SheLikesHimBad

She Likes Him Bad

Scarlett Scott

Emma Lee Bridges is back in her tiny hometown for the first
time in years. Not even twenty-four hours after hitting the landing strip,
she’s already forced to face the boy she loved and left behind.

But Jackson isn’t exactly the boy she remembers. Now the
sexy owner of a successful mechanic shop, he takes one look at Emma and wants
her back—permanently.

The sex between them is downright flammable, the chemistry
they share as wild as ever. And this time around, Emma has to decide if she
wants to run or stay for good.

Chapter One

Paradise, Georgia. Emma couldn’t believe she was back after
twelve years. Morning of her first day in the dirt speck of a town she’d grown
up in, and two words rose to prominence in her overwhelmed brain.

Culture shock.

She took a sip from the chipped coffee mug she’d given her
mother for Christmas one year as a girl. The dishwasher had faded Santa until
he resembled nothing so much as a creepy gnome.

“Mama?” she called above the din of frying bacon.

“Yes, Emma Lee?”

Emma Lee. Mama’s idea of a bad joke. “Everyone calls me Emma
now, Mama,” she reminded. “And why on earth are there chickens in the lawn?”

Her mother threw a glance her way, the platinum waves she’d
always sported a tad on the deflated side. “You’re Emma Lee. That’s what I
named you and by God, that’s what I’ll call you.” She turned back to the stovetop.
“Those are my free-range chickens. Aren’t they darling?”

Emma almost choked. She would describe many things as
darling. A sassy pair of heels, an Italian leather purse, the perfect dress.
All those things fit into the darling category. Chickens? Definitely not.

“Where do they poop?”

“Right in here on my commode.” Jean spun away from the
stovetop and whipped a lock of limp hair from her eyes. “Good heavens, girl.
Where do you think they poop? In the grass. Sometimes I think running off to
California turned you into a prissy princess.”

Not the old argument again. Emma placed her mug on the
counter and looked back to the scratching chickens. She hadn’t had a slice of
bacon in eons. Damn it smelled delicious. “Mama, we’ve had this conversation
before. Paradise is no place for interior designers. I found my niche in L.A.
and I’m happy.”

Jean sniffed. “Could’ve stayed and saved yourself a lot of
heartache.”

“Rob is off limits,” she warned. “You know I didn’t come
here to listen to an I-told-you-so. I came here for a break.”

Though looking at where she’d landed, she had to admit
perhaps coming here hadn’t been the best idea. Not that her mind had been clear
and functioning at the time. Her frantic schedule had finally cleared, allowing
her to take some time to recover from an awful split with her boyfriend a few
months before. Mama had been harping on her to come home and she hadn’t wanted
a solo vacation, so coming back to Paradise had seemed like the best option.

On second thought, maybe not.

“I tried to tell you that boy was no good.” Jean sniffed,
apparently not caring if Emma didn’t want to hear her opinion. “I never even
met him and I knew it anyway. Don’t know what took you so long to realize it.”

Truth be told, Emma didn’t know either. Rob hadn’t been right
for her. He’d been so obsessed with his own career he’d been willing to sleep
with his boss to succeed. His affair had effectively put an end to their
year-long relationship.

“Mama, I’m over it. I don’t want to talk about it.” The
doorbell chimed, interrupting what was potentially about to become a painful
conversation. “I’ll get it,” she told her mother, happy for the reprieve.

Without waiting for an answer, Emma padded through the house
in the well-worn pair of bunny slippers she’d had since high school. Coming
home had turned into a chore. Had she ever fit in here?

She pulled open the front door, not bothering to rethink her
fashion choice of striped flannel pajamas. When she saw the man waiting on the
other side, she had to battle the sudden urge to slam the door in his face and
run upstairs for a change of clothes. Could her luck be any worse? Why, on
today of all days when she looked like a brace-faced tween, did she have to run
into
him
?

Jackson Fielding.

He blinked at her, holding a set of keys midair. “Em? What
on earth are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same of you,” she returned, trying to
stifle the ridiculous emotions ricocheting through her.

Do not
, she urged her inner vixen,
look at the way
those blue jeans fit his lean legs. Do not notice how he’s filled out in all
the right places. Or how freakin’ handsome he is as a man rather than the boy
you once kissed. And above all do not look at his mouth or you’ll think about…

Too late. Her gaze dropped to those sensual lips that were
quirked into a crooked grin. She remembered that grin. She remembered those
kisses.

“I’m dropping off your mama’s Chev.”

Trying to gather what remained of her sanity, she snatched
the keys from him. “That was nice of you. I’ll let her know.”

But before she could close the door on him, he stopped her
with a broad palm. “Not so fast, Em. Is Jean around? I need to talk to her
about the tranny.”

“The tranny?” It was her turn to blink at him. “As in
transvestite? I didn’t realize Paradise was so liberated.”

He started laughing. And didn’t stop for a full minute while
she squirmed in embarrassment. Obviously, she’d misunderstood. But did he have
to make her feel more like an idiot than she already did in her rabbit
slippers? The right one was missing an eye, for heaven’s sake.

She leveled him with a glare. “I hate to spoil your fun, but
would you mind letting me in on your little joke?”

“Transmission, sugar. Tranny is short for transmission.” He
let out another hoot of laughter at her expense.

“Don’t call me sugar, Jackson. I haven’t seen you in a dozen
years.”

“Your fault, not mine. I haven’t gone anywhere.” He grinned
again, flashing a dimple.

It was her turn to smirk. “Why am I not surprised?”

His expression sobered. “I never had a problem with
Paradise. You were the one who couldn’t stay in a small town.”

What was she doing, reliving the old argument? She sighed.
“I wanted a career, Jackson. You know that.”

“How is your career, by the way? Fluffed any pillows for
Brad Pitt lately?”

He still had the power to irk her like no one else. Years of
hard work and school, of proving herself and earning her way up in the interior
design world, and he likened her job to fluffing pillows. “Brad isn’t one of my
clients. And I don’t fluff pillows. Now why don’t I get Mama for you? I’d hate
to keep you waiting.”

“What? I don’t get to come inside?” He grinned, challenging
her.

Emma turned away, trying not to notice the sexual undertones
of his words. “Have it your way then,” she flung over her shoulder.

Knowing Jackson followed her gave her an unsettling jolt.
Being close to him after so long made her almost giddy. What was wrong with
her? The stress of her breakup? The somewhat painful task of returning home?
Insanity? She didn’t know, but whatever it was that made her heart kick into
overdrive and revved her libido had to stop. Pronto.

“Mama?” Safety in numbers, she decided as she found her
mother plating up breakfast. “Jackson is here to see you. Something about your
car.”

“Jackson!” Jean’s expression brightened. “Goodness, you are
a sight to see this morning. Isn’t he, Emma Lee?”

Emma tossed a glance in his direction. “A sight,” she
agreed, her voice toneless.

Really, Mama had to be the most embarrassing mother in the
state of Georgia. Possibly in the entire South. Emma resisted the urge to roll
her eyes. Jean had always had a soft spot in her heart for Jackson. If she had
to hear one more round of “If you and Jackson had stayed together…” she’d be
certifiable.

“You had breakfast yet, young man?” Jean was already
reaching into her cabinet for another plate. “I’ve got plenty here. Sit
yourself down.”

To Emma’s dismay, rather than giving the polite refusal
she’d expected, Jackson sat at the scarred oak kitchen table. He crossed his
booted feet, looking at home. She had to admit time had been kind to him. Very
kind, in fact. Not that it mattered.

“Emma Lee, would you get Jackson some orange juice?”

She skewered Jean with a glare. The last thing she felt like
doing was waiting on him, especially given how ridiculous she must look. But
she did as her mother asked, heading to the fridge with tumbler in hand. When
she handed him the brimming glass, their fingers brushed.

“Thanks, Em.”

She tried to remain unaffected by the fleeting fire his
touch sent skittering through her body. “No problem.”

Jean plopped a plate laden with bacon, eggs and fried
potatoes on the table. “There you are, honey. Emma Lee, have a seat and eat
something. You’re so skinny it makes me hungry just looking at you.”

Jackson bit off a choked laugh. “You
are
a tiny thing
these days, Em. You look like you could use a cheeseburger from the Piggy
Wagon.”

The Piggy Wagon had long been a staple in the social life
and diet of the residents of Paradise. As a teenager, Emma had spent many
nights flirting with boys and sneaking cigarettes behind the oversized trailer
that housed the burger joint.

She frowned at Jackson. “I don’t eat meat.” Which was mostly
true. Occasionally, she splurged.

“Oh yeah?” He picked a slice of bacon up from his plate and
bit into it with gusto, grinning. “Well I’m a carnivore.”

“How nice for you.” She flashed him a saccharine smile she
didn’t feel. He was trying to get to her. And he was succeeding.

“What’s this nonsense, Emma Lee?” Her mother delivered a
steaming plate of breakfast items that were definitely not figure friendly.

She had to admit the bacon smelled sinfully good. “It’s not
nonsense, Mama. It’s my diet.”

“It’s stupidity is more like it,” Jackson chimed in around a
mouthful of food.

“No one asked you.” She stabbed the bacon her mother had
given her with her fork and deposited it on his plate. “Help yourself,
Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

He had the nerve to wink at her. “Are you trying to tell me
that my arms are disproportional to my body?”

Emma couldn’t quite squelch the laugh bubbling up inside her
no matter how hard she tried. “Never. That would be rude and then I’d be like
you.”

“Emma Lee,” her mother admonished as she seated herself at
the table too. “Don’t give that boy any more sass. He fixed my Chev for free.”

“I did the best I could, Mrs. Bridges. Your tranny is on its
way out of this world, though.” He took a healthy sip of orange juice.

“Call me Jean.” She puffed up her curls. “I’ll make do until
it goes kaput. Are you sure I can’t give you anything for all your trouble?”

“No trouble at all. Besides, you’re feeding me the best damn
breakfast I’ve had in a long time.”

Emma reluctantly took a bite of her scrambled eggs. At least
Mama’s cooking hadn’t changed. It was still delicious, still more than one
person could eat in a sitting. “It
is
very good, Mama.”

Jean beamed. “Eat seconds.”

“Give him the seconds.” She pointed a finger in Jackson’s
direction. “At least it’ll keep his mouth closed.”

He maintained his carefree expression, but his eyes darkened
as they met hers. “I’m cut to the quick.”

Emma snorted. She couldn’t help it. She doubted feelings
even lived beneath that rough-boy exterior of his. “You’re skin’s tougher than
a tanned cowhide.”

“Ah, we’re bringing back the country in you already.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll have to flee immediately.”

“I’d hate to see that.” There was sincerity, and unless she
was mistaken, an underlying edge of emotion in his voice.

Startled, she glanced back up at him. Their gazes met and
suddenly, all the old emotions smacked her like a palm to the cheek. She had
loved him more than life itself once. She had kissed him, made love with him in
the backseat of his GTO. And she had left him behind when he hadn’t fit in with
her plans. He’d been furious at first, but later when regrets ate at her, she’d
sent emails he never answered. Not a single one. He hadn’t seemed to care.

She recalled how many nights she’d lain awake in her
freshman year, wondering why he never called, why he didn’t fight for her. Why
the silence. Maybe she’d always assumed that he would. Maybe in her immaturity,
she’d wanted him to prove something to her. She didn’t know now what had driven
her back then. All she knew was they were sitting at the same table, yet there
may as well have been a continent between them.

Emma wanted to apologize, almost did. To keep from making a
fool of herself, she forced the thoughts from her mind, turning the page to a
more comfortable subject. “How have you been, Jackson?”

He speared the last bit of home fries from his plate and ate
it thoughtfully before answering. “Good and bad. More good than bad, I have to
say. How about you, Em?”

“I’ve been wonderful,” she lied. “I love L.A.” The truth
was, she had a successful career and a handful of good friends. Her business
was flourishing, but the rest of her life? Not so much.

“Glad to hear it.” He took a sip of juice, watching her with
an intensity that made her uncomfortable.

“Oh my heavens!” Jean interrupted their exchange, shooting
up from her seat as if it were made of hot coals. “I’ve completely forgotten my
meeting with the social committee at church. I’m late.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed on her mother. Unless she was mistaken,
this had matchmaker written all over it. “At this time of the morning?”

“Yes, the old gals like to get an early start.” She
noticeably avoided looking at Emma as she snatched up her purse from the
counter. “I’ve got to run. Emma Lee, would you mind running Jackson home? I
would, but church is on the opposite end of town.”

Time alone with Jackson? “But Mama, I don’t—”

“Great,” Jean cut her short. “I’ll take the Chev, and you
can take your rental car. Jackson, thanks again for helping me out. You’re a
sweetheart.”

“You’re very welcome, Mrs. B. Thanks for breakfast.”

An awkward silence stretched between them while Jean clipped
out of the house, screen door slamming behind her. The roaring of the old Chev
to life outside heralded her departure.