Bad for Her

by Christi Barth

  “So?” Norah slowly moved her left arm in a circle. At least five bracelets of different colored crystals clinked down to her wrist. “Is he not attractive enough to deserve your beauteous nudity?”

  Oh, crap. Sure, her gran was able and willing to have frank conversations about dating and sex any day of the week. Which freaked Mollie out no less now than it had when she’d been a teenager. But this felt like something more than frank. Especially coupled with the blown-wide pupils. “Gran, are you high right now?”

  Another slow wave of her hand. “I’m just taking the edge off. It’s Friday night, after all.”

  “So you say.” Talk about a crappy behavior model for the angry and impressionable Jesse. It was time to put her foot down, even if it meant delaying the big outfit decision. Maybe she’d tell Rafe exactly why she’d stood, mostly naked, in her closet for half an hour. Or at least keep it in her back pocket in case conversation lagged at dinner. “You know what? You’re not driving to bingo. Go call Ruth and tell her to swing by and get you on the way.”

  With a mischievous eyebrow waggle, Norah said, “Nice try, spoilsport. But I’m not on her way.”

  Great. Norah was high, playful, and stubborn. Jesse was moody and sullen. Mollie wanted to toss their words back at both of them and point out that she deserved a Friday night, too. With exaggerated patience, she put a hand in the small of her grandmother’s back and steered her toward the door.

  “Bandon is small. You live exactly one block out of her way, and less than a mile from bingo. I think she can handle the hit to her gas tank of picking you up.”

  “You think you’re so smart.”

  “Because you raised me to believe in myself. Plus, I have half a wall of diplomas that sort of bolsters that belief.”

  “Smart-ass.” But that was pride, rather than heat, in her tone.

  Mollie couldn’t help but grin. “You raised me to be that way, too.”

  “I don’t think I raised you to strut around in the altogether. Why aren’t you wearing clothes? You know we’re sharing the house with a boy.”

  The woman ran hot and cold on propriety. It’d make Mollie laugh if she wasn’t so darned frustrated. And late. “Yes, I know, Gran. Trust me when I tell you that I want to get dressed more than anything. But I can’t find the right outfit.”

  Norah whirled around, dug in the far recesses of the closet, and then triumphantly shook a dress at her. It was forest green and made of a fuzzy jersey that clung in all the right places. In other words, it was perfect. “You wore this when you flew home for Lucien’s engagement party three years ago. And singlehandedly broke up their engagement.”

  How did she remember that? More importantly, how did she know exactly where it was in Mollie’s closet, when Mollie didn’t even know? Not that she’d ask, in case Gran claimed the dress itself “gave off an aura.” That’d result in an eye roll big enough to sprain her ocular muscles, which would make her late and give her a lazy eye. Every man’s dream date.

  Meanwhile, she had to defend herself. Again. Since nobody, not even her own flesh and blood, evidently believed it possible that she and Lucien could be BFFs without sharing some deep, dark desire for each other.

  “I merely explained to Lucien that Brittney was only in it for his bank account, and not for his better-than-average physique and love of kayaking. That was my job as his best friend. Their breakup was all his idea.”

  “Tomato, tomahtoh,” Norah said with yet another annoying hand wave. But then she hinged forward to buss Mollie on the cheek. “Have fun tonight. You deserve it.” Then she was out the door in a swirl of skirts that left a strong scent of pot in her wake.

  Mollie grabbed for her phone. Her thumbs whizzed over the keyboard.

  I could be working at a prestigious hospital and sipping champagne on the 95th floor of the Hancock Building. But I moved back home. Where my non-leg-shaving grandmother has better fashion sense stoned than I do dead sober. My cousin thinks I don’t want to spend time with him. And there’s only diet ginger ale in my glass. Fuck my life.

  Lucien’s response was swift.

  Not your whole life. You just need to get laid.

  Although she agreed, Mollie couldn’t let him get away with saying that.

  Did you forget that your best friend is of the female persuasion? Because we don’t consider sex to be the be-all and end-all solution like you men do.

  She snagged a wide brown belt and knee-high boots to finish the outfit. Once dressed, she checked for his answer.

  You ought to at least try it. If you pick the right guy, you might be pleasantly surprised at its efficacy. Take two orgasms and call me in the morning, Dr. Vickers.

  What sort of doctor would she be if she didn’t at least try following the recommended treatment?

  Chapter 3

  716 Spruce Lane, 7:00 p.m.

  Mood on the porch—too frigging nervous

  Rafe braced one hand on Mollie’s doorjamb. This was his first date in his new persona. Hell, it was his first date in any of his assumed personas. Everything had been too weird, too different to try it before. Plus, it didn’t seem right to seriously date someone when he had to lie about everything in his life. At thirty-one, he knew anything deeper than a hookup required actual sharing and communication. Hard to do with a made-up backstory, career, and his fifth fake name.

  But the marshal insisted they start making the rounds. Loners stood out in a small town. Kellan had pointed out that Delaney was all but pimping them out, and she came back with the rebuttal that dating was a way to put down roots. All three of the Maguire brothers made gagging noises at that thought, because she’d made it sound like she was ordering them to get married. At which point she’d rolled her eyes and slammed out of the room.

  It was pretty much how all their interactions with the marshal ended.

  No way was he getting married. Rafe wouldn’t saddle a woman with his shitstorm of a life, but he could play at following the rules to get the marshal off their backs. Dating? Nope. Sexcapades with a hot doctor? You bet . . . and the marshal wouldn’t know the difference. Rafe would do just about anything to keep them all in the WITSEC program, and Delaney’s advice on how to fit in boiled down to acting normally. Well, non-mobster normal. And normal for a thirty-one-year-old guy meant spending time with a hot woman.

  So he wouldn’t worry about blowing his cover. Wouldn’t worry about how to make up lies on the fly if Mollie asked a question he hadn’t prepped for. Not that he’d prepped for many, since Rafe had never been one to do his homework, even back in the day. He wouldn’t worry about what trouble Flynn and Kellan might be getting into while he was trying to get it on. Because the depths of Mollie’s green eyes would be a more than good enough distraction from all that.

  Eyes were his weakness. Yeah, Rafe appreciated tits and ass as much as any other guy. But he’d spent a bunch of years doing business in strip clubs and all the naked parts flashing eventually became a sort of flesh-colored wallpaper to him. A good, deep set of eyes a man could drown in, though? That was something that always caught his interest. And the pretty doctor had a pair of eyes he could stare into for hours.

  While running his hands over her very fine ass. Because he still had a dick, after all.

  It only took two knocks before the door flew open. Mollie nipped out and shut it behind her in a flurry.

  Rafe chuckled. “That hot for me already, huh?”

  “No, I . . . I mean, yes, but . . .” Mollie bit her upper lip and shook her head. It sent her hair spilling down onto the creamy skin of her chest and the darkness against all the white turned him on like a match strike to his libido. Without even touching her yet.

  Yeah, he’d clearly waited too long to have a woman beneath him.

  If he played his cards right, that’d change. Tonight.

  “How about we start over?” Rafe snaked an arm around her waist, dragging her up to her toes. Mollie’s neck tilted back the second before he pressed his lips to hers.
>
  Hot.

  Hard.

  A kiss to ground her in the moment. A kiss to clear out whatever had fuzzed her head on the way out the door and get her focused solely on him.

  The kiss started out being for Mollie. But it didn’t take more than a nip at her soft lower lip, sinking his teeth into it until she pressed even harder against him, before Rafe knew the kiss was for his benefit, too. A way to prove that whatever had flared between them on the side of the road wasn’t an accident. That it wasn’t a one-time thing. A way to prove to himself that it’d be worth sitting through an undoubtedly painful burger-and-beer’s worth of small talk to get to the dessert of her sweet lips.

  Rafe palmed her ass. God, it was sweet; firm and round and he couldn’t wait to see it naked and facing him while she knelt on a bed with all that dark hair streaming down her pale back. Just touching it wasn’t enough. So Rafe squeezed, molding the lusciously round globe with his fingers until Mollie’s hips tilted forward. Then he felt her leg twine up and around the back of his.

  Yeah. This was definitely a two-way super highway of lust.

  That was the signal he needed to back off. So he eased his tongue out of her mouth with a final, teasing swipe along the smooth skin on the back of her lower lip. Her leg slid back down. Rafe took her hand, smiling right into those eyes full of secrets and sex. “Hi, Doc. You look great.”

  “You do, too.” The blatant admiration in her gaze made him glad he’d pulled out a shirt with a collar. Glad he’d made Kellan iron it, too.

  “Ready to go?”

  Her gaze skittered to the door, and then back to him with an almost audible screech. “You have no idea.”

  Instead of leading her off the porch, Rafe froze. Because he didn’t like the tone of her voice. Lots of unhappiness there. He didn’t know her living situation, but if she had a dad or a roommate who was treating her like shit, they’d have to start the date over for a third time. Right after he went inside and made clear the rules of respecting a woman to whoever sent her running out the door to him.

  Rafe curled his hand around her elbow. He put his mouth right at her ear and said in a low, harsh growl, “If there’s a problem, Doc, you can tell me. And I promise you I’ll handle it.”

  “What kind of a problem?”

  “Anything. Anything that you don’t like. I can make it right.”

  After a heavy silence, Mollie laughed. Laughed and laughed like he’d just told her the joke about the three-legged gigolo, the virgin, and the horse. She laughed so hard that she leaned her whole body into him. As though she’d fall over from the sheer force of whatever the hell had a grip on her funny bone.

  Eventually the laughter tapered off to giggles, and then whimpering little sighs that made Rafe think of sex. Made him wonder how many more outdoors, over-the-clothes make out sessions they’d have before he teased them out of her indoors, without laughter or clothes.

  “Thank you for the offer, Rafe. It’s very gallant of you. But I don’t think you’re equipped.”

  Pride and anger flared up in his chest with the fire of heartburn. Nobody in Chicago would dare question his manhood like that. Dare to question if he was the one to get the job done. Rafe was the guy who got things done. Always. The go-to, the fixer.

  So where did she get off laughing at him?

  “Believe me when I say I can take care of anything you need.” The promise tore out of him, low and gravelly.

  It sure as hell wiped the smile off her face. But Mollie didn’t look intimidated. No, she licked that kiss-swollen bottom lip of hers like he’d given her the sort of ideas that drenched her panties.

  Huh.

  Rafe hadn’t meant it that way. Seeing as how he was trying to be on his best, normal-guy behavior.

  Didn’t make it any less true, though. No matter which way she interpreted it.

  She laid a hand on the stiff fabric of his sleeve. “I don’t question your abilities, Rafe. Not when it comes to showing me a good time, or changing spark plugs. In fact, I’m more than eager to put that promise of yours to the test. I just don’t think you’re the man to handle my current problem.” Mollie drew them down the steps and onto the gravel driveway before continuing with a quick look over her shoulder at the house. “It’s a seventeen-year-old juvenile delinquent of a cousin who moved in with me and my gran a couple of weeks ago.”

  Now he got why she’d bolted out of the house. Probably trying to outrace the shitty attitude that poured off teenaged boys more strongly than cheap cologne. Rafe snorted. Because this one was a piece of cake. “I’ve got two younger brothers. That I more or less raised.”

  “Oh. Then I take it all back.” With a tug at his sleeve, she said, “We can walk to dinner. It’s just a few blocks, if you’re up for it.”

  That seriously cut down on the possibility of a post-dinner car fuck. But hey, he was stuck here indefinitely. Rafe had all the time in the world to seal the deal. Didn’t mean he couldn’t plant a sex seed in her brain, though. He draped an arm around her shoulder, letting his fingers dangle just above that exposed crescent of breast that he hungered to touch. Then he said, “I’ve got the stamina for whatever you want to do, Doc.”

  Holy crap. Rafe’s voice rasped like a saw cutting through a plaster cast. It sliced through her reserve and any hesitation just as easily. Mollie had dithered about texting him to agree to the date for a whole day. What would they talk about? She was so darned rusty at this whole dating thing. What kind of connection did she have with a stranger who changed her tire?

  But she’d been yearning to meet a stranger. To talk to someone who didn’t already know her life story, who hadn’t held the same opinion of her for decades. And then she’d thought about the heat of their kiss. Thought about how she hadn’t dated since moving back to Bandon, and had been too busy at the hospital in Chicago for anything more than a quick grope in the on-call room for months before that. After that, Mollie’s thumbs couldn’t text Rafe back fast enough.

  He’d caught her off guard tonight. The rough, lust-wrapped-in-leather guy she’d fantasized about had been replaced by a powerfully sleek man. Dark and wavy hair slicked back, all those bunched muscles hidden beneath a starched gray dress shirt and slacks, Rafe looked like a corporate pirate. All business, all polished, and completely different.

  Until the kiss on her porch. Then she’d recognized him. Then she’d known, without a doubt, that they had a connection. And yes, his hotter-than-hell innuendos were exactly what the doctor ordered.

  Mollie almost skipped as they started down the street. Not just because that might jiggle Rafe’s fingers into grazing her boob. She had a shiny new person to talk to, to learn all about. The ubiquitous nightly fog hadn’t rolled in off the ocean yet, making for a crisp, clear twilight. A snowy white owl hooted as it glided past—Gran swore they were a good luck omen—and the piney scent of Rafe’s cologne made all her nerve endings quiver to attention.

  Sex was on her horizon. Sex that she had no doubt would be off-the-charts amazing. The more she thought about it, the more Mollie had to admit Lucien was right. She did need to get laid. Desperately.

  But first there was small talk and dinner to get through. Which couldn’t all be about flirting and sex, or she’d internally combust.

  “If you got your brothers to adulthood safe and sound, maybe I should pick your brain on what to do with Jesse.”

  Rafe choked out a half laugh. “Safe and sound. That’s a good one. Flynn will bust a gut over it.”

  “Why, what happened? Lots of broken bones or something?”

  “Uh . . . it’s not important.” Then, more firmly, almost as if convincing himself, he added, “They’re fine now, which is all that matters.”

  That was oddly evasive. Who didn’t like telling stories that threw their little brothers under the bus? What the heck had happened in the Maguire family? “Then tell me how to help Jesse.”

  Rafe hip-checked her. “Keep him busy.”

  That was . . . succinct.
There was an entire shelf devoted to decoding the teenaged brain at the bookstore, and Rafe distilled it down to three words? Even the clinical description of how to excise a hangnail took more words. There had to be more.

  “That’s it? That’s the great secret to getting a kid back on the straight and narrow? One who cut so many classes he got expelled from his last high school? Who got his license yanked? Who shoplifted undoubtedly many more times than the three he got caught?”

  Rafe swatted away her objections like they were sand gnats. “Kids that age are like puppies. You need to feed them, train ’em, and wear them out so they don’t have any energy left to cause trouble.”

  Okay. The stretched-out version did make sense. Mollie just didn’t know how to put it into action. She leaned into Rafe’s side. It was a relief to unburden her worries to someone who sounded like he’d gone through something similar.

  “We sweet-talked the high school here into accepting him. He’s smart, really smart, so it doesn’t come close to wearing him out. And the rest of the time he sits on the couch playing video games until Gran or I come home.”

  “You feel guilty about leaving him alone after school.” It was a statement, not a question. One that held zero judgment. Clearly Rafe had walked in her shoes. Even if he wouldn’t fill her in on the details.

  “I really do. He’s not even my responsibility, legally, but I do. Gran runs a shop, so she can’t cut out early. I help pick up the slack with errands, but it isn’t the same as actually helping to turn Jesse around.”

  “Is he worth the effort? Or too far gone already?”