Everything for Us (A Bad Boys Novel)
Page 1
Praise for the novels of M. Leighton
DOWN TO YOU
“OMG! It was freakin’ hot! . . . M. Leighton knows how to make sexy bad boys that can steal your breath with a single look. Down to You will have you hooked after page one! It was a fantastic book!”
—Nette’s Bookshelf
“Did me in from [the] very first strip club scene. Done . . . stick a fork in me! I mean, bad boy being, motorcycle riding, tattoo having, emotional baggage carrying, tall dark and sexy looking, smart as a whip but hiding it—you know what that does to me. Seriously, what . . . is it with the bad boy that makes me lose my mind? I know I’m not alone here.”
—Scandalicious Book Reviews
“Steamy, sexy, and super hot! M. Leighton completely and absolutely knocked [it] out of the park.”
—The Bookish Brunette
“M. Leighton is quickly becoming one of my favorite contemporary romance writers. Down to You is scorching hot . . . an emotional roller coaster. I recommend Down to You to all contemporary romance readers out there for sure.”
—Reading Angel
“From its sexy, awesome opening sequence to the jaw-dropping end, Down to You is a story that will keep you laughing and swooning . . . Surprising, sexy, and fun, Down to You is a book that will steam you up and have you guessing until the very last page.”
—The Bookish Babe
“A funny, sexy, suspenseful read.”
—Romance Lovers Book Blog
“I loved Down to You. I devoured it, and I’m pretty sure you will, too.”
—For Love and Books
“Takes readers on a wild ride filled with twists and turns and moments that’ll leave you ready for a cold shower! [Leighton’s] story has it all and then some.”
—A Life Bound by Books
UP TO ME
“Scorching hot . . . insanely intense . . . and it is shocking. Shocking!”
—The Bookish Babe
“I definitely did NOT see the twists coming.”
—The Book List Reviews
“You know those first books in a series that totally blow you away and you just think, wow, this just can’t get any better than this? I mean, how can you make perfection better after all? Well, no worries here. Not only did [Leighton] completely blow Down to You out of the water with Up to Me, but she took it even further.”
—My Guilty Obsession
“Brilliant . . . Cash is seriously one of my most favorite characters ever. He’s a true alpha male, and you know how much I love those! He’s just one sexy beast.”
—The Book Goddess
“Leighton never gives the reader a chance to catch her breath . . . The plot has so many unexpected twists and turns that my heart was racing along . . . fast-paced, edge of your seat thrills. Yes, there is sex, OMG tongue hanging out of mouth, scorching sex.”
—Literati Literature Lovers
“Well, I drank this one down in one huge gulp . . . and it was delicious. How . . . hot is Cash? Oh my god, and the sex. The sex in this book is seriously scandalicious.”
—Scandalicious Book Reviews
“With twists happening faster than you can turn the page, Leighton continues her epic action and romance with characters that just keep getting hotter and hotter.”
—A Life Bound by Books
“Delicious . . . I stopped reading in order to grab a cold beer and cool off . . . the twists and turns on the plot line are brilliant.”
—Review Enthusiast
“[Down to You] was such a shock . . . Up to Me has even more shockers in store!”
—Examiner.com
THE WILD ONES
“This book is worth every second I spent reading it. Ms. Leighton is a phenomenal writer and I cannot give her enough praise.”
—Bookish Temptations
“Hands down one of the hottest books I’ve read all summer . . . Complete with love, secrets, dreams, and hidden pasts! The Wild Ones is romantic, sexy, and absolutely perfect! Drop everything and read this RIGHT NOW!”
—The Bookish Brunette
“I can honestly tell you that this is one of my top books of the year and easily one of my new all-time favorites. I couldn’t put the book down.”
—The Autumn Review
“You will laugh, swoon, and even shed a few tears. M. Leighton knows how to write an amazing story. Get your copy of The Wild Ones today. You will not regret it.”
—Between the Pages Reviews
Berkley titles by M. Leighton
THE WILD ONES
DOWN TO YOU
UP TO ME
EVERYTHING FOR US
EVERYTHING FOR US
The Bad Boys, Book 3
M. LEIGHTON
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA)
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
EVERYTHING FOR US
Copyright © 2013 by M. Leighton
Excerpt of Some Like It Wild copyright © 2013 by M. Leighton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA).
The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA).
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-63745-6
An application to register this book for cataloging has been submitted to the Library of Congress.
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition / September 2013
Cover art by Kiselev Andrey Valerevich/Shutterstock
Cover design by Lesley Worrell
Interior text design by Tiffany Estreicher
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Contents
Praise
Berkley titles by M. Leighton
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-
ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
A Final Word
Special Excerpt from Some Like It Wild
About the Author
To my God,
without you there is no inspiration
and no Davenport boys.
ONE
Nash
It’s always the same. The dream starts out with the feeling of a weight being lifted from my arms. That’s how I know what’s coming, that I’ll look down at my feet and see my hands pulling away from the box of supplies I was carrying, the box that now rests on the faded planks of the dock.
I straighten and take my cell phone from my pocket, flicking my thumb over the button that brings the screen to glowing life. I hit the camera app and raise the phone until I see the girl framed perfectly inside the lighted square.
She’s lying on the top deck of a yacht across the way. It’s swaying gently against the dock at the marina. It’s a great boat, but it’s not the boat that I’m interested in. Not at all. I’m interested in the girl. She’s young, she’s blond, and she’s topless.
Her skin is shiny with tanning oil and the sun glints off the firm, round globes of her tits. They’re the perfect handful, the kind that begs to be squeezed until she moans. The breeze picks up and, although it’s warm, her nipples pucker against it. They’re pouty and pink and they make my dick throb.
Damn, I love the marina!
Someone bumps my shoulder and I lose the girl in my viewfinder. I turn and glare at the old man who’s ambling off down the pier. I bite back the snide comment that’s hanging on the tip of my tongue. Cash wouldn’t bother. He doesn’t hold his tongue for anybody. But I’m not Cash.
Ignoring the old man, I turn back toward the yacht, back toward the topless girl with the great rack. But before I can find her again, something else catches my attention.
There’s a man standing at the end of the walkway, at the edge of the shore. He’s lounging against the back wall of the little shack that sells basic grocery items and gas for the various watercraft that use the marina. He looks casual enough, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed that seems . . . off. He’s wearing slacks. Like, dress slacks. And he’s pulling a thin rectangle out of his pocket. For the most part it looks like a cell phone. Only it’s not. With the magnification of my camera, I can see that it’s just a plain black box with a little red button on top.
I see his thumb slide easily over the button just before something slams into me so hard it knocks me off my feet and into the water behind me.
Then there’s nothing.
I don’t know how many minutes, or hours, or even days have passed when I wake up in the water. I’m floating face up as my head bumps repeatedly against the nubby, barnacle-covered pier.
Achy, I urge my muscles into motion and roll onto my stomach. Stiffly, I ease into a slow swim toward one of the several ladders that dot the length of the dock. I climb, dripping wet, out of the water and look around for whatever caused the loud explosion I heard just before I was thrown into the water.
When I turn toward where my family’s schooner was tethered, I see a cluster of people gathered there. It takes a full thirty seconds for my mind to interpret what I’m seeing—an empty boat slip, pieces of flaming wood peppering the dock, bits of splintered furniture scattered throughout the water. And smoke. Lots of smoke. And whispers, too. And, in the distance, growing closer, sirens.
I come awake from the nightmare with a start, just like I always do. I’m sweating and breathing hard, just like I always am. My face is wet with tears, just like it always is. It’s been so long since I’ve had the dream, I forget how devastated and empty and . . . angry it leaves me feeling.
But now I remember. I remember with perfect clarity. And today, it’s like pouring gasoline onto a raging fire.
I sit up in the bed to catch my breath. My side twinges in pain, reminding me of what happened last night. All of it comes rushing back, further fueling my fury.
Until a small, cool hand touches my shoulder.
I turn to see Marissa sitting up behind me, leaning on her elbow, looking at me through sleepy, sexy blue eyes. Before I can even think about what I’m doing, all the bitterness, all the anger, all the pent-up aggression gets channeled into pure lust. The need to devour something, to lose myself in something overwhelms everything else and I dive in. To her.
Spinning, I roll onto Marissa, pressing her warm body into the mattress. I hear her soft gasp as I crush her lips beneath mine. I swallow it—the sound, the fear, the hesitant desire—taking it in and letting it feed the animal inside me.
My tongue slips easily into her mouth. She tastes sweet, like honey. I push my knee between her thighs and they part, allowing me to settle my hips against hers.
It’s not until I push my hand under the edge of her shirt that I realize she’s stiff. I lift my head to look down at her. She’s staring at me with wide, surprised, slightly terrified eyes.
TWO
Marissa
Nash stops kissing me just as I was about to lose myself to him. That would’ve been a disaster.
Wouldn’t it?
I hold my breath as he stares down at me. Even in the low light, I can see the awareness come back into his black eyes. Something else had hold of him. And something in me liked it, which is totally not like me at all. But, then again, nothing seems to be the same since I was abducted. Why should I expect this to be any different?
I wonder absently if my life will ever be the same again. And if I even want it to be.
I feel slightly bereft when Nash moves off me and flops back onto the bed, flinging his arm over his eyes.
“You should probably stay away from me.” His voice is a low rumble in the quiet darkness.
“I know,” I reply in a moment of bald honesty. And I do know. He’s right. I should stay away from him. But I also know, deep down in some newly unearthed part of me, that I won’t. That I can’t. I’m drawn to him like I’m drawn to water or air. I don’t know why and I’m not entirely comfortable with it, but I’m smart enough and rational enough to admit it, to recognize and to realize that I need to deal with it. The question is: How?
After a few seconds of silence, Nash jerks his arm away from his face and turns his head to glare at me. “Then what the hell are you still doing here?”
I stare into the fiery, furious depths of his eyes and still, despite the danger I know lurks within them, within him, I can’t bring myself to get up and walk away. To distance myself from him. I can’t. Not just yet.
“Because I need you,” I say simply. And I do. To make me feel protected. Safe.
Nash opens his mouth as if he’s going to reply, but no words come out. He just looks at me, looks into me with those cold-and-hot-at-the-same-time eyes of his. They’re so much like Cash’s, like the Nash I thought I knew, but they’re also nothing like them. Nothing like anything I’ve ever seen before.
Seen or felt.
After a long pause, he finally speaks. “I’m trouble.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“You’ll probably get hurt.”
I gulp. I know it’s true, but hearing the words, out loud, acknowledging them, is something else entirely. “I know,” I admit.
“Then you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I know,” I say again, wondering if I’ve lost my mind as well as my vocabulary.
After a few more seconds of staring at me, Nash turns gingerly onto his unwounded side. “Roll over,” he says gruffly.
I’m not sure why, but
I do as he says without asking questions. It makes me pretty certain that yes, I have lost my mind.
On my side, facing away from him, I fold my hands under my cheek. My mind races with questions that have no answers and images that haunt me from the darkness. Just as a sense of panic starts to creep up from my chest and lodge in my throat, Nash drapes his arm over my waist, pulling me toward him, snugging me up into the curve of his body. He does it roughly, almost grudgingly. I don’t get the feeling that he’s giving me comfort so much as giving in and getting some for himself. It’s almost as though he resists the help, the emotion of other people. He’s a loner, stranded on an island of anger and bitterness. He needs rescuing. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Regardless of his motives, the effect is still the same. In fact, the thought that he might need me as much as I feel like I need him intensifies it. Instantly, my mind stills and the panic quiets. That’s the moment I realize that yes, he is trouble. And that no, it won’t keep me away from him. Nothing will.
And I don’t know why.
* * *
When next I open my eyes, I can see streaks of daylight peeking beneath the edge of my curtains. I listen to the sounds around me.
Nash’s breathing is deep and even where it fans the side of my neck. A chill runs through me at the feel of his hard body pressed against my back.
I don’t know what has gotten into me. I’ve never reacted to a man this way. Not even close. And I dated his brother, for God’s sake! But it was nothing like this. This is something more, something wild. Something . . . different.
I hear the click of a door shutting. It sounded like it came from Olivia’s room. One of them must be up.
Olivia.
Guilt washes through me when I think of her. How in the world she could be so kind to me, to risk so much to save me when I’ve treated her so badly, is truly beyond my comprehension. It makes me want to be worthy of that generosity and sincerity, although I doubt I ever could be.
An idea strikes me, so I move slowly away from Nash and slip out of the bed, padding quietly to the kitchen. I’m pleased to see that Olivia kept the fridge stocked while I was gone. Pulling eggs from the cubby inside the door, I open the freezer, too, taking out sausage patties and hash browns and laying it all on the counter. I grab a bowl and three skillets of varying sizes from the cabinet and set them on the stove. Looking proudly at my progress thus far, I push up my sleeves, ready to dig in and make a great breakfast for everyone. I jump, startled, when I hear a throat clear behind me.