Bad Boy Series
Soul Songs
Simone Carter
©Copyright 2017 Simone Carter
All rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. Reviewers may quote brief passages in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products or the writer’s imagination or have been used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
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Chapter 1
There were probably already a dozen cars in the drive when Marty Donahue maneuvered her old red RV far to the edge of the asphalt lane. Wow. Somebody must be having a party.
Marty couldn't hold back a snort. Why was she surprised? After all, this home did belong to Jake Stryker, bad boy superstar of country music. And it's exactly what she'd been worried about when she took this job. If this guy lived up to his reputation, she would never have any peace and quiet while she worked.
A big orange cat rose in the passenger's seat, arching his back and eyeballing his mistress with his one good eye. Marty had no idea how he'd lost the other one. He'd been like that when he forced his way into her RV at a home in Nebraska where she'd been painting a mural. He'd never left her, keeping her company as she traveled from job to job in Big Red.
"Well, Gruff, it looks like it's going to be as bad as I expected. It's a damn good thing he's paying me big bucks and those kids have a sad story or I'd say goodbye faster than I'd say hello." She reached out and scratched between his ears, earning herself a head rub and a deep, rumbling purr.
Really it was because of the kids' story she'd taken this job. When Sarah Sawyer, a former client, had called her and told her the job was for Jake Stryker, her immediate answer had been no. She wasn't crazy about most men, and she especially disliked musicians. Her father had been in a not-very-successful rock and roll band, always on the road, spending more time partying than he did making music. He spent most of his money on drugs, booze, and other women, leaving her mother to basically raise her child alone. When he had died from a drug overdose when Marty was 13, she wasn't surprised.
But when she'd heard the story of the 4-year-old twins who had lost their mother due to domestic violence her heart was touched. Their father had beaten their mother to death right in front of them. Those poor babies. If she could bring some joy into their lives with her paintings then she needed to do that.
Since no one had seemed to notice her arrival, she took a few minutes to freshen up. She was tired. She'd driven here from Chicago and her head was aching. She pulled the band from her ponytail and shook it loose, running her fingers through her mass of red-gold waves. Quickly she drew a hairbrush through it then added a dash of lipgloss. She certainly wasn't out to impress Stryker, but he was her client. She ought to at least look presentable when she met him.
She hadn't been supposed to arrive until tomorrow but finished up her job in Chicago early and headed out. She'd texted Stryker but hadn't heard back from him, so here she was at nine o'clock at night not even knowing if she was expected.
She stepped out the door and stretched her back. It had been a long drive from Chicago to Tennessee. The deep blue cotton sundress she wore was wrinkled but it would have to do. She wasn't going to put on a show for this guy. He'd just have to take her as she was.
Marty had to stop and admire the setting. The big log house stood before her, two stories tall in the center then long and rambling. A wide porch wrapped around the building, rocking chairs and wooden benches adorned with blue and white checked cushions placed invitingly here and there. The yard was park-like, broad and expansive with beds of blooming flowers scattered here and there and tall trees gracefully towering overhead. From here she could see several log outbuildings, including a barn where horses were housed.
Well, she may not admire Jake Stryker, but she did admire his taste in residences. The place was gorgeous, especially with the sun just beginning to set, shimmers of rose and coral ribbons tinting the western sky. Even as she surveyed the vista a deer and two fawns made their way across the pasture, seemingly without fear. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the delicate creatures tiptoe across the field and disappear into the woods.
Straightening her shoulders Marty started up the walk. Time to meet the bad boy of country music. She couldn't help but roll her turquoise eyes at the thought. Might as well get this over with.
Marty rang the bell and got no response so she raised her hand and knocked. Still nothing. She was just getting ready to rap again when the door jerked open. A huge redheaded man loomed before her, a beer mug in one hand, a blast of music coming from behind him.
Before she could speak the big guy beat her to it.
"Hello, darling. Jake said no strippers, but I guess he was just joshing us." He ran his eyes eagerly over her figure. "You may be little, but you sure are pretty. Come on in." With that, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her so forcefully into the house that her feet threatened to fly out from under her. "Hey, fellas, guess who's here? Stryker was bullshitting us after all. It's a stripper!"
Marty tried to resist, she honestly did, but this guy was an unstoppable force. Her feet barely touched the floor as he pulled her along, pulling her across a massive living room. She had time to note a huge river rock fireplace, hardwood floors, and cathedral ceilings towering overhead before she was dragged down to a big lower level game room filled with men. Lots and lots of men.
She looked around, her eyes round and panic threatening to shut off her air supply when she didn't see another female in sight. Holy crap! Who were all these males with beers in their hands and smoke coiling around their heads?
Marty found herself pinned beneath the curious gazes of more than a dozen men. They ogled her boldly, and a few of them let out catcalls and whistles. A couple of them rose to their feet and headed her way, eyeballing her like the grand prize at a turkey shoot.
Hot color suffused her cheeks and a sickening feel twisted in her gut. What the hell had she walked into? She flashed her gaze around the room. Stryker wasn't here. She'd seen enough pictures of the man that she knew she would recognize him. She was alone with a pack of drunken males who thought she was a stripper. Good God, what the hell should she do?
Chapter 2
Marty thought fast. If they wanted a stripper, she would be a stripper. At least until she figured out where the hell Stryker was and how the hell to get out of this situation.
"Hi there, fellas," she called
out, waggling her fingers at them. "Looks like ya'll are having a real good time tonight."
"It's gonna get better now that you're here," a dark headed guy with a big beard shouted out. The other men guffawed, some of them yelling, "Hell, yeah," and "You bet your sweet ass."
Inwardly Marty flinched, but she kept her smile planted in place. Her legs were shaking right down to her leather flip-flops, but she couldn't break down now. She was just going to have to bluff her way through this.
"Well, aren't ya‘ll sweet. But I don't see the guy who invited me here. Where's Jake Stryker?"
"Oh, Jake will be around, but hell, no need to wait on him. Let's get this party started!" The redhead who'd manhandled her into the room hollered and the rest of the men responded with clapping and whistling. Geez, what a bunch of degenerates.
"Well, hey, aren't you even going to offer a girl a drink?" Anything to buy some time.
Half a dozen men scurried towards the bar offering to make her a cocktail. She pretended to have trouble making up her mind then finally asked for a Mist and Coke. She giggled and took the glass, drawing in a big sip.
"My, that is might tasty. A girl works up a big thirst doing what I do." She batted her thick, spiky lashes at the men gathered around her, widening her blue-green eyes.
"Well, drink up there, darlin', and let's get on with the show." She spun around and looked at the speaker. A sudden rush of recognition ran through her as she realized it was another country superstar named Legend Hayes. He ran his gaze up and down her body, the gray eyes raking over her with a lustful leer. A single lock of sun-bleached blonde hair fell across his forehead somehow reminding her of a snake slithering down a hill.
"Oh, are you impatient? Haven't you ever heard that anticipation makes the prize even sweeter?" She raised an eyebrow at him then winked seductively. "I did just get here, you know."
He crossed his arms across his chest, his expression unchanging. "I also know what you're getting paid to do and it isn't to stand around drinking."
Marty tossed back her drink in one gulp. This next part was going to take courage, liquid or otherwise.
"All righty then, let's get this party started. Hey, how about a couple of you fellas helping me up on that pool table?"
Marty found herself lifted atop the pool table by a dozen willing hands. She stood up straight and looked down at the crowd of men all standing and watching her with anticipation. She tossed her strawberry curls behind her shoulders and wiggled her hips seductively. She felt like a fool but she had to make it look real.
"Hey, Red, how about handing me a pool cue?" She forced her voice to lower, making it husky and teasing. When the redheaded dude handed her the stick she took it and held it diagonally across her front with both hands, like a baseball bat, staring down the sea of men.
"Now that I've got your attention," she hollered, her voice becoming suddenly more forceful, "I've got an announcement to make."
She made eye contact with each and every man in the room.
"I am not a stripper. I'm Marty Donahue, a painter come to work for Jake Stryker. I don't know where he's at or what you all are doing here, but I need to see Jake—now."
She stood there glaring, armed with a cue stick and ready to do battle if any one of these guys moved towards her.
Jake Stryker was staring at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She stood on top the pool table like an avenging angel ready to fight for her virtue. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, glowing like fire beneath the overhead light, her teal blue dress hugging her slender form. Her chin was high, her face pale, but her turquoise eyes shone with determination. She stood with her long, slender legs planted apart, her breasts heaving, every inch of her body announcing her willingness to defend herself. Damn, she looked like some kind of fairy warrior ready to fight for good to defeat evil.
He didn't move for a moment, frozen in the doorway, entranced by the sight before him. She didn't even look real. He blinked twice and realized she was still there. He wasn't imagining things. He hadn't just conjured up this earth angel in his mind.
What had she said? She was Marty Donahue, the muralist? Hell, he'd thought Donahue was a man. Sarah hadn't mentioned she was female. He'd pictured some funky little guy in paint stained pants and a Hawaiian shirt, not an incredibly sexy female who made his heart pound just looking at her.
Her words suddenly sank into his numb brain. Damn. She wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow. Why was she here now? Not only that, the woman was squaring off on a pool table with a bunch of his horny buddies who had gathered for the bachelor party he was hosting for his best friend, Lane. Lane was his lead guitar player and he was getting married on Sunday. And these guys were out to howl.
Jake needed to put a stop to this right now. There was such a grumbling growing amongst his buddies that he was afraid he wouldn't be heard, so he put two fingers between his lips and whistled, loudly and shrilly.
"Hold up, fellas." His voice rang above the mingling voices of the other men. "That is not a stripper."
Marty's gaze flew to the man just entering the room. Jake Stryker, in the flesh. And the flesh was so much sexier than his pictures. Slightly too long coffee brown hair framed a square face outlined in 5 o'clock shadow. His dark chocolate eyes sparked with warning, his mouth set in a hard line.
But it was his body that really caught Marty's attention. A tight black Harley Davidson t-shirt outlined a physique that would have been the envy of Adonis. Broad shoulders and bulging biceps paired with a flat abdomen and slender hips. Snug fitting faded blue jeans outlined powerful thighs. This guy was hot right from his silky waves down to his booted feet.
Marty's breath caught in her throat as the hunk of man strode towards her. Damn, she couldn't breathe, couldn't move as she watched him saunter forward and take a stance in front of the pool table.
"This is Marty Donahue, the artist I hired to paint murals for my niece and nephew's rooms. Back off and leave her alone."
He turned and extended his hand to Marty.
"Please, forgive my rowdy friends. I'm Jake Stryker."
Marty couldn't stop the thought streaking across her mind.
And you are my downfall.
Chapter 3
A roar of dissatisfaction rose from the crowd of men behind him. Jake immediately turned and faced them. "Hey, I told you guys there'd be no strippers and there isn't. Get over it."
Then he returned his gaze to Marty and she felt it pierce into her core. How did this man evoke such sensations with just a look? She felt pinned beneath his gaze, unable to move, unable to function.
"Let me help you down, Marty." His voice was like silk sliding across her skin, rousing every nerve ending throughout her body. She finally managed to pull herself together enough to place her hands on his shoulders and accept his help. He grasped her waist and she sucked in her breath. It felt as if an electric shock zapped her when his hands wrapped around her.
There was nothing improper about the way he helped her from the pool table. But somehow it felt entirely inappropriate, like he had stroked her body in front of his buddies.
"Thank you." She managed to finally breathe out some words as her feet settled on the hardwood floor. His hands held on to her waist a few seconds longer than necessary.
"I'm sorry about your welcome. I'm having a bachelor party and well…I didn't expect you until tomorrow." For a minute it seemed as if they were the only two in the room and he was talking just to her. Her gaze was trapped, locked into his own intense brown stare. Suddenly she managed to pull herself together and frown in his direction.
"I texted you earlier today that I was arriving tonight instead of tomorrow."
"I'm sorry. I guess I must have missed it."
Marty straightened her dress and tilted her chin upwards.
"I hope this isn't a sign of things to come." She managed to maintain a stern tone to her voice. After all, her dignity was at stake. Damn, she never thought she'd be mistaken for
a stripper.
"No, ma'am." His voice rang with sincerity. "I promise, nobody at this house will ever mistake you for a stripper again."
His face was so awash with guilt she gave in. No sense in starting out with a grudge against her employer. But she was still wary—very, very, wary—of this studly male. There was something dangerous about him that set her nerves on edge.
"Well, that's something, I guess." She shrugged grudgingly. Of course, being mistaken for a stripper was kind of a compliment, she guessed, albeit a left-handed one.
"Well, let me welcome you to Misty Melody Farms. I promise it's not always like this." He grinned, making the single dimple in his left cheek dance. "Sometimes it's actually sane around here."
Marty couldn't help but smile in return even though she still burned from the mistake. Geez, she thought she looked fairly conservative, not like a hoochie mama. She turned to glare at the other men. Creeps
"May I get you something else to drink? Or some food?"
"No, thanks. I'd just like to get my RV set up and go to bed, if you don't mind. It was a long drive from Chicago to here."
"Of course. Come on, I'll show you where to park so you can plug into the electricity."
Marty shivered as he placed his hand upon her back to lead her from the room full of men. She heard some of them moan as they moved through the crowd. Well, tough, she thought. They'd have to go without their stripper tonight.
Once upstairs Jake silently led the way outside. When they'd emerged on the porch he paused and drew in a deep breath.
"I'm sorry. That was kind of awkward."
Marty snorted. "Kind of?"
Jake chuckled. "Okay, you're right. It was real awkward."
"Well, I've got to say nobody's ever mistaken me for a stripper before."
"I apologize. I guess the guys didn't believe me when I said no strippers. Lane, the guest of honor, asked me not to have them and I respected his wish. He's kind of religious, you see, and I didn't want to offend him. Not that you wouldn't make a great stripper."
Bad Boy Series: Soul Songs (Bad Boy Romance Book 2) Page 1
