British Bad Boys: Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  It was him.

  “You want more?” a dark voice asked. Raspy. Thick with lust.

  My breath hitched. “Yes.”

  His hand slipped lower and teased the band on my underwear, dipping in to graze my center. Once. Twice. Then moving away. I felt the loss like a pang.

  “More,” I begged. “Touch me.”

  He cupped me firmly then, the possessiveness of his hand seeming to claim ownership. A finger slipped inside me as his voice whispered in my ear. “Do you like this?”

  “Yes.” I whispered, my voice shaky.

  He groaned, his lips against my neck as he teased me. “Would you let me fuck you here?”

  I paused, my hips freezing against him.

  “Don’t hesitate,” he said, a dangerous edge in his voice.

  I shivered, wanting more of his fingers. More of his mouth. More everything. “Yes, yes.”

  Then everything stopped.

  He zipped my dress and twirled me around to face him.

  Anger rode his face, confusing me, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from taking him all in: the taut jawline like a movie star, broad shoulders big enough for me to lean on, biceps that would protect me, and that fascinating dragonfly tattoo I wanted to lick.

  I sighed.

  Hello, Mr. Beautiful.

  Acting on pure instinct and clearly not common sense, I traced my free hand down his chest to the V at his hips. I ran my hand over his hard crotch. “Hi there, Sex Lord.”

  He stared at me, his eyes dark with some unreadable emotion. “Stop.”

  “You started this.” I snaked my arms around him and sucked his neck the way he’d done my shoulder. He tasted of sweat and man, and I wanted to inhale all of him. I was flirting with danger, and this time I couldn’t blame it on tequila or adrenaline or exhaustion.

  I wanted to climb him like a tree.

  His jaw clenched as he pulled away from me. “First off, I came out here because . . . dammit . . . you and that short-as-fuck dress, and second—I could have been anyone behind you. Even Chad. What were you thinking?”

  “That I was going to get lucky?”

  My answer didn’t make him happy. He laced his fingers with mine and pulled, forcing me to follow him as he barreled his way through the throng of people on the dance floor. Well, if he’d come out here to protect me, then that had certainly taken a left turn.

  Obviously he was ticked about something, but he’d never hurt me. Even as he pulled me through the crowd, he kept glancing back to make sure I wasn’t getting dragged down.

  He stopped briefly at the bar where Spider and Lulu sat deep in conversation. They glanced up when we stopped, their eyes big as Dax didn’t speak to either of them but grabbed what I assumed was his Newcastle with his free hand and then headed to the back of the club.

  “Just so you know, I’m only letting you yank on me like a caveman because I’m curious about what’s got you in such a tizzy. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” he growled.

  Okay then.

  He headed down the hall toward the restrooms.

  Crap. Not the stifling room with all the drunken girls.

  I slowed down. “Thank you, but my bladder is fine. Plus, it’s hot in there and the last time I went in, I really wanted to puke . . .”

  He burst through the ladies’ room door.

  Three women swiveled to face us, their eyes lighting up appreciatively as they took in the handsome male at the door. He straightened athletic shoulders and grinned charmingly—although I could see it was forced.

  “Ladies, sorry to bust up in here, but if you’d excuse us, I’d like to have a few moments alone with . . . ” He sent me a narrowed look.“ . . . this girl.”

  They blinked. Looked around at each other.

  “Uh, this is the ladies’. Why don’t you take it outside?” one of them snarked as she leaned over the sink to apply more lipstick.

  Dax cleared his throat. Smiled. Again. “The lead guitarist for Vital Rejects is at the bar. He has blue hair and I’ve told him to buy you as many drinks as you want.”

  “For real?” squealed Lipstick Girl. Her hands fluttered around her blonde hair. “Oh my God. I love him. He’s so hot when he plays and when he got in that fight in Vegas—”

  “Yes, he’s the ultimate bad boy. We all know.” Dax added, “By the way, that free alcohol offer ends in five seconds. Five, four, three, two . . .”

  They sent us one final look and all three scurried out of the room.

  As soon as the door was shut, he let my hand go, threw the deadbolt, and paced around the small room, his demeanor a little possessive and a whole lot sexy. He was like an angry lion, ready to tear into someone. I watched him, frankly fascinated by his emotional response. Why was he upset? What was going on with him?

  He came to a stop, as if he’d made a decision, and stalked toward me. I backed up until I was pressed against the sinks that lined the concrete wall. Glittering eyes raked over me, and quivers of heat danced up my spine at the lingering desire I read on his face.

  God. I wanted him and his domineering attitude. But it was crazy. Insane. Hadn’t I learned my lesson with him already?

  He slapped his palm against the wall, his face leaning down to mine. “Tell me you knew it was me out there.”

  I exhaled. So that’s what this was about.

  “As soon as you put your hands on me, I knew it was you.” Only you. “I’d never do that with a random person, Dax. That’s not me, and you should know it.”

  He’d been the only crazy thing I’d ever done.

  Relief flickered over his face and he let out a pent-up breath.

  I scowled. “You’re acting like you’re some kind of—I don’t know—pissed-off alpha male who’s marking his territory. You don’t own me. We’re friends—”

  “Who got to second base in front of the whole damn club,” he snapped.

  “I was willing to give you a homerun.” I bit my lip. What about your contract, Remi? Oh, how fast you broke.

  He inhaled sharply, his eyes landing on the bodice of my dress then darting away. He took a step back from me and crossed his arms.

  “What? You—you don’t like my dress? Look,” I said, holding up one of my feet to show him my Converse. “I wore sensible shoes so I wouldn’t fall.”

  “Your dress is too short.”

  “I happen to have really long legs.”

  “I know. They’ve been wrapped around me several times.”

  Oh, he went there. I crossed my arms. Two could play at this game. “What do you want me to wear? A nun’s habit?”

  Something—a memory—passed over his face, and his gaze softened. “I don’t know—just dress like you do at Whitman.”

  I gaped. “Since when do you pay attention to what I wear?”

  He raked his eyes over me. “More than I should. Those tight pants you wear that hug your arse, the little white sweater you like when it’s cool outside . . . and your pearls. I’ve thought about those pearls . . . what I’d like to do with them.”

  My stomach fluttered. My pearls? “And my hair? You don’t like it either?”

  He closed his eyes briefly. Swallowed. “I love your wild hair, but now I can’t . . . dammit . . . this is all wrong. It’s—it’s been a totally weird day. As soon as Spider cooked breakfast, I should have known it was wonky. Hell, as soon as I saw you here that night, I should have known fate was screwing with me.” He raked a hand through his hair, frustration evident.

  “What else happened today?” I put my hand on his shoulder, leftover anger vanishing.

  He leaned into me.

  “It’s a long story, but Declan mentioned a house for sale in Raleigh. I thought about it and spent most of the day on the phone talking with Father and Declan to work out details. I may buy it. It’s impulsive as hell, but it’s such a good deal that I’m afraid to wait until I get home, plus school will have started by then.”

  “I hope it works out for you.�
� I squeezed his bicep.

  He flicked his eyes over me. “Then, Spider told me you guys were coming here tonight, and all I could think about was Chad, and what if he was here too. I had to come. Shit.” He exhaled. “Every guy out there was eye-fucking you, and I was just as bad. Dammit, I didn’t mean to go that far when we were dancing . . .”

  Our dancing had gone too far. As soon as he’d touched me, I’d been ready to throw caution to the wind.

  I sighed. “It takes two to tango. It’s my fault too. Let’s blame the sexy dancing on the dress or the music or martinis or whatever.” I sucked in a breath. “But we can be friends. We have our contract. I want to be close to you like that.”

  He lifted his face, soft gray eyes searching mine. “Christ, me too.”

  I smiled tentatively, and he cupped my face and ran his thumb across my bottom lip.

  “Friends,” I said with a slight shake in my voice.

  He nodded and let his hand fall to his side.

  10

  After the dance-floor fiasco, the four of us spent the rest of our time at Masquerade upstairs in the booths. The air had been cleared between Remi and me, and I felt okay about it. Somewhat.

  I felt much better when Spider handed over his leather jacket and she wrapped it around her waist. Good thing the rocker wore leather in the summer.

  She and Lulu sat across from us, giggling and telling stories about Remi’s propensity for accidents and Lulu growing up in the music industry in Nashville. I asked questions, storing away nuggets of information about Remi. Spider sat back and watched, more interested in slinging back vodka than chatting. Knowing him, he was concocting some sort of bet in his head.

  “When I first met Remi in the dorm room, she tripped over a stack of books and landed face first in the trashcan,” Lulu said, laughing.

  Remi grinned and rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve been accident-free for at least a day.”

  I smiled, studying her over the top of my beer bottle. My hand curled in my seat, imagining wrapping my fingers around that copper hair, tugging her hair back, and kissing her until she begged me to . . .

  Whoa. Slow your roll there, Romeo.

  You just re-committed to being friends. Make it last this time, arsehole.

  I caught her glancing at me too, an easiness in her eyes that said she trusted me.

  Trusted. Me.

  I sighed. I had to keep my thoughts and my hands to myself.

  Around midnight, we walked outside together and found a cab for the girls. Spider and I headed back to the flat, and Remi called me when she got to her hotel room. I made her walk through the entire place as I listened.

  Was I overly paranoid about her attacker?

  Maybe.

  My fists clenched every time I pictured her under that arsehole. Her bruises may have been covered with make-up, but I fucking knew they were there, and it drove me crazy.

  We talked on the phone for two hours. We both put the speaker on as we changed for bed, brushed our teeth and flossed. Later, we crawled in our beds and talked about everything. Movies. Books. Life.

  I lay spread-eagle on top of my white duvet as she opened up and told me about her brother Malcolm, who was autistic. And then later, I told her about the letter my mum had written me.

  “Is the dragonfly for your mom?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What does it mean?”

  I exhaled. I was diving into deep waters. “A dragonfly showed up the day of her funeral and followed our car when we left. I was leaving my home, my friends, everything. Declan and I—we felt like it was her that day, and that was before we’d even read her letter. She’d always had a fascination for them, tons of charms and notepads and necklaces. My brother has a smaller tattoo of a dragonfly on his neck. I never realized I wanted one until this summer.”

  “A lot of things have changed this summer. Hartford and I are over. You and I are friends.” She sighed. “Who would have thought that?”

  Yeah.

  A bit later, I was in the middle of telling her a story from my childhood, when I heard her snore.

  “Remi?”

  Silence.

  “Hello? Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  All I got was heavy breathing.

  I grinned. And I don’t even know why the sound of her sleeping made me happy, but it did.

  “Goodnight, love,” I whispered and ended the call.

  The next day, I FaceTimed Declan to talk more about the house. With me on the phone, he drove over to the place and walked through it room by room. It was an older craftsman-style home; the kitchen needed renovating, but the hardwood flooring was intact and only needed a good buffing. I took a big breath and decided to go for it. I called Father, who was thrilled, and he offered to help speed up the buying process with his lawyers. I accepted.

  Because the house had been on the market for a while, we were able to get the seller to agree to a meeting in three days—which meant I’d need to leave London in two.

  I got online, reserved my ticket, and wham, bam, I was jumping right into being a real adult.

  * * *

  “Your tattoo shop used to be an old medieval church?” Remi asked as we entered the vestibule of the Friar’s Church Tattoo Shop. She took in the stained-glass windows and arching buttresses. “The architecture is amazing.”

  I was leaving London the day after tomorrow, and I wanted to spend my last full day with Spider, Remi, and Lulu. So after handling the house details with Declan, I’d called the girls and offered to take Remi to see a few sights, and then to get the tattoo she’d mentioned a few times during our phone conversation the night before.

  I smiled at her enthusiasm. “It’s been completely rebuilt except for a few of the original stones on the foundation. Friar Laurence replicated every single detail that he could find about the original building, down to the lion and lamb stained-glass windows . . . and now it’s the best place in London to get ink. I wouldn’t go anywhere else. Besides, you have to see the sanctuary.” I motioned toward the heavy, wooden double doors.

  Remi came to a halt, giving me a quizzical look. “You love this place?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “What is it? The building itself or the fact that it’s a tattoo shop?”

  I thought about it. “Both appeal to me.”

  “What if you had your own Friar’s Church in Raleigh?”

  “You think I could open one in Raleigh? Me?” I laughed.

  She smiled. “Dude, you’re going to be a homeowner. Paid in full. You can do anything you want.” She paused, her hand on my arm. “You’re an amazing person, Dax. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

  “Wait, did I hear you say ‘Friar’?” Lulu said, her face scrunched up.

  I nodded. “The owner and employees dress like monks, so don’t get frisky with the help, Lulu.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t go for men in dresses.”

  We walked into the sanctuary where all the action was. On one side stood several artists at their individual stations, wearing floor-length brown robes tied with a piece of rope. On the other was a large seating area, a library of books with art designs, and a small bar.

  Remi’s eyes were wide, taking it all in, from the gold chandeliers and candelabras that lined the wall to the brown stone floor. “I feel like I’m in a play. Or lost in time.”

  Dressed in his robe, the reception friar greeted us and led us over to a circular seating area with heavy wooden chairs and musty bookshelves. The shop also had a small bar in the back, and that’s where Spider headed. Remi and Lulu busied themselves getting comfy and browsing through the tattoo books.

  Friar Laurence, a rotund balding man in his forties, came over a few minutes later and seemed glad that Spider and I had come back and brought new customers. After the introductions were made, we told him that Remi would be getting her first tattoo.

  He nodded, a pleasant smile on his face. “Sure. We’ve got a few stations opening in
the next hour or so.”

  Remi nodded, a torn expression on her face.

  “Hey. You scared?” I asked.

  “No, I can handle the pain—I was thinking about what Hartford would think . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Who gives a shit what he thinks? He doesn’t deserve you,” I snapped.

  Startled blue eyes studied my face. “That sounds like more than just a frat rivalry. You really don’t like him, do you?”

  My lips tightened, but I reined my anger in. “He’s tolerable.”

  Hated that fucker for what he did to Remi.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, will you two just screw already? This back and forth is giving me a headache,” Lulu said as she walked over to join us from her seat, obviously having overheard our conversation.

  She snorted. “God, just joking, guys. You can both close your mouths now.” A sigh came from her. “Anyway, my head is seriously pounding, so I’m going to head back to the hotel.”

  “I’ll go with you. We can take the tube and leave you guys the car,” Spider chimed in, coming back to join us carrying a drink in his hand. He tipped it up. “You good with that?”

  Me and Remi alone?

  Keep it in your pants, Sex Lord.

  Of course, we tried to talk them into staying, but it had been a long day of showing them the sights in London, and neither of them wanted a tattoo.

  After they left, we grabbed the rest of Remi’s tequila from Spider’s Mercedes in the car park and headed back to the tattoo shop. Along the way, the rumbling of thunder reached our ears. I looked up at the darkening sky and grinned at Remi. “You ready for a surprise London shower?”

  She nodded.

  Rain fell softly at first, just a drop here and there, but in seconds it was pouring.

  “Hop on,” I said, bending down so she could reach my shoulders.

  Giggling as she clutched the tequila, she climbed on piggyback style. I hiked her up further, hooking her thighs up with my hands and holding on.