A Moment of Madness

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Acknowledgments

About the Author

If you love sexy romance, one-click these steamy Brazen releases…

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Brooklyn Skye. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit www.brazenbooks.com.

Edited by Heidi Shoham

Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

Cover art from Shutterstock

ISBN 978-1-63375-868-1

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition March 2017

For the readers who fell in love with Ryan in A Moment of Weakness and begged me for his HEA, this one’s for you.

Surrender to what is.

Let go of what was.

Have faith in what will be.

~Sonia Ricotti

Chapter One

Truth #19: Houseplants don’t make good dates.

A dim light above the Dirty Bird’s door cast a sickly glow over it, bathing it in a jaundiced look. If she wasn’t picking up her drunk cousin Marissa, Sailor wouldn’t ever be walking into such a run-down-looking place. Not with the night air creeping down her neck or the loud music seeping out from the closed door. Especially the gigantic man half sitting, half standing on a stool in front of her, arms crossed and face expressionless.

You can’t bring that in here, the bouncer said, pointing to the potted peace lily Marissa had asked her to bring. For what reason? Well, that was for drunk Marissa to explain. All Sailor had gotten were a few belligerent texts from her cousin. Something about refusing to call for an Uber and bringing her urrPlant. Which Sailor had taken to mean the peace lily she was now lugging around.

Sailor hitched the ceramic pot higher on her hip, the plant’s wilting leaves swaying in front of her face. It’s for my cousin, she explained to the wall of man. Well, actually, it’s for whoever she’s adopted it out to. My thumb isn’t that green, and she’s always teased me for it, and apparently, she’s found a better home for this little guy. Sailor cracked a smile and shrugged. It’s his lucky day.

Marissa lived only a few blocks from the Dirty Bird and often walked home after hanging out there, but since she’d barely been able to type out even a few basic sentences when asking Sailor to pick her up, Sailor knew her Thursday Netflix binge would have to wait so she could be an awesome cousin. In five minutes, she’d thrown on a ratty sweater and her favorite brown boots, grabbed the dying plant, and headed downtown.

The bouncer stared at her, unamused. Are you twenty-one?

Four years ago. She held her smile and tried not to wince at the words, but something about them shuddered a wave of shameful prickles across her skin. Four years ago, she was still slumming in California with Jordan, her only friends the drug addicts who came over to get high before leaving with pockets full of enough cocaine to land them in jail for years.

Four years ago, her father was still lying buried in a small Boston cemetery without a daughter to leave flowers on his grave.

She shook the thought away. She was here now, in Boston, and ready to right her wrongs. Starting tomorrow, when she would enter the bar her father used to own, talk with the owner, and propose a deal to buy it for a reasonable, family-discounted price.

But first, she had to deal with Marissa—the only family member she had by her side these days. I won’t be long, she told the bouncer. I just need to trade this plant for my cousin—finally we found someone who could take better care of it than me—and then we’ll be on our way.

He assessed her up and down, toes to head to toes. How much have you had to drink?

Sailor laughed. Well, I had some green tea when I left my shift at Above the Stem. It’s the little flower shop downtown. I work there a few days a week. Then once I got home, I had some chocolate milk with my Hot Pocket. The pepperoni was so spicy and—

The man held up his hand, stood, and swung open the door, and muggy, sour-stenched air wafted out from the small room. Go ahead. Just…don’t make a scene with that plant. I need my job.

I wouldn’t think of it, she said and kissed one of the shriveled leaves. I already feel bad enough for killing it. She ducked under his extended arm and stopped just inside the doorway to take in the crowded room—a mixture of college kids and older people crammed into every open space, the largest cluster hovering in front of the long bar counter. As she stood there, two things became glaringly obvious.

She was severely underdressed. The sweater that hung almost to her knees was frayed and looked like a cat had taken its claws along the sides…right where the cluster of—What in heck’s sake were those? Fuzz balls? Sheesh, could she have picked a shabbier top? And…

Bringing a dying plant into a bar may not have been the greatest idea. Or even just a great idea. Everyone was staring.

Heh-heh. Sailor pinched her lips together and scanned the room for a vibrant and cackling Marissa. Her cousin was a fun drunk. The type that drew attention from everyone in the bar. All Sailor needed to do was search for a group of—

There. A collection of broad shoulders and muscled arms circled around another body—this one smaller and on the bouncy side. It had to be her cousin. Marissa was gorgeous and single and always willing to make friends. Sailor started toward them but stopped when the circle shifted—every chiseled face turning her way—and opened to reveal a girl who was most definitely not her cousin in the center.

Eyes. Look at all those eyes. Sailor’s palms started to sweat. She glanced to the tuft of withered leaves on her left then back to the staring group. Whoopsies. Wrong group. In an awkward dip-hop move, she adjusted the plant higher on her hip and turned away.

The bar—maybe her cousin would be there. Where is she? she asked softly, her voice a little too high. Her red hair shouldn’t be this hard to find.

She was speaking to a shriveled-up plant—this fact did not escape her—but at this point, did it really matter? She wouldn’t ever see these people again.

Sailor squeezed and bumped her way to the back of the room where shelves of alcohol lined the walls and bellies lined the bar. She whispered to the plant, Maybe I should’ve been feeding you beer all along. You’re looking perkier in here. She ran her gaze over the bodies at the bar but stopped near the end where three girls about her age, dressed in short skirts and heels, stood. Who did Marissa say she was here with? People from the vet’s office? Those girls looked the type Marissa would be friends with.

She hurried over and tapped one on the shoulder. The girl spun, obviously expecting some sort of male figure to be standing in front of her by the cat-like-slash-stripper ease to her movement. Oh man, was she going to be disappointed.

The girl looked her up and down. Sailor wiggled her fingers from the pot. Um…hi. Are you—

You’re Sailor, right? Marissa’s cousin? Up close, the girl’s eyes, heavily lined and shaded in black and gray, reminded Sailor of a raccoon. Was that look popular outside of a fashion magazine?

Sailor nodded and then made a show of glancing side to side. She texted to come get her. Did she leave already?

The girl giggled, and the other two smirked from behind their cocktail glasses. She’s still here, the middle one said. But she’s busy.

Busy?

Playing with Santa Claus.

Huh?

Showing him she’s a naughty girl.

Sailor stared. It’s September…

The shorter girl on the end set her drink on the bar and pointed to the corner of the room with her long purple fingernail. What Ash means is Marissa met someone. She’s back by the bathrooms. What’s with the dead plant?

Thanks. Sailor readjusted the pot then headed in the direction of the bathrooms, ignoring the girl’s last question. Her cousin was too drunk to formulate a text, and now she’d met someone?

Sailor quickened her steps.

The leaves bounced and whacked her in the face.

The last time Marissa drunk-hooked-up with a guy, he’d left half-dollar-sized hickies from her chin to her collarbone, giving her a sort of leopard look that had lasted for weeks.

Time to kick my best-cousin-ever status into overdrive.

Fewer people populated the area near the bathrooms, which was just as well because, Oh my God, this plant is getting heavy. Her boots thumped along the wooden floor, sticking every few steps to whatever random sugary drink had made its home there. She would definitely be leaving her shoes outside tonight.

Was that something she would have to do from tomorrow on? If her plan to take over her father’s bar worked—the one he’d willed to someone else because she’d abandoned him without a single glance over her shoulder—would she be spending hours upon hours each day with her shoes sticking to the floors? Cleaning them, too?

She could only cross her fingers and hope. Because that bar was the last tie she had left to the father who’d died seven years ago. Well, that and the incessant guilt for leaving home at seventeen, disowning the only man who’d loved her, and trading him for Jordan and his messed-up world. What a stupid, stupid kid she’d been. So many years wasted, and never once had she thought to check on the man who’d raised her.

But for the last year and a half, she’d been saving up, stashing every penny she earned at Above the Stem, and tomorrow she’d approach the owner. Reason number one she needed to find Marissa pronto and get her home. Tomorrow would be the start of making everything right in her life.

Sailor turned down the hall that led to the bathrooms, and against the wall, just beside the entrance to the men’s room, the backside of a woman dressed in a green flowy top—her cousin’s signature color—over a short denim skirt caught her attention. Dark auburn hair lay in a flat blanket over her shoulder blades, sashaying side to side with the movement of her body against a larger one. A man whose palms were planted on Marissa’s hips. Sailor couldn’t see much else of him, only that his shoulders extended far past her cousin’s, and Marissa’s hands were busy near the guy’s neck.

At first glance, the two looked like they were kissing—enjoying each other’s company. But as Sailor neared, a few things registered. One, they were, in fact, not locking lips. Her face was just really, really close to his. Two, his hands were not simply resting on her hips, but rather holding her up, or trying to push her off him. That distinction was tough to tell. Three, Marissa’s hands were not at the guy’s neck but buried in his beard. A thick, black one.

Not white… He looked nothing like Santa.

And four, based on her slurring words that echoed into the hallway, Marissa was wasted. I’ve beena naughty girl thissss year, Sailor heard her say to the guy. You’re gonna hafta put me on yur naughty list, Mr. Sexy Clauuuus.

Uh oh, this may be worse than I thought. Sailor rushed forward. Whoa there, Mrs. Claus. At the sound of Sailor’s voice, Marissa pushed off the guy’s chest and whirled around with a wide grin stretched from cheek to cheek.

Cousinnnn! If there was a poster child for how not to look while drinking at a bar, Marissa would’ve been it—shirt askew, hair teased up on one side, and a smudge of red lipstick on her cheek. Oh, dear. Arms extended out, she lurched for Sailor. You shoulda come out. Her weight collapsed onto Sailor, and Sailor quickly circled her arm around Ms. Boozy, planting her feet on the sticky floor and her hip against her wobbly cousin.

Did ya see muh new frrrriend?

Over Marissa’s shoulder, Sailor met the guy’s assessing gaze. Oh. Oh. Were eyes allowed to be that blue-green? That crystal-like? They were so pretty, like two little pieces of polished sea glass. And that face—that beard. This was no disgusting, scruffy bird’s nest. Nothing like the burly, biker-man images that popped into her head with the word beard. The sides were neatly trimmed, as were his eyebrows, giving him the look of a guy on a GQ cover.

That area just below her collarbone started to tingle. You don’t look anything like Santa Claus.

He stared at her for a brief second, narrowing his eyes. Please don’t say I’m more the elf type. That might bruise my ego.

"Heh-heh. Yeah…" Did gorgeous guy suddenly equal a lack of stranger etiquette? Apparently so. She shook her head. Never mind. She tightened her arm around Marissa. Time to say ‘bye’ to your friend, Riss.

Marissa ignored her and dropped her head onto Sailor’s shoulder. Why did ya bring yur plant, cuzzz?

Because you told me to.

Marissa’s head rocked back and forth. I said pantsss. My legs were cold.

Pants. Plant. Jesus. Sailor sighed. Next time you decide to get this drunk, you’re only allowed to text me with emojis. With the coordination of a tightrope walker, Sailor carefully set the plant on a small table near the bathroom door—it was dying and pathetic-looking and not something she wanted anyway. Maybe someone would feel sorry for it and take it home. Come on. It’s time to go.

Wait. Marissa straightened, her face smashing into Sailor’s cheek. You can’t leave the plannnnt here.

Riss, I almost killed the stupid thing. I think it’s safe to say it’ll be better off here.

Marissa shook her head. I want the plant.

Seriously?

She nodded.

Fine. Using the dead weight of her cousin on her left to stay steady, Sailor reached for the plant and cradled it in her arm once again. The shift in weight sent Marissa’s body crashing against her—front side to hip—and pinned Sailor to the edge of the table. The plant smacked her in the face. Riss, she snapped out, clawing her fingers into the fabric of Marissa’s top. You need to—

Marissa tried to brace herself but landed a hand on Sailor’s boob.

Just—

The legs beside Sailor dipped, swinging the combined weight of them like a pendulum in the opposite direction. Sailor gripped her cousin tighter, and dirt from the plant spilled onto the floor.

Dang it, Marissa. If we’re going to get home, you need to move your freaking legs—

All of a sudden, a very large—very strong—hand reached between Sailor and her cousin. While this is quite entertaining to watch, the bearded guy said, I’m actually starting to feel bad for you. He wrapped his hand around Marissa’s biceps and straightened her, relieving the weight from Sailor’s body.

Thank you, Jesus. Sailor pushed off the table and released a giggle. It was more of a titter. God, how annoying was she?

Those blue-green eyes watched her, one eyebrow bowing up as if someone was pinching its ends. The rest of his face didn’t move—at least not that she could see. That beard sure hid a lot.

He was still staring, giving her an are-you-laughing-at-me look.

Oh, um—she adjusted the plant, dusting the dirt off the side of the pot—in my head, I just referred to you as Jesus. You don’t look like him. I mean, not unless the guy went to a really talented barber…and the gym, like every day. What in the world was she saying? And why was she now pointing to his muscles? They were ridiculously huge, stretching against the sleeves in a way that had her worried for the seams, but…

She tucked her hand behind her back. "Okay, heh-heh. I don’t normally sound like I inhaled a handful of crazy pills for dinner."

Yessss, you do, Marissa mumbled and rolled her head toward the guy. Sailor’s pretty, isn’t she?

The guy cocked his head to the side. Crazy pills?

She was sounding smarter and smarter, wasn’t she? Shaking away the flush of heat working its way between her ribs, she pointed at Marissa’s limp body. I need to get her home.

I’ll walk her to your car.

You don’t have to. She reached for Marissa, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

Based on what I saw a minute ago, you don’t have many other choices. Not unless you want to drag her across the bar floor.

Sailor scrunched up her nose. He was right. She could barely hold Marissa up. How would she walk her all the way across the room? She resigned with a nod and gestured to his beard—the side of it that had been pushed up with her cousin’s fingers. If we’re walking out there, you might want to fix that. You don’t seem like the type to be going for the homeless look.

With a flattened palm, he tried to smooth his beard, but after a few strokes, the side hair was still sticking up.

Um, here. Let me get it. She stepped close enough to smell the scent of his cologne. It wasn’t strong, and not really a scent she’d smelled on a guy before. More…sweet like vanilla than the generic spicy musk she was used to.

With the tips of her fingers, she patted the stray hairs, and when that didn’t do much to tame them, she combed her fingers knuckle deep into them. Only half a foot separated their faces, and he watched her with what she could guess was amusement.

Better? He grinned, and even though the entire lower half of his face was covered with hair, something told her that he had the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen.

Yeah.

Suddenly, her cousin’s face was in hers, alcohol-soured breath blasting with her words. You two gonna stare at each other all night? I wanna go home.

Right. Home. Sailor whirled around, the plant’s branches whipping through the air beside her. My car’s out this way.

…

First the blubbering drunk, and now the girl trucking around a dead houseplant. Had he woken up in the fucking Twilight Zone? After the day he’d had, it sure seemed like it.

Ryan followed Plant Girl across the Dirty Bird’s disgusting floor, bracing the unsteady redhead with each of her steps. Not even in his own bar tonight, and still dealing with belligerent people. Marty would’ve laughed. That’s what you get for having a welcoming face, son. Seems like wherever he went, beard or not, people assumed he’d help. Old lady who couldn’t find a seat on the subway. His best customer, Johnny, begging for money to fix his wife’s sagging tits.

Ryan dodged an incoming tray of empty glasses balanced on the extended arm of one of the many waitresses. The next time someone asks me for help, I’m going to say no. Flat out. No questions asked. Just to shake the world’s perfect balance out of place for a bit.

The redhead beside him blubbered again, but this time with the blaring