British Bad Boys: Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I Love You.

  Margaret (Mum)

  Emotion rode me like it always did when I read her words.

  She believed I could do anything.

  I was like her, she’d said.

  I swallowed. God, I wanted to be good for her. I wanted to succeed at something.

  A glass shattered from the kitchen. What the hell?

  I bolted from the room. Spider might be all cocky smiles, but underneath I sensed the darkness he harbored. He’d never shown any signs of hurting himself, but I was a worrier, and dammit I’d gotten used to the bloke.

  Wearing a pair of Union Jack boxers and nothing else, his lean frame was bent over with a dustpan sweeping up broken glass.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Ah, so the princess has risen,” he said, standing to face me. He nudged his head toward the stove. “I made bacon. Eggs should be done in a minute.” He indicated the bowl of yellow liquid he had sitting by the stove. “Doesn’t that sound like a jolly time?”

  As long as I’d lived here, he’d never turned on the stove.

  “Uh, yeah.” I paused, scratching my jaw as I assessed him. “You doing okay today? Feeling any cravings?”

  “Bite me.” His eyes veered toward me then bounced back to the pan he stirred. “Just got the shakes. Too much vodka last night.”

  I ruffled his crazy sticking-up-everywhere blue hair. “Alright then, Chef Spider. I’ll make the coffee.”

  He busied himself scrambling the eggs while I finished the coffee and scrounged around in the fridge until I found orange juice, jam, and butter.

  “Want some toast?” I asked, eyeing the bread I’d picked up at the bakery a few days ago.

  “Sure.” He shrugged, his shoulders still thin but more filled out than when I’d first picked him up three months ago. He’d also gained some muscle, about twenty pounds of it. It was a hell of a good start, and helping him figure out which sets and reps to do for the optimal results had been good for both of us. Of course, at first, he’d dragged his feet and said he would never be a gym rat, but I’d laid down an ultimatum: if he wanted to continue wagering with me, he had to show some incentive in taking care of his body.

  A few minutes later, we sat down to eat. His eggs were a little over-scrambled, the bacon greasy, and the toast barely warm, but we wolfed it down.

  “Spider?”

  “Yes, princess?”

  “I’ve been thinking . . .” I said, trailing off, trying to wrap my head around exactly what was in my gut.

  “Uh-oh, your face is pale. Should I pour us a drink first?”

  “No,” I smirked. “What do you think about me buying a house?”

  Bacon fell out of his mouth. He blinked. “You’re asking me for advice?”

  “Why not? You’re a homeowner. Why wouldn’t I ask you?”

  “I’m flattered. Here? You mean I’d have some family in London?”

  “No, man. Back home where I have to finish school.”

  A shadow crossed his face and I sensed disappointment, but he grinned, albeit a crooked one. “Oh. Yeah. That makes sense. I mean, you do have a life, and you don’t need to be taking care of me all the time.”

  “Dude. You’ve been clean of the heavy stuff for three months, and it doesn’t have anything to do with me being here. You’ll be fine once I’m gone and you get back on tour.”

  He nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I know. I know. It’s just, Mum is who-knows-where with some Italian playboy and Dad’s in New York—shit, you and Declan are the only family I see.”

  “You can always pop in and see me in Raleigh.”

  “Yeah.” His fork poked at his eggs.

  “You know I have to leave soon, right?” I said the words casually, but watched his reaction carefully.

  He shrugged.

  I changed the direction of the convo. “Look, you’re older than me. I’d love your advice. Do you think buying a house is a good investment?”

  He rubbed his hand across the black widow on his neck. “I listen to my gut when I can’t decide the big stuff. What does yours say?”

  I exhaled. “I’d honestly never thought about it until Declan brought it up this morning. I suck in the classroom, but I love working with my hands—and the idea of taking care of my own place, like you do here, gives me a rush.”

  “Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

  “Yeah.” Maybe I should call Declan back. “So what’s on the agenda today?”

  He took a sip of coffee. “Lulu called.”

  “Oh?” I guess they’d exchanged digits. Spider might be a smartarse, but women loved that on him. “You interested in that?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Then why bring her up?”

  He shrugged. “She happened to mention they’re headed out to see some sights today, and I thought we might want to tag along—you know, as tour guides.”

  “I need a break from Remi.”

  “If you’re just friends, then what’s wrong with hanging out?”

  My lips tightened. “Nothing. Just need some space.”

  “You like her. A lot.” A knowing grin worked his face.

  “No more than I like any other girl.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay, that’s fine. I’ll text her and say we’re busy.”

  I stood to put my plate in the dishwasher. “Good.”

  “By the way, don’t you think you’re forgetting something this morning?”

  I shrugged. “No. Why?”

  He chortled in glee as he held out his palm. “Oh how easily he forgets . . . pay up, mate. You officially lost a bet last night, and I want my money.”

  “Wanker. Whatever.” I rolled my eyes, dug around in my jean pockets, found a quid and slapped it on the table.

  He picked it up. Inspected it like it was a Spanish gold coin. “Fucking best day ever.”

  I gave him the middle finger behind my back as I wandered back to my bedroom to hop in the shower.

  9

  I woke up around lunchtime feeling like crap. My head throbbed, my throat ached, and it looked like a family of mice had taken up in my hair. I cranked up Sia on my phone, popped a couple of Aleve that I’d packed, and showered for half an hour.

  Today was about me.

  And I wanted to take in London—even if I felt like death warmed over.

  Because I was still breathing and that meant something.

  After a breakfast of pastries and jam, I felt much better. Months ago, I’d set up a guided walking tour for Hartford and me, so Lulu and I kept the reservation. With other tourists, we started our pilgrimage at the iconic Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. I gazed up at the clock I’d only seen in pictures and inhaled the warm August air. It was a beautiful day, and I felt wonderfully overwhelmed by the history around me.

  Eventually we made our way past quaint shops to Westminster Abbey, the place of coronations, burials, and royal marriages, containing over seven hundred years of British history. We spent two hours there, exploring the Royal Tombs, the Nave, and the Poets’ Corner. Although Shakespeare was buried at Stratford-on-Avon, the Abbey had a statue memorial for him, and I made sure Lulu snapped a pic of me in front of it, which I promptly sent to Malcolm, who loved the Bard.

  After the tour ended, we took the tube to the London Eye for a ride in one of their luxury capsules—another activity I’d arranged. We munched on chocolates and sipped wine as we circled the skyline in luxury, taking in the breathtaking views over the city. Lulu and I giggled a lot, and I wouldn’t realize it until later, but I didn’t think of Hartford once. But Dax—he was always in the back of my mind.

  Later we stopped at a pub called Hops, a cozy place with paneling and heavy wooden booths. The air smelled like ale, cider, and fried food. Perfection. We found a table and gorged on fish, chips, and local beer in a frosty mug. My throat still ached, but the drink was heaven—cold and wet as it went down. Feeling relaxed and happy, we sat there for an hour chatt
ing about our successful day of sightseeing.

  My phone buzzed after we left the tavern.

  I saw the caller and let out a long exhale. I showed the number to Lulu and she rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  “Hi, Mom,” I said into the receiver.

  She’d called three times already.

  “Darling! I’ve been trying for hours. How are you?” I heard the underlying anxiousness in her voice.

  “Good actually.”

  “Oh.” A pause. “Have you heard from Hartford?”

  My chest squeezed. “No.”

  “Why don’t you reach out to him, Remi? You’re the one that left town.”

  My hand clutched the phone. Breathe, Remi. “How’s Malcolm doing?”

  She sighed. “He’s fine. Look, I know you’re upset, but you really should take care of this thing with Hart—”

  “Sorry. I have to go. Tell Malcolm I’ll see him soon.”

  I ended the call with her voice still in my ear.

  Lulu tossed an arm around me, her eyes soft. She knew exactly how infuriating my mother could be. “What’s next?”

  My eyes got caught on a ritzy hair salon across the street, and I mentally calculated how much money I had. “I’m going to chop off my hair.”

  She grinned. “Meh. It’s better than your head.”

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later, my hair was minus eight inches and cut into a sharp, angled bob that barely covered my nape in the back but was longer in the front. A line of bangs covered my forehead just above my dark eyebrows.

  Gone was the brown, and in its place was a rich color between copper and red.

  Needless to say, it was dramatic.

  I fingered one of the tresses. “I look like the magenta-throated woodstar.”

  Lulu arched a brow. “I have no clue what that is.”

  “It’s a gutsy little bird from Costa Rica.”

  “Forget birds, girl. You look—oh my God—crazy hot, like a stripper, but classier. Like Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction but with red hair.”

  I swung my head around, loving the sassy feel.

  “Your mom is going to poop her pants,” Lulu mused.

  I grinned. “No talk of anyone from Raleigh. Come on, let’s get out of here, get ready, and head to a club. I still have one more dress to ruin before this vacation is over.”

  She grinned, a mischievous expression on her face. “Masquerade? Dax and Spider are going after I mentioned we might go, of course.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Seriously?

  She raised a finger. “I know that look, but the poor girl in you will appreciate the fact we have free drinks and admission there. Score. That’s a hundred bucks easy. And I know you were attacked there and you hate the atmosphere, but at least you know the bad guys definitely won’t be back. And now that you and Dax have signed a friend contract there shouldn’t be an issue. Right?”

  I sighed. “Right.”

  Three hours later, we walked into Masquerade after going back to the hotel to get ready. Lulu went with a silver halter dress with spiked heels that she’d worn to a frat formal last year, and I put on a cream-colored silk number with itsy bitsy spaghetti straps. The skirt was cut into thin strips that swished when I moved. Rhinestones weighted them down, and a nude-colored silk lining kept everything hidden from view. Barely. It was the shortest and sexiest dress I’d ever worn. I went braless since the bodice was thick enough to keep me covered if I got chilly. On my feet, I’d slipped on a pair of white Converse even though Lulu begged and even threatened to cry. I was adamant. There’d be no more tripping over myself.

  I applied my make-up with a heavy hand, using black eyeliner, dramatic gray eye shadow, and tons of mascara. I also had carefully defined brows that Lulu had insisted on doing for me. The final touch was a pale buttercream lip-gloss that left all the attention on my hair.

  Our names were actually on a list at the ticket counter. Lulu clapped excitedly at this, and even more when the guy at the front door allowed us to pick out free masks from the selection under the glass counter at the entrance. Of course, we chose the most expensive ones—velvet-soft and dramatic with feathers and sparkly jewels around the eyes. We slipped them on and giggled at each other. Lulu snapped a few selfies of us before we elbowed our way to the bar area and found two stools next to each other.

  She ordered top shelf vodka martinis while I checked out the crowd, searching for Dax’s broad shoulders or Spider’s telltale blue hair.

  “Do you see them?” I asked.

  She sipped from her drink, scanning the room. “No, but Spider said they had some phone calls and errands today. I’m sure Dax is tired after getting home late last night.” She turned her gaze on me, giving me a knowing look. “He’s probably still pissed at you. What’s your plan, girlie?”

  I sighed heavily. At breakfast, I’d told her about Dax’s late-night visit, the tangible sexual tension between us, and that I’d accidentally said Hartford’s name at the wrong time.

  “I don’t know. I’m just winging it.” And I was scared to death. I didn’t know how to define all the feelings I had for him.

  “Do you think you’ll ever tell him what happened, Remi?”

  I flinched. “Why would I?”

  She ran her finger along the rim of her glass. “Maybe because it would make you feel better—”

  “No.” My voice sliced through the air.

  She sighed. “He’s changed. Or maybe he hasn’t and he’s always been nice, but we never saw it. He’s cocky and thinks he’s hot shit—which he is—but underneath that pretty exterior, he’s a great guy.”

  My mouth turned down, remembering the past. The darkness.

  She took my drink, sat it down with hers, and dragged me out to the dance floor. “Come on, let’s stop talking. You said after the Chad thing, you wanted to dance, and I want to see it.”

  I groaned. Today I was feeling less you only live once and more don’t make a fool of yourself.

  “Just get in the middle where no one can see us,” I called out over the rock-techno-classical-music mix as I followed her through a crowd of people dancing.

  “All you need is some confidence. See? He likes it.” She nudged her head at a guy next to us, whose eyes were glued to me as we passed by.

  I laughed, gaining some confidence. I could do this, right? It’s just wiggling around to a beat.

  We found a small open area and she motioned at me to move. I nodded, slid my feet from side to side, and snapped my fingers.

  “Swing your arms a little. Don’t be such a robot,” Lulu said, demonstrating.

  Okay, okay.

  Find your rhythm, Remi.

  I lifted my arms and drew circles in the air with my elbows and shook my hips, something I’d seen Malcolm do when he was excited after beating me on the Xbox.

  She grimaced. “No. I don’t know what that was. Here try this . . . Use your hands and pretend like you’re washing your hair in the shower, but in a sexy way. Move your hips slow and easy like a snake trying to hypnotize someone.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I am not doing that.”

  “No, watch.” She dropped her shoulders and swayed, her hand caressing the sides of her scalp.

  Dammit. Anything looked good on Lulu.

  Fine. I moved my hips and massaged my hair with my fingertips.

  Sway. Shampoo. Repeat.

  Lulu giggled.

  I stopped, hands dropping. “What? Do I look stupid?”

  “No, silly!” She grabbed my hands and twirled me around the dance floor like we were kids. “You’re sexy as heck . . . even I’m getting turned on. It’s the perfect move for you.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded.

  We danced to several songs, and soon I let loose and bounced around doing whatever. Besides, no one other than me seemed to care I was a bad dancer.

  Lulu called out over the music that she was thirsty and wanted to grab some water. “Iris” by The
Goo Goo Dolls came on—one of my favorites and a surprisingly slow selection by the DJ—so I waved her to go on without me.

  Closing my eyes, I reached above my head and moved my arms to the beat, easing my hands down my neck and chest, touching my curves.

  I imagined it was a slow and sexy striptease . . .

  From behind me, steel hands settled on my hips as a male body pressed against mine and settled into sync with me.

  I froze.

  “Don’t stop now,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re bloody beautiful, and I want to dance with you.”

  A heartbeat later, I lifted my arms again and swayed, and his fingers followed, tracing the length of my hand, my arms. Leaning my head back against his shoulder, I took note of the hard chest. His intoxicating scent.

  His nose grazed my bare shoulder, and I reached behind me, my hand threading through his hair and tugging. He groaned.

  The song ended, a faster one taking its place, but we ignored the beat, swaying softly against each other.

  He lifted my hair and his lips touched my nape, his tongue licking the sweat from my skin.

  Desire rippled over me and I shivered.

  “Are you hot for me?” he asked, his voice low and intimate. As if we’d done this a million times.

  “Yes,” I moaned as his teeth lightly nipped at my shoulder.

  His right hand left my hip so he could run his hand down my back.

  He unzipped my dress inch by inch.

  The music was suddenly louder, harmonizing with my thudding heartbeat.

  A part of me was yelling for him to stop, while the other side was remembering how good it felt to have a man touch me. I went with it, ignoring the other voice in my head.

  From behind me, he slipped one hand inside my bodice and palmed my breast, massaging, fingers plucking at my nipple.

  I groaned at the heat throbbing in my body.

  “Hold your dress up so it doesn’t fall. Dance for me,” he ordered, and I did what he said, rotating my body against his as I held on to the dress. He slipped the other hand inside my dress, both hands caressing me.

  Everywhere around us people danced, caught up in the loud music. Strobe lights highlighted random faces and then jumped away. No one even glanced at us. They didn’t notice us, and I felt alone with him even though I clearly wasn’t. It was surreal.