Page 7 of Return of the Bad Girl (Rock Canyon, Idaho 4)

She needed a place to chill out, to feel safe. A place to decorate however she wanted and to relax in when she got home, where she wouldn’t have to listen to Val’s disturbing sex noises or deal with Ellie tripping in at all hours, waking her up. Caroline needed all that and a comfortable bed. Valerie definitely hadn’t bought her couch for guests to sleep on, that was for damn sure.

Exiting off of Main Street, Caroline turned down a narrow alley behind the row of shops. The older stone and brick buildings of Rock Canyon looked dingier from the back, but her new parking spot was behind Gemma’s bookstore—Chloe’s Book Nook—and right next to the stairs that led to her new place.

Caroline wasn’t worried about the stairs, since everything she owned currently fit in her trunk and on her backseat. She usually rented furnished apartments to keep from having to sell stuff when she moved on, but once she had everything unloaded here, she planned on making a few shopping trips to Twin Falls to pick up new furniture and décor. She had been saving up for so long, it was about time she splurged.

Caroline saw the parking spot, but as she began to pull in, she almost plowed into the back of a midnight blue motorcycle already parked there.

What the hell?

Glaring at the crotch rocket, she thrust her gear shift into park and turned off her car, not giving a tinker’s damn if someone else tried to come through the alley. She couldn’t wait to kick this asshole out of her parking spot.

She jumped out and passed the bike slowly, reading the license plate with disgust.

BBYBLUE.

What a sissy name for a street bike. It was probably some jerk who was afraid of his poor baby getting scratched out on the street. But that was no excuse for taking her spot. Trying to cool her already-hot temper, she hummed the lyrics to her favorite Fleetwood Mac song as she came up to the bookstore’s back entrance and knocked. First, she would pick up her keys, and then she would call a tow truck to remove the motorcycle.

Gemma Bowers opened the door, her dark hair pulled back from her face, drawing attention to the paleness of her skin. Gemma was curvy in a natural way and soft-looking, with a sweet face. Her hazel eyes were wide behind her glasses, and Caroline could see how she’d won the heart of country rock star Travis Bowers who was, from what Caroline remembered, a total hottie. And although Caroline hadn’t known her in high school, when she’d come to see the apartment the other day, Gemma had been very nice.

“Hey, Gemma, I’m sorry to show up so early, but my morning plans fell through. Is it okay if I sign the lease now?” Caroline asked, wondering now at the woman’s deer-in-the-headlights look. “By the way, do you know who I can call to get a tow? There’s some douche wad in my parking spot.”

Gemma opened her mouth as if to speak, but a deep voice out of sight beat her to it.

“It’s my parking spot.”

Caroline poked her head past Gemma to see who it belonged to. The man behind the voice was a panty-dropper for sure. He was leaning against the counter of the shop’s break room, but Caroline had a feeling he was as tall as he was muscly. Wide shoulders and rippling arms were hugged by the light cotton of a tight, army-green T-shirt, and she couldn’t miss the bumps and ridges of his pecs and abs—proof that this guy worked out hard, in all the right places.

Caroline tried to say something, but her mouth was too dry, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth.

She hadn’t even gotten to his face yet. How long had it been since a man had tongue-tied her with his body alone? Too long, apparently.

Her gaze finally met his obsidian eyes—complete with ebony lashes framing them thickly, unfairly. His coffee-and-cream skin was smooth except for the hint of scruff around his chin and a two-inch strip of dark hair running down the middle of his head, like a short, tamed Mohawk. She could see the tip of a tattoo on the side of his neck, just above his T-shirt, but it was his smile that finally brought her back to reality.

It was stretched wide—with an edge that told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her, that it happened to him all the time—and his arrogance was like a bucket of ice water. This man was dangerous, cocky . . . and he had stolen her parking spot. Worse, he’d called it his spot, and here she was, basically going into heat. She wasn’t this girl, the one who panted after whatever hot guy crooked his finger at her.

Gearing up for battle, she placed a hand on her cocked hip. “As pretty as you may be, I am going to have to call bullshit on that one. Gemma leased the upstairs apartment to me and the parking spot along with it.”

Tall, dark, and douchey stood up, forcing her to tilt her chin skyward and curse her lack of heels. She normally wore them everywhere, but since today was moving day, she had worn comfy shoes for running up and down stairs. Which put her about four inches shorter than normal; at five foot three and a quarter, she was on the shrimpy side when dealing with average men. This guy was definitely above average, probably six foot two in his bare feet. What really pissed her off, though, was the way he was leaning over her now, as if he was trying to intimidate her with his bad-boy aura.

Please, I eat assholes like you for breakfast.

He took a few steps closer, that smug smile never slipping. “Well, Travis, Gemma’s husband, rented the apartment—and parking spot—to me as well. So, looks like we have a bit of an issue here.”

That threw Caroline, and she swung her focus to Gemma, who looked like she was ready to wring her hands and cry. “Please, tell me he’s kidding.”

“I wish he was, but apparently, Mr. Moriarty—Gabe—met with my husband

yesterday. I didn’t even know about this until last night.”

“And you couldn’t have given me a heads-up?” Caroline snapped.

“I tried to call your cell phone, but it kept going to voicemail.”

Damn it. That’s because her sister’s monster of a dog had taken a shine to stealing her things. Her socks, her phone, her underwear. By the time she’d realized it was gone this morning, it was dead, and there was no way to coerce information out of a dog.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Caroline glared at the man who was trying to steal her apartment. “So, what happens now?”

“Now you take your sweet little ass out of here and find another place to live,” Gabe said. Caroline had the sudden urge to flip him off or kick him in the balls. Maybe both.

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