Big Bad Wolf: A Bad Boy Next Door Second Chance Romance

  Big Bad Wolf

  A Bad Boy Next Door Second Chance Romance

  Frankie Love

  Isabella Starling

  Contents

  Big Bad Wolf

  1. Hayley

  2. Hayley

  3. Luke

  4. Luke

  5. Hayley

  6. Luke

  7. Murderer

  8. Luke

  9. Hayley

  10. Luke

  11. Hayley

  12. Hayley

  13. Hayley

  14. Luke

  15. Hayley

  16. Murderer

  17. Luke

  18. Hayley

  19. Luke

  20. Hayley

  21. Murderer

  22. Luke

  23. Luke

  24. Hayley

  Epilogue

  Also by Frankie Love

  Also by Isabella Starling

  ACE

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  KING Chapters 1-6

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Dark Blood

  1. Bianca

  2. Matteo

  3. Bianca

  4. Matteo

  5. Bianca

  6. Matteo

  7. Bianca

  8. Matteo

  9. Bianca

  10. Matteo

  11. Bianca

  12. Matteo

  13. Bianca

  14. Matteo

  15. Bianca

  16. Matteo

  17. Bianca

  18. Matteo

  19. Bianca

  20. Matteo

  21. Bianca

  22. Matteo

  23. Bianca

  24. Matteo

  Also by Isabella Starling

  About the Author

  Big Bad Wolf

  Copyright © 2016 by Frankie Love & Isabella Starling

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Frankie’s mailing list

  Isabella’s mailing list

  1

  Hayley

  Memories cover every surface of this place. Driving back into Willow Creek for the first time in three years, it’s like I haven’t been gone at all.

  The Barton boys and I grew up here, running through sprinklers as kids, then riding inner tubes down the creek as tweens, and as teenagers we rolled down the main street in Chris’ shitty car, the music blaring, our hearts full of hope. Of possibility.

  At least mine was.

  I’m guessing Luke and his older brother Chris were thinking about the hot piece of ass they planned on finding at whichever party we showed up at with cheap beer and nothing but time.

  Back then I was the quintessential girl-next-door, even though Gram’s house was technically a whole three doors down from the Barton’s.

  The Barton boys looked out for me, like I was their other little sister … except as we got older there wasn’t much "little" about me. My hips curved, my waist narrowed, and my breasts got full.

  Still, the boys never made a move on me.

  They were players, the quarterback and the wide-receiver, among other positions—both on and off the field.

  But around the same time that I stopped being little, they stopped being the golden boys they’d always been.

  Somewhere along the line they became the big men on campus, and that appealed to a lot of girls, including me. But I didn’t just want any Barton. Chris was overly confident. Luke. Luke was effortless.

  Luke with his bright eyes and easy laugh. He always made me feel comfortable in my own skin, which is saying something when you’re a girl in high school, longing to be accepted.

  Luke was a year older, but I always knew he had my back.

  And I was always on the lookout for him. My body pulsed with desire every time Luke came close.

  Just once he gave me what I’d craved for so long. He thought it was only about having fun when he came home for the weekend, during his sophomore year of college. I’d graduated high school, but still hadn’t left for my culinary program in NYC.

  It felt like the perfect time, thought I was old enough to know that this wasn’t the start of something.

  But since I’d always wanted a chance to give him more—give him everything—I did.

  Then I left and never came back.

  It’s been three years since I’ve seen those boys, or anyone from this place, really.

  It’s time to come back home.

  Gram’s place—well, my place now—is full of the past. As I walk through the old farmhouse, it’s like walking through a dilapidated ghost house.

  My ghost house.

  Gram died a month ago. She’d been in a care facility the last few years of her life, in a much bigger city. I’d visit her there of course, but Willow Creek was a long drive and I’d lost touch with everyone here. There was no one to come back for.

  When the lawyer called telling me Gram had left the house to me, along with enough money to start the business I’d always dreamed of opening, it felt like a fresh start.

  The fresh start I needed. Especially since the moment I told Nick the news about the inheritance, he’d rolled his eyes and said he’d rather die than live in a town like Willow Creek, which is as far across the country as you can possibly get from where we lived in NYC.

  "Really, you’d rather die? Do you even get how insensitive that is? My gram actually did just die, Nick."

  Ignoring my feelings, he continued, "I’m not moving there, I’m starting my practice in New York. I can’t just leave."

  Nick’s in grad school to be a therapist, and good for him. He can keep trying to fix people so long as it isn’t me.

  "Gram’s place is the closest thing I have to a family."

  Nick looked at me with pity in his eyes, like I had it all wrong.

  "A crappy house on the edge of a shitty town is your family?" When I didn’t reply, he narrowed his eyes with a confidence I’d come to hate, and said, "Don’t be ridiculous. Stay. Marry me. I can be your family."

  I knew we were through when he said that. I had only ever imagined myself marrying one man anyway.

  I’d restrained myself from ever googling Luke, ever searching his name on Facebook.

  Over the past three years I tried to ignore the fact that he never came looking for me. But I’ve never been the sort of girl who needed a man to be happy.

  That’s why I gave Nick a flippant peace sign as I drove away with a U-Haul trailer hitched to the back of the van I bought once Gram’s money was deposited. I didn’t need him
, just like I hadn't needed to hunt Luke down and ask for more.

  The thing is, I may not have needed Luke, but damn, I’ve always wanted him.

  Want him.

  I swallow that desire as I walk through the near-empty house where I grew up. In the kitchen, I run my hand over Gram’s counter. There isn’t anything left in this house that should make me cry, but I brush back tears anyway. It’s the end of October and looking out the window over the sink, the leaves on the trees are orange and deep red, scattered in the empty yard.

  And all I remember is how much Gram loved this time of year.

  I can still picture her wiry hands peeling dozens of apples, the ones from her orchard, and slicing them to put into her apple pies. She’d roll out the crust, reciting the recipe to me every time. Ice cold butter, sifted flour. She’d raise her finger as she reminded me to take it slow. "All good things are worth the wait. You can’t rush love, Hayley."

  I’d laugh, of course. "Gram, you’re making a pie for the Halloween Festival. What does love have to do with it?"

  She’d shake her head, the one that got muddled more often than either of us liked to admit. "Sweet thing," she’d said. "Love has to do with everything."

  Her words were lost on me then, but as Gram’s life gave way to dementia, I began to understand. Too much of life is rushed. Now, if I can slow down, I will.

  Which is exactly what I plan on doing here in Willow Creek. I’m going to open a bakery and help people fall slowly in love, one pie at a time.

  It takes hours to unload the U-Haul, which I do with about as much grace as a cow. I may have all my worldly possessions scattered in boxes on this hardwood floor, but I can’t for the life of me find the garbage bags. Or the light bulbs. Which I really need, considering every single one is dead and it’s getting dark.

  Without looking in the bathroom mirror, I grab my keys. My dark hair is in a messy bun, piled on top of my head, and I’m wearing a pair of leggings, a hoodie with the words PUMPKIN SPICE IS MY JAM emblazoned across the front, and Uggs, which are basically the only thing I ever want on my feet after a long morning standing in front of a Kitchen-Aid mixer.

  People may think a baker’s hands are the first thing to go—you know, from all that kneading—but the truth is, my poor feet are the things that ache after a day of work.

  While moving day isn’t exactly the day you get all dolled up, the truth is I don’t even own clothing that could be classified as anything besides bakery-girl-chic, which is made up of T-shirts with cheesy one liners, clogs, and skinny jeans. I may be twenty-two, but being a fashionista has never been my priority. Another thing that annoyed my ex, Nick.

  He always wanted me to look more like an adult. But I have a shirt that literally reads "adulting is over-rated." He hated when I wore that.

  No matter how hard he pushed, his opinions were never going to sway me. Deciding on what flavor of frosting to top my cupcakes with has always been a bigger priority than what lipstick to buy.

  Still, as I drop off the U-Haul in town, and am immediately identified as Hayley Adams, the girl who left right after high-school for a fancy culinary program in New York City—by a guy I can’t for the life of me recognize—I can’t help but wonder if I should have showered before making my grand entrance in Willow Creek.

  I just give the guy my keys and thank him with a tight smile.

  The sky is dark as I pull into the parking lot of the grocery store. Bright orange pumpkins line the outside entrance and stalks of corn stand at attention. There’s a big sign advertising the Willow Creek Halloween Party and I can’t help but twist my lips, remembering the last time I went to that event. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  I notice a group of teenagers trying to get someone to buy them beer. A store clerk steps outside, hollering. "Get out of here or I’ll call Sheriff Barton."

  As I head into the grocery store and take a cart, my mind floods with memories. Sheriff Barton is still here, Luke and Chris’ dad. Well, Julie’s dad too. But Julie was five years younger than me, so I wasn’t close to her like I was the boys. Still, I can’t help but wonder if the boys are still in Willow Creek.

  I grab garbage bags, a dozen light bulbs, and a massive bottle of bleach. Gram’s house is filthy and needs to be washed from top to bottom. Then I head to the back of the store to get other essentials.

  Pulling open the milk case, I twist my lips, full of indecision.

  I don’t notice when someone walks up behind me, leans close enough to whisper in my ear, close enough to spook the bejesus out of me.

  "Boo," is all they say.

  But it’s enough to know who is right here, pressed against my back like he is someone familiar.

  Because he is someone familiar.

  I spin around, my eyes wide. "Dammit, Luke, you scared me."

  "What the hell is the infamous Hayley Adams doing here in Willow Creek?" Luke looks me up and down, shaking his head like he can’t believe his eyes. "I mean, besides debating one percent over two."

  I open my mouth, but I’m at a loss for words. Of course I dreamed he’d still be here. And by dream, I mean gotten way too intimate with myself as I imagined seeing him again.

  Touching him again.

  And here he is, his warm breath lingering in my ear. I cover it, wanting to keep some of him close, too scared this isn’t real. Him and me standing here in the back of the only grocery store in town, talking about milk, when dammit, the instant I look at him I’m the one who has freaking creamed her jeans. And by jeans, I mean leggings. And by cream, I mean yes—he is as hot as he ever was.

  But different. Darker. Bigger. Scarier.

  Then he looks down at me, and his small half-smile reminds me that this is the boy I’ve known forever. He may look different, but he is still Luke Barton.

  "Long time no see, Luke," I say, remembering how to speak like an actual human. Remembering that the person in front of me is Luke. He isn’t some big, bad wolf. I pull him into a hug, noticing the tattoos across his forearm and knuckles but not wanting to stare, yet desperately wanting to know what words he etched so permanently on himself.

  Wanting to be etched somewhere on him too; knowing I left before I could take up permanent residence in Luke Barton’s heart.

  I pull away.

  He runs a hand over his jaw. His knuckles read, Part Wolf. Suddenly I wish I’d stayed.

  "Hayley, you look…."

  "The exact same?" I laugh, shrugging. "You know, you look.…"

  "Like shit?"

  "I was going to say tired."

  Luke swallows, his eyes not leaving mine. "It’s been a long three years, Hayley."

  I nod instinctively, though not knowing what he means. He must see my confusion.

  "Long story," he says, covering the awkward pause I’ve created. "But uh, what are you doing here?"

  I look in my shopping cart at the black garbage bags and gallon of bleach. I laugh and say, "Cleaning up a crime scene."

  Luke’s eyes deepen, then he steps back ever so slightly.

  "Sorry." I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, looking at the linoleum floor, realizing making jokes about murder isn’t exactly the way to reignite whatever romantic spark had flamed so briefly. Pointing to the refrigerator case, I add, "I was getting milk. Obviously."

  "Long trip for some milk."

  Flustered, I manage to say, "Right. No. I’m moving here. Moved here. In Gram’s old place. She died a month ago and left it to me."

  "Damn, I’m sorry, Hay." His voice carries a serious tone, one I don’t know I’ve ever heard from playboy Luke Barton. Last time I saw him he was unstoppable, moving to Washington University on a full-ride scholarship for football, with more swagger than Macklemore. "I didn’t realize she still owned it. It’s been empty for years."

  His phone rings, and he pulls it from his pocket. My eyes follow and land on his groin, instantly pulled back in time.

  Luke types on his phone, then looks up at me. "Sorry, Hay, that wa
s Chris. I’m working for his construction company these days, and we have a job tonight. I’m already late. His girl Stacy is bitching about the dinner I’m supposed to be picking up." He leans over to give me a hug, and it isn’t awkward.

  Nothing was ever awkward between Luke and me.

  As I pull away, his comment about his brother registers.

  "Stacy Collins?"

  "The one and only."

  "And she’s dating Chris?" I shake my head, remembering my childhood best friend. Wild, untamed and completely unreliable. She was as ready to leave Willow Creek as I was.

  Luke laughs. "I know, right? She works at that biker bar now, you know that one outside of town?"

  "I can totally see that." We smile, our eyes locked, but I’m betting our minds are in totally different places.

  I give him a final wave before he walks away, and he turns, looking at me over his shoulder.

  It looks like we’ve all found our way back home.

  2

  Hayley

  I drive back to Gram’s without even thinking of what street I’m turning on, and when. My hand instinctively flips the blinker, spins the wheel, and the next thing I know, I’m home. My body remembers things I don’t.

  But then again… my body seems to remember an awful lot right now.

  Everything.

  After Luke walked away, I finished my shopping—making sure to grab a bottle of white wine—with my thighs clenched together. Which maybe sound insane or dramatic—but it’s true. My body remembers things I’d forgotten.

  The way his mouth crashed against mine.

  The way he pushed my knees apart, his fingers touching my wet pussy. Took me the way I had so badly wanted to be taken.

  I slam the trunk of the van, the plastic handles of the grocery bags digging into my wrists. Kicking the front door closed with my heel, I use my phone as a flashlight, pushing away the Halloween memories that Luke brought back.

  The house is dark, empty, and I can’t make my way to the kitchen fast enough. Digging through the grocery sacks, I find the box of light bulbs and grab a chair to stand on. I’m not one to get all bent out of shape over being alone in a house. At least I hadn’t thought I was.