Bad Boy's Revenge: A Small-Town Romantic Suspense Read Online Free PDF Page B

and lunged for a pair of panties. In a rush, she tugged them up. Backwards. She might have tried again, but instead she tossed a shirt over her head and attempted to cover the mistake.
    What the hell was she doing?
    “Get in bed,” I ordered.
    I’d have dressed too, but I hadn’t come that much in a year. For all I knew, my heart would explode in exhaustion or relief.
    Josie ignored me.
    “It’s late,” I said.
    She brushed her hair from her face. Without her usual headband or scrunchies or pretty little scarves, the curls bounced everywhere. She smoothed them down. Didn’t work. They bounded and teased, as playful as ever.
    “It’s not late…” She wagged her phone at me. “It’s early.”
    Like I could read the numbers. No blood stayed in my head. “All the more reason to sleep.”
    “I can’t.”
    “Sure, you can. Get in bed. Pull the covers up. Rest your head right here.” I pointed to my chest. “You used to do it all the time, Sweets.”
    “No, really, I—”
    “It’s me , Josie.” My voice lowered.
    Her gaze snapped to meet mine, but I didn’t trust how far she moved from the bed.
    Was it the scars? They were ugly, only a year to heal the burns. The flames ruined my tattoos, but at least they’d disfigured me and not her.
    “It’s me,” I said again. “Come to bed.”
    She didn’t hesitate, not even a fake reluctance. “You shouldn’t be here.”
    “Where else would I go?”
    She nibbled on her bottom lip. Anxious?
    “I don’t know,” she said. “I had no idea you were out. I thought…you shouldn’t be here.”
    “Why?”
    Her voice hardened. “It’s my apartment. Do I have to explain why?”
    I snorted. Where the hell was this firecracker coming from? My girl wasn’t confrontational, she was resourceful and adaptive. Two years ago, Josie couldn’t even return a bucket of the wrong colored icing for her cupcake orders. Valentine’s Day turned blue, and everyone in Saint Christie kissed each other with indigo-tinted lips.
    I moved from the bed. Pride got me to my feet, but stupidity opened my mouth.
    “You don’t have to explain.” I grunted. “Just figured you’d miss me or something. Been a year, Sweets.”
    “Yeah. A long year.”
    She reached over a laundry basket filled with spare bags of flour to search for clothes. Something to hide her delicates. Josie and lingerie didn’t mix—not around open flame and splattering bacon and pancake breakfasts. That was fine. I preferred her padding in the bedroom wearing only my shirt.
    Josie wrapped herself in a robe instead, a frustratingly oversized puff ball that hid everything I took beneath a force-field of a fuzzy, knotted belt.
    Point taken.
    I followed her to the kitchen though I tugged on my jeans before I bobbed cock-first after her. I wasn’t some lovesick puppy, but I deserved more than shifting from the heat between her legs to enduring a cold shoulder.
    She aimed for the flour—her usual stress relief. I preferred working out, hitting a punching bag until my fists bled. Josie kneaded instead. Piping bags and sugar crowded her countertops. She didn’t have enough room for a rolling pin between the wall and the sink. A tower of unevenly stacked baking sheets threatened to topple.
    This wasn’t a good apartment for her. Hell, even her oven door came with a bungie cord.
    I pointed at the make-shift solution. “Broken? I can fix it for you.”
    Josie didn’t look at me. “It’s not big enough for a standard cookie sheet. I bungie the door closed when I bake.”
    “You’re shitting me.”
    She studied her ingredients. “I don’t have an industrial kitchen anymore.”
    I asked the question that burned me since I got to town. “Why didn’t you rebuild the shop?”
    “No money.”
    “Insurance?”
    This apparently wasn’t her favorite subject. She turned, clutching a bag of sugar. “Do you want the long or short version?”
    “It’s just a question, Sweets.”
    “Granddad got hurt in the fire. Bad.