A Bad Boy is Good to Find

by Jennifer Lewis

  “Could you help me get this mess into a ponytail?” She held out a white scrunchie.

  “Sure.” He took it and smoothed her hair back, gathered it into a single cascading fall, and stretched the scrunchie around it. Doubled it and pulled the hair through again. Smoothed a flyaway strand and tucked it behind her ear.

  The kind of intimate gesture he loved. And apparently didn’t deserve to enjoy except under false pretenses.

  “What’s the matter with you? I’ve never seen you look so down.” She stared at him, brown eyes penetrating. Did she actually care, or was she looking for another opportunity to grind him under her heel?

  “I’m fine.”

  “So you keep saying, but I know better than to believe you.” She brushed dust off his shoulder. The thoughtful gesture and the touch of her soft fingers made him swallow.

  “Hey, what’s this?” She crouched and picked something up off the floor.

  He glanced down as she picked up a yellowed envelope from under a crumpled brocade bed curtain.

  “A letter, and it’s not opened. How odd. And look, here’s another.” She pushed back the heavy brocade to reveal a little stack of letters splayed on the wood floor. “I wonder what they were doing in the bed? Look, they have stamps and postmarks on them. They’ve been through the mail. I wonder why they were never opened?”

  She knelt down on the floor and held up one of the letters to the light. A nasty sensation snuck up his back.

  Those letters gave him a bad feeling.

  “It’s none of our business. Let’s go eat.”

  “In a minute, wait.” She gathered up the fallen envelopes. “They were hidden inside this bedpost. Look, it broke right where the hollow compartment was. It’s exactly where I hit it with my shoe. I can see the mark made by the heel.” She brushed dust off the splintered wood. “How odd. Doesn’t this make you burn with curiosity to know who lived here?”

  “Curiosity killed the cat. Come on, let’s go.” Some dead person’s letters? Gave him the creeps, shivers right up his spine. “I’m going anyway. Are you still pretending to be my fiancée or have you gone off that idea?”

  He held his breath a little while he waited for her reply. On the one hand this whole charade stank to high heaven, but on the other, if it worked out they’d end up legally married, and then there was always hope that…

  The old warm loving Lizzie would come back?

  Sweat prickled his neck.

  Get over it, Con. She didn’t love you, she loved your Richie Rich alter ego.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She scrambled to her feet, clutching the letters. “Don’t mention these to anyone, okay? I’m going to put them in my suitcase.”

  “I won’t say a word.” He held out his arm, and she took it.

  “So now you’ve met Maisie, what did you think?” Her arm tightened as she asked.

  “She’s tall,” he said diplomatically.

  “Tall, blonde, beautiful and a complete bitch. Don’t make me look like an ass in front of her.”

  “I’ll do my best, but as you’ve pointed out, my manners can sometimes be lacking.”

  She stopped, grabbed his arm. “I’m serious. You owe me, remember?”

  “I agreed to help you earn some money, not to have you try and break me down on national TV. If I’d known we were coming back here, I’d never have—”

  “I know, I know, that’s why I didn’t tell you. But now we’re here, can we just make a go of it? There’s fifty thousand dollars for maybe a week’s work and half of it is yours.”

  He let out a low whistle. She’d never mentioned the exact dollar amount before and he was impressed. “I’ll try to be on my best behavior.”

  “Darlings!” Maisie’s voice rang out in the hallway. “I was just coming to see what happened to you. I know you lovebirds need your privacy, but we have a show to shoot here. Come on, come on.” She gestured for them to hurry. “The reason I rushed down here is because Don and I agreed that I should appear in the show as on-camera talent, as your cousin, of course, but also as a sort of Barbara Walters-style interviewer.”

  “What?” Lizzie froze. “I thought you were an associate producer.”

  “I am, I am, but in a small company like ours, one person can take on many roles. That’s why it’s such a marvelous place to grow my career.”

  “Doesn’t Barbara Walters make everyone cry?” Con asked dryly.

  Maisie chuckled. “Conroy, you’re a card. I can see we’re going to have a lot of fun together. I love this shirtless thing you have going here.”

  “Lizzie made me take it off. She thought I looked hot.”

  Maisie raised a pale eyebrow. “I heartily concur. And no shoes either?”

  “They were getting in the way.” He squeezed Lizzie’s arm and felt her stiffen. That under-the-table hanky-panky had been pure fun.

  “I love it. Very natural. Our chef has risen to the occasion and come up with a marvelous barbequed shrimp recipe. Do hurry or it’ll all be gone. They’re like ravening wolves!”

  Maisie strode off and Lizzie sagged with relief.

  “Hey, this wasn’t my idea,” he muttered.

  “Shut up,” she snapped. Then she shoved her arm more tightly through his, and marched him down the stairs.

  Chapter 14

  “What time is it?” Lizzie pulled the sheet over her as the door opened.

  “One.” The light from the doorway turned Con into a silhouette. Still shirtless, with his clothes under his arm. He unbuttoned his pants and slid them off, then headed for the bed.

  “Floor.”

  “Come on, babe, you know you won’t be able to sleep without me.”

  “Wheelock Engineering. That’s all I have to say.”

  She turned her back to him. Not wanting her eyes to adjust to the silvery outline of his muscled body in the moonlight. She was going to wean herself off him, starting tonight.

  “Alright, babe. But if you change your mind…” Without so much as rolling some clothes into a pillow, he eased himself down on to the bare wood.

  “I won’t.” She flipped over, trying to get comfortable on the soft feather mattress. If anything, the heat and humidity were more oppressive in darkness. An almost-full moon blazed through a crack in the brocade curtains, picking out the plaster moldings around the high ceilings. A billion tree frogs screeched a high-pitched symphony.

  She’d been lying here in the dark for two hours, hearing the voices of the crew—and Con—laughing and talking and having fun. She’d come up early, had all she could take of sitting outside under the stars with Con’s arm around her. She couldn’t laugh and talk and have fun with the cameras on her when it was all fake. The pretense was exhausting.

  Con got along with everyone. Easygoing, quick witted and charming. He already had Maisie eating out of his palm. When Lizzie announced she was off to bed, he’d jumped to his feet to follow her upstairs to the Bridal Suite like the doting fiancé he so convincingly pretended to be.

  But she needed to be away from him more than any of them. “Oh, no, sweetheart, please stay up. You’re the only one who knows how to keep the fire going.” He’d looked her in the eye, read her thoughts and stayed outside.

  Sensitive bastard.

  She’d spent some time studying the little stack of yellowed letters. No return address, just the address of the plantation house written in neat cursive. Ballpoint pen.

  She hadn’t had the guts to open one. Yet.

  Con shifted on the floor. Hardwood with no carpet. He’d have a pretty rough night. Maybe she should offer him the comforter since she wasn’t using it anyway?

  Stop being a wuss. He deceived you and made a fool of you and turned you into the kind of person who throws shoes.

  She tossed again. A very soft mattress could be surprisingly uncomfortable. A cramp seized her calf and she grabbed her foot, pulled the toe back hard and rubbed her knotted calf muscle, cursing under her breath until the ball of tension releas
ed.

  Her dad probably wasn’t sleeping too well either. The ankle bracelet stayed on even at night, and his activities were under constant surveillance, particularly since his coconspirator, her former “financial advisor,” had disappeared without a trace. Probably sunning himself on a Caribbean island. She’d picked up several weeks’ worth of mail being held at the post office in New York and discovered a long letter from her father. He’d apologized for squandering her inheritance and letting the family down. He regretted the cruel things he’d said to her that last day at the house. He’d been overwrought, almost psychotic.

  Or so he said.

  He’d promised to try to make it up to her and her mother. He’d written so persuasively that she almost forgave him.

  Almost.

  The promise of a large inheritance had warped her life in many ways, cramped her existence. Now, dear, don’t forget, people know who you are. She’d accepted the limitations, held up her end of the deal.

  Daddy’s a busy man, darling.

  It had been a tradeoff— money instead of love—and he’d reneged on his end of the bargain.

  She heard Con shift. Maybe just a pillow? She really didn’t need all four of them…

  Sucker.

  She’d been a sucker for her father and a sucker for Con, and she’d never be a sucker again.

  That little game of footsie earlier had left her irritatingly aroused. Simple body mechanics of course, but frustrating.

  She hadn’t had sex since the showdown in the desert. During their whirlwind courtship, four heavenly weeks, they’d done it almost every day. Sometimes several times. So easy, warm, inviting. A blissful connection and shared release.

  Don’t think about it.

  She tossed again, dragged the sheet over her. She could still hear laughter from downstairs. The crew were whooping it up and having a great time. They were all young, free and single—like her—except that she wasn’t really like them. Money had stood like a wall between herself and other people. She’d never had those easy, comfortable friendships other people her age enjoyed.

  Except with Con.

  “You okay, babe?” His murmured question startled her. Had he somehow heard her thoughts?

  “Of course,” she snapped. “Go to sleep.”

  And he did. Within minutes she heard his breathing slow and deepen. When she leaned over the edge of the bed, incredulous, she watched his broad chest rise and fall in the bright moonlight. He lay on his back, sinewy arms at his sides, totally relaxed. Expensive dark designer briefs hugged a bulge that suggested he might already be enjoying a good dream. Long muscled legs extended carelessly over the floor as if he lay cushioned on a cloud.

  How on earth did he do it?

  She wondered what lay in store for them at his real ancestral homestead. His obvious apprehension made her nervous. Wasn’t that just what she wanted? She’d come here to rub his nose in the humble roots he’d so artfully concealed. To blow his cover on national TV and punish him for his deception?

  Now they were here he didn’t even put up a fuss about going. He didn’t look happy about it, but he didn’t seem embarrassed like she’d expected.

  She couldn’t figure him out. Which was, of course, how she’d gotten into this mess in the first place.

  She didn’t sleep a single second all night long. In the morning her neck was killing her and her head ached. Con hadn’t moved a muscle. Just lay there, lips slightly parted, relaxed expression on his revoltingly handsome features, big sexy body sprawled on the bare wood.

  She’d just decided to accidentally step on his hand on her way to the closet, when a knock on the door jolted him from his unseemly repose.

  He flew onto the bed and flung his arm over her. “Come in.”

  She resisted the urge to elbow him off, grateful for his quick reflexes. Honed, no doubt, while scrambling out women’s bedroom windows.

  “Maisie!” She pulled the sheet up higher and tried not to recoil from those all-seeing ice-blue eyes.

  “Don’t you two look cozy, sorry to interrupt.”

  Con had circled Lizzie with his arm and snuggled against her, spoon fashion. She could feel a sizeable morning erection against her butt.

  “That’s okay.” Con spoke lazily. “We’re practically in-laws, aren’t we, Maisie?” She could feel his smile and it raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

  “So true. What a sweet thought.” Maisie snapped on a smile. “I’d love you to come down for breakfast, darlings, though I can see Lizzie needs some attention from Raoul first.”

  Lizzie cringed. Her flattened hair probably stuck out all over like a Vandergraf generator and she could pack her new wardrobe in the bags under her eyes.

  “We did have rather a wild night,” she managed.

  Con buried his face in the back of her neck and kissed it. “Maisie doesn’t want to know what we were doing all night.”

  Oh, she’d eat it up like pie, believe me.

  “You’re right sweetheart. Sometimes I forget myself when I’m with you.” She settled her hand possessively on his big thigh. Steeled herself against the delicious spicy warmth of him at her back. He deserved full marks for playing along.

  Maisie’s smile remained firmly in place. “I’ll send Raoul up. Oh, and Con, if you want to go shirtless again, that’s just fine.”

  “You don’t have to really go shirtless, you know.” Lizzie sat in front of the dressing table mirror, trying to get the comb through her snarled hair.

  “I’m a performer under contract. I wear what the director tells me to.”

  She glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Was he smiling? “Well, I’m the real director here and I’m telling you to wear a shirt.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” He buckled his black leather belt.

  “If you don’t want to, then don’t,” she snapped. “I just think it’s rather undignified.” The waistband of his Italian slacks sat low enough to reveal the top of the fine line of black hair below his belly button. Low enough to be unpleasantly suggestive.

  “Since when are you concerned about me being dignified? I figure this whole trip is designed to rob me of any false dignity I might have assumed. And you know what? I’m okay with that. I guess dignity isn’t all that important to me in the grand scheme of things.”

  He moved up behind her, his low-slung waistband clearly visible in mirror. He put his hands on her shoulders and started to massage. “But I think it’s sweet that you still care enough about me to defend my rights.”

  “I don’t care about you one bit. If you want to prance around half naked it’s fine by me. Go for it.” She deliberately avoided looking at his broad fingers as they dug into the tender knots at the base of her neck.

  “Jesus, you’re wound up. Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “Yes.” No.

  Not a frigging wink. She’d rather die than let him know that, though. She glanced at his face in the mirror.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “I’m not laughing.”

  “Your eyes are laughing.” She bristled, tightened up the shoulders he was trying to loosen.

  “I’ll tell them to stop. Relax, let your shoulders go.”

  She pushed her shoulders down, bent her neck forward and closed her eyes. Con had magic fingers and could zero in on a tension point from fifteen paces. “You’ve missed your calling, you know,” she moaned, as he unkinked a hump beside her spine. “You could have been a masseur.”

  “Maybe I’ll be one yet.”

  “I’m serious. I’ve had a lot of professional massages, especially out at Las Gordas, and you’re better than any of them. It’s amazing how you can be so gentle and so firm at the same time.”

  She instantly regretted the compliment. One with sexual implications, no less. “You could hang out a shingle, Come and Get Conned. I’m sure you won’t have trouble attracting female customers.”

  Her barbed suggestion caused a slight hiccup in his mas
saging rhythm, then he continued with renewed vigor. “You wouldn’t mind your husband putting his hands all over other women?”

  “You’re not my husband.” Why did it hurt to say that?.

  “I will be soon.” He dug his thumbs into her neck with insistent pressure.

  “Not for long.”

  A movement inside the door made her start. “Raoul!”

  When had he come in and how much had he heard? Con’s hands fell from her shoulders. He hadn’t heard Raoul either.

  “Hey,” said Con.

  “Hey yourself,” replied Raoul, giving his bare chest a lingering once-over. “What’re you trying to do, raise the temperature around here even higher?” He fanned himself, straight-faced.

  “Maisie’s orders. Do I look like an ass?”

  “Best piece of ass I’ve seen in weeks. But we digress. I have work to do.” He turned to Lizzie, still poker-faced. “Heard you need some primping. Can see it’s true. You look like you’ve been in a boxing ring. Where’s your icepack?”

  “What icepack?”

  “The one you are supposed to keep ready to reduce puffiness around your eyes in the morning.”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to have one.”

  “Ignorance of the law is no defense. They’ve probably got some iced-up shrimp downstairs we could use instead.”

  Con chuckled.

  “Hey, I’m just kidding.” He smiled, revealing unnaturally even white teeth between his thin lips. “There can be a lot of tension on a set and I like fooling around. Don’t take me too seriously. Anyway, the hairdresser still hasn’t shown up, so I’m doing double duty again. If things get ugly, we can go into my personal wig collection.”

  “Raoul does celebrity impersonations. In drag,” said Con. “Goes onstage at the Copa.”

  Lizzie forced a laugh. She snuck a nervous glance at Con, who was slicking back his hair with a comb, biceps artfully displayed by the motion.

  Raoul savored the view with her for a moment.

  “I don’t really see her in the Monroe or the Joan Crawford, do you?” He raised an eyebrow at Con. “Maybe the Veronica Lake?” He lifted up a semi fried hank of Lizzie’s frizzy, flattened hair. “But you’re definitely going to need one of my wigs if you keep trying to straighten. This humidity is a red-hot bitch.”