Spanked by the Bad Boy

by London Saint James

  Declan wanted to break his brothers finger off. “Yes.”

  Tiffany was slinking back, moving away from them.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, shithead. Why are you acting this way?” Declan asked.

  “I hate to tell you this, brother, but you may want to consider finding yourself a new girlfriend.”

  Declan moved forward until he was chest-to-chest with Ryker. “You need your ass kicked?”

  “Man, if you want to talk about asses, I’ll talk about asses.” Declan heard Tiffany gasp. “I fucked your girlfriend while she was bent over that desk.” Ryker’s head tilted toward the piece of antique furniture in question.

  “You are completely nuts.”

  “No. I’m not. She walked in here wearing a skimpy skirt and low-cut shirt and begged me for it by rubbing herself on me like a cat in heat two years ago at the Halloween party we threw when Mom and Dad were on their Europe excursion.”

  A bomb went off inside Declan’s head and shrapnel flew, blinding him with fury. Before he could sort through the data and make any sense of it all, he took Ryker to the floor in a quick leg sweep.

  Ryker rolled and jumped up with lightning speed. Declan stood and lunged. He swung his fist, sledgehammer style, and connected with his brother’s jaw. Ryker swung back and landed one on Declan’s jaw. The blow hurt, but he shrugged it off and shoved Ryker into the desk. The crystal lamp on top hit the ground and shattered. Something black flitted to the floor. They tussled. Glass crunched under Declan’s feet. His shoulder hit one of the bookcases. Books rattled on their shelves.

  The scene was a clash of the titans, reminiscent of their fight when they were sixteen, and Declan had been going to kill his twin brother and bury his limp body in the back yard next to Oodles, their boyhood dog, for wrecking his first motorcycle; only this fight was much, much worse. Ryker had wrecked his life.

  “Stop!” Tiffany yelled. “Please stop it.”

  “What in God’s name is going on in here?” Declan’s mother hit the octave of shrill.

  “Your son is a fucking liar,” said Declan.

  “Watch your mouth,” she snapped.

  “I’m not a liar. You’re a chump,” Ryker said to Declan.

  “Ryker!” Their mother stomped her Jimmy Choo-covered foot. “You two are acting like animals.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tiffany cried, tears streaming down her face in a torrent. She grabbed her purse and wrap from the mess on the floor and ran past his mom, sobbing.

  “Tiffany!” Declan started to go after her, but Ryker held on to him in a bear hold.

  “Let her go, Deck. She’s a piece of easy ass who was trolling that night and more than likely a gold digger, happy to sink her claws into you.”

  “What did she say to you?” he asked.

  “She wanted to know if I remembered the Halloween party and the desk.”

  Awareness struck in his addled brain. Tiffany must have thought she’d been with him and not Ryker. Why confess tonight? Had she been playing him from the moment he’d walked into Stoub Engineering? She’d never said a word about meeting him before, or who she would have thought was him, and she especially forgot to mention a heated sexcapade. If she had, the whole ugly scene would have been out in the open from the start, and he wouldn’t have fallen for her. Ever.

  “I’m telling you, bro, you know the breed,” Ryker mumbled in his ear. “She’s exactly like those women at the Razor Club. She begged for it.”

  He did know. He knew the kind of women his brother was describing well. All too well.

  The air left his body as the words she begged for it added strength to the vision of his brother going at Tiffany from behind. The image of her bent over his father’s desk punched him square in the gut much harder than any physical blow Ryker could have given him.

  Chapter Twenty

  It had been three weeks since the debacle at his parents’ house. Three long, quiet, lonely weeks without seeing or speaking to Tiffany. Declan was messed up. Mad at his brother, Tiffany, women in general, and the whole freakin’ world. He knew Tiffany had a past; so did he and half the people he associated with, for cripe’s sake. She was secretive, but, in the light of day and with some time and a little distance, he didn’t think she was a gold digger hell-bent-for-ninety to get her hands on the family jewels. He smirked. Well, maybe his family jewels.

  He’d gone and lost his ever-loving mind. Jesus. Nothing about the situation was even remotely humorous. There was nothing funny about his heart being ripped from his chest, and he hadn’t been able to persuade the knot free in his stomach. He just didn’t know why she couldn’t have been completely honest about all of her sordid past.

  “What did you expect her to say when you first introduced yourself to her in Matthew’s office?” he grumbled under his breath to no one. He raised his voice. “Hello, Mr. Cage. You screwed me once over a desk at a Halloween party.” He made an irreverent snort as he heard how stupid and ridiculous he sounded trying to mimic her.

  He understood why she’d been mute on the subject then, but why not tell him later, after they’d gotten to know each other? Why not say she thought she’d been with him in an up-close-and-personal, kinky kind of way? Of course, even if they had talked, and he’d put two and two together knowing it didn’t add up to be four, he wasn’t sure he could have handled the knowledge any better.

  You could have walked away before you got in too deep.

  He pulled up the picture he’d taken of them the day they went to the aquarium on his phone and swiped his thumb across her smiling face. He knew she’d been with men before; still, he hadn’t expected one of those men to be his brother, and he was grappling with the truth as he closed his eyes, scrubbed his palm down his face, and exhaled. He was, in a word—miserable. Okay, maybe two words—totally miserable. Hell, pick a word. He was depressed, unhappy, dismal, despondent….

  “Mr. Cage,” Deidre, his secretary, knocked on his open office door.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s a Ms. Brooks from Stoub Engineering on the phone for you.”

  “Tell her I’m unavailable.”

  “Sir. She’s called every day for the past week.”

  He knew she’d been calling, and he didn’t care. Tiffany had called his cell phone, too, but he hadn’t answered, and she hadn’t found the nerve to leave a message. As if he’d listen.

  Declan opened his eyes, narrowed them, and whirled around in his swivel chair. “I don’t care if she calls every hour on the hour. Tell her I’m unavailable.” Declan saw the hurt expression on his secretary’s face, but, damn it all to hell, he wasn’t going to care about being too sharp with her. He wasn’t. She turned to go. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m sorry for being a horrific boss lately, Deidre. Overlook my behavior, if you can, or you have my permission to tell me off and take some vacation time if you wish. I wouldn’t blame you if you needed to get away from me for a few days.”

  Her fiery red curls swished around her plump cheeks when she twirled back around to see him. “I’ll survive the bad mood. The question is, will you?”

  He shrugged. “I sure hope so.”

  “This might not be my place, sir, but sometimes in life, whether we intend to or not, we hurt the people we love the most.” Declan gawked at her, slack jawed, and wondered when his secretary had turned into a philosopher on the meaning of life and love. “I’ve always thought it takes a strong person to admit they’ve been hurt, forgive the person who hurt them, and accept that the person they love the most has flaws. And maybe, if you’re strong enough, you can find a way to start over with the person you love.” Deidre grinned. “Who knows?” she said. “My theory may be crap, and instead of forgiveness and a clean slate, it might be easier to walk away and live with regrets, a chip on your shoulder, and the what-ifs of it all.”

  She exited his office, then peeked her head back in. “By the way, I venture to say you’re one of those strong o
nes and not the kind of man who’d rather live with the what-ifs because it was the easier thing to do.”

  ***

  He was wholly pathetic. If he looked up the definition in a dictionary, his stupid face would be right alongside the word. There he was, sitting in the cab of his truck, parked across the street from Stoub Engineering like a lovesick puppy, watching Ms. Brooks through the long line of windows while she talked to Matthew Stoub. He didn’t even have the guts to park in Stoub’s lot because he didn’t want to give her a chance to corner him when she left for the day. If she did, he wasn’t sure he could resist her. And he was still too pissed off to give in and talk to her.

  While he watched, she sashayed over to pick something up from her desk. His cock stirred, and the response had his teeth gritting together. She flipped a piece of her long hair over her shoulder and laughed. If his head hadn’t been attached, it would have twirled off his neck and spun on the floorboard of his truck like a top.

  She shouldn’t be laughing, he thought. She should be as miserable as I am.

  She put her hand over her mouth, and he knew she was trying not to make the little snort she did when she laughed. He tamped down the ache and seethed until the lovesick puppy yapped and ran off with its god-damn tail tucked between its legs.

  He glanced up at his rearview mirror to see his I-hate-the-world-and-everyone-living attitude plastered across his features.

  “That’ll do.”

  He unballed his fist, ran his fingers through his buzzed-off hair, and exited the confines of his truck, slamming the door a little too hard behind him before he stomped his booted feet on the pavement, heading for the crosswalk.

  ***

  Tiffany froze, mannequin stiff and crestfallen, when he walked in.

  “Ah,” said Mr. Stoub, “Mr. Cage.”

  “I’m not too early, am I?”

  Matthew looked at his watch and tapped the face with his fingertip. “Right on time.”

  “Hey, I didn’t see your Mercedes parked out front; tell me you didn’t decide to sell her,” Declan said.

  “No. I decided to squeeze a few more miles out of the old gal. My mechanic has her up on the rack as we speak.”

  “Nothing too serious, I hope. She’s a real beauty,” said Declan.

  Matthew guffawed. “Nothing serious,” he said.

  Tiffany wondered why men always referred to their vehicles as “her” and “she.”

  “Say, maybe you can be the deciding vote.”

  “Vote?” Declan asked, keeping his steely gaze on Matthew, ignoring her.

  Her heart sank, and tears stung her eyes, ready to overflow, but she refused to cry in front of Declan or her boss. She walked to her desk, took a seat, lifted the lid on her laptop, and went back to the database she’d been working on earlier.

  “Ms. Brooks is compiling a list of contractors and clients we work with for the annual Denver Charity Drive Dinner and Silent Auction for the Chamber of Commerce. I’m heading up the event this year.”

  She watched them while pretending to look at her computer screen.

  “We intend to send out an invite to the dinner and silent auction, but Ms. Brooks doesn’t believe it would be a good idea to include former clientele who haven’t done business with us for a few years. She believes some of our one-timers or those Dale and I worked with back in the day may not appreciate the correspondence from me asking for money.” Matthew clapped Declan on the back. “I say we should send invites to everyone, whether they’re present, past, or even those people who no longer have dealings with us. What’s your vote?”

  “I’m siding with you.”

  Tiffany sniffed. Of course he would side with Mr. Stoub.

  “It’s for charity,” Declan said. “The more people you can get to the event to open up their wallets, the better.”

  “Exactly what I said,” said Mr. Stoub. He smiled, pleased with his victory; that much she knew by the way his lips turned up at the corners. “Did you hear, Ms. Brooks?”

  “Yes, Mr. Stoub.”

  “Mr. Cage’s vote broke our stalemate.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’ll make sure to send out invitations to everyone.”

  “Now,” he said to Declan. “I believe we have a meeting.” He paused. “Do you need a coffee or hot tea before we start?”

  “Perhaps a coffee,” said Declan.

  Tiffany’s gaze shot up. It was after four in the afternoon. Who drank coffee at four in the afternoon? She fought to keep from narrowing her eyes.

  “Ms. Brooks, can you make a fresh pot and bring Mr. Cage a cup when it’s done brewing, please?”

  She maintained her best professional composure and smiled. “I’d be happy to,” she said.

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  She inclined her head. Declan acted as if she wasn’t in the room. Fire, and not the good kind, shot down her body in prickly heat. She observed them walk into Matthew’s office and shut the door. She glanced down at her hands, folded atop one another on her desk, and knew she’d hurt Declan—badly. She imagined a huge rift between him and his brother was because of her. Tiffany couldn’t change the past. If she could, she would hit the do-over button, but, in reality, there was no such magic device.

  Tiffany studied the wood grains in her desk, pondering how her chickens had come home to roost. She always knew she’d pay one day for the impetuous behavior of her past; however, she had tried to do the right thing by telling Declan, or the man she thought was Declan, about their history. She wouldn’t have guessed he had a twin brother or that she’d been with the twin. The whole thing reminded her of a bad Jerry Springer episode; only it wasn’t a TV show, but her life.

  God. She’d screwed things up. She needed to find a way to at least apologize to him and try to explain. He doesn’t want to hear any explanations, Tiffany. Her head hurt. She rubbed at the ache in her temple. Declan would never know how much she cared for him, how many tears she’d shed, and was still shedding when she was alone and no one could see her. Improbable though it might be and crazy, even to her, Tiffany had fallen in love with Declan Cage, and he was never going to give her a second chance or a second glance.

  “He didn’t need to ignore me,” she groused, feeling the prickling heat stir again.

  He was acting like the asshole he promised to never be, refusing her calls, coming into her office then snubbing her, and being a real dickhead.

  She continued to grumble under her breath, stood, and walked with a particular fervor in her step toward the coffeemaker.

  With her best, you-can-kiss-my-lily-white-ass smile poised across her face Tiffany knocked twice on Mr. Stoub’s office door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  She glided inside, went to where Declan was seated, and bent, silver tray in her hand. One coffee cup filled to the brim with steaming hot coffee, a few cookies on a little dish, and a small stack of napkins made up the contents of the tray.

  “Your coffee, Mr. Cage,” she said with a voice so sweet she pictured attracting bees to the honey dripping from her tongue. He took the mug. She caught the sly glance at her cleavage. “Have a cookie, too.”

  “No. I’m good, thank you.” His voice was stern.

  “Not in the mood for something sweet to nibble on?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Aw,” she cooed. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”

  “You can tempt me. I’ll a take cookie,” Mr. Stoub said.

  She straightened and made sure to put an extra sway in her hips when she headed to his desk. Once there, she bent without showing the cleavage she’d reserved for Mr. Cage. “Here you go.”

  Her boss plucked up two cookies. “I love chocolate chips.”

  She placed a napkin on his desk. “Will you need me for anything else, Mr. Stoub?”

  “No. I believe we’re good here, Ms. Brooks.”

  “All right.” She thought she caught Declan staring at her ass, but, dang, she couldn’t be sure. “Buzz if you
need me, sir,” she said.

  “Thank you. I will, Ms. Brooks.”

  Declan sat so still he reminded her of a statue. Well, so be it. She walked out of the room, pretending she was walking a fashion runway in New York.

  Tiffany glanced at the time on the bottom corner of her computer’s task bar. Five forty-three. She went back to working on the database and soon lost herself in thought, something she did far too often. If she were lucky, perhaps she could catch Declan before she left to go home for the day. If nothing else, she wanted to see him, even if he didn’t want to see her. Unaware of a meeting, she’d been surprised when he walked in, but she figured it was something Declan had set up with Matthew on his own. Knowing her boss, he’d forgotten to tell her.

  Glancing down at her too-full trash container, Tiffany grabbed the corner of the clear bag, and tugged before she rolled her chair back and stood. She twirled the bottom of the bag then made a knot at the top, tying the plastic off. She was glad to have the brace gone from her wrist, but still felt the need to be careful in her chores.

  With the garbage bag in her hand, she started for the back hall, but stuttered to a stop when the door chime went off. Confused, she wondered at the sound. Had Declan actually gone, using the back door? If he had, she hadn’t seen him go. She looked at Matthew’s office. The door was still shut. She stepped around her desk to glance down the hallway and dropped the trash bag beside her, gasping. Terror slithered along the length of her spine and attached like a parasite.

  Two gunshots echoed through the space. Shards of drywall and insulation rained around her. She screamed bloody murder. Declan ran out of Matthew’s office, Matthew on his heels, both stopping the moment they saw the situation.

  Royce Brooks stood in front of her with the black barrel of a snub-nosed gun pointed directly at her face.

  “I’ve dreamed of this day, you cunt,” Royce said. She knew all too well the evil in his tone. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but against her will, she trembled. “Get down on your knees, or I’ll fucking blow your brains out right where you stand.”