by Shauna Allen
The Cupid Chronicles
Inked by an Angel: Book I
The Halo Effect: Book II
Wounded Wings: Book III
Cupid’s Last Stand: Book IV
Charlie’s Angel: A Novella
Standalones
Elvis is a Keeper
Circle of Redemption: A Tre Donne Anthology
Jack ‘Em Up
Burnout: Prequel (Blake and Delilah: The Beginning)
Crank: Book I (Blake and Delilah)
Torque: Book II (Jesse and Rachel)
Throttle: Book III (Trace and Tori) COMING SOON!
Rev: Book IV (Micah and Jewel) COMING SOON!
The darkness that fills him . . . the pain . . . they call to me.
I see so much more than his crime, his past, his demons.
I see the promise . . . the man who fills all the empty spaces inside me.
I’m not the perfect, untouchable girl he thinks I am. I’m just dirty enough to take what I want.
Him.
~
I could never deserve her.
She is the light . . . the sun, the moon, a billion stars.
She gives me hope.
But hope is a dangerous thing for a criminal like me.
I am hopeless.
Infinitely flawed.
Tainted.
We are more than opposites.
We are the dangerously perfect collision of dark and light and pain.
This one’s for you, Kimberly.
Thanks for being so awesome.
Jesse
There’s always been a darkness in me.
You can come from the most perfect family, have the perfect upbringing, live in the most perfect fucking town and still be broken.
I’ve never fully understood it and I’ve hidden it well. Maybe too well. Because ever since I laid eyes on Rachel Chaseman, I’ve been hooked. She’s like a drug to me. Everything about her calls to me in a soul-deep, elemental, raw way. Her deep, delicious red hair, that pale, soft skin, those sexy eyes as dark as freshly roasted coffee . . . and she’s just as hot. No fucking joke.
She’s also untouchable.
But I touched her anyway. And it was a mistake.
Jesse
I woke up in a cold sweat. Heart racing, my eyes wide, I forced myself to breathe and take in my surroundings.
Slowly, the nightmare faded and my brain absorbed the familiar all around me. The dark blue comforter draped haphazardly over my legs, the cheap lamp on the bedside table, the scents of grease and coffee and just a hint of peppermint. Micah’s guest room. No suffocating pain. No humiliation. Not anymore.
I flopped my feet to the ground and sat up, running a hand down my face and scratching my chest. I was free, yet I wasn’t. My past continued to haunt me, tailing me like a starving dog.
Sometimes, I thought Micah and I had more in common than anyone thought. His were war wounds, mine were life, but we were both battered down deep in our souls.
Speak of the devil, I heard him shuffle down the hallway toward the bathroom. Seconds later, the shower hissed to life, the pipes clacking momentarily. As grateful as I was to have a laidback roommate, I wished he’d talk a little more. Seriously, it was like living with a monk sometimes.
The digital clock next to my bed showed I had about forty minutes until I needed to be at the shop. I stood and yanked on my Dickie’s workpants and a shop T-shirt, ran a hand through my hair that had grown a lot since my release, and padded down the hall to the kitchen for some grub. I scrounged until I found a package of cinnamon rolls and grabbed a Mountain Dew to wash it down.
Micah strolled in with a yawn as I was swallowing my third bite. He narrowed his dark eyes and grimaced. “Dude. That’s gross.”
I grinned and took another bite. Yes, I had a sweet tooth from hell, but I was also making up for lost time. Snacks were a commodity in prison, just like cash and cigarettes, but the choices in that particular hell hole were dismal. Not a HoHo in sight. “Breakfast of champions, bro.”
He huffed a noise of disgust then yanked open the fridge, pulling out his typical health food crap. I devoured my roll and watched as he poured low-fat milk, about four different fruits, some powdered muscle shit, and flax seed into the blender. As he hit the power and started whirring it all into a pink foam, I rose and dropped my wrapper in the trash. “That shit’ll kill you, man.”
He ignored me and I laughed. As long as I’d known him, Micah had always been conscious about what he put into his body, but since his two tours in Afghanistan and cranking up his Krav Maga training, he’d become a nut.
As I passed him, my cell chimed in my pocket. “Yello?” I answered, pausing long enough to snatch a blueberry from the carton next to Micah. I never said I wouldn’t eat fruits and nuts and shit . . . just not often.
“Mornin’,” came my best friend, Blake’s gravelly voice.
I winced when I heard his baby girl, Molly, screaming in the background, along with his wife, Delilah’s, sweet murmurs of comfort. “Sounds fun over there,” I commented.
“Ha. Yeah.” He mumbled something to his girls, then it was all quiet after the closing of a door. “You heard anything from Jeff Riley?”
I moved to grab my work boots, ignoring the slim ankle bracelet blinking green on my right leg. “Nah. He said he’d drop off his Harley in the next day or two. I’m guessing he just hasn’t made it back from his long haul yet.”
“All right, cool. In that case, would you mind getting an early start on the 4Runner out front? The lady who brought it in said it’s running a bit rough, not starting well.”
“Yeah, man, no problem.”
“Thanks.”
We shot the shit a little longer until baby Molly made it clear only her daddy would make her happy and he had to hang up to tend to his little princess.
I shook my head. As cool as my best buddy was, and I knew we’d take a bullet for each other, I just couldn’t get his draw to fatherhood. But then, I didn’t need to get it because it wasn’t something I’d ever have.
Who would want a family with someone as tainted as me? Yeah. No one. Ugliness hovered just underneath my skin, waiting to be baited, to be unleashed. And I would not let that happen.
A stifling, humid breeze rolled in the bay doors of Jack ‘Em Up garage, not doing a thing to combat the Texas heat. Living near the Gulf Coast in summer could be both a blessing and a curse. I swiped the sweat from my head with my forearm and readjusted myself under the hood of the 4Runner. Only ten a.m. and I was on my third water bottle of the day. Yeah, water. Micah would be so proud.
The foreign sound of feminine shoes clacking on the concrete distracted me from the spark plug wires I was replacing and I glanced up.
My traitorous body reacted automatically as Rachel Chaseman sauntered toward me, all decked out in a form-fitting red business suit, her skirt floating around show-stopping legs. Holy fuck.
“Hi,” she said a bit shyly, totally at odds with her power suit.
I rose to my full height and grabbed a rag to wipe my hands as I took in the twisty do she used to try and tame that sexy ass red hair of hers. “Hey.”
She studied me, dark eyes assessing.
“Delilah’s not here,” I offered, thinking she was there to see her best friend.
“I know.” She kept her gaze pinned to mine and I’d swear an arc of electricity shot between us, but that was stupid.
Me, felon on parole.
Her, attorney who puts criminals like me behind bars. Smokin’ hot attorney, but that didn’t change a thing.
I leaned my weight against the 4Runner’s fender and eyed her back until pink stained her cheeks. But, true to form, she didn’t back down. She squared her shoulders and tilted her head as if in a dare. “I came to see you.”<
br />
I fought to keep my jaw from the ground. “Me?”
A mischievous grin toyed with those luscious pink lips. “Yes. You.”
I tossed the rag from one hand to the other, wrapping my head around this. Rachel Chaseman had been as elusive as an angel ever since we met in high school. Our best friends were the golden couple, married right out of school, perfect for each other in every way. We were the two on the outside looking in, but never together. No, not together.
There were simply no words to describe how opposite we were, the uncharted territory that would never be mapped between us. She was the sun, bright and vivacious and stunning to behold, while I was the blackest fucking night.
I ducked my head, cupping the back of my neck. “Well then . . . what can I do for you?”
When I glanced back up, she was biting her bottom lip as if to stop a smile. “Would you believe me if I told you that I have a motorcycle and I need some help restoring it?”
“No.”
She laughed, full out, and it did beautiful things to her face. She lit up and sparkled like a diamond. “Well, it’s true.”
I simply stared at her.
She plucked an imaginary piece of lint from her jacket, her smile falling a tad. “I inherited it when my dad died.” She caught my gaze and I saw the emotions brimming. “He’d been meaning to start working on it for years. Kind of a retirement project.” She glanced away. “He just never got the chance, and it’s been sitting in his garage all this time. I’d like to finish it for him . . . and for me. Delilah told me you’re the motorcycle expert here at the shop.” The ocean of her chocolate eyes nearly sucked me in. “Is that true?”
“I . . . I guess so,” I murmured, uncomfortable with being called an expert. I just loved the hell out of bikes and had fiddled with them more than the other guys.
She nodded and her eyes skated around the shop, pausing momentarily on our Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar, then swung back to me. “So?”
“So, what?”
A grin curled her pink lips. “Will you help me?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“What kind of bike did your daddy have?”
“A 1969 Indian.”
Damn. I let out a low whistle between my teeth as anticipation mixed with excitement bubbled up through me at the thought of getting my hands on that classic.
“I take it that’s a yes?” she asked, her eyes wide with anxiety and just the hint of a tease.
“Oh, yeah, darlin’. That is a most definite yes.”
Rachel
I stared into Jesse Joyner’s sky blue eyes and had to battle down every butterfly that thrashed in my belly, all while trying to appear cool and unruffled in the bastard otherwise known as summer in Texas.
Oh, yeah, darlin’. That is a most definite yes.
He’d called me darlin’. And said yes. I was surprised . . . thrilled . . . a nervous wreck.
After all, I’d lusted after Jesse since high school. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but he’d always drawn me in like a moth to light. He was so . . . so . . . hell, I didn’t know. Hot. Yes, there was definitely that, with those clear eyes, little boy blond hair, full lips, and that body for days. He’d definitely packed on the muscle in prison.
Yes, prison.
I knew all about that thanks to my bestie, Delilah, and as an attorney, he was probably not the best match for me. But that didn’t stop my traitorous body from wanting him. I mean, really, he’d gone to jail for protecting his sister. I shouldn’t find that kind of protectiveness sexy, but damn it, I did. Plus, he’d always been so sweet to me, if a little standoffish. I was dying to peel back a few layers and find out what made Jesse “hottie” Joyner tick.
He tilted his head and studied me. “When can you bring it in?”
What? Oh, right. He was going to help me rebuild my daddy’s bike. As much as I was excited about this serendipitous twist throwing us together, I was ten times happier to be fixing up my father’s motorcycle. His death several months ago had really thrown me for a loop. And that’s an understatement. Daddy had been my anchor, the first love of my life. I was lost without him.
I bowed my head, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Uh . . . it’s not running, so I’m not sure. I don’t have a trailer or any way to get it here,” I said, indicating my Audi visible in the parking lot.
“I’d be happy to pick it up with my trailer,” he said once I met his gaze again.
“Oh, that’d be gr—”
“Or I could work on it at your place,” he interrupted, leaving me gaping. “At least until we get it up and running.” He grinned like he knew the effect he had on me.
“I . . .” I paused, internally shaking off the nerves. I’d never let a man get to me before. I was strong, self-reliant, intelligent. Not some silly girl who blathered over boys. I stood straighter and met his smiling eyes. “Whatever works best for you is fine with me.” I swallowed. “Thank you.”
He glanced over my shoulder as footsteps sounded, followed by deep male voices shooting good-natured insults back and forth like ping-pong balls.
Then, silence. They must’ve spotted me. I pasted on a smile and slowly pivoted to face my bestie’s hubby, Blake, and the rest of the Jack ‘Em Up crew, Trace Berringer and Micah Christian. “Boys.”
Micah, the tall, dark, and silent one of the bunch, nodded a greeting and made his way to the wall of tools.
“Hey, Rachel,” Trace greeted as he and Blake ambled over.
“Is everything okay with the Audi?” Blake asked.
I felt Jesse shift behind me and wondered why he’d feel uncomfortable. “Yeah, all good.”
They studied me with questions in their eyes. “How’s Ryder?” I asked Trace, the tiny evil part of me wanting to prolong the agony of their curiosity. It wasn’t often I had the undivided attention of this many hot guys. Plus, I adored Trace’s little boy.
His eyes shot to Jesse behind me then back. “He’s great. Starting first grade this year.”
“Wow! School starts soon, doesn’t it?”
“Yup. Couple more weeks.”
Man, how time flies. I remembered Ryder as a dimple-cheeked baby when Trace’s ex had left him to raise their son and no one had heard from her since.
Behind me, Jesse cleared his throat. I met the eyes of the two men in front of me and decided to let them in on my latest project. “Jesse’s agreed to help me rebuild my daddy’s motorcycle.”
Automatically, their faces softened, everyone well aware of what a daddy’s girl I was. Blake recovered first and smiled. “That’s great. What did he have?”
“A 1969 Indian.”
They looked suitably impressed just like Jesse had, though I had no idea if the bike was worth anything or a piece of shit. It was worth the world to me and I’d do anything I could to get it finished.
We chatted another minute until the phone in the back office rang. “I’ve gotta get that,” Blake said. “It was nice seeing you.”
Trace had already made his way over to help Micah with something, leaving me alone with Jesse. Slowly, I spun to face him again, my breath automatically catching at the sight of him. Again. Tall, muscles in all kinds of perfect places, broody, thick arms full of tattoos crossed over his chest as he took me in with his eerily blue eyes.
Calling on my courtroom skills, I forced in a breath, feigning composure. “Well . . . I need to get back to the office. If you’ll just let me know—”
“Will Friday night be soon enough?”
I blinked. “Soon enough for what?”
“For me to start on the bike. At your place.”
Those butterflies from earlier took a quick nosedive to my . . . well . . . “Sure. If you’re sure, I mean. I’ll need to give you my address. I’ve moved out of my apartment to a little house close to the office and I have a garage now. Not that I have any tools or anything . . .” I rambled on, feeling stupid as he continued to stare at me like I was a
gazelle on the lion’s menu.
“Don’t worry about the tools. Or your address. I’ve got it.”
“I . . .” Shock heated my face. “You do?”
He grinned adorably. “What? Have tools or your address?”
“Both.”
His wink caught me off guard. “Of course.”
Before I could ask how he knew where I lived, he shifted and picked up some wiry things. “Friday? Sevenish?”
I took a step back, my stilettos clicking loudly to my ears. “Oh. Of course. I’ll see you then.”
I scrambled out to my Audi, his smiling face burning itself into my brain.
I managed to skirt Angelo and all the other attorneys at the firm when I slid in after lunch. The last thing I needed was for my ex—much less any of my professional peers—to see me blushing over a guy. Especially when we’d just hired a new big shot attorney from Atlanta. Andrew Stripling was a big catch, and Angelo and the others were convinced he’d be good for the firm and building clientele. I wasn’t so sure I wanted that, I liked our small-town firm, but I was willing to be a team player and give the guy a chance.
I hunched over and concentrated fiercely on the divorce decree in front of me. My client, Heather Casey, was fighting her jerk of an ex-husband over his court ordered child support and I was intent on battling this one to the death for her. He’d left her broke, in debt, and taking care of their three small children by herself, while he ran off to Mexico with their nanny. Asshat.
Eyes still on the papers, I yanked up my ringing office phone. “Rachel Chaseman.”
“You went to see Jesse.”
My gaze shot up to the window guiltily at Delilah’s smiling voice. “What?”
She laughed. “Jesse. Joyner. My husband’s best friend. You went to talk to him like I told you to.”
No point asking how she knew. She talked to her man like a million times a day. “Boy, word travels fast around here.”
“And?”
I tapped the pen in my hand to a restless beat. “And, what?”
“Oh, come on, Rach. You and Jesse have been dancing around each other for years.”
