Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2023 Sam Crescent

  ISBN: 978-0-3695-0935-2

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Lisa Petrocelli

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  NAUGHTY AND NICE

  Sam Crescent

  Copyright © 2023

  Prologue

  Willow Storm wiped down the bar. The last of the customers had already gone home, but she didn’t want to walk upstairs to the lonely apartment she lived in above the bar. All her life, she had tried to get away from the bar, and at eighteen she had succeeded. Her father had been a giant asshole, and a drunk. All he had cared about was this bar.

  Six months ago, she got the call from his lawyer. Her father had passed away, and the bar was hers. She expected it to be a giant mess and completely gone to wreck and ruin. Instead, her father had taken care of the bar and the apartment upstairs.

  Her father had left her a note, a long one, apologizing for the years of neglect and not listening to her. He regretted that they hadn’t made up, or gotten to at least know each other. He offered her a chance to do what she wanted with the place, take it over, and continue to run it, or to sell it.

  At first, Willow had every intention of selling it. She didn’t want to have a bar, but stepping inside after nine years away, she’d burst into tears. This was her father’s place. After her mother left, she knew he had put all his energy and love into it.

  And so, rather than sell it, she had packed up her old life and come here. For the past six months, she had relearned everything her father had taught her. Even though she had been underage, her father had gotten her to work at the bar, and those lessons had stayed with her.

  Now, as she glanced around, with the Christmas lights fading, she couldn’t stop the loneliness from seeping in. She never allowed herself to feel self-pity. But for a second, she couldn’t help but wallow in the sadness. She had lost her father, and she knew it was her own stubbornness that kept her away.

  He had taken care of her.

  Willow jumped as the door burst open, and she turned to see a man dressed in leather step through the door. It was snowing, and with just the door opening for a second, it had sent a flurry of the snow inside.

  Her heart started to race.

  The man turned and she caught sight of the emblem on his jacket, declaring him a member of something called The Rebel MC.

  That was it. There was no other sign to indicate he was carrying a weapon, or if she should be afraid.

  Willow couldn’t remember ever being afraid at her father’s bar. It was kind of strange to her, to feel somewhat comforted by this place, when all she had wanted was to leave it for so long.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, opting to take control rather than be afraid.

  Finally, the man, whoever he was, lifted his head, and Willow had never felt such instant attraction before.

  She had boyfriends in the past, two in total, and neither of those relationships had ended well. For the last couple of years, she had preferred to stay alone. She had no idea who this man was, and she had never had this reaction to her boyfriends. The truth was, her previous relationships had just kind of happened without any encouragement on her side. They had gone from friends to boyfriends quite quickly.

  “You certainly can. I’d like a shot of whiskey, the good stuff that Storm keeps on hand.”

  Storm was what her father had often allowed people to call him. His real name had been William Storm. He wouldn’t allow anyone to call him Bill.

  “The good stuff.”

  There had been a note stating that “the good stuff” must be reserved for Rebel, and him alone. Willow hadn’t paid much attention to the note, and instead, offered it on the menu for anyone willing to pay. Quite a few of the businessmen asked for the whiskey, and she was more than happy to provide it.

  Stepping around the bar, she grabbed the whiskey off the top shelf, glancing in the mirror to keep an eye on him, and then went to the bar and started to pour him a shot. She was rarely generous with the good stuff, but she had a feeling if she was sparse with him, he wouldn’t be happy.

  “There you go.”

  The guy she assumed was called Rebel didn’t sit, but put one of his hands flat on the counter, picked up the glass, and then knocked it back, giving out a little sigh of appreciation. Everyone else she had seen drink this had taken their time, or even winced at the spice as it burned their throat.

  “Another.”

  She did as she was asked, pouring him another drink. This time, he didn’t chug it back, but looked at her. Willow hoped she wasn’t blushing. It would be a nightmare if he thought she was embarrassed or had a crush, or was even attracted to him. She knew one of them to be true, but that was beside the point. He shouldn’t know the true answer.

  As she folded her arms across her chest, Rebel chuckled.

  “He said you had an attitude a mile long.”

  “Who did?” Willow asked.

  “Your dad.”

  This made her pause. She had no idea her father even talked about her behind her back. Why would he talk about her? He’d been disappointed in her for a long time and didn’t even acknowledge her existence. That seemed to be her father’s trait—pretending she didn’t exist, so he didn’t have to deal with the fact his wife, her mother, had left them both.

  The divorce papers had sent her father over the edge, and it had cemented their stalemate relationship.

  “He shouldn’t have been talking about me,” she said. She moved away to go and do anything that involved her hands, and not talking to him.

  “Why not?” Rebel asked. “You’re his daughter.”

  “My father’s dead, so please enjoy your drink, because it’s nearly closing time.”

  Rebel chuckled. “Sassy, I like it.”

  Willow had heard enough. She didn’t want to think about the guilt that ate away at her each time she thought of her dad. There were so many times she wanted to come home, to make up for lost time, to try and make it work, but she always found some excuse not to work it, and now there was no chance of them ever mending bridges.

  Her father was gone and was never coming back. She didn’t need this … biker, to remind her of that.

  Rounding the bar, she made her way toward the door, and Rebel gave another little chuckle that set her nerves on end.

  “Leave!”

  Rebel threw back his whiskey and slapped the glass down on the bar. She thought the sheer force of it might shatter the glass, but it didn’t.

  Rebel walked slowly toward her. Willow tried not to pay attention to the walk, or the way he looked at her. There was no disgust or any indication he was pissed off. She didn’t know how she had done it, but he actually looked entertained by her.

  She was ready to kick his ass out, but Rebel took another step toward her. For some strange reason she didn’t feel afraid.

  “You know, he said you had attitude, but he didn’t say anything about how fucking sexy you are.”

  “He was my dad,” Willow said.

  Did this man find her sexy? No, she shouldn’t care.

  “True, and that kind of shit is messed up.” Rebel gave a groan of approval. “I’ll let you kick me out this time, but I promise you, Willow Storm, by next Christmas, you are going to be screaming my name and begging me for more.”

  “Get lost, creep.”

  Rebel gripped her waist and pulled her in close.

  “Not a creep.” He slammed his lips down on hers, kissing her hard, taking her by surprise.

  At first, she didn’t kiss him back, because she was a little shocked that he had taken a kiss and not asked permission first. This wasn’t a soft kiss—it was hard, firm, demanding, and Willow loved every second of it. She couldn’t help but kiss him back.

  Rebel was the one to break the kiss first.

  “And the name is Rebel Constantine. You better get used to it.”

  Chapter One

  One Year Later

  “I know my daughter can be a little … irritating, but I’d like you and your club to keep an eye on her. You know, help her out, be there for her.”

  Rebel Constantine looked over at Storm’s bar. Willow had been running the place for eighteen months now, and she had kept the place thriving, much to his surprise. He expected her to run the place into the ground, but instead she had done Storm proud. If he was still alive, he knew there was a lot her father would want to say to her.

  He was pretty sure there was a lot Storm would want to say to him too, primarily, to keep his hands off her, not that he’d listen.

  From that one look at Storm’s graveside, where he’d not worn his leather cut, nor had any of his club out of respect, Rebel couldn’t get the feisty woman out of his mind. For six months he kept his distance, and then on Christmas Eve, he had made the choice to go and see her.

  Willow was more than he could have imagined. Long, brown hair, even though she had pulled the locks into a ponytail. Brown eyes that looked so fucking pained and curio us at the same time. He knew she had found him attractive. Even though it had been freezing outside, the bar was fucking warm that night. Willow had a small shirt on that showed those voluptuous curves, as well as hardened nipples designed to make a man’s mouth water, and they had made his water. He’d gotten hard at the sight of her in jeans and a tight shirt.

  She had large tits, a nice, big ass, and thighs designed to be wrapped around him. Willow had also been feisty, which he couldn’t help but love.

  Over the past year, he had made it his mission to stop by the bar every Friday night, late, when there was no one around, demanding his drink.

  Willow was always frosty, but he loved the outfits she wore, especially in the summertime when it was hot enough to melt the balls right off him.

  He had wanted her badly, so many times, and he knew she wanted him. There was no getting away from their attraction to each other. Willow could feign ignorance, but her body spoke volumes.

  It was cold once again, and he was freezing his balls off. It was Christmas Eve, and he planned to have a lot of fun with her tonight. For one year they had been doing this dance, the foreplay, and he was ready to cash in.

  The last of the cars left the parking lot, and Rebel rode right in, parked his bike, and climbed off. He walked toward the door, and expected it to be locked, but it was open. Stepping into the door, he glanced across the bar to find his drink waiting for him, and Willow dressed in red, looking like a sexy Santa gift.

  “Enjoy your drink and leave,” she said.

  Willow had made the mistake of putting the key into the lock, so Rebel closed the door and flicked the lock into place. The sound seemed to echo throughout the bar.

  “What are you doing?” Willow asked.

  He took the key and slid it into his jacket pocket. “Would you look at that, this has just become a lock-in.”

  “Don’t play games, Rebel. Enjoy your whiskey and leave. It’s Christmas, don’t you have someone else you need to get back to?”

  “No, I don’t. The boys know I won’t be back until after New Year’s.”

  “After New Year’s?” Willow let out a chuckle. “I don’t know what you think is happening right now, but you’re clearly deluded. There is no way you’re staying here until the New Year.” Her hands were flat on the countertop.

  Rebel walked toward her and noted the flush to her cheeks as well as the hard points of her nipples. She might be protesting a little too much, but he didn’t mind.

  “Do you remember what I promised you last Christmas?”

  Willow opened her mouth and closed it. “No, I don’t.”

  “You know, I never pegged you for a liar.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “You’re certainly not telling the truth.” He gave a little tut. “And we both know you’ve been thinking about it all year long.”

  Rebel had forced the proximity between them. His intention from the start had been to drive her crazy, and from the look in her eyes, he had succeeded.

  “Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t want to play it. Leave, Rebel.”

  He put his hands flat on the counter, close to hers, but not quite touching.

  Willow didn’t want him to leave, but he would give her the choice.

  “I’ll drink my whiskey, and then I’ll talk to you, and if you want me to leave afterward, I will.” There was no way Willow would want him to leave.

  Every other time he was at the bar, he drank his whiskey down in one, but tonight, he took his time, savoring it. He couldn’t help but watch Willow as he did this.

  Her gaze kept dropping to his lips, then his neck, and even down toward his hands. He watched as she reached out as if to touch him, but always got herself under control and stopped.

  He wanted to ask her why she did that, but instead picked up his drink and sipped it. The silence lingered for several minutes, as he knew it was going to drive her crazy, but he didn’t care.

  Another long drink, and he waited, patiently.

  “You’re doing this on purpose,” Willow said.

  “So, the way I see it, Willow, we have two options. Option one—we keep that door locked for the next couple of days until you’re due to open again, and I show that body of yours what it’s been missing. I’m talking some real fucking. I don’t do the slow, making love. I want it hard, where you’re bouncing on my balls, and the only sounds you hear are those of you begging for more, and our flesh slapping together. Option two—I leave, and if I do that, I promise you, baby, I won’t be coming back. I know you want me. You have wanted me for the past year, but I don’t play these bullshit games of kiss and chase.” He lifted his glass. “You have until I finish this to decide.”

  ****

  No one had ever treated her like this.

  Sex for her hadn’t exactly been exciting or even fun. Her two former boyfriends had been selfish, caring more about their own orgasms than ever caring about hers. For a long time, she had thought she just didn’t like sex. What was to like?

  Running fingers through her hair, she glanced toward the door. The past year had been a whirlwind. Willow knew she had been lucky her father hadn’t forced this bar into oblivion.

  She had also loved every Friday. At first, she had looked on it with dread. That lasted a couple of weeks. She didn’t know why she was hesitant for his arrival, but every Friday she found herself excited, craving his return, wanting him to come around.

  Then she found herself dressing for him. Rebel had a way about him that made her feel … wanted.

  It wasn’t even the words he said, but the way he acted. There had been many Fridays when she had spotted random women at the bar, thinking he would stray, but Rebel never arrived until after everyone was gone, and it was just her and him. He’d always stay for one drink, there would be few words, and then he’d leave. She had come to relish those few moments.

  Would it be so wrong to give him a chance? She had no idea if it meant anything, or if it was just sex, but she wasn’t committed to anyone or anything.

  It was Christmas and last year she had spent it alone, with her single roast turkey breast, where she made more food than she could eat and ended up taking it to a care home. She didn’t know if they had eaten it or thrown it out. All she knew was she couldn’t do it again.

  Staring at Rebel’s disappearing drink, she knew he wanted an answer. Willow didn’t mean to play coy, in all honesty. She didn’t know what the hell she was doing. Relationships didn’t come easy to her. The boyfriends she had kind of fell into the role, and she truly believed it was because of easy, convenient sex. She was cheaper than having to pay for it.

  Rebel finished his drink, raised his brow, and Willow panicked. She didn’t know what to say or do, and then he took a step away from her, then another. He advanced toward the door.

  Are you really going to allow this to slide?

  Seriously?

  What the fuck is your problem?

  You want him, have him, take him, use him, enjoy him!

  Rebel reached out toward the doorknob, and she just couldn’t let him go.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped reaching for the door and turned to her.

  Willow had run from the counter and now she stood in front of it. The red dress she wore molded to her body. She had spent most of the night behind the bar, where no one could really see her. This dress was for Rebel.

  “Come here,” he said.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him no, because the truth was, she didn’t know if she had what it took to be with him.

  But, against her own better judgment, she felt one foot moving ahead of the other, then another, until she was right in front of him and there was nowhere else to go.

  Rebel reached out and she gasped as he pressed her against the main door of the bar. It felt so good to have his hands on her hips, just touching her. He looked into her eyes, and Willow stared back. In that moment, she didn’t care if it was for one night, or a few hours, or even a few days. She didn’t want Rebel to go, not until she had completed this journey with him.

 

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