British Bad Boys: Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  What was it about him that pricked at me? I don’t know.

  His lips twitch. “I nearly cocked that whole thing up. I’m not exactly at the top of my game today.”

  “I bet you’ve never even had a dog.” I smile, softening the words as I study his profile, tracing the lines of a face that’s flawlessly heartbreaking. It’s hard to stay annoyed with someone so damned gorgeous.

  He chuckles as he eases into the space and sits down. “I did, a huge mastiff named Noodles. My sister and I used to ride him like a pony, and he loved every minute of it.” He buckles his seat belt and I find myself watching his long fingers, noticing how elegant they are. I recall how those very fingers strummed his guitar the night before. I can’t help but imagine them on my skin as warmth settles throughout everything below my navel.

  Get a grip, Rose. He’s too old for you.

  “I’m not sure I can trust a thing you say after the lies you told Betty,” I say.

  He shrugs. “True story. The sad part is my father sold him along with our estate when we moved to the US. I often wonder what happened to the big lug.”

  Estate? He must be rich.

  “What brought you to the US? Music?” I’m curious about what makes him tick.

  Something flashes beneath the controlled expression of nonchalance he wears, and I stare at him intensely, trying to catch the minute shift in his emotions. He lets out a sigh as his fingers tap nervously on his thighs. “My father wanted out of London, kind of like a fresh start for us.”

  Interesting. I’m itching to ask him why the fresh start, but common sense tells me it’s too personal.

  “Noodles is a cute name. There must be a story there?”

  A quick grin ghosts over his face. “When he was a pup, he’d never beg for scraps. Father had him trained by a puppy school so he knew how to behave, but if Cook ever served a Bolognese sauce with spaghetti—all bets were off. No admonishing or collar zapping would make him stop barking until you put a few in his bowl.” He tosses his head back and laughs. “So, we changed his name to Noodles. Much better than Bertram, am I right?” His gaze slides to me, amusement making the hard lines of his face soft.

  No man has the right to be that freaking hot.

  I swallow, feeling all of seventeen and completely out of my element. “Yeah. Totally.”

  My usually adept vocabulary is sadly missing.

  “You got pets?” he asks as his eyes linger on my face. “I bet you’re a cat person.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  He smirks. “You’re a little prickly…like a cat with an attitude.”

  Oh. The way he says the word cat, like he likes it, makes me feel...fluttery. “I love all animals, but I live on campus at the moment.” The student dorms are a recent thing for me since Anne married and then promptly left for a month long honeymoon. I insisted I would be okay at their house in Highland Park until they returned, but she was adamant that I move into school housing where there was some supervision. Since Anne is on the school board, the administration agreed to let me move in until graduation.

  “Ah, a college girl.”

  I lie—or at least, I don’t correct him. I nod and clear my throat as I change the topic. “Your band was amazing last night.”

  “Thank you. What song was your favorite?”

  I loved all of their music, but a few stood out, especially a slow ballad called “Albatross” where Spider sang and played guitar. “The one about the guy lost at sea and all alone.” I pause, feeling self-conscious as I think about the underlying theme of the song and how I related to it. “It was a retelling of the poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, right?”

  He nods, looking thoughtful as he cocks his head and studies me. “Not everyone catches that.”

  I shrug. “I love literature and music. The song…it was about carrying your burdens around your neck? Did you write it?”

  He blinks at me. “Yes to both. You’re pretty astute.” He gets quiet, and I can tell I touched a nerve. It’s clear he doesn’t want to get too deep.

  He clears his throat. “Look, I’m sorry about holding up the line earlier…with Betty and the flight attendant.”

  I shrug. “I’m sorry for being so grouchy. Flying makes me weird.”

  “So we can start over?”

  I nod, already over it since he sat down, and he smiles, an earnest expression growing on his face. “Since we’re talking music, what did you think of my guitar solo on the song “Superhero”? Did you like the mink coat? It was fake, by the way. I’d never wear a real one.”

  I grow warm, remembering flashes of his well-endowed package in a pair of leopard print bikini underwear as he strutted around in the long fur coat, an outfit he put on just for that song. Only someone with massive amounts of confidence could have worn that ensemble. “If your goal was for women to throw their panties at you—it worked.”

  He smiles sheepishly. “I’m hard to resist, but you never know. I like to get serious opinions.”

  I roll my eyes at his hard to resist comment, and he laughs.

  He takes off his jacket and stretches out his long legs, and his scent drifts in my direction, cedar mixed with the smell of leather. It makes me a little giddy.

  We’re sitting incredibly close, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I’m staring at him. He’s just so different with the tattoos and blue hair. My eyes keep sneaking peeks over at him and taking mental notes. I study the word LOST tattooed on his left knuckles.

  “You got a name?” he asks a few moments later as he settles his head back against his headrest.

  “Primrose, but everyone calls me Rose.”

  “Nice. I fancy Rose…it’s old-fashioned, but pretty.” He smiles and it hits me straight in the heart…devilish, charming, and disarming all at once. His eyes drift lazily over my face, his gaze landing on my mouth and not budging.

  My heart skips a beat, and I swallow.

  Fact: if men stare at your mouth, they want to kiss you—or you have really bad teeth.

  Thanks to Anne, mine are perfectly straight.

  But before I can formulate a reply to his comment, everything inside me freezes as the plane begins its taxi down the airstrip.

  4

  Spider

  We race down the airstrip and lift into the air, the pressure making my ears pop. I glance over at Rose and see she’s clutching the sides of her seat, her face deathly pale as we rise in altitude.

  “You okay?” I ask softly, frowning at the loss of color in her cheeks.

  She does an all-over body shiver, her throat moving as she swallows. “I hate flying—and storms. Plus, the window seat makes me queasy.”

  Shit. If I had known, I would have switched with her earlier. “You can have my seat once we get leveled out.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s okay, I’m settled in now…just really cold.”

  I hate that she’s cold. Once we get to cruising altitude and can unbuckle our seat belts, I signal to the nearby flight attendant to bring us a blanket.

  Heidi brings the blanket, and I hand it to Rose.

  “Thank you.” She takes it, our hands briefly touching.

  “That flight attendant likes you,” she says, her eyes watching as Heidi sashays off. “She hasn’t taken her eyes off of you since you boarded.”

  “She’s not the one I want to like me,” I murmur. It’s rather abrupt and to the point, but I always say what I mean. Why waste time? I want Rose.

  I watch her to gauge her reaction.

  “Oh.” A blush rises up her face as she busies herself by trying to make the short blanket cover her legs and chest area. I see right away that it’s not going to work.

  “Here, I have an idea.” I reach under my seat, pull out my jacket, and arrange it over her torso. I lean over her to adjust it, hitching it up on her shoulder, as I cover her up.

  She smiles softly and thanks me, making me blush—which is so weird.

  I clear my throat. “I have to
warn you though…this is my favorite jacket. Girls don’t usually get to wear it, so you’re pretty special. No drooling if you fall asleep, okay?”

  She bites her lower lip, the one I can’t stop looking at. “If I drool does that mean I get to keep it?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?” she says, and her voice has lowered.

  “On what you’re willing to do to get it.”

  Another silence fills the air between us as we stare at each other, but it’s not weird or uncomfortable. It’s hot and electric.

  She breaks the tension by laughing. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to, so I guess you can keep it.”

  I laugh.

  Damn. She isn’t going to make this easy for me.

  Feeling a bit flustered by her, I glance down at the Kindle she stuffed in the seat. With all our talk earlier and her fear of flying, I nearly forgot about it. I nudge my head at her Kindle and clear my throat. “I saw what you were reading. If you want to learn how to make a man fall in love with you, I can offer some advice.”

  She cocks her head. “Really? I hope it doesn’t involve me wearing leopard print bikinis and mink coats.”

  “Touché.”

  She smirks, looking pleased, and it makes me want to kiss her.

  “Who’s the guy you’re reading this for?”

  She stiffens. “There’s no guy.”

  “Un-uh. There’s always a guy.”

  She sighs. “Okay, maybe there is a guy, but my cousin Marge actually bought this book.”

  “This dude, he isn’t into you?”

  “He’s into a lot of girls, most of them popular—and I’m not.”

  Rose deserves a nice guy. I don’t know how I know this, but I just do. “Maybe you should play hard to get.”

  “I don’t play games.”

  “Ah, a girl after my own heart.” I study her flawless skin, taking in the way her lashes flutter against her cheeks. Her long hair is twisted up in some kind of knot with wavy tendrils hanging around her face, and I picture how she’d look with it falling over her shoulders, caressing her naked tits…

  She rearranges her blanket and her scent hits me, honey and vanilla mingled together. It’s intoxicating, and I laugh off an odd nervousness, fighting the urge to press my nose against her neck and inhale.

  Weird, Spider.

  She clears her throat. “If I want something, I go after it.”

  “Maybe you should focus on someone else.” Like me, Mr. Next to You On The Plane Who Wants to Fuck You.

  She shrugs. “Maybe. He is hot.”

  Anger flares in my gut. I’m jealous. How…bloody silly.

  “Is he as hot as I am?” I curl my arm, tightening my bicep for her.

  She half-snorts. “You’re charming, I’ll give you that. No wonder poor Betty fell for it.”

  “Seriously though…is he?” I want to know—I need to know.

  She stares at me, seeing that I’m serious. Her gaze lingers on my tattoos. “He’s…different from you, more conservative.” She waves her hands around. “He plays sports. You play guitar.”

  “Ah.” At least now I know her type.

  “Is the book working for you?” I ask.

  “Haven’t tried it.”

  “Then practice on me. Use some of those wiles from the book. Let me be your guinea pig, and I’ll tell you if you suck.”

  Her eyes widen. You know that rich green color the ocean gets after a storm blows in? That’s the color of her eyes. I lean in closer, taking in the gold around the inner parts of her irises. My finger touches the pout of her bottom lip. “How do you make a guy fall, Rose?” I murmur softly. “Tell me.”

  Her face goes red as she bites her bottom lip where I touched it. Her tongue darts out and licks the spot. She seems to find her equilibrium though as she clears her throat and leans over to whisper conspiratorially. “Be provocative. That’s the one I just read. Pretty silly, right?”

  My cock is hard as steel just from watching her lips say the word provocative. “Not at all,” I say huskily. “Show me how you’re provocative.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t even know you.”

  “Which makes it even better. We’ll never see each other again.”

  “You’ll laugh.”

  I grin. “I dare you.”

  Glowering, she considers me for a moment then reaches up and pulls her hair out of the bun it’s in, creating a cascade of long brown hair around her face. Thick and wavy, different colors of autumn curl over her shoulders, making me want to pick up one of the strands and run my fingers through it. I picture her on a bed, her hair all spread out on a pillow…

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Nice,” I say as I sniff a strand. “Smells like vanilla. Not my personal favorite”—a lie—“but it works.”

  “You’re too much.”

  “Not enough, never. What else you got? Throw it at me.”

  “Okay, how about this.” She pulls a silver necklace out from her dress and strokes the chain as she simultaneously flicks her hair over her shoulder and sends me a heavy-lidded look. She bats those long lashes at me then chews on her bottom lip. It’s a little silly—but I’m turned on.

  “Hmmm, you’re okay,” I muse, feigning disinterest.

  Her shoulders deflate. “Really? I mean, that’s the best I have.”

  And it’s fucking hot.

  “Mind if I take a peek at the book?”

  She hands it over and I skim a couple pages, checking out a list of to-dos.

  One word: laser. Remove all the hair from your body, including legs, armpits, and southern parts. No man likes hair unless he’s a Neanderthal.

  You know what guys hate? Small boobs. Get plastic surgery or give up ever finding a guy.

  I can’t read anymore.

  “Fascinating that people make money off this drivel,” I say dryly.

  “Trust me, I’m too smart to put any stock in it.” She shakes her head ruefully. “Now I’m just embarrassed that you think I’m that stupid.”

  Clearing my throat, I dramatically read parts of them aloud. She giggles and tries to shush me, but I’m not having it. The other passengers have noticed and are staring.

  Finally, with her face flaming in embarrassment, she pops me on the arm and jerks the Kindle out of my hand. “You’ve got to stop! No one on this plane wants to hear about breast augmentation.”

  “Oh, but I do.” An idea comes to me. “Kiss me, Rose.”

  “What?” She blinks.

  “Kiss me. I’m going to show you how to get your guy, and the first thing you need to know is how to use that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

  “Why?”

  “Let me tell you a little secret,” I say. “Getting your guy is mostly about what you don’t say. Do you follow his every movement with your eyes? When you’re walking together, are your steps in sync? When you come into a room, do his eyes go straight to you, even with beautiful women all around him? If the answer is no to any of those, then you’re fucked. You can’t change chemistry, and no amount of hair removal or fake boobs can create it. It just…is. Attraction is magic, and you can’t find it in a book.”

  She seems to find my words fascinating. “What makes you the expert on love?”

  I wave her off—not even going there. “And your lips…they’re perfect. That little indention you have right at the bottom is pure sex, but if you don’t know how to use it properly…” My voice trails off.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, okay?” I arch a brow. “Is that a yes?” Is she going to let me kiss her?

  She nods, and before she can finish the movement, I take her necklace, tug her face to mine, and lay one on her.

  And this is the weird part: I haven’t kissed a girl on the lips in a long time, but I go at it with her like I’m starving.

  Her lips immediately part under mine, as if she’s been waiting for this too. She tastes like sun-ripened cherries, and I delve deeper, exploring her. After a te
ntative few seconds, she gives it back, her tongue finding mine and tangling. It’s gentle, but hot as hell. Cupping her face, I groan as I line her mouth with small feathery kisses, letting my teeth nip lightly on her bottom lip as I pull away.

  “Spider,” she says softly, her chest rising rapidly.

  My dick’s harder than I can ever remember, and all I want to do is kiss her again.

  She moves closer to me, her tits pressing against my chest. My hand slips down to her neck and I graze the soft skin there, caressing her as I picture my lips sucking on her throat. I imagine my tongue playing with her nipples. Fuck. I want her.

  “I want you,” I say, my voice heavy with lust.

  “Kiss me again,” she says as I gaze into her eyes.

  Damn. There’s something about her—

  A pocket of turbulence shakes the plane out of nowhere, and several passengers gasp and cry out.

  I forget about kissing as fear flickers over her face and she clutches her seat once again. “Was that normal?”

  “Just turbulence. The pilot will probably take us higher to get out of it,” I say as the jarring continues.

  Ding! The light to put on our seat belts comes on.

  She closes her eyes, her voice high and reedy. “We’re going to crash, aren’t we? We’re going to die.”

  “Hey.” I grab her hand and lace our fingers together, wanting to comfort her. “It’s going to be fine, I promise.”

  She looks down at our hands in surprise just as another bump sends a passenger stumbling on his way back from the bathroom.

  She turns green as she folds herself into my chest. I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Rose.”

  When I get scared, my throat gets dry, so I look around for a flight attendant to get her some water. However, they’ve disappeared, probably buckling themselves in. I unclip my seat belt even though I’m not supposed to and stand to dig a bottle of water from my backpack, hanging on to the overhead so I don’t fall. Once I find it, I quickly sit back down and hand it over to her.

  “Thousands of planes take off and land every day,” I say as she turns the bottle up.

  “You’re a musician, not an aerospace engineer.” Her voice is a bit snappy.