All I Want for Halloween Read online

  Also by Marie Harte

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  Ruining Mr. Perfect

  What to Do with a Bad Boy

  Body Shop Bad Boys

  Test Drive

  Roadside Assistance

  Zero to Sixty

  Collision Course

  The Donnigans

  A Sure Thing

  Just the Thing

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  Copyright © 2017 by Marie Harte

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Dawn Adams

  Cover image © Pilin_Petunyia/Getty Images

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  A Sneak Peek of Collision Course

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  September 29

  Seattle, Washington

  “It was the punch heard ’round the world! Or, at least, around the motorcycle world. Harrison ‘Gear’ Blackstone and Brian ‘B-Man’ Gandanna are quits! That’s right, you heard it here first. Rumor has it Gear and B-Man have been fighting over the future of Motorcycle Madnezz for months, and now it’s finally come to a head.”

  “That’s right, Katie. But my sources tell me the problem really lies with sexy Sahara, Gear’s fiancée. Or is that ex-fiancée? The pair hasn’t been spotted out together in months.”

  On the television, the on-air hosts continued to gossip about the angry, bearded giant shoving cameras out of his face while he stormed to a tricked-out motorcycle—complete with a skull-painted body and ape-hanger bars—and roared away, leaving a chaotic mess on the set of yet another doomed reality show.

  Sadie Liberato watched Motorcycle Madnezz’s employees staring from the departing giant to a flustered couple. Probably B-Man and Sahara. B-Man sagged to the ground, his eye puffy, blood gushing from his nose, and sporting a split lip. Near him, the busty blond shrieked and cried and generally became histrionic as she blathered about true love and lawsuits. The screen then cut to a replay of the bearded giant smacking the crap out of B-Man. And all while the camera crews, the garage employees, and millions of Americans watched from their TVs.

  Talk about living a nightmare. Considering she’d only paused her channel surfing in hope of seeing some eye candy—and because there was nothing else on—Sadie had to admit the drama made a nice break from the boredom of watching men tinker with bikes. Meh. Motorcycles. Wrenches. Who cared?

  “Will this be the end of Motorcycle Madnezz? I can’t imagine my Thursdays without Gear and B-Man. What about keeping up with Sahara’s amazing style? What will we do? Unless Sahara’s mother returns for a much-welcomed cameo, giving the guys a chance to patch things up. Or Smoke and Chains take on Torch and Skid in a motorcycle showdown, like they did last year. Remember, Don?”

  “I do, Katie. We should—”

  Sadie muted the television and laid her head back on the couch. She had her feet propped up on the coffee table and her lanky frame sprawled on her ugly yet comfy sofa while she thought about how dull her life seemed compared to the craziness of the TV show…and how much she preferred it that way. A cheery commercial for Party City Halloween came on, and she groaned at the reminder, having procrastinated about getting her costume ever since her brother, Elliot, had forced her to accept a costume party invitation.

  So of course her brother chose that moment to reenter the living room. Elliot saw the ad, then turned to her, glaring. Any hope that he might cease nagging her about the stupid party vanished the moment he opened his big mouth.

  “The party is in three more days. Don’t make me dress you, Sadie. Because I can, and I will. So if you don’t want to go as a pasty Smurfette, a flying monkey, or a killer clown, I suggest you get a move on with the costuming.”

  “We have thirty-three more days until October 31st. Tell me again why I can’t skip this Halloween party when it’s not even Halloween.” Sadie glared at her younger brother. Though Elliot had a few inches on her, he hadn’t grown so tall that she couldn’t still maneuver him into a headlock. Thirty-one to her thirty-two, and still as annoying as he’d been as a toddler constantly stealing her Monopoly money.

  “First of all, anything that gets you out of those clothes”—he pointed at her sweats—“gets my vote. Second, you’re turning into the store hag. Limp hair, no sense of style, and you growl at all our customers. Growl…like a dog. And third, your clothes.”

  “You said clothes already,” Sadie growled. She tightened the band holding up her hair, which wasn’t limp, and then heard herself growling. He gave her a knowing look. She cleared her throat. “Well, you did.”

  She glanced down at her sweatpants and raggedy matching sweatshirt, then compared her state of dress to Elliot’s navy slacks and white button-down shirt. He had his dark hair slicked back, his square jaw cleanly shaven, and he smelled amazing. Some expensive cologne, no doubt a gift from his latest ex-boyfriend. Her brother, Prince No-Commit, held a matching suit jacket over one shoulder.

  “You look like a model in a GQ ad,” she complained.

  “Screw that. I look better than a model in a GQ ad. And speaking of models, my new friend, Pierre Gallant—only the hottest up-and-comer to score a Calvin Klein account—and I have a date tonight.” He grinned. “What do you think of this?” He posed some more, and Sadie shrugged, not surprised her brother had nabbed a supermodel. He’d done a little modeling himself right o
ut of high school, and for a few years he’d traveled the world.

  Unlike Sadie, the homebody of homebodies.

  “You look handsome.” What else was new? Her brother could wear a sack and look stellar. As luck would have it, he and their sister Rose had gotten their good looks from their parents. Hell, even their cousin Ava was a beauty queen. Sadie did average, even cute, passably well. She’d inherited her mother’s sharp tongue and her father’s height and muscle. A lot of good that did her outside the gym.

  Elliot smoothed down his shirt, plucking at a stray thread. “I know I look handsome. It’s an innate gift.” Without missing a beat, he added, “And it’s important you go Saturday night. A friend of a friend invited me—”

  “So you go.”

  “—to put a face with the outstanding food we’ll be providing. With the number of influential people and big-shot locals in attendance, we’re easily going to build more business. But I need you with me, talking up Sofa’s, not catering tables. That’s what I hired Theo, Gina, and Tory for. We cook it; they serve it; we mingle.”

  She frowned. “I thought Theo had left for boot camp already.” Theo Donnigan was a cute kid, twenty-one years old and full of excitement about his recent enlistment in the Marine Corps. Theo went through jobs the way Elliot went through boyfriends, so the Marines seemed like a final destination after a slew of quickie career choices.

  “It got postponed. He leaves right after Christmas.”

  “Elliot, I—”

  “Your ‘sad little life’ needs to change.” Elliot used air quotes around his favorite and often-used expression. Sadie had visions of dunking his fat head Saturday night. Please God, let there be apples, a barrel, and a lot of beer. “It’s embarrassing. You’re thirty-three years old.”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “You dress like Aunt Caroline.”

  Her aunt was an awesome woman but dressed as if refusing to let the eighties die.

  “I’m telling her you said that.”

  “Go ahead. She knows. My point is, you should be dating, enjoying life, laughing more. You mope around when not snarling at men…and you only meet them because they come into the shop. You do nothing but hang out at the gym all the time.”

  “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be fit. I don’t just hang around the gym, you moron. I work out. Secondly, I snarl at all our customers. I hate people. Oh, and you forgot about me scaring small children and kicking puppies in my spare time,” she added with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He shook his head. “Men suck. We all know that. We cheat, we lie, and you can’t trust us. But sometimes you get lucky. Look at Rose.” Their younger sister constantly smiled now that she and her husband were expecting. Then again, Rose had smiled all the time before that. “Joe is a hell of a guy, and he’ll make an even better father.” Elliot smirked at her. “Think about it. We’re going to help raise their kid. Do you want to be known as the lonely, kooky aunt? Or the sexy, handsome uncle?” At her look, he amended, “I mean, sexy, gorgeous aunt?”

  “You want your niece or nephew calling you sexy? Because, ew.” She tried to wind down the conversation, unmuting the television and stretching her arms. “Gee, it sure is getting late. Shouldn’t you be heading out with Mr. GQ?”

  Elliot opened his mouth to say something, then paused, his attention riveted to the television, which now showed an interview with the crying blond. “Now that’s just sad. Motorcycle Madnezz was one of my favorites.”

  Sadie watched as a reporter chatted up busty Sahara. B-Man stood next to her, looking like the walking wounded.

  “You like watching them build custom bikes? I didn’t know you were into mechanic stuff.”

  “I’m not. The MM guys are hot.” He waggled his brows.

  “How can you tell under all that bruising?”

  “Oh, B-Man’s not bad. And some of the mechanics have a tough kind of biker charm. But Gear is so sexy. He’s gruff and has no time for the cameras, and he’s intense. B-Man is the show’s charm. Sahara, the glam.” He sighed. “You should dress like that. She’s gorgeous.”

  “Are those even real?” Sadie asked, snarky as she stared at the woman’s large chest.

  “Who cares? She wears them well. She’s Gear’s fiancée. Or maybe ex, now that everyone’s breaking up. Damn it. I am so sorry I’m going to miss tonight’s episode.” He checked his watch and frowned.

  “See? Even TV personalities don’t last. Dating sucks. Men are assholes. And I’m done with all of you.” Seeing how happy her sister was, Sadie had given dating another shot a few weeks ago. Another chance to find her Mr. Right. But on her first and last date with the jerk, he’d conveniently left his wallet at home during their dinner out, tried to cop a feel that went nowhere fast, then left her to use a public restroom…and never returned. Good riddance, but still.

  “You might be done with us, but we’re not done with you.” Elliot leaned down and pinched her cheek, which he knew irritated the crap out of her. “I’m not kidding about going to the party, Sadie. Our business needs it, and I’ve had it with your attitude.” He paused, giving her the green-eyed glare of death. And yes, he’d named it. “You will go with me, you will be charming, and you will help us grow our customer base. If you want to be miserable, at least be rich and miserable.” He sniffed. “Or I’m telling Dad.”

  Hell. She did not want to deal with her father. Big Tony wanted his children happy. Straight, gay, single, or married, it didn’t matter to him how she lived her personal life. But screwing around with financial responsibilities, with business? That would not go over well. And she knew Elliot would spin things his way.

  “Fine. I’ll go. But I won’t like it.” Sadie tried one last excuse and in a whiny voice said, “The smart thing would be to have Rose go. She’s not that pregnant. Only six months, and she’s barely showing. She’s gorgeous, charming, fun.”

  “Everything you’re not.” Elliot ignored the finger she shot him. “But she’s a master at organizing, and we need her running the staff.”

  “Staff? Try two teenagers, an almost Marine, and our sister. That’s what you call staff? Man, talk about delusions of grandeur.”

  She could almost hear his teeth grinding and basked in the brief moment of victory.

  “My point, dear sister, is that you need to suck it up. Hell, have fun for once. Maybe you’ll find a guy you like.”

  Sadie grimaced. “You really have a way with words.” But he had a point. Maybe she should find a guy. Something physical might clear her mind and cheer her up. Hmm. Did she really want to take a turn on a hookup app? No, better to find someone anonymous at a party, get her goody on, and leave. At the thought, she grinned.

  “What’s that look?” Elliot frowned. “I don’t trust that smile.”

  “No problem. I’m just thinking I’ll take your advice.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m going to find myself a man at your party. Hell, maybe I can sell my born-again virginity to a billionaire investor who’s into baked goods and tall girls. He can take me to his dungeon and whip me while I seduce him into letting us name a cookie after him.”

  Elliot rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, Fifty Shades of Insanity. So long as you’re there Saturday and you’re charming. Or just not angry. Okay?”

  “Deal.”

  Elliot leaned close—to kiss her cheek goodbye, no doubt. For all that he annoyed her, he’d also do anything for her, and she loved the brat. She angled her cheek toward him.

  Then the rat bastard stole the remote and turned up the volume. “Oh my God. Look at what Gear did to B-Man’s face! That’s gonna leave a mark.” He shoved her back by her forehead while he held the remote up over his head.

  “Don’t you have someone to bone?” she said nastily, trying to push away his arm.

  “Oh, I can
be a few minutes late. Pierre won’t mind.” He shot her an amused glance. “But Sadie, if you plan on Shading your way to a billionaire, you really do need to do something about that hair.”

  * * *

  “Yo, suckfest. What about that one?”

  Harrison “Gear” Blackstone silently counted to ten before answering his younger brother. He noted his sister standing by a dress dummy, trying to pretend she wasn’t listening in on the conversation. Just an ordinary day at Fair of Dreams—costume shop to the stars, or so Iris liked to brag after having once dressed the local weatherman for a party.

  “I am not going as a gladiator,” Gear enunciated to his brother. “I don’t want everyone staring at my bare arm and asking about the Sahara tattoo I’m missing.” No, I’ll leave all the ass-kissing to Brian, that lying, cheating, fuckhead of a backstabbing—

  “I still don’t understand why Sahara wanted you to get a fake tattoo of her on your bicep,” his sister said. “Your other arm is full of them, but your bare arm looked stupid with her face on it. You know I’m right.”

  “Of course I know.”

  “The minute you showed it on camera, you were sunk. I mean, now you have to get a real one to show it was real all the time, or you’re just a poseur.” Iris blinked. “Er, well, you’re not a poseur. I mean, you don’t… Because she, um… You…” She coughed. “Brian… Ah…” Her voice trailed off as Gear stared at her.

  A moment of awkward silence filled the dressing room. Then Thor said, “So no to Spartac-ass?” He guffawed, holding up the costume with one short-as-fuck skirt. “Gear, you of all people could pull this off. The ass part, I mean.”

  “I’m sorry, Thorvald. Are you seriously trying to make fun of me?”

  His brother glowered. “It’s Thor, knuckle-dragger.”

  “You wish.” Gear laughed, cheered when Thor hung the outfit back on the rack, then moved to another one, muttering under his breath. So easy to get one over on his brother. Thor might not be as mighty in presence as a Norse god, but the guy had a brain like a computer. If anyone could figure out a way for Gear to escape the mess that had become of his life, Thor could. “Oh, come on. I’m kidding. It’s not like you haven’t heard that since birth.”