Just For Kicks

“A smart, arousing, spirited escapade that is graced with a gentle mystery, a vulnerable, resilient heroine, and a worthy, wounded hero and served up with empathy and a humorous flair.”

—Library Journal on Burning Up

“A sexy, feel-good contemporary romance…a winner.”

—Publishers Weekly on Bending the Rules

“This start of Andersen’s new series has fun and interesting characters, solid action and a hot and sexy romance.”

—RT Book Reviews on Cutting Loose

“Snappy and sexy… Upbeat and fun, with a touch of danger and passion, this is a great summer read.”

—RT Book Reviews on Coming Undone

“Lovers of romance, passion and laughs should go all in for this one.”

—Publishers Weekly on Just for Kicks

“Andersen again injects magic into a story that would be clichéd in another’s hands, delivering warm, vulnerable characters in a touching yet suspenseful read.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on Skintight

“A classic plot line receives a fresh, fun treatment… Well-developed secondary characters add depth to this zesty novel, placing it a level beyond most of its competition.”

—Publishers Weekly on Hot & Bothered

Dear Reader,

Family, whether it’s one my characters were born into or one that they’ve created for themselves, is an ever-present theme that runs throughout my books. Carly Jacobsen has assembled her own. She’s never had her mother’s approval, but she has the love of her best friend and BFF’s husband, as well as that of a young-at-heart older couple. Together the five of them have forged a clan. Between her crew’s unconditional approval, her beloved pets and her dancing, she’s built a life that fulfills her, and needs nothing else to complete it. Or so she believes.

Wolfgang Jones is not a people person. He’s a man with a plan for his future who doesn’t see the point in cluttering up his life with personal entanglements. Then he’s sucked into Carly’s messy life, his troubled teenage nephew is dropped on his doorstep, and his agenda gets shot to hell. Wolf fights the good fight, but like any good hero he eventually realizes what’s really important in life.

I hope Carly, Wolf and their tribe will make you laugh out loud and maybe shed a tear or two.

Plus, be sure to check out my new book, Playing Dirty, coming soon. In Ava’s long-awaited story, golden boy Cade Gallari may have broken her heart back in high school by publicly revealing he’d slept with the “fat girl,” but she’s a decade older and wiser now. Ava isn’t the gullible dreamer she once was—and she plans to prove it when Cade, hotter than ever, breezes back into town with an offer she can’t refuse.

Susan

Just For Kicks

Susan Andersen

MILLS & BOON

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This is dedicated, with love,

to two special women in my life

To

Caroline Cross

For apples and cherries and friendship and

long phone conversations.

And for all the excellent suggestions

that helped improve my writing.

And to

Mimi Armitstead.

That memorable weekend you spent drilling

intelligent answers to dumb questions into my head

was merely one shining highlight out of so many.

You guys are the best.

~Susie

CONTENTS

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT to do about him,” Carly Jacobsen complained to her friend Michelle as they paused to accommodate a group of Japanese tourists wanting their pictures taken with real live Las Vegas showgirls. “He’s stubborn, opinionated and just won’t listen.”

“A typical male, in other words.”

She muffled a snort. “Yeah.” Her feet were killing her, but she smiled prettily for the camera and tried not to feel like an Amazon as she towered above the tourists. Thank God she and Michelle were wearing the silky brunette twenties-era flapper-style wigs from the final act instead of the towering headpieces from an earlier number. That made them only a foot taller than everyone.

“Look at it this way,” Michelle murmured over the shutterbugs’ heads. “At least you can be grateful he’s got four legs instead of two like the guy I live with.”

“There is that,” she agreed. “Rufus has been one tough pup to train, but at least I have some eventual hope he is trainable.”

“Which is more than you can say for most men.”

“Right.” Carly had never had any interest in living with a man. And yet… “On the other hand, you get regular sex. I only have the dimmest memory of what that was like.”

They struck a couple more poses before easing away from the tourists, who bowed, smiled and murmured their thanks. Carly flashed them a genuine smile in return. She really liked the Japanese. They were polite, and that was very much appreciated, because she didn’t see lovely manners every day in her business. Especially among the male half of the population.

“You wanna stop for a drink?” Michelle asked as they crossed the casino a moment later.

“No, I’d better get home. I’ve got hungry pets to feed.”

Leaving Michelle at the little lounge they often frequented, she headed toward the dressing room to change into her street clothes before going home. She’d been dancing in la Stravaganza, the big production show at the Italian-themed Avventurato Resort Hotel and Casino, for so long now that she rarely heard the sounds of the casino around her any longer. But she was particularly tired tonight after spending the early morning hours wrestling with the dilemma of Rufus. He was the newest of her babies, as she called her rescued pets, and fretting over how she was going to get him past his recalcitrant behavior had made it all but impossible to fall asleep. He simply refused to be trained. And thanks to her new neighbor, she was very much afraid that the clock was ticking on the mutt’s fate.

So now every clang and clatter of the electronic slots, every rattle of the balls in the roulette wheels and triumphant yell or commiserating groan of the gamblers crowding the casino floor kept time with the headache beginning to throb behind her left eye. Which perhaps explained why, when a petite white-haired lady clutching a bucketful of silver dollars slammed into her with an oversize handbag, Carly, who was generally sure-footed as a mountain goat, staggered backward.

A little clumsiness would have been the end of it, except she’d just climbed the two stairs that divided the high-stakes slot machines from their humbler brethren. Her stumble back sent the heel of her right T-strap stepping off into space, and, unbalanced, she grabbed for the railing while automatically tightening her core muscles to lift her shoulders back into alignment with her hips.

Her fingers brushed the railing but it slid through her grip. And although she straightened enough to keep from back-flopping, she landed in a graceless heap on the floor, her right leg twisting beneath her.

An obscenity hissed through her teeth as pain exploded in her ankle.

There were exclamations all around and a vague sense of people crowding close. Someone bent over her. “Are you all right, miss?”

She looked up at a man with light brown hair, backlit by the garish lights of the hundred-dollar slots at the top of the stairs. When his face swam into view, she noticed in a hazy sort of way that he was extremely handsome.

He could have been a troll for all she cared, since she could barely see through the pain clouding her vision. Besides, what she did manage to focus on was enough to tell her he lacked the edginess that usually attracted her—that certain something that turned men into what her friend Treena referred to as Got Testosterone? guys.

His face was also merely one of many. Pulling her gaze away from him, she saw that several people were gathered around gawking at her. But not, she noted, the little old lady who had knocked her on her ass.

Damn fanatic gamblers.

Studying her with concerned eyes, the man who’d inquired about her well-being crouched down next to her. “Is anything broken?”

She gingerly untangled her legs until she’d freed her trapped ankle, her breath catching as the shifting weight sent a fresh shard of pain zinging around her foot. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I twisted my ankle, though.” And it hurt so damn bad it was all she could do not to whimper. She was never at her finest when injured.

A guy young enough to think multiple piercings and black eyeliner and lipstick were actually a fortunate fashion statement pulled his gaze away from the generous stretch of her legs long enough to nod. “Yeah. It’s swelling up.”

“Needs ice,” someone else agreed.

“So,” murmured a portly man in a pair of Sansabelt pants that were hitched well above his natural waistline, “could I get my picture taken with you?”

“What is going on here?”

Carly’s blood pressure immediately spiked. Shit. She knew that last voice. It was deep and accented, and God knew she’d heard its disapproving timbre directed at her on more than one occasion these past few weeks. It belonged to Wolfgang Jones, second in command of the Avventurato’s Security and Surveillance department.

And her recently moved-in, pain-in-the-ass, next-door neighbor.

CHAPTER TWO

CARLY PEERED AT THE approaching man through the forest of legs surrounding her and conceded that, if she had to be absolutely honest, Jones didn’t have an actual accent. Still, there was something about the precision with which he formed his words that made you just know his thoughts probably didn’t wind through his brain in English.

She would have snorted if she wasn’t already concentrating on not mewling like a soaked-to-the-skin kitten. But, please. Like the name Wolfgang hadn’t already given the game away?

He muscled his way through the crowd, tall and lanky, blond and built, managing to irritate her beyond measure simply by breathing the same air she did. This was the man who had her worried sick over Rufus. All too aware, however, of the public behavior the Avventurato expected from its employees whenever they were on the premises, she pressed her lips together to keep the snarl she felt forming in the back of her throat from slipping out.

But sometimes representing the hotel and casino really bit.

From the expression that flashed across Jones’s deep-set eyes, she was pretty sure he wasn’t any happier to see her than she was to see him. Still, he waded through the crowd, then turned in front of her to face the people gathered around.

“Go about your evening, folks,” he said with his habitual stern, I-am-God-therefore-you-will-obey-me haughtiness. “I will take care of this situation.” Then, turning back, he squatted down in front of her in his faultlessly tailored black suit, charcoal Egyptian-cotton shirt and pearl-gray silk tie, without an apparent doubt in the world that the tourists would do exactly as he’d bid them.

Which they did, dammit. God, he was vexing.

He had a reputation around the casino for being a guy who got things done, though. Considering their recent history, she hated to admit that Jones had any redeeming qualities at all, but she had to concede that if he gave even half the attention to his work that he was currently focusing on easing off her shoe, his rep was probably well deserved.

All the same, she knew him for the dog-hating jerk he was and she didn’t trust him an inch further than she could throw him. For all she knew, his gentle handling was nothing more than a ploy to make her relax her guard. Pushing up on her elbows, she monitored him closely through narrowed eyes to make sure he didn’t pull anything tricky that would cause her ankle to hurt even worse than it already did.

As the young man with the Goth makeup and facial piercings had pointed out, the area surrounding the joint in question was swollen. It was also beginning to grow warm. Her injured flesh felt downright frigid, however, compared to Wolfgang’s sizable hands as he slid one over her heel and up to her calf to brace her leg while he probed the puffy flesh around her ankle with the other. The hot-skinned touch shocked her. Who ever would have suspected such a grim, cold guy could radiate so much heat?

Cupping his palm over her instep, he gently rotated her foot. His gaze flashed up in time to catch her wince. “That hurt?”

“Yes, it hurts,” she said testily. Then fairness forced her to add, “But I’m pretty sure it’s just twisted.” She’d had enough injuries to be a pretty good judge. But all she could think was that she had two days to get the swelling down and the joint back into dancing form, because she didn’t want to have to call Vernetta-Grace, la Stravaganza’s general manager, to tell her she’d injured herself. Again.

Carly looked down at the scimitar-shaped red scar on the knuckle above her right index finger that had cost her two days’ work less than a month ago.

“How did this happen?”

She looked up at Wolfgang, at his lightly tanned face beneath pale, spiky hair. “I was ambushed by a little old lady with a monster purse.” Wanting his hands off her, she thrust one of her own out at him. “Help me up.”

“I don’t think it is broken or even badly sprained,” he agreed, and slid his fingers away from her leg with an enthusiasm that seemed to match her own. He rose to his feet in a single, easy movement, then reached down and grasped her outstretched hand, hauling her upright.

She came up faster than she expected and instinctively put her injured foot down to keep from slamming into him. The flash of pain spearing her ankle made her crumple, and only Wolfgang’s quick hands wrapping around her upper arms kept her from sagging against his chest. The lilac-and-gold-beaded fringe of her costume swung out, sparkling bits of confetti that slapped up against his dark shirt and slacks.

Damn, damn, damn. Of all the men in this casino, why did he have to be the one who’d come to her aid? And what the hell was one of Security and Surveillance’s higher-ups doing playing nursemaid to a dancer, anyway?

Probably grabbing yet another opportunity to rub her nose in how responsible he was. As if being anal was a good thing.

He helped her to a nearby chair in front of a bank of poker machines, swiveled her seat to allow her leg to extend into the aisle and turned a plastic coin bucket on end for her to prop her heel on. Then he flagged down a waitress.

“Bring some ice and a towel, please,” he said. It was clear it wasn’t really a request, and the woman promptly turned away to do as he’d commanded.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of friends,” Carly said dryly.

Crouched in front of her to check her foot once again, he slowly raised his head and looked at her with expressionless eyes. “I have no need of friends,” he said with apparent unconcern.

“You’re kidding me!” She was genuinely taken aback. This was the most civil exchange the two of them had ever managed, since their usual interaction consisted of heated confrontations, which had started the day Jones moved into the condo complex.

Well, heated on her part, anyway. He’d pretty much been a Popsicle. Still, even though she had little use for a man so patently lacking in appreciation for animals, she’d at least assumed he was marginally human.

Apparently not. No need of friends? That was just plain barbaric. There were a lot of things she didn’t need in this world—beginning with this guy as a next-door neighbor. But her friends certainly were at the top of her Must Have list. She simply couldn’t imagine what she’d do without Treena and Jax or Ellen and Mack. Dog-hating, grim-faced security guys, however, were on a different list entirely.

“I do not kid,” he said stiffly.

She snapped her mouth shut and looked at him, at his chilly green eyes beneath straight, thick brows, at those sharp cheekbones and that hard, unsmiling mouth. Then she blew out a breath and gave him a clipped nod. “Gotcha. No sense of humor. I’ve noticed that about you.”

His eyebrows gathered over the prominent thrust of his nose. But before he could respond, the cocktail waitress returned with a bag of ice and a towel and Wolfgang pulled his gaze from Carly’s face to accept the items with the barest acknowledgment.

“Thanks, Olivia,” Carly said to make up for his brusqueness. “I appreciate you going out of your way.” After the waitress squeezed her shoulder, wished her a speedy recovery and walked away, Carly turned her attention back to Jones, who was draping the towel over her foot. “I take it you have no need to get to know your fellow workers or show the least bit of civility, either?”

He slapped the ice onto her ankle.

She hissed a breath in through her teeth. When stars quit dancing in front of her eyes, she narrowed the latter on the man in front of her. “You’re a real prince, Jones.” Flapping the hand she hadn’t used to anchor herself against the fresh onslaught of pain that threatened to shoot her straight out of her seat, she shooed him away. “You can go now.” Begrudgingly she added, “Thanks for your help.”

He stood and looked at her down the length of his strong, slightly hooked nose. “You’ll be able to drive?”

Probably not. “I’ll be fine.”

“Isn’t your car a standard transmission?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “A cute little five-speed. But I’m sure you have better things to do than stand around talking about my car. So, please. Don’t let me keep you.”

He didn’t budge. “How do you intend to get home? Will you call your redheaded friend, the other dancer?”

Nope. This was Treena’s day off and she and Jax had left for San Francisco after last night’s show. They didn’t plan to be back until late tomorrow night. She gave Jones an earnest nod anyway. “Sure. That’s exactly what I’ll do. Bye-bye.”

Wolf looked down at her and knew she was lying through her teeth. Shit. He was going to have to take her home himself.

He didn’t want to spend another minute in her company, let alone the time it would take to get her to his car, drive back to their complex and help her into her condo. She was frivolous and irresponsible, and every time he came within a foot of her she got on his nerves so bad he wanted to howl and chew concrete, to commit reckless, poorly thought-out acts, many of which culminated in turning her over his knee and blistering that round ass the way someone ought to have done years ago.

This was very not like him. So the last thing he wanted was to be thrown together with her. Still, she was through work for the night, he was through work for the night and she lived right next door. Clearly she couldn’t work the clutch in her automobile with that badly swollen foot, and it would be criminally irresponsible of him to leave her to fend for herself when they were both headed for the same destination.

Not to mention that he owed her for the pain he’d inflicted with the ice bag. That had been uncalled for, no matter how angry her smart mouth had made him.

He sighed. “Come. I will take you home.”

She looked at him as if he’d offered to molest her worthless dog instead of provide her with needed transportation. “No!” It came out loud and emphatic, and she smiled weakly at a gambler at the far end of the row of machines who glanced up from pushing the buttons that selected his poker hand. She lowered her voice. “Thank you very much, but no. That’s not necessary.”

“You cannot drive.”

“I told you I’ll call Treena.”

“You lied.”

She gave him a cool look from killing blue eyes. “And you know this how?”

“By being good at my job. I know how to read people a hell of a lot tougher than you.”

“Fine. I lied. I’ll call Mack.”

He shook his head in disgust. “You would disturb Mr. Brody at this time of night when I am perfectly willing to take you home? You are the most irritating, irrespon—”

“—sible woman you have ever had the misfortune to meet. Yeah, yeah. We’ve had this conversation before.”

Color flushed her cheeks, and only then did Wolf realize how very pale they’d been just a moment ago. She probably was in a great deal of pain. Before remorse could assail him, however, she raised her fine-boned chin.

“Fine. Thank you. A ride home would be very…thoughtful.” She sounded as if the words were strangling her, but he couldn’t inspect her expression for she bent over just then to lift one corner of the ice bag off her foot and check her ankle.

“Can you walk?” he demanded of the crown of her glossy brown wig.

That snapped her head up in a hurry and heavy-lidded blue eyes blazed up at him. “As opposed to what—being carried by you? Oh, yeah—I can walk.”

His palms started itching. Smacking her ass would be so cathartic. He’d never met anyone who needed paddling more than this woman. He jerked his chin toward the exit leading to the parking garage. “Come on, then.”

She took her time removing her remaining shoe, then got up to follow him. She did manage to hobble along under her own steam, but God she was slow. More than once he was tempted to throw her over his shoulder to improve their odds of getting home sometime before the next millennium. He didn’t, of course. It would be giving in to the Jones wild streak—and unlike his dad and his sister, Katarina, that was an impulse he always kept on a tight leash. So, gritting his teeth, he strode ahead of Carly, then stalked back to take baby steps by her side for a few minutes before his impatience got the better of him and he suddenly found himself several yards ahead of her and had to rein in his strides once again.

Finally they made it to his car, and he unlocked the passenger side for her.

“Wow,” Carly said as she braced one hand on the automobile’s roof and looked over the vehicle with patent admiration. “This is the last car I would’ve associated with you.”

He didn’t take umbrage to the implied subtext that he was a dullard. Buying something as flashy as the converted street rod had been uncharacteristic. Still, giving in to his desire for the classic muscle car was the one time he’d let the cursed family wild streak run free. He’d figured it was a safe-enough outlet—especially if it saved him from freeing other, more destructive urges as was the usual Jones way. He ran his fingers over one of the graduated-color flames that flared from burgundy to red to orange to gold across the glossy black paint job, then opened the door for her. “Get in.”