Baddest Bad Boys (Anytime, Anywhere; After the Lovin; Deal With the Devil)

316 Pages·2014·1.63 MB·English

by  McKenna Shannon

Baddest

Bad Boys
Baddest

Bad Boys

SHANNONMcKENNA

E.C.SHEEDY

CATENOBLE

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
C O N T E N T S
ANYTIME, ANYWHERE
by Shannon McKenna
1
AFTER THE LOVIN’
by E.C. Sheedy
125
DEAL WITH THE DEVIL
by Cate Noble
207
A ,
N Y T I M E
A
N Y W H E R E
Shannon McKenna

1
The phones had gone nuts, and she was following right behind.
Robin MacNamara stabbed the buttons, repeating, “Crowne
Royale Group, please hold,” in her best cheerful chirp until
she’d gotten the whole pesky lot of them distributed onto the
switchboard and waiting their own freaking turns. Whew. She
cracked a mental whip. Take that.
She stared at the row of flashing lights and sighed. A
woman needed a cool head, a detail-oriented brain and nerves
of steel to work a crazy-busy switchboard. She herself had
none of those things. A fact which she repeated constantly to
her stubborn brothers, in her ongoing campaign to get herself
honestly fired. Which was to say, liberated.
So far, they ignored her, and she hadn’t yet worked up the
nerve to tell them she was quitting for good. Soon. Danny and
Mac were an intimidating pair. Particularly when they ganged
up on her, which was always. And worse, agreed with each
other, which was relatively rare.
On this point, though, they were as one. They wanted their
little sister to discover a calling for the hotel industry, and they
were willing to bully and nag without rest until it happened.
Forever, if need be.
4 / Shannon McKenna
They would not accept what she really wanted to do. No,
rephrase that. What she had decided to do. They thought being
a professional clown was a joke. Ha ha. That wacky Robin.
What will she think of next.
She had yet to find the nerve to tell them her amazing, stun-
ning, nerve-tingling career news that they so would not get.
She’d auditioned six months ago in San Francisco, and hooray,
she’d been accepted into the Circo della Luna Rossa, a hot,
sexy, new circus show from Italy that was getting rave reviews
and sold-out crowds the world over. That she was starting the
training program in San Francisco in less than a month. That
it was a coup, an incredible accomplishment, an amazing op-
portunity. That they should be proud of her.
Uh-huh. Like they were going to see it that way. But even
so. Until she told her brothers, it was not going to seem real.
Or be real.
She took a deep breath, stabbed Line 1. “Thanks for hold-
ing, how may I direct your call?” Stock phrases singsonged
out of her. “I’m sorry, he’s out of the office, would you like his
voicemail? I’m sorry, she’s in a meeting, may I take a mes-
sage?”
She was so not made for this. She would rather wait tables,
wash dishes, walk dogs, scoop poop for her day job, until she
could make it as a full time clown. Anything but this. Any-
thing at all.
She plodded all the way down to the last one, Line 10, and
hit it. “Thanks for holding,” she sang out. “How may I direct
your call?”
“Danny MacNamara, please. Jon Amendola calling.”
She froze, and then her stomach flip-twirled and did that
weird, freefall thing. Jon. Oh, God. His deep voice sent pulses
of excitement up her body. “One moment, please,” she squeaked,
and hit Hold again.
Don’t be the receptionist from hell. He’s already been wait-
ing for five minutes, she told herself, but she was so rattled,
she had to hug herself to squeeze that stuttering-fluttering-
ANYTIME, ANYWHERE / 5
breathless feeling that any fleeting contact with that guy set off
in her body. One . . . two . . . three breaths. OK. Get a grip. She
was a big girl. She buzzed Danny’s office.
“What is it, Robin?” Danny’s voice was crabby, which was
normal.
“It’s Jon,” she told him.
“Put him through,” Danny rapped out, as she knew he
would.
Danny never kept Jon waiting. They’d been roommates
their freshman year in college, and best buddies ever since.
Danny had brought Jon home for the Christmas and spring
breaks, he being an orphan, just like the MacNamaras. She’d
been eleven—and smitten.
Jon was tough, cynical, foul-mouthed, funny, and flat-out,
drop dead gorgeous. He’d grown up knocking from foster
home to foster home on the mean streets of North Portland,
but he was smart and ambitious. He’d wangled himself a
scholarship to U-Dub, studying criminal psych, and now he
was Detective Amendola of the PPD.
And she’d been in love with him ever since she laid eyes on
him.
Hopeless puppy love, impossible to hide. She’d never been
able to hide her feelings. She was a blusher. But it didn’t mat-
ter. They hadn’t taken her seriously. She was just wacky little
Robin, the clown, to them.
But she wasn’t. Not anymore. Even if her brothers couldn’t
see it.
She was nine years younger than Jon. Twenty-five now, and
all grown up, but probably he still thought of her as a gangly
adolescent with glasses and orthodontic problems. The adult
braces had been a big, fat fashion challenge. She’d been so
glad to bid farewell to them forever last year, in exchange for
straight, lovely teeth. So glad.
And that fluttery, stuttering thing was not abating, not
while Line 10 was lit up. Not that she wanted it to. She actively
sought out that feeling by sneaking often into Danny’s office