Rescuing the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

  Hearing her name, Gertie lifted her fuzzy head from her place at his feet.

  “Sorry to wake you, girl.” He ruffled her ears. When he pulled his hand away, Gertie laid her head back on the grass, blew out a heavy sigh, and closed her eyes. “I knew I was leaving the Cove, so I asked Caroline if she had any idea where I could work. New York was as good a choice as anywhere else. I just wanted to get the hell out of here.”

  She bristled.

  He noticed.

  “Help if I told you I had decided to leave before the night in the library?”

  Twisting her lips, she shook her head.

  “Didn’t think so.” He gave her a sad smile. “Aless didn’t need a cook, but he did need a mason. So he put me to work with this guy, Vic, who was in the process of building a wall around the back of Alessandre’s property. I helped. Took to it.”

  “All those visits to the quarry,” she pointed out. “Who knew they would lead to a career?”

  “Who knew?” His smile was less sad. “I started doing stuff on my own, too. Alessandre introduced me to his ridiculously wealthy friends. They liked my work. Several of them have vacation houses all over the states. I started traveling to them, building whatever they needed me to—fireplaces, mostly. I’d stay for a few weeks, or until the job was done. When I got back to the Hamptons, I’d crash at Alessandre’s guesthouse again. It’s a small place, nice though, behind his house. Has an attached garage where I can park Trixie. Gives me a place to build, store materials. Practice my next design.”

  “Sounds like a home to me.”

  “Other than my clothes and my Jeep, nothing there is mine.”

  A shiver climbed her spine. She moved closer, propping her chin on his shoulder.

  “Sounds lonely.” And it did. His life in New York, and elsewhere when he traveled, sounded incredibly, horribly lonely. Seven years of a nomadic lifestyle. Work followed by more work.

  “Sometimes.” His arm closed around her and he pulled her close, his hand resting on her hip. She melted into him, thinking how nice it was to talk to him, to be here with him. To be held by him.

  Once he left, she would be lonely, too. Lonely for him. Hell, she was lonely for him now and he was sitting right next to her.

  Which was not good. Not good at all.

  “Hate when you feel for me, Scampi.”

  “I can’t help it.” And that was the problem. She couldn’t help feeling for him. She couldn’t help thinking of him.

  She couldn’t help loving him.

  “I don’t know about you,” he said, his tone lighter, “but I could go for s’mores.”

  She looked up to see one of his eyes close in a seductive wink. He wanted her, and she wanted him. Even though she knew the physical temporary wasn’t enough.

  Well, it would have to be. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to give him up. And so she returned his wink with a saucy one of her own.

  “I’ll get the chocolate.” She kissed him before standing.

  He caught her wrist before she raced inside.

  “Dark chocolate or”—he closed his eyes and pursed his lips, sucking a breath between his teeth—“oh yes, oh God… milk chocolate.”

  Teasing her. Again.

  She play-shoved him and he chuckled. The sound rattled through her chest like thrown dice. At the patio door, she paused at the entrance to the kitchen, but before she went in, admired his profile lit by the fire behind him.

  The way his black hair hung too long and covered part of his face. The way his nose pointed down to full, talented lips. Long lashes swept over eyes with the ability to see right through to her soul.

  She etched this moment into her mind, knowing she’d need it when the nights got long and lonely.

  And knowing those nights would come sooner than she wanted.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  You good?” Donovan nodded at Connor, who was carrying an armload of canvas, poles, and other tent paraphernalia to help the Open Arms kids set up camp.

  “Good,” he answered.

  With a nod, Donovan headed over to Trixie. Ant had cut a sizable pile of wood in preparation for tonight. Donovan needed to load it up and bring it back to the pit.

  “Can I go?”

  He turned to find one of the older boys next to him. He guessed the kid at twelve, maybe thirteen. Maybe eighteen. It was getting harder and harder to tell how old any of them were. They all looked like babies to him.

  The boy’s hair was overly long, dark, almost black. He chewed on his bottom lip while waiting for the answer, and turned equally dark eyes up to Donovan.

  “Sure, kid.”

  The boy tried to climb into Trixie twice before he successfully scaled her height, then they were off.

  “What’s your name?” Donovan asked as the Jeep rumbled and rolled through the bumpy field.

  “Ben.”

  “Ben, I’m Donovan. You an outdoors man?”

  He gave a careless shrug, not making eye contact. “I guess.”

  Okay. Well, he could deal with the strong, silent type. Looking at Ben was a little like looking at a mirror. Donovan hadn’t been a chatty or happy kid.

  He parked next to the maple, having a fleeting thought about the last time he parked here. He was with Sofie. And just like everything else he did with Sofie, the night was memorable.

  “Leave the big pile to me.” Donovan pointed around at some of the branches the tree had shed. “But gather some of those sticks and twigs. We’ll need them for kindling.” Ben picked around the field and Donovan started loading the back of Trix.

  Minutes later, his phone rang. He lifted it to his ear. “Yeah?”

  “How is my house?”

  Alessandre.

  “It’s, uh, it’s good.”

  The turrets were visible from here, poking just over the trees that obliterated the view of the rest of the house and visitors milling around Aless’s future backyard.

  “Ready to go,” Donovan told him. “The campout’s tonight, charity dinner tomorrow.” Something about this phone call was making him twitchy. Everything was wrapping up—ending soon. Endings were so damn final, and always smacked with a bittersweet tang.

  “Yes, I mailed a sizable donation to Ruby Voss. It’s a good charity, one I’ll continue to support in the future.”

  He nodded even though Aless couldn’t see him. He could’ve guessed Aless would send money. An answer of overwhelming support was the only answer he’d expect from the man, given the subject matter.

  “She’ll appreciate that.” Donovan watched Ben stack sticks in the crook of one skinny arm. “I cleared out a majority of the basement, the bedrooms. There were some antique furnishings I thought you might want.”

  Except for the room full of creepy dolls. Yikes. Those had gone on the last thrift run. He and Connor had stoically packed them into garbage bags and tried not to get freaked out by their sightless glass eyes.

  The only thread left hanging was the fireplace in the great room, but that was a few hours’ work, an afternoon, tops.

  “A few little things to tie up,” he told Aless, “then your bed-and-breakfast is ready to go. Not a hundred percent, but close.”

  “I’m sure everything will be perfect.”

  It would. Donovan had worked in more than one D’Paolo B-and-B over the years. First doing small repairs to foundation and flooring, patios, and later, after he’d gained some experience, building and repairing fireplaces. He knew what was expected, Alessandre’s style, and the way he ran things.

  He ended the call with Aless and loaded the remainder of the wood into the back of his Jeep. Ben climbed in—this time on the first try. Donovan smiled to himself. Resilient. He’d been resilient, too. Even when he didn’t have to be any longer. After a while, it became a habit.

  Donovan put Trix into gear and looked over at Ben, making a snap decision. “Ever done a donut?”

  Ben smiled. “No.”

  “Put on your seat belt.”

  Af
ter they tore up a sizable portion of grass in the field, Donovan returned to the backyard at a leisurely speed. Anyone who spotted Ben’s messy hair, and the fact there was a few blades of grass stuck to his head, could guess what they’d been doing.

  A dozen other kids, a few volunteers, and Ruby herself bustled around. Connor had erected two tents and was working on a third.

  Color Donovan impressed.

  He climbed out of Trixie, dropped the hatch, and noticed Ruby Voss approaching, her arms casually crossed over her chest, a pleasant smile on her face. He lifted his chin at Ben. “Fix your hair, man.”

  The kid scrubbed the top and sides of his head before gathering sticks from the Jeep and heading off in the opposite direction.

  The older woman nodded in the boy’s wake, then turned to Donovan. “Benton came to us two years ago.” Ben was out of earshot, focused on his task. “He was one angry twelve-year-old.”

  So he was fourteen.

  “Took a lot to pull him out of silent mode,” Ruby said. “Some boys stay angry their entire lives.”

  Donovan met the woman’s flint gray eyes. Something shrewd twinkled in their depths.

  “It’s nothing short of a miracle when a man pulls himself out of it.”

  He felt his arms tense.

  “I’ve worked with kids like Ben for a lot of years, Mr. Pate.” She cocked her head and he could see the shrewdness didn’t stop with her eyes. “I know a formerly angry little boy when I see him.”

  Pressing his lips together, he turned away from her and said, “Excuse me.” But before he brushed past her, she spoke again.

  “Ben lived with his uncle before he came to us.”

  The back of his neck prickled in premonition. He guessed she was about to say something he didn’t want to hear. He tipped his chin slightly. She hovered in his peripheral.

  Focused somewhere off in the distance, she continued her story.

  “The uncle drank, encouraged Ben to drink. Profusely. By the time he got to us, Ben had been drinking for a year. Had a swollen liver to show for it. He went through detox. He’s going to AA meetings now.”

  “AA?” Jesus.

  “The association allows underage children to attend with an adult if they find solace being at the meetings,” she answered. “Ben is mature for his age.”

  No shit. Donovan looked over at the boy who’d just held on to Trixie’s roll bar, hair flying, hooting like a kid with no worries in the world. Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable what assholes adults could be.

  “This is the part where I say his uncle was not at fault. That he has a disease. That Ben was an unfortunate side effect of his uncle’s disease.” Donovan faced her fully. The look in her gray eyes was cold. “I’m not going to say that to you. You know better, don’t you, Mr. Pate?”

  He did.

  “I think it’s a fucked-up hand to be dealt,” she said bluntly. “Ben deserved better. Any kid trapped in a situation like his deserves better.”

  Ruby Voss, when she wasn’t gushing about his grandmother, was easy to respect.

  “I appreciate all you’ve done. You didn’t have to let Sofia use this property. Or your land. I wanted you to know how much this means to these kids. To Open Arms.”

  He watched as she pulled in a breath, taking in the surrounding acreage. The day couldn’t have been nicer: bright sun, blue skies, barely a cloud. Couldn’t have mail-ordered better weather.

  He dipped his chin in a nod of understanding and turned to finish unloading his Jeep.

  “I didn’t tell you his story to resurrect your demons,” she said before he’d taken a single step. “Just thought you should know that someone sees you. Even if it is a little late, Donovan, I see you.”

  She cupped a hand on his shoulder as she walked by and squeezed. Then she called to a group of girls wandering too close to the trees.

  Donovan didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until spots appeared in his vision. He blew out the breath and sucked in another just as Ben approached the Jeep.

  “I can help with the big stuff, too,” Ben said.

  Yeah. Donovan would just bet he could. He pulled two logs out and nodded at Ben to hold out his arms.

  “More,” Ben instructed. “I can take it.”

  Kindred spirit, Donovan thought, and piled on another two.

  Donovan had no idea what time it was.

  The kids had roasted hot dogs, ate bags of chips, and drank enough Mountain Dew to keep them up half the night. He tipped his head and looked at the moon, guessing half a night was about what was left.

  The kids made s’mores, finally crashing from their sugar-and-caffeine-induced highs. Sofie had been inside most of the evening helping organize the ballroom and getting the kitchen ready for tomorrow. Donovan had gone on the nature walk with Connor and the kids, and learned a few things himself. Ben stuck to his side for most of it. Later, Donovan assisted with how-to-roast-a-hot-dog-without-stabbing-or-burning-yourself portion of the evening.

  By the time Sofie caught up with him, he was manning a dying fire. But there was enough heat left for her to roast a few marshmallows to golden perfection. He’d watched her eat them, helping her lick gooey marshmallow off her fingers and sharing sticky kisses while he was at it. Shortly after, she’d laid her head in his lap. She’d conked out the second she closed her eyes.

  “Mr. Pate?”

  Donovan pulled his fingers out of Sofie’s hair. Ben stood at the edge of the fire, gesturing to one of the log benches.

  “Care if I sit?” he asked, his voice carefully quiet.

  “Help yourself.”

  Ben sat, rubbing his hands together and holding them in front of the fire to warm them. “I don’t sleep sometimes.”

  Yeah. Donovan understood that. His sleep patterns had been shit when he was a kid. Hard to sleep when the man who raised him might be around the corner waiting to punch him in the face. He angled a glance at Ben. Or give him a drink.

  Ben looked from Donovan to Sofie.

  “She your girlfriend?”

  Donovan ran a hand down her upper arm while he thought. Then up and down again before responding, “Yeah. She is.”

  For a few more nights.

  “She’s pretty. She a model?”

  Donovan smiled. “I’ll tell her you asked.” Maybe then she’d believe she was beautiful. “No, she’s not a model. She’s the one who put this event together.”

  “That’s cool.”

  It was cool. Sofie was incredible at this planning stuff. She was organized, cared—probably too much—and worked tirelessly. Even while she stayed here with him, she didn’t treat those nights like a vacation. He’d noticed her taking phone calls, rushing to the library to get her binder, or scouring the Internet for information.

  “The campouts Open Arms did the last few years have been shitty. Not like this.” Ben nodded his head in the direction of the tents. “We were in a park last year.” He made a disgusted face, his lips curling. “You can’t camp out in a park.”

  Donovan swallowed a smile. He didn’t want to insult the kid by laughing. “No. I guess not. I’m not sure camping in someone’s backyard is a step up.”

  Ben smiled and it didn’t look strained. Maybe he would be okay. In spite of what he’d been through. Maybe he would grow up and have normal relationships. Donovan stroked his fingers through Sofie’s hair. Maybe Ben would have a model girlfriend. A real girlfriend, not a woman he would leave behind. Twice.

  Donovan tested the softness of her waves between his fingertips. Ben deserved a real girlfriend—hell, maybe he’d have a wife. He had his entire life ahead of him. And thanks to Ruby and Open Arms, had a fighting chance at learning how to accept love when he saw it.

  Or felt it.

  Too late for Donovan. Long term wasn’t something he’d get to have.

  Shame.

  “You live here?” Ben asked, his eyes on the mansion looming behind them.

  For some reason, Donovan answered honestly. “U
sed to.”

  “Have any wild parties?” Ben’s mouth quirked. So, still a teenager despite the adult drama he’d been through.

  “Not here.” He’d partied elsewhere.

  “Ruby said the old lady who lived here donated a shit-ton of money to Open Arms,” Ben said. “That true?”

  Unbelievably, but yes.

  “My grandmother.”

  “Nice lady.”

  “Not really.”

  Ben nodded like he understood. Probably did.

  “Benton,” Ruby called, tightening her jacket around her as she stalked toward the fire. “Get in your tent. It’s lights out.”

  Sofie stirred, lifting her head and blinking out of sleep. How she’d been able to sleep soundly on his thigh, her hip on the hard log they shared, was beyond him. She must’ve been really exhausted.

  “We have to be up bright and early tomorrow morning,” Ruby told Ben. She threw a smile over her shoulder at Donovan before walking her charge to his tent.

  “How long was I out?” Sofie asked, yawning and pushing herself up.

  It’d been an eternity since he’d had a warm, sleepy woman in his arms. Come to think of it, had he ever had a warm, sleepy woman in his arms before Scampi? He didn’t think so.

  “Your lap is comfy.” She rolled one shoulder. “This log, not so much.”

  “Let’s get you to bed.” He liked the sound of that way too much.

  Round eyes met his. “Won’t it look bad if you and I sleep in the same room?”

  “Sweetheart, these kids have seen worse than—” He didn’t finish. Because the next words that came to mind were, a couple sharing a bed.

  She didn’t ask him to expound. “Good point.” Leaning in, she brushed his face with her lips and whispered, “Put me to bed, Donny.”

  Damn, but he did think of them as a couple.

  Damn.

  Donovan’s hips came off the bed, fingers winding into Sofie’s hair as he thrust deep into her mouth. She took him, every inch of him, reveling in the way he was losing control under her ministrations.

  When she swirled her tongue around the head of his penis and increased suction, he tugged her head gently. Then commanded her not so gently.