In a Bad Way

by Karin Tabke

  “I don’t want to.” She felt fragile now, and if she went to him, he would touch her, and she’d melt. She needed to be strong. He was getting too deep under her skin.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m afraid when you find out who I really am, you won’t like me.”

  “Who are you?”

  “An illegitimate cocktail server slash stripper with issues.”

  His lips quirked.

  He couldn’t erase who she was, what she’d done. He needed to understand the reality of her. “I’m not a debutante. I never will be. Your friends have seen me almost naked. I know that bothers you.”

  His jaw tightened.

  Touché. “You could never take me out to a social event with them.”

  “Why are you putting up barriers when we agreed to just hang out and have fun?”

  Izzy nodded. “Right, sorry, just fuck buddies.”

  “Stop saying that,” he growled, pushing off the railing.

  “Why, when it’s true?” She exhaled. “You can’t hide me away in a hotel room. No matter how nice it is, I’m still me.”

  She turned and strode into the bathroom and took a shower. When she emerged, he was sitting out on the patio with a short glass of scotch smoking an aromatic cigar. He stood as she came out wrapped in the big fluffy white robe that came with the suite.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He threw back the rest of his drink. “Get dressed, I’ll take you somewhere nice, in public, and show you off.”

  “You don’t need to prove—”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone. I don’t need that validation. I’m hungry, you’re hungry. I want to go to a restaurant, restaurants are public places. Now please, hurry up before I toss that robe over the railing and we both starve to death.”

  “Okay,” she said and hurried to get dressed. Fifteen minutes later she was ready, her hair dry, light touch of cosmetics, lips brushed with glossy pink lipstick, wearing a white jersey knit halter style miniskirt romper. It was comfortable but dressy and the color looked good against her olive skin tone and pink-tipped hair. She wore her favorite gold chandelier earrings, and matching bangles, complete with a pair of natural-colored canvas peek-a-boo wedges with a thin ribbon of gold woven through the straps. She felt good, and liked knowing that despite the sleek lines of her outfit, it didn’t scream, strip club. Quite the opposite. It was rather chic and she wore it well.

  When she strode back onto the patio, Flynn was reclining in his chair, a full glass of scotch by his hand. His legs were extended and he looked every bit the predator. His eyes narrowed as his full lips tightened. His pants swelled and his chest rose as his breaths deepened. His eyes narrowed as he lazily gave her a long, thorough perusal.

  “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?” he growled.

  “I-uh, no.”

  “You’re perfect. You deserve a man better than me.”

  “I don’t want a man better than you right now.”

  Stubbing out his cigar, slowly unwinding his long, muscular limbs, he stood. “I’m not worth it,” he said softly, the sound of the crashing surf making it difficult to hear. “I get bored easily.” He moved close enough to touch her, but didn’t. “I have a temper and I don’t like to share my toys.” Stepping around so that he stood behind her, he ran his fingers along her spine to the dip at the bottom of her back. “I’ve discovered when it comes to you, I have a nasty jealous streak.”

  “Are you trying to scare me away?”

  “I’m telling you the truth about me.” His hand fanned out and he cupped her right butt cheek and squeezed. “I like rough play.”

  “If it isn’t rough, it isn’t fun,” she threw back, shocked at her words, but imagining rough sex with this man heated her blood.

  The sound of a deep primal growl as it rumbled from his chest to his throat sent gooseflesh scattering across her body.

  “I’d kill any man who put his hands on you without your permission.” His hand slid around to her waist and splayed down her belly to rest on her mound. “And I would never give permission for another man to touch you.”

  Izzy swallowed hard, highly aroused and for the first time afraid. Not that he would hurt her, but of his dominant nature.

  He slid his hand up her belly, across her breasts to her throat, and up to her jaw. He pulled her back, bowing her back until she could see the heat in his blazing eyes. “Don’t think for one minute, Isadora, that I would force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “Okay.”

  “But expect me to push you to your limits.”

  She shivered hard.

  He nipped her neck and stood back. Twirling her around, he took her hand and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s eat.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  With Pink’s hand beneath his on the gearshift, Flynn sped up the coastal highway. Tension tightened his body, and emotions he’d never dealt with collided in his heart.

  The tension was twofold. He was white-hot for the body sitting less than a foot from him. He was hornier than a teenager in a whorehouse. He’d always had a healthy libido, but with Pink it was on steroids. The other half of his tension sprung from the need to prepare for the final conflict that was coming. One of them was going to get hurt by the freight train barreling straight for them. Badly.

  He knew they were destined to a showdown over his issue with her job at the club. While she wasn’t up on the pole, she was on the floor three nights a week, wearing a scrap of material that barely covered her nipples, ass and pussy. She heightened the look with that belly button ring, the thin gold chain she wore around her waist and those fuck me heels.

  How was he supposed to feel knowing each time she stepped into that place guys would be grab-assing her? What if Andre insisted she perform another lap dance? As determined, as Flynn knew she was, he knew she’d do it. And that ate at him the most. He didn’t want anyone to see what he was privileged to see.

  The thought of hurting her ate at him. He wasn’t a dick. He’d never intentionally hurt her, but he couldn’t pretend her job didn’t bother him because it went beyond bothering him. It infuriated him. Damn if she didn’t intrigue him more.

  She did something to him and he wasn’t going to let it go because of what she did for a living, regardless of why. Not yet. He’d kept the darker side of his sexual nature under control. He’d watched what out-of-control lust had done to his parents’ marriage. What it was doing to his brother’s and his sister’s. Flynn had always tempered his sexual encounters, never fully letting loose. He’d been Ken dating Barbie dolls. Plastic and hollow. Something Pink would never be.

  Pink was no Barbie doll. Flynn smiled. Not even Stripper Barbie. She was everything Barbie was too afraid to be.

  With Pink he wanted to explore his sexual depths. He knew she’d be game, too. As inexperienced as she was, she had the same deep passionate streak in her that he had. Whatever they had went beyond sex. He didn’t have to touch her to feel their connection. It thrummed like a live wire around them. When they came together, Jesus, the way she made him feel. Like Superman. He’d never felt anything like it. Fucking Pink was the most amazing experience of his life.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel and on her hand. That feeling of being flattened by a freight train gripped him again.

  “You’re hurting me,” she said softly.

  Immediately he let up the pressure on her hand. “I’m sorry, I zoned out for a minute.”

  “Your entire body’s tense. What were you thinking about?”

  He didn’t want to ruin the quiet mood they’d fallen into. He wanted to enjoy a nice dinner, maybe take a walk on the beach, then take her back to the room and make slow sweet love to her. His dick jerked in agreement against his thigh.

  “I was just thinking about a case I was working on.”

  “You’re a lousy liar. But if you’re telling the truth, then I fee
l like chopped liver.”

  He laughed. “Chopped liver?”

  “I thought what happened an hour ago on the balcony was pretty amazing, and if you’re thinking about an old case, then maybe I wasn’t as amazing as I thought I was.”

  Flynn slid her hand from the gearshift to the zipper on his jeans and the bulge that swelled when he put her hand there. “Does that feel like I forgot?” He raised her hand to his lips, turned it over and kissed her palm. “I can’t wait to get you back between the sheets.”

  “Then why didn’t we order room service?”

  He squeezed her hand and groaned. “You’re killing me, woman.”

  Smiling slyly, she purred, “I’ve never licked a meal off a man’s belly before.”

  “Do you want me to turn around? Because I will.”

  She laughed and sat back into the comfortable leather seat. “No, let’s go mingle with the less sexed and play footsie under the table and drink.”

  “You can drink champagne, I’m driving.”

  “I’ve never had champagne.”

  “Tonight you will.”

  Just a few minutes later they pulled up to a Peruvian restaurant he’d been to a few times and thought Pink would enjoy. The food was good, the place clean, and they had great beach patio dining.

  As Flynn helped her out of the car, he pulled her soft warmth against him. She melted into him. Her bubble gum scent teasing his nostrils. Clasping her face between his hands, he lowered his lips to hers. Before he kissed her, he whispered, “Tell me you’re wearing panties.”

  Giggling, she fell deeper into him. He loved the way she felt, the way she let down her guard with him. She made loosening up easy. “Do you want me to lie or tell the truth?”

  “Truth.”

  She stood up on her toes and whispered loudly, “No panties.”

  His hand dropped to her butt cheek and he smacked her. “You are a very bad girl, Pink.” He grabbed her ass and brushed his lips against hers. “I’m going to have to think of a suitable punishment for that.”

  “I can think of a few.”

  “Let’s discuss over dinner.” Before he laid her across the hood of his car and took what he wanted, he took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, and led her into the restaurant.

  Once they were settled at an outdoor table beneath a heater with clear wind barriers around them, Flynn ordered a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  “I thought you weren’t going to drink?”

  “I can’t have you toast alone.”

  When the glasses were poured, Flynn raised his glass to hers. “To us.”

  “To us,” she said softly, clinked her glass against his, and took a sip. He watched her nose crinkle as the bubbles tickled her. Her face lit up with a dazzling smile that tightened his insides. Damn she was beautiful. Her pink lips pressed against the rim of the crystal glass and he watched the golden liquid pour against her equally pink tongue. His dick swelled. Did she have any clue at all what she did to him?

  “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice husky with unmasked desire.

  Her sea green eyes shone brightly over the rim of the glass. “Very much.” She took another sip, then another.

  In an effort to ease the tension from his body, Flynn sat back in his chair and watched her enjoy the champagne. The white fabric of her halter top hugged her tits only when she turned a certain way. It was enough to make a man dream about what was beneath the thin fabric. Thank the gods she was wearing a bra, otherwise he’d be fighting off every guy in the place. There were several large parties of men inside, probably a corporate dinner, and the way they looked at her as he led her through the restaurant to this table hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. For someone so petite, she walked with the long grace of a feline. He supposed doing what she did for a living gave you the self-confidence to walk through a gauntlet of hungry males like you were strolling down the frozen food aisle at the grocery store.

  She was just shy of an hourglass build. Her hips swung with the slightest bit of attitude. Her smooth olive skin tone shimmered with health. Big blue-green cat-shaped eyes framed by long black lashes, high sweeping brows, a straight little nose, and that lush mouth of hers, created a beautiful, exotic effect. Nothing about her reminded him of the skanks his father ran with. Pink could hold her own in any social circle. She was a smart, sexy, complex little package of dynamite. His trousers tightened uncomfortably.

  Long slender fingers, her nails natural now with just a coat of clear polish, daintily held the stem of the champagne flute. She brought the glass to her lips and sipped, and his dick jerked as he remembered how those beautiful lips looked locked around his straining cock.

  Languidly, she licked a drop of wine from her bottom lip. He about came in his pants.

  “I think we should go back to the hotel,” he said in a husky whisper.

  Her lashes fluttered as she took another slow sip. “But I’m enjoying this.”

  “I’ll buy you a case of Cristal. Please, baby, you’re killing me.”

  Grinning, she set the glass down and under the table she placed her hand on his thigh very near the straining head of his dick. “You’re going to have to exhibit a little self-control.”

  He grasped her hand and squeezed it, then moved it back to her lap. Her pink lips pouted in disappointment. “I have no self-control when it comes to you.” He tossed back the champagne. He needed to focus on something other than how quickly he could get her back to the room. “Tell me more about you. What did you do before Surf’s Up?”

  “I was in school.” As she answered, a group of the men who had been dining inside barged into the patio dining area. Flynn stiffened as they approached.

  “There’s a table over there,” the loudest of the dozen said, pointing to the empty one nearest theirs.

  No way was he going to subject Pink to their drunken revelry. Flynn leaned into her and said, “We need to go.”

  “But—”

  “Now.” He stood and offered her his hand. Setting down the glass, she gathered her purse, and smoothing her skirt as she stood, she slipped her hand into his.

  As he guided her around the group of oncoming men, one bumped into his shoulder and another into Pink. Flynn shoved the drunk aside. “Watch where you’re going,” he snarled. He was in no mood for a bunch of drunken ass-hats getting near Pink.

  The guy stepped back, and gave Flynn a salute, but his eyes raked Pink from head to toe. His eyes narrowed as he looked hard at her, then at her chest, then back to her face. Recognition dawned. Flynn cursed and moved in front of Pink.

  “Hey, guys!” the asshole yelled. “Look who’s here! The Surf’s Up’s top tits!”

  Pink made a sound reminiscent of a trapped animal. He pulled her in closer. Color leached from her stricken face. Her eyes widened in shock. Fury boiled deep within him.

  “Flynn—I—” she started. Hooting and howling ensued, drowning out her words, and suddenly they were surrounded by a rowdy group of dollar-bill-waving schmucks.

  “Best set of tits in California!” one of the guys yelled, pushing his way from the back. Wrapping Pink protectively in his right arm, Flynn began to elbow their way from the group.

  “How much, Wild Style?” the guy from the back called as he came pushing through the crowd, waving a wad of cash in his right hand like he was already the victor. Flynn knew the type. Entitled executive who lived by the “If-I-can’t-bully-it-my-way-I’ll-buy-it” code. “A thousand bucks, Tits, if you give me what you’re giving—”

  Something deep, dark, and feral snapped inside of Flynn. All he wanted was to kill the guy. To shut him up, to rip his fucking eyeballs out of his head. That a man like this had seen Pink’s body the way Flynn had, infuriated him. Motherfucker was going to die tonight.

  The guy never finished his sentence. Flynn punched him so hard in the face he felt the crunch of the guy’s cartilage vibrate through his knuckles. The velocity of the hit knocked the asshole off his feet and into his stun
ned buddies. With Pink still wrapped tight in his right arm, violence raged in his blood as he turned back to the suddenly quiet group. “Anyone else have something to say?”

  Collectively the group shook their heads.

  “Good.”

  Flynn tightened his arm around Pink and steered her out of the restaurant.

  The men parted, but the catcalling resumed the minute they took their first step, followed by a hailstorm of dollar bills. Livid, wanting to tear each asshole into pieces, but wanting to get Pink out of harm’s way more, Flynn kept walking. Her little body trembled, but she didn’t shrink away. She had her fight face on now. She stood tall, chin up, and moved quickly with Flynn through the rubbernecking crowd. As they came to the hostess stand, he took out his wallet, threw a bunch of bills down and told the girl where they’d been sitting, and kept going, steering Pink to the car. By the time they reached it, she was shivering violently.

  Unlocking the door, he put her in her seat, slammed the door shut, and walked angrily around to the driver side door, but when he reached for it, he stopped.

  He banged his hands down on the hood. “Damn it!” This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. It wouldn’t matter where they went in the Bay Area, there was bound to be some smarmy bastard who’d seen her tits. He didn’t have a problem defending her honor, he’d take on an Army if he had to, but damn it, this was bullshit!

  Was that how it was going to be? He’d take her somewhere and her tits would get recognized? He jerked away from the car when a sudden realization hit him. She’d told him that last night was her first night actually stripping. Asshole and his cronies weren’t at the private party last night. Which meant—he was as much of a schmuck as his old man. She’d lied to him. If she was lying about that…

  He yanked open the car door and slid in. Starting the car, he gave it gas and peeled out of the parking lot.

  White-knuckled, he grasped the steering wheel. He knew he was driving too fast, but he also knew he was highly trained.

  “Please slow down, you’re scaring me.”