What happens when reformed bad boy Jake Reynolds discovers a racy Goldilocks sleeping in his bed on a dark and stormy night?
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Jake Reynolds returns home to discover a racy Goldilocks sleeping in his bed. Instead of doing the first thing on his mind or even the second, he hires her to organize his disorganized construction office. When his wealthy family meets the suggestively clad, polyester siren posing as Jake's assistant, they fear he's slipped back into his former role as the family bad boy.
Harlee Davis didn't know she was sleeping in Jake's bed. She was seeking refuge from two storms—the storm raging outside and the storm created by her screwed-up life. When she learns that Jake plans to demolish the very camp she’s been entrusted to preserve, Harlee mounts a crusade. They wage a war of wills while battling their conflicting interests on a professional level and too much interest on a sexual level. One of them stands to lose everything in a game where there is no winner.
Sequel to "The Dance"
Someone was in his bed, and he doubted it was Goldilocks.
Taking shallow breaths, he evaluated his options. Shit, how big was this guy? Did he have a weapon? Or, even worse, an accomplice?
Thunder vibrated the house and lightning lit up the room. The figure in the bed stirred.
Jake’s eyes caught a quick movement. He spun away from the lamp that whizzed past his head. It glanced off his shoulder. Pain shot down his arm and his fingers tingled.
Damn. Double damn. What the hell?
Springing into action, Jake tore the lamp from the intruder’s grasp and hurtled it across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a sickening thud and splintering of glass.
His short temper detonated. His street fighting instincts kicked into gear. “That’s it, asshole!” He’d send this guy flying to the neighboring island, and it wouldn’t be on a seaplane.
His assailant let out a high-pitched war cry and lunged at him, raking fingernails across his chest. Jake yelped in surprise and pain and grappled for control over those dangerous, flailing arms. His hands squeezed something soft and warm and…
His intruder wasn’t a he, but a she. And this she fought with the fierceness of two men. She kneed him with vicious intent, just missing his groin. Enough of that crap. Female or not, nobody messed with his manhood. Flinging the crazy woman onto her back, Jake threw a leg over her body and straddled her. He pinned her arms to her sides and anchored his ass on her thighs.
“Stop it! Do you hear me? Stop it!” he roared, but she didn’t seem to hear or care.
“Let me go, you bastard!” Her outraged shrieks assaulted his eardrums. Her chest heaved from exertion and anger. She pitched and bucked in a frantic attempt to unseat him. At the least he’d have whiplash, but he held on for all he was worth.
His long-repressed wild side poked its head out of hiding. She’d be a little spitfire in bed with all that energy and passion. Too bad she’d be in jail before the night ended.
“Damn it! You’re going to be sorry.” He bent down to be heard over her enraged screams and violent thrashing. Her long hair whipped his face, and he jerked away from her. A colorful stream of obscenities erupted from her lips. This wildcat called him names he’d never heard before, and he thought he’d heard everything. His proper mother would be horrified if she heard the little witch insulting his ancestors and her beloved son. Okay, maybe not-so-beloved son.
“Listen! Damn it! Listen! Stop right now, or I might have to hurt you.” Even in his bad-boy, barroom-brawl days, he didn’t hit someone smaller than him, and never a woman. But then, the she-wolf didn’t know that.
Jake gripped her arms tighter and wrapped his legs around hers to stop her battering.
“Let go or I’ll…” she growled.
“Like hell! So you can beat on me some more? Forget it, lady. I’m not your personal punching bag.”
“I’m going to have you arrested!”
Her brashness irritated him. “You’re going to have me arrested? You’re the one trespassing.”
“I am not.” Despite her declaration, her thrashing lost intensity, and little by little, she wore down. Finally, she offered only a token resistance.
“Don’t move another muscle.” The serious threat in his voice must have penetrated her demented brain. She stilled, except for her heaving chest. Jake grabbed both her hands in one of his and held them over her head. He leaned forward. His crotch grazed her breasts, and he froze.
Her nipples tickled his underwear like an erotic massage. She had to be topless. Prodding himself into action, Jake groped for the flashlight and flicked it on. Then he glanced down. She was…incredible. Her ample breasts rose and fell between his legs with each labored breath. Jake bit his lower lip to contain a groan.
Against his better judgment, he released her hands and pushed his hips backward until he sat on her thighs. Not that there’d been anything wrong with his former position, but this one did afford a guy a better view. Jake’s decent side was disgusted by his gawking, but his bad boy side didn’t give a shit. It had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Pervert.” She crossed her arms over her big breasts in an attempt at modesty. It was way too late for that.
Driven by his inner devil, he slid his flashlight over her body, past a slender waist and shapely hips. She wore functional white cotton panties and nothing else. What a damn shame. Such a sexy package concealed in such a plain wrapper. The sheet still covered her legs, but he bet they were as fit as the rest of her. The woman worked out or did physical labor.
Jake lifted his eyes. Her long, sun-bleached hair fanned out on the pillow and framed her pixie-like face. Her golden skin indicated that she’d recently resided in a much sunnier climate, no Pacific Northwest bottle tan for this girl.
The clock radio on the opposite nightstand lit, attracting Jake’s attention and indicating that the power was restored. He leaned over and turned on the surviving lamp then shifted his gaze back to Goldie. He made a major error by looking into her eyes. They sucked the breath out of his lungs as they burned into him with a hot blue flame. In one second flat, they had him spinning. Their color reminded him of a…What was that rock called? Oh, yeah, a sapphire.
Jake mentally slapped himself. Get a grip. This woman was a thief. She’d broken into his house and helped herself to his bed. It happened all the time, especially on an island like this where the majority of the residences were second homes. Well, she’d picked the wrong guy’s house. He wouldn’t let her get away with this, even though she happened to be as gorgeous and curvy as a film siren, a la Marilyn Monroe.
She looked ready to spit in his face.
“Don’t you dare,” he warned.