When Good Things Happen to Bad Boys

by Lori Foster, Erin McCarthy, HelenKay Dimon

  “You didn’t have to. That’s the point.” He sighed. “Look, if the plan is to yell at him or tease him then walk away without looking back, don’t bother. Turn around and leave.”

  Anger swept through her like wildfire. “Give me a break. Whit’s the one who—”

  Adam raised a hand to stop her. “Save it. I know about the basement and his plan to get you alone for a few days. Hell, I helped him since he was so insistent and desperate to be with you.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but Adam talked right over her. “I know he wanted to get you alone. I also know you didn’t fight him when you had the chance, and not because he bragged about being with you, so wipe that thought out of your head. That’s not Whit’s style. I know because I know him.”

  “He didn’t force me. He never would.” She knew that from the beginning. The confined space hadn’t destroyed her because Whit was there. Right where she wanted him.

  “Then what’s the problem, Hannah?”

  She jumped to the defensive. “He’s trying to take over my life.”

  “He’s trying to help you.”

  “I don’t need his help.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Really? What do you need?”

  “Him!” The word came out of nowhere and hung in the air. “Just him.”

  The second phrase seeped out of her, making her wish the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Adam’s sly smile didn’t help. “Well, I guess that settles that.”

  She thought about knocking the satisfied smirk right off his face. “It doesn’t settle anything but I plan to do that right now. Where is he?”

  “Upstairs.”

  She nodded, then walked in the opposite direction, toward the library.

  Adam scrambled after her. “Wait.”

  “I can handle this from here.”

  “I said upstairs.” Adam spoke slowly, as if she were a toddler.

  “I heard you.” Hell, the whole street probably heard him.

  “Then why are you going the wrong way?”

  She grabbed the handcuffs off the chair and started for the staircase, brushing right past Adam and ignoring his startled expression. He knew enough about her private life. She wasn’t about to share more.

  “What are you doing with those?” he asked.

  She narrowed her gaze.

  “Oh.” Comprehension dawned on his face. “Oh, damn, I get it. Whit’s a lucky bastard.”

  “Uh-huh. Get out.”

  Adam broke into a wide grin. “Welcome to the family.”

  “And lock the door behind you.”

  One down, one to go.

  Whit woke from his brief nap. An uncomfortable wooden chair substituted for his soft bed. He hadn’t slept much. Hadn’t had the time or desire. Not without Hannah.

  He moved his arm to look at his watch and nearly ripped his shoulder out of its socket. His eyes popped open.

  Handcuffed…to the chair?

  “What the hell?”

  “We’re going to talk,” she said.

  He looked up and saw Hannah sitting across from him, holding him in his tracks with those sexy brown eyes. She wore blue jeans and a form-fitting white T-shirt. Gone were the oversized flannel shirts. She didn’t seem to need a shield now.

  He wondered if he did.

  She had turned a chair around and now sat with her arms resting over the intricately carved back. He tried to assimilate all the clues. Her shiny eyes and determined look. The handcuffs. What her presence meant. None of the clues made sense.

  “Okay.” That seemed like the only safe word at the moment.

  “You sent your men to my jobs.”

  He closed his eyes briefly in pain. She had found something new to be pissed about. “Look, Hannah, I can explain.”

  She shook her head before he finished the sentence. “No. We’re not going to do it this way. I’m going to ask a question and you’re going to give me a simple answer.”

  “You’re in charge.” He rattled the handcuffs to prove his point.

  “Right. Now let’s try this again.” She leaned in closer. “You sent men to my jobs.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think I can’t do my job?”

  His teeth clamped together. “No.”

  “Do you think I’m incompetent?”

  “Damn it—”

  “Answer me.”

  He pulled on the handcuffs but they would not budge. “Of course not.”

  “I don’t need a baby-sitter.”

  “I never said you did.”

  “But you thought I couldn’t finish the three jobs without your help.”

  Then he saw it. A fine trembling moved through her hands.

  Her control hovered on the edge. She deserved the truth. That was the least he could do for her.

  “Your grandfather gave you an impossible task, Hannah. No one, I repeat, no one could have met that deadline. He set you up to fail, probably so you’d come running back to him.”

  “And?”

  “And I couldn’t let that happen.”

  Her eyebrows inched up in question. “Why get involved?”

  “Because the situation wasn’t fair.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He tried again. “Because I owed you.”

  Her lips twisted in a sneer. “For the sex?”

  Wrong conclusion. That line of thinking would get his ass kicked. Hell, he’d never get free at this rate.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Smart man.”

  He exhaled, trying to find the right words. He knew this was important to her. To their future. She was waiting for the right answer. He just didn’t know what that was.

  “You are extremely talented and competent. No one can take that from you. But your grandfather could take your company for no good reason. I wasn’t going to let that happen. Not like this.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you.”

  “Why?”

  He snapped. “Because I’m falling for you. Okay? Are you satisfied?”

  “Falling?”

  He went for it. “In love. With you.”

  She blinked. “What did you say?”

  His head fell back and he stared up at the ceiling.

  “You don’t want to hear the truth, I know. It scares you to death. I get that.”

  “Whit?”

  He heard the shock in her voice and kept on talking. “I’m pretty shocked by the whole thing myself, but there you have it. I wanted you and tried to get some time alone with you.”

  “But only for sex.”

  He lowered his head and looked deep into her wide scared eyes. “Maybe it started out that way but not now. Now it’s something else.”

  “Something like love.” She talked as if she were in a trance.

  “Yes. Maybe even a forever kind of love.”

  Her head started spinning. He loved her. Or was well on his way to being there. He had turned his life around to help her behind the scenes and without expecting anything in return. For the first time in her life, someone accepted her for her.

  “You love me.” She repeated his words.

  His intense green eyes sparkled. “Yes. I’ll give you whatever time you need to adjust, but I’m not going away.”

  “Where would you go?”

  It was his turn to look confused. “Huh?”

  “Forget it.” She got up and moved the chair aside. When she straddled his lap, placing a knee beside each firm thigh, his muscles flexed across his chest.

  “Hannah?”

  She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against his chest. “Say it again.”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I love you.”

  “You said you thought you loved me.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought I’d better ease you into the idea first.”

  She kissed him then, with all the passion and desire she had stored deep inside her. When she pulled back, his mouth curved into a
shy smile.

  Her finger outlined his perfect mouth. “Some people will tell you I’m difficult.”

  “Say it isn’t so.”

  Her fingers trailed down his chest to caress the bulge in his jeans. “Some people even think I’m a bit, shall we say, chilly.”

  He groaned. “Honey, there’s nothing cold about you. Not in that shirt.”

  “It was too hot for flannel.”

  “It’s October.”

  “I didn’t mean outside.” She tried to kiss him again but he pulled away. “What?”

  “We’re jumping a few steps here. Ten minutes ago you were furious and demanding answers. Now you’re on my lap, not that I’m complaining.”

  “I tried to stay mad but I couldn’t.”

  He frowned. “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

  She always thought the words would be hard to say out loud. But then she hadn’t counted on Whit. On having a handsome architect in perfectly pressed khakis stumble into her life and never want to leave.

  “I love you,” she said, the words coming out with ease.

  He smiled.

  “Only you.”

  The smile grew.

  “With all that education and all that arrogance, how could I not?”

  “You’re a sweet talker, honey.”

  “And I have an even sweeter suggestion.”

  A lazy arousal settled in his eyes. “I’m all yours.”

  “Good, because my plan involves those handcuffs and a little room in the basement.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Throw in a hardhat and you’ve got a deal.”

  How could she say no?

  Two lovers. And an unforgettable passion

  that transcends time in

  AGAIN

  by Sharon Cullars.

  Coming in May 2006 from Brava…

  Inner resolve is a true possibility when temptation isn’t within sight. Like the last piece of chocolate cheesecake with chocolate shavings; that last cigarette; that half-filled glass of Chianti…or the well-defined abs of a man who’s had to take his shirt off because he spilled marinara sauce on it. Not deliberately. Accidents happen. At the sight of hard muscles, resolve flies right out of the window and throws a smirk over its wing.

  Part of it was her fault. Tyne had offered him a shoulder rub, because during the meal he had seemed tense, and she’d suspected that his mind was still on the occurrences of the day. After dessert, he sat in one of the chairs in the living room while she stood over him. Even though he had put on a clean shirt, she could feel every tendon through the material, the image of his naked torso playing in her mind as her fingers kneaded the taut muscles.

  As David started to relax, he leaned back to rest his head on her stomach. The lights were at half-dim. Neither of them was playing fair. Especially when a hand reached up to caress her cheek.

  “Stop it,” she whispered.

  He seemed to realize he was breaking a promise, because the hand went down, and he said, “I’m sorry.” But his head remained on her stomach, his eyes shut. From her vantage, she could see the shadow of hair on his chest. She remembered how soft it felt, feathery, like down. Instinctively, and against her conscious will, her hand moved to touch the bare flesh below his throat. She heard the intake of breath, felt the pulse at his throat speed up.

  She told herself to stop, but there was the throbbing between her legs that was calling attention to itself. It made her realize she had lied. When she told him she wanted to take it slow, she had meant it. Then. But the declaration seemed a million moments ago, before her fingers touched him again, felt the heat of his flesh melding with her own.

  He bent to kiss her wrist, and the touch of his lips was the catalyst she needed. The permission to betray herself again.

  She pulled her hands away, and he looked up like a child whose treat had been cruelly snatched away. She smiled and circled him. Then slowly she lowered herself to her knees, reached over, unbelted and unbuttoned his pants. Slowly, pulled down the zipper.

  “But I thought you wanted…” he started.

  “That’s what I thought I wanted.” She released him from his constraints. “But right now, this is what I want.” She took him into her mouth.

  She heard an intake of breath, then a moan that seemed to reverberate through the rafters of the room. She felt the muscles of his thighs tighten beneath her hands, relax, tighten again. Her tongue circled the furrowed flesh, running rings around the natural grooves. She tasted him, realized that she liked him. Liked the tang of the moisture leaking from him. And the strangled animal groans her ministrations elicited.

  There were pauses in her breathing, followed by strained exhalations. Then a sudden weight of a hand on the back of her head, guiding her. She took his cue, began sucking with a pressure that drew him farther inside her mouth. Yet there was more of him than she could hold.

  He was moments from coming. She could feel the trembling in his limbs. But suddenly he pushed her away, disgorging his member from her mouth with the motion.

  He shook his head. “No, not yet,” he said breathlessly. “Why don’t you join me?” Before she could answer, he stood up, pulling her up with him, and began unbuttoning her blouse, almost tearing the seed pearls in the process. The silk slid from her skin and fell to the ground in a languid pool of golden-brown. He hooked eager fingers beneath her bra straps, wrenched them down. Within seconds, she was naked from the waist up, and the current in the room, as well as the excitement of the moment teased her nipples into hard pebbles. His fingers gently grazed them, then he grazed each with his tongue. Her knees buckled.

  “How far do you want to go?” he breathed. “Because I don’t want you to do this just for me.”

  Her answer was to reach for the button of his shirt, then stare into those green, almost hazel eyes. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m being totally selfish. I want you…your body…” She pushed the shirt over his shoulders, yanked it down his arms.

  “Hey, what about my mind?” he grinned.

  She smiled. “Some other time.”

  They undressed each other quickly, and as they stood naked, his eyes roamed the landscape of her body with undeniable appreciation. Then without ceremony, he pulled her to the floor on top of him so abruptly that she let out an “oomph.” His hands gripped the plump cheeks of her ass, began kneading the soft flesh. She felt his hardened penis against her stomach and began moving against it, causing him to inhale sharply. His hands soon stopped their kneading and replaced the touch with soft, whispery caresses that caused her crotch to contract with spasms. One of his fingers played along her crevice as his lips grabbed hers and began licking them. His finger moved to the delicate wall dividing both entryways, moved past the moist canal, up to her clitoris, started teasing her orb just as his tongue began playing along hers. She grounded her pelvis against him, desperately claiming her own pleasure, listening to the symphony of quickly pumping blood, and intertwined breaths playing in her ears.

  He guided her onto his shaft. Holding her hips, he moved her up, down, in an achingly slow and steady pace that was thrilling and killing, for right now she thought she could die with the pleasure of it, the way he filled her, sated her. She felt her eyes go back into her head (she had heard about the phenomenon from other bragging women, and had thought they were doing just that—bragging. But now she knew how it could happen.)

  “Ooooh, fuck,” she moaned.

  “My thoughts exactly,” he whispered back, and with a deft motion, changed their positions until he was on top of her. Straddled on his elbows, he quickened his thrusting, causing a friction that drove her to a climax she couldn’t stop. Her inner walls throbbed against the invading hardness, and she drew in shallow breaths as her lungs seemed to shatter with the rest of her body.

  She put her arms around his waist and wrapped her legs around his firm thighs. His body had the first sheen of perspiration. She stroked along the dampness of his skin, then reciprocat
ed the ass attention with gentle strokes along his cheeks.

  “I want…I want…” he exerted but couldn’t seem to finish the sentence. Instead, he placed his mouth over hers until she was able to pull his ragged breaths into her needy lungs. The wave that washed over her once had hardly ebbed away before it began building again. Now his pace was frantic, his hips pounding her body into the carpeting, almost through the floor. Not one for passivity, she pounded back just as hard and eagerly met each thrust. The wave was gathering force, this one threatening a cyclonic power that would rip her apart, render her in pieces. She didn’t care. His desperation was borne of sex, but also she knew, of anger and frustration. He was expelling his demons inside her, and she was his willing exorcist…

  Blood was everywhere. On the walls, which were already stained with vile human secretions; on the wooden floor, where the viscous fluid slowly seeped into the fibers of the wood and pooled between the crevices of the boards. Soon, the hue would be an indelible telltale witness of what had happened, long after every other evidence had been disposed of. Long after her voice stopped haunting his dreams. Long after he was laid cold in his grave.

  He bent to run a finger through one of the corkscrew curls. Its end was soaked with blood. The knife felt warm in his hands still. Actually, it was the warmth of her life staining it.

  He turned her over and peered into dulled brown eyes that accused him in their lifelessness. Gone was the sparkle—sometimes mischievous, sometime amorous, sometimes fearful—that used to meet him. Now, the deadness of her eyes convicted him where he stood, even if a jury would never do so. The guilt of this night, this black, merciless night, would hound his waking hours, haunt his dreams, submerge his peace, indict his soul. There would now always be blood on his hands. For that reason alone, he would never allow himself another moment of happiness. Not that he would ever find it again. What joy he would have had, might have had, lay now at his feet in her perfect form. Strangely, in death, she had managed to escape its pall. Her skin was still luminescent, still smooth. If it weren’t for the vacuous eyes, the blood soaking her throat, the collar of her green dress, the dark auburn of her hair…he might hold to the illusion that somewhere inside, she still lived.