British Bad Boys: Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Broader and more muscular, Dax snapped out hits, but Chad recovered, wiry and quick as his lean body scrambled away.

  He flew at Dax and jumped on him, landing a sharp jab to his eye, making Dax’s head snap back.

  Dax roared and stumbled backward, resting against the brick wall of the neighboring building, chest heaving as they faced off. Chad leaned down, scooped up a rock from the ground, and advanced.

  No!

  Feebly gasping out for help to anyone who might be listening near the street or inside, I made my way to them, gravel digging into my knees and palms.

  Dax inhaled and jumped at him, but Chad evaded and swung the rock, aiming for Dax’s head. He missed and backed up to avoid Dax’s fist.

  A car drove by the street and I called out again, but my voice had vanished.

  Closer. Closer. I crawled to them.

  Chad’s back was to me, and if I could get there . . .

  Dax’s eyes met mine for a second, sending me an almost imperceptible shake of his head. I ignored him. No way was he doing this by himself.

  Chad, obviously giving up on hitting Dax by using the rock, threw it instead, hammering Dax in the arm.

  Dax’s face tightened, his fist clenching as he dashed at Chad again, only this time instead of using his hands, he sent two fast kicks to Chad’s chest. Bam! Bam!

  Chad folded in and gasped for air.

  Dax advanced closer, circling him, banked rage on his face, an insane look in his eyes I’d never seen.

  Abruptly, Chad hopped up, pivoted, and ran for the main road.

  Dax flipped around and grabbed his shirttail, but Chad came out of it, buttons flying as he jerked away. He cursed at us both and disappeared across the street and into the darkness of the next alley.

  The fading of his footsteps was the best sound I’d ever heard.

  I pulled myself up to standing and leaned against the neighboring building as Dax jogged over to me. My entire body heaved in great gulps of air.

  He halted within inches, eyeing me like a hawk, his face rigid with fury. His hands were clenched, his body drawn up in a tight wall of muscle. “God, Remi. You okay?”

  I nodded and only then did he relax, his shoulders dropping as he bent down to lift my chin up toward the lamppost light. His teeth clenched. “Your throat is bruising.”

  “I’m fine,” I managed, my voice rough as sandpaper.

  “What the hell happened? I saw you come out, but I must have missed him following you. I got nervous that you were alone . . .” He trailed off and raked a hand through his hair. “Dammit, I’m sorry I didn’t come out sooner.”

  “Not . . . your . . . fault . . .” I sucked in more air and kept my words brief. I clutched my wrist, missing my bracelet already. “Robbery. Took my jewelry.”

  He gently eased me in his arms and held me like I was a piece of china. “You’re shaking all over, Remi. I’m so sorry, love. I’m here. You’re okay. I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”

  Warm tempered steel enveloped me, and I dissolved into the safety of his arms, my face buried in his chest. My voice wobbled. “I thought he was going to kill me—” I stopped and closed my eyes as hot tears fell, for once unable to stem the tide. “I hate crying in front of people. It’s stupid.”

  “Shhh, let it all out. You’re crashing. I got you. I promise.”

  Snippets of the attack rushed at me. “He—he got the bracelet my dad gave me the day he died. I—I can’t imagine not having it. I need it. It keeps me centered . . .” I stopped, unable to say more without losing my shit.

  He took a step back to better meet my eyes, his hands cupping my shoulders with care. “But you’re alive. That’s all that matters, right? If anything had happened to you . . .” His mouth thinned, and his chest heaved as he took a deep breath. “I wanted to go after the wanker, but I couldn’t leave you here on the ground alone . . .”

  I nodded, wiping at my face. “You scared him good, I think. You have moves I’ve never seen.” My eyes flicked over his shoulder, part of me still paranoid.

  He touched my cheek, his voice soft yet deadly. “He’s not coming back, but if he does, I’ll bloody kill the bastard.”

  I nodded, feeling just as bloodthirsty. My beloved bracelet was gone.

  He adjusted the neckline of my dress, and I looked down. Part of the bodice and shoulder had been ripped and were barely hanging on. Sequins were dangling by threads. He took the ends of one side and tied them in a soft knot, arranging it so you couldn’t see my bra.

  “Perfect. Money I need down the drain.” I sighed, rubbing my arms. “It would have been wrong to return it anyway after wearing it.”

  He paused, his eyes concerned. “Remi? Maybe this isn’t the time, but if you need a loan, I can help.”

  My mouth parted.

  He continued to surprise me. The cocky Dax I knew from Whitman had a whole different side to him.

  “You’re—you’re sweet to say that, and I didn’t mean to hint that I needed help. I’m fine.”

  A furrow lined his forehead. “I’ve been around long enough to know that when a girl says she’s fine, she’s usually lying. Why are you worried about returning a dress? I want the truth.”

  I shook my head. “It’s just . . . I lost the deposit on my reception—money I’d been saving for months when I worked at Minnie’s Diner. Lulu—she bought her own ticket, and she’s offered to pay for all my entertainment, but I won’t let her. When I get back to Whitman, I’ll have to find somewhere to live, pay rent, pay bills . . . stuff I didn’t plan for.”

  I nibbled on my bottom lip. “Besides, obviously there are other things to worry about—like you saved my life, thank you, and you have a monstrous black eye coming up.” More details came into focus. I touched his face with gentle fingers that lingered across the scruff on his jawline. “At—at least there’s no blood.”

  “For you, I’ll wear it as a badge of honor.” His eyes burned into mine.

  My stomach fluttered.

  What did he mean?

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  He leaned his forehead against mine. “Anytime. I hear bodyguard work pays well. Maybe I should go into that after I graduate?” His hands pushed my hair out of my face, trailing his fingers through the long strands.

  His touch was exactly what I needed.

  Without much thought except for comfort, instinctively I pressed myself against him, fitting into his arms as easy as breathing. He leaned against the brick wall of the neighboring building and wrapped me up, sensing my need to be grounded.

  I felt safe. Secure. Like nothing would ever hurt me again.

  I don’t know how long we stood like that—maybe a minute, maybe five—but soon our breaths were in sync; the rise and fall of his chest in perfect accord with mine. One of his hands traced down my spine and then up. He outlined my shoulder blades with his fingertips. His hands drifted to my hips then caressed back up to my hair, massaging my scalp. I wanted to purr, and if it were possible, I sank even further into him. Not even a pin could have fit between us.

  But what had started as an innocent hug changed. Fire licked my skin everywhere he touched. Of their own accord, my hands slid down to his waist and teased the line where his jeans rested on his hips. I went further, my fingers toying with the V at his hip until I felt him harden against me.

  The chemistry had always been like that with us. Feverish. Ready in an instant.

  That long weekend we’d been together, we’d never stopped touching each other. One glance from me and he’d been there on his knees, asking what I wanted, what I needed to feel good. I’d done the same, not able to get enough of him. Even when he wanted to tie me up or hold me down.

  We’d been a bright burning sun, and we’d exploded at the end.

  Lips brushed the top of my hair. “Remi . . . look at me,” he said, his voice raspy.

  If you look up, you’re going to kiss him . . .

  I tilted my head up and his mouth fused with mine i
n an instant.

  Insistent.

  Wild.

  Hot.

  Yes! This is what I needed.

  Desire that had been on hold since our kiss at the bar surged through my body, weaving into every atom. I groaned, and my hands rushed to his shoulders and dug in.

  He was wrong—terribly wrong—for me, but it felt so right.

  I felt wonderfully alive, revved up, as if I could crush a car with my bare hands, or push Dax against the wall and fuck him senseless. I recognized the feeling for what it was—an I almost-died-and-now-I-want-to-experience-life feeling.

  “Wait,” he breathed as I ran my hand under his shirt. “It’s adrenaline. You’ve been through a trauma. You don’t really want this—”

  “Shhh.” I lifted his shirt and kissed his chest, my tongue flicking over his nipple. “You taste like every good thing I’ve ever wanted.”

  His taut restraint snapped, and he swayed into me. “God, I can’t tell you no.”

  “Then don’t.” My hand pushed against the hard length in his jeans. Stroked. “I remember how hot we were—how you loved to make me say your name. Don’t you want that again?”

  His eyes blazed. “Yes,” he growled and took my mouth again, devouring me as I worked the zipper of his jeans down and slipped my hand inside. Of course he was commando.

  We were frantic, our hands rushing, touching places we’d missed over the years. The press of his hands. His kisses. I wanted it all.

  Finally, my body seemed to say. This. Me. Him. Fate. Meant to be.

  His hand slipped down the neck of my dress and cupped my lace bra, teasing my nipple. I arched into him. All he’d have to do is touch me once in the right place and I’d detonate.

  I cupped his shaft and stroked him from base to tip, ghosting my fingers over the tip, knowing exactly where he liked to be touched.

  “Remi—you’re killing me,” he gasped out, laying his head back against the brick. “So many times I thought about this—”

  “Remi?” A shrill voice belted out from behind us. “What the heck is going on? Our British guys ran off, and now you’re out here with Dax? I’m confused.”

  Lulu.

  “Yeah. What she said,” Spider added in a dry tone. “Although to me it looks like you two are flossing each other’s teeth.”

  And now everyone was here. Just peachy.

  My body shook from denied need as I leaned my head on Dax’s chest, trying to get my breathing under control as he discreetly zipped his pants up and straightened my dress.

  Mortification warmed my cheeks.

  One minute I was telling him I couldn’t be his friend and the next I was jamming my tongue down his throat.

  God, I didn’t know who I was when I was with him.

  Dax cupped my face, his face worried as he searched my eyes. “Adrenaline, love. Don’t be sorry and don’t blame yourself.”

  I closed my eyes.

  How did he have this ability to read my mind?

  I nodded and we turned to face them.

  6

  I ran through the details of what had happened with Spider and Lulu, describing how I’d found Remi fighting off Chad on the ground.

  I should have come out sooner.

  You aren’t her keeper, my brain said.

  I reached for Remi’s hand and laced our fingers together. She tightened her grasp, and I pulled her against me as she responded to their questions, her voice low and weak, but her composure calm—better than I’d expected from someone who’d been attacked.

  But then she’d always projected control.

  Over the years, I’d listened in on conversations about her, just to know what she was up to. The times when I’d seen her at a campus-wide frat party and we’d come face to face, you’d never have known she knew me. With a frozen smile, she’d meet my gaze—and keep walking.

  Like I was a piece of fucking furniture.

  Granted, I usually had a couple of girls hanging on me.

  I watched her more than I should have considering she was the girlfriend of one of my rivals. It was understood that we didn’t poach the Omega girls and vice versa unless we wanted to end up in a tangle on the quad. Not that I’d ever cared. If I wanted a girl, I took her, although I never went after attached ones, especially those as close as Remi and Hartford.

  Plus, I’d had my chance with her, and I hadn’t wanted it.

  I came back to the present as sirens wailed in the distance.

  At least someone had called the police.

  Two beefy guys who I knew to be bouncers for the club flew out the metal door and scanned the area, pausing on our huddled foursome near the dumpster.

  They headed toward us. “Everything okay out here?” one of them asked us.

  Renewed anger hit and my fists tightened. “It is now,” I said tersely, straightening to eye them. “If you have a back door, it would be a damn good idea to keep security—especially near an alley. My friend was mugged and nearly killed by one of your patrons.”

  “I’m fine,” Remi said, smoothing it over. “Thanks to you.”

  I glanced down at her face. She smiled, albeit a weak one, and I felt a small bit of peace.

  She was safe. She was fine.

  But I couldn’t completely relax.

  A few minutes later, we gave statements about the incident to the officers and assured them we’d come back down the next day if we remembered anything else. Apparently, there’d been a rash of similar muggings in the area—one or two white men who hit on victims they’d met in bars and clubs. Both of the guys Lulu had picked up fit their general description. They took jewelry, money, bags, phones, even clothes. The police had told the local pawnshops to be on alert if they came in with specific stolen goods, but so far they hadn’t had any hits.

  Remi looked crushed when they told her they had no leads.

  After the police left, Spider and Lulu went to grab us some waters at the bar while we found ourselves in the staff restroom that the manager of Masquerade had generously offered us, along with an offer of free admission and drinks for the rest of the week.

  Remi had small cuts on her hands from the gravel and several fingerprint bruises on her neck that she insisted she could cover up with make-up the next day. Thankfully, the club had a small first aid kit with witch hazel and alcohol wipes. Of course, the police had checked her out and taken a few pictures, but she’d adamantly refused to go to a hospital.

  She sat on a stool and I cleaned her feet off, careful to get the little bits of dirt out. It was as if we’d overcome a hurdle. We were friends. Sort of.

  We hadn’t actually said that, but I felt the connection between us.

  Later, I leaned against the sink as she dabbed my swelling eye with a cold compress someone had brought us from the kitchen. One of the bartenders had also scrounged around in the employees’ stock room and found her a pair of old flip-flops and an oversized, long t-shirt with the words I LOVE NIGHTS AT MASQUERADE. She wore her dress underneath it.

  I chuckled at her shirt. “That’s ironic.”

  Her lips quirked up. “At least I saw you here tonight.” A pause. “I’m glad.”

  “Me too.”

  She nodded. “About what happened . . . with my hands down your pants . . .” A blush started at her neck and worked its way to her forehead. “I went a little nuts.” She giggled. “No pun intended.”

  “We’re good. No need to explain.” I willed the bulge in my pants to go down.

  “So no harm, no foul?”

  “Yep, we’re buddies now.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured softly, a smile on her face as she gazed at me, her eyes luminous with emotion. “You’re definitely a hero. I owe you.”

  My breath hitched at the way she looked, her face truly happy for the first time tonight, and for a moment I got a glimpse of what my future might have been like if I’d allowed myself to . . .

  Stop, Dax.

  A few minutes went by as she checked me for other injuri
es, making me take my shirt off in case I had bruises. He hadn’t hit me that hard, I insisted, but she still ran her fingers over every inch of my skin where I’d said I’d been hit. She wanted to see for herself, and I knew it wasn’t a sexual thing, but true concern. A little furrow formed on her forehead as she poked at my ribs to make sure they weren’t broken.

  I tossed my head back and let out a belly laugh.

  She jumped back. “I’d forgotten you’re ticklish!”

  I laughed and pushed at her hands.

  She grinned, her fingers on my bicep, tracing the outline of the dragonfly wings—almost absentmindedly.

  “I love this. The colors, the design, the pure emotion. This tattoo means something to you. What is it?” Her eyes flicked back up to mine. “I feel sad when I look at it. Weird, to get a feeling when you see something—as if we have a sixth sense about things.” She smiled. “Whatever. I’m rambling, but I do want my own tattoo.”

  Her hand never left my bicep; she stroked the wings, making the same swirls and marks that were in my design. Tingles—no, sparks—were going off left and right.

  This isn’t about sex, Dax.

  This is the real her. The real you.

  Talking. Sharing. Having a moment when she’s peeking into your soul.

  Will you let her in?

  Absolutely not.

  I wasn’t good enough for her, and I didn’t need her in my life, jacking with my emotions and making me want something I could never have.

  But her touch.

  Then pull away from her, arsehole!

  I swayed, leaning into her.

  Hypnotic.

  Mesmerizing.

  So fucking perfect that I wanted to curl up with her on a soft bed, stroke her hair, and tell her everything about the meaning behind that tattoo . . .

  But I couldn’t.

  I didn’t share that.

  On the surface, people saw the cocky, funny guy, but underneath was a mess of feelings—especially since the anniversary of Mum’s death had just passed—and no matter how hard I wanted to explain the meaning to my dragonfly, I didn’t think I could get through the ordeal without getting clogged up in my throat.

  So I did what I do best. I pushed her away.