The Naughty List (3 page)

Christ, would there ever be a woman who affected him the same way as Lacey? Doubtful. God knows he’d searched all these years to find another to cure him of his obsession with the woman in his arms. He’d found plenty of willing participants more than happy to warm his sheets, but not one of them made his heart beat faster or left him woozy with punch-drunk love. A million times he’d wanted to make Lacey his, stake his claim. But he couldn’t.

Because of the man across from him. Bram.

Almost from the moment they’d both laid eyes on Lacey, they’d fallen hard. There’d only been one time he and Bram ever raised fists to each other. It happened the day they finally came clean about their feelings regarding Lacey. Being young and arrogant, Ry had fully expected to kick Bram’s ass, even though his best friend clearly held the advantage of additional height and muscle. But Bram hadn’t backed down. It’d infuriated Ry, until he realized the reason for Bram’s stubbornness. Bram was just as crazy about Lacey—he would have fought to the death for her. The knowledge had acted like a kick to the balls. For them both.

There was no way either of them could be the bigger man and step aside. Which left them only one alternative.

Neither one of them could have Lacey. Not if their friendship held any hope of surviving.

So for the past fifteen years Ry and Bram kept their hands to themselves. And suffered the biggest case of blue balls known to mankind. Something that Ry was all too familiar with at the moment. He angled his hips away from Lacey, not wanting her to notice the rising state of his erection.

Son of a bitch. He felt like a giant dick—no pun intended. Here she was devastated and crying her eyes out over that fucktard ex of hers. Definitely not an ideal time for Ry to be sporting the mother of all boners. He glanced at Bram and noticed that his best friend was wearing a wry grin. No doubt he was dealing with a similar predicament and could empathize with Ry.

Lacey sniffled and swiped a hand over her cheeks. Juvenile as it was, Ry couldn’t help the flash of satisfaction that streaked through him over the knowledge that she’d let go of Bram but not him. She looked up at Ry, those beautiful blue eyes swimming with the remnants of her tears. It took every ounce of his control not to lean down and kiss her. Properly. No chaste peck of his lips on the crown of her head, but a full-on devouring of her mouth. That luscious mouth he’d imagined wrapped around his cock countless times.

Somehow he snuffed his groan before it could give him away. He was without a doubt the biggest asshole alive to be lusting over Lacey like this. She needed friendship and a healthy dose of comforting. His damn dick would just have to stay the hell out of the equation.

She patted his waist before shuffling out from between him and Bram. “Okay, I have no idea why I let any of this upset me. Dan is ancient history, for Pete’s sake.”

Thank God for that too. When he and Bram had found out about what that motherfucker did, they’d paid Dan a visit and gave him a good ass kicking. The shithead was lucky they didn’t do more than break his nose and bruise a few of his ribs, as well as his ego. It’d been mighty tempting to shatter the bastard’s kneecaps for making Lacey cry. It was beyond incomprehensible to Ry why any man would cheat on her. Christ, Lacey was a walking wet dream. All she had to do was smile—hell,
breathe
—and he was close to busting a nut. She’d starred in thousands of his raunchiest and sweetest late-night fantasies while he was lying in bed, his dick so hard it could hammer nails. Half the time he didn’t even need to stroke his cock for it to shoot off like a cannon. The mental image of Lacey riding him, her wet pussy gliding along his length, was always enough to do the trick.

It wasn’t strictly a sexual thing either. Hell, he could handle that, even if it made him crazy and turned on more often than he cared to be. No, the really damnable part was how fucking in love he was with her. Other than Bram, there wasn’t anyone in this world that he felt as close to as he did Lacey. Unlike his two best friends, he hadn’t been raised in a traditional household. An abusive dad forced him to run away from home at a young age. Child protective services had stepped in and shuttled him off to various foster parents until an estranged uncle took him in when he was ten. Life became relatively normal after that, but it wasn’t until he met Bram and Lacey that he truly felt a part of a family.
Their
family. Yeah, it was probably weird to look at his two best friends in that light, but so be it. Becoming business partners and going in together on the purchase of the Dockside cemented their bond as the three amigos. The only possible way his life could be happier was if Lacey’s heart belonged to him.

He might ache for something more, but he’d have to be content with her friendship. Even if it was all he’d ever have, he was still a damn lucky man to have that much. Yeah, Dan was a fool for destroying his future with Lacey. And all for a silicone-enhanced, easy lay. The reminder of the fucktard brought Ry’s thoughts back to Lacey’s recent meltdown. He hugged her close again and massaged the nape of her neck. “It’s only been a year, baby. Plenty of folks need more time than that to heal.”

“Sure, if they’re grieving the loss of someone.”

“Do…do you miss Dan?”
Please God, let her say no.
The idea of Lacey still carrying a torch for that asshole sat like an elephant on Ry’s chest.

Lacey’s face scrunched in an adorable way. “Absolutely not. He had his chance and blew it.”

My sentiments exactly
. Frankly, he’d never thought Dan was good enough for her to begin with. Sure, the guy seemed decent at first glance, but there’d always been something that rubbed Ry the wrong way. He’d originally thought it was his jealousy over Dan having unfettered access to Lacey’s bed and her heart. Two things that should rightfully belong to Ry, damn it. But once the news of Dan’s unfaithfulness spread, Ry had figured out what had been poking at the edges of his conscience regarding Dan. The guy had never looked at Lacey with the light of love shining from his eyes, or like he’d die tomorrow if she were ever taken away from him. Even when he’d been getting his ass kicked by Ry and Bram, Dan hadn’t once stopped his pathetic whining to ask if Lacey was okay and somehow surviving the heartache he’d put her through. That was just wrong in Ry’s book. A man didn’t put the woman he loved through that kind of pain and turmoil. He was supposed to cherish her. Beat to a pulp anyone who dared to hurt her.

Lacey stepped away from him again and fidgeted with the charm bracelet hooked around her right wrist. It was a gift he and Bram had given her several Christmases ago. Every year they tried to outdo each other coming up with the perfect charm to add to the collection. Bram got the biggest
ooh
and
ah
last year by popping for a sterling-silver turtle with emerald chips inset into its shell. Damn dickhead. This Christmas Ry would have to pull out all the stops if he didn’t want to get left in the dust.

Lacey stopped her fussing and offered them both a hesitant glance. “It isn’t so much about Dan as the possibility that I’ve…lost my mojo. If I even had it in the first place.”

He blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”

She swallowed, the muscles in her throat working. “M-maybe Olivia has a point. About me being boring.”

It took more willpower than he swore he possessed not to punch a hole in the wall. Or yank Lacey into his arms and slam his mouth over hers, proving without words precisely how damn ridiculous Olivia’s statement had been. “Baby, no way in hell are you the slightest bit boring.”

“You’re my friend. You’re supposed to say that.” She dropped her hands with a resigned exhale.

“No, I’m saying it because it’s true.”

She gave him her patented stare that always let him know when she thought he was being deliberately obtuse or stubborn. “I think we all know that I’ll never be mistaken for a stripper.”

Oh Jesus. Is that what this was about? “Please tell me you’re not comparing yourself to a stripper right now,” he growled, furious that Lacey’s confidence had been undermined to that degree.

“No. I know I’m not…sexy like that.”

He and Bram coughed at the same time, but Bram was the first to recover his voice. “Lace, you are.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hello. Did you not hear what I said about the friend thing?”

“Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I don’t find you sexy.” There was no mistaking the slight huskiness underlying Bram’s confession.

Lacey’s cheeks turned pink and she averted her eyes. “Bram, please. We’ve all seen the women you’ve dated. They could be supermodels.” Her lips twitched into a mischievous smile. Just the sight of it was enough to give Ry wood. “Make that supermodel strippers in the case of Stalkerella Olivia. Regardless, I’m nowhere near their league.”

“Yeah, you’re miles beyond it,” Bram pointed out adamantly. “In another universe, practically.”

Ry couldn’t agree with him more. Lacey returned to Bram and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Ry tried not to let the jealousy eat at him.

“You’re a good friend,” Lacey whispered to Bram before dropping back onto her heels. She glanced over at Ry. “You both are.”

Oh yeah? So how come he didn’t get a goddamn kiss? He sent the obnoxiously grinning Bram a mulish glare as Lacey paced between them.

“But the truth is I can’t keep leaning on you guys to boost my sagging confidence. If I want to reclaim my mojo, I’m going to have to suck it up and…” taking a deep breath, she took several steps back and faced them both, “…jump into the dating pool.”

Ry could feel his heart knocking in an erratic rhythm. Lacey…dating? Someone other than him? He’d barely survived her engagement to Dan. How the fuck would he get through this? Without consciously thinking about it, he turned his stare on Bram. His best friend wore the same panicked look.

Fuck yeah. They were both screwed.

Chapter Three

By the time she finally dragged herself home, Lacey was dead on her feet. She plunked her purse onto the front end table and shrugged from her down-filled jacket. After hanging the garment in the closet, she rolled her shoulders, attempting to work out the kinks. A glass of wine sounded spectacular at the moment. Precisely what she needed to help her relax and wind down for the night.

She slipped off her suede snow boots and left them to dry near the heat register before traipsing into the kitchen. She poured the Pinot noir into her glass and took a sip, her gaze traveling to the stark landscape on the other side of the window. The snow-capped frozen surface of Lake Saint Clair resembled a glittering, crystallized desert. The barrenness of a Michigan winter never failed to depress her and make her long for the summer months, when the lakes were sparkling and sailboats and freighters bobbed in the distant waves.

After she’d broken her engagement to Dan, she’d briefly considered putting her house up for sale and moving south. Somewhere along the Atlantic coast, so she would still have her water views to enjoy. But there’d been the restaurant to consider, along with her family and Ry and Bram.

Especially Ry and Bram. The idea of leaving and only seeing them on occasion had made her stomach cramp to the point she’d felt physically ill whenever she thought about it. Even before they’d purchased the Dockside three years ago, they’d rarely gone longer than a few days between seeing each other. Since then, they’d become inseparable.

So she’d stayed put and muddled through.

Damn it, she was sick of muddling through. It was way past time to start living again. Getting her groove on and having a little fun. And maybe even some sex. She gulped down another sip and nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to have sex, damn it. With an actual
person
.” She drained her glass and topped it off. Her brain was starting to feel fuzzy. Probably she shouldn’t have any more to drink.

That’s something a boring person would think
. The taunting whisper in her head was enough to convince her to slurp through a couple large swallows of wine. A warm glow steadily crept through her veins. Tightening her grip on the glass, she swiveled away from the counter and journeyed down the hall to her bedroom. She even put a little sashaying hip action into her walk. More than likely she looked silly and uncoordinated as a one-legged duck, but with no one around to judge, she didn’t give a hairy rat’s behind. She settled her wineglass on the nightstand and shimmied out of her clothes. It was definitely a flannel jammies evening. But as she reached for her favorite pair—the ones with snowboarding kangaroos—the mocking voice floated through her mind again.

I bet Olivia doesn’t wear pajamas that have marsupials on them.

The thought managed to add an extra layer of acid to the wine sloshing around in her stomach. Though she tried to push the doubts away, they started piling up again. She stared at the flannel garment in her hands, her heart growing heavy.

Who was she kidding? She was so far from being sexy, it was ridiculous. Men weren’t interested in women like her—the average girl next door who was passably pretty but nothing to rave about. They wanted the flash and sparkle of someone like Olivia. The type of girl who stopped men in their tracks and caused multi-car pileups every time she crossed a street.

Her mood taking a steep downward slant, Lacey pulled on her pajamas and slumped on the edge of her bed. More than anything, she wished she was more like the woman she portrayed in her secret fantasies.
That
Lacey was lusty and uninhibited. She had two gorgeous hunks filling her days and nights with indescribable pleasure. They thought she was beautiful. A sex goddess worthy of worship. Fantasy Lacey would do anything and revel in every hedonistic moment.

What would I do if I
was
her? All the time. Not just in my mind?
She picked up her wine and took a fortifying gulp. Would she have the nerve to let go of her fears, even if it meant exposing a side of herself that left her feeling vulnerable? If she were willing to risk it all, what
would
she do?

With that intriguing question spiraling through her mind, she rushed to the dresser and grabbed her laptop. Too often she did accounting work from the comfort of her bed. No doubt yet another thing that boring people did all the time.