Playing with Trouble Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

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

  The Last Rule of Makeups

  Taking a Shot

  Scoring Off the Field

  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 © 2020 by Amy Andrews. 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

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  [email protected]

  Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Alethea Spiridon and Liz Pelltier

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover photography by Kiselev Andrey Valerevich and Oleg Krugliak/Shutterstock

  Period Images

  ISBN 978-1-64937-018-1

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition November 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  This one goes out to all the single mums out there. If I could give a Cole to all of you, I would!

  Chapter One

  Cole Hauser was utterly rooted.

  And not the good kind of rooted that involved a warm, willing woman and a king-size bed. The kind that came from a long flight and the crossing of so many time zones various parts of his body were still catching up. His brain was back in Sydney, his stomach in Fiji, and his arse was in Hawaii. He was pretty sure his dick had ditched somewhere in the interminable expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

  His legs—or his right one, anyway—was in purgatory, a fact blatantly evident as he hauled himself up a staircase right out of Downton fucking Abbey in the dead of night with this goddamn walking stick he hated more than he hated losing a game of rugby. Unfortunately, there was no way on Earth he’d have made the climb without the offending article. His right hip bitched at him, and his thigh screamed in protest with every lift of his foot, and if he hadn’t needed to get horizontal so badly, he’d just give up and lay down on the steps.

  For a guy who’d regularly put his body through high-intensity, high-impact rugby games and vigorous bouts of training that would break a lesser man and still be fit and raring for more, he felt like a giant, clumsy, useless baby instead of a grown man of thirty-two. But between the accident, his injuries, multiple surgeries, and a three-hour drive, on top of his never-fucking-ending long-haul flight, he was weaker than a newborn.

  And he was still only halfway up the goddamn stairs.

  Leaning heavily on his cane on one side and the railing to the other, Cole gritted his teeth and stoically powered to the top, grunting in relief as the floor evened out and the pain went down several notches. He’d been trying not to take his painkillers because they made him too fuzzy, but he’d have killed for a couple now as he contemplated which way to turn.

  According to Wade, his house had multiple bedrooms, so it probably wouldn’t matter.

  Collecting himself, Cole turned right, venturing forth carefully in the dark. It was a moonless night outside, and, with Wade and CC not currently in residence, there were no stray lights left on. At least with the blinding spots of pain clearing slowly, his night vision had kicked in, but it was still dark, and he was in unfamiliar territory.

  And if that wasn’t a metaphor for his life, he didn’t know what was.

  He halted at the first doorway on his right and reached for the knob. It turned easily—soundlessly—to reveal a room even darker than the rest of the house. He could just make out the canopy of what appeared to be a massive four-poster bed, and that was all the information Cole’s brain required. A bed meant taking the weight off his leg, and he was blind to everything else as he crossed to the monstrosity.

  Making an awkward turn, Cole parked his butt on the side of the mattress and propped his cane against the dark wood of what he assumed was a bedside table. Gently, he toed off his shoes and socks then pulled his shirt over his head. His hands trembled as they unzipped his fly, and he gritted his teeth as he lifted tenuously from side to side to ease his jeans down his hips, pushing them clear of his thighs and finally kicking them off his ankles.

  Normally, Cole slept naked, but removing his underwear was a bridge too far, as was pulling down the covers. Instead, he eased himself back, slowly swinging his legs onto the bed and lowering his head to the pillow.

  Finally, finally, fucking finally.

  The pain turned off like a faucet, settling instantly to a very manageable ache, and Cole almost groaned out loud—it felt that good. But groaning required expending energy he did not possess, so he just shut his eyes and let endorphins and fatigue tug him into the deep, dark layers of sleep.

  …

  Jane Spencer was utterly exhausted. And not the good kind of exhausted that came from a really good hot yoga session or a vigorous round of lovemaking.

  She’d gone into a sleep deficit when she’d given birth to her son four years ago, and she’d never made it up. Between the colic and the reflux that had lasted an entire year and her business taking off about the same time as her ex had decided being a rock star was far more exciting than being a father, she’d resigned herself to never making it up.

  At the grand old age of twenty-six, she felt like she’d been on this treadmill for decades. This week more than ever. What with the most important job of her life about to be showcased in a national magazine—if it got finished in time!—and her ex bailing on his responsibilities with Finn, she was way behind the eight ball. Tad had turned up on Wade’s doorstep with Finn and a newly purchased chameleon—a freaking chameleon—on Sunday, just two days into what should’ve been his four-week summer break with his son.

  The four weeks she’d scheduled to complete this job.

  Apparently, the band had a last-minute gig in Vegas they couldn’t turn down, but he’d be back Wednesday morning. I promise, Jane. Wednesday had come and gone. As had Thursday. So, instead of finishing the job she’d been paid handsomely to complete within four weeks, Jane had been spending her days entertaining her energetic four-year-old and Carl the chameleon. Who was, she’d discovered, a gifted escape artist.

  Yet another male in her life trying her patience. And her friends wondered why she’d become a freaking nun.

  Like she even had the time or energy for that.

  Consequently, she was burning the midnight oil to catch up on her interrupted days and collapsing into bed each night to sle
ep the sleep of the dead. She sure as hell slept through a man collapsing beside her in only his underwear.

  She did not, however, sleep through her arm coming into contact with a male chest as she rolled on her side an hour later. A very naked male chest. It may have been a while, but some things remained embedded in that reptilian part of the brain, and it yanked her out of her REM by the roots of her hair.

  Thankfully, having a four-year-old had also taught her the art of waking quickly and being instantly alert.

  With her pulse skyrocketing and her heart taking up residence in her throat, Jane let loose a scream as she leaped from the bed. Groping for the needle-nose pliers she’d placed on the bedside table after she’d gently slid them from a sleeping Finn’s hand not that many hours ago, she flicked on the lamp. A man was curling into a sitting position, blinking blearily into the light as he pushed back a mass of dark, curly hair with the sweep of a big hand.

  “I don’t know who you are,” she said, her voice shaky as she held the pliers like they were a handgun, “or why you’re here, but you have five seconds to get out of my bed, or I’m calling the police.”

  The guy was large and solid and hairy. And almost naked. He didn’t look like he was about to do her harm. In fact, he looked like he’d woken from a sleep as deep as hers, but who knew what went on inside the mind of a guy who broke into houses in the middle of the night, took off his clothes, and got into bed with a sleeping woman?

  He didn’t seem particularly perturbed by her threats. Nor did he move, other than squinting against the light as Jane picked up her phone. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, his voice more confused than demanding.

  Jane didn’t know how, above the racket of her pulse reverberating in her ears, she noticed his accent, but he sure as hell was not from around here. Maybe her brain had gone into Sherlock Holmes mode, gathering details for when the police arrived.

  Big. Buff. Australian. Maybe a New Zealander. There were none of them in Credence.

  “Mommy?”

  A cold prickle inched down Jane’s spine. Crap. Just…crap. Now Finn was awake. He’d been sleeping on a cot bed in her room because it was a big house and even the next room seemed like a long way away compared to their two-bedroom apartment. It’d felt safer, given his tendency to rise early and go exploring, to have him close, but his presence in this situation ratcheted up her tension.

  Her hands still trembling, she stabbed the long nose of the pliers in the intruder’s direction. She hoped he took it for the threat she meant. Turning her head, she hushed her son. “It’s okay, Finny. Go back to sleep.”

  But she should have guessed there was little to zero chance of that happening. Once Finn was awake, he was awake, and he was already tumbling out of his bed and was at her side in seconds. His big blue eyes went round as donuts as he spotted the large man. “Who’s that, Mommy?” he whispered.

  Biting back on the urge to point and yell pervert, she sought a way to sanitize her suspicions. She didn’t want to frighten Finn—god knew, she was shaking hard enough for both of them—nor did she want to aggravate the situation or the significantly larger man if she could defuse things. After all, he hadn’t made a lunge for her, and, given he was looking at them like they’d just landed from Mars, he didn’t appear ready to, either.

  “This nice man came into the wrong house,” she said evenly as Finn’s hand hooked around her leg, making her aware she was only wearing her leopard-print panties and a tank top.

  Crap. Still…it was one more item of clothing than he was wearing.

  “But he’s leaving now. Right?” Jane waggled the pliers at him.

  “Or what?” His voice was gruff as he regarded her weapon. “You going to pinch me to death with those things?”

  Jane narrowed her eyes as his gaze dropped to Finn, who’d moved closer to her leg. She forced herself to stay calm, despite the belt of her heart and the roaring mamma bear gnashing her teeth on the inside. “If I have to.” If he came anywhere near Finn, she’d rip his jugular out with this pair of pliers without thinking twice.

  As if he was just too damn tired to compute anything, the guy scrubbed a hand across his face. “This is Wade Carter’s house, isn’t it?”

  What? “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ve been invited here, so maybe you’re in the wrong house?”

  Oh yeah, right. Good try, buddy. “CC never mentioned they were expecting a houseguest.”

  “Wade never mentioned there’d be someone else staying here, either, so right back at ya.”

  “I’m going to call them and check.”

  “You do what you gotta do, lady, but I’ve been travelling for twenty-four hours and through so many time zones my jet lag has jet lag. I am beat. So maybe before you wake a heavily pregnant woman in the middle of the night you could”—he swung his legs over the bed with a grunt and a wince—“point me in the direction of an empty bedroom where I can crash? I plan to sleep for at least a week.”

  Jane watched as he reached for a cane with a fancy silver handle that was propped against the table on his side of the bed and leaned heavily on it as he hauled himself off the mattress before turning to face her. He did look beat. Weary lines etched his face; his eyes were bloodshot. He also looked in pain as his hand absently massaged a thigh sporting a long, thick scar that didn’t look so old.

  She didn’t think he was capable of lunging, given that rising seemed difficult enough. And he was right—she wasn’t going to wake CC at two in the morning when it appeared there’d been some miscommunication.

  She lowered the pliers slightly. “Go out, turn right. Fourth door down is a free bedroom.” They were all free, but Jane wanted to put space between them.

  He grunted in acknowledgment, nodding briefly before turning away again and slowly heading to the door. She imagined it was difficult to make a dignified exit in the middle of the night in underwear while leaning on a cane, but somehow this guy managed.

  Jane’s fight-or-flight instinct fell quickly the closer her intruder/surprise houseguest got to exiting the room. That she noticed the width of his shoulders and the taut globes of his ass in his black boxer briefs was testament to how much her internal threat level setting had diminished.

  Jane blinked. What the hell? Do not crush on a stranger who got into bed with you, dumbass.

  The door opened, and he limped through it, disappearing from sight without a backward glance as it clicked shut. Her breath expelled on a rough pant as she absently slipped her hand onto Finn’s shoulder and hugged him closer to her leg.

  “Is he staying, Mommy?” Finn asked in a still-hushed voice as he, too, stared at the door.

  Not if she could help it. “I don’t know, Finny. Maybe.”

  Then, on wooden legs, she crossed the room and firmly locked the door.

  …

  Cole didn’t know how long he’d been out when he was roused from his sleep. All he knew was that he’d been pulled from the deep, black abyss of fatigue to bright sunshine by a series of little stabs to his chest. Murky visions of the woman from last night—in her underwear, wielding pliers—came to mind, and his eyes flew open.

  It was okay, though. He was not being pinched to death. He was, however, face to face with a medium-sized, scaly creature sitting on his chest, whose beady little eyeballs constantly rolled around in their sockets. There was no room for logical thought in his sleep-addled brain, just primordial action. He let out a surprised yelp and cursed loudly.

  “Holy fuck!”

  The critter startled, and Cole displaced it as he sat bolt upright, his hip twinging at the sudden movement. When a blond head popped up unexpectedly near his elbow, he let out another surprised cry, rearing away from the edge and cursing for the second time. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  The child regarded him curiously. “Mommy says you’re not supposed to cuss.”

 
In the distance, Cole could hear a rather panicked-sounding “Finnnnnn?”

  The little boy shook his head solemnly at Cole as he scooped up what appeared to be a multi-hued chameleon from the neat pile of his folded clothes, which had been placed on the coverlet at the foot of the bed. “Now you’re in trouble.”

  Before he could wrap his head around the rapid sequence of events, the woman from last night—or the night before; who knew how long he’d been asleep—came crashing through the door. Her hair was in a ponytail this time, and she was wearing a lot more clothes—a pair of denim shorts that cut off just above her knees and a T-shirt that had a picture of a screwdriver with This is not a drill emblazoned beneath.

  His lips twitched. Hell, so did his dick. Maybe it hadn’t ditched in the Pacific after all.

  “Finn,” she said, her voice stern, her face screwed into a scowl. “I told you not to come in here.”

  Finn pointed at Cole. “He said the f-word. Two times.”

  Cole blinked as the kid threw him under the bus and the mom turned her scowl on him. “What?” he demanded. “I woke to a wild animal an inch from my face.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “It’s a chameleon, not a grizzly bear.”

  “It startled me.”

  Christ, he sounded whiney. He got mauled by grown men for a living, for crying out loud. Or he had, anyway… Cole glanced at the pretty creature lounging along Finn’s forearm, regarding him lazily. It sported a vibrant blue, red, and yellow pattern and looked as exotic and harmless as a butterfly.

  “I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Hauser.” There was reproach in her voice, but Cole wasn’t sure if it was meant for him or the boy. She waved Finn over to her side. “It won’t happen again.”

  Before he could add anything, she’d turned them both around and stalked for the door, shutting it behind them with a firm click.

  Cole stared at the space where they’d been for long seconds. Raising his arm, he glanced at his watch through eyes scratchy as Velcro. Just after two in the afternoon. He’d slept for almost twelve hours. And he still felt shattered.