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  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  For Shannon Richard. Proof God knows what he’s doing when he finds friends for me. Thank you for your undying support and for being my water cooler pal in our virtual office.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Donovan Pate and Sofie Martin have led many, many alternate lives. As an author, you start out with an idea and as you learn to improve, things change. Ideas shift, making the old idea, well, not bad, but not right. Finally, Donovan and Sofie are right.

  I believe RESCUING THE BAD BOY, after its first inception in 2010 (its last in 2014), has turned out exactly as it should have. That said, there are thank-yous to dole out. Climb into the way-back machine with me, because some of these are long overdue.

  Heidi Betts. Long a fan of your work, I couldn’t have been more grateful to have access to a “real” author who offered advice, humor, and more importantly, belief that I would succeed before there was any proof that I would. You gave me my first cover quote. You asked me to do a beta read for you. You validated me. Thank you.

  Sarah Mayberry, how do I love thee? You live on the other side of the big, blue ocean, but I connected via e-mail, gushing about how much I adored your writing. I also admitted I wanted to grow up and be a writer, like you. You didn’t laugh. You didn’t blow me off. You asked if you could send me the transcript of a speech you’d given about plot and character. I was so grateful to learn, to grow, to be taken seriously. Thank you for believing in me.

  Cynthia Reese. You were the first published author to read a chapter I’d written. (Thank you, Julie Musil, for the introduction.) While that book will likely never see the light of day, I will never forget your assessment of my very green prose. You told me I could write. You told me my voice reminded you of Patricia Gaffney. I was so overjoyed to hear I wasn’t wasting my time, I could have kissed you.

  Everyone who followed my blog, Sm:)e Feel Good. You joined me in my journey to publishing, commenting, rallying, cheering me on—even with nothing to gain for yourselves. Thank you for your support.

  Thank you, beta readers (new versions and old), Niki Hughes, Amy Wade, Piper Trace, Amber Dunlevy, Charissa Weaks, Teri Anne Stanley, Jeannie Moon.

  Thanks to Maisey Yates, not only for your friendship, but for your advice on so many things—including writing a hero who’d suffered a stint of… um… denying himself. You are a master!

  Thank you to my readers, for sticking with me from one series to the next. I hope you know how much I truly appreciate your comments online, your e-mails, and meeting you at signings. I love creating characters you love.

  As always, thank you to my editor, Lauren Plude, publicist, Julie Paulauski, agent, Nicole Resciniti, and everyone hammering away at Grand Central/Forever to make this book real.

  Every word in this book has been toiled over, fretted about, and above all else, loved into creation. Donovan and Sofie made the journey worth it for me. I hope you feel the same way.

  ~Jess

  PROLOGUE

  The row of sconces lining the hallway cast a yellowish glow across the mansion foyer, doing little to illuminate the floor, the thick drapes covering the windows, or the staircase leading to the murky beyond.

  Not that Donny Pate needed light to see what he was doing. Who he was doing.

  Who I’m about to do…

  One hand cradling Sofie Martin’s incredible ass, his mouth explored hers, the length of his body pressing her back to the heavy wooden door. Her, he could see.

  Every pliant inch felt as amazing as it looked.

  He bit her earlobe and she arched her back, rubbing her little black dress against his sweater and jeans. The blood in his head rushed directly to his crotch. He’d tasted her mouth at the bar, sucked on her tongue for several minutes in his Jeep parked outside the mansion, and now, this up-against-the-door thing was trying every last ounce of his willpower.

  He might die if he didn’t get inside her soon.

  It’d been a shit week, one he’d rather forget, followed by a shit night that was turning out pretty damn good. Tonight’s company Christmas party had been boring as hell, but the manager at the Wharf required everyone be in attendance if they wanted to get their bonus checks. Donny needed that bonus. He was leaving this godforsaken town the minute the check cleared.

  Cheesy decorations had been strewn across the restaurant’s dining room, a tinny version of “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer” piping through an ancient sound system. Donny had relegated himself to chain-smoking and drinking with his jackass coworkers, making tonight not unlike any other Saturday in Evergreen Cove.

  Until the tip of Sofie’s cute, upturned nose poked around a dividing wall. Then his evening took a decidedly more interesting turn.

  She’d been sending him furtive glances from the bar all evening, while pretending to sip the beer she’d opened shortly after walking through the door. Caught, a playful smile curled her lips.

  Sofie wasn’t one to wear a fuck-me smile with a skin-tight black dress, all while blinking bedroom eyes. Tonight, she’d done all three. That was the smile of a girl determined to make a mistake.

  Her lucky night.

  To quote his recently deceased, formerly belligerent old man, Donny was most definitely “a mistake.”

  Often, her gaze slid to him in the kitchen at work—amid the clatter of cooking utensils, tall, steel shelves, and fifteen to twenty other servers and cooks. In the midst of clashing pans and the general chaos of a dinner rush, Donny had caught her moss green eyes on him more than once. And, more than once, he’d allowed his eyes to travel south.

  Unflattering khaki pants and a starched, button-down shirt hadn’t been able to hide Sofie’s killer body. He’d never considered himself an ass man, but Scampi’s backside had a healthy curve, and enough cushion to give his imagination plenty of ammo.

  Scampi, he thought bemusedly as he slid his lips along hers.

  She’d earned the nickname on a dare.

  About a month back, after cooking the dinner special for Sofie’s tables at least nine times, he’d turned to find the printer spitting out another order from her.

  Shrimp Scampi. Again.

  Tongs in hand, he swiped the perspiration from his upper lip with the sleeve of his chef’s coat. He’d been in the weeds all damn night, sweating over four sauté pans going at once. Pissed, he’d shouted a warning across the kitchen. “One more Scampi from you, Sofie, and I’ll brand you for life!”

  At the sound of his raised voice, the bustling staff had halted for a split second, servers pausing, black books in hand or trays held high. Sofie had approached the divider, put a hand on the shelf between them, and narrowed her green eyes in challenge. Tension knotted the air. The same tension he’d felt buzzing between them like a downed power line since day one.

  Typically, Sofie was fairly quiet, but right then, she hadn’t looked intimidated or tongue-tied. “Only one?” she’d asked with a rogue smirk.

  He’d be damned if she didn’t march into the dining room and sell not one more Shrimp Scampi special, but three to her next table.

  “Scampi,” he said now, tugging her bottom lip with his teeth.

  At the
party this evening, a similar look crossed her face. He’d recognized her determination instantly. Knew there’d be no stopping her from getting what she wanted. And what she wanted, apparently, was him. Ignoring the blaring sirens in his head telling him to leave her alone, he’d made a decision. Good girl or not, he’d have her tonight.

  Consider it a farewell present to himself.

  “Donny.” He could tell by her breathy response, she liked the bite he’d given her sweet mouth. He squeezed her lush body. A squeak left her lips. She liked that, too.

  Against her mouth, he smiled.

  Every damn time.

  Smiling wasn’t really his thing. What did he have to smile about? Nothing, normally. But now, a cute brunette rubbing against his cock, her cheeks warm despite the winter air leaking through the gap beneath the mansion’s front door, her lips parting in a reverent sigh…

  Hell yeah, he had something to smile about.

  He grabbed another handful of her ass, admiring the mess he’d made of her hair.

  “Library, sweetheart.” The closest room in proximity to the front door held an ugly red velvet couch and a thick white rug. He would happily lay her down on either. He’d even let her choose.

  “Okay,” came her response.

  Tightening his hold on her, he lifted her off the ground. Her legs were long, but not too long, her arms hooked around his neck comfortably, her tits in his face thanks to the fact she’d wrapped those not-too-long legs around his waist. He was six-four and guessed her at five and a half feet, every inch of her fitting every inch of him perfectly.

  In the pale light, he saw her smile back at him. It made him want her more; a hell of a feat considering the hard-on pressed painfully against his fly.

  At the threshold of the library, he paused, careful not to knock her head on the door frame. “Couch or rug?”

  Her fingers stopped twirling the back of his long hair. She gave him an innocent, doe-eyed blink. Stunned speechless, he guessed. Scampi wasn’t one of the slutty girls he normally took home. And he further guessed, in spite of her best efforts to be a bad girl for a night, “making out” had been the extent of her post–Christmas party plans.

  Well, he had other plans. He’d have to encourage her to embrace her inner bad girl. Which meant laying it on thick to get the yes he wanted to hear.

  Softly, he spoke. “Scampi, baby.”

  In response to his gentle tone, her fingers flinched against his scalp. The light from the sconces touched half her face, and in the glow, he watched her eyes grow warm.

  She cared about him, he realized, swallowing thickly. Being pinned by the gaze of someone who cared made him simultaneously panicked and horny.

  He ignored the pending panic and cleared his throat. Then he asked the question he had to ask if he hoped to get what he wanted tonight.

  “Where do you want to make love?” He nearly gagged on the words.

  Make love.

  Good God.

  But it worked. Sofie’s expression melted. He’d broken through the last line of her defenses. She was sober, so no worries there. He’d taken her warm, practically full beer bottle away from her at the bar.

  She tightened her hold on his neck, lowered her face, and kissed him so softly, so gently, his insides recoiled.

  She’s sweet. Too sweet.

  As her lips moved on his, he silently argued he hadn’t had a lot of “sweet” in his life, and he deserved some. Especially after his week had graduated from bad to worse.

  “Your call.” The oddest tension strained his voice. He’d never been nervous around a chick. Never.

  Sofie’s tongue darted into his mouth, stroking his. The aggressive move startled and turned him on so much, he tightened his arms so he didn’t drop her.

  Then her bad-girl smile made a reappearance, and that sinful mouth formed one word.

  “Couch.”

  Music to his ears.

  “That a yes?” He felt his lips curve upward. Another smile. Unbelievable.

  “Yes.”

  Angels began to sing.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said, carrying her into the library and wasting no time getting her flat on her back.

  Sofie’s bare back hit velvet, her eyes adjusting to a room lit only by the moon and the scant bit of light eking in from the hallway. The tall shelves lined with books, the antique desk, and heavy red curtains made her feel as if she were in a game of Clue.

  Donny Pate. In the library. With the condom…

  At the end of the long drive, the enormous stone mansion rose from the center of an army of pines, maples, and oak trees. No chance anyone could see in. They were alone.

  Finally.

  Donny, in spite of being the last person she imagined might offer to sleep with her, was about to give her a “first time.” Thundering heartbeat and parched throat aside, she was ready.

  Not a hard sell when the man about to take her virginity was as beautiful as the man between her legs now.

  Long, ink-black hair hung over his forehead and brushed his cheeks, shadowing pale, silver-blue eyes. Crystalline, ghostly, they reminded her of winter skies in the Cove. Against his olive skin and dark hair, those eyes had frozen her in place more than once.

  But she admired more about him than the physical. There was something about the way he could look at once sad and angry, lost and lonely. Like he didn’t have a friend in the world while also not having a care in the world.

  She could see his scowl acted as a KEEP AWAY sign. As she was a person who liked people, it hurt her to see him push everyone away.

  Well… almost everyone.

  She’d watched one by one as different girls hung on him in the bar at work, or followed him to the parking lot after the restaurant closed. Girls who strode through the barbed wire he’d strung around himself, eyes wide open.

  Sofie wasn’t like those girls, doubted a single one of them had scratched the surface of Donny Pate. Probably because they didn’t care about him. Not really. Sofie cared. She wanted to know what was under his façade—and not out of some morbid curiosity but because she wanted to know him.

  At least draw another smile out of him.

  She’d never forget the first time he’d smiled at her: the slight crook of his lips, the sly way his eyes flickered away from hers. Even at half-wattage, the smile transformed his entire face. Shot light into his eyes, lifted his angled cheeks, and arched his steely jaw. Nothing had turned her on more.

  Until now.

  She stroked his unsmiling lips with the tip of her tongue, earning a thrill when he opened to her. A hint of whiskey lingered on his breath, and she savored the powerful slide of his tongue, the abrading roughness of his chin against hers.

  One hand navigated beneath her dress. His fingers hooked her panties, and wrestled them from her legs, before returning to her bared breast to give her nipple a squeeze.

  On a purely physical reaction, her thighs clenched.

  She gasped.

  He grinned, a flash of white teeth against tanned skin.

  God. He was beautiful.

  “Ready, baby?”

  Baby. She could get used to that.

  “Ready,” she breathed, unable to strengthen her voice. He’d already put on the condom. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for his shoulders.

  His hand disappeared beneath the skirt of her dress and she felt long fingers stroke her center. Her hips raised to meet his rhythm, a completely involuntary reaction to his touch. She was embarrassingly wet—no way he could have missed that. Scrunching her eyes closed, she prayed he didn’t mind.

  His harsh whisper was almost reverent when he dropped his forehead to hers and breathed, “Fuck. You’re sexy.”

  Definitely, she decided, he did not mind.

  Wrists on his shoulders, she wound her fingers into the ends of his hair and looked up at him. Pale eyes locked on to hers. The tip of his penis slipped along her folds and she tensed. A split second later, he breeched her
entrance as she bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself to breathe.

  He thrust once.

  Breathe.

  Twice.

  Breathe.

  Then, he slid in all the way.

  She welded her back teeth together and focused on keeping her facial expressions neutral, not wanting to ruin the moment. Who knew losing her virginity would be so painful?

  That’s what you get for keeping it sealed up for twenty-one years…

  Twenty-one long years of waiting for the right person. Donny was the right person.

  Each and every inch of his lean, tall frame was in proportion. Sinew and muscle dipped and shadowed, giving his body a hard, corded hue. She had every inch of his amazing body against her, and quite a few inches nestled inside her. In the sparse light, she could make out his closed eyes, lashes shadowing his cheeks. A grunt, followed by a muffled curse, ruffled her hair.

  “Okay,” he said, his voice rough.

  Donny remained still, his member throbbing insistently against her inner walls. She moved her palms from his neck to his shoulders, ran them down his hard male chest, appreciating the dips and planes of his incredible body.

  Seriously. Beautiful.

  Canting her hips, she bumped against his pelvis with hers, and whispered, “I’m okay.” She felt another sharp pinch and gripped his neck. She could do this.

  His face contorted, almost painfully before acceptance flashed in his eyes. As if he’d made a decision to keep going—and why would he stop?—he slid out, then into her again—one smooth, delicious slide, filling her completely. Another gasp escaped her. He thrust again and again, his movements becoming less gentle, more hurried.

  Better.

  The pain began to recede. Her eyes fluttered closed and she savored him. Savored them, together.

  He felt a hundred times better than when they’d started and a million times better than she’d imagined. He pushed her long hair away from her face and lowered his lips, propping himself on one forearm, keeping a palm pressed to her cheek.

  He drove into her, kissing her as he did. Their tongues sparred and her stomach coiled, tension building…