Burn for You
Burn For You
Copyright © 2014 by Marquita Valentine
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Professionally Copy Edited by Cynthia Shepp
Cover Design by Okay Creations
Image by K. Keeton Designs
www.marquitavalentine.com
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Burn For You (Boys of the South, #5)
Chapter One | Beau
Chapter Two | Landry
Chapter Three | Beau
Chapter Four | Landry
Chapter Five | Beau
Chapter Six | Beau
Chapter Seven | Landry
Chapter Eight | Landry
Chapter Nine | Landry
Chapter Ten | Landry
Chapter Eleven | Beau
Chapter Twelve | Beau
Chapter Thirteen | Beau
Chapter Fourteen | Beau
Chapter Fifteen | Landry
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen | Beau
Chapter Eighteen | Landry
Chapter Nineteen | Beau
Chapter Twenty | Beau
Chapter Twenty-One | Landry
Chapter Twenty-Two | Beau
Chapter Twenty-Three | Beau
Chapter Twenty-Four | Landry
Chapter Twenty-Five | Beau
Chapter Twenty-Six | Beau
Chapter Twenty-Seven | Landry
Chapter Twenty-Eight | Landry
Chapter Twenty-Nine | Beau
Chapter Thirty | Beau
Chapter Thirty-One | Landry
Chapter Thirty-Two | Beau
Chapter Thirty-Three | Beau
Chapter Thirty-Four | Landry
Epilogue | Beau
Holland Springs Series
Boys of the South Series
Acknowledgments
This Wicked Rush
To the men who take responsibility, and the women who love them for it.
Chapter One
Beau
I remember the very first time I fell in love. It was the summer before my senior year of high school. I’d moved from Holland Springs back to Forrestville, to live with Remington Montgomery, the man who’d lied to my mother about his marriage and gotten her pregnant.
So, there I was, the product of an illicit affair, living with my dad, his wife, and their two kids, like some kind of warped-version of Annie or something.
All of seventeen, my hair had been bright green and my mood black while I’d gone with my oldest brother to Lake Norman. I’d never seen so many popped-collars and khaki shorts in my life. Then she entered my line of sight, a sun-kissed vision in her short dress and bouncy hair.
I hadn’t been able to stop myself, so I’d gone to her, and asked her name.
“Paisley Sawyer.”
I grinned, my heart beating louder than the roar of the crowd at Talladega on a Sunday afternoon. “Beau Montgomery.”
“You look a little nervous,” she said with a gorgeous smile. “Need a little help with that?”
I ran my fingers through my hair and nibbled on my lip ring. “Am I that obvious?”
She held out her hand, two fingers almost touching. “Maybe just a little bit.”
“I don’t think I’m the lake type.” I inclined my head toward the crowd of guys and girls on the pier. Quite a few of them gave me dirty looks or rolled their eyes as they talked about me.
Paisley’s fingers brushed against my hand. “I think you could be any type you want.”
I cocked my head to one side. “What about your type?”
“Most definitely my type.”
Our hands laced together, and we went for a walk.
“Are you just here for the summer?” she asked.
“No.” I really didn’t want to tell this girl I was a bastard.
“Remington told everyone all about you.”
So much for keeping that quiet. I scanned the horizon, not really paying attention to the boats on the lake. “Did he?”
“Yep, that he’d made a mistake and rectified it by taking you in and giving you everything you always wanted.”
Was that scorn I heard in her voice? “I’m here for the money, nothing else. He owes me.”
Paisley came around to stand in front of me. “That’s an honest answer.”
“It doesn’t make me evil?”
Her blue eyes searched my face. “What do you think?”
I think I’m in love. “Remington feels guilty, is all.”
We started walking again, her hand tight in mine once more. “About what?”
“About killing my mother. She slit her wrists while I was away at my uncle’s for the summer. When I came home, I found her...body in the tub.” Or what was left of it. She’d been pregnant again, by Remington. She and the baby had died. “I was fifteen.”
Paisley froze, looking up at me. “I’m so sorry, Beau.” Then she said something I never expected. “My mom killed herself too, when I was twelve. I found her in my parents’ bedroom. She’d overdosed.”
“I-I... I’m sorry, Paisley.”
“I hate her.” Her eyes were shadowed. “I hate her for leaving us. “
“For a while, I felt the same way.”
“Am I wrong to still feel this way? To still hate her?”
I shook my head. “No.” I meant it. There was no right or wrong way of dealing with a parent’s death. “We all have to find out way in the world. Whatever path we choose can change whenever we want, because we’re not stuck. We’re just travelling for a while.”
“I’ve never met another person who had to deal with suicide. Most of the time, I feel like a weirdo.” She gave me a crooked smile, and my heart tumbled to my toes. “But not you. You make me feel... normal.”
“Normal is good.” Pulling her into the shadows, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as we talked about our lives, our parents, and then nothing at all. We just stood there, holding on to one another, not letting go.
“Beau,” she whispered my name, and I glanced down at her. “I want you.”
Gently, I pressed my mouth against her and she sucked on my lip ring. I groaned, pulling her closer and fitting her against me. I was hard and she was soft. I didn’t want this to end. Kissing this girl feels so right, so perfect. Her tongue slid against mine, and I moaned.
Suddenly, she stepped back and gave me a seductive smile. Under the shade of an old oak tree, Paisley took off her dress and my mouth went dry. She wore a bright pink two-piece that left little to the imagination. Then, her tiny bikini dropped to the ground, and my knees went weak.
She twisted her hands together and gave me a ghost of a smile. “I’m not in the habit of doing things like this.”
I put my hands on her warm hips, our bodies almost touching. I really needed to get out of my clothes. “But you have done this before.”
A teasing gleam entered her blue eyes. “Once or twice.”
Relief filled me. I had only been with one girl and that had been five months ago, but I wasn’t about to admit that. Talk about my mother’s suicide, sure, but admitting I was practically a seventeen-year-old virgin to this really hot girl? Not. Happening.
Something inside of me rebelled at the thought of our first time being so impersonal. I wanted contact. I wanted intimacy.
Obviously, I was a pussy.
Her teasing gleam turned into a glare of annoyance. “Or we can do it missionary style. Whatever.”
Desperate to please her, I shook my head. “Don’t be so impatient. I’m trying to figure which branch is best for you to hold onto, is all.”
Annoyance gave way to lust. She turned around, and I followed her. I pulled out a condom and before I knew it, we were done. We’d barely kissed, and I said something to her about it.
“Kissing is too sentimental,” she said while dressing.
“Oh. Yeah.” Apparently, my tone or the hurt look on my face must have done something, because the next thing I knew, Paisley’s mouth was on mine, tender and loving.
“You are too sweet, Beau,” she said and my chest puffed up at the compliment. “Though the lip ring is bad ass.”
From that day forward, Paisley held my heart and sometimes my balls in her dainty little hands. She helped me fit in with the kids in The Oaks’ neighborhood and Forrestville High School. She took pride introducing me as her boyfriend, though she never failed to mention my position as the love child of an affair. The way she said it made it sound romantic, but the way I lived it was anything but.
Stupidly, I stayed with her.
I fell deeper and deeper. On Valentine’s Day, I told her I loved her and we’d made love. I thought I was going to marry her. But the week before senior prom, I caught Paisley with the captain of the football team. And by caught, I meant screwing him in his pickup truck behind school.
There’d been tears from her, threats of ass-whoopings from Captain America an me, and then, once prom was over, Paisley wormed her way right back into my heart. She texted me and like an eager puppy, I drove right to her.
“I’m sorry, Beau. That day... when you found Paul and me... it’s the day my mother left me,” she said softly, once I arrived at her house. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or take me back, but I wanted you to know. I get a little crazy on that day.”
“You could have gotten a little crazy with me,” I shouted, rubbing my hand over the back of my neck.
She licked her lips. “You’re all bark and no bite, Beau. We choose to deal with death differently.”
“I can be whatever you want,” I insisted, the rational part of me dying a swift death. “Whenever you want.”
“I don’t know... You might not—”
“I do,” I swore. “I can take whatever you dish out—just don’t leave me.”
She agreed, and over the next few years, I did almost everything and anything she wanted. Though I pissed her off more often than not when I drew the line at threesomes, or swapping partners. Still, I drank, I partied, I smoked up, and I got fucked up. A lot.
At any time, I could have walked and she pushed me away often enough, but I was determined to be there for her. To fill in a void that her mother’s death had left.
I allowed her to push and pull, to run away and come back, because I loved her. She was everything I wanted out of life, everything I thought was good. I rationalized all of her behavior. No one was perfect. We all slipped up. Only Paisley...
I shake my head, adjusting the sweet weight in my arms, and take a deep breath as I come back to the present.
Paisley still slips a lot. We’re worse than two junkies needing a hit and can only get it from each other. But each time she comes back to me, it’s like my entire world is right again. It’s Paisley and me versus everyone else. With her, I win races, I take on my bastard of a father... I conquer the world. I’m ten-feet tall and bulletproof.
Nothing can get past me, until now.
The baby in my arms opens her eyes and gazes at me, all kitten-like as she moves. My defenses fall, useless.
I’m in love, completely, hopelessly, nobody-better-ever-lay-a-hand-on-her in love. It’s nothing like I’ve ever felt before, not even with Paisley. This...this is all encompassing; it’s heart breaking and heart mending at the same time. This tiny bundle owns me, in the best possible way.
“Did you decide on a name yet?” I ask, not taking my eyes off my daughter as I count her toes and fingers. Ten of each. I kiss her hand, drawing her baby scent inside of me. I want to memorize it, and her features, just in case the nurse tries to bring us back the wrong one.
“Mia Sawyer.”
I frown and glance at Paisley. She’s lying in the hospital bed, her face pale and her dark hair pulled into a loose bun on top of her head. She looks exhausted, as she should, but I’m too confused by her response to not question her decision.
“Not Montgomery?”
Her blue eyes grow hard, her lips thinning. “We’ve been through this—”
“I gave up everything for you,” I say softly, but I make sure Paisley knows I’m not backing down. “For the three of us.”
“Didn’t ask you to,” she snaps.
“Of course you didn’t.” I walk to the window, careful to balance Mia in the crook on my arm. “I wanted to give it up. I don’t regret it, not for one minute. It was worth it to have you and Mia in my life. We’re a family now.”
Paisley laughs and instead of warming my heart, it chills it. “Beau, you are so stupid. So gullible and—”
Turning, I pin Paisley with a glare. “Why are you saying that?”
She blows out a breath, then tips up her chin, her eyes shiny with tears. “Mia isn’t yours.”
My jaw drops, and so does my gaze. My vision blurs. “Not mine?”
“Or she could be.”
I blink a couple of times and swallow the boulder in my throat. “What kind of game are you playing?”
“The one that will see if you’re here for the long haul, or if you’re just like your daddy.”
Mia stirs. I feel something inside of me begin to break, like when I found my mother... “Listen. I knew you were seeing another guy, but you promised the two of you were over and that you used protection.” My head swims. I need to get checked out. I need to bleach my entire body. I need to stop taking her word as gospel.
“Condom broke.”
Just like it had with us. “Oh.” I gaze at Mia again and then her mother, swallowing down another boulder or, as it used to be called—my pride. “I’ll still pay the bill.”
“I don’t need your money, Beau.” At twenty-four, Paisley is the only child and heir of Narron Sawyer, the man who invented a new way to inflate tires in an emergency. She’s a trust fund baby. Another reason I kept allowing her to come back. I knew she didn’t want to be with me for the money I made while racing or shooting a campaign for sunglasses or a soft drink or a car company.
“It’s the right thing.”
“God, if your friends could see you like this, weak and sniveling.”
“To take responsibility for the family you helped create isn’t weak. It’s the manliest damn thing on the planet.”
“Oh yeah... daddy issues.” She starts to cry, her hands coming to cover her face.
My anger flees my body, as if it were never there in the first place. I stride to her and sit on the edge of the bed, brushing back the sweat-dampened hair on her forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here for you. I know you want to push me and everyone else away right now, but I’m here for you and Mia. I swear I’m not going anywhere.”
“Get out,” Paisley screams and Mia jumps.
The baby starts to cry and I stand up, trying in vain to rock her. “Calm down,” I murmur, and then try to console Mia. “It’s okay, baby girl. It’s okay.”
“I am calm. I’m also sick of you hovering around. Austin will be here in an hour, and I want you gone.” She presses a button while I stand there, flabbergasted.
“You invited him?” God, I hate that guy. Why she ever was with him is beyond me... well, not entirely
.
“You can’t give me what he can.”
“I don’t give a damn, Paisley.” Gingerly, I turn her face, taking note of the bruise on her cheek. A morbid rainbow of blue, black, purple, and green. “He’s put his hands on you. Again.” I want to kill him. I want to wrap my bare hands around his neck and squeeze and squeeze.
“I asked him to. Again,” she reminds me. “You wouldn’t. So I found someone who would.”
“He couldn’t be here earlier.”
Once again, I’m second string. “When are you going to get it through your head that he’s using you?”
“We were using each other, and it’s really none of your business, Beau.”
“Mia is my business.”
Paisley smiles, beautifully evil, and it shreds the heart that only an hour earlier had mended, with the birth of Mia. “Only if she’s yours.”
Before I can answer, a couple of nurses rush in, take one look at us, and order me out. I kiss Mia on the forehead and carefully place her in the bassinet by Paisley’s bed, then I try one last time to reason with the woman I love.
“Don’t be this way. We can work it out. We always do.”
She ignores me, turning her head away and her nose up.
One of the nurses clears her throat.
I glance longingly back at Mia, at the baby who might or might not be mine. Then I look at the woman in the bed, one who’s uncaring Mia had gotten scared. Hell, Paisley hasn’t held her once since the birth
Not that she had to, because I read everything I could on pregnancy and hormones and how to be a good, supportive dad, and even learned about how post-partum depression can affect women. That some women wouldn’t want to hold their child, would have violent mood swings, and would need extra help and time. I have all that to give to her and Mia.
But it still bothers me. I’m terrified Paisley will make a decision without me.
“Son, you have to go,” nurse number two says.
“Can I come back tomorrow?” I meekly ask Paisley, like a child desperate for their parents’ approval. But honestly, who cares about pride or ego? I have a daughter.
Maybe.
“Only if you don’t tell your buddies or anyone else about her,” she says softly.
“Don’t you think they’ll notice her? How will I explain her?”