Rescuing the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

  A soft kiss landed on her forehead.

  “ ’Night, Scampi.”

  Her mind completely blank of all thoughts, she closed her eyes. Finally, with her leg draped over his thigh, and her arm over his stomach, she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Work.

  Getting back to work was what mattered most. Donovan’s first job when he returned to the Hamptons was for Mrs. Baron: super wealthy, peroxide-blond-haired fortysomething with a body she’d purchased with her millions and rocked publicly without shame.

  As if to prove his point, Alyssa strutted out to her patio, long white robe open, tiny black bikini on display, like a model on a catwalk.

  “Looking good, Donovan.” She offered a glass of iced tea. “Your drink.”

  “Thanks.” He slipped his gloves off and accepted the iced tea. It was boiling-lava hot out here, way into the nineties, and he was sweating buckets. He took the glass and threw back a long swallow, coughing when his throat began to burn. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and slid an irritated glance at Alyssa. “What the hell?”

  The corner of her red lips quirked. She shrugged.

  “I added tequila, a little bit of vodka, some rum. I can’t remember exactly how to make a Long Island Iced Tea, but that should suffice.”

  “A bottle of water next time.” He thrust the glass into her hands.

  She accepted with an exaggerated pout. “You certainly play hard to get. Maggie told me you did.”

  Maggie? She must be talking about Margaret Brown, whose fireplace he’d repaired a few months back. Back before he made the apocalyptic mistake of returning to Evergreen Cove.

  Alyssa stepped closer, ran a pink fingernail down his T-shirt, and Donovan couldn’t dredge up any feelings save for irritation. He took a step away from her.

  “Water, Alyssa. I don’t screw my clients. If I did”—may as well make himself perfectly clear—“I wouldn’t screw the married, desperate ones.”

  “Are you trying to get fired, Mr. Pate?” One prim brow arched in challenge as she fought to hold her composure.

  With a shrug, he gestured to the half-completed fireplace on her patio. “You know someone else who can finish this?”

  Alyssa shut her mouth with the snap of her pearly teeth.

  She didn’t. He’d designed the fireplace custom to fit on her oddly shaped patio and face the sunset. He’d love to see another contractor match the seams. The mortars were mixed sixty/forty dove gray and Russian brown. He’d done a few others in similar fashion—the entire piece echoed his signature style. His commercial style, anyway. This was what people in the Hamptons wanted. Perfection.

  Alyssa wanted to impress her snooty friends. She’d commissioned him for this job for that reason. Or so he’d thought. He slid a dismissive glance over her body. Seemed she had another agenda.

  “I’ll get your water.” Closing her robe with one hand, she clipped into the house.

  He turned back to the fireplace. Smooth, square bricks stacked ten feet high in front of him. They were pristine. All the same color. The monochrome fireplace on Alyssa’s back patio would be a tower of straight, elegant stones when he finished.

  Perfect. Regal.

  Boring as hell.

  Sun beating on his back, he went down to one knee to pick up another piece. As he slapped the brick into place, his mind returned to Sofie. His mind often returned to Sofie. He wondered how much longer he’d have to endure her invading his thoughts, and then he remembered the last time, and figured it’d take about seven years. At least.

  Damn, he missed her.

  The phone on his belt trilled and for a split second, he thought he’d summoned her. Connor’s number lit the screen. Hope pushed against his chest, wanting out. His friend was a connection to Evergreen Cove… a connection to Sofie.

  He tapped the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah.”

  “Done,” Connor informed him. “She’s ready for sale.”

  A chill spread across Donovan’s chest. He’d lived in that house, hated that house, and now, the inheritance he never wanted was almost out of his hands for good. Shouldn’t he be relieved? But the weight didn’t lift from his shoulders. He felt like Atlas with a world made of unyielding stone balanced on his back.

  “Good.” Maybe he’d believe himself eventually.

  Donovan propped the phone against his ear and slapped mortar onto another brick. He didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to be.

  “Sofie subbed me out for a permanent gig,” Connor said.

  The brick slipped from Donovan’s hand, narrowly missing his boots. Mortar splattered on Alyssa’s patio. “Shit.”

  “Don’t hate.”

  “That’s not what I—listen, Connor, I’m busy.”

  “I guess Sofe gets her flowers from Fern’s Floral Shoppe, and Fern is in need of some lavender. Of course, Fern wants the best—mine.”

  Connor’s patented hybrid. Who knew there was money in something like that?

  “Guess I should get my plants out of the mansion.”

  Donovan heard the question in his buddy’s voice even though he didn’t ask one. Connor wanted to know if there was any chance he’d keep Pate Mansion. If there was a chance he’d return to the Cove.

  “Yeah.” Donovan scraped up the mortar and slopped it into the bucket. “Sooner the better.” Another lie he’d been trying to convince himself was true for way too long. The sooner the better? What the hell did it matter? Nothing would get better no matter how much sooner he sold the mansion.

  “Whatever you say,” Connor said, his tone flat. He was disappointed and not because he had to move his lavender beds out of the mansion. He was disappointed in Donovan.

  “You did fine without me for seven years,” Donovan grumbled. “You’ll muddle through without me now.”

  A sharp, humorless laugh scratched through the phone. “How fucking selfish can you be, man?”

  Donovan stood and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of one glove. “You want to say that again?”

  “Can if you want me to, but I’m pretty sure you heard me.” He could picture Connor, stony glare, arm crossed over his chest. “You think this town is better off without you, that your friends are better off without you. I’m guessing you’ve convinced yourself Sofie is better off without you.”

  Sofie.

  Nothing weakened him more than hearing her name. Or thinking about her. Or picturing the hurt in her eyes when he’d kissed her good-bye for the last time. Or feeling his chest cave in the way it did when he walked out to Trixie and found the house key on the Jeep’s hood. He walked out on Sofie and she’d accepted. Accepted what he gave her, which was essentially nothing.

  “I don’t want to talk about Scampi.”

  “I don’t care what you want, Donny. Truth is, none of us are better off without you. I don’t know if you were looking around while you were here, but we were doing fine and fucking dandy when you were here. Now you’re gone, and guess what? Dog is homeless, my lavender is about to be displaced, and Sofie… God, Donny. What the hell did you do to her?”

  Pain zapped his chest like he’d been electrocuted. Donovan barely got his throat to work, but when he did, he demanded, “What about her?”

  “She looks… You know what? Ask her yourself.”

  Exactly what he wasn’t going to do. He couldn’t bear the idea of her hurt. And calling her and hearing it in her voice? It would destroy him.

  After a moment of silence, Connor said, “Those Open Arms kids. Having the campout here was good for them. I ran into Ruby the other day. Know what she said?” He didn’t wait for a response. “She said she’d love to do the camp at the mansion every year. Every year, Donny.”

  Donovan clenched his jaw.

  “Apparently Ben has not stopped talking about you since the night you gathered sticks and built a fire. Sounds like you made an impression on the kid.”

  “You done?” The guilt train could
station any time now.

  “Still convinced you’re better off alone?”

  “I am better off alone. I like being alone.”

  “Keep telling yourself that and you will die alone. Unloved.”

  Pissed, he ground out, “Deal.”

  But Connor wasn’t done. “You’re a runner. I don’t think you’d have any friends if not for Evan, Asher, and me flushing you out of hiding every so often.”

  “Yeah? Then quit doing it.” Donovan didn’t need anyone. Wasn’t that what he’d been trying to convince people for years?

  “Gonna tell you what I know.”

  Great.

  “I know plants. I know roots. And I know you don’t have ’em. Know how I know?” Again he didn’t wait for a response. “Because you can’t get roots if you keep taking off and not letting them grow.”

  “I have roots.” They were gnarled and tangled and buried beneath Pate Mansion.

  “Yeah, you do. Me. Evan. Asher. Hell, Evan’s wife, Charlie, likes you. Faith liked you, too, or did, anyway, before you bailed on her best friend. Bet if you quit being a dumbass, you could have Sofie, too.”

  Patience thin, Donovan was seething by the time Alyssa stepped outside with water. The glare he shot her must have been glacial. She handed over the plastic bottle and scuttled back inside without so much as a bat of her fake eyelashes.

  “You want to talk about running away?” Donovan turned his back on the house and watched the ocean. “Let’s talk about Maya. Let’s talk about you serving back-to-back-to-back stints in the military because you couldn’t face the reality that was your life.” If Connor thought he was the only one capable of doling out holier-than-thou, pot-calling-the-kettle-metal insights, he had another thing coming.

  “You’re right,” Connor surprised him by agreeing. “Difference is, I’m back. I’m staying. I’m done running. About time you stopped being a pussy and did the same.”

  The line went quiet, and the only sounds Donovan heard were his pulse beating in his eardrums and the gulls crying as they swept over the beach below. He wrapped his hand around his phone hard enough to crack the screen.

  With anger fueling his work, he stayed at Alyssa’s house until the sky grew dark. He skipped dinner, finished the fireplace, and left her house for the last time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sofie took the end of the leash from her best friend’s hand.

  “I’m so sorry,” Faith said. “Skylar checked with everyone she knows. I checked with everyone I know. No one can take her, even temporarily.”

  Gertie was panting, her mouth smiling. Ironically, she looked happy. Her tail wagged back and forth, knocking against the desk.

  “Skylar would keep her longer if she could. My mom’s new model boyfriend is allergic to dogs.” Faith rolled her eyes. “But if you can keep her somewhere for two or three days, he has a photo shoot in New York. I can take her over there.”

  At the mention of New York, Sofie’s heart clutched. She had been trying her hardest not to think of the state, or the man in it, at all.

  “Thanks¸ but I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about it. Maybe she can stay here at the shop…” Not the best plan, but it’d be near impossible to sneak a dog Gertie’s size into her cramped apartment. Especially since her neighbor had recently been asked to get rid of her oversized dog by request of the landlord. She could ask her parents… of course, then she would have to explain why she had a dog. And that would mean telling them about Donovan. Maybe she could fudge the details…

  “Are you sure you don’t need me for anything today?” Faith wrung her hands. “I can work if you need me to.”

  “It’s Sunday. Take the day off. Gertie is not your problem. She’s not a problem at all, are you girl?” Sofie bent to nuzzle the top of the dog’s head. “You’re just a dog without a home.”

  Without a mansion, she thought sadly. In a weird way, Sofie felt as lost as Gertie. She hadn’t been in her apartment much while Donovan was in town, so when he went to New York, staying there felt… strange. “I’ll figure something out,” she promised the three of them.

  Faith started to leave, then turned and pegged Sofie with a look of concern.

  Uh-oh.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but…”

  Uh-oh, times two…

  “Are you okay?” Faith scrunched her cute nose. “I mean with… Donovan leaving and everything?”

  They hadn’t talked about Donovan leaving, about how Sofie was dealing with the loss. She was impressed Faith had kept quiet this long. Typically, they talked about everything. But since Michael’s awkward departure from the charity dinner, Faith remained stoically silent. And Sofie, not wanting to talk about her own recent heartbreak, didn’t bring up Michael for fear the conversation would lead to talking about Donny.

  “I’m not okay,” Sofie admitted aloud for the first time. Picking up on her mood change, Gertie leaned her weight into Sofie’s leg. Absently, she stroked her fur. “Are you… okay?” she asked Faith.

  “I don’t think so.” Faith sighed. “I never told you—”

  The bell over the door rang, and Connor McClain strolled in. He dipped his chin at Sofie before his eyes swung to Faith. His mouth flattened. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Faith returned.

  “Hey, Gert.” He came to stand next to Sofie and scratched the dog’s ears. “Was just gonna talk to you about Fern,” he said to Sofie. “Her shop is closed today, but I have her plants. Okay to store them here until tomorrow?”

  “No more indoor greenhouse,” Faith said. “I forgot about that.”

  Straightening, Connor faced her. “Yeah. The closing is at the end of the month.”

  Three days. The mansion would be sold in three days. Sofie would have no reason to go there again. She had already decided as much as her business would flourish from the connection with Pate Mansion, that if Alessandre D’Paolo needed an event planner for his B-and-B, he would simply have to find someone else to do it. She had accepted what she and Donovan had was over, but there was no way she could set foot near the mansion’s library without remembering their last night together.

  Fuck, Sofie. I love you.

  Her stomach dove, and she folded her arms over her middle. The memory was a physical blow. So painful, she’d had a mini-fantasy last night about how they could have a long-distance relationship. He could visit the Cove, and she could fly out to visit him. They could continue plodding along. But plodding wasn’t what she wanted, was it? Carrying on a relationship that would never yield any return on her investment… And then when it ended…

  No. It was better to cut ties, or so went the tired lecture looping in her head yet again. She had survived the first time. Surely, she would survive the second.

  “I have things to do,” Faith said suddenly—Sofie guessed so she could get out of the shop and away from Connor. “See you later. Good luck with Gertie.” Barely glancing in his direction, she walked out the door.

  After the bell clanged against the glass, Sofie raised her eyebrows at the man in her shop. “I guess you don’t want to talk about that?”

  He shook his head. “Not any more than you would like to talk about Donny.”

  A beat passed before she said, “You know, I would like to talk about Donny.” Straight through. Hadn’t that been what she’d learned from him this time around? Funny how he couldn’t take his own advice. “Does he have anywhere to keep Gertie in New York?”

  “Yeah,” Connor said sharply. “He has a place to keep a dog. He has space for his three buddies to visit. He’d have room for a girlfriend if he’d pull his head out of his ass.”

  She smiled weakly.

  “Donny isn’t the kind of guy who keeps things for himself,” he continued. “What he knows is how to hunker down and endure.”

  “Hunkering down? Felt more like he gave up.” And he gave up so much. She was worth holding on to.

  “He doesn’t trust himself when he’s happy.�
��

  “Was he?” she asked quietly. “Happy?”

  “I’ve never seen him so light, Sofe. You changed him.”

  “And he left anyway.”

  “More like ran.”

  They fell quiet for a moment.

  “He doesn’t have a huge network,” Connor said. “He’s got a few friends who have chipped past the layer of armor he wears all the damn time. Me. Evan and Asher. We know him to his core. We know the guy under that layer. You know that guy, too.”

  She sighed, weary. Sick of this discussion already.

  “When I was in Afghanistan, I served with men like him. Some guys harden because of war; others harden in preparation for it. Easier not to get hurt when you’re made of stone.”

  What a metaphor. She thought of the stone fireplace in the mansion. The rock wall at the quarry.

  “Then there were the guys who had families,” Connor said. “The guys who had a reason to fight, something to fight for. Those with nothing to lose, those with everything to lose. Both make good soldiers.”

  Since he’d started talking about war, his face had darkened, shadows prevalent beneath his eyes. She wondered what he’d been through over there. If he ever talked about it with anyone.

  “Which one are you?” she asked.

  “I’m split, but not fifty-fifty.” A sad smile tilted his mouth.

  She wound Gertie’s leash around her fingers while she thought of how much to say.

  “Donny told me he loved me.” The sympathy on Connor’s face told her he hadn’t known. “But if he did, he’d be here.”

  Connor scrubbed a hand through his short, sandy-colored hair, then shook his head. “He really doesn’t make it easy on those of us who love him, does he?”

  “No. He really doesn’t.”

  “Makes you want to ding him in his rock-hard head.”

  “Something like that.”

  His hand landed on her shoulder.

  “You tapped into him, Sofe. Deep. I bet him feeling what he feels for you scared him shitless. He’s not in New York because he doesn’t love you. He’s there because he does and doesn’t know what the hell to do about it.”