Bad Enemy (Bad Girls Club Book 4)

by Carmen Falcone

  Lara drummed her fingers on her lap. Where was he? She sat at the linen clothed table and looked around the delicious bakery Le Bon Cake. She could have invited any of her girlfriends for the cake tasting appointment, but she’d insisted Troy come instead. He would have been okay with any of her choices, but for the past two days he’d been avoiding her again.

  They had sex, then she said they could do it again, but at the end of the day when she’d told him she knew he was pretending, she’d lost him. He’d played with the boys a little—because David and Henry had insisted—and then retreated to his room. By the time Nikki came to pick up the kids, she was too tired to chat and just went to her room, showered and tumbled onto the bed.

  But the next several days he’d been leaving the house before she was awake and returning late. The little progress they’d made had vanished like smoke in the air. They were back to avoiding each other.

  Why though?

  She bit her lower lip. None of this should matter. She should stick to her plan of not getting attached to a man more complex than the inner workings of a train station.

  Because of the look in his eyes. When she’d told him she knew he was pretending, she meant to tease him, to probe him, to expand their playful interaction. But the look in his eyes spoke of hurt, confusion and fear. And she’d wanted to delve into the meaning of those emotions, to explore them, to ask.

  Of course, Charlie spilled the water in her plastic cup and it had yanked them from the moment.

  She glanced at the entrance. Would he not show up? She’d texted him—twice—to remind him. After all, this wedding thing was all to impress his family.

  The doorbell rang, a nauseatingly sweet ping, announcing his entry. A small smiled curled her lips, even if his semblance remained neutral and unsmiling. He’d obviously told himself to come and get this over with. He’d put up those walls around him that kept him hostage for so long.

  Her heart stilled in her chest. She could lie to herself and lie to others. Hell, she had no problem lying to him. But the truth was… her heart resumed beating at a much faster pace—so powerfully that she touched her chest to make sure she wouldn’t be leaving this bakery in a gurney and on oxygen.

  I care for him. She didn’t allow herself to call it anything else, but damn. That man did something to her insides, and she had a hard time fighting those feelings. Did he experience them too? Was it why he’d been so distant? He hadn’t become distant after they had sex—sex was probably natural to him. He’d become distant after she made a remark about his easiness around children. A compliment he’d probably understood as a family man accusation.

  “Am I late?” he asked, sitting next to her.

  She shook her head, putting her musings aside. “No, I just got here. I’ll go get the baker.” She raised to her feet, walked up to the door, and waved through the small glass window. Whitney, the woman who had helped her, gestured with her hand she’d join them shortly.

  Lara returned to the table, and when she sat, she realized he’d been watching her, his gaze studying her profile. A warm sensation spilled into her stomach, searing her insides. “So, what kind of cake do you like?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not into sweets that much.”

  “So does this mean I’ll get to pick what we order?”

  “I guess.”

  She shuffled on her seat. Then, a thought flashed in her mind. What if he kept his distance from her because he didn’t want to have sex with her again? She’d been the one who hinted at them doing it again the next day. Not him.

  They hadn’t had time to talk about it, but perhaps after thinking on it he’d decided the juice wasn’t worth the squeeze. A twinge of sadness traveled through her, turning off parts of her that only recent had seen light.

  The baker returned and brought a few samples from exquisite looking cakes. She went on explaining the flavor of each one, and Lara did her best to pay attention and nod as if she was interested.

  Old wounds stung fresh again. Her ex had complained about her being a bad lay. She hadn’t heard that before him, but maybe her other boyfriends were just polite. What if I can’t turn men on? She considered herself attractive, but a lot of times looks didn’t matter when it came to sex.

  People preferred a confident partner, and her sexual self-esteem had been shattered after her ex. She’d believed his claims, even if her rational side told her not to.

  “Lara?” Troy nudged her elbow.

  He lifted his fork to his mouth, and she glanced at him and the baker, who watched them with interest.

  She grabbed the first sample in front of her, picked a good mount with her fork and took it to her mouth. The notes of a citrusy flavor teased her palate, along with a sweet finish. “This is…”

  “Our ginger and passion fruit flavor,” Whitney said. “It’s a less safe option than classic flavors like vanilla butter cream, for instance.”

  Less safe. A pang of mischievous stabbed at her. She definitely needed more ginger and passion fruit in her life. She’d thought she had it, until she met Troy. But he awakened parts of her she had a hard time putting to sleep again. Even if that meant she’d have to fight for them. “I love it. How about you, Troy?”

  He took a bite. “It’s very different. I like it.”

  “Like it? It’s like magic in your mouth.”

  The baker chuckled. “I’ll leave you two discussing. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” she said, dashing away from them.

  He leaned closer, his manly scent inebriating her senses. “Lara, are you okay? You zoned out for a moment.”

  She stared at him. His facial expression softened a bit, and he stared back, eyes on hers. She could ignore the little alarm ringing in the back of her mind. “Am I bad in bed?”

  He frowned for a second, then laughed. “Are you serious?”

  Confusion filled her head. Her pulse kicked up a notch. Should she be worried or relieved? “Yes. We had sex and then after that day you’ve avoided me, even after we agreed on doing it again.”

  “Why would I agree to then avoid you?”

  She swallowed. “Maybe you had some time to think and changed your mind but didn’t want to hurt my feelings? I have no fucking idea. But I need to know even if it’ll hurt me.”

  He caressed her cheek, and she had to fight the instinct, the need to lean into it like a pampered cat. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lara,” he said, his voice even but carried with an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint.

  She bit the inside of her cheek and withdrew. “Then tell me.”

  “I want you. I keep away because I want you.”

  A thrill of female empowerment ran though her. “Why though? Doesn’t make sense. We already—”

  “Look, I’m not good at talking about my feelings.”

  “An understatement.”

  He scratched his neck, his gaze traveling around until it returned to her again in full force. “That night when Nikki’s kids were over… it felt very domestic. And I was scared.”

  “You were scared of me getting the wrong idea?”

  “No. Of me getting the wrong idea.”

  Moisture evaporated from her throat. Conflicting emotions warred inside her for a moment, so fast they left her disoriented and confused. Then she looked to him one more time, and the intensity in his gorgeous blue eyes unlocked a sea of hope inside her. Waves and waves of it, flooding through her, giving her goose bumps. Damn it. Who was she kidding?

  She liked that he was afraid of getting emotionally involved with her—because at once, they shared the same feeling. And she longed for more of them. She longed for more of him.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said in a low voice, reaching for his hand.

  A powerful energy passed between them, and one had to be in a sensory deprivation tank not to see it. Not to feel it. Not to want more of it.

  He brushed his index over her flesh, setting a delightful chain of reactions in her body. Her skin raised, little currents
of sexual awareness traveling up her wrist, then her arm, and at last, diving straight to her core. “You’re a good woman, Lara. But I always fuck things up.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been asking that myself. It just happens.”

  She tilted her head to the side. Nothing just happened, even if he didn’t want to face whatever truth he hid from. After her father’s death, Miguel had used every excuse in the book to conceal whatever trouble he got in last. “That’s not a good answer.”

  “It’s the only one I have,” he said, an edge of impatience in his voice.

  She disengaged her hand from his. Did he really not know why he’d betrayed his brother? “Because you’re scared of what you’ll find out.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “Not everything is fruitful. Take what happened to my brother. I didn’t have a big reason to do it, I just gave in to temptation one night and destroyed our relationship.”

  She squared her shoulders. Unlike other guys who hid their red flags, Troy was waving his right in front of her. He made a case for her not to fall for him, and if she had an ounce of self-preservation, she would listen to him. But a small voice inside reminded her she was an adult. She could deal with things differently this time—because Troy was different.

  And if she had handled bad sex in the past from unworthy men and dealt with the breakups, why couldn’t she experience delicious sex with Troy even if that meant knowing their marriage had an expiration date?

  “I’m sorry about that. But I’m not your brother or his wife. And you can’t hurt me if you’ve given me a warning.” Or two or three, she added inwardly.

  “Lara…”

  Whitney sauntered back from the kitchen. “Any favorites?”

  “We’re going with ginger and passionfruit filling,” Lara said. “We’re done playing safe,” she added in a playful tone, hoping to God she wasn’t shooting herself in the foot.

  10

  Troy slid on the mitts and opened the oven. He removed the vegetarian casserole, and glanced at it, hoping it looked half as good as the one he’d seen online an hour earlier. He’d let his housekeeper go home earlier and debated on ordering something for them. But the chat they’d shared earlier that day at the cake shop stayed with him long after he’d left for a meeting.

  Take a risk.

  He sat the casserole on the counter. Smelled half-decent, but the crust looked burned on the sides and in the middle, and not picture perfect like the image he saw. He usually favored protein shakes or the meals his housekeeper carefully prepared—and he ate out often.

  The look in Lara’s eyes though… his heart squeezed in his chest, and the image of the mischief in her big brown eyes unraveled in his head. She’d talked about taking risks, and they both knew it she didn’t mean the cake flavor. He could have elaborated more afterward, but they both had things to do, besides—

  Could he do it? Could he give her more than he wanted to give? More than he should give, more like it. Because deep down, he longed to give himself to her—unconditionally. But at the same time, he’d never hurt her. He’d never saddle her with a man like him, emotionally hollow and complicated.

  Take a risk. He put the mitts aside. He’d taken a risk with this meal, and he regretted it already. This wasn’t a lavish dinner to bring any woman closer—if anything, it would make her run the other way.

  He heard the faint sound of the door open, and he turned to Lara.

  She looked much like the other night—hair disheveled, barely any makeup, shorts and work boots. She must have changed at work. Maybe they’d needed for her to step in again. Either way, his gaze darted from her face down the shirt clinging to her curvy body then down her shapely legs. A primal need thrummed inside him.

  Moisture abandoned his throat, being replaced by a pulsing knot right at the base.

  She erased the distance between them, and each step she took raised his internal temperature one notch higher. He’d visited Dubai in the summer, and that heat had nothing on what went on in his system.

  Chuckling, perhaps sending his despair, she placed a hand on his chest, playfully pushing him away. “Don’t think about that yet. I’m starving and you promised me food.”

  “I was hoping to have sex before you ate what I cooked.”

  She withdrew, her gaze darting around the kitchen. “Wait, you did this?” she asked, pointing at the sad casserole.

  “It’s vegetarian. And that’s about the nicest thing I can say about it,” he said looking away. A flush spread across his cheeks, a sentiment he seldom experienced. Usually, he preferred excelling at skills before showing them off.

  She walked up to the island and looked at the casserole like it was an alien, completely fascinated. Then, when she looked to him again, tears brimmed her eyelids. Tears? He cleared his throat, confused. How could she cry without even trying it first? “This is…”

  “Crap?” he said.

  She launched into his arms, her warmth enveloping him. He embraced her, loving the energy bouncing between them, like sparks set off from their hug. A waft of her scent swirled around him, and he sighed into her hair.

  When she pulled away from him enough to stare at him, he cleared his throat.

  “Thank you, Troy. I’m usually the one fixing everyone’s lives.”

  “This is just dinner.” A bad one, he added to himself. She wouldn’t be so thankful after tasting it.

  “It’s not just dinner,” she said. “I mean, it may be to you, but I feel like I’m always the one figuring things out—for my brother, my family, at work. People see you as strong and independent, and they don’t think you need the little things.”

  He caressed her cheek, his thumb circling her warm skin. Her confession caused his blood to simmer in his veins. She’d always been so open and honest with him. From the very first moment. He’d done the opposite to her—he’d tried his hardest to hide who he really was for as long as possible.

  “You deserve the little things, Lara,” he said, emotion in his voice rumbling through him. “And the big things, and everything else in between.”

  She pulled him to her, and tip toed until she encircled his head and kissed him. He took her in his arms again, and the warmth from the shared moment only added to the brewing desire within him. Beneath his skin. Everywhere.

  He delved his tongue in her mouth and lowered his hands down her ass, cupping it, and snatching her to him so close that for a moment, the heat of her sex sifted through their clothes. His cock restrained in his paints, his balls drawing tight and full. She slid her hands down his shoulders, squeezing them.

  Groaning, he lifted her from the floor, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He nipped her lower lip, sucking it and then almost releasing it, only to nip it harder again. Moans escaped from her mouth as he made the way up the stairs and into his bedroom. She ground into his body, showing him she needed this as much as he.

  When he reached his bed, he tumbled on it, taking her along without much finesse. She let out a chuckle, but the expression in her face was anything but playful. She longed for him, her irises twinkling with desire even with her eyelids sweeping down her eyes.

  “This is the best meal ever prepared for me,” she said, then lowered her hand to his pants, her fingers hovering over his hard-on.

  “If you touch me like this, it’ll be more like fast food,” he said, helping her unzip his fly and pull down his pants and boxers. Next, he reached for her pants, peeling them off, until they fell down her ankles.

  “That’s okay,” she said. “We’ll enjoy a five course meal later.”

  The instant his cock poked at her entrance, a shudder rolled through him. A primal need, the one most people only learned in books, wrapped him like a coat. A very, very tight coat.

  He positioned the head of his dick between her folds, massaging them with it, reveling in their wet warmth. Drops of precum bubbled at his tip, the warning that it wouldn’t take long for him to come. He needed to make th
is good for her—always.

  She bucked onto his cock, teasing him and wanting more of him. All of him.

  Arousal fogged his field of vision. When she clasped his shoulders, her palm biting into his flesh, his cock grew even harder. She was right—they could make it last later.

  Now, he needed to extinguish the fire consuming him. With that in mind, he eased into her, her inner walls clinging to his man meat. She squeezed his shoulders, and he took the hint. She needed him to fuck her—hard.

  He slammed his cock inside her sweet, soaking wet pussy. They both moaned, and he reveled in the feeling of his cock pulsating against her walls as she clenched them, causing another shiver through him. Another warning of the impending orgasm.

  He slid out just enough, then pummeled into her again, even deeper this time.

  “God… this... don’t stop,” she said in between ragged breaths.

  “I could fuck you forever,” he said, the last word dangerous, like a grenade. But he refused to think about it, not now. He kept his thrusts hard and fast, and when he saw flickers of satisfaction in her eyes, he intensified the tempo and touched her clit, working it relentlessly.

  She moaned, her pupils dilating. His own body contracted. He pinched her clit a bit, and that did it—her whole body tensed for a fraction of a second, only to tremble quickly after, sweat sheening her face and limbs, redness claiming her cheeks and neck. “Yes.”

  “That’s right… come all over on my cock, baby,” he said in a gruff voice, barely stringing the words together. He pumped one last time, before his own climax rocketed through him, and he spilled his load inside her.

  When he stopped shaking, he fell on top of her, and carried her with him. Something about her in his arms just felt… right. And he wouldn’t think about that right now.

  “You’re a good swimmer,” Lara said. She could watch him back stroke in the pool for hours.

  They’d eaten his casserole after having sex, and then decided to take a dip in the pool, naked. She held the edge of the pool in the deeper part, finding it hard to tear the gaze from him. How could she? Troy’s body was perfect.