Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One
“ROBIN KAYE DELIVERS A GREAT READ EVERY TIME.”
—USA Today bestselling author Maureen Child
Praise for the Novels
of Robin Kaye
“Charming readers with her wit and style, Kaye creates an extremely sensual romance.”
—Booklist
“You’ll be in romance heaven.”
—Night Owl Reviews (top pick)
“Wildly entertaining and comical from the start.…. The love scenes are hot and sexy, and the chemistry sizzles!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Contains as much heart as it does heat, and the result is a book that will make you melt.”
—The Long and the Short of It
“A treat to read, and a sweet, funny way to start the new year.”
—New York Times bestselling author Eloisa James
“A fun and spicy story. Robin Kaye is a fresh new voice in romance fiction.”
—New York Times bestselling author Susan Donovan
Also by Robin Kaye
The Bad Boys of Red Hook Series
Hometown Girl
(A Penguin Special)
Back to You
YOU’RE THE
ONE
BAD BOYS OF RED HOOK
ROBIN KAYE
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, June 2012
Copyright © Robin Kawczynski, 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
ISBN: 978-1-101-61271-2
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
To all the booksellers who support their favorite authors, put great novels in the hands of their customers, and share the gifts that can be found only in a good book. Thanks for loving books and sharing that love with your customers. Especially Dena Russ at B & L Books in Altamonte Springs, Florida, and Kaori Fischer and all my friends at the Barnes & Noble in Melbourne, Florida.
Lord! When you sell a man a book you don’t sell just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue—you sell him a whole new life. Love and friendship and humour and ships at sea by night—there’s all heaven and earth in a book, a real book.
—Christopher Morley
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d love to say I wrote this book all on my own but, as with most things, it takes a village to make a book. Here are some of the people who have helped me:
I’d like to thank chef Jeff Eng and pastry chef Maura Radmanesh of Clydes Tower Oaks Lodge in Rockville, Maryland. They invited me to spend a day in their kitchen, allowed me to ask all the questions I could think of, no matter how stupid, and fed me some of the best food I’ve had in the state of Maryland. Chef Eng even helped me come up with a few menu items. If there are mistakes, they are all on me.
I’m lucky to have the love and support of my incredible family. My husband, Stephen, who after twenty-three years of marriage is still the man of my dreams and best friend. My children, Tony, Anna, and Isabelle, who in spite of being teenagers are my favorite people to hang out with. Alex Henderson and Jessye and Dylan Green, whom I love like my own kids. All of them make me laugh, amaze me with their intelligence and generosity, and make me proud every day.
My parents, Richard Williams and Ann Feiler, and my stepfather, George Feiler, who always encouraged me, and continue to do so.
My wonderful critique partners Laura Becraft and Deborah Villegas. They shortened my sentences, corrected my grammar, and put commas where they needed to be. They listened to me whine when my muse took a vacation, gave me great ideas when I was stuck, and answered that all-important question: Does this suck? They helped me plot, loved my characters almost as much as I did, and challenged me to be a better writer. They are my friends, my confidantes, and my bullshit meters.
I owe a debt of gratitude to their families, who so graciously let me borrow them during my deadline crunch. So, to Robert, Joe, Elisabeth, and Ben Becraft, and Ruben, Alexander, Donovan, and Cristian Villegas, you have my thanks and eternal gratitude.
I’d also like to thank my writing friends who are always there when I need a fresh eye or a sounding board—Grace Burrowes, Hope Ramsay, Susan Donovan, Mary Freeman, R. R. Smythe, Margie Lawson, Michael Hauge, and Christie Craig.
I wrote most of this book at the Mt. Airy, Maryland, Starbucks, and I have to thank all my baristas for keeping me in laughter and coffee while I camped out in their store. I also need to thank my fellow customers who have become wonderful friends: Cory, Melissa, Liz, Barbara, Cheryl, Kelly, Mike, Doug, Jerry, Jennifer, and Phil.
As always, I want to thank my incredible agent, Kevan Lyon, for all she does, and my team at NAL—the cover artists for the beautiful job they did, and my editors, Kerry Donovan and Jesse Feldman, for all their insight, direction, and enthusiasm. Working with you has been a real pleasure.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Special Excerpt from Back to You
CHAPTER 1
Logan Blaise pulled Breanna Collins—no, make that the new Mrs. Storm Decker—into a tight turn and twirled her around the dance floor. As he drew her closer, her floor-length white wedding gown swirled against his legs.
Bree’s hand relaxed on his shoulder. “Are you and Payton planning to have your wedding reception here too?”
The thought of Payton and her family at his family’s restaurant in Brooklyn, the Crow’s Nest, was enough to make his ass twitch. Her idea of slumming it was staying at the Plaza without an en suite butler. “The Crow’s Nest is a nice place by Red Hook standards, but by Payton’s standards…not so much.”
“I thought California girls were laid-back. How’d you two hook up anyway?”
A question he’d been asking himself for some time. He and Payton were one hell of an unlikely pair, the princess and the pauper. He wasn’t a pauper now, but he had been when they got together—not that he publicized the fact. He did his best to never talk about his life before college. He said he was from New York, and if they thought it was Park Avenue inst
ead of Red Hook—all the better. Most people at Stanford didn’t know Red Hook, Brooklyn, even existed. “We’ve been together since college. After graduation, I did an internship at her family’s vineyard and I’ve been working for her dad ever since. You know how it goes on the relationship train. I was just riding along and one day I realized we’d gone from dating to living together. It was comfortable and it worked. Marriage just seems like the next stop on the line.”
Bree raised one of her very expressive eyebrows at that. “Wow, that sounds so romantic—not.”
“Bree, Payton’s a nice woman. I like being with her. She’s beautiful, classy, we work well together, and we get along well. Her dad is great and he’s grooming me to take over the vineyard. Since Payton never had much interest in the business, it all makes a weird kind of sense.”
“Love isn’t supposed to make sense, Logan. Love just is. But then, you know that already—after all, you and Payton have been together a lot longer than Storm and me. You must be doing something right.”
He’d never really thought about it. “It’s…comfortable.” And there was nothing wrong with comfort, was there?
“So, what’s with the dark, broody look?”
Shit, he must have been frowning again. He pasted on a smile. Pop had always teased him about his dour expression whenever he studied or contemplated some new idea. The gears were always turning, only his gears revolved around compounds, elements, and chemistry. Normally the chemistry was blowing something up or perfecting the bouquet of a fine wine. This was the first time it had to do with the L word. “I’m happy for you, Bree. Really, I am. You’re my favorite sister-in-law.”
“I’m your only sister-in-law.”
“I just don’t understand why you had to get married now. How can you in good conscience leave me with a convalescing crotchety old fart like Pop?”
“Pete’s not old and he’s getting stronger every day. He’s been out of the hospital for weeks. He’s not going to die on you.”
Logan looked over. Pop was holding up the bar, surrounded by his cronies—the guys from when they’d all been cops in the neighborhood. Pop wasn’t supposed to be drinking yet. He sipped something that did not look like soda. “No, he’ll sneak stogies and beer. Shit, he’s probably already hidden a bottle of scotch under his pillow.”
For the special occasion, Pop had slicked back what was left of his white hair. He still wore his jacket, but his tie was history. No surprise there. “He needs a babysitter more than Nicki, and she’s only ten.”
“Exaggerate much? Pete’s well enough to work a few hours a day. Just don’t let him overdo it.”
“Right. But you don’t get it. No matter how old I am, I’m still his son—he tells me what to do. He’ll never take orders from me.”
Pop slapped one of his friends on the back and let out a shotgun laugh. “Look at him, Bree.” He turned her toward Pop.
“Don’t worry—nothing keeps Pete Calahan down. Not a bullet, not a major heart attack, not a quad bypass.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I’ve already threatened him, but, unlike you, I’m not scary.”
Bree’s hold on his shoulder tightened midspin. “If I had known that hitting Storm over the head with a cast-iron frying pan would make every man afraid of me, I would have done it years ago. Just a clue, Logan: I’m not the only one who can wield a mean skillet.”
“No, but you’re the only one who can get away with it. Face it—I’m screwed here. Even you—Wonder Woman with the frying pan of truth—have a hard time controlling Pop.”
“I’m not worried. You’ll manage.”
“What about Nicki? What do I know about taking care of a ten-year-old girl? Women—no problem. Preteen girls—shit—I didn’t even know anything about them when I was that age.”
“It’s common sense, Logan. Just don’t ever let her forget that you’re the adult.”
“Bree, it’s like Nicki’s just getting settled into the canoe. You and Storm leaving is rockin’ it. Leaving me in charge is enough to make it flip. We hardly know each other.”
“Don’t you think it’s about time you changed that?” Bree’s green eyes reminded him of an experiment with potassium nitrate gone awry. She had a short fuse and could emit a big bang.
“Hey, it’s not as if I don’t want to know Nicki.” He leaned in closer. “I want to know her, but I just met her. We’re practically strangers.”
“As hard as it seems, it’s good you’ll have one-on-one time to bond with Nicki.”
“Bree, I had a dozen foster fathers in nine years and they could be standing next to me and I wouldn’t recognize them. Bonding is not my strong suit. I didn’t get a real dad until Pop took me in when I was twelve.”
“Pete’s the best dad I’ve ever known. You, Storm, and Slater turned out great. You’re a warm, loving, giving, successful man.”
Someone cleared his throat right behind him. Logan turned to find Storm, his foster brother, wearing a glare that would have made a lesser man want to sleep with one eye open. “I’m just borrowing her, bro. I’ll give her back real soon—if you’re lucky and the lady’s accommodating.”
Storm was just shy of Logan’s six foot three, with the same dark hair, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Logan had a darker complexion, where Storm had the light skin and eyes of the Black Irish.
“Breezy, we’ve been married less than four hours and you’re already flirting with my brother?”
Logan stepped away. He wasn’t about to push his luck. It hadn’t ever been that good.
“I’m surprised you even noticed. You were too busy dancing with Patrice.” Bree feigned jealousy, but she would never make it onstage. Not even off-off-Broadway.
Storm rolled his eyes and pulled her into his arms. They came together as if they’d rehearsed it a million times.
Compared to Storm and Bree, Logan and Payton’s relationship looked about as genuine as a ring at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. He shook his head. First Pop’s heart attack, then Nicki’s appearance in his life, now the whirlwind marriage of his brother to a girl they had known practically forever. No wonder Logan couldn’t get his balance—his world had been thrown on a psychedelic Tilt-A-Whirl. It was a wonder he was still sane.
Storm and Bree’s connection was palpable. It was something that he’d never had with Payton. It was something he’d never had with anyone, really. It was something, until now, he never knew existed.
Logan fought the urge to back away into obscurity and reinserted himself. He kissed Bree on the cheek—“Be happy, Bree”—and tugged Storm into a guy hug, smacking his back harder than necessary. “Take good care of her. You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
“Don’t I know it?” Storm pulled away but held on to Logan’s shoulders—too close to his neck for his peace of mind. “Take care of everything here and if you run into problems, don’t call us. Just work it out. We’re outta here, big brother.”
Nicki ran toward them in a cloud of teal taffeta.
“Incoming.” Logan motioned toward the running Crayola. “Word on the street is that you had to bribe Nicki to wear a dress and play bridesmaid.”
Nicki’s dark hair, the same color as his, was falling out of the once-artful pile on her head, and her long spindly legs ate up the distance. “Wait!”
Logan caught her before she could take out the bride. “Slow down, Nicki. You need to adjust your stopping distance. Those dress shoes aren’t like your trusty Vans.”
Nicki ignored him. “Bree, Storm, you can’t leave until you throw the bouquet and garter.”
Logan figured that if anything good came out of marriage, it would be that he’d never have to stand like an ass with all the other single dudes dodging the garter. It was a dumb tradition—almost as dumb as the bride tossing the bouquet to all the desperate single females. Marriage was nothing more than a sensible decision—well, except for people like Storm and Bree. For them, it was something he would never have believed existed if
he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes—it was a love match.
* * *
Logan knelt, and the drumroll started. He slid the garter up Rocki O’Sullivan’s Rockette-worthy, drool-inducing, smoothly sinful long, long, long leg.
Rocki’s short, choppy platinum blond hair had a fluorescent pink streak bisecting the sideswept bangs obscuring one of her brilliant blue eyes. She shot him a sexy smirk and slid her pointed foot up the inside of his thigh. “You know, it’s a real shame you’re not single. I’d take you in a Brooklyn minute.”
He knew better than to ask, but he couldn’t help himself. “A Brooklyn minute?”
“Yeah, it’s a little longer than a New York minute.” She trailed her toe right up to his family jewels. “Let’s face it—there are just some things that shouldn’t be rushed.”
He grabbed her ankle and pushed it away from his crotch.
Patrice—amateur videographer, busybody, and the first girl Logan had ever pictured naked—drew nearer for a close-up.
Logan’s gaze darted over the crowd, looking for a lifeline, a friend, anyone who would help him out of this clusterfuck. Pop stood in his line of vision and seemed to be enjoying Logan’s situation.
Rocki ate it up and judging by the smile on her face, she was enjoying the hell out of making a spectacle of him. “Smile, Logan. You’re on Candid Camera.”