Badd Daddy (The Badd Brothers Book 12) Read online

  I tried to recall specifically the last time I remembered having sex with Darren.

  It had been a Tuesday, a spring morning. He’d woken up early, feeling good, not much back pain, and we’d had a nice breakfast on our back patio, sharing a pot of coffee and chatting about our various plans for the day. I’d headed back to our room to shower and get dressed for my client meeting later that morning, and Darren had surprised me by following me back, and kissing me with a passion I hadn’t felt from him in weeks, if not months. The sex that had followed had been passionate and quick. He’d fallen asleep soon after, and, if I was being brutally honest, I had been left somewhat unsatisfied. It had felt great to connect with him, and I had deeply enjoyed the way he made me feel…

  But I hadn’t reached climax.

  Which, admittedly, I rarely did.

  I shook myself out of that train of thought as Cassie stirred and sat up.

  Her white-blond hair—a recessive genetic trait inherited from Darren—was loose and fine, sparking with static as she ran her hands through it, stretching with a groan.

  “Still not boarding yet?” she grumbled, her voice scratchy and muzzy.

  “Nope. Ten minutes or so, I suppose.”

  She nodded, picked her book up off the floor, and smiled at me. “That was a good nap. Thanks.”

  I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You need to sleep more.”

  She sighed. “I just can’t. My hours have been so crazy for so long that I just don’t know how to sleep more than four hours at a time anymore.”

  She had been recruited by the troupe before she’d even graduated, which she’d done early, through insane hours of practice. She had all but literally lived in the dance studio and practice rooms, sleeping a few hours a night at most, attending classes early in the morning and dancing before, between, and after classes until late at night. And then, once hired by the company, she’d worked relentlessly to stay at the top of her game—the troupe was a competitive environment, viciously so, and to attain and retain status and seniority required constant practice and commitment.

  And now she was at odds, with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

  We both read in silence for a while, until the announcement for boarding blared over the PA system first in French, and then in English—“Flight DL1234 with service to Seattle, now boarding at Gate 81…”

  As the first class cabin passengers lined up, Cassie and I began gathering our things, throwing away paper coffee cups and pastry bags, arranging carry-ons and purses, tucking books and magazines away.

  In another fifteen minutes, we were seated in our business economy seats—her by the window, me in the middle, a middle-aged man on the aisle.

  It wasn’t until we were in the air that Cassie turned to me. “Mom, are you mad that I’m moving back in with you?”

  I frowned at her. “Of course not! What kind of a question is that, Cassandra?”

  She shrugged. “Poppy only left for Columbia last year, and you just moved to Ketchikan.” She eyed me. “Would you tell me if you were?”

  I sighed, knowing she was perceptive enough to know if I hedged. “I’m not mad. I wish this hadn’t happened to you, I wish I could give you your career back, and yes, living with you again will be an adjustment, just when I was starting to adjust to being alone. But you’re my daughter, and there is nothing in the world more important to me than my daughters. You will stay with me until you’re ready to move out again, once you’ve figured out what you want to do.”

  “What if I never do?” she whispered.

  “You will. You’re too restless, you have too much energy and drive to stay idle.”

  “I’m scared I’ll just go crazy. I’ve never thought about doing anything but dance, for my entire life.”

  “I know. That’s what this period of time will be about—exploring your other passions.”

  She laughed bitterly. “I don’t have any.”

  “Nothing? There’s nothing, literally nothing you like or love or are even interested in other than dance?”

  “Dance history?” Another bitter laugh. “Can’t do much with that.”

  I patted her thigh. “You don’t need to figure it out right this moment, Cass. Take your time. Give yourself grace—you’ve suffered a major setback, and no one, least of all me, expects you to bounce right back.”

  She nodded. “I know. But…I guess I do. I expect that of myself.”

  “Which you need to address.”

  “I can’t just give up dancing entirely. I may not be able to dance professionally, but it’s…” She shook her head and sighed. “It’s part of me. It’s part of who I am as a person. I just don’t think I’d know who I am without it.”

  “It’ll take time, Cass.”

  She shook her head yet again. “Time in which I do what? Sit around watching TV? Wait tables and do drugs like Torie?”

  “That’s not fair,” I scolded.

  She sighed. “I’m angry, and bitter.”

  “I know. You may need a therapist—for your emotions as well as your leg.”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Cass—”

  She opened her book. “Let it go for now, okay, please?”

  I plugged a pair of earbuds into the TV screen in the back of the seat in front of me, and chose a movie to watch for the flight back.

  Since our flight out of Paris had been booked two weeks ahead, I’d sent my flight info to Lucas with the last postcard. At the time, I hadn’t been sure why, but I hadn’t been able to talk myself out of doing so. I didn’t expect to see him at the Ketchikan airport, but a part of me hoped he would be there.

  We deplaned for the second and final time at the Ketchikan airport, fought through the foot traffic to the luggage claim, and then hauled all of our stuff to the ferry dock—or rather, all of Cassie’s stuff. She had her entire life in four suitcases and two carry-ons, while I had packed fairly minimally, leaving with one stuffed suitcase and returning with two, as I’d purchased quite a few things during my seven weeks in Paris, and had ended up needing an additional bag.

  I dreaded the cab ride home—we’d probably need two cabs, just to accommodate all of our luggage.

  Cassie was all wide eyes as we struggled off the ferry with our luggage, gazing at the mountains all around, at the wide rippling gray-green water and the clear blue skies with a few puffs of clouds here and there…and, as if welcoming her, a bald eagle soared over the channel in the distance, screeching that iconic call.

  “Wow,” Cassie breathed. “I always wondered why you moved here, of all places.”

  I smiled. “Starting to understand?”

  She nodded, blue eyes wide and sparkling. “Yeah, I get it now. I really, really get it.”

  I was trying to figure out how to get us back to my condo, how to fit all this luggage and the two of us into a couple of cabs. I wished I’d just driven and parked my truck in long-term parking, but I hadn’t felt safe doing that, not knowing how long I would be away in Paris.

  I felt him first. Just a sixth sense. I set my suitcases down and looked around—he was standing down the sidewalk a good fifty feet, looking in the wrong direction completely. I let out a sigh—a mixture of relief, joy, and anticipation.

  I bumped my daughter with my elbow. “Wait here a minute, Cass.”

  She set her things down and frowned at me, leaning down to massage a sore spot on her thigh. “Why?”

  I shook my head, not knowing how to even begin explaining. “I…my friend is here to pick me up…pick us up. I wasn’t sure he would be, but he is.”

  Cassie’s radar honed in on something in my voice and expression. “A friend?”

  I gave her a Mom special—the look that says don’t push me, child. “Yes. A friend.”

  “We’ll be talking about this later, Mother.” Cassie, ever impertinent, always did like to push; especially when she knew I didn’t want to her to.

  I snorted but otherwise ignored her as I weaved th
rough the crowd disembarking the ferry, and the family and friends welcoming them.

  I was within a dozen feet of him, and he still hadn’t noticed me. I finally reached him, stood close enough to smell the cedar and pine of his beard oil—close enough to see that he had indeed not been idle the last two months. He was…wow. Well on his way to being jacked, as Lexie liked to put it. His arms stretched the short sleeves of his T-shirt, which was also stretched taut around his mammoth shoulders and chest. There was still a hint of a belly behind the shirt, but it was nearly gone. He’d gone down several jeans sizes, his hair was short and clean cut, and his beard was gone, replaced by a short, neat, silver-and-black goatee, his jawline shaved. He’d had his ears pierced, I noted, simple silver hoops in each ear—it was a look I’d never cared for, generally, but on him somehow just…worked. He had on a necklace as well, braided black leather with bits of what looked like bone—teeth or claws sandwiched between cylinders of polished metal. He also had tattoos, an indigenous, tribal, totem sort of thing on the bicep facing me, obviously a work in progress, and as he reached up to scratch his hair, I saw another tattoo on that forearm, but couldn’t quite make out what it was.

  His jeans were loose but not baggy, a faded light wash, his T-shirt was a plain black V-neck, and he wore expensive-looking hiking boots.

  My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

  Something else further south in me also sat up and took notice of this new and improved version of Lucas Badd. It was, all in all, a remarkable physical transformation.

  My mouth was dry, my hand trembling as I reached up to touch his shoulder. “Lucas.”

  He whirled, and those deep, dark, expressive brown eyes of his fixed on mine—his eyes lit up, warming from surprise to sheer joy and excitement.

  “Liv!” His voice was pure Lucas Badd, a sound I’d know anywhere—a voice I could pick out of a crowd—rough, gruff, gravelly, weathered. “You scared the shit outta me, woman.”

  I couldn’t help a laugh, staring up at him, a cheesy, happy, breathless grin on my face. “Hi.”

  He growled, a sound of…god, I don’t know. Pure male exuberance, maybe. “Damn, girl. Sure is good to see you.” He let out a short, sharp breath. “You’re a hell of a lot more beautiful than I remember. You somehow get sexier, livin’ in Paris?”

  I shook my head, laughing again. “No, Lucas. I’m just me.”

  He hesitated, and then wrapped his arms around me. I froze for a split second, and then his scent and his warmth enveloped me and I had no choice—my arms went around his neck, my fingers buried in his hair, my nose pressed against his skin. I inhaled him, the scent that was Lucas—the beard oil, deodorant, and another deeper, earthy scent layered over that, the smell of the forest, maybe.

  When he finally let me go, I couldn’t breathe—the essence of Lucas had me wrapped up and tangled and twisted. I made myself step backward, away from his scent, although I couldn’t take my eyes off of his.

  “I missed the shit outta you, Liv.” He scratched the back of his neck as he said this, a sure sign that he was nervous to be admitting it.

  My stomach flipped. “I missed you too,” I said.

  We’d parted on uncertain terms, acknowledging the attraction between us, but no sense of resolution in terms of what to do about it—him knowing he wasn’t in a place to start any kind of a relationship, and me knowing I couldn’t allow myself to draw close to a man I was worried would only hurt me in the end.

  Now?

  The attraction that had been there when I first met him was still there, but the flickering flames of it were now a raging inferno. I felt shallow, my physical attraction to him being cranked so far up simply due to a few changes to his appearance, but it was a fact I couldn’t ignore. I had already been attracted to the man as he was when I met him; I left for Paris for two months, and he was drastically altered. Fit, powerful, clean cut. It was more than the mere physical fact of him losing weight and gaining muscle, though, it was what it represented: hard work, determination, a dedication to health and fitness—a pride in himself.

  It gave me a sense of hope that, perhaps, he was a man I could let myself feel things for after all.

  Or, perhaps more accurately, let myself act on the feelings I already had.

  I realized we were just staring at each other, and any questions my daughter might have had were bound to increase exponentially with every second we spent just staring at each other.

  “I…my daughter—” I let out a breath and started over, gesturing back at Cassie. “My daughter is with me.”

  He smiled. “You mentioned that in your postcard.” He waved at Cassie, who waved back with a reserved expression. “I figured you may want a ride home.”

  I blinked at him. “Wait…you drove here.”

  His grin was huge. “Yep. Big changes in my life, but that’s the most relevant one at the moment. I got a truck, so we can fit all your shit into it.” He glanced at the pile of luggage surrounding Cassie. “Good thing too—looks like you two have a hell of a pile of it.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I guess we do. I came back with more than I left with, and Cassie is bringing her whole life with her.”

  He nodded. “How’s your girl doin’?”

  I shrugged. “It’s difficult.” I headed toward her, and he stayed beside me. “We can talk more later. She can’t be on her feet for too long, so we need to get off the sidewalk.”

  We reached Cassie, who stood with her purse in both hands, eyeing Lucas with something of a mixture of awe, skepticism, and hostility.

  “Hi there, Cassandra. My name’s Lucas. I’m a friend of your mother’s.” Lucas stuck out his enormous paw, and Cassie shook it, her tiny, delicate hand lost in his.

  “Call me Cassie. Only Mom ever calls me Cassandra, and only then when I’m in trouble.”

  He nodded. “Cassie, then. I didn’t want to assume a familiarity, since we’re just meeting. Your mom’s told me a little about you. Pleased to meet you, darlin’.”

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed at the term. “Told you a bit about me, has she?”

  “Just that you’re a hell of a dancer, and that you had an accident.”

  “I was a hell of a dancer,” Cassie said. “Not sure what I am, now.” Her voice dripped bitterness.

  “Sure as fuck ain’t my place to talk about any of that, but I happen to know from personal experience that things are never as permanently fucked as we tend to convince ourselves they are. Ask your mom about what I come through, sometime.”

  “I think that’s your story to tell,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Whatever. Ain’t the time for heavy shit. Let’s get you two home.”

  “Home.” Cassie sighed, long and deep and confused.

  She and I both watched in amazement as Lucas took the two huge matching duffel bags Cassie and I had bought on the Champs-Élysées—both of which were stuffed to bursting and less than half a pound each under the maximum weight limit for checked luggage—and slung them each on one side. He then stuffed a suitcase under each huge arm, clutched the handles of the other two, and set off for the parking lot, easily carrying our luggage as if it weighed nothing. He’d left each of us to bring our carry-ons and purses. We followed him, watching him stride across the parking lot with a bounce in his step.

  “You know,” I said to Cassie. “He was in a pretty bad wreck himself. Messed up his leg, needed surgery and therapy.” I indicated him. “You wouldn’t know it, watching him.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, he wasn’t a professional dancer, was he? I’ll heal to the point that you’d never know what happened, but that’s a far cry from being able to dance eight to twelve hours a day, seven days a week like I have for five and a half years.”

  “I know, Cass, I know.” I couldn’t quite keep the frustration out of my voice—frustration at how she seemed to be giving up already.

  She sensed my irritation, or just heard it, and huffed. “Don’t, okay? It’s been a long day a
nd I’m not in the mood for lectures on persistence or whatever I can see you winding up for.”

  I clicked my teeth together on exactly what she’d accused me of being about to say. “Okay. I understand.”

  “I’ll get through this, Mom...just, in my own way.”

  I nodded. “I know. But I’m your mother, and I—”

  “You’re prone to lectures, is what you are. And I’m exhausted.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t lecture.”

  Lucas, a few feet ahead, turned to not quite look back at us. “You lecture, babe. You gave me a hell of a lecture when we were on that hike—remember?”

  Cassie narrowed her eyes me. “Babe? Is there something I need to know?”

  “It’s just how he is,” I said under my breath. “It doesn’t mean anything specific. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m thinking I saw the way you two looked at each other,” Cassie muttered.

  “Cassandra. Don’t.”

  She just grinned. “All I’ll say is that I’m okay with it. It’s time—past time, if anything.”

  “Cassandra Danielle—”

  She held up her hands, grinning at me. “That’s it, I’m done. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

  “We’ll talk later, young lady. In private.”

  Lucas chuckled. “Ooooh, you got the young lady. You gonna get it later, sweetheart.”

  Cassie hobbled a little faster, a more familiar fire sparking in her eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight, Lucas—we just met. You don’t get to call me ‘babe’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling’ or any of that. Even if we hadn’t just met, don’t call me that. I realize you may identify as a good old boy or whatever, but—”

  Lucas eyed her, unperturbed by her snappish outburst. “Hey, I’m sorry. Just a habit from way back, all right? I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” He frowned. “I ain’t a good old boy, though. Don’t go accusin’ me of that.”