Troublemaker (New Orleans Bourdons Book 2) Read online

  TROUBLEMAKER

  New Orleans Bourdons #2

  Lisa B. Kamps

  TROUBLEMAKER

  Copyright © 2020 by Elizabeth Belbot Kamps

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

  The New Orleans Bourdons™ is a fictional semi-professional ice hockey team, its name and logo created for the sole use of the author and covered under protection of trademark.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any individual, place, business, or event is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  https://www.wickedsmartdesigns.com/

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other titles by this author

  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

  Epilogue

  HEARTBREAKER preorder

  About The Author

  Other titles by this author

  Other titles by this author:

  COVER SIX SECURITY

  Covered By A Kiss, A CSS Novella, Book 0

  The Protector: MAC, Book 1

  The Guardian: DARYL, Book 2

  The Defender: RYDER, Book 3

  The Warrior: DERRICK, Book 4

  The Rescuer: WOLF, Book 5

  The Savior: COLTER, Book 6

  The Hero: ROMAN, Book 7

  THE NEW ORLEANS BOURDONS

  Rule Breaker, Book 1

  Troublemaker, Book 2

  Heartbreaker, Book 3

  Risk Taker, Book 4

  THE YORK BOMBERS

  Playing The Game, Book 1

  Playing To Win, Book 2

  Playing For Keeps, Book 3

  Playing It Up, Book 4

  Playing It Safe, Book 5

  The York Bombers Boxed Set 1

  Books 1-3

  Playing For Love, Book 6

  Playing His Part, Book 7

  Playing It Cool, Book 8

  THE BALTIMORE BANNERS

  Crossing the Line, Book 1

  Game Over, Book 2

  Blue Ribbon Summer, Book 3

  Body Check, Book 4

  First Shot At Love, A Baltimore Banners Short Story

  Break Away, Book 5

  Playmaker, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  Delay of Game, Book 6

  Shoot Out, Book 7

  The Baltimore Banners: 1st Period Trilogy

  Books 1-3 Boxed set

  The Baltimore Banners: 2nd Period Trilogy

  Books 4-6 Boxed set

  On Thin Ice, Book 8

  Coach's Challenge, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  One-Timer, Book 9

  Face Off, Book 10

  Game Misconduct, Book 11

  Christmas Interference, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  Fighting To Score, Book 12

  Matching Penalties, Book 13

  THE CHESAPEAKE BLADES

  Winning Hard, Book 1

  Loving Hard, Book 2

  Playing Hard, Book 3

  FIREHOUSE FOURTEEN

  Once Burned, Book 1

  Playing With Fire, Book 2

  Breaking Protocol, Book 3

  Into the Flames, Book 4

  Second Alarm, Book 5

  Feel The Burn, Book 6

  Coming Soon

  STAND-ALONE TITLES

  Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories (anthology)

  Finding Dr. Right

  Time To Heal

  Dangerous Passion

  Dangerous Heat

  Illicit Affair

  Coming Soon

  Want to receive updates on my releases, preorders, and sales? Then follow me on BookBub.

  And be sure to sign up for my monthly newsletter, Kamps' Korner, for exciting news and sneak peeks! You don’t want to miss it!

  Can't wait for the newsletter? Want exclusive content before anyone else? How about fun, games, and giveaways? Then please join me and a great group of readers and fans at Kamps Korner on Facebook.

  Chapter One

  Dylan

  Having a woman in my bed was generally a good thing. It meant I either just had a lot of fun, or was getting ready to have a lot of fun. If I was lucky, it meant both. And if I was really lucky, it meant that fun was going to be extended for a really long time for both parties. I mean, if the lady wasn't having just as much fun as I was, I was seriously doing something wrong so I made it a point to make sure she was having fun.

  The problem was: I didn't know who this woman was. I'd never seen her before. And she sure as hell hadn't been in my bed when I left for practice this morning.

  The wedding dress was another problem. Hell, it might be an even bigger problem than not knowing who the woman was. Something about the sight of all that virginal white satin and lace made the skin on the back of my neck crawl.

  I dropped my duffle bag on the hardwood floor with a thud—a loud one—but the woman didn't even twitch. She was definitely alive—I could see the slow rise-and-fall of her chest beneath the hive-inducing satin and lace—so I at least had that much going for me. The only thing worse than finding a woman I didn't know or remember in my bed would be finding a dead one. That might complicate things a bit more.

  I stepped closer to the bed and cleared my throat. Loudly. Twice. The woman didn't move at all.

  Well shit.

  I thought about going over and kicking the bed, even moved closer to do just that, but stopped myself at the last second. This had to be a joke. I was being set-up. One of my teammates from the Bourdons had to be behind this. Luke maybe. Or Logan. Or maybe even Tristan. For all I knew, they could all be behind it. This was something I could see each one of them doing, pulling a joke to rub salt in the open wounds of my ego—especially since I'd complained about being on a losing streak ever since moving to New Orleans. Four fucking months and I was racking up a string of strikeouts like I'd never experienced before. My ego was beyond bruised.

  Well, not really. To be honest, I was more focused on my game on the ice instead of trying to get lucky. I'd made one mistake too many and being traded to the Bourdons was my wakeup call. If I stuck to my game plan and stayed out of trouble, I was hoping New Orleans would be nothing more than a small detour on my career path.

  That was the plan, anyway. My track record on following through with plans pretty much sucked but I refused to admit defeat. Not yet.


  Which had absolutely nothing to do with the woman currently in my bed.

  I bit back an oath then stomped toward the bed. Without putting much thought into it, I kicked the edge of the bed with my right foot.

  Not the smartest move I'd ever made. The loud "Hey!" I'd been ready to yell turned into a not-so-muffled oath as pain shot through my foot. The woman shot up in bed, her eyes wide with shock. I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the vivid green of those eyes before she screamed.

  I mean, screamed. Loud and piercing, with a shrill sharp enough to splinter glass.

  And my eardrums.

  "What the fuck!" I hopped away from the bed on one foot and covered both ears as the woman practically bounced across the mattress toward the headboard. I guess there was more material caught around her legs than she realized because instead of bouncing, she sort of tumbled and fell and hit her head against the headboard.

  Which pretty much proved my point about the dangers of all that virginal white satin and lace.

  "Ouch!" She placed one hand against the side of her head then glared at me through narrowed green eyes, like it was somehow my fault that she damn near gave herself a concussion. "Who the hell are you?"

  I gaped at her for two full seconds. It wasn't just the way she shifted gears from that scream of fright to her indignant demand, or her blunt language. It was the sound of her voice, all sleepy and husky and demanding and sexy as hell.

  Maybe I'd hit my head a little too hard against the ice when I face-planted earlier in practice. That was the only reason I could think of for finding her voice sexy.

  I took another step back and narrowed my own eyes. "Dylan. Who the hell are you?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I live here."

  "No, you don't."

  "Yeah, I do. Now who are you and what are you doing here?"

  "You don't live here." She freed her legs from the sea of satin and lace and slid off the bed. I swallowed back a low groan and told myself not to turn into a blithering idiot just because I happened to get a glimpse of sheer white stockings and a little peek of flesh when she lifted the skirt of her gown.

  Her wedding gown.

  Then her words sunk in and I glared at her again. "Yeah, lady, I do. And you've got five seconds to start talking before I call the cops."

  Doubt crept into her eyes as she tilted her head and stared at me. "Where's Cassie?"

  "Who?"

  "Cassie. She lives here."

  "No, she doesn't."

  "But she does. She gave me a key and said I could come by whenever I wanted."

  "Not to this apartment, she didn't."

  "But—"

  "Lady, nobody else has been living here for the last four months except for me."

  "But she said..." Her voice trailed off as a small frown creased her face. She shook her head and muttered something to herself, the words so low I couldn't make out any of them.

  "Listen, lady—"

  "Morgan."

  "What?"

  Those sparkling green eyes shot back to me and I didn't miss the flash of annoyance in their depths. "My name is Morgan, not lady."

  "I don't care what your name is, you need to leave."

  "But..." Her voice trailed off again, ending in a heavy sigh this time. Her chin tilted up an inch and those green eyes narrowed in defiance. I prepared myself for another confrontation when her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. I'll leave."

  "Good. I'll walk you to the door." And as soon as I closed that door behind her, I was going to call the damn management office and demand they change the locks.

  "Fine." The word was short and clipped and I fully expected her to stomp past me, maybe even shove her shoulder into me as she did. What I didn't expect was for her to turn around and point to the back of her dress. "Can you unbutton this first?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Unbutton it so I can change."

  "Um—"

  "I can't go back out dressed like this. I'll stand out too much and I don't want her to find me."

  "Who?"

  "My fiancé's mother. I mean, my ex-fiancé. We were supposed to get married today."

  "What?"

  She shifted and watched me over her shoulder, the same frown I noticed earlier back in place. "Are you hard of hearing or something?"

  "No, I heard you just fine. I just wasn't expecting to hear you say you were supposed to be getting married today."

  "Why else would I be dressed like this?"

  "It's almost Halloween. In New Orleans. Nothing I see surprises me anymore."

  "Hm. I guess." She turned back around and pointed once more to the buttons trailing the back of the gown. "Are you going to undo them so I can change or not?"

  I was more convinced than ever that this was a setup. It had to be. No way in hell did I believe she'd accidentally stumbled into my apartment. And I sure as hell didn't believe her when she said she was supposed to get married today. The guys were behind this, pulling some kind of prank. What that prank was, exactly, I had no idea.

  I almost told her to unbutton her gown herself. Almost. But for reasons I didn't quite understand, I moved closer and reached for the first tiny cloth-covered button and undid it. At least, I tried to. It was a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be. The next three were a little easier then I had trouble with buttons five and six.

  Maybe that's what the joke was. Maybe the guys had sent me a stripper and undoing her gown was part of the act. They didn't know me very well if they thought a virginal bride was my thing. I had allergies to anything remotely connected to brides or weddings.

  But whatever. I'd play along.

  "So you were supposed to get married, huh?"

  "Yes."

  "What happened? Did he jilt you or something?"

  "No." Her voice cracked the tiniest bit, just enough to make me pause on the next button.

  "Then what happened?"

  Her shoulders lifted when she took a deep breath then deflated when she exhaled. "I—I left him."

  "Is that so?"

  "Y-yes."

  "You just left him at the altar, huh?"

  "Uh-huh."

  Yeah, sure she did. I wasn't buying it for a second but I could still play along. "Then I guess you should go out to celebrate escaping a life sentence."

  She took another deep breath and muttered something unintelligible. I didn't bother to ask her to repeat it—I was only willing to go so far in playing whatever game the guys had cooked up. I undid several more buttons, just enough that she could manage the rest on her own, then stepped back.

  "There. You can get the rest."

  She reached behind her with one hand, her fingers grazing the smooth skin of her back—the same smooth skin I was trying my best to ignore. Instead of undoing the remaining buttons on her own, she spun around and looked at me.

  "Th-thank you."

  And oh shit. Were those tears in her eyes? No. No way in hell. It was just my imagination—or my worst nightmare come to life.

  Except it wasn't because she launched herself into my arms, buried her face against my chest, and started crying. I mean, really crying, with shaking shoulders and deep sobs that soaked my shirt and froze me in place.

  Well shit. Now what the hell was I supposed to do?

  Chapter Two

  Dylan

  "Wait. Just wait a sec." Tristan Holland, one of the Bourdons' wingers, drained his beer then slammed the mug down. He braced his arm on the table and leaned closer. "You just left her there? In your apartment."

  "Pretty much."

  "Are you really that fucking stupid? Ouch!" Tristan jerked back and glared at Jacqui, who met his glare with one of her own.

  "Language, cher." She exchanged a smile with Addy Landry then took a small sip of whatever fruity martini thing she was drinking before focusing her clear hazel eyes on me.

  I hadn't quite figured Jacqui out yet. She had jet black hair, wore a lot of dark makeup, and strutted
around in five-inch heels that made her more than a head taller than some of the guys on the team. She wasn't dainty, not by a long shot. She also wasn't helpless, something we had learned when she cold-cocked Nathan Shaw in one of the bars on Bourbon Street more than a month ago. I hadn't said as much but Nathan pretty much had it coming to him because he'd stood Addy up.

  Of course, none of us had realized Addy was the team owner's daughter at the time, not even Nathan. For reasons I still didn't understand, the potential disaster that could have led to was somehow averted. Probably a good thing, since Nathan and Addy were still very much together.

  "Tristan's language aside, cher, I have to agree with him. This is New Orleans. You don't just leave strangers in your apartment—especially not ones who broke into it in the first place."

  "She had a key."

  "And that makes it okay? Damn, Gleason, you need your head examined."

  Tristan was probably right but I wasn't going to admit it out loud. I took a long swallow of my own beer then brushed the back of my hand against my mouth. "She didn't have anywhere else to go."

  "And you believed her?"

  "She was in a wedding gown!"

  "So?"

  "I thought she was a stripper at first." Five sets of eyes stared at me. Tristan. Jacqui. Nathan and Addy. Luke Matthews. I yanked my gaze from the disbelieving stares and focused on the heavy mug cupped between my hands.

  "You thought she was a stripper so you let her stay? In your apartment? By herself?"

  Put that way, in Nathan's no-nonsense voice, made it sound even worse than it was. And I didn't let her stay because I thought she was a stripper at first. I let her stay because...

  "She was crying," I finally admitted, like that somehow made all the difference.

  "You've got to be kidding me."

  "When the hell did you become such a damn softie?"

  "Well I think it's sweet." I glanced over at Addy and was ready to thank her for being on my side but she kept talking. "Not exactly very smart, but still sweet."

  "Fine. It was a dumb ass move. But what the hell else should I have done?"

  "I don't know. Call the cops?"

  "She didn't break in, she had a key." She hadn't been lying about that because I made her show it to me and even checked myself. Sure enough, the key opened my door with no problem.