Daddy's Rules (Boston Daddies, Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Want To Be In The Know?

  Jax

  Ty

  Daddy’s Rules

  Landon Rockwell

  Contents

  Copyright

  Want To Be In The Know?

  1. Jax

  2. Ty

  3. Jax

  4. Ty

  5. Jax

  Copyright © 2017 by Landon Rockwell

  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, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Want To Be In The Know?

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  Jax

  I’m going to do it to him.

  He’s a total stranger, and that’s the way I like it.

  I watch from the opposite end of the long, dark corridor as a man holding three or four shopping bags ducks into the upscale pizzeria bathroom.

  Definitely a tourist. Real people, normal people who actually live here, don’t actually shop in this district, and for good reason considering the price tags.

  I follow him into the bathroom and immediately spot the bags on the floor, resting up against the wall, several feet from where this guy is pissing with his back turned to me.

  From this distance, the guy clearly looks physically imposing, to say the least. Thick, bulging arms, and legs like big tree trunks pressing through his jeans. And tall.

  I want to see his face. I can already tell he’s fucking hot.

  In a different situation, I might try to start a conversation, smile, flirt. Get his attention.

  But I’m not here to find a date, I’m here to steal.

  Damn, closer up this guy is way more imposing than I’d initially thought. The muscles in his back stretch through the untucked white button-down shirt that he’s wearing. One of his muscular forearms dangles to his side, crisp tattoos running down the length of his arm. And on his wrist, I can’t help but notice a very expensive looking gold watch.

  And then I notice his hands.

  What a turn-on.

  Big, strong hands that I can somehow imagine touching my body in all the right places...

  I snap out of my trance. Shit, I’ve been standing here way too long already. The mark is going to get suspicious if I’m not careful. I need to move.

  Move fast.

  Suddenly, I dart forward, snatch the bags, and then run like hell without looking back.

  I bolt out of the restroom, down the corridor and toward the back alley of the restaurant. As I exit into the alley, I give a quick backward glance and see that nobody’s behind me.

  I let out a deep, shaky breath, knowing I made it.

  And that relief is instantly followed by a wave of guilt.

  You did it again, Jax. You’re a fucking thief.

  Scumbag.

  Criminal.

  I keep walking forward, trying to calm my nerves. I told myself I wasn’t going to do this anymore, wasn’t going to steal.

  But I can’t seem to stop. It’s the only thing I’m really any good at...

  I open the bag and pull out a black velvet jewelry box. I open the box and swallow hard at what I see, a diamond-studded pin that reads #1 Grandma on it.

  This was definitely not what I expected. Another wave of guilt floods me.

  I turn to leave but run right into a hard, thick body. Before I can run the other way or even scream, I’m pinned against the brick building behind me. I look down at the wrist and the gold watch that adorns that wrist.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You stealing my shit?” he says, his voice low and steady.

  I look up and my breath catches in my chest. I can’t believe my eyes. The man pinning me up against a brick wall is Ty Cannon. I have posters of this man on my walls. Or at least I did, back in my old bedroom.

  I’ve seen all of his movies. Even the shitty ones that the critics hated.

  I think last year he was the highest paid actor in all of Hollywood.

  And now this same man has my neck pinned against the wall with one hand, his dark, gorgeous eyes staring at me with cold fury.

  “Jesus man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you-”

  He smirks and shakes his head. “So you would’ve stolen someone else’s shit, and somehow that makes it better?”

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I'm sorry. I totally messed up.”

  He raises an eye. “Messed up? That’s all you got? I try and take a piss and then you come along and steal my shit. That’s not messing up, that’s called being a fucking loser.”

  My gut tightens. I want to cry.

  But I won’t.

  Not in front of him, a total stranger who suddenly thinks he knows me.

  But part of me thinks, maybe he does know me.

  And of course, I still can’t move. This whole thing would be a lot easier if he’d just loosen his grasp for a second or two. “I said I was sorry. I thought you’d still find a way to survive without a third Rolex.”

  “Oh, really? You know what I need to survive?” he says.

  I swallow hard. “I guess not.” I look down at his hand pressing into my chest.

  “You want out?” he asks.

  I nod. Although I’m not really sure what I want. I know I want to smell more of his spicy cologne, and that I’d like to taste even just the tip of his tongue. But I also can’t stand being held hostage, regardless of who my captor is.

  “What do you want from me?” I say.

  He chuckles. “You think I want something from you?”

  “Kind of, yeah. Most people would’ve simply called the cops by now.”

  “That was your second mistake,” he says. His eyes dart towards my chest. “Son, I am nothing like most people.”

  Son.

  Something about hearing him say that word gives me butterflies in my stomach. Imagine what it would be like to have Ty Cannon as your dad. Taking care of you in every way...

  “But then again,” he says, his nostrils flaring, “maybe I should call the cops on you.”

  “Please, don’t do that. Take your stuff back, I’m so sorry. I really am.”

  Cannon grins and holds up the bag that I stole from him. “I already have it back.” He crinkles his nose. Somehow he just got even sexier. “So now I don’t know what to do with you. I could turn you in.” He rubs his chin as he thinks.

  I rest my head back against the wall behind me, surrendering to the fact that I can’t leave until he lets me.

  If he lets me.

  “Please, I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” I tell him.

  “What could you possibly do for me?” he asks, pressing my body into the wall even harder.

  Something about the way he looks at me, the way he’s grabbing me...I know that Ty Cannon is straight. He’s always been dating hot models and beautiful actresses... but then again, he is still single.

  Never been married.

  No kids.

  And I swear to god, he’s looking at me like he wants to fuck me.

  He pulls out his phone and uses his thumb to call someone.

  Cannon holds his phone up to his ear, the vein in his massive bicep staring me down as I hold still. Or as Cannon himself holds me still. “Cancel my noon appointment with Reese Davenport. That can wait.” He stops and looks right at me. I fight back the need to swallow. “Something came up,” he says i
nto his phone before hanging up.

  He looks at me and presses his lips into a hard, straight line. I can't tell if he's disgusted with me or wants to have sex with me. Finally, he releases my shoulders and takes a step back. "Let's move, you're coming with me."

  "Are you out of your mind? I'm not going anywhere." I fold my arms in front of my chest and lean into the building.

  "Is that true?" he says, holding the bags that I once tried to steal from him.

  My eyes dart between the bags and Ty Cannon. I don't know what he wants from me, but I don't feel like I have much of a choice after my actions. "What is it that you want from me? Just come out and say it already."

  He drops the bags. "That would be too easy, now wouldn't it? I have some thoughts. There might be a way to rectify the situation. But no guarantees." He gives a nod toward the shopping bags. "I'm losing patience. Pick them up and let's go."

  Cannon starts to walk away and I realize that technically I can refuse to listen to this gorgeous maniac and pay the price, maybe for the rest of my life… Or I can do exactly what he tells me, and possibly screw my life up even more.

  Fuck. I grab the bags and follow after him, catching up to him just before he hits the main street. "Just act natural, like we're friends," he says, the two of us turning the corner and starting out down one of the busiest streets in Boston. "It's only two blocks to the parking garage. You blow this, and I blow the whistle on you."

  Something about the way you use the word blow twice in one sentence has my stomach doing cartwheels, even though I should feel nothing but a compulsive urge to escape right now. Where is he taking me? Just because he's a movie star, that doesn't mean he can't hurt me. but somehow I feel that him hurting me would be easier than whatever he's got planned for me. He seems to get off on holding me accountable for my actions, on making things as hard as possible.

  In just two blocks of walking, we must've had our picture taken a dozen times. If I'm being honest with myself, even pretending to be in the limelight feels amazing. Almost addicting.

  Ty's shiny black Escalade is parked VIP style, facing forward and stationed right near the exit. We get in and the action hero wastes no time pulling out and blazing through the busy city streets until we reach his hotel.

  "Give me your phone," he says.

  My brows snap together. "Now," he says. "Get the bags out of the trunk. I'd rather not get robbed twice in one day." I let out a deep breath and do what he says. I grab the bags from his trunk and wait for him to get out of the driver's side.

  "Here, I put my contact information in just in case we get lost," he says as he hands me my phone back. "We need to enter the hotel separately. For the purposes of our little arrangement here, tell the concierge that your name is Steve Winslow. I'll make sure your name is on the list. Or, Steve's name," he says with a sarcastic wink.

  "This is getting weirder and weirder. I stole some jewelry. Last time I checked that wouldn't get me death row."

  "That bling was worth over fifty thousand dollars. I guess you're right though, the death penalty seems a bit much. But grand larceny, with my lawyer prosecuting… I don't know, I wouldn't want to be you."

  Ugh. He's right, again. "What do you mean by our little arrangement? And who is Steve Winslow?" I say.

  He checks his watch, the gold Rolex. "I went to high school with him... it's just an alias."

  Ty presses the button on his key remote and locks his SUV. "I'll head up first. Wait five minutes, then check in with the concierge for my suite information. Oh, and give me those," he says, looking down at the shopping bags in my hands.

  ”This is the craziest thing I've ever done," I say, handing him the shopping bags.

  He grabs all three bags with one finger. "You have so much to learn, boy." He checks his watch one last time and says, "Five minutes.”

  He turns to leave and I immediately check my phone. It’s 3:04, and I don’t want to screw this part up. I’m so adamant about getting this right, that I forget how crazy this whole situation is. Where am I going? Is this really happening? I'm meeting Ty Cannon up in his hotel suite…

  It’s all too much for my mind to digest, so I get back to the basics. In five minutes, I will go up to his room, and I'll figure out a way to make a deal with him. I’ll be a good citizen for the first time in a long time. Whatever it takes... maybe an extra apology here or there, or I might need to take a verbal beating, that should be it…

  But something is making me think that I might be underestimating Ty Cannon's definition of payback. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, the way he undressed me with his eyes, the way his intense gaze said nothing short of I want to do so many bad, bad things with your body, boy.

  It's 3:09, and I make my way to the concierge of the Royal Park Plaza Hotel, by far the premier place to stay in Boston. I let the concierge know who I am, Steve Winslow of course. He instantly treats me like royalty given who's guest I am, even comes out from behind the counter and escorts me to the elevator himself.

  I take the elevator to the top floor, and as the doors open, a new world opens with it. There’s a red carpeted hallway with gold wall papered walls, all leading to a single door at the end of the hall.

  My stomach starts to flutter. Maybe having a criminal record would actually be better than dealing with this anxiety.

  No, that’s just fear talking.

  I take a deep breath and pray as I walk quietly down the hallway, as though somehow my stealth-like footsteps are going to buy me the time that I need to calm down.

  I knock on the door and Ty answers almost instantly. He checks his watch. “Nice work. Any problems with the concierge?”

  I stare blankly at him for a minute as I try to process what's about to happen.

  He’s more than just a Hollywood superstar to me and everyone who grew up here. He’s an absolute legend in Boston. I’ve even been to the same multifamily he grew up in which is now basically a museum for all things Ty Cannon.

  Ty snaps his fingers, breaking me from my trance. “Yes, it’s real, boy. And it’s about to get more real. Come in,” he says. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Between Ty himself, and the inside of this suite, I'm speechless. I look around, my mouth literally gaped open as I take it all in. Sweeping panoramic views of Boston, a white grand piano off on a raised stage in the corner, large, white pillars that lead to thirty-foot ceilings.

  “This is what hard work gets you,” he says, breaking my trance a second time in less than a minute.

  I come to my senses. “Sure, hard work, perfect timing, and a few genetic gifts will get you all of this. But for the rest of us-”

  “And every time you tell yourself that, a little part of you dies.”

  I turn and look towards some artwork on the wall, ignoring his last comment. In part, because I know he's right. But also because he’s Ty Cannon, and I should probably watch what I say around him for that reason alone. Besides, it's hard to argue against a man who rose up from the rough streets of Boston to become who he is.

  I raise a brow at one of the paintings. "Please tell me this isn't a real Picasso in your hotel room."

  "I'm guessing it is. You familiar with his work?" he says.

  I look around the suite and suddenly realize that there are two more Picasso works in his hotel room. "Isn't everybody? It's Picasso. He’s the only artist I know who can make a grown man feel something real all because of the way he stroked his brush."

  Ty’s eyes flicker, and his lips smirk. I can't tell if he's impressed, or he just got a rise out of me by talking about stroking. He shakes his head as though he's coming out of his own trance now. "Yeah well, I never even noticed those paintings. A close friend of mine, she insisted that my hotel room have a bit of a sophistication for my Vanity Fair interview."

  My gut locks up, as stupid as that seems. "Well tell your friend she has good taste," I say nonchalantly, wondering who she is. No question, this man is straight...

  Or is he?
/>   Every time I read about him online or on the news or wherever, he's almost never seen alone, without some gorgeous, flawless supermodel draped across his arm.

  So yes, he has to be straight.

  He laughs. "It's easy to have good taste when you have my credit card backing your choices. Trust me, one day with my credit card and you'd have no problem choosing all of the finest things that life has to offer. It's not that hard to pick out nice shit."

  I look around at his hotel suite. I'm still in awe. "You don't get into nice things?" I say.

  He steps towards me and looks my entire body over. His eyes are serious, and I can't help but feel like he's checking me out again even though I know that just doesn't fit with who he is. "I love nice things. Especially nice things that come in beautiful packages."

  I stuff my hands in my pockets as he stares me down. I shrug my shoulders and say, "And why no entourage? Don't you think that's a little bit dangerous? I mean, you're-"

  "I know who I am. And yeah, I get the danger factor, I guess maybe I feed off that thrill. Seems like maybe we have that in common. You seem like a smart guy, what the hell would make you run around stealing shit from people? Don't tell me you don't have a choice."

  Definitely not my conversation topic of choice. My life has spiraled out of control recently. Taking the easy route when I should be seeking a job. "I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm just being me, and you’re you. Are you telling me you're not afraid of anything?"

  He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, completely ignoring my question. Ty keys something into his phone; a silver printer off in the distance spits out a piece of paper.

  "Read that," he says.

  I grab the piece of paper out of the printer. "I don't understand,” I say holding the piece of paper up for an explanation.

  Ty levels me with an intense glare. “To answer your previous question, there is one thing I'm afraid of. It's having someone like you cause unnecessary trouble in my life. I worked too hard for that sort of thing. I need you to sign that paper so we can cut right to the chase."