Reckless (The Mason Family Series Book 3) Read online

  Reckless

  Mason Family Series #3

  Adriana Locke

  Reckless

  Copyright 2021 by Adriana Locke

  Cover Designer: Kari March

  Content Editor: Marion Making Manuscripts and Lindsey Faber

  Copy Editor: Editing 4 Indies, Jenny Sims

  Proofreader: Michele Ficht

  Umbrella Publishing

  Copyright Law:

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, this book has been pirated and you are stealing. Please delete it from your device and support the author by purchasing a legal copy. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book or publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked statue and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This book is dedicated to Peggy Williams.

  I appreciate you more than words can describe. You inspire me. With love.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  1. Boone

  2. Boone

  3. Jaxi

  4. Jaxi

  5. Boone

  6. Jaxi

  7. Boone

  8. Jaxi

  9. Boone

  10. Jaxi

  11. Boone

  12. Jaxi

  13. Boone

  14. Jaxi

  15. Boone

  16. Jaxi

  17. Boone

  18. Boone

  19. Boone

  20. Boone

  21. Jaxi

  22. Boone

  23. Boone

  24. Jaxi

  25. Boone

  26. Jaxi

  27. Jaxi

  Epilogue

  Notes from the Author

  Chapter One: Sway

  Books by Adriana Locke

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Synopsis

  “How did you get in here?”

  That’s not what you want to hear when you’re staring into the sea-green eyes of the hottest man you’ve ever seen. Yet I suppose it’s a fair question, considering I’m an uninvited stranger standing in Boone Mason’s kitchen.

  If you think that’s bad—just wait. It gets worse.

  This charming and wealthy playboy, who can’t pay his bills on time or find his way to the grocery store (but we all have flaws, right?), is sweet. Confident. Playful. He’s almost perfect. And, to make matters worse …

  He’s smitten with me.

  I know what you’re thinking. You’re rolling your eyes. You’re assuming this is some opposites attract situation—or that maybe we can be friends who turn into something more.

  How can this be a bad thing?

  Well, it’s simple. I’m not the kind of girl you fall in love with. Just to be sure, the universe reminds me of that in an unforgettable, in-your-face kind of way.

  I might have broken into Boone’s house, but I won’t let him break my heart. I won’t break his either. There’s too much on the line to be that reckless.

  One

  Boone

  “If you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes, I’m probably dead.”

  My Audi roars as I hit the gas. The sound drowns out my brother’s reaction to my statement—one I’m sure he’ll discount as dramatic.

  In all actuality, it probably is a little dramatic. What are the odds that I meet my Maker on a random Saturday evening because a woman is at my house? I’d say that the odds are in my favor.

  I knock on the faux wood on the car door to be safe before hitting the gas again, enjoying the push back into the seat from the accelerator.

  Coy sighs. “Are you done?”

  “Done what?”

  He sighs again.

  “Are you done?” I mock him as I pilot the car around a huge tree branch in the street. “My life is on the line here, and you act like you don’t care. All you do is sigh.”

  “Oh, cut the shit,” he says, trying to hide a chuckle. “Where are you going, anyway? Our whole family is still here besides you. Are you coming back?”

  I flip on my turn signal and press the brakes. “I don’t know. Let’s see if I live.”

  My home, a riff on an Italian villa, looks no worse for the wear as I pull into the driveway. I stop at the garage and hit the button to lift the door. Then, just as quickly, I rethink my actions and punch the controller again.

  I might be fairly certain this whole thing is going to end up fine, but why take unnecessary chances? There’s no need to ask for trouble. Garages are where the serial killer hides and stabs you in the back as you get out of the car. I’ve watched enough movies to know that.

  I take a deep breath and survey the area.

  The flower beds appear to be undisturbed. There aren’t any cars that scream trouble parked in front of my house, and there is no smoke or broken glass or faces peeking through the blinds. No red flags whatsoever.

  Good, but weird.

  “Sarah, the lady that lives to the west of me, called and said that a woman was climbing into my bedroom window a little while ago,” I say and slide out of the car.

  Coy laughs.

  “I’m being serious,” I tell him.

  “I’m sure you are, but isn’t this normal behavior for you?” Amusement laces his tone. “Because, for the record, this is exactly how I envision your life—women leaving through the front door while others scale the walls to sneak in the back.”

  I shake my head as I shut the car door behind me. “That’s not been a thing since I was in high school.” I pause. “Well, there was the one instance last year—but that’s irrelevant.”

  “Sounds pretty damn relevant to me under the circumstances.”

  “It’s not. A girl I was with wanted to try some reverse-knight-in-shining-armor role-play shit, and …” I cringe as I realize how stupid this sounds. “Anyway, you get the picture.”

  This is my life.

  He chuckles. “What I get is the fact that you’ve lived a better life than I have, and I’m the damn rock star of the family!”

  “Rock star? That’s a stretch,” I joke.

  “Oh, fuck off.”

  We laugh at the same time.

  Out of my four brothers, I’m closest with Coy. There are just eighteen months between us, and due to the way our birthdays are situated, we were only one grade apart. We’ve had the same friends, the same experiences, and played on the same sports teams growing up. He gets me. And I get him … which makes it super easy to rile him up.

  “If I get murdered, I fully expect you to sing hymns at my funeral,” I say. “Make it sappy and super over-the-top, or I’ll haunt you.”

  “You’re not getting murdered, dumbass. Settle down.”

  A cool breeze ripples across my face as I stare up at the house.

  Sarah has been known to exaggerate a time or twenty, but she sounded so certain when she called. I was sure I’d find some obvious evidence of trespassing and could justify calling the police, but I can’t. There’s nothing.

  I almost wish there was something off. It would be easier to deal with. Now I’m just left with
various possibilities, and I don’t particularly like any of them.

  It could be a scorned lover, but I make it a point to end relationships on good terms, so probably not. This is a good neighborhood, so I doubt it’s a flat-out robbery. The only robbery that I know of around here involved the role-play girl and a game of cops and robbers that had nothing to do with actual theft.

  Still, when I take into account the fact that the house isn’t burning to the ground and the possible scenarios I’m facing, I have to go with Coy’s theory—no matter how unlikely it seems.

  I scratch the top of my head as I think it through. “Man, if I walk in and a naked woman is waiting for me in my bed, I’m going to feel like an idiot. I legitimately raced over here and risked points on my license that I can’t risk because I half expected to see busted windows.”

  Coy snorts. “I’d prepare for feeling like an idiot.”

  I start up the stairs. “Have any tips to get me started?”

  “Very funny.” The line muffles for a moment and I hear our older brother, Oliver’s, voice. “Hey, Ollie wants to know why your alarm system wasn’t on.”

  “Oh, great. You told Oliver.”

  “He wanted to know what was going on, and I think he has a very valid question.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. I think I forgot to pay it.”

  “Seriously, Boone? At least put the important stuff on auto-pay.”

  “You can do that?”

  I’m not sure what Oliver says to Coy, but that’s probably for the best. They both start laughing.

  “I’m glad you guys find this so funny,” I mutter as I stare at the door.

  While I’m ninety percent sure this is some kind of misunderstanding, there’s still a ten-percent chance it isn’t. And the possibilities are endless.

  “What do you want us to do, Boone?” Coy asks. “Stay on the phone with you? Call the police? Tell Mom that you’re scared and have her call you and hold your hand? What am I doing here?”

  “Nothing. Just … I just felt like someone needed to know what was happening. Just in case.”

  He exhales. “Great. But could you call someone else the next time you think you might die because you haven’t thought through a situation? Now I have to sit here and avoid Mom because she knows I’m talking to you and she’s going to want to know what’s going on.”

  “So, tell her.”

  “Tell her what? That you’re not coming back to family night because you’re getting your dick sucked? I’d rather not.”

  I make a face. “I’d rather you not tell her that either. Just hang on, and let’s see what happens here.”

  “I’m pretty sure my wife won’t appreciate you rattling off some woman’s measurements, brother.”

  I press my thumb onto the keypad. A green light blinks, and the lock frees. A click shoots through the air.

  Coy and Oliver laugh again on the other end of the line. It distracts me from the potentially life-or-death situation I’m dealing with.

  “Here goes nothing,” I mutter. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Oh, hell. Keep me on the line. Just in case.”

  “No. I tried to call you in case I needed help, but you—”

  “Boone …”

  I step inside the entryway and ignore my brother. Cool air envelops me, along with the scent of lavender from the little night-light thing that my housekeeper put in an outlet the last time she was here.

  The decorator pillows from the couch are strewn across the floor. A pizza box sits open on the coffee table, and a pile of clothes are tossed across the loveseat that faces the fireplace.

  Everything looks just as I left it, but something feels different.

  I wrap my hand around my neck and try to unwind the knot that’s slowly forming.

  “Coy, I gotta go.”

  “Dammit, Boone—”

  I end the call before he can continue.

  The brief description from Sarah—that the intruder was totally my type—didn’t help pinpoint who the woman might be. Nor did the fact that Sarah thinks she might’ve seen the woman before but isn’t quite sure.

  “They all start to look alike at some point,” she said.

  I squeeze the back of my neck again, my heart thumping in quick succession, and listen for some indication of the intruder’s location. Just as I start to second-guess not having a witness if things don’t go my way, a sound from the kitchen makes me jump.

  I spin around.

  Oh fuck.

  Two

  Boone

  Sarah was right.

  Holy shit.

  Whoever this is—she’s totally my type.

  The woman sucks in a quick breath and stills herself next to the kitchen counter.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, holding both hands out as if to show her I’m unarmed.

  I have no idea what’s going on, but there’s no need to make this worse. While she does look a little apprehensive, I don’t think the vibe she’s putting off means she’s ready to commit a homicide. Not that I’ve ever met a murderer before—that I know of.

  She blows out her breath slowly. With each microsecond that passes, she gathers more of herself until she finally lifts her chin and throws her shoulders back.

  “Who are you?” Her voice is confident and calm—two things someone’s voice should not be if they’ve just snuck into a stranger’s house.

  I lift a brow.

  She mimics the gesture. The movement causes her cheekbones to nearly touch a pair of moody, hazel-colored eyes framed by the longest, thickest lashes I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure they’re even real. Actually, I’ve seen women put them on to do laundry, so they probably are false. But they’re so long and dark and—

  “Hello?” She creeps sideways toward the knives hung on a magnetic strip near the stovetop. “I asked you a question.”

  “I heard you.” I clear my throat and try not to smile. “Who are you?”

  Her plump lips press together. “Yeah, no. I’ll be the one asking questions here, buddy.”

  What?

  I take a step back and try to get a better grasp of the situation. But even with the new vantage point, I still think that she seriously thinks that I am the intruder.

  She turns her head to the side as if she’s looking over her shoulder and something about her profile snags my attention. It might be her little button nose or the way her hairline forms a distinct widow’s peak that I’ve seen before, but a conversation I had with my neighbor to the east, Libby Seltzer, comes barreling back to me.

  “My cousin, Jaxi, will be staying at our house while Ted and I are in San Diego. Keep an eye out for her, will you?”

  I lick my lips and grin. I’d love to, Libby.

  The woman in front of me cocks her head to the side. “Are you going to answer me, or should I call the police?”

  Libby painted her cousin as a sweet girl who was working hard to make it. She did not paint her as a complete and utter dime.

  I sort through my brain and wish I’d had paid better attention to Libby’s stories, but from what I can recall, Libby thinks a lot of Jaxi and was worried about her being uncomfortable while she was gone.

  I’m all too happy to welcome her to the neighborhood.

  After I screw with her a little bit.

  “You really want to call the police?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Positive, considering you’re in my cousin’s house, and I don’t know who you are.”

  I lean against the wall. The casualness of my movement catches her off guard. She side-eyes me while moving toward the knives again.

  “What do you think the police will do to someone who’s in the wrong house?” I ask as if we’re talking about something as easy as the weather. “I mean, it’s probably a felony. Don’t you think? Breaking and entering can’t just be a misdemeanor, especially if you enter through a window and not the front door. Like … with keys.”

&nb
sp; She plucks a knife off the magnetic strip. With the knife in one hand and her phone in the other, she moves around the island to the farthest point from me.

  “We’re about to find out,” she says.

  I hold up a finger. “Cool, but make sure you tell them the address and that Boone Mason is the person you’re talking about. Be clear,” I insist. “That’s Boone with an e. And Mason. There’s really only one way to spell that. Well, I guess you could use a y like some people do, but that’s not usually in a last name.”

  Her thumb hovers over the phone screen.

  “Boone with an e. Mason with no y,” I tell her, shoving off the wall. “Got it?”

  “Why would you just … give … me … your name.”

  A flash of understanding zaps through her eyes as she says the words out loud.

  She sets the knife down. It clatters as it rests against the granite.

  I chuckle as the apples of her cheeks turn the color of her T-shirt—a pinkish-orange hue that suits her well. Slowly, I make my way into the kitchen and stand across the island from her.

  “Did you say Boone Mason?” she asks.

  “Yup. Three times.” I wrinkle my nose at her. “Are there bells ringing in your pretty little head right about now?”

  Her bottom lip pulls between her teeth as she takes a small step backward. I have to fight myself not to reach across the island because that little lip thing is my kryptonite.

  “So, you live here?” she asks, her voice teetering on panic. “As in, this is your house? My cousin Libby’s neighbor’s house? As in, I’m in …”