by Lexi Whitlow
Maddox turns and sees me watching them. He smiles. Then he scoops Abby up in his arms and walks with her toward me.
“Kisses for Mama,” he says, leaning in. He kisses me on the lips while Abby presses her tiny palms to my face and smooches my cheek. “Mama is the best,” Maddox says, looking at Abby then back at me. His smile still melts my heart.
Abby grins beaming, sitting tall in her handsome Daddy’s, muscled arms.
“Daddy’s the best,” I say. “And Abby’s the best. And today is just about perfect.”
Life is never perfect, but when it’s this good, the idea of perfection pales by comparison. I wouldn’t trade anyone’s idea of perfection for what I have right here in front of me.
Deleted Scene
How the hell am I making it hard on him? He’s the one who’s treating me like I’m contagious.
When I saw him with that girl in the bar, and saw the way they were looking at each other, it brought everything back. The way he’d kissed me that night so long ago. The way the scruff of his beard felt on my cheek. The way his scent lingered in my head. The girl at the bar wasn’t even that pretty. And she was leering at him like a spider about to pounce on a tasty snack… Good Lord, I wanted to claw both their eyes out.
Maybe it was the alcohol that made me reckless. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, it caught Maddox completely off-guard. He saw my reflection in the bar mirror approaching from behind with an expression he’d never seen me wearing before.
I’ve shown him pouty. I’ve shown him stubborn. I’ve shown him freaking out in tears. But Maddox has never seen me really, really mad. I was as angry as a bag of snakes and I was moving fast in his direction.
He swung around and caught me in a bear hug just as I was about to hurtle myself, arms flailing, claws out, at the girl he was chatting up. Despite the fact that he had me in a body hold, I kept fighting him and screaming at that poor girl, who scrambled backward as fast as her five inch heels could carry her.
Maddox was trying to get control of me and checking the bar to make sure no one was Live Streaming my latest tantrum to Facebook, while shouting, “What the hell, Avery? What’s wrong with you? Get a freaking grip.”
I fought him all the way out into the lobby, ranting about the girl at the bar and the way she looked at him. Then ranting about the way looked at her.
Maddox pointed out the obvious, “Good lord, Avery, you’ve had too much to drink.” He shook his head at me like I was an errant child.
I’m standing there, wobbling on bare feet, carrying my heels in my right hand like a weapon, trying to be clever. “Oh and you’re in there drinking Pellegrino?” It was the only thing I could think of. My head was in a blinding rage, and I’m seldom quick with the witty repartee when I’m pissed-off – much less when I’m drunk.
“We’re not talking about me.” Maddox snapped. “I’m taking you upstairs. It’s my night off, and I’m still having to babysit you.”
And then he asked where my security detail was.
He’s always so responsible. Dependable. Predictable. Even three sheets to the wind and he’s all-business. Why can’t he take a risk?
In that second, when he asked about Marc – the guy assigned to provide security for me on Maddox’ night off – all my rage vanished. I screwed up. I just looked to the side, shrugged and confessed. “I gave him the slip between the restaurant and the first bar. He bugged my friends and he bugged me, and I just wanted to have fun, one – last – time, before Evelyn ascends to Empress of the World.”
Maddox scowled at me, then his expression changed to disappointment. He gets preachy when he’s disappointed.
“You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He said. “If you don’t get someone else killed first.”
He grabbed my elbow, turning me in the direction of the elevators. He pushed me forward like he was prodding a willful cow, walking me toward the mirrored doors. Once on the elevator, and reasonably confident that I’d calmed down, I saw the adrenaline rush in his eyes subside and the alcohol buzz start to creep back in. He was still angry though.
“Don’t be mad with me.” I begged him, trying to conjure up a sympathetic tone. “I’ve had too much to drink, but I never do that anymore. You know that. You know I always do...”
“Exactly what you’re supposed to do.” Maddox interrupted me, finishing my sentence. He’s heard it all before.
And then he starts guilting me.
“You do do realize that Marc Baker – your detail – is probably going to get fired over this? He lost his principal. First rule of protective service work; don’t lose sight of your principal. He should get fired. But honestly Avery, I doubt he thought you’d be stupid enough to try to ditch him. He’s probably freaking out, thinking you’ve been snatched or something.”
I wasn’t quite that thoughtless. “No. I called him. He knows I’m alright.”
Maddox looked up at the ceiling and heaved in a deep sigh. “You are one complicated pain in the ass, Avery Thomas.”
That was two weeks ago. Tonight I’m sitting on the edge of the tub looking at his last text.
Maddox calls me through the closed bathroom door with a brittle edge in his voice.
It’s the same tone he took two weeks ago – after he slipped the key into my hotel room door and directed me into it – and I hesitated, then reached up and cupped the back of his neck in my palm and pulled him toward me.
He moved my hand away roughly. “You’re drunk, Avery. Stop it.” His tone was edged with tension.
I just stood there, staring at him, still wobbly from too much drink and not enough to eat.
“Avery. Go inside and go to bed. Tomorrow is a big day and it starts early.”
He was a little bleary himself.
“Check my room?” I asked him. That was protocol, after all. I’m accustomed to this song and dance now. I know the rules. That’s how I break them when I want to.
He rolled his eyes at me. “Alright.”
Maddox stepped into the hotel suite and flipped on the lights, leaving me outside in the hallway. I wasn’t supposed to, but I followed him in a few seconds later. He checked the bathroom first, then the bedroom, making sure the balcony doors were locked from the inside. He checked the closet and then the sitting room. He turned around to fetch me from the corridor, but I was already inside, slipping out of my dress. I was on a mission.
“Jesus...”
Maddox dropped his eyes and tried to move around me, headed for the door, but I anticipated him. I slipped my hand around his waist and held on tight from behind. If he’d kept moving he’d have brought me stumbling to my knees. Instead of that, he stopped dead in his tracks. I slipped my other arm around him, over his shoulder and pressed myself close against him, wearing only my bra and panties. My dress was on the floor at his feet.
“Stay with me.” I asked him. “Please.”
I felt his heart pounding underneath my left palm.
He took a deep breath and exhaled, saying, “Avery. We’ve both had too much to drink. This is not...”
I slipped my hand lower, down his belly, pausing at his belt, unbuckling it with just one hand. Then I reached even lower, letting the tips of my fingers find that firmness increasing just under his zipper. I heard his breath catch and felt him stiffen as I stroked him.
“Just one night.” I said. “We’re both curious. I know it. And… It’s your night off.”
It happened fast. Maddox turned and swept me up, and in just a few fumbling seconds, we were entwined together, he was inside me, and we were moving with the rhythm of angry waves crashing on a storm wracked beach. It was nothing like I imagined it would be. It was heated, and furious, and hard, but he made me come so fast, as rough and as thoughtless as it was, it was also good. I came a couple of times – but it took Maddox awhile to get there. When he finally did it was like the tide inside him turned. It was furious, raging. When it was done, he melted into me like a passing hurricane evaporates on th
e horizon, leaving only glassy seas and a pile of debris in its wake.
~~~
For more from Lexi Whitlow, check out the bonus content ahead!
Bad Boy’s Fake Wedding
Prologue
Liam
The dream starts off like this.
It’s a Saturday morning, or at least I think it is.
I’m in bed, which is where I usually am on a weekend. But today is different. It’s earlier than usual. It’s not afternoon. It’s seven, maybe eight. I can tell by the quality of the light coming in through the window.
But I’m not annoyed when I wake up. I usually am if I wake up any time before eleven, even on a weekday.
There’s no one next to me in bed, but there’s someone in the house. That’s the thing too—it’s a house. Like one of those brownstone houses out in Brooklyn, even though I fucking hate Brooklyn and the hipster restaurants there that only serve sushi and roasted Brussel sprouts and nothing else. It’s not my shitty apartment above the bar, the one I’ve lived in for years.
And the woman here—I know it’s a woman—I can hear her out in the family room. There’s soft music playing, like a lullaby. And there are squeals and soft coos and the occasional sound of a little girl singing. It’s my little girl, Brie—I know that without a doubt. But she’s older. And she’s not alone.
I don’t feel panicked or angry or any of the things I ordinarily feel when a chick overstays her welcome at my place. I’m not reaching for my phone in the dream to get her a Lyft home. And I’m not thinking of some excuse to make. A trip to the DMV. A wedding. A meeting with the accountant for the bar. There’s none of that. I’m just happy.
I hear footsteps in the hall, heavier than Brie’s six-year-old feet, even though she’s already so big, and where did the fucking time go and all that shit that parents think. I’m not a normal parent, but in this dream, I am.
“Daddy,” she says, peeking in the doorway, deep green eyes staring at me. That dark brown hair her mother had, falling in curls around her face, longer than it is now. “It’s time to get up. We want the pancakes with the blueberries in them. And then we’re going to walk down to the market. They have music there today.”
“Oh, are we? Who says?” I say that and lift onto my elbow, yawning. Feeling that thing I used to feel a long time ago. Parent style tired, like I could sleep for another four hours, but those four hours are long gone.
Call me crazy, but I miss that feeling all the fucking time.
Anyway.
“I says,” she replies.
There’s a shadow in the hallway, and a voice I can’t make out.
There’s always that shadow, and then I wake up.
I’ve been having that dream on and off for two years.
Since Tabitha died.
Since I hunted down the man that sold her that shitty smack and beat him within an inch of his life. It was within an inch only because my brother pulled me off him.
Since six months of prison, and getting out, and everything after.
When I wake up, I’m usually next to some woman, but every time, I’m always in the same shitty apartment. A million steps away from getting Brie back in my custody. And even further from building a good life for her, like this one. I don’t even consider the woman because that’s not who I am anymore.
I fuck women. I make them come. I send them home. I serve drinks at the bar, and every idea I have that might get me closer to that moment—the parent-tired moment when Brie comes in my room and wakes me up—is stupid, shitty, and worthless.
On this particular morning, I wake up alone.
And everything changes.
I just don’t know it yet.
Chapter One
Liam
I shouldn’t keep doing this.
I thought I’d quit. When I woke up this morning, I reminded myself that I shouldn’t pull this shit anymore.
Girl after girl. Another one every night. Not that I ever had a dissatisfied customer. I had a whole fan base who kept coming back for more. For the experience—screaming, moaning, multiple times until morning. They weren’t the type to ever stay for breakfast. I always kept myself clean—no drugs, always use protection. I used that to justify my behavior to everyone around me. It’s what I say to my brothers, to my mom, to my ex-girlfriend’s family.
I’m no addict. I’m done with that shit.
But Finn pointed out that I was addicted to girls, to the thrill of the chase. Not that I need to chase the tail that comes in here. I watch them all, a parade of women. Some regulars, some who come to an Irish bar in Hell’s Kitchen to get a taste of the local flavor. I estimate I’ve fucked maybe forty percent of them, and that’s just because I stopped two months ago. Because the court told me I had to quit. Not that they can test for that sort of thing. But it’s easy enough for a determined, powerful family to find out what I’m up to at any given time.
I miss it. Warm, soft skin. The way a woman begs for me to take her deeper, so she can feel every inch of me. The way she sighs when I push her to her limits and then push her even further.
I look around the bar. I could have any one of these women. Take one of them—or two—to the apartment upstairs. Fill the time with my favorite hobby. I call it that, anyway. A hobby.
But my brother Finn tells me it’s a way to numb the pain of everything happening around me. All the things I’ve lost in the past two years, all the shit I’ve done that I haven’t gotten over. And it’s prevented me from getting forward, from moving on, from getting back the one thing that means everything to me. He’s right. He always is. I think about the last girl I fucked, and even if you held a gun to my head, I couldn’t remember her name. I remember a few flashes of her—fake tits, shaved bare, rode me until she came three times. But I couldn’t tell you anything else. Just like a junkie thinking about his latest and greatest high.
An addict.
Good pussy makes me forget. I’ve been clean for a good while. Just drinking a beer here and there. Socializing with people in the bar. Being a good host, keeping my damn self out of trouble. And my cock away from the women who come in and parade themselves in front of me.
Two months ago, it was every night. A display of fake blondes, names I can’t recall. Sent them home every morning. Satisfied, but gone. Didn’t bother with anything else.
It hurt my case. It hurt my case real fucking bad.
I polish up the glasses on my side of the bar and set them out, one by one. “Finn, you okay to let me off early tonight?”
He looks at me and rolls his eyes. “Another girl.”
“No, man. Or maybe.”
“No is the right answer, kid.”
“Don’t call me ‘kid,’ dick.” I lean against the bar and pour a beer for myself, while Finn tends to the old guys who sit up front. “One won’t matter.”
“It always matters when you’re dealing with fucking Marta. And her P.I. And the courts.”
I growl. He’s right. But there’s an aching need swirling inside of me, a coil about to tighten to the point of breaking. I need something.
“You’re right,” I say, still scanning the women in the bar. None of them is any different from the girls I had before. The ones who didn’t mean anything.
“I always am. And you’re always an idiot.” Finn looks over his shoulder at me. “Be my guest. Ruin your chances at getting custody of Brie. Have her live with that crazy bitch for the rest of her life.”
My fists tighten. I’d like to punch the superior look off Finn’s face and slam him into the floor for good measure. But he’s the one who came to see me in prison. And he’s the one who came to court. Bought me a suit. Got me a job.
“Shut the fuck up, Finn. One time won’t hurt anything.”
He shrugs and fixes some girly drink for one of the ladies making eyes at him. He winks at her and turns back to me. “The only way you could get away with your stupid shit—well, not get away with it—” He stops mid-sentence. His dark eyes glin
t in the way they did when he pulled pranks on my parents when he was a kid. “That’s not you. You wouldn’t do that.”
“What wouldn’t I do?”
Finn smiles and turns back to the customers. “Nothing.”
I step up next to him and lean against the bar, nodding to one of the regulars who looks like he should have been cut off an hour ago. “Tell me. You got an idea?”
“You’ll fuck it up,” he says. “Shouldn’t bother telling you. Because knowing you, you’ll fuck a girl, screw everything up. And I’m Brie’s uncle. You’re alright.” He looks at me for a second and frowns. “But I love that kid. She needs you. She needs a stable life. And who the fuck knows—maybe she’s got that with Marta, not you. I mean, if you’re going to go back to banging girls every night.”
“I’m not. And I’m not going to.”
“You just need a fix?” he says, all the humor gone out of his voice.
“Fuck you and the boat you came in on.”
“It’s the same fucking boat, Liam. You think I’m the responsible big brother—”
“I don’t think that. I think you’re an asshole,” I say, even though it’s not true.
“Yeah, well. I am. I was. The difference between you and me is that I don’t have anyone to go home to. And if I did, I’d keep my act squeaky clean. If I had a kid to take care of, I’d make sure any girl I got with wasn’t just a one-night stand.”
His words wash over me. I’m barely paying attention. Because there’s a shift in the air. It might be what my brother said—even though that ain’t me. I’m not that guy. Not after Tabitha, Brie’s mom.
All that talk, it makes me want to go back to all the drugs and all the girls, and every ounce of alcohol in this bar.
“That’s not exactly a good idea, and you know it,” I say. At that moment, there’s a girl who walks in, stepping quietly behind her redheaded friend. I spot her immediately. She’s not the type of girl who comes to Dougherty’s. She shouldn’t even be anywhere in the vicinity. Natural dark hair falling just to her shoulders, so deep in color, it’s almost black. Natural tits too, and a small waist, sensual hips and ass parading around in a skirt that her friend probably convinced her to wear.