British Bad Boys: Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Blake—”

  “Since when does he get to march in here and act like he owns you?” He paced around, his movements swift and sharp, as if he were holding in banked anger.

  I stiffened. “You’re the one acting possessive. He’s a good guy. In fact, you outright lied about him at the party. Care to explain that?”

  His eyes widened. “I was desperate. I don’t want you with him, okay? It’s just—I told you how I feel, and you haven’t said a word about it. You just keep going about your day, not wanting to accept that our relationship is changing. I can’t just be your friend anymore and see you screw around with other guys.”

  I shook my head. “You’re my friend. I need you.” I only had two in the whole world.

  He exhaled. “Just give us a chance. We’ll take it slow, I promise. No crazy stuff.” His hand reached out to touch my cheek, soft and easy as if I were a skittish animal he wanted to tame. “I won’t ever pressure you or push you to do anything you don’t want to do, I promise.”

  And the thing was, there was a tiny bit of something in my heart for him. A spark of whatever we’d had in prep school still lingering. But being with Blake meant commitment.

  I—I just couldn’t do it.

  “Everything okay back here?” Rick’s voice cut through the tension. “You need some help, Elizabeth?”

  I cleared my throat and stepped back around Blake. “No, it’s good. Coming out to mop soon.”

  Blake reached out to clasp my hand. “Wait, Elizabeth. I’m not the only one with feelings here. Talk to me.”

  I sighed, changing gears. Anything to get away from this topic. “Look, I have a lot on my mind right now. There’s something I haven’t told you. Colby—he came to see me the night before the semester started. He—he’s enrolled here now. I haven’t seen him since, but I’m going to. I just know it. He’s not going away.” I heard the fear in my voice and cringed.

  He gathered me in his arms. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?”

  I leaned my head on his shoulder. “There’s nothing to be done. It’s something I’m going to have to deal with, and I really need you here beside me. I can’t do it without you.”

  He let out a long breath and kissed my forehead. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

  18

  Later we left the bookstore and headed out to the parking lot, where Declan took the top and sides off his Jeep. We’d decided to leave my car there and have him bring me back later from wherever we were going.

  I got in on the passenger side and buckled up. “Want to tell me what that was all about in there? We never made plans.”

  He smirked. “What? You’ve wanted me to ask you out since the moment you saw me at the frat house.”

  “You mean when you wouldn’t even dance with me?” I snapped.

  He tossed his head back and laughed. “You’re a little spitfire. And I did dance with you on your balcony, remember?”

  Fine.

  He put on his Ray-Bans and grinned. “Don’t like surprises, I take it?”

  “No. Just tell me,” I groaned.

  He nodded. “Okay. We’re headed to an intervention.”

  That didn’t sound fun at all. “For what?”

  His gray eyes caressed my face when we stopped at a light. “I promise, you’ll like it.”

  Oh shit. Lightning strikes went straight to my core.

  We hit the open road and the wind made my hair crazy. It was exhilarating, but I yelled as I tried to wrestle my hair and hold it back. I needed a ponytail holder.

  He reached over and opened the glove box and pointed at a pile of hair bands.

  It scared me that he read my mind, but I shot him a sour look as I selected a black one. “Nadia’s?”

  He shrugged in that effortless way of his I’d come to recognize. Noncommittal. Mysterious as hell.

  I glared at him.

  But my anger only made him grin. “Jealous?” he asked.

  “Yes,” came out before I could stop it.

  He shot me a surprised look and then turned quickly back to the road, but he kept sending me little glances as he drove, his eyes roaming my face.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said softly. Simple words. Heavy weight. “There’s no reason for you to be jealous of her. You’re everything she isn’t, and I like it. A lot.”

  When I watch romantic movies or read a book, there comes a point in the story where the two love interests are perfectly synced. He looks at her and his eyes soften. She looks at him and realizes he’s the best thing since sliced bread. Kinda like when Elizabeth looks past Darcy’s awful marriage proposal and sees the real man underneath the rich veneer. Or when Romeo first sees Juliet at the party and knows life will never be the same.

  It happened for me just as the wind caught his dark hair and ruffled it, and in that tiny millisecond, the carefree way he smiled, the way he held the steering wheel with strong hands, the way he sent me a little searching glance as if gauging my reaction—it was enough to make me second guess everything.

  But then I told myself to get my head back on straight.

  He was a fighter for goodness’ sake.

  He was wrong for me.

  Anyone was, really.

  Because my heart was locked up tight, the key buried deep in my soul. And no one, not even Declan Blay, could pick that lock.

  19

  We barreled down the highway and she gave me the oddest look when I told her she was beautiful.

  “What?” I asked.

  She shook her head as if to clear it. “You know this isn’t a date-date, right?”

  I shrugged. “I just got out of a shitty relationship myself.”

  “I don’t mean friends with benefits either,” she said.

  “Did I ask you for sex, Elizabeth? Have I made a move on you?” My voice had tightened.

  A soft “No” reached my ears.

  “Right. I have plenty of girls willing to shag me. I don’t need to go begging.”

  She licked pink lips, and I found my eyes lingering there, imagining my cock sliding in …

  “Will you stop staring at me and watch where you’re driving?” she said sharply.

  I couldn’t stop the grin on my face. She made me happy, and I didn’t even know why. Maybe it was the way she’d looked when I’d walked up to her at the bookstore—blushing like a schoolgirl, yet with a wicked gleam in her eyes that went straight to my dick. Maybe it was the way she filled out that T-shirt.

  But, maybe it was more. Deeper. I sensed a kindred spirit in her, a loner who ached to find someone to love for real. Like me.

  Just one glance from her and I wanted to kiss her and make her mine. People laugh when you talk about one look at someone and you’re in love, and I’m not saying that’s what this was, but damn, something weird was at work here and it had me scratching my head. Was it because she was so wrong for me that I wanted her even more? Yeah. Fuck. Elizabeth Bennett had her pretty little claws in me, and God help me, I wanted her to dig them in deeper.

  I pulled the Jeep into the carpark of the Front Street Gym, although she wouldn’t know that since the signage hadn’t been hung yet. The work crew had left for the day, so it was quiet as I hopped out and looped around to help her climb down.

  She stepped down on the pavement and looked around, wary eyes taking in the two story building. “What’s this place?”

  I grinned. “It’s my new gym.”

  “How can you afford all this?”

  I shrugged. “I used the inheritance from my mum to buy the place, and my fighting money helps with the remodeling.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

  “Did you think I fought for fun?”

  She licked her lips. “I—I don’t like fighting.”

  I sighed. Whatever.

  We stepped inside the dark foyer, the smell of sweat and rubber mats piercing my senses like a balm of cool wind on a hot day. We were both quiet as I flicked on the lights and watched her ta
ke in the wide space, imagining how she’d see it through her eyes. It was old and musty and most of the workout equipment hadn’t been updated, but the boxing rings were new.

  She stared at the posters in the hallway. I pointed at one of Max with his gloves in the air as the ref put on his championship belt during a mixed martial arts championship. “That’s Max. He’s my personal trainer, and he’ll be one of my trainers here when I open this place in a few months. We’ve been friends for a while.”

  Her eyes searched mine. “You really love this place.”

  “Yeah. If it wasn’t for this gym—for training—I’d be, I don’t know, crazy? Pissed off all the time, for sure. It gives me focus.”

  She chewed on her lip, unease on her face.

  I ignored it. “Ready for your surprise?”

  She sent me a nervous look. “Yeah.”

  “Come on, then. Let me show you something.” I took her hand and led her over to one of the red sparring mats. “I can’t help but notice how wary you are with certain people, and I think you might be more confident if you really knew how to defend yourself. You need to know more than just how to make a fist. You need to know how to use it.”

  She looked down at the thick mat. “We’re going to wrestle?”

  I grinned at that image. “We’re going to do Krav Maga. Ever heard of it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Translated it means contact combat, and I’ve been teaching it at various gyms in the area for a couple of years. Basically it’s a form of self-defense developed by the Israeli military, fast, aggressive, and very effective with just a few moves.”

  “Does this mean you’ll be touching me?”

  I blinked. “Yeah. A lot.”

  She debated for a few seconds, a small smile curving her mouth. Full and plump, those lips on mine had been my fantasy way too many nights. “Okay, but only if you let me take you down a few times. Like flip you over my shoulder, toss you to the ground kind of take down. Maybe sit on you.”

  I exhaled, picturing that little scenario, and I couldn’t stop the little grin on my face. “You can sit on me whenever you want.”

  She smirked. “Funny, Englishman. You better be nice if you don’t want me to hurt you.”

  I laughed. This was the girl I wanted to see. Sure of herself. Sassy. Not the scared girl at the frat party.

  She walked around on the mat and hopped a little on her heels. “Okay. This is going to be fun. What’s first?”

  “I need you to take your clothes off.”

  20

  Of course he was teasing me.

  He chuckled. “You can close your mouth. I meant that you don’t want to ruin—or rip—your jeans.” He pointed to the back of the gym where the lockers and restrooms were. “Come on. I’ve got some extra pants for you to change into.”

  Ten minutes later I came out of the ladies locker room barefooted in a pair of extra-small white karate pants.

  I walked back to the mat and did a little pirouette, liking the way it made his eyes gleam with laughter.

  He waited for me dressed in the same pants. His feet were bare and spread apart in a cocky stance, and even though I’d never been one of those people who got a thrill from odd body parts, his feet were sexy.

  But it was his naked chest that made my heart do a loop-de-loop. My tongue wanted to lick it, but I settled for deep breathing. I recalled how wonderful it had felt to press myself against his skin the nights we’d slept together. But that was then and this was now, and it seemed as if we were slowly progressing toward more.

  Keep your tongue in your mouth, Elizabeth, I told myself.

  To distract myself, my eyes traced the dragonfly tattoo on his neck, my fingers itching to draw it. The tattoo seemed so incongruous with the tough guy he was, yet it fit him. He had a softness to him, and I think I’d sensed it from the first moment we’d met.

  “Come here,” he said. Silkily.

  I went without hesitation. “What?” I asked.

  He reached out and gathered the bottom material of my shirt and tied it in a knot that rested on my tummy. Tingles went over me at the brush of his fingers against my skin. “Now, you’re ready.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured, looking down at the peek of my tummy that showed through. I suddenly felt alive. Wired.

  He nodded as he bent down to readjust the sparring mat, and I saw the scars on his back again.

  “What happened to your back?”

  He stood back up and faced me, his face like stone.

  I saw the distance growing in him, as if he didn’t want to talk about it.

  “If—if you ever wanted to tell me about it, I’d listen …” My voice petered out.

  “I don’t.”

  Sadness filled me. There was so much more to him than just being the hot guy with the sexy accent. “I won’t judge you, Declan. I have my own scars.”

  He exhaled, studying me. “I got into a scuffle with my father and went through a plate glass window when I was fourteen. My back took the worst of it.”

  “That sounds awful.”

  “I spent that whole summer sleeping on my stomach, waiting for the stitches to heal.” He looked at my wrist. “What happened?”

  Images of the hotel zipped through my head, and I opened my mouth to tell him, I mean really tell him what had happened to me, but I didn’t. Old habits die hard.

  I looked away. Swallowed. “I can count the number of people on one hand who know why I slit my wrists. I—I’m not ready to tell you.”

  “Blake knows?”

  I heard the jealousy in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  He tightened his lips. “Right then. Let’s get to work.”

  I nodded, relieved he was letting it go.

  “When we get down to direct man-on-man sparring, I’ll ask you to wear protective gear and wrap your hands, but for today, we’re just going to talk about stance and some basic moves to get you comfortable. Okay?”

  I nodded, and that seemed to be all he needed to go into full-on teaching mode. He had a beautiful voice for it, clear and low, yet commanding. I could see the appeal in taking a class from him. I bet the women hung on his every word.

  “You don’t want to give your opponent any leeway. Be cognizant of your environment and if you can get help. If you can’t, then be prepared to put up a hell of a fight. Most importantly, be aggressive and do whatever it takes to defend yourself. Punches, kicks, elbow strikes, knees, and even biting and scratching. Just don’t freeze up like you did the night Colby showed up.”

  I smirked. “Sounds like a cat fight I saw once on the quad freshman year.”

  He smiled as he adjusted my shoulders and stance. “This kind of fighting is much more premeditated. Just keep your strong leg in front of you. Put your hands up in front of your face just below eye level. Your hips, eyes, and lead shoulder should always face your opponent.”

  I followed his instruction, my heart thundering at our closeness.

  He had me shifting my weight around on my legs to get comfortable.

  Back and forth. Again. And then again.

  He demonstrated an uppercut elbow punch for me, positioning his body next to mine as he rotated his hips and shuffled forward at an imaginary attacker. He moved like lightning strikes in the sky. Fast. Brilliant. Too hot to hold. I repeated his kicks and punches again and again until I began to feel a tight burning in my thighs and arms and buttocks.

  “You’ll need to exercise to get stronger muscles,” he told me later as I failed miserably at a good front kick. “The thing to remember about a kick is you go for his twigs and berries. If you can’t, aim for a knee or his neck or nose. Just get the kick in and get out.”

  I grunted and wiped sweat from my face.

  “Tired?” He paused in demonstrating the kick once again.

  I shook my head. Liar, liar. But watching him move his powerful body around was invigorating.

  Who needed Gatorade when I had a hot dude showing me his
moves?

  A few minutes later, we faced off on the mat. “Come at me with some heat. See if you can sneak in my circle and land a tap on my arm.”

  “What about the protective gear?”

  He waved me off as he positioned himself in a defensive stance. “We’re fine for today. You won’t get in.”

  Won’t get in?

  I puffed up my chest and shuffled toward him like he’d shown me, hands up and ready to strike. I bounced around back and forth, angling for a spot on his body.

  “Come on, Elizabeth. You’re taking too long.”

  I moved around him, looking for a way inside, but each time I rotated around him, he’d pivot his body toward mine.

  “Move slower,” I snapped.

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect, Unicorn Girl. Just get a tap in.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  I shifted and he followed.

  “I can’t!” I yelled at him. “You’re too big and fast.”

  He sighed and rolled his neck. “Pretend we’re at some party and we just met and I’m going to throw you down and take whatever I want …”

  I don’t even remember lunging for him. I don’t remember telling my fist to slam his face, but it did. His head jerked back, mostly to avoid my punch, but some of it still connected.

  I gasped. “Declan! Why didn’t you defend yourself?”

  He blinked a few times. “Damn. I didn’t say break my nose; I said tap.”

  I fluttered around him, feeling terrible. My hands cupped his face, our chests touching. “God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I ran my fingers across his jawline, fingering the stubble there. “Want me to get some ice? Maybe a bottle of water? Do you need to sit down? God, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

  He wore a bemused expression. “I’m fine. You caught me by surprise is all.”

  “I could have hurt you,” I wailed. “And then I’d feel horrible. You’ve been nothing but good and wonderful and sweet to me and I …” I sputtered out of words, scared at what was on the tip of my tongue. God. What was wrong with me?