The Bad Boys of Santa Barbara

By Susan Hart

The Bad Boys of Santa Barbara, is a steamy romance thriller novel about the three sex-starved Segovia brothers who own a vast winery and Arabian horse-breeding ranch in Santa Barbara County, on the California Central Coast. Throw a gorgeous and sexually charged police forensics expert into the mix plus a sexually deviant and cruel lawyer who latches onto Henri the youngest, and things can get wound fairly tightly -- and they do.

The longtime ranch foreman is murdered and Javier starts to lose his stranglehold on his two brothers, and his own way of life. This romantic thriller has scenes of sex and wealth gone badly and life in the paradise that’s known as Santa Barbara.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329679191

Susan Hart

I was born in England, but have lived in Southern California for many years. I m now retired and live in the Pacific NW in a little seaside city amongst the giant redwoods and wonderful harbor, almost at the Oregon border. My husband and I have one cat, called Midnight and she is featured in two of my latest Sci-Fi short stories. I love Science Fiction, animals, and trying to help others. I publish under Doreen Milstead as well as my own name. My photo was taken right before the coronation of QE II in the UK.

Book preview

The Bad Boys of Santa Barbara

The Bad Boys of Santa Barbara

By

Susan Hart

Copyright 2015 Susan Hart

Synopsis: The Bad Boys of Santa Barbara, is a steamy romance thriller novel about the three sex-starved Segovia brothers who own a vast winery and Arabian horse-breeding ranch in Santa Barbara County, on the California Central Coast.  Throw a gorgeous and sexually charged police forensics expert into the mix plus a sexually deviant and cruel lawyer who latches onto Henri the youngest, and things can get wound fairly tightly -- and they do. 

The longtime ranch foreman is murdered and Javier starts to lose his stranglehold on his two brothers, and his own way of life. This erotic and romantic thriller has scenes of sex and wealth gone badly and life in the paradise that’s known as Santa Barbara.       

Chapter One

The Spaniard, if on foot, always travels as the crow flies, neither rivers nor the steepest mountains stop his course, he swims over the one and scales the other.

W. Kenrick - 1767

The Arabian stood majestically at the pinnacle of the hill, strong head held tight by the reins of his master, his high tail flowing black against his mahogany coat. The only competing sight to this prize stallion was the man who sat astride him in the hand-tooled saddle.

That man was Javier Segovia.

As Javier turned to his right to address the winery visitors behind him, the black leather of the saddle squeaked slightly, an offset to the soft whisper of a slight breeze that surrounded the party of six on horseback.

The group sat silently, reverently taking in the beautiful Santa Ynez Valley in central California that lay before them. At the rear of those broad shoulders of the master rose the silhouette of the huge family mansion, surrounded by stables so elegant they surpassed the houses of many of the visitors who were as in awe of the Stone River Estate, as they were of the Segovia brothers.

The broad wooden sign that hung over the Spanish-looking estate bore their name and the words Stone River; both a symbol of money that spoke of a certain arrogance and mystery that had surrounded the family since the day they planted their first imported grapevine.

One hundred houses where the caretakers and farm workers lived formed neat lines down the small paved road that trailed off from the main house. The farm workers, mostly new  migrant workers, lived in huts far from any interaction with the family or the more highly regarded caretakers. Javier didn’t mind charging these poor migrant workers rent for living in the secondary, jam packed accommodations either; he was greedy like that.

To their left was the winery, a multimillion dollar producer of the region’s most well-known and expensive wines that would lade the tables of the rich and famous around the world. Thousands of acres of full grape trellises grew on the thousands of acres below them; the many hues of the grapes painted a rainbow across the undulating landscape.

On their far right were the Arabian horses, hundreds of them, prize possessions of the Segovia family, bred only for the crusty elite that could afford them. Just the massiveness of the estate boggled the mind.

Our land stretches as far as your eyes can see, Javier said in his melodious voice, spreading his hand out to his right side as if he were a lord, his embedded arrogance only slightly withheld. "As the crow flies, it covers thousands of acres. This is perfect soil for growing the best grapes for all our premium wines.

We have a very successful business here at Stone River. There is money to be made with wine. As he spoke, Javier’s chest swelled with pride, one of the many marks that made this man.

It was obvious the visitors were impressed, but not nearly as much as Javier himself, with his deep blue eyes narrowing as if to lend meaning to his words. "Our family has owned all of this for over a hundred years. Today, my two brothers and I carry on the winemaking tradition of our ancestors.

The Arabian horses have been part of our business for the last several years, a pet project of my brother. This, ladies and gentlemen, is our heritage, and it will be our legacy."

The visitors were silent for a few minutes, each of them letting the privilege of even being on this vast estate soak in. Who manages the daily operation? one visitor asked.

I do, Javier replied. My brothers help, but I have the final say-so about everything. Again, the chest moved outward as the handsome man swelled with self-serving pride. The horse turned as his reins were pulled to the right. Let’s go back down to the Stonehouse Room. You must taste the fruits of our labor.

The disciplined horse moved past the other riders, taking the lead down the hillside trail, his perfectly gaited walk depicting the training of the Horse Master and the expectations of his rider.

Inside the Stonehouse lobby, Javier faced the small group, his riding crop tucked underneath his arm; a man full of himself. "I’ll leave the tour of the winery to our vintner, Emile, a master oenologist who joined us from France about fifteen years ago. Emile will first show you where and how our five brands of nipple wines are made.

From there, you’ll tour the facility where our widely recognized Crémant, our award winning sparkling wine, is made. As some of you might know, we have many such premium wines, but the flagship of Stone River is the Crémant. When you return here to the Stonehouse, my brother and I will join you for the wine tasting. Enjoy the tour.

When the group was filing from the room behind Emile, Javier’s eyes rested on the tight ass of a young, thin, perfectly shaped blonde. As if she felt his eyes, she turned back to face him, smiling slightly as she pulled her broad-rimmed garden hat a little downward on her forehead.

She seemed enthralled by the tall, broad shouldered specimen that had ridden in front of her from the crest of the hill. His tight ass moving side-to-side in the saddle in perfect rhythm with the horse tore at her imagination and warmed the sweet space between her legs, just as his piercing stare did now.

Javier casually moved his hand down to the front of his tight pants, rubbing himself, sending a message to the girl. He loved to fuck women and they loved to fuck him. He would take this piece of ass quickly if only she would stay behind, but she followed the group out the side door, leaving him alone in the massive lobby.

Find them, fuck them and forget them; that had always been his motto. No strings attached, no obligation…Javier liked it that way, because he had no intention of sharing his colossal wealth with a woman when he could freely help himself to any of them he wanted.

Emile was truly a master at his craft. Not only was he proud of the wine that rolled out from there in trucks loaded with cases of the delicate liquid, he was also proud of winemaking knowledge. His expertise was greatly admired; the novices clung to his every word as they moved from the massive crushing machines through the facility to the bottling operation.

He wasn’t an egotistical breed, just empowered. There were already enough egos living at Stone River; he could add nothing to the lot. Since his arrival there, Emile had dodged being brutalized by Javier the way the farm workers were treated, especially the women. If you worked there, you belonged to Javier, but Emile had managed to run under the wire because Javier needed him.

Without Emile, the wine business would suffer. The lord of the castle was aware of this need, too; Emile was only the second person at Stone River that Javier avoided crossing.

How was the tour? Henri asked, strolling into the Stonehouse lobby where Javier sat sipping a glass of the best rose made at Stone River Winery. Were they impressed enough? he asked his oldest brother while joining him at the small table.

Aren’t they always? Javier answered, not looking at his brother. How could they not be? Most of them salivate at the luxury they find here. That’s why I like to take them up the hill to the crest, just so they see how much land we own, and yes, how rich we are. Makes my heart sing. They will never have what we have. I see that as a victory of sorts.

Your arrogance is a shameful disgrace, Javier, Henri said seriously. You only care about what people think of our wealth!

So what? Javier replied. So what? If you’ve got it, flaunt it! Got a good looking piece of ass in that group, too.

Can’t you see a woman with some respect occasionally? You only see them as objects. Someday, my brother, you’ll really need a woman for something besides a roll in the hay. Wait and see.

Javier laughed aloud. "Oh, listen to the experienced one! I guess you’re basing that opinion on your own many successes at love, huh? Let me see. Was it that one date in high school when our mother asked the girl to go out with you? Perhaps the other one who lasted for a total of one movie? Maybe it was the one that you took on horseback to the back acreage for a picnic.

"Hmmm…so many dates you’ve had. Hard to tell where all your experience feeds into your advice on love, my little brother. He swiped his tanned hand across the top of Henri’s head, while he put emphasis on the word little." It was a move he had adopted in early childhood; a move Henri considered an insult.

Automatically, Henri’s hand rose to deflect the blow; as usual, he was too late. You’re an ass! he said to the larger man, his face flushing. A total ass! Henri rose from the table and moved to hold the door as Emile returned with his group.

Now, my friends, Emile said in his thick French accent. You will be treated to the day’s finale. Come into the tasting room and sample what you’ve just seen produced. The group followed him into the well-appointed, plush room furnished with high quality sofas and tables, which were probably better than what most of the visitors had in their homes.

Stone walls in the tasting room provided a perfect backdrop to massive paintings and a perfect location for the long copper-topped bar that filled an entire corner. Huge glass curios lined the walls between the paintings, full of awards and trophies the Stone River Winery had received over its many years of perfect wine production.

The group settled into the overstuffed chairs and sofas, as uniformed servers brought around the first sample of wine. The two Segovia brothers followed the group in; Javier finding his way to the side of the flirty blonde; Henri standing apart from the group.

The server held out her tray to Javier; he picked up two crystal glasses half filled with merlot. Offering one to the blonde, he sensually said, Want to take this with me on the terrace? She smiled, took the glass and turned back to Emile’s soft voice.

Javier stepped closer to her, breathing onto the back of her head, his tall, muscular body rising above her petite frame. One inch closer and his cock would have rubbed her ass. This is a fairly boring speech, he whispered through half-closed lips. I can show you something more interesting.

As you taste the fine merlot you are being served, let me tell you about this room you’re in, Emile began, "and then we’ll talk about the wine. The stones for the walls come from Italy, brought over by the original Segovia settlers in 1902. It is called azul valverde, a form of limestone from the distant mountains of Portugal, but it has been perfected by Italian artisans.

The Segovia mansion beyond the Stonehouse was first erected as the humble abode for the immigrants in 1898. Years later, when the main house had reached the size it now is, the Segovia’s wanted to complete the estate with this massive and welcoming tasting room. The artwork surrounding us is painted by two members of the family, one of whom is here today, Henri."

Emile stretched his arm outward to indicate Henri standing to his right. Henri bowed slightly when the group sounded a light applause, his face turning a light pink.

Is that your brother? the blonde asked, leaning slightly backwards into Javier.

"Yes, my little, meaning too small, brother, he whispered. He is eccentric as hell." Javier loved to point out Henri’s small stature as if it promoted his own superiority.

She moved from in front of Javier and strode around the room to join Henri. You’re quite the artist, she whispered to him.

Thank you, Henri whispered back. He glanced toward Javier, smiling as the glare coming from those blue eyes focused on him. Little victories were monumental to Henri.

I’m also an artist, the blonde continued, unfettered by his slight size. Maybe we can talk art after this.

I’d like that, he replied.

As for the wine you’re having, Emile continued, "it’s a merlot. We are very proud of the quality of our merlot, because it requires delicate and precise winemaking. The grapes are sensitive and ripen quickly.

In fact, we only have four days in which to harvest them before they become overripe and useless for making a premium wine. This service, Emile said, holding his glass forward, is five years old. It is premium vintage. What do you think?"

The group complimented the taste and color. Javier thought to himself, Ignorance is bliss; they don’t know a good wine from a bad one. The wine they are drinking is a lot that we can’t even sell to our most high-class customer, so we give it away here just to dispose of it.

As Emile continued with his presentation of two more wines, the blonde leaned over to Henri. I’m Amelia, she offered.

I’m Henri, he answered shyly. After a few minutes when Amelia had finished her second glass of wine, he nervously asked. Would you like to see some more of my work?

I’d love to! she answered, smiling broadly. It’s always good to see original artwork, especially when the artist is showing it personally.

Henri blushed. Come with me. As they left the tasting room, Henri purposefully looked at his brother. Javier pointed his finger at Henri, mouthing No. Henri smiled and continued out the door. Others in the room, had they looked, would have seen the heat rise in Javier’s face. He hated his brother, the little wimp!

Emile completed the wine service and led the group into the store adjoining the tasting room. He and Javier counseled individuals about which wines to buy, upselling each of them as much as they could. Despite the family’s vast wealth, Javier always enjoyed this part of the estate tours; humiliating the visitors into buying his wines gave him a feeling of superiority, something he naturally possessed but was easily inflated by people like these who knew little about wine.

It was a very profitable way to dispose of wines they didn’t want to sell to the expensive restaurants and elite clientele who bought directly from Stone River.

As the last of the people left the store, Javier stepped outside to watch them board the Stone River shuttle that would transport them back to the meeting place where it had picked them up three hours earlier. His eyes watched the swaggering asses of the women, most of them older, but all of them with that sweet stuff between their legs that he so coveted.

Javier came into the house through the side door on the wide veranda that surrounded the house. He could hear Henri and the girl moving along the marble floor of the hall where hundreds of paintings hung.

This group is the oldest collection, Henri was saying. It is a picture diary of this house that my grandfather built. This first one is when they had just begun the building of it. Follow these little paintings that way, he said, pointing to the right, and you can see it progress until done.

Amelia stepped a little to the right, steadily gazing at the pen and ink drawings, admiring the detail in each picture. When she came to the last one that hung neatly against the doorframe of a large room, she caught her breath, surprised at the sight of Javier standing just inside the doorway.

He reached for her arm, but she quickly stepped backwards away from him. What? Henri asking, noticing her sudden recoil. He moved past her just in time to see Javier crossing the room toward a leather wingback chair. Did you want something? Henri bravely asked his brother in the most manly tone he could muster.

Javier only smiled and raised his eyebrows in response.

Henri took Amelia by the arm and led her out of the hallway