Undone (Broken Man Book 3) Read online

  “Don’t get me wrong, I want to take you right here. But no, this is about something else.”

  “What?”

  I get to one knee and shock the hell out of her. She clasps her hands over her mouth, eyes wide as I pull out the ring. I keep it simple. “Will you marry me?”

  I swear she curses behind her hands, which makes me laugh, and then she nods, sinking to her knees along with me. “Yes.”

  I slide the ring on her finger. “I hope this is okay,” I say, glancing around. “Asking you here.”

  She nods. “It’s our place. Where we fell in love.”

  I return her nod. She gets it. “I love you, Lucy.”

  “I love you, too.”

  If you enjoyed this story, have a sneak peek of The Neighbor, the first book in my other series, Enemies to Lovers.

  All Jenna Stanton wants is some peace and quiet in her new apartment. A chance to focus on work and make a name for herself at her career. But her super sexy and super noisy rocker neighbor plays his music at all hours of the day, disrupting any chance she has at getting her job done. Confronting him should be easy—get him to turn down the music, and then get back to work. But one look at Cruise Thompson without his shirt on derails all her plans.

  Cruise can’t stand his buttoned-up, professional neighbor, Jenna. Annoying her with his music gives him something to do between shows, but the fun turns into desire when she appears in his cheering section with an apology and curves in all the right places. He sees a different side of her, a side that has his body responding to hers in way it never has before. He never thought he’d go for someone like Jenna, but now he can’t imagine being with anyone else—or keeping his hands off his sexy neighbor.

  *All books in the Enemies to Lovers series can be read as standalones. You’re guaranteed a steamy short story with lots of heat and an HEA*

  Chapter 1

  ________________

  Jenna

  She didn’t care that he was sexy as hell. She still wanted to kill him.

  The pulsing music from her neighbor’s house was almost enough to knock the pictures off the walls. It thumped and thudded, a deep drum beat that might have actually been catchy if she hadn’t been in the mood to punch someone.

  She reached up to bang on the wall that they shared. One of the pictures fell behind the couch and she grumbled. Then she heard muffled laughter from next door and grumbled even more.

  Cruise Thompson. That’s what the name on his mail said. It always got put in her slot on accident and she was endlessly trying to shove it through the small slit in the side to get it into his. So she didn’t have to bring it to his door.

  Cruise. What kind of name was that anyway? He sounded like a pompous ass who owned a golf cart and took his college-aged mistresses out sailing on his yacht while his salt-and-pepper hair waved in the breeze.

  Except he wasn’t old. Or the type that looked like he owned a golf cart. In fact, he looked her age. And the music he listened to definitely wasn’t the kind you’d hear on a yacht.

  The music subsided and she sighed in relief. Good. Now she could get some work done. She’d just gotten the job at Whitman Designs last week. It was shitty pay, but right now she didn’t care. She needed the experience and Whitman was a big deal. They did web design for several major companies and this was the way to get her name out there. To get some credentials under her belt.

  If she paid her dues now, then one day she could have her own company or work freelance. She’d be her own boss with her own clients.

  Sure it was Friday and sure she probably should have been out partying with friends or something, but she’d gone through that phase in life. Now, she was a professional.

  She opened her laptop and pulled up the project she was working on, then looked longingly at the kitchen.

  Professionals still drank, right?

  She wandered to the kitchen, went for the fridge, then grinned. Professionals didn’t drink beer, they drank cocktails. Or wine.

  Pulling a bottle down from the holder on the wall, she nodded to herself. Red wine. Now, she was a professional.

  Two glasses later, she still felt like a professional, though she’d gotten very little work done.

  And about the time an idea struck, the music started up again. So loud this time her wall shook. It throbbed and hummed until she was ready to pull out her hair.

  “Asshole,” she muttered.

  But two drinks more courageous than she was before, she set her computer aside. And instead of banging on the wall, she downed the rest of her wine, and opened her door.

  She’d tried being nice. She’d tried ignoring the endless loud music and parties and girls. Well, two girls really but still—Cruise Thompson was clearly a player. A player who didn’t care about anyone but himself.

  Before she could bang on Cruise’s door, it swung open. The same redhead Jenna had been seeing the last few weeks appeared. She lifted her eyebrows at Jenna, her lips curved, and then she said, “Hey.” She called behind her, “See ya tonight, Cruise!”

  Jenna didn’t have time to say anything before the redhead eased around her and walked down the hall, hips swaying, hair blowing like she was in the middle of a shampoo commercial.

  When she turned back, ready to rap her fist against the door and demand Cruise turn down his music, he appeared in the doorway.

  Already off her game from the modelesque woman who’d just brushed past her, her mouth dropped open.

  Cruise leaned his long frame against the door, all six feet of him standing there like some rock star god. No, this man wasn’t made for yachts and mistresses. He was made for hot nights and secrets between the sheets. He was made for sultry kisses and flesh-burning sex.

  Without his shirt on, she had full view of his hard pecks. He was lean but muscular, forearms glistening with a slight sheen of sweat and veins pulsing in time to the music.

  When his eyes did a sweep of her body, she swore every inch of her was seared with his gaze. She felt it right in her center, enough to make her pulse skip a beat and yearning throb inside.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  She could barely hear his voice above the music, but what she heard was smooth and low. Almost a growl.

  Lifting her chin and folding her arms, she said, “You can turn down the damn music. Some of us have to work.”

  Amusement lit up his eyes. After a moment, he shrugged. “All you had to do was ask.”

  Then he slammed the door in her face.

  Chapter 2

  ________________

  Cruise

  He had to admire her gumption. And it didn’t hurt that she’d come to his door in short shorts and a tank top that left very little to the imagination. Usually when he saw her, she had on a stuffy pantsuit or a tailored jacket that made him itch to see what was underneath.

  Ever since Jenna Stanton had moved next door, he’d spent more nights than not imagining her sans business attire. In fact, he usually imagined her without any clothes at all. Those dark eyes would lock on his as he plunged into her, finding a release that only she could give.

  Damn it. He’d even dreamed about her, which was starting to piss him off. The only thing they had in common was age. Other than that, she’d probably bore him senseless.

  Cruise turned off the music and plopped on the couch with his acoustic guitar.

  He was T-shirts and guitar picks. She was high heels and laptops. He was beer and whiskey. She was wine and martinis.

  Hell, she probably didn’t even listen to music. Or it was some classical Beethoven bullshit like every other up-and-coming professional who lived in this apartment complex.

  Most people picked it because it was Yuppieville, USA. Right across from the light rail, scattered above a shopping center that boasted the city’s finest cappuccino and clothing stores with pieces that were worth more than his car.

  He’d only moved here because his sister was gone for the summer and she needed someone to stay in the
place. That and the sushi. The place downstairs was stellar.

  But still, if he’d have known how stuffy the complex was, and how stuffy its tenants were, he’d have thought twice. The other members of his band made fun of him every time they came over.

  Of course, Jenna had let her guard down tonight. She’d shown a side of her he didn’t know existed. Too bad she had a boyfriend or he might have tried to see what else was under that polished exterior.

  Cruise played a short riff that was supposed to take his mind off of his neighbor. When that didn’t work, he went back to the stereo and turned it on. If he couldn’t play away his arousal, he’d chase it away with some hard core rock. And if it annoyed Ms. Perfect next door…well, he couldn’t help that.

  And if she happened to stop by again, all long legs and braless under her tank top, it wasn’t his fault.

  <><><>

  He strummed the last chord on the final song and flashed his most devastating smile to the crowd amidst cheers and whistles. A few young women screamed shrilly at the front of the stage. He tossed a pick in their direction, not waiting to see where it landed or how hard they fought over it.

  Cruise walked backstage and snagged a bottle of water. It was a small venue, but he and his band were regulars and they were accommodated as such. A spread of cold cuts, chips, and drinks lined a table near the exit.

  He bypassed all those and crouched at his guitar case.

  “Good show tonight,” Maya said, propping her hip on the table next to him. “You killed it on that last one. Channeling your inner demon?”

  He chuckled, but didn’t answer. No, more like channeling his sexual frustration into something more productive. Not because he wanted to but because he didn’t have a choice.

  If his damn neighbor hadn’t strutted over to his place halfway naked earlier today, he’d have his mind on the right track and he would have been able to focus tonight. He’d nearly gone after her the day she moved in, despite the stuffy suits she often wore and the fact that they seemed polar opposites. But then he’d seen the man who’d been helping her move in and backed off.

  She was taken. But shit, that didn’t stop her from popping up in his mind all evening.

  Maya nudged his arm with her studded boot. “You staying for drinks?”

  He should. A good buzz might help him forget all about Jenna. But then it could also make the need for her worse.

  “Not tonight.” He stood, taking another swig of water. “I’m out.”

  “You know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”

  Cruise walked home, guitar case swinging at his side, and breathed in the fresh air. His mind still wasn’t clear by the time he reached the complex. Just inside the doorway he checked his mail.

  He flipped through it, but stopped when he came to the third letter. “Shit.”

  Another letter for Jenna Stanton. What the hell? How hard was it to get the mail in the right slot?

  Cruise took the stairs instead of the elevator, up three flights until he reached his floor. Jenna’s door was the second on the right. He stopped outside of it, debating whether or not to bang on the outside or slide the mail underneath.

  It was late. At least by stuffy business lady standards.

  But he was still curious, so he set down his guitar and leaned in, almost pressing his ear to the surface. He heard a thump and a slide and nearly tripped over his case trying to back up.

  Jenna whipped open the door, then gasped when she saw him. She slapped hand to her chest. “What are you doing?”

  He lifted his arm, the envelope still tight in his grip. “Your mail.” He eyed the box on the floor at her feet. “What are you doing?”

  She made a face at him. “None of your business. Finishing unpacking.”

  He grunted out a laugh because she’d answered him anyway. “Bout time.”

  Jenna arched one eyebrow before she snatched the envelope from his grasp and tossed it on a table inside. He tried to peer past her, curious about her apartment. If her decorating reflected her stuffy style.

  “It’s kind of late, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Seriously?”

  He frowned. “What? You seem like the early to bed, early to rise type.”

  “My new neighbor makes that sort of difficult.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He couldn’t help but grin. Mostly because she seemed pissed off and it was his fault. “I think you have lovely neighbors.”

  “Of course you would.”

  She ducked down for the box, trying unsuccessfully to heft it into her arms. She bumped into the doorframe, then glared at him. “Excuse me.”

  He stepped back. “Why don’t you get your boyfriend to help you with that?”

  “My boyfriend?” She huffed and dumped the box back on the ground. “What boyfriend?”

  “That guy who helped you when you were moving in. Tall, pink polo, weak chin—”

  “His polo wasn’t pink and he does not have a weak chin.” The fire in her eyes flashed dangerously at him.

  “Just an observation.”

  She folded her arms in front of her, still in that same revealing tank top as earlier. His dick went rock hard as her ample breasts were pushed up. He backed up another step, realizing it was time to go. Until she spoke again.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said.

  No boyfriend? So he’d been curbing his sexual frustration this whole time because of a boyfriend that didn’t exist?

  “Now, excuse me.”

  He put his hand on the frame of the door, blocking her way. “Hold on. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

  She arched her eyebrow again. This time it was murder in her eyes. “Move.”

  He shook his head. “I think it’s about time we cleared things up.”

  He’d played sarcastic neighbor long enough. Now that he knew Jenna Stanton didn’t have a boyfriend, he planned on fixing this mess between them. And then…he planned on making Jenna his.

  Chapter 3

  ________________

  Jenna

  She felt obligated to invite him in for a drink since he’d been nice enough to carry the box to the Dumpster downstairs. Old-fashioned manners and all. But that didn’t erase her irritation. The man was an ass—whether he was trying to be or not. For some people it just came naturally, she supposed.

  “I have wine,” she told him, heading to the kitchen.

  When she turned, she found him setting his guitar case next to the couch and giving her a sly grin. Old-fashioned or not, she couldn’t help the snide comment.

  “Is that like a prop or something?” she asked.

  He glanced at the guitar case. “A prop?”

  “You know. To further your bad-boy image.” Her eyes skimmed his dark T-shirt, and the way it pulled tightly against his chest muscles. She swallowed. “Moody guitar player with the mysterious smile and gruff voice.”

  “You think my smile is mysterious?”

  “Uh…” She cleared her throat. “And whiskey. I also have whiskey. Or beer.”

  Which hardly seemed strong enough for the moment. That mysterious smile was aimed right at her, making her heart race. Sending pulses of longing between her legs.

  He wandered over, reached around her to open the refrigerator, and grabbed his own beer. “You surprise me. I guess we’re one for one on the mysterious front.”

  She surprised him? Hardly. Jenna Stanton was as straight-forward as they came. The only thing she’d ever done to surprise anyone was to change her major in college and go for her dream instead of following in her brother’s footsteps to work in the family business.

  “I…” Her throat dried when he leaned past her again to drop the beer cap on the counter. His arm brushed hers and her nipples tightened, forming hard buds underneath her tank top.

  She hated the way her body reacted. Not because she didn’t long for someone—for someone like Cruise, even. Bad boy to the core. But because he was with so
meone. She’d been cheated on before, and anyone willing to cheat wasn’t for her.

  “Let’s get back to the mysterious smile part,” Cruise said, flashing that same grin. “What makes it mysterious?”

  “If I knew, it wouldn’t be so mysterious.” Jenna folded her arms across her chest, her gesture one of defense. “It seems to be working for that redhead who drops by your place night and day.”

  “Maya?” His lips curved. “We play well together.”

  What was that supposed to mean? “You’re pretty full of yourself, you know that?”

  “What?” He traced his finger down her arm, making her shiver. “She’s our bassist. Kick ass, too.”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry. You—your what?”

  “Bassist,” he whispered. The word sounded dirty coming from his lips, just one single word that washed over her and had her drowning in his voice.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know what?” He stepped forward, enough to have her pressing against the counter to avoid contact. “That I’m in a band? That we play together?” He smiled again, holding her captive. “That my guitar isn’t just a prop and I actually know how to play the damn thing?”

  “Uh…yes. All of those. Yes.”

  Which meant he was dangerous. Dangerous because he wasn’t attached to the redhead and dangerous because her body wouldn’t stop straining toward his. If she didn’t have an excuse to stay away, to dislike him, she was jumping head first into danger.

  “Your heart is beating so fucking fast,” he said.

  She realized his chest was touching hers and that his scent filled her nostrils, heady, woodsy with a hint of sweat. Had he just finished a show? Was that why his voice was a little gruffer than normal, a rough murmur that made her wet? That had her entire body throbbing with need.

  A sigh slipped out, and Cruise took it as an invitation. He slid his beer on the counter, simultaneously gripping her waist with his other hand and jerking her against him.