Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  “I’m here. Milly, what is going on with you?”

  Phoebe’s concern is comforting and exactly what I need. A piece of home, even if it’s just a phone call. I miss everything about her, and hearing her voice brings back so much of myself that feels incomplete since the moment we stopped talking.

  “I don’t know, Phoebs. I just fell… like hard, and I’m scared. I’m losing everyone, but I can’t pull myself out of this alone. Then there’s Mama… she’s getting worse.”

  “Breathe… one, two, three.” Phoebe breathes into the speaker like she’s giving birth, making me laugh through my tears. “When you’re ready… spill.”

  I pour my entire heart out to her, everything from the moment I met Wesley to this evening. Phoebe listens quietly, though my stupid phone keeps buzzing from call waiting. I ignore it, wanting to hear her voice and nothing else.

  “Jesus, Milly, it’s like a soap opera. What has Hollywood done to you?”

  “Not Hollywood. Wesley.”

  “You’re in love. This is scaring you because you’re in love with him. You’re in love with a movie star,” Phoebe screams, loud.

  “What?”

  “You’re in love with a movie star who is also your boss’s ex-fiancé. This is everything in life you’re against… movie stars and shitting where you eat.”

  I sigh loudly, turning the lamp on as the night falls, and the darkness creeps in.

  “I don’t think that expression applies to this situation, and it’s gross.”

  “Milly, I’ve known you forever. This isn’t you. He isn’t what you’re about.”

  She has known me for forever and states the truth. Wesley is not what I am about if I’m about anything.

  But what if that is no longer me? The scared and timid Milana, who would run any time anything changed. Here I am now, the complete opposite.

  “I miss home.”

  “I know you do. We miss you.”

  “We?”

  “Liam and me. He asked about you again, for like the hundredth time. He still cares. It’s not too late, you know.”

  “That boat has sailed, Phoebs. Liam and I are just Liam and I.”

  “And you and Wesley are—”

  “Wesley is crazy. I am… in love,” I finally admit, openly, to her.

  “And that, my friend, is the answer to your problem.”

  I think about what she’s saying, and stupidly I question why love should be a problem. Isn’t love supposed to be the greatest thing to happen to you? The world becomes full of rainbows, unicorns frolicking around, and all you can feel is the crisp, clean air and hear the sounds of a beating heart that bursts every day with joy.

  Love is not crying each day. Love is not questioning whether you should pick up the phone and call him because you fear his mood swings and erratic behavior. Love is not asking for space.

  And if love is not self-inflicting pain and falling back into his arms because, in a twisted way, it comforts you, then what is it I’m feeling?

  The exhaustion hits me, the yawns coming hard and fast while I barely say goodbye, my phone face-planting me several times. Phoebe reminds me to call her later, something about catching me up on who is dating who in town, and the latest controversy with her neighbor’s teen pregnancy.

  I doze off, only to wake to a commotion, unknown voices and some yelling. The doors to my suite swing open, forceful and slamming against the wall, with Wesley standing between them, wild and monstrous. He appears larger than usual—his built physique wearing a black hoodie and gray sweats. His beard, normally well-kept, is over-grown and covering his lower face.

  Emerson is quick at his heels, pulling him back which he ignores, shaking her grip off him which only frustrates her more. His gaze is steadfast, hard against me, and his breathing is abnormally noisy—the only sound echoing in the room.

  “Wesley, stop. Calm down, will you,” Emerson commands, her tone rigid.

  “Leave us, please,” he grits, nostrils flaring with a piercing stare.

  “No. You’re crazy. Are you on something?”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. “You can leave us.”

  “Are you sure?” Emerson glances at Wesley, staring him down with worry. “I’ll be right outside dealing with security, and a husband who will no doubt tear me to shreds.” She leaves the room, closing the door behind us.

  Wesley paces back and forth, head bowed with a heavy step, clenching then unclenching his hands.

  I’m not surprised to see him here. He has a way of finding me wherever I may be. I’m still tired, though I did sleep, my anger is controlled, perhaps from my exhaustion. And despite his clear anguish, I’ve missed him.

  But I’m not going to tell him that.

  I need to talk to him.

  Set it straight, once and for all.

  “Well, you’re obviously here for a reason.”

  “What part of a relationship don’t you understand?”

  “Here we go again,” I say, defeated, throwing my hands in the air. “I leave for two minutes, and you’re acting like a caveman. Give me a fucking break! Do you know what it’s like to have cameras point in your face demanding you tell them if you’re fucking Wesley Rich?”

  “No… you give me a break.” His hands nervously run through his hair. I can see now, at closer range, his bloodshot eyes that Emerson must have noticed. He must be on something. The deal, the other night, he’s high now or whatever happens when you’ve taken something. He needs help, I can’t do this. This is beyond me.

  “I can’t fucking think straight, Milana. You think it’s fun not calling me. Playing these useless mind games to fuck with me? I know you read my texts. I know you go out and have fun, dancing or whatever the fuck with other men. You think I just sit around and not think about you? I can’t fucking breathe. All. The. Time.”

  “And do you think it’s easy for me? This life. Your life. It isn’t what I know. I don’t know what it’s like to have every move watched. What happened yesterday terrified me. On top of that, I have broken an important relationship because of us.”

  “What? Your fucking ex back home?”

  “No. Emerson.”

  He remains quiet, lifting his head and biting his lip. I know he craves a drag, same thing he did every other time.

  “You always do this. Smother me when I ask for space.”

  “You didn’t ask for space,” he reminds me, bitterly. “You said you can’t do this.”

  He is right. I gave up. Ran. Threw everything into the too-hard basket.

  If I love him, which I openly admit, why do I give up so easily?

  “I have no clue how to be in love. This is… overwhelming. I just want time to process. I have so much going on, and I don’t know what to do, what to say, everything is getting to me. Your life, in the spotlight, I don’t know how to cope.”

  “You have no clue how to be in love?” he repeats, a rough smile playing on his lips. “You love me. Yet, you said you wanted out…”

  “Yes.” I can’t look at him, but then, I listen to this crazy heart of mine playing a wicked game of chess, and realize it’s checkmate, baby. “Just like you’re in love with me.”

  The emotions, raw and exposed between us in the flesh, exert their power while we stand here in the same room, though what feels like miles apart.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? Could have saved me an expensive plane ticket and a possible violation of Canadian law.”

  He moves closer to me, leaning over the side of the bed and bending as his hand grazes my cheek. The surface of his skin, soft yet manly, is all I need. I close my eyes, at peace, basking in his touch and allowing myself to feel it rain all over me. How easily the simplest of gestures wash away the pain.

  “You want to process. Then process.”

  “You mean it?”

  “You love me.” He breathes with a weightless gaze. “That’s all there is to it. Process, be merry. I’ll be waiting back i
n the States.”

  With a slow burn, he bridges the gap between us, purposely hovering his lips above mine. I want to taste him on me. It feels like forever since we have been intimate.

  I smile, releasing a satisfied sigh. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. But you know, I came all the way over here, you tell me you love me, and I love you, I think it warrants that we make love… if that’s what love is.”

  I laugh, softly and tired. “It’s kinda that time of the month.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He hovers over me, using his arms for support. The veins in his neck bulge as he leans in, sucking my bottom lip achingly slow. My hands find their way to his cheeks, caressing his face and guiding his mouth onto mine each time he pulls away. That fluttering feeling inside my stomach amplifies with the hammering beats of my heart.

  “Okay, well, I don’t have it now.” My voice is muffled in between our heated kisses. “But I’m cramping, so it’s coming, and it would be kinda awkward if the hotel staff had to clean up a mess—”

  “Shhh… I don’t care.”

  “Wesley.”

  “Milana.”

  He slides his hands into my shirt, touching my nipples softly and causing me to melt between his touch. I crave him, I want all of him, and maybe this is what it feels like to be in love. This moment, forever, just the two of us. Nothing can break this.

  “I love you,” I whisper again, his eyes searching mine with a need for validation.

  “I know,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb along my lip. “It’s just us, okay. You and me.”

  “You promise?”

  He kisses me softly, replacing the sexual element with desire. “I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The loud banging echoes down the stairwell.

  I assume it’s Mr. and Mrs. Hannigan’s lovemaking again, but am mistakenly wrong as the noise is coming from our apartment.

  Jiggling my keys in the door, I open it with a struggle—balancing my purse, mail, and dragging along my suitcase, my arms are like a dead weight from the heavy load.

  The first thing I see is Flynn, relaxed in his ripped, black jeans and favorite Futurama shirt, sitting behind a drumkit. The drums are shiny red and black, almost identical to the pictures he has pinned near his headboard. They’re an eyesore in our small and very compact living room.

  “Check it out, Milly!”

  He plays a beat, banging the sticks against the drum, adopting a wide grin. I recognize the beat, a Linkin Park song that was his favorite in middle school.

  My suitcase sits by the door, and with a bout of tiredness hitting me, I plonk myself on the couch, hugging a pillow, and listen to the rest of the song.

  It’s good to be home, or whatever this place is, familiar in a weird yet comforting way. It’s funny how the things that once annoyed us have become a normality, such as the damp smell coming from the bathroom, and the aromas of curry that seep through the small cracks in the window. The brown walls—once a depressing backdrop—relax my state of anxiousness. I’m glad to see Flynn. I miss him despite his moody ways.

  “Wow, bro. Nice kit. Looks expensive.”

  “Yeah, it was a gift.”

  “Who on earth would have bought you such an extravagant gift?”

  Flynn’s face gives it away. I sigh, caught between Flynn being happy and Wesley’s erratic behavior. Granted, he has money and easily flaunts it. I’m simply not used to such extravagance. But this isn’t my battle. In ways, Wesley knows not to throw lavish gifts at me. I think he learned how difficult I can be when he sent me to the store to purchase that dress for his mother’s event.

  “Are you mad?”

  “It’s not for me to be mad. I guess you’re friends or something. I’m tired… I think I’m just going to head to bed.”

  “Cool. By the way, Mama asked if you could call her. When you have time.”

  I wanted to tell Flynn about the voicemail Mama left me. But watching him, in his essence and in such a good headspace, I just can’t do it. I need to understand what it means, speak to the nurses and get their opinion on the matter. After my panic attack and Wesley’s brief visit, our two days were jam-packed with work, not allowing me a single moment to think about anything else. In ways, I welcome the distraction but know that I have to get to the bottom of this. Mama only has me, and without me taking care of her, there would be no one else.

  I decide to call her as soon as I get into my room. Best to talk before I get distracted by something.

  Upon opening my door, the scent of floral mixed with green nature-type smells hits my senses. The room is covered in bouquets. I quietly count the number, twenty to be exact. It’s a mixture of roses, all in different colors, though oddly no red. It’s like a beautiful rainbow sprinkled all over my room.

  I move closer, to the one next to my bedside table, and read the card resting inside it.

  I love you.

  I hold the card close to my heart, bringing a smile to my face. My thoughts on his lavish gifts are afterthoughts now. This makes me happy, I can’t deny that. Underneath it all, lay a sweet and beautiful man.

  A man who belongs to me, and a man who loves me in return.

  I automatically dial his number, my breath hitched as I wait excitedly to hear his voice on the other end. The sounds of his hello, velvety soft with a hint of cheekiness only confirms how much I miss him. With a small struggle, I hold back my girlish giggles.

  “They’re beautiful, every single bunch.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Rich. So, question. Why no red?”

  “I hate red roses. My mother loves them. Speaking of which, if you’re done processing, please join me for dinner tonight. Mother is turning the big six-oh and making her closest acquaintances join her.”

  “You’re not an acquaintance,” I scold him, gently. “I’m sure she wants her family there. Her one and only son.”

  “I have a sister, you know. She lives in… I think somewhere in the Midwest.”

  Another piece of information that he chose to withhold like it isn’t important. Family is always important.

  “What do you mean you have a sister, and she lives somewhere in the Midwest? How do you not know this information?”

  “Because I don’t care.”

  “Wesley, stop…” I take a deep intact of breath. “Okay, so dinner. How formal are we talking? I’m really tired and jetlagged.”

  “Open your closet and see for yourself.”

  I jump up with a sudden burst of energy, opening the closet to a long, black dress hanging inside. It’s gorgeous, formal yet sexy at the same time. Draping neckline—may be too low—and a sheer skirt that trains along the floor.

  “I’ll pick you up at six?”

  “Sure, but I’m warning you, I may fall asleep and never wake up again.”

  Wesley laughs, telling me to grab some coffee because I won’t get any sleep tonight at his place. He misses me and gives me a long list of demands in the bedroom, all of which I agree to with enthusiasm.

  “Oh… before you go, I have some good news. Well, semi-good news.”

  “Does it involve you shaving your beard that can house a swarm of bees?”

  “You’re not a fan of my beard?” he questions, light-heartedly. “I’m going for the Hagrid look. A few more weeks, and I think I’ll get there.”

  “No.” I grin, half believing him. “You’re not growing that beard. It’s like me growing a full bush.”

  “What if I tell you I like full bushes?”

  “Then I will tell you you’re a freak and maybe need to find yourself some old European lady because that ain’t never happening with me.”

  “Fine.” I could hear him smiling over the phone. “So the news…”

  “Yes, your exciting news?”

  “Charlie has worked her magic. It looks like we’ll be able to sue the company that stole our designs. In fact, the publici
ty will be good.”

  “Oh wow! That is good news. Emerson hasn’t mentioned anything.”

  I can’t blame her. The last week had been crazy and my drama only added to that craziness.

  “Still early days, but it’s something,” he says, happily. “Okay, you need to get your ass ready because I’m coming for you soon.”

  I giggle, quick to point out the obvious. “I’m not into anal, but glad to know you’re coming regardless.”

  “Ha, ha,” he mocks. “I’m saying goodbye now.”

  As I hang up the phone, admiring the black dress, I battle my fatigue and power on by grabbing myself a double-shot coffee from the kitchen to keep me awake.

  Not wanting to miss another opportunity, I call Mama’s cell. Ring, after ring, unanswered. My heart sinks again, and with the time being a late Saturday afternoon, I try the main office. Delia, the receptionist, informs me that it’s only her, and the nurses are busy.

  Following my disappointment, I head to the bathroom to get ready for tonight, glad that my period is over after two short days, though the cramps, annoying as usual, linger. It doesn’t matter, I will spend tonight with Wesley. He has become my safety blanket, and tonight will be all about us.

  ***

  This was the second time we’ve visited his mother’s home, and the drive still intimidates me. The wealth that sits in real estate astounds me. A few weeks back, I read that these homes are worth millions of dollars. Granted, they are beautiful and nothing like the small shack we call our home back in Alaska. It’s a different world up here in the Hills.

  Wesley spends most of the limo ride teasing me with some notably-missed foreplay. I don’t object, grabbing his crotch several times and even suggesting a pit stop. I’m quite surprised when he gives me a lecture on patience, given he’s the most impatient person in the world.

  The car pulls into the property, driving toward the well-lit home. Gina stands at the door, waving hello in a posh white suit with her breasts protruding. They have to be Es or Fs, and, of course, they are fake.

  As we exit the car, Wesley pulls out a drag with a grunt of a hello. I don’t understand. He says we have to come here yet seems uninterested, almost as if the sight of his mother repulses him.