British Bad Boys: Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  We waltzed inside the main area of the club where a fifty-foot bar lined the back of the room and a sizable dance floor held a shit-ton of writhing bodies.

  Spider smirked as he looked around the place. He loved the masks because he could hide who he really was. “Any bets tonight?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

  “Dude, if you want me to take your quid, I will.”

  All summer, we’d made silly bets for minuscule amounts of money.

  Who could last the longest in an ice-cold shower? Me.

  Who would stand up in the pub and sing “I’m a Little Teapot”? Me.

  Generally stupid stuff, but Spider needed all the distraction from trouble he could get.

  “I’m feeling lucky tonight,” he said with a grin.

  I nodded. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  His brown eyes gleamed from behind his mask. “Who can get a quickie shag in the loo first?”

  I grimaced. “No.”

  Normally, I’d be all over a random one-night stand—even in a bathroom stall—but no one had felt right in a while. But, if the perfect girl came along, I’d ditch my celibacy in a heartbeat.

  “You sure? You are the self-proclaimed Sex Lord of Whitman. Hmmm?”

  I arched a brow. “You’re really going there—you’re throwing down the gauntlet?”

  “Yeah. You’re a pansy who needs to get laid. You’re not gay are ya?” He squinted at me. “You are a tad pretty if I say so myself, plus all those bulging muscles.”

  I snorted. With Declan’s encouragement for me to stay busy, I’d worked out this summer at the local gym, let my hair grow longer than normal, and had gotten my first tattoo. Spider was covered in them, the main one a black widow on his neck, and seeing his had given me the bug for ink.

  “Not gay,” I said.

  “But you have to admit, you like to moisturize and exfoliate. Plus there’s the hair products and clothes—oh, and we can’t forget the man-bag.”

  “It’s a messenger bag.”

  “Bollocks!” He slapped me on the back. “I love teasing you. But seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, arsehole. Maybe I’m setting my standards higher.”

  “Tosser,” he chuckled. “Come on, pick a wager already.” He tapped his fingers against his legs—a sign that he was antsy.

  “Give me a minute,” I said as I surveyed the bodies gyrating on the dance floor, then scanned the bar area. Nothing interesting. Same music. Same girls we saw every time we came here.

  Wait, wait. Except for her. The tall girl in the blue dress.

  Nice. My eyes stopped and roamed over the curvy brunette with long, glossy hair.

  Sitting on a barstool with her arms crossed and a snarl on her face, she radiated banked anger—with a dash of sexy. Her lips were carmine red, full, and heart-shaped . . .

  Tingles of awareness rolled over me. My cock twitched.

  But she wasn’t my type. I preferred them blonde, petite, and less angry. And if I ever wavered from that stereotype, inevitably I’d be punched in the heart with a sledgehammer.

  Remember Remi?

  I shoved thoughts of her where I put things that made me crazy—down deep in my gut.

  I exhaled heavily. By now she was married to Hartford Wilcox, who also happened to be an Omega—my fraternity’s biggest rivalry. Bunch of wankers.

  I’d been president of the Tau frat at the same time he’d been president of the Omegas, and our two houses hated each other. Omegas were the preps who dressed like Ralph Lauren models and played golf. Taus were the bad boys, a mixed bunch of mongrels who did whatever the fuck they wanted. We battled for top spots in everything on campus from who won the most intramural games to who had the hottest girls as “little sisters.” It wasn’t unusual for fights to break out at a mixer or after a tense game of football.

  Moving on, I surveyed the rest of the club, but before long my gaze went right back to the mystery girl. Roving. Checking her out. Lingering on her hair that flashed under the strobe lights. Even with her arms crossed and a belligerent expression on her face, she was, well, interesting.

  My fingers itched to take her mask off.

  Did I know her?

  Not likely anyone from my childhood. It had been twelve years since I’d lived in London. I briefly considered it might be a student from Whitman, but that seemed highly unlikely considering Raleigh was across the Atlantic.

  Spider followed my eyes. “Ah, wonder what’s got her knickers in a twist?”

  I shrugged, sussing her out as we moved closer to the bar area. “Guy problems?”

  “Probably a real man-hater. Nice tits, though. I’d do her.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Perhaps she just needs a drink. I do.”

  “Admit it, you’d at least give her a poke,” he said. “You fancy her—I can see it in your eyes. She’s putting out something you like, I say. Maybe you like angry sex? There’s something to be said for really going at it and tearing into each other like animals.” A wistful expression crossed his face.

  I laughed. Dude was a freak. “TMI, mate.”

  He shrugged. “Hmmm, perhaps she’s looking for her rebound guy. Could be you.” Nodding his head in a way that told me he’d come to a decision, he said, “Which is why I’m making a bet that you can’t make that angry woman fall in love with you tonight. Annnd”—he drew the word out—“I’ll sweeten the pot—at ten thousand pounds.”

  “What?” I sputtered. “I’m no rock star like you.”

  “You have money.”

  True. When my mum had passed, I’d inherited life insurance money, plus my father had bestowed an early graduation gift a few months back.

  I shook my head. I might be a carefree kind of guy, but I wasn’t delusional. I had to save every penny if I wanted to be on my own someday and not depend on Father. “I’m keeping that for a rainy day.”

  Which would be here in two weeks when school started.

  He pursed his lips. “When did you become such a fucking boy scout?”

  “I’m not a boy scout. I do whatever I want, when I want. I’m a party animal.”

  He studied me, clearly not buying what I was selling. “Okay, fine. Let’s do this: ten thousand pounds if you win her heart, and if you lose, you give me the usual—one pound.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “What’s in it for you?”

  “The thrill, baby, the rush, that feeling that makes me high as the fucking sky.” He grinned crookedly. “So? You in?”

  “I don’t know . . . one night is tough, even for a sexy guy like me.” I sent him an arched eyebrow. “Give me more time. I’m rusty.”

  “You’re such a pussy. Nope. It has to be tonight . . . you in?”

  I shrugged, knowing it drove him nuts when I didn’t commit to his bets.

  He groaned. “You’re being a big girl’s blouse. Come on. Do it. Do it.”

  “You’re annoying.”

  “Thank you,” he smirked.

  “You’re a dick who thinks blue hair is cool.”

  “It is cool or I wouldn’t have it.”

  “And a nutter.”

  “Meh. Not the first time I’ve been called that. Admit it, you’ve had a good time babysitting me this summer. It’s given you time to gain perspective, yes?”

  Realization dawned. “You’re going to miss me when I leave, aren’t you? I’ve been making you tea all summer, screening your calls from old girlfriends, cleaning your flat, washing your Mercedes, plus I’ve been your wingman. I’m practically indispensable. What will you do without me?”

  “I’ll learn to knit and make you a bloody hat. Just agree to the bet already.”

  I laughed. “Nope.”

  But I was already making my way over to her.

  As soon as the barstool next to her was vacated, I took it. Spider took up the other side of me, an excited look on his face as he eyed the girl in the blue dress who was trying to wave down a bartender. I thought I heard an Americ
an accent, but with one of the club’s music speakers close to where we sat, I couldn’t catch what she was saying.

  A cackle erupted from Spider. “I’m sensing a victory already. You’re gonna cock it up.”

  “First off, you have a serious gambling problem, and second, I have never been turned down.”

  “Shut your gob, Sex Lord. Woo her.”

  Without her knowing, I watched her in the mirror across from the bar as she blatantly checked me out, her head tilted ever so slightly in my direction as her eyes went from the top of my head down to my Converse.

  I bit back my grin and flicked a look at Spider. “She’s in the palm of my hand.”

  “Uh-huh,” he sang.

  Things went sideways when a hot redhead swayed her hips over to me. She giggled. “My friends dared me to come over here and ask you to dance. You wanna?” she asked, hands lingering on my arm.

  I grinned. “Sorry, love, can’t.” Keeping my voice low, I nudged my head at the girl in the blue dress. “I’m already spoken for.”

  She got the hint and stalked off while the girl in the blue dress watched it all. I smiled broadly and cocked an eyebrow at her—hey, babe, I want YOU.

  She ignored my eye messages, seeming immune to my charm. Dammit. This mask was a hindrance.

  As I watched, the bartender leaned over the bar to flirt with her, his eyes all over her chest. I stiffened, my hackles rising.

  No way was he getting any of that.

  This was the first girl I’d been remotely interested in all summer, and I wasn’t giving her up to a lumberjack wannabe. I distracted him by snapping at him and ordering a drink.

  Then fate stepped in.

  The girl in the blue dress stood, weaved around, teetered in her high heels, and whoosh! dropped right into my arms.

  Wham, bam. Score.

  I hadn’t had to do a damn thing.

  3

  Muscled arms caught me without hesitation, ensuring I didn’t crash to the floor. Thank God.

  “Gotcha,” his husky voice said.

  My free arm snaked around my rescuer’s neck and held on. “Hi,” I breathed as I gazed up at him. “Nice catch.”

  A sexy grin crossed his chiseled face. “Is your name Angel and did you fall from heaven to be with me?”

  “Most likely I came from hell.”

  He tossed his head back and laughed.

  Cool air met my lower body. Craning my neck, I saw that my dress had ridden up to my waist, giving him a crystal-clear view of my sprawled legs and blue lace garter set. Yet another pricey garment purchased for this trip. I groaned, feeling my face redden. “Oh great, now I’ve flashed my butt to the entire place.”

  “Nice knickers,” he murmured, smoothing my dress down gently and not ogling me. Point for him. But then a guy as hot as him didn’t have to resort to sneak peeks. He could probably have anyone he wanted.

  “Is everyone staring at me?” I covered my face with my hands. “I hate being the center of attention.”

  “Meh. A few. Some are laughing.”

  I peeked through my fingers to find him smiling down at me, flashing gorgeous white teeth.

  “Come on now, it’s fine. I’m teasing you. No one in this hellhole cares,” he said. “Although your shoe sailed across the room. It might have clocked someone in the head.”

  I sent a wish up, hoping it was the redhead.

  Using my good arm, I reared myself up and rearranged myself until I was sitting up in his lap. His head still towered over me, his hands cradling my waist to make sure I stayed in place. I estimated he was at least six-five.

  “Tall guys are my favorite,” I murmured, and then bit my lip self-consciously. “And clearly I’m thinking out loud. Sorry.”

  “Good thing I’m tall then.” His eyes landed on my mouth. Lingered.

  I swallowed.

  Now what?

  You’re a bomb-ass bitch with a brain the size of Texas is what! Use it!

  Maybe I could mesmerize him with my random eighties trivia or tantalize him with tales of migrating bird patterns? Whatever. I didn’t have to be beautiful to have rebound sex with whomever I wanted. Yeah.

  My thoughts drifted back to that big honeymoon suite. “Um, random question here—do you like beds with rose petals scattered everywhere?”

  His eyes went low and heavy. “I’d say yes.”

  My eyes skated over his broad shoulders. “Great answer.”

  “Hmmm, are you offering me a place to crash tonight?” His hand tightened around my waist.

  I paused, thinking.

  Could I go through with this?

  One-night stands were not my usual. I enjoyed more cautious fun, like filling out my yearly calendar, writing life goals, and typing up spreadsheets. I had every single detail of my existence planned, right down to my future kids’ names.

  And the last time I’d had a spur-of-the-moment fling, it had nearly ruined—

  “What’s this?” Concern crossed his face as he noticed my wrist attached to my dress. I’d completely forgotten about it. “What’s wrong with your arm?” A warm hand cupped my elbow, his fingers then traveling to my wrist.

  “I snagged my bracelet on my dress.” Another blush rose up from my neck as I recalled the spectacle I’d made. “It belonged to my grandmother—an heirloom—and was a gift from my late father for my sixteenth birthday. I’m—I’m terrified I’ll break it or ruin the dress. Knowing my luck, I’d do both.” I looked down at the diamond-studded bracelet and grimaced. “It will kill me to break it, but I guess I can always have it repaired.”

  “Here, let me see it,” he said, inspecting the fabric where my hand currently dangled.

  Did I notice that his face was nearly in my cleavage?

  Yes, and I really didn’t care.

  Did I notice that his male scent made me want to rub against him like a cat?

  Yes, pet me, please. Make me purr.

  “Can you slide it off?” he asked.

  I willed my pulse to slow down. “No, the clasp is the part that’s stuck to the material and it’s too tight to slide off. Trust me, I spent a while trying to get it undone.” I blew out a breath. “It’s been a crazy evening.”

  “Hmmm.” His lips puckered in a cute way as he leaned in closer, and I swallowed, feeling shy all over again.

  He was so not my type: muscled physique, a tattoo, cocky.

  But tonight I wanted revenge sex.

  And here he was—Mr. Beautiful—delivered on a silver platter.

  It would be a travesty to not take advantage of the opportunity, right?

  Absolutely, the tequila said.

  He sent me a rueful grin. “This is going to sound like a cheesy pick-up line, but if you let me put my hand down the front of your dress, I’d be able to detach the bracelet without ripping the fabric. I won’t grab your tit on purpose.” He winked boyishly. “Wanna give it a go?”

  Touch the tit! Touch the tit! I cleared my throat. “Sure, that would be nice.”

  With a finesse that surprised me—as if he were used to sticking his hands into ladies’ clothing—he reached down the neckline of my dress, the back of his hand pressing against my lace bra. My nipple hardened—of course—and my face grew redder. Praying the darkness of the club hid my embarrassment, I avoided his eyes and studied the dragonfly on his arm. A few tense moments later, he found where the metal was snagged and gently maneuvered it through the fabric.

  “Free at last,” he murmured as I shook my arm out in relief. I didn’t even see a hole in the dress.

  “You’re quite the handyman. My bracelet means the world to me, and this dress—let’s just say it cost more than my car payment. Thank you. Seriously.” Impulsively, I gave him a quick hug and pulled back. “Um, can I buy you a drink to show my appreciation?”

  His fingers traced down my spine. “Let’s start with a thank-you kiss.” His voice grew husky. “I’d love to kiss a real angel.”

  An explosion of heat detonated in my body.<
br />
  The blue-haired guy next to him snorted, probably at the total pick-up line Mr. Beautiful was dishing out. But I liked his lines. A lot.

  “Ignore him,” Mr. Beautiful said, indicating his friend. “He’s jealous you fell in my lap and not his. Now about that kiss . . .”

  “Right here in the club?”

  “I like to imagine people watching us. Don’t you?” he whispered in my ear.

  I shivered. Maybe. The idea did sound deliciously sexy.

  His lips brushed my earlobe. “Besides, doesn’t a prince deserve his spoils? I caught you—you could have died right here on the floor.”

  “I fell from the stool. It’s not like it was a building or something.” But my head was already leaning toward his.

  “But it could happen,” he said, fingers tracing my lips, his face inches from mine.

  Butterflies did somersaults in my stomach.

  “I suppose there’s a slight chance I could be headed to the hospital on a gurney right now.”

  “Indeed.”

  Maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the anonymity of the mask, maybe it was the fact that he’d asked so sweetly, or damn, maybe it was just him, but his reasoning made perfect sense. I nodded.

  His hand tilted my chin back for a better angle as his full lips fit perfectly over mine. He deepened the kiss slowly, soft as silk, with the skill of a guy who knew exactly how to stoke fires. My hands threaded through his hair as heat raced up my spine, and when he groaned his appreciation, I melted into him.

  The graze of his teeth, a soft nip on my bottom lip, and I clung to him.

  Hot. Slow. Mind-blowing. Kisses.

  Until it ended abruptly.

  He jerked back as if stung, and even though I couldn’t read his expression behind the mask, I saw a deep furrow on his brow. He rubbed a quick hand across his jaw and cursed under his breath.

  Had I done something wrong? Bitten his tongue?

  “What happened?” I breathed, my pulse hammering. Now that I’d had a taste, I wanted more of him. I was committed to following through, and I was smart enough to know that the electricity between us wasn’t the usual.