walls began to clench around his shaft in tiny little pulses, his muscles seized. She cried out his name, and sent him careening over the edge with her.

  As the surges waned, Cole stilled, though he didn’t want to roll off just yet.

  She consumed him. From the rosy-sweetness of her hair and warmth of her body, to the soft pitter-patter of her heart beating through her chest. Her legs wrapped around his hips, and her arms around his back.

  He never wanted the moment to end, which was a new notion for him.

  Normally, he’d start thinking of a way to get out without hurting the woman’s feelings. But not a single idea of the sort entered his head. They could stay here. Throw a blanket on the floor, light a fire and curl up in front of it until dawn. He felt relaxed and drained, his muscles spent. Not a single thought of how he’d botched the concert could worry him now.

  “I need to get up,” she said, patting his back.

  Wasn’t that normally his line?

  He rolled off the couch and disposed of the condom as she wrapped herself in her robe and disappeared upstairs. For a long while, Cole wasn’t sure she’d come back down, and a pang of loneliness struck him, which was damn odd. When she finally trotted down the stairs, she swept into the kitchen without one glance his direction.

  Not what he’d expected.

  “Rachael?” he strode through the dining room without bothering to cover himself. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She filled a glass of ice water. “Why wouldn’t I be? Here.”

  He eyed the glass. “Don’t you want some?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  He stared, and tightened the slack in his jaw. Rachael may’ve tried to play up the shy vibe, but she was a vixen in the sack. Beyond that, the woman was a saint, caring for others over herself. Every one in town loved her—he was beginning to see why—and he hadn’t heard a bad word whispered behind her back. She was naturally beautiful unlike the plastic groupies who tried to mob him at every tour stop. She was stable. Kind and nurturing with a stubborn streak that would keep a relationship interesting and vibrant.

  She could have anyone she wanted…

  “What in the world are you doing with me?” he asked.

  She handed him the water. “Screwing your brains out, apparently.”

  “Well you did a damn fine job.” He drank until the glass was dry, but he was still thirsty. Same thing could be said for his thirst for the woman standing in front of him. “I can’t collect my thoughts.”

  She did a little bow. “Then my job here is done.”

  “I like it,” he said, pinching the collar of her robe. “It’s sexy.”

  “This?” As she glanced down, the lapels parted, revealing the plumpness of her breasts. “Are you serious?”

  He bit his lip, imaging all the things they could do with the robe tie.

  “If that’s the case, I think I really did screw your brains out.” She giggled. “This thing is ancient.”

  He tugged on the tie at her waist and hauled her against him. “Why don’t we go back into the living room and you can tell me all about it.”

  She stiffened in his arms. He could almost hear her thoughts racing.

  “Don’t you want to call it a night?” she said. “So we don’t confuse what this really is?”

  “And what is that?” He kept her bent against him. If he let go of her now, he might not get to touch her again.

  She swallowed hard and her gaze dropped to his chest. “A one night stand.”

  Using two fingers, he tiled her head so she could peer through the kitchen window over his table. High overhead, the moon shone brightly.

  “Unless I’m mistaken,” he said, “the night’s not over yet.”

  She met his gaze and smiled, warming his chest.

  “Okay.” She dropped her robe to the floor. “Close your eyes and count to ten. I’m going to hide somewhere in the inn. If you can find me, you can have me.”

  Hell yeah.

  As he closed his eyes, the pattering of her feet echoed into the dining room. He chanced one eye and caught sight of her glorious backside as she darted up the stairs.

  Oh, he’d find her all right. And when he caught her, he wouldn’t let go until dawn.

  Chapter Thirteen

  With a groan, Rachael rolled over and checked the time.

  Nine o’clock.

  She flopped back onto her pillow and covered her eyes with her hands. “I should make breakfast.”

  “You should stay right where you are.” Cole’s breath fanned over her neck, bringing back the chills he’d sparked all night long.

  “But I always make breakfast.”

  He danced his fingers over her bare stomach. “Not this morning.”

  She stared at him out of the corner of her eye. His dark hair was a mess, sticking up every-which-way. His eyes were heavy-lidded in a groggy, I’m-going-to-screw-you-until-you-can’t-walk kind of way.

  “Are you always this convincing?” she asked, rolling over to face him.

  He shrugged. “Usually.”

  “I can’t get used to this, you know. I have guests checking in on Monday.”

  “We’re not going there,” he said, resting a finger over her lips. “We’re not talking about Monday. Hell, we’re not even going to talk about tomorrow. Rita asked me to do two things
today: stay away from StoneMill until right before the concert, and focus.”

  “Staying here isn’t going to help you focus on the show.”

  “You’re right.” He brushed his hand down her hair. “I’m going to focus on something else instead.”

  Her.

  He was going to focus on her.

  God, what she wouldn’t give to let that happen. They’d made love four times last night. Her lips were numb, her legs were tingling, and her girly parts could use a break. It’d been the best sex of her life, but she’d told herself each time that this was it.

  It had to end at daybreak.

  An entire day with Cole…Could she handle that? The more he stood at her side the more she wanted him there.

  Would she be able to watch him leave tomorrow morning?

  “What’d you have in mind?” she asked, her breath already starting to hitch.

  He brushed his fingers down her neck, over her shoulder, and down her arm. His lazy caresses lulled her into a weary trance.

  “I was thinking we could spend the day together,” he said. “You mentioned lakes and rivers down the road that caught my interest. Or maybe you could show me what’s so great about this town of yours.”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t.” Her heart fell. “Even though the place isn’t full, I still have to stop by the grocery store. And I have a meeting with the designer and painter for the inn addition this afternoon.”

  “All right,” he said, without skipping a beat. “Sounds great.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, why not? As long as I’m back at StoneMill by show time.”

  He seemed so eager to be with her outside of the bed. Shock flittered through her.

  “If I’m going to show you the town, what are you going to show me?” she teased.

  “Oh, if that’s what you want I’ll give you an eyeful!” Grabbing the sheet, he yanked it over their heads and covered her body with kisses…focusing on a few places more than others.

  After they made love again and the clock ticked over to eleven, Rachael rolled out of bed and slipped into the shower. She thought Cole would come in behind her so they could add more steam to the bathroom, but he didn’t.

  She got out, dressed in her usual—jeans, a loose-fitting sweater, and black boots—and finished getting ready, pulling her hair into a ponytail. She carefully painted her eyelids with charcoal liner and glossed her lips with Lucky in Pink. She could use the extra luck today.

  As she made her way downstairs, the smell of eggs struck her.

  “Cole?”

  “In here,” he called from the kitchen. “Hope you like omelets.”

  She loved them, and made them often. But as she turned the corner and spotted Cole near the stove, jeans slung low on his hips revealing those slanting muscles on the side of his abs, Rachael forgot what he’d said. His hair was damp—he must’ve taken a quick shower downstairs—and his torso rippled with perfectly sculpted muscle.

  “I didn’t know you cooked,” she said, throat going dry.

  He wagged a spatula at her. “There’s a ton you don’t know about me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I grew up in a small town like this.” He diced up tomatoes and bell peppers and added them to the omelet as he went on. “My parents owned a house in a tiny ocean town in Oregon.”

  “Really?” She’d planned on starting a pot of coffee, but there was already one freshly brewed. She poured a cup and sat in Cole’s usual spot. “Do they still live there?”

  He shrugged as if he didn’t care. “Wouldn’t know. My mom ditched out on us when I was ten. My dad moved us to Portland, but not long after that he said he couldn’t handle me anymore and sent me to live with my aunt in Los Angeles. I haven’t talked to either of them after that.” He flopped an omelet onto a plate and slid it across the table. “Ketchup? Tabasco?”

  “Umm, ketchup.” She replayed what he’d said in her head. “Thanks.”

  Both parents had abandoned him. No wonder he didn’t let anyone in. She’d thought he kept his private life private because the media would exploit every little detail, and maybe that was true. But there was more to it than that. He kept his private life private because he didn’t want to rehash it. It was probably too painful.

  He made his own plate and sat across from her. For the first time since she took ownership of the inn, she ate breakfast and didn’t think about washing the dishes or serving a full dining room. They talked about her parents, grandparents, and the inn remodel. She didn’t ask any more about his childhood, and he didn’t offer. He didn’t need to. It didn’t take mind-reading skills to figure out that his childhood had been difficult, and not what he’d wanted it to be.

  There were definitely more layers to Cole Turner than she’d assumed at first glance.

  As they finished eating, Cole took their plates and dumped them in the sink. He disappeared upstairs, and when he came back down, he’d added a black coat and gray scarf to his dark-washed jeans.

  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been grocery shopping?” he asked, as she locked up and they emerged onto Main Street. “Years.”

  “Must be nice to have personal shoppers and a chef.”

  They walked down the street like a normal couple out for a stroll. The air was cool and crisp—perfect for a walk—and the wood-planked sidewalks were full of tourists from the bay area.

  “You could have a chef, too,” he said, weaving between a group of ladies on a wine-tasting tour. A few whispered, and then started to squeal. He didn’t notice. Or at least he pretended that he didn’t. Either way he scored major points. “Once you get the inn addition fixed up, you might make enough money to have a chef.”

  She tried to imagine how that would work.

  “I don’t know if I’d like that. I enjoy serving the guests, hearing about their travels, where they’re from and where they’re headed. I think it adds a personal touch.”

  “Personally, I think your touch is what makes the place so memorable.” He brushed his hand against hers, but didn’t hold. “I didn’t know you get frisky with every visitor,” he joked. “I thought I was special.”

  He was special. At least that’s what the pinch in her heart told her.

  She gazed up at him and laughed when he winked. “Not every guest, but most. How’s that?” She stopped in front of Sawmill Market. “Here we are.”

  He removed a shopping basket from the lineup outside and followed her around the aisles as she picked up necessities. He playfully rammed into her backside with the cart a few times. Put a bunch of broccoli back when she wasn’t looking—said he hated the stuff—and added a box of Power Bars.

  It could be this way, she thought, as she stood in line at the register next to him. They could live in the inn, shop in the morning and cook together in the evening. He could write music and drive down the mountain to record when the time was right while she took care of the guests.

  They could have a normal life…

  As she turned from the conveyor belt, Cole plucked Gossip EZ Magazine from the shelves and stared at the front cover.

  “Damn it,” he said, flicking the front page.

  “What is it?” She peered around his shoulder.

  COLE TURNER BREAKS UP WITH BEAUTY, BECOMES BEAST ON STAGE! DETAILS ON TORI’S HEARTBREAK INSIDE.

  “It’s already made front page news,” he said.

  “At least they didn’t mention you forgetting the lyrics last night.” She blinked quickly when he glared at her. “Could be worse.”

  “That wouldn’t be worse.” He held up the magazine. “But at least I wouldn’t be called a beast.”

  “Sir, will you be buying the magazine?” the cashier asked. Her face dropped when she realized the likeness between the picture on the cover and the man in front of her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—“

  “It’s all right,” he said, shoving the magazine back into its rack. “I’m not buying this trash.”

/>   As Rachael paid for the groceries, Cole strode outside and waited for her near the front door.

  “Where to now?” Without being prompted to help, he carried every single bag, loading them onto his forearms. “Back to the inn?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got to unload these before the designer arrives.”

  They walked the slight uphill back to her place. Cole asked about the wineries on the main street, the cobblestone beneath their feet, and the gold mining history of the town. Rachael got the feeling he was making small talk so they didn’t have to talk about the magazine.

  “Why do you let it bother you so much?” she asked as they unloaded groceries into the fridge.

  He knew exactly what she meant without a lead-in. “Honestly, I think I’d prefer the article to be about the concert last night. I’d be more comfortable if it read: Cole Turner botches gig. If they wanted to say I couldn’t carry a tune or mock the fact that I don’t write my own music, fine. But calling me a beast for breaking Tori’s heart? Give me a break. I don’t know why everyone insists on blending my personal life with the one I lead on stage.”

  “Because you’re intriguing both on and off the stage.”

  He cocked a brow. “I’m not that intriguing.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  She bent to put carrots in the vegetable bin. Suddenly, Cole’s hands were on her waist and his hips were pressed against her backside.

  “Do you have to argue about everything?”

  She stood and spun around in his arms. “I think we can come together on a few things.”

  He kissed her then, weakening her knees. The feeling humming in her heart when he slipped his tongue past her lips warned that she was getting too attached to him too quickly. The whole day had been a façade, a fantasy version of what their life could be under different circumstances. If he wasn’t a rock star. If he was from somewhere local and planned to stick around longer than a day.

  24 hours, she realized.

  That’s all they had left.

  “What time is the designer coming?” he asked as his hands roamed up and down her back. “Do we have time for—”

  Two loud bangs on the window turned his attention elsewhere, dang it. His arms dropped from her waist and he circled back to the stove. She was suddenly cold without his arms coiled around her.