Good Girl Gone Bad

by Falcone, Carmen

  “Maybe I should have hired an actress instead, or someone who would follow my direction,” he said. He paced in a small circle, crunching dry leaves under his heel.

  “Sure, she would, as long as you didn’t forget to tell her some critical information. Such as the fact your mother is deceased. That would have come in handy tonight.”

  He came to a halt, a chill snaking down his spine. “What?” The subject of his mother, his grandmother’s daughter, was always delicate, and his family skirted around it, avoiding it as much as possible. He appreciated the silence as an adult, even if as a child he wished he’d had someone explain to him what was happening.

  She angled closer to him, her expression softening. “How do you expect me to play my role if you won’t let me in?”

  “We talked about—”

  “We talked about me, and our fake alternative world, but we never talked about you. I saw how you acted around your father. I’m not asking you to tell me anything I can use against you, but I need some pointers.”

  Who was she kidding? She could use anything against him if she needed. “That’s why we have a confidential agreement.”

  “Exactly. You don’t trust me,” she said, her voice breaking. An emotion he didn’t understand flickered in her huge green eyes, making him feel smaller than a grain of dirt. “I should go home. This doesn’t feel real to me, even as fake as it is. You don’t need me—you have your huge ego and secrets to keep you company.”

  She turned to go, but he clasped her elbow and pulled her to him. She lifted her chin, questioning his actions. Damn it, so did he. His gut tightened at the idea of her walking out of his life, of her denying him, of her leaving him. He’d dealt with his mother leaving him because of her illness, then Angelica because of the darkness in his heart. He swallowed. He wasn’t done with Lily Jenkins.

  “I need you,” he said, before he dipped his head and crushed her mouth with his. She fought him for a moment, biting his lips, but soon, she fought him in a completely different way, adding so much passion to the kiss he almost fell backward. “Lily, I need you now,” he said gruffly, terrified of how much he meant it.

  Chapter Nine

  Desire hit Lily like a violent blow. She wanted to scream at Marco, to make him understand her frustration, but the urgency in his voice melted away any resistance. She’d chastise herself later. Now, she needed to give in to the unbearable tension creeping under her skin.

  “Marco… I need you, too,” she said, unafraid to admit it out loud.

  He pulled up her dress, and soon the coolness of the night whispered against her bare butt. “No panties. You’ll destroy me one day, Lily Jenkins, and I’ll let you.”

  His words rang in her ears and caused a silly amount of empowerment to bubble in her body. He turned her away from him, and she planted her hands on the trunk of a thick tree. A couple of sounds caught her attention—squirrels moving, him unbuckling his belt. When she touched the rough texture of the tree, she felt fresh sap under her palm.

  Marco kissed her neck, and the image of that enormous bed in the suite they shared filled her mind. How nice would it be to screw in that sinful bed?

  He nibbled her ear, and a shower of prickles washed over her, her nipples rock hard. “Lily,” he rasped, and she wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a demand. “Lily,” he repeated in that rich, cultured voice that made her toes curl.

  He nudged her thighs apart, and thrust his cock inside her, deep and hard. In any other circumstances, she’d complain about the lack of foreplay, but not this time. They both needed to fuck to clear their heads. Fucking had become both the problem and solution.

  She rocked her hips into him, wanting to take him as deep into her as possible. He sank his teeth in the curve of her neck, and she moaned, the ripples of awareness drifting down her body. “So good.”

  “You’re soaked. You were waiting for this, weren’t you? For me to lose my mind and straight up fuck you in the middle of a party.”

  His words were an invisible force, pushing her to the edge. She fought to breathe, her breasts rising and falling. Could she fight his accusation? Sure, maybe she hadn’t planned the seduction, but he brought out a naughty side of her that simply didn’t care about anything else.

  He retreated, only to ram harder into her, sending a delicious quiver to her entire being. A growl escaped his lips, telling her that he, too, was about to lose control. “Yes. You not wearing any underwear like a bad girl.”

  She moaned again.

  He cupped her breasts, his fingers warming her painfully taut nipples through the fabric. She squirmed into him, on a sexual high.

  “Tell me, baby, tell me all about how I make you feel, how bad you want me to fuck you hard and make you come.”

  Her clit tugged, pulsed, coiled with exquisite tension, the pressure building, building “I–I’m so close I can barely think.” She just wanted him to keep fucking her until she reached the climax she craved, needed. Instead, he withdrew his cock from her, and she gasped. Her body shuddered, a chilly sensation enveloping her like she’d just entered some Alaskan igloo in her birthday suit.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Talk to me,” he demanded behind her. “I want you to tell me what you want, Lily.”

  Talk to him? The argument started because he wouldn’t talk to her, and now he was the one begging her for words? Dirty words. He squeezed her breasts. Shit. She needed to say something to resume her glorious trip to Poundtown.

  He pulled her hair a little, an act so primal she couldn’t stop her reaction, her response to him overwhelming, demanding more.

  “I like when you screw me, hard and fast,” she said, proud at the edge in her voice. “Your cock fills me perfectly… It’s so thick and delicious.”

  The touch of his hands on her tits loosened, and soon he slid his fingers down her waist, clutching her sides. “Go on.”

  “I love that when we fuck, I feel like I belong to you. It’s not dirty, but it’s true. When you’re inside me, I feel…safe. Cherished.” Like nothing can rip us apart. The thought stabbed at her, and her heart thrummed wildly. Please, don’t care for him more than what was agreed. Don’t care for him at all. Her silent plea to her common sense was moot. A part of her already cared for him—immensely.

  He positioned her so that she leaned onto the tree more, her ass in the air. She had half expected he’d leave her after her heartfelt admission, but he surprised her by driving himself into her again. “Like this?” he asked, his voice steady.

  Her pulse raced at the base of her throat. “Yes. Yes, babe.”

  She turned her head to see him, and even with a sideway glance she spotted how intense, how dangerous he looked as he drove into her.

  He pounded her, and her moans filled the space, lost into the mystery of the night, until finally her orgasm spasmed through her, overpowering her senses and dissipating all the tension from earlier.

  Marco had the gift of making her forget everything around her, and maybe she had a similar effect on him—if the way he choked out her name as his cock shuddered with his own release was anything to go by.

  He kissed her shoulder. “We should probably freshen up separately,” he said, breaking the silence. “There’s a bathroom nearby, next to the pool area.”

  She pulled down her dress. Some of his cum dropped down her thighs, and she closed her legs to keep it from sliding farther down. “Freshen up? We need to talk.”

  He stuffed his cock into his pants and zipped up. “We’ll talk later.”

  She smoothed her hands over her dress, hoping it hadn’t crumpled too much. “Later is now. Do you know I had to lie to your cousin about being an amateur sculptor?”

  “What?”

  “Yup. It’s a long story, but my point is, why didn’t you tell me about your mom? She committed suicide. That’s a big deal.”

  He shoved a hand inside his pocket, then immediately removed it and rubbed the back of his neck. She didn’t need to be a bo
dy language expert to know how difficult talking about his mother seemed for him.

  She took one step in his direction, unsure of what to say but unwilling to drop the subject. If she’d ever have a chance to know him a bit better, this was it. “Tell me, Marco.”

  “My mother was mentally ill. Her schizophrenia came out after she had me. Until then, it had been latent, but some doctors say it takes something more difficult to bring out the first episode. Well, when I was born, I came early, and back then medicine wasn’t as advanced as it is today. A few weeks early meant a lot more concerns. Anyway, she began to act strangely. They thought it could be baby blues at first. But my being born triggered it, and I don’t think my father has ever gotten over that.”

  A surge of anger hit her, and she curled her fingers into a ball, wishing she could punch his father. She’d never imagined herself striking anyone, but now she seriously considered it. “That’s ridiculous. You were a baby.”

  “As I grew older, she got worse. At first, they tried to downplay it, and hired the best doctors they could afford—always making sure she was on some treatment so she’d still be presentable at parties and social functions. She couldn’t take the pressure.” He said the last sentence with sadness.

  “I’m so sorry. It must’ve been hard to see all that. Didn’t your father help her?”

  “They tried a couple of clinics. Sometimes she was gone for weeks at a time. The treatment back then wasn’t as holistic and patient-centric as it is nowadays,” he said.

  She remembered an article she read about how much mental hospitals and wellness clinics had evolved through the decades. Her heart broke for his mother, assuming she never got the understanding she needed. “Didn’t it help when she returned from the clinics?”

  He sighed, looking into the darkness. “For a while, but then she’d revert back. Some nights Nico and I couldn’t sleep with all the shouting between our parents.”

  She touched his shoulder but felt his muscles cord beneath her palm. He continued to look away. “That’s awful,” she said, knowing that, while she’d grown up without a lot of money, she’d never questioned her parents love for each other, or her.

  She didn’t go around him to face him directly, but didn’t step back, either, sending him a comforting glance and still holding his taut shoulder.

  “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. That’s why I didn’t tell you about my mother,” he said, shrugging her hand away and facing her directly, making her stare at him whether she wanted to or not. “I didn’t want to see this look in your eyes, like you wish you could take it all away.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for that child. The six-year-old,” she said, and wondered how much of the six-year-old still inhabited the body and soul of the man standing in front of her.

  “Fair enough. Well, I highly doubt this subject will come up again this week, but now you know.”

  She fought the need to give him a hug, knowing deep down he’d see it as a sign of sorrow. The tips of her fingers tingled to touch him, so she settled for brushing them on his hand. “Thanks for telling me. Was that why your ex-fiancée left you?”

  “No,” he said, jerking away and closing the subject. “Ready to freshen up then go?”

  She wasn’t. She wanted to ask more, to deep-dive into his soul, but she had to be content with the information he’d given her. His past, present, and future mattered to her, which rattled her so much that she knew she wasn’t ready to hear his full disclosure yet, for fear it would mean the end of their agreement far sooner than she wanted.

  …

  “Nonna,” Marco said, walking up to his grandmother.

  He’d talked to her earlier, because he had wanted to break the news of his engagement firsthand. Now she sat at a table with a few lifelong friends, all the ladies wearing nice cocktail dresses. “This is Patricia,” he said, still finding it difficult not to call her Lily. Patricia didn’t suit her—it was too stuffy, too proper.

  His lovely grandmother, still a big fan of chunky pearl necklaces and dark dramatic gowns, smiled at Lily. “So nice to meet you,” she said with a strong Italian accent. “I prayed for the day my grandson would meet his match.”

  “So it’s all your fault,” Lily said, shaking her hand.

  The two women shared a laugh, and lightness washed over his being. Despite the mishap earlier, he had to admit he’d made the right choice. Lily might not notice, but as she spoke to Nonna, people around them watched her.

  Arietta kept an eye on her, from two tables away. He shook his head. His cousin would no doubt tell his brother the news upon his arrival later. He’d toyed with the idea of telling Nico himself; his jaw would drop to the floor.

  “You’re stunning, my dear,” his nonna said. “And you managed to straighten out my grandson, so I’ll forgive that you aren’t Italian.”

  Lily chuckled, taking it stride. “Thank you. You know, my not speaking Italian is an advantage. If I knew what he says in Italian when he’s angry, maybe we wouldn’t be here today. Together.”

  Nonna’s lips broke into another smile, filling his heart with pride. “I like you already, Patricia.”

  Lily saw an empty chair next to her and sat down. “The feeling is mutual. Marco told me a lot about you.”

  Nonna waved her off, leaning closer. “Don’t believe him, they’re all lies.”

  Lily winked at her. “That’s what I thought.”

  He watched them chat, taken aback for a moment. Lily would be the last of his dates his grandma would ever meet. Nonna had never liked Angelica much, especially after the end of their relationship. He’d kept from introducing random affairs to her as a sign of respect, and also for self-preservation. Yet, a strange emotion delved into his chest, as if him introducing Lily to Nonna represented some closure. Lily was doing a pretty damn good job, too.

  “Primo,” said a voice he recognized behind him.

  “Arietta,” he called, turning around to greet her.

  “Your fiancée is quite something,” Arietta said. “She’s drop-dead gorgeous, smart, and even seems to have fallen on Nonna’s good side.” If the words complimented, Arietta’s tone did not. It sounded more accusatory than kind.

  “She’s the total package,” he said, choosing to ignore the snarkiness in Arietta’s voice. Arietta had been Angelica’s best friend growing up, and never approved of them breaking up. Marco never discovered what Angelica told friends and family, but somehow Arietta seemed to think he’d been the jerk and done something unforgivable. Maybe she knows the truth. That’s why she doesn’t want to see me happy.

  “Yes. By the way, you do know I donate to a local artistic organization, right?” she said, switching to a lighter tone.

  In the past decade, he’d stayed away from his drama-prone cousin as much as he could manage. Nothing more than a quick chat here and there. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, your fiancée has been generous enough to trust me with her secret.”

  He frowned. “Secret?” Shit. Lily was just too trusting if she’d told Arietta anything.

  A glint sparked in Arietta’s big eyes. “Yes. Her hidden talent.”

  What the hell? Afraid to let out more than needed, Marco nodded as if he knew what the hell she was talking about.

  “I was wondering if she’d mind coming over tomorrow for a quick visit. We have some children from a local school visiting the studio and I’m sure they’d love to meet an international artist. That would mean the world to them.”

  “I think we’re fully booked.”

  “I understand, but if she spared thirty minutes from her day, I’d be so grateful. If not, maybe we can ask her new best friend to sway her,” she said, her head pointing in the direction of their grandmother.

  A flare of irritation ignited through him. Damn Arietta. “Fine. Thirty minutes and that’s it.” Whatever plan Arietta had to embarrass his fiancée, he’d be one step ahead of her.

  A smile of triumph formed on A
rietta’s face. “Thanks, Marco, for being so accommodating.”

  He waited patiently until the end of the evening, after dinner and dessert, when he and Lily were headed back to their suite, to ask her, “What did you say is your hidden talent?”

  “Sculpting.”

  “Sculpting?”

  “Yes. It’s a long story, but I introduced myself as Lily at first, then I realized I made a mistake, so I said Lily was a pseudonym for my amateur artistic side.”

  Wrong name. Shit. No wonder Arietta walked around like she knew the secret numbers of a winning lottery ticket. His cousin suspected his fiancée was not who she said she was, and if Arietta mentioned that to Nico, all would be lost. Nothing could stop those two from tearing Lily’s identity apart. While Nico would do it for the “greater good” of their company, he wouldn’t boast about his findings to Nonna or anyone else. Even when they disagreed, he and his brother had each other’s backs.

  But the same couldn’t be said about Arietta. She’d find pleasure in outing Marco’s plan publicly. “No wonder Arietta was all over you. She suspects something’s off.”

  “Oh, crap. You hate me, don’t you?” She chewed on her lower lip.

  Hate her? He wished. Hating her would make his life easier, hating her wouldn’t cause his body to go into overdrive when she smiled at him or called his name. “No.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I dropped the ball. Even though you prepared me so much, I’m not a natural liar—preacher’s daughter, you know.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Arietta only wants you to meet some children who are visiting an art studio. It’s not like you’re expected to teach them about sculpting. Google some stuff about the craft and you can interact with the children for a while. Do you like children?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Of course she did—Lily had “wife material” written all over her. She’d probably make a good mom, too, one day. He frowned at his own random thought. Why did he care? “Good.”

  She switched her weight from one foot to the other. “Still, I feel bad for making it harder. If there’s anything I can do to make life easier, please let me know,” she said, winking at him at the end.