FLIRT Read online

  Flirt

  Dirty Brothers Series

  Penny Wylder

  Copyright © 2018 Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.

  Sign up HERE!

  Contents

  Books By Penny Wylder

  Flirt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Her Best Friend’s Dad

  1. Lia

  2. Beck

  3. Lia

  4. Lia

  5. Beck

  6. Lia

  7. Beck

  8. Lia

  Epilogue

  Excerpt of HER DAD’S FRIEND

  Books By Penny Wylder

  Books By Penny Wylder

  Filthy Boss

  Her Dad’s Friend

  Rockstars F#*k Harder

  The Virgin Intern

  Her Dirty Professor

  The Pool Boy

  Get Me Off

  Caught Together

  Selling Out to the Billionaire

  Falling for the Babysitter

  Lip Service

  Full Service

  Expert Service

  The Billionaire’s Virgin

  The Billionaire’s Secret Babies

  Her Best Friend’s Dad

  Own Me

  The Billionaire’s Gamble

  Seven Days With Her Boss

  Virgin in the Middle

  The Virgin Promise

  First and Last

  Tease

  Spread

  Bang

  Second Chance Stepbrother

  Dirty Promise

  Sext

  Quickie

  Bed Shaker

  Deep in You

  The Billionaire’s Toy

  Buying the Bride

  Dating My Friend’s Daughter

  Big Man

  Trapped with My Teacher

  My 5 Bosses

  Good Girls Say Yes

  His Big Offer

  Dangerous Love

  The Roommate’s Baby

  Perfect Boss

  Cowboy Husband

  Knocked Up By Her Brother’s Enemy

  Flirt

  1

  Driving through the town I grew up in is surreal. I haven’t been back here in years. Everything looks exactly the same. I drive by my old high school. The exact same banner announcing prom is hung out front. It’s as though I’ve stepped back in time, back to when I had a crush on the wealthy bad boy, when he snuck over to my house to make out the night of my sister’s prom.

  Next time someone warns me about the bad boy in town, I’ll be sure to listen.

  I’m thinking of old times when a car speeds past me. The roar of the souped-up motor scares the shit out of me and my car hops the curb, spilling my coffee down the front of my white shirt.

  “Sonofabitch,” I say and grit my teeth against the burn. I throw my middle finger out the window. Good thing the coffee wasn’t fresh. It’s still hot enough to be uncomfortable against my skin, though. I look toward the car which is now just a blue speck in the distance. It’s too far away now to see a license plate, or even the make of the car. From the short glimpse I got of it, it looked expensive. Probably some insecure little man trying to overcompensate for something he lacks downstairs. Needless to say, I’m pissed.

  There’s nothing I can do about it now but cuss and complain to myself the entire way to my father’s bakery. I didn’t want to come back in the first place, but now I’m really in a bad mood and want to be here even less.

  The little bell above the bakery door jingles as I walk in. There’s no one else in the front. Business obviously isn’t booming. The place could use a coat of paint and new furniture.

  My dad is probably in the back of the store. I’m supposed to meet my sister here to try and help my dad out of a financial bind he’s gotten himself into. I guess it’s a good thing she’s always late. I can use this time to get the stain out of my shirt and look halfway presentable.

  I head toward the back of the bakery down a long hall toward the unisex bathroom. Inside, I look in the mirror and realize it’s worse than I thought. I take the shirt off. I probably shouldn’t have worn this turquoise bra underneath it. It’s ill-fitting as well. The tops of my breasts spill out of the cups. I’m all cleavage. I was in a rush when I left and couldn’t find another clean bra so I wore what was available.

  I scrub the stain with the powdered soap from the dispenser and hope for the best. I get most of the stain out. I’m drying the shirt under the hand dryer when the door swings open. I yelp in surprise and drop my shirt to the floor.

  I’m surprised and confused at first seeing the person in the doorway, but then I look into a set of eyes as blue as a summer sky and my heart skitters. I’ve only seen eyes that blue on one person and they belonged to a ghost from my past. And here he is again, back to haunt me.

  I scramble to put my shirt back on. It’s still wet and clings to me like a second skin. There’s nothing I can do about it. I try to hide my breasts the best I can but my cleavage is more than my little hands can handle.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I snap at him.

  Thomas Logan’s large body fills the doorway

  in a suit that belongs on the runways of New York—not in the suburbs of Boston. How is it possible that he looks better than he did in high school? It’s been ten years since I’ve seen him last. Why can’t he be bald or fat? Instead he looks like some kind of super hero trying—and failing miserably—to blend in with the rest of the world. It’s not difficult to tell the body of a Greek god is concealed under those expensive clothes. His dark hair is meticulous, his face smooth and angular, chiseled to perfection. I can’t believe it’s really him.

  He doesn’t say anything at first. Just smirks at me.

  “Well?” I say.

  “What else do people do at bakeries?”

  He doesn’t look like the type of guy to frequent a rundown bakery. He doesn’t look like the type who would ingest anything into his perfect body that isn’t organic or made from the finest ingredients.

  “Well, the bathroom is occupied,” I say.

  “I can see that.”

  His eyes flicker with humor and his gaze lingers on my breasts a beat too long before he looks back at my face.

  “So shut the damn door,” I tell him.

  He takes a step into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. The lock clicks in place.

  “I didn’t mean with you in here. Get out.”

  He doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step closer.

  “Rose Monroe. It’s been awhile,” he says, his eyes traveling up and down my body, stopping at my chest. Everything is on display. My cheeks heat under his gaze.

  I remember when I was under the spell of that very gaze. Whenever he looked at me I would swoon.

  The last time we saw each other we were making out. What we had didn’t last long. We were over before we even had the chance to get started. It was the night of prom. My sister was out with his brother, Sam. It was the same night she found out Sam had cheated on her. I was at home with Thoma
s and had gotten a text from her, and when I met her out on the football field she had been sobbing. She started the night looking like a princess and by the end she had black steaks of makeup smeared down her face. It was awful. That night I learned that Logan boys cheat and we made a pact never to trust one. I ignored Thomas after that and I haven’t seen him since. Not until this very moment.

  “Not long enough,” I say.

  He screws up his face, a look that’s a little confused and a little defiant. “If I remember right, you’re the one who ditched me. So what’s with the attitude?”

  “I’m late meeting my sister,” I say and try to push past him, but he puts his large body in front of me, blocking the way.

  God he smells good. My body wakes up at the scent of him and reacts in a way that’s a total betrayal to mine and Fiona’s pact. I try to pretend like he has no effect on me, but my chest is heaving—and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Thomas flashes me an infuriatingly confident smile.

  “Missed a spot,” he says, and rubs his thumb across one of my breasts as if trying to scrub something off my shirt.

  I should step away from him. I should slap him. But instead I gasp and just stand there and let him do it. The scrubbing becomes a caress and then he stops and we are both looking into each other’s eyes.

  When I hear pots and pans banging together in the back of the building, the spell is broken and I step away from him.

  “I think I got it,” he says in that cocky way of his.

  I roll my eyes and push past him, as I finish buttoning up my wet shirt. When I get to the front of the store I look out the window to see if my sister has shown up. She hasn’t. But parked right out front is a shiny blue sports car with a personalized license plate that says T Logan.

  My jaw drops. “You’re the douche-canoe who ran me off the road?” It’s the same car that cut me off this morning, spilling coffee all over myself, leading to this rather exposed situation right now.

  He chuckles. “I’ve been called a lot of things by women, but I have to say that’s a first. And you’re the person who was driving so slowly in front of the high school that a snail could pass you. What were you doing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “Reminiscing on old times?”

  I flush, the memory of his lips and hands all over me the night of prom coming to my mind. Lips and hands and pure pleasure. Except for what came after that. “Remembering the bad ones actually.”

  The most potent memory from those times is one that still haunts me. Picking up Fiona while she was crying so hard she could barely breathe, wrecked after being cheated on by her then boyfriend. The Logans are an institution here in Hawthorne—rich, handsome, and they own half the town. None of that mattered to Fiona, and she and Sam were so head-over-heels in love it was a little gross. At least she thought they were, until she caught Sam and Lacy together behind the school gym.

  Fiona still doesn’t know this, but that night I was with Thomas. We’d been flirting for a while, and that night we took the next step. I’d snuck out to see him and we were together when I got her call. I’d driven to get her even though I didn’t have a license, which landed me a grounding that lasted for pretty much the rest of the year. But it was worth it. If I hadn’t left to pick up Fiona, I might’ve gone too far with Thomas and fallen in love the way she had. I might’ve suffered the same fate as my sister, broken and miserable.

  Him standing here is a reminder of what we almost had, what we almost did. It’s the icing on the top of this shitty day. “And thanks to you, this shirt is probably ruined.”

  For the countless time his eyes land on my breasts, and I blush because it’s obvious that he’s not looking at the coffee stain. “Honestly, I think it’s an improvement.”

  The way he’s looking at me makes me want to pull him inside the bathroom and fuck him, just to see what I missed all those years ago. But I’m not going to do that. That’s insane. Instead, I sit at the café table that’s cluttered with the papers my father had laid out to show me. I press my legs together, trying to tamp down the feeling of arousal. It’s ridiculous how much he’s affecting me.

  Thomas comes over to the table and leans on it like he’s in a fashion ad for that suit he’s wearing. “So what brings you to town? Last I heard you were living large in New York City.”

  “I don’t know anyone who would talk to you about me.”

  His mouth curves into a devastating half-smile. “I keep track of interesting people.”

  He kept track of me? What does that mean? Tilting my head to look at him, I try to remember the Thomas Logan I actually knew. I thought Thomas was hot in high school, but Jesus, he’s spectacular now. He could have any woman eating out of his hand with just one look of those stunning eyes. Even with our less than stellar history, he has me in heat. I don’t see a ring, so he’s not married. That, or he takes it off for special occasions—he is a Logan after all.

  I realize that I’m distracted just looking at him. “I’m just visiting my father.”

  “You never did tell me why you’re at the bakery—and don’t give me any bullshit about you being here for the pastry,” I say.

  He smiles, leaning just a little bit closer. Fucking sexy, and that scent ... it’s a deep, spicy scent, very masculine, but not overpowering. I imagine it’s what lust would smell like if it had an odor.

  I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping that the little bit of pain will help me focus. It doesn’t. “You’ve had your dad’s cupcakes. Best in town. It’s my vice,” he says.

  He’s not wrong. The cupcakes are the best around, but

  I know where the Logans live and it’s nowhere near here. They live on the rich side of town. “You drive all the way across town to get a cupcake?”

  “Am I not allowed?”

  “Of course you are, I just assumed you’d go to some place that’s overpriced and full of hipsters.”

  Thomas laughs softly. “You haven’t seen me in ten years. How do you know what kind of bakeries I like?”

  His laughter is rich and melodic and sends a shiver through me. Even the sound of his voice is sexy. It’s not fair to the rest of the men in the world to be this sexy and be disgustingly wealthy on top of it. When Thomas Logan steps into a room no other men stand a chance.

  “I remember you and your brothers. People don’t change that much,” I say.

  His head tilts to the side. “Sounds like you’ve got me pegged.”

  “I think I do.”

  I didn’t notice how close we’d leaned into each other until this moment, and I lose my breath because we’re close enough for me to see the star shape of his irises and hint of stubble peeking through his perfect skin. He’s so beautiful. This can’t happen.

  I pull back just as my father comes into the room. He’s holding another bundle of papers and he freezes when he sees Thomas. A moment later his trademark smile is back in full force.

  “Thomas,” he says. “Good to see you!” My dad comes around and puts down the papers so he can shake Thomas’s hand.

  “You too, Mr. Monroe,” he flashes that dazzling smile, and I feel conflicted by the burst of attraction the flies through my body. “I was just catching up with Rose. It’s an…interesting surprise,” Thomas says.

  The way he says interesting sends a thrill up my spine, and I shove it back down. This isn’t why I’m here. I’d almost forgotten why I’d come home in the first place. The papers my father is holding are loan papers, and all the financial statements for the bakery. He said he’s in trouble, and I’ve come to help him sort it out. Looking at the volume of papers on the table, my head is starting to hurt and we haven’t even started.

  Dad smiles and shrugs and says to Thomas, “You’re early.”

  I look between them, suspicious. “What does that mean?”

  Thomas looks at me again. He’s still smiling, but it’s sharper, less charming. “As much as I like your father’s cupcakes, I’m here to talk business.”

  “Business?”
/>
  He glances at the stack of papers my father left on the table. “I’m guessing he was about to show you.”

  Things click into place all at once, and suddenly I feel like I’m going to throw up my coffee—what little I consumed before it landed on my shirt.

  My father is in debt. More debt than he’s willing to admit to. Debt that he made me come all the way up from New York to talk about. He took out a loan, and it’s due, and now Thomas Logan is here to talk about ‘business.’

  I take a deep breath and look at my father. “You borrowed money from the Logans?”

  This day honestly couldn’t get any worse.

  2

  I’m not sure there are words to accurately describe the horror that I’m feeling right now. I can’t believe my dad is debt to my sworn enemy.

  My dad looks at Thomas. “Rosie came up to help me sort things out. She’s better at this stuff than I’ll ever be.” He gives a sheepish smile, and I can’t believe that this is happening.

  “Well then,” Thomas says, “if you came up here to sort things out, maybe we should skip this meeting and talk about business over drinks. Just the two of us.”