Worth the Risk: (A Contemporary Bad Boy Romance)

by Weston Parker

  Janna was no longer certain she had her millionaire playboy all figured out. She'd thought he was spoiled, used to others doing all the work while he reaped the benefits of his family's wealth. But here he stood, shoulders-deep in a hole he'd dug himself, all to win a bet she thought he wouldn't even take seriously.

  He still had Tony's help, her inner devil's advocate reminded her. That was true. Tony had probably arranged this whole thing. Even though Brice was here putting in his two hours, that was likely the limit of real work he'd do today.

  Still, the nagging voice inside her was eerily silent on Brice's very public announcement of their attachment. If he were such a playboy, why would he tell the press that she was his girlfriend? That indicated something a little more permanent than the fling she considered herself to be. It was enough to make her head spin.

  Maybe she should accept the possibility that their relationship was more serious than she thought. Maybe he did want something more with her. The thought of having a real relationship with Brice, one that wouldn't end in a dozen roses and a polite "thanks for the good time," was exciting. And frightening.

  Her reverie came to a halt when Brice tossed his shovel to another worker and climbed out of his hole, walking over to the much smaller hole she'd dug and holding out his hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her up, taking the opportunity to tug her close to him briefly. She laughed and pushed away, attempting to brush the dirt off her clothes.

  "It's been longer than the two hours I'd allotted for this portion of our date, so we'll have to hurry," he said, eyeing the hovering figure of Mrs. Waltz across the yard and calculating the distance between them and his limo. Grabbing her hand, Brice pulled her across the work site, being careful not to be seen by Waltz while making his exit.

  They were not so lucky, however, when it came to the press.

  A few reporters were hovering around the limo, and they jogged forward when they caught sight of Brice and Janna heading toward them. The overweight gentleman with the ironic sideburns seemed to be the ringleader, and his cheeks were red and he was puffing loudly when he reached them.

  "Mr. Masterson," he shouted, "how long have you and Ms. Puchina been an item? Is it serious?"

  "Very," Brice responded with a scowl, signaling Chase to assist him in elbowing past the small crowd of journalists.

  "Can we expect another engagement?" This came from a thin man who looked to be barely out of his teenage years, standing beside a small Asian woman who was busy snapping photographs. Janna was gripped by a sudden feeling of claustrophobia as the sharks circled and drew closer.

  "No comment, guys." Brice responded, his irritation evident as the reporters refused to part for them to enter the limo.

  "Ms. Puchina, how would you counter rumors that you're a gold digger?" This from a thin woman whose pale pink lip gloss contrasted poorly against her fake tan.

  A bolt of anger shot through Janna at the question. "I'm surprised there's been any time for rumors to fly since Brice only announced our relationship a couple of hours ago."

  "I'm sure you're familiar with the implication," Fake-Tan continued unabashed. "He's rich, you're not."

  "Listen, you little--" Janna was fully prepared to slap the gloss off the woman's lips, but Brice grabbed her elbow and pulled her through the crowd and into the limo.

  "I said no comment," he admonished the reporters before stepping into the limo and slamming the door behind them. "Sorry about that," he told her as he pulled her into his lap. Janna stiffened, still annoyed at the reporter's comment. "They don't know anything about me, yet they're willing to make all these assumptions."

  "Imagine that," he teased. "Someone jumping to conclusions about you before they even know you. I can't believe it."

  Janna realized he was playing with her, ribbing her about their first meeting and her big-mouthed assumptions about Brice and his lifestyle. It almost didn't seem fair, and she wasn't ready to let go of the irritation she felt. She decided to make her displeasure known, using the only power she had at her disposal. "You know, as a person who decides the winner of our wager, I find I don't enjoy being harassed by the press. This may affect my final decision."

  "That would hardly be fair," Brice countered, seeming to sense her lingering annoyance. "And as I know you to be a just and righteous judge--"

  "Back to the paragon of virtue nonsense," she growled under her breath.

  "--I expect your decision to take into account that some things are beyond even my control."

  He gave her a beseeching look, moving his hands along her arms softly, which served to distract her. It was hard to hold onto her anger when she was being stroked like a needy feline. Brice cupped her face in his hands, forcing her face up to meet his eyes. His green eyes reflected his turbulent emotions.

  "Janna, I'm sorry the press intruded on what I hoped would be a perfect day. I didn't call them, and I can't really hold it against Mrs. Waltz for trying to get some publicity for her cause. Reporters aren't known for their tact or discretion, and I should have warned you about them. I guess I've gotten used to their invasive questions."

  She watched him weighing his words carefully. " I wish I'd anticipated this, as it could have been handled better. But there is one thing I want you to understand, Janna. I won't apologize for telling the world that you're my girlfriend. I know we haven't put a name to what's happening between us. 'Girlfriend' doesn't seem appropriate somehow, I know--"

  "Why not?" she interrupted. Was this the admission she'd been expecting since the beginning? Was he was enjoying this relationship while it lasted, secure in the knowledge that it came with a predetermined expiration date?

  "Because 'girlfriend' doesn't begin to describe what you are to me," he said, pressing his lips to her cheek as he whispered his response. "You're the first thing I think about in the morning, the last thought to cross my mind at night, and then you stalk my dreams, torturing me with the memory of your scent. Your kiss. The softness of your skin." His lips left her check, traveling down her jaw line, stopping briefly to nuzzle her earlobe.

  Janna sighed and relaxed in his capable hands, letting the trail of fire from his mouth blaze across her body. He licked down her neck and lower, and she melted, inhaling sharply when his hands moved up to squeeze her breasts. She could feel her arousal flaring up like a house on fire. Brice's touch could burn her down to cinders.

  Too soon the limo stopped, and she felt a deep rumble in his chest as Brice growled his frustration. "I knew I should have just tied you to my bed for eight hours."

  Janna laughed, moving off his lap and onto the seat before Chase could open the door. "I thought that was your intention if you win the bet."

  "You mean when I win the bet."

  Brice's smile was predatory, and she shivered at his intensity, but she had to force her gaze away from his riveting green eyes. The door opened, and Chase helped her from the limo. When she realized their location, she was nearly as surprised as when they'd pulled up in front of the Afterschool Program.

  "Yoshi's Noodle Bowl!" Her enthusiasm bubbled over, and she leaped into his arms. He swung her around in a circle, their laughter mingling as the sun finally broke from behind the clouds.

  Sliding into an empty booth, Janna bounced excitedly in her seat while Brice glanced at the menu. "Don't bother," she said, snatching the cardboard placard out of his hands. Their waitress approached a middle-aged Japanese woman who greeted Janna with a wide grin.

  "Puchie!" the waitress mock-scolded. "Where you been hiding this one?"

  Momoko owned the restaurant with her husband Yoshi, and she treated her regular customers like extended family members. Despite her less-than-five-feet-tall stature, she was an intimidating as a spinster aunt who invited her nieces and nephews to mow her lawn and scrub her floors. She also enjoyed butting into her customer's business whenever she felt like it.

  "Momoko," Janna said, "this is Brice Masterson. Brice, this is Momoko, and she makes the best noodles you'v
e ever tasted. Bring us two of the usual, please, and a pot of tea."

  "Sure, sure," the smaller woman said, rubbing a friendly hand across Janna's shoulder before adjusting her messy bun, which was near bursting with wiry silver hair. "Just let me look at him a little longer. He almost good looking enough for me."

  Janna thought she detected a slight blush rise in Brice's cheeks as he suffered Momoko's scrutiny. When she finally left to put in their order, he let out the breath he'd been holding. "She's a character," he said with a lazy smile.

  She nodded, familiar with the post-Momoko whirlwind. "It's a little off-putting in the beginning, but she means well, and the noodles really are worth it. The sauce...it's almost better than sex."

  Brice laughed. "That's high praise indeed if it's sex with you."

  Soon the steaming bowls were placed before them, and without another word, Janna dug in. She closed her eyes and moaned in delight as the flavors hit her tongue. When she opened her eyes she found Brice staring at her, hunger blazing in his gaze.

  "I almost believe the sauce is better than sex if the expression on your face is any indication." He leaned in then, watching her suck a long noodle between her pursed lips and into her mouth. "Watching you eat is making me hard."

  Janna gasped, then laughed. "Shut up and eat. It's best when it's hot."

  "That's what she said," he grumbled and lifted his fork to his mouth. "Mmm..." he said after swallowing. "You're right. This is delicious." The rest of the meal was absent of conversation, words being replaced with delighted humming and lip-smacking. Before long their bowls were empty, and Brice was patting his stomach in appreciation.

  "Momoko, these are the best damn noodles I've ever tasted. Including the ones in Japan. You're a national treasure."

  "You right, handsome," their cheery waitress agreed. "You come back anytime. Maybe I tell you the secret of my sauce."

  Janna's jaw dropped. "Momoko, I've been begging you for five years to tell me how you make your sauce."

  "You never call me a national treasure," she said with a shrug as she walked away with their check and Brice's credit card.

  Janna shook her head. "If you can charm Momoko out of her sauce recipe, then I really have no chance of resisting you, do I?"

  "You never did," he said, then spared a glance at his watch. "Come on, Puchie," he said, sliding out of the booth and extending his hand to her.

  Janna grimaced at him. "Don't call me that."

  "Why not?" he asked, his bigger hand swallowing hers up. "Momoko calls you Puchie."

  "Well, I'm too scared of being cut off from my noodle supply to correct her. I'm not frightened of you."

  He bent in to whisper in her ear. "You would be if you knew what I'm gonna do to you after I win this bet."

  "Don't count your chickens," she warned him, and he laughed, pulling her back into his front as he waited for Momoko to return his credit card.

  Chapter Nine

  The ride was brief and spent in companionable silence, his hand still clasping hers tightly. Janna knew Brice considered his victory a foregone conclusion, and while that was aggravating, she also realized that it was a very likely possibility. He'd willingly given his time to her favorite charity, then brought her to her favorite restaurant for lunch. And the date wasn't even half over yet.

  It was nothing like she'd expected. The date was so well tailored to her, and Janna didn't know how he'd found out these things. She'd certainly never mentioned her volunteering or her addiction to Yoshi's Noodle House. That's what Tony's for, her inner voice spoke up. I'm sure his assistant had no trouble digging up the info.

  Janna wasn't convinced. Even if Tony had made all the arrangements, Brice was the one with her now, giving her his undivided attention. His attention was a gift, she realized then, as was the time he was willing to spend on her. While he might joke about wanting to do as little as possible, she knew managing and expanding his family's sizeable fortune was a labor-intensive task. That he was happy to clear his schedule to indulge their silly little bet was as unlikely for a 'normal' wealthy man as cooking his own meals or doing his own laundry. But Brice was always making time for her, and she had to admit again that maybe their relationship wasn't only about the incredible sexual chemistry between them. Maybe he did want more.

  When Chase opened the door and helped her out of the limo, Janna didn't know what to expect next. A stop at the swankiest hotel in town was definitely not on her list of possibilities. Suddenly her thought that Brice might want more than sex became shrouded in doubt. A hotel in the middle of the afternoon?

  Brice swept her into the lobby and past the registration desk, ushering her directly into the gleaming metal elevator. Janna shrugged out of his hold and turned to face him.

  "While I know it's impolite to make assumptions about your intentions, I have to wonder if Mr. Masterson just scheduled himself a nooner in the middle of our date."

  Brice's eyebrows shot up, and his green eyes sparkled in amusement. "And if he had?"

  The doors opened, and Janna followed him into the hallway, her sneakers sinking into the deep pile carpeting. "I'd say his chances at a clean victory just got slimmer."

  Brice pulled the magnetic key out of his pocket and slid it into the lock. He held the door for her, and she walked in hesitantly. Stepping up behind her after closing the door, he pulled her back into him and bent down to whisper in her ear, moving her curls to the side so that she could feel his warm breath on her neck.

  "Unfortunately, sweetheart, we don't have time for the hanky-panky. But if you want to, far be it from me to deny you--"

  "Brice!" she scowled, turning around and sliding her arms around his neck. "You're such an ass."

  "I'm wounded," he said, moving down to capture her lips, licking into her mouth in a light and teasing manner before pulling away and glancing at his watch. "Actually we've only got about twenty minutes until our next appointment. That doesn't leave much time to shower, get changed, and bring you to orgasm enough times to satisfy me before our guest arrives."

  "Our guest?" she asked, confused.

  "It's a surprise." He motioned toward a door across the sitting room. "That's your room. Clean clothes are in the closet. Pick out whatever you like."

  "Wait, what?" Janna asked, but Brice shook his head.

  "No time to discuss. Go take a shower and get changed. I'll do the same. Meet me back here in twenty minutes." Brice bent and kissed her softly, then headed toward the door across from her own.

  Janna skipped into the room, pausing to admire the luxurious setting. The suite must be costing him a fortune, but she realized he could easily afford it. Making her way into the bathroom, she tugged off her dirty clothes and started the water. It is hot almost immediately, and she dove into the shower, rushing to wash off the traces of her morning's labor. Soon she was out, wrapped in a towel and brushing her teeth. After touching up her makeup and attempting to straighten her riotous curls, Janna padded back into the bedroom.

  Pulling the closet doors open, she let out a gasp. Five different designer dresses hung inside, calling to her with their seductive fabrics. Below the dresses were several shoe boxes. Janna reverently examined each dress, marveling at the level of taste on display. Each dress walked the line between casual and formal so that the wearer would feel comfortable during the day or a night out. Finally, she settled on a royal blue silk, the top tighter than the bottom, which came out in a very slight bell and fell to just above her knees. Digging through the boxes, she found a pair of clunky black heels that complimented her selection.

  On the bed, she noticed two boxes, and Janna couldn't wait to see what they contained. Hidden inside the first were a satin nude bra and a wisp of matching panties. The second contained a black lace bra with bikini-cut panties in the same material. Every contingency was handled, it seemed, and once again Janna was impressed at the level of effort being put forth. With two minutes to spare she headed back into the sitting area, clean and clothed in luxur
y.

  Brice was already there, his back to her as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the street below. He turned when he heard her and inhaled sharply. "Gorgeous," he said as he stepped closer and pulled her into his embrace.

  "You certainly are," Janna replied, her heart beating faster as she took him in. He was dressed in charcoal gray slacks with a striped white-and-blue button-up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the shirt was covered by a tight dark blue sweater with big black buttons, the top three of which were unbuttoned. No tie got in the way of the smooth patch of exposed skin, and Janna took the opportunity to press a kiss to his neck. He smelled clean and fresh and tasted like springtime.

  "Let's not start that," he growled when she nibbled lightly at his neck. "We don't have time to finish." As if his words had summoned their guest, a knock at the door interrupted their tender moment. Brice had to let Janna go to open the door, and she turned toward the windows, suddenly nervous. Who invited a guest to a date?

  She certainly wasn't expecting the short older man Brice was ushering into their suite. He was nearly bald, and his eyes were hidden behind enormous lenses an inch thick. Brice led him over to Janna, putting a friendly hand on the smaller man's shoulder as he introduced them.

  "Janna, this is George Isley. Mr. Isley, this is Janna Puchina."

  "George Isley? The George Isley?" Janna had trouble breathing. "The George Isley that painted Island Sunset, that George Isley?"

  The smaller man lets out an embarrassed laugh. "That George Isley, yes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Puchina."

  "Please, call me Janna," she said, shaking the man's hand and hoping her nervousness didn't make her hands tremble. George Isley was one of the most respected abstract watercolor artists in the world, and he was standing here in front of her, shaking her hand.