Baddest Bad Boys Read Free Page A

an option. He started putting in those thirty-six-hour days without even getting tired.

    Or maybe that was overstating it. Look at him now. Monumentally fucked up. He got an unwelcome memory flash of how Vicki used to nag and bitch about how emotionally unavailable he was. But how could a guy be available to a woman who constantly whined? He tried briefly to remember if Vicki had whined during their whirlwind courtship. Maybe she had, and he’d been too hypnotized by her big, jiggling tits to notice.

    Fuck it. This line of thought was not going to energize him.

    He forced his leaden body into action. Shoved open the truck door, grabbed his grip and the bag of groceries. He made his way with heavy feet up the switchback path to the hillside cabin—and froze.

    Footsteps around the corner of the cabin. Someone was passing through the foliage. The shush-shush of jeans legs, rubbing each other. The swish-slap of bushes. He heard every sound like it was miked.

    He let the duffel, the groceries drop. His gun materialized in his hand, though he had no memory of drawing it, or flattening his back to the weatherbeaten shingles, creeping towards the corner…waiting—

    Grab, twist, and he had the fucker bent over in a hammerlock, wrist torqued at an agonizing angle, gun to the nape. It squawked.

    Female. Long hair, swishing and tickling over his bare arm. A delicate wrist that felt like it might break in his grip. What the hell?

    “Jon! Stop this! Let go! It’s me!”

    Huh? The chick knew him? His body had ascertained that she was no physical threat, so he shoved her away to take a better look.

    His jaw dropped when she straightened up, rubbing her twisted wrist. He tried to drag in oxygen, but his lungs were locked. Holy shit. No way had he met this girl before. He would have remembered. Wow.

    Long hair swung to her waist. Big dark eyes, exotically tilted, flashing with anger. High cheekbones, perfect skin, pointy chin. That full pink mouth, glossed up with lip goo, calculated to make a guy think of one thing only, and suffer the immediate physiological consequences.

    And her body, Jesus. Feline grace; long legs, slim waist, round hips. High, suckable, braless tits, the nipples of which poked through a thin cotton blouse. Low-rise jeans that clung desperately to the undercurve of that perfect ass. Who the hell…? This was private property, in the middle of nowhere. His dick twitched, swelled.

    She did not look armed. He slipped the Glock back into the shoulder holster. “You scared me,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”

    Her eyes widened in outrage. “What do you mean, who the hell am I? It’s me! Robin!”

    Robin? His brain spun its wheels to reconcile the irreconcilable.

    Danny’s baby sister? He’d practically pissed himself laughing the night she’d juggled flaming torches in Danny’s kitchen, although Danny had been unamused when the rib-eye he’d grilled got unexpectedly flambéed. The steak had tasted faintly of petroleum fuel, but what the hell. She hadn’t burned down the building.

    Robin? Robin of the dorky glasses, the mouthful of metal? Robin who was as cute and funny as a bouncing labrador puppy?

    The irreconcilable images slammed together, like a truck hitting his mind. Those big brown eyes, magnified behind Coke bottle lenses.

    It was Robin. Holy shit. In his mind he’d already been nailing this girl, right and left and center. Danny would kill him if he knew Jon had entertained pornographic thoughts about his baby sister. “Ah, sorry,” he muttered lamely. “I didn’t recognize you. You look…different than I remembered. Do your brothers know you’re out dressed like that?”

    Her back straightened and her eyes narrowed to gleaming brown slits. “Mac and Danny have nothing to say about my wardrobe.”

    “Maybe they should.” He jerked his chin in the general direction of her taut brown nipples, all too evident in the chill, and averted his eyes.

    “Why should they?”