Rescuing the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

  Alessandre’s voice answered and Donovan barked into the phone, “Aless! I need to…” His words faded as he realized he was talking to voice mail. He ended the call, tossed the phone on the coffee table, propped his elbows on his knees, and stared it down.

  What to do? What the fuck to do?

  He was too plowed to drive. All he had was his phone.

  Connor.

  Connor would know the answer. Connor would stop the sale, or know who to call to stop the sale.

  Donovan found Connor’s name in his phone, tapped the screen, and lifted the cell to his ear. On the fifth ring, he was ready to give up hope.

  Then his best friend answered with a groggy, “What’s wrong?”

  Donovan smiled. He hadn’t smiled in weeks. Of course Connor thought something was wrong. Donny never called his friends. They called him.

  “I’m not selling the mansion.”

  A moment of silence stretched on the line before Connor heaved a sigh. “Shit, man, I just moved my plants out of there.”

  “I need her, man. I love her.” Donovan rested a hand on his pounding forehead.

  “I know.”

  He’d never said it to anyone but Sofie. Never been in love with anyone before Sofie. Saying it now opened him up in a way that felt like letting the sun in after years of blackness.

  “What do I do?”

  “Don’t call her,” Connor said. He heard a few muffled sounds like his friend was shifting or sitting up in bed. “You sound deranged.”

  “I’m drunk.” He was. So stinking drunk. The room had started to spin. “I mean it, though. I’m not selling. I love Sofie.”

  “I know, but you need to tell her that sober.”

  “I can’t get a hold of Aless.”

  “He was at the mansion earlier. I was there doing some last-minute yard stuff and showed him around. He’s probably on his way to New York right about now.”

  Back to New York? Donny pinched his eyes closed and tried to decode those words with his sluggish, rum-soaked brain.

  “Why would he fly back to New York?”

  “Dunno. Just said he was headed back. Maybe he changed his mind about buying it.”

  Maybe. But unlikely.

  “Sleep it off, man. He’ll be home soon. You can tell him then you’re not selling.” Connor grumbled good night.

  Donovan ended the call. His friend was right. He should sober up and wait him out. But he wasn’t going to sleep. He stalked to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee.

  He was going to stay awake and wait for Aless to get home.

  After two cups, and staring bleary-eyed at an infomercial on TV, Donovan remembered thinking he needed one more cup if he hoped to stay up much longer.

  The next thing he knew, he was jolting awake to a clap of thunder shaking the house.

  Donovan spit the mouthwash he’d been swishing between his teeth into the grass. It was pouring, an absolute skin-soaking downpour. The only upside to traipsing to Aless’s house across the connected yards was that the rain was washing off some of the booze smell on his skin.

  He decided to file that in the plus column. He had a plus column. Go figure.

  A stupid grin pulled his cheeks as he saw Alessandre’s kitchen light flick on, followed by the bathroom light. Donovan broke into a jog, ran up the stairs along the side of the house, and used the code on the keypad at the back door to let himself in.

  He was about to open his mouth and shout for Aless, when the man himself rounded the corner, unbuttoning cuff links, his eyebrows nearly hitting his widow’s peak.

  “Donovan.” He gave him a once-over, then a smile. Alessandre looked like him in a way. Full head of black hair, but the cut shorter, and with hints of gray at the temples, thick eyebrows, similar height. The main differences were Aless’s dark brown eyes and an accent muddled from years of travel.

  “You can’t buy the mansion,” Donovan told him.

  His smile faded. “No?”

  “No.” Donovan crossed his arms, shivering slightly in the air-conditioned house.

  Aless blinked at him a few times, then crossed his arms over his chest as well. A standoff. In business matters, Aless got what he wanted. One didn’t become wealthy and powerful without being good at bargaining. “What would you say if I told you the closing was finished?”

  Donovan’s heart sank. “What?”

  “What would you say if I told you I called Mr. Torsett and we closed a day early?”

  Scott Torsett. Who Donovan had foolishly signed over power of attorney for the sale. It had happened without him.

  Mind racing, he said, “Sell it back to me.”

  Aless held up a hand.

  Donovan didn’t let him speak.

  “You can’t have the mansion, Aless. I’m going back.” Needing his friend, his mentor, to understand, he sucked in a breath and blurted out the truth. “The woman I love is there. And so’s my dog,” he added, vowing to find Gertie and hoping whoever owned her wasn’t too attached. Wondering what he’d have to pay to get her back.

  Wondering what he’d have to do to get Sofie back.

  Now fighting a hangover from the rum and dehydration from the coffee, Donovan realized he didn’t have a plan yet for how to win Sofie. Well. He could come up with something on the flight home.

  Home. He waited for the sting of that word. It didn’t come.

  “You’re going back to Evergreen Cove for a woman?” Aless asked.

  “Why is not your concern. How much? That’s the only question now.”

  Alessandre raised an eyebrow, unfazed by Donny’s anger.

  “How much?” Donovan asked on a near shout.

  Aless shook his head. “No need to haggle.”

  “Listen, I want the mansion and you’re going to sell it back to me.” Donovan wasn’t above putting Alessandre in his place. Not for something this important. “I get that you want the house for your next project, but this isn’t a project to me. This is my life. You and I have similar pasts. You know as well as I do why we are both single without families.” He gave his friend a meaningful glare. “You know.”

  Donovan learned from Caroline that Aless, too, had an abusive father. It wasn’t hard to guess by the man’s reverent silence now that Aless knew Donovan’s past as well. God bless Caroline’s meddling.

  “I think of Sofie and you know what I think of next?” Here it went, laying it out for the first time. “A family. Babies, Aless. Kids. I never imagined a day I’d want a child of my own.”

  His only thoughts involving children revolved around how he shouldn’t have any lest he further Robert Pate’s abominable bloodline. He swallowed thickly. “Never thought I’d have a reason to try.”

  “I can’t sell you the mansion, Donovan.”

  His chest went hollow. Before he could humiliate himself by begging—which he was not above doing in this case, Aless spoke again.

  “I don’t own it. And I’m not buying it.”

  Donovan digested that statement. Alessandre didn’t own it. He didn’t… buy it? What happened? Not that it mattered. The mansion was Donovan’s. Step one. Now to figure out—

  “You mentioned a dog?” Aless’s eyes went over Donovan’s shoulder, and a small smile tipped his mouth.

  On cue, a bark sliced through the air. Donovan turned to find a big, wet dog, white-with-brown-patches, pale blue eyes, and tongue lolling, scraping across the wood floors. Gertie bounded over to him, hitting him square in the chest with cold paws.

  “Hey, girl.” He caught the dog’s square head in his hands and squinted at Aless. “Why do you have Gertie?”

  “I brought her,” a soft voice said.

  He turned his head to see a woman step into Aless’s living room. A brunette toweling her wet hair, her green eyes rapidly filling with tears.

  Gertie’s paws left his chest, courtesy of Alessandre. “I’ll take her outside and give you two a moment.”

  But his voice sounded miles away. All Donovan could do was
stare at the woman he’d just announced he wanted to have children with.

  “Scampi, what are you doing here?”

  “Currently?” She blinked a few times. “Crying.”

  He rushed to her. When she was within grabbing distance, he pulled her into his arms and laid a kiss on her mouth. She melted into him, her lips cold, her tongue warm, wet clothes sticking to his. She tasted incredible, like he remembered, but somehow new.

  Because you love her.

  So much.

  He pulled his lips from hers but didn’t loosen his hold on her.

  “Sofie, baby.”

  “Donny.” Her hands linked around his neck, her fingers in his hair.

  “I love you, Scampi.”

  “I love you, too.” Her eyes refilled, and she bit the inside of her lip as she smiled.

  She loved him. Loved him. Still.

  He hugged her close and buried his face in her neck. “Thank you.”

  She stroked his hair. He pulled his head up to look at her but didn’t let her go. Now that he had her, he wasn’t ever letting her go.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Eyes shining, she said, “I came for you.”

  This woman.

  “You came for me.”

  “I showed up at the mansion to convince you not to sell. I found Alessandre there instead.”

  “You didn’t want me to sell the mansion,” he repeated, letting that sink in.

  “It’s ours. I mean, it’s technically yours, but the rooms…”

  “The memories,” he finished.

  “They aren’t all bad for you, are they?” She wound his hair around her fingers again, her green eyes locked on his face.

  Kissing her soundly, he slid his hand to her bottom and grabbed a palm full. “You kidding me? I think of books, I get hard. Know how awkward it is to go to a public library?”

  She laughed. He’d missed that sound. He’d missed her.

  Serious now, he said, “I was gonna come for you.”

  “I heard.”

  “Yeah,” he said, recalling everything he’d said to Aless while she hovered in the background. “You heard a lot of things.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  Nervous, he swallowed. “Every word.”

  “You want children?”

  “I want you, Scampi. I want you and whatever involves us together. The mansion, kids, Dog.”

  “Gertie.”

  “Yeah, sweetheart. Gertie. I want it all.” His arms tightened on her waist. “I have lived without you for too long, Sofie. I convinced myself you were better off without me. You’re not. You’re better off with me. You need me. You need me to rescue you from ladders and keep you from going on bad dates with short lawyers.”

  She smiled.

  “And you need me to make love to you in every room of the mansion.”

  A feisty glint flickered in her eyes. “There are a lot of rooms in the mansion.”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Thirty-five,” she repeated, her voice lilting.

  “Nine at my place.” He tilted his head in the direction of the guesthouse.

  “Nine, hmm.” Her smile faded slowly, her expression turning serious. “My answer is yes.”

  His heart stopped beating for a second before mule-kicking his chest. “Yes to…”

  “Sex. At your place.”

  “Right,” he said. Sex. Not exactly bad news, but he wanted to hear yes to more than the sex.

  “And yes to the mansion.” She pressed a brief kiss on the center of his lips. “Yes to the library.” Another kiss. “Yes to the utility room.” Another. “Yes to the backyard. Yes to the balcony. Yes to everything, Donny.”

  He smashed his mouth against hers, pushed his tongue past her lips, and cupped her ass as he brought her up into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck.

  Pointing the direction of the hallway, he said, “There are a few rooms in this house not being used at the moment…”

  “Donny.”

  “Okay. My place.” He walked to the back door.

  She palmed his face, smiling down at him, her wet hair a tangled mass tickling his cheeks.

  “I love you,” he said again. He’d have to say it constantly to make up for the years he’d missed out on. All seven of them.

  “I want three.”

  He frowned, not understanding.

  “Three children. But I would settle for two if three is too many.”

  Okay, now his heart stopped beating. Three children. With Sofie’s green eyes. With his dark hair. With her sweetness. Her resolve. Her empathy.

  He lowered her to her feet, sifted his fingers into her hair and kissed her deeply. Everything. She had given him everything. And she’d come here because she loved him. Their lips parted with a soft smooching sound.

  “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

  “Love is about getting what you don’t deserve.”

  Before he could kiss her again, the back door opened and Aless and Gertie walked in.

  “Excuse me,” Aless said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Donovan pulled his fingers from Sofie’s hair and faced the man who fought for him. His friends. They had fought for him. Connor. Sofie. Alessandre. Asher and Evan had been fighting for him since they were all kids. Donovan thought he’d blown his shot at having a family. He was wrong. He had a family. In the Cove, and here, in New York.

  Donovan extended a hand.

  Aless shook it. “Invite me to the wedding.” He scrubbed Gertie’s head. “Come on, pup.” He snapped his fingers and trotted down the stairs, the dog close on his heels.

  Sofie’s mouth was ajar, a waxy pallor on her damp skin, as she muttered, “But… I don’t do weddings.”

  Yeah. Hell yeah.

  Donovan grinned down at his future wife. “Well, Scampi. You do now.”

  EPILOGUE

  Seven years later

  Donovan walked through the front entry of the mansion, pausing to tug the scarf from his neck. He hung his coat on a hook next to Sofie’s. Next to hers hung two smaller coats. One dark blue and silver, the other pink.

  Gertie, her eyes clouded, her head gray, padded into the room on unsteady hips. It’d been a fairly mild winter, but the cold wasn’t helping the old girl’s arthritis.

  “Hey girl,” Donovan said, hanging his coat and squatting to ruffle the dog’s ears. Her tail wagged, low and slow, but it wagged.

  Three pairs of boots stood drying on a mat by the door. No doubt the kids had bribed Sofie to take them sledding today since yesterday’s snow never came. Today made up for it, though, dumping several inches on the Cove. More was expected tonight.

  It’d been another late workday. He’d have to make it up to them for taking the extra hours. Upstairs, he saw only dark, no night-lights glowing in the hallway. No plastic gate blocking the stairway. Which meant no one was in bed yet. Maybe they were watching television, or maybe—

  “In here, honey,” came his wife’s voice.

  He found Scampi in the library, sitting on the red velvet sofa. Their four-year-old daughter Miranda was curled on her side, asleep, her sock-covered feet sticking out of the blanket and propped on Sofie’s lap. Bran was asleep, too, his head on Sofie’s stomach.

  Sofie put down the book she’d been reading. Donovan walked into the room, tipped her chin, and took a kiss.

  “We had a fire,” she said, keeping her voice down. “They fell asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake them.”

  “You shouldn’t be carrying them up the stairs, anyway.” He lowered his face and kissed her lips again, loving her taste. He bent over Miranda next, pushing the dark hair off her forehead.

  Sleepily, she opened huge blue eyes—light blue like his own. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hey, Scallop. Need you to walk upstairs yourself. I have to carry Bran. Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

  She nodded and stretched, knowing the extra effort was needed. Donova
n lifted Bran into his arms, revealing his wife’s baby bump their two-year-old boy had been using as a pillow. Bran didn’t stir, not even when his head hit Donovan’s shoulder solidly. Hardheaded kid. No doubt where he’d inherited that trait.

  Sofie attempted to push herself up, and Donovan looped an arm around her waist to help her. She was only five months, but already very round.

  “They’re killing me,” she grumbled.

  “It’s my last late night,” he promised.

  “You bet your sweet cheeks it is. We’re gonna need you around here.”

  “Yeah, Daddy,” Miranda said. “Mommy says if the twins are girls you’ll be in big trouble.” Trouble came out like twubble, which made him smile.

  One more. He and Sofie had decided to have one more child. Then came the news there were two incubating in her belly. Two.

  But they could handle it. Together, with their friends and family backing them, he could handle anything. Straight through.

  “Know what, Scallop? You don’t have to worry about me. Your dad is a big, bad, mansion-owning bada—”

  “Tough guy,” Sofie interrupted, reaching around to discreetly pinch his ass. Careful not to drop Bran, he bent to the side and kissed his wife.

  “Tough guy,” he repeated to Miranda as he straightened.

  Upstairs, Sofie tucked their daughter in, who requested one more story before bed. Donovan put Bran down, who had yet to acknowledge he was being jostled around in his father’s arms, then checked the locks in the house, and set up the baby gate.

  Once the kids were down, Donovan and Sofie reconvened in the shower under the multiple sprayers, him enjoying the hot, hot water loosening muscles that were aching from the lifting he’d done at work today.

  Sofie traced the heart Evan had added to the infinity tattoo on Donovan’s ribs.

  “Worth it?” she asked.

  “I was able to save the original fireplace so it didn’t have to be torn out. You wouldn’t believe how particular the historical society is about mortar. But yeah, I think it will be.”

  He pushed the water off his face and saw a smile curl her lips.

  “I mean this life. Leaving New York, living in a huge house that needs constant upkeep. Burying your bad memories in order to stay in Evergreen Cove.”