Exposed: A British Bad Boy Romance

by Sennah Tate

  Something hot flashes in her eyes and I think she’s going to deny it, so I plow forward without pause, “And though you never expected to, I’m quite certain you’re enjoying those undoubtedly explicit imaginings, aren’t you, Susie?”

  She’s on the verge of answering and fulfilling all of my fucking fantasies when the waiter returns with our food and she’s saved.

  “Holy shit,” she says, taking a huge whiff of the oxtail set before her, “this smells incredible.”

  “Enjoy,” the waiter says with a huge smile reserved just for Susie. I’m just going to ignore that sudden urge to growl at him like I’m staking my claim.

  She takes her first mouthful and moans in a wholly inappropriate way, her eyes rolling back in her head for a moment of pure bliss.

  What I wouldn’t give to see that expression with my cock buried in her…

  “You’ve gotta try this. It’s freaking amazing,” she says, pushing her fork towards me. It slides into my mouth effortlessly and then I’m the one groaning in pleasure.

  “Yeah, okay, you’re right with that,” I say before digging into my own plate.

  “Bloody hell, you’ve got to try this,” I say, pushing a fork full of curried goat towards her.

  She takes the bite and gives me two thumbs up with a big grin.

  The moment between us is just so easy and natural that I’m wondering why it isn’t always like this. What’s in our way?

  You, you fucking twat.

  I must be wearing all of my glum thoughts on my face because Susie’s grin fades into a frown and she’s nudging me under the table, “What’s wrong?”

  I plaster a smile on my face and shake it off, “Nothing at all, luv.”

  She’s not buying it, but then she gives me that smile that makes my heart screech to a stop, “I know — you’re upset because you realize that you’ll never be able to cook as well as this guy.”

  I clutch at my chest and make a pained face, “Wow, that really stings, Suzette. You’ve never even tasted one of my creations.”

  She shrugs, “How good can it be really? I mean, this guy’s incredible and he’s a nobody. You’re not famous for your cooking, Jasper, anyone can cook.”

  “Is that so?” I have to say, I’m a little amused by her bravado, even if I don’t think she has a leg to stand on.

  “It is. You’re not special for being able to make food. People like you for completely… different reasons. Though I’m not sure what those reasons are.”

  I raise an eyebrow, “So in your opinion, anyone can do what I do? Even you?”

  “I— Well,” she falters, looking suspicious of agreeing too readily, “Yeah, with a recipe and stuff, sure. Anyone could do it.”

  I lean back with a smug smile, “So it’s settled then. You’ll make me dinner this evening. I look forward to it.”

  “Tonight?” she sputters, taking long pulls from her iced tea before she manages to recover. “I don’t—” she’s going to refuse, I just know it. I already feel my smile fading.

  Then she sighs, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Fair enough,” I say, a glimmer of hope dancing inside of me.

  What in the ever-loving fuck? This woman is some kind of sorceress.

  “You still have a question to ask me, luv,” I remind her, tapping the blank notebook in front of her.

  Her eyes flash hard as steel and I brace myself, “Why did you take me home and tuck me in last night?”

  “Ah, well,” I clasp my hands and rest my chin against them, “I suppose I should have specified that you have a yes or no question to ask me.”

  “Jasper…” she says with a warning tone, a solid determined set to her jaw.

  I sigh, realizing I’ve done more than enough to irritate her and I could at least try to be a proper gentleman.

  Yeah right.

  “Well, I was hoping to get you into bed in an entirely different manner…”

  She purses her lips and folds her arms impatiently, “Bullshit. Alisha said you were the perfect gentleman.”

  “For christ’s sake, keep your voice down. I have a reputation,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. “It seemed like the proper thing to do. What do you want from me, Suzette?”

  Without missing a beat, she says “And were you talking about me on Wake Up America, this morning?”

  I groan and toss my head back with a laugh, “Yes. Of course I was — I don’t really have women handing their knickers to me. With the exception of you, of course.”

  She grits her teeth together and an angry flush creeps to her cheeks, “My god, Suzette, I didn’t think you so insecure to need this sort of validation.”

  “And I didn’t think you were such a coward that you have to deflect attention away from anything that might make you look like an actual human.”

  She’s got you there, lad.

  “If I wanted to talk about my feelings I’d go to a licensed professional. The next time I care about Taylor Swift’s new boyfriend or which Kardashian is pregnant now, I’ll come talk to you.”

  She sucks her teeth and throws her napkin on the table.

  Shit, I’ve gone too far again, haven’t I?

  I’m waiting for the moment when I end up with Jamaican in my lap, but it doesn’t come.

  “Well, it seems we can both agree that we don’t want to work together, so let’s agree to get it over with as soon as possible.”

  “Fine by me,” I say, wanting to pull the words back the moment they leave my mouth. “What do you have in mind?”

  “You wanted to do dinner tonight. I’ll just get everything I need then and we can be done with one another.” She stands and I do the same for reasons unclear to me.

  Why are you letting her get so cross? You can end this, you arse.

  “I’ll give you what you need anytime, Suzette,” I say with a suggestion in my voice.

  To my surprise, she smiles, “I’m going to be so relieved to be done with you.”

  I’d feel better if she just went and bludgeoned me with a rolling pin.

  “I aim to please,” I say instead, keeping my mask of cool indifference.

  She ‘hmphs’ at me and says “I’ll see you tonight then.”

  I nod and then she’s gone, leaving this empty gnawing ache in her place.

  Son of a bitch.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Susie

  What in the world have I gotten myself into?

  After our nearly-disastrous lunch, Jasper texted me to be at his place around 7 PM.

  It’s half-past six now and I’m still sitting at home debating whether to go through with any of it.

  On the one hand, it’s just dinner and an interview.

  On the other hand, I know nothing is ever ‘just’ anything with Jasper. I know how quickly things with him get heated.

  And I don’t trust myself.

  I hate that so much.

  I’ve never been the girl who goes crazy over some guy or forgets who she is for a good lay.

  But here I am, doing just that. And I don’t even know if he’s a good lay.

  He is in my imagination.

  Normally, I’d go to Alisha for advice in a situation like this. Of course, Alisha still isn’t talking to me. I tried to engage her when she came home from school and was met with stony silence.

  You already know what she’d say, though.

  That’s true. She’s already told me to just fuck him and forget him. It’s not my usual style, but then again I’ve never had someone get so far under my skin before. I’ve never had a man give me dreams that make me wake up sweaty and needy.

  Maybe that’s what I need. Maybe I need to just screw Jasper to get him out of my mind. It’s what he’d do, right? And he’s certainly made it clear that he’s open to the prospect.

  I’m a modern woman — I can use a man for sex and not get attached.

  It seems like it should be especially easy with a man as obnoxious and arrogant as Jasper. No danger of ge
tting attached there; that’s for sure.

  Okay, deep breaths.

  I clutch the edge of my bathroom counter and look up into my reflection, locking gazes with my reflection.

  You’ve got this. Don’t let him manipulate you or rile you up. Be a professional and then… fuck his brains out?

  Hmm… Somehow that doesn’t seem quite right, but I’m not going to dwell on it any more.

  I apply a quick layer of mascara and some tinted lip balm before I ruffle my fingers through the loose waves in my hair left by the braid earlier in the day.

  I’m going to cook dinner for Jasper Wild and then try to seduce him. Nooooo big deal.

  The whole commute over to his hotel goes by in a blur and before I know it, I’m knocking on his door, glancing at my phone for the time: 7:08.

  I don’t know if I’m too early or too late to seem not desperate, but it probably doesn’t matter because the moment Jasper opens the door and looks at me, I swear he sees right through me.

  A huge grin splits his face and he steps aside as I walk in, “Hello.”

  “Hi,” I mutter, looking around, realizing that his place is astonishingly clean. Spotless, actually.

  “Wow, did you have housekeeping come up here?”

  He shrugs, “Nah, I broke out the ol’ elbow grease. Bit cathartic, you know?”

  I do know. Cleaning often makes me feel like I’m just a little bit in control of my life. Is it the same for him? He seemed so protective of his trash before and…

  “It looks nice,” I say, deciding I’m not going to overthink anything tonight.

  “I aim for your approval, Susie,” he says with a grin. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  I frown, “How many do I have to drink to get a question out of you?”

  He shakes his head, “Nothing like that. We’re through playing those games, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” I say with a little hesitation. What’s he playing at? Is he actually being civilized? Or is it another way to mess with me?

  You’re not overthinking things tonight, Suze.

  “Good,” he says, popping the cork off a bottle of cabernet. “So, I took the liberty of stocking the pantry and the fridge for you. I wasn’t sure what you had in mind for the menu.”

  He’s smirking and I know he wants to catch me in a moment of insecurity, even if he says otherwise.

  I grin, “Well, I took the liberty of downloading one of your recipes.”

  “Trying to show me up at my own game, eh?” My chest swells with pride at the impressed nod he gives me, “Alright, badarse, go on then.”

  “What happened to that wine?” I ask as I’m pulling out pots and pans, working my way through the set-up for the recipe.

  “Impatient, luv?” he says, pouring the glasses.

  “Maybe I just need to be sloshed to be around you,” I tease.

  His brow furrows for a moment, then he leans in as he hands my glass to me and I feel his breath tickle the fine hairs at my temple, “Or you need a little liquid courage.”

  My lungs tighten and fire roils in my stomach, but I try to keep my expression placid and unaffected as I take a sip of the wine, rolling the bitter fruity flavor over my tongue.

  “What do I need the courage for? I’m not the one about to be interviewed by the Suzette Quincy. You should be shaking in your boots.”

  “Should I? Well, go on then, hit me with your best shot.”

  I’m chopping vegetables and tossing them in a saute pan, but I’m pretty sure I won’t forget a word of this conversation, even without a record. It seems that every word Jasper utters to me is branded on my mind and memory for all eternity.

  “Tell me about your upbringing. Wild’s not your surname, you said you came from a name with more pomp. What do you mean?”

  Jasper takes a seat at the bar and watches me move in the kitchen, his gaze intent and unwavering. There’s a nervous little flutter in my chest and an uncertain tremble in my hands, but I do my best to hide it.

  “I come from a long titled line. My father is Clarence Elridge the tenth Duke of Wetherly — my parents put a lot of their self-worth in being members of the peerage despite being poorer than most paupers.”

  “What do you mean?” I’d have never guessed that Jasper Wild came from nobility. Is that what he’d meant about not being as bad as people assumed?

  “The usual. They had their opinions on whom I should socialize with, which women were below my station, which professions weren’t befitting of someone set to inherit the title.”

  “Let me guess: you went against every one of their wishes?”

  He cracks a smile then and my heart flips, “Of course. Would you have expected anything less, luv?”

  “No. I suppose not.”

  “You’re water’s boiling,” he notes, drinking from his wine.

  My hands fly to my hips, “I don’t remember asking for your commentary,” I say with a pretend pout.

  He holds up his hands, “Alright, carry on.”

  “Tell me about how you got started cooking.”

  Jasper sighs, “I suppose I’m meant to be honest with you rather than glib, aren’t I?”

  I nod, “That would be ideal, yes.”

  “I had a habit of hanging with unsavory types, causing all sorts of mayhem. I got myself in trouble as a teenager and tried to rob a man in an alley.”

  I know my eyes are as wide as saucers and I just gasp “Really?”

  He nods, “Not my proudest moment. Fortunately, rather than giving me the arse-kicking I really deserved, the man saw something inside me and offered me a job — a way out of the early grave I was digging myself as he put it.”

  “Wow,” I mutter, not knowing what else to say.

  Jasper shrugs, “Even I’m not daft enough to pick prison over employment. Turns out I had a bit of a knack for it. The next thing I know I’m making “rising chefs” lists, my picture splashed on newspapers. It all kinda spiraled really quickly the past few years.”

  “So are you not enjoying fame and fortune?”

  Jasper grins, “I wouldn’t say that. It has its perks — sexy journalists cooking dinner for me springs to mind,” he winks and I feel myself blushing.

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “Clearly not. You bring out my rakish side, darling.”

  I puff out an exasperated breath with a smile, “I’m not sure you have another side.”

  “But we know that you have alternate sides. So, what’s a nice girl like you doing drinking straight tequila?”

  “I think I’m supposed to be the one asking questions.”

  He nods, “You’re also supposed to be searing those lamb chops, not burning them.”

  “Shit,” I grumble at the smoking pan, cautiously flipping the lamb to see just how bad the damage is.

  “They’re not beyond salvation,” he says encouraging me.

  “Right,” I say, pulling them from the heat. “When I was in college, a bunch of my girlfriends and I took a week-long trip to the Keys. Just endless days at the beach, snorkeling, and drinking tequila. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I want to run away and get an old house there like Hemingway had… Kind of silly.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Hm?”

  “If you ran away to the Keys. What would you do there?”

  “I…” I think about it for a moment as I start to deglaze the pan with some wine. I shrug, “Maybe write fiction?”

  “Hmm, daring romances with roguish British chefs?” He smirks, standing from his seat to walk around the bar to my side.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” I jab even as my voice hitches in my throat.

  He’s so close to me now — just inches behind me, watching my every movement, making me more nervous than ever.

  “You’re deglazing a pan, luv, not churning butter over here,” Jasper says, closing his hand over mine on the spoon.

  “I thought you were gonna let me do this,�
� I say in a husky whisper, surprised by myself.

  Jasper’s other hand is on the counter, his arms caging me against the stove with his hard body pressed against me.

  “Yes, but you’re just following the recipe,” he says.

  I frown, turning to look him in his intense blue eyes, “What else am I supposed to do?”

  His hand trails up and down my arm, the other settling on my hip as he presses his lips to my neck, making me shiver.

  “Cooking a great dish is about more than ingredients and recipes,” he says, stirring to life a blazing need inside of me.

  “Oh yeah? Like what?” I hear myself purr, leaning back against his chest, pressing myself against him so that his hard erection nestles in the cleft of my ass.

  I bite my lip, resisting a moan as he slowly moves my arm, kissing each side of my neck before husking, “Passion, luv.”

  He takes the pan off the heat and turns the stove off before taking my wrist and turning me to face him.

  There’s no escape. I’m trapped by the chiseled marble of his body. Forced into a prison of my own making. Not that I want to escape. My body is hot, flushed and alive with the nearness to him. Desire thrums through my veins and I feel light-headed. Overwhelmed. Delirious.

  “Passion can take it from good, to great.”

  Jasper’s fingers thread through my hair, grasping the back of my neck and I gasp as he pulls me in for a kiss.

  This is nothing like the tentative kiss he gave me in the restaurant. This is hot and hungry, demanding and fierce. I’m clutching at him, tugging at his clothes in an instant. We move away from the stove and Jasper’s hands go to my ass, lifting me to the counter without ever pulling his lips from mine.

  “Jasper,” I pant, but he’s pulling my shirt off, soon followed by my bra and then he’s got my nipple in his mouth and all thoughts fade from my mind, giving way to pure toe-curling pleasure.

  “Save your better judgment for another time, luv,” he growls, capturing my lips again in a bruising kiss.

  I answer him by clawing at his pants, sending them down his hips as I grasp at his thick erection.

  “Christ,” he groans, thrusting into my hand. I can’t help the huge grin that spreads my face at the feeling of power it gives me. Every movement of my hand, every stroke of my fingers makes him twitch, thrust and suck in hissing breaths.