“What do you say we find a way to be together forever?” he asked.
“I think I could get on board with that.”
“As long as you don’t ask me to start drinking coconut water.”
“As long as you don’t ask me to start running.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.” I couldn’t have wiped the smile off my face if I tried. Then, something occurred to me. “Do you like spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Think you might wanna meet my mom?”
He grinned. “Mothers love me.”
“Mine’s pretty tough.”
“Like mother, like daughter, then.”
“You sure you’re up to the challenge?” And I didn’t mean just meeting my mother. I meant being together, meshing our lives, creating one of our own. I could see myself with him forever, scary as the word felt. When I looked into his eyes, it didn’t feel all that scary, after all. Exciting, more like.
He kissed me again. “Try me.”
“I’ll ask you that question again after I’ve told you a little story about my grandmother,” I said.
“Baby, there’s nothing you or anybody can tell me that’ll make a damn bit of difference to the way I feel about you.”
And somewhere in heaven, Grandma Parks smiled with satisfaction.
Epilogue
Mimi
“Say Mama.”
“Dada.”
I forced a smile. “This is really important to me, Junior. Come on, say, Ma…ma.”
“Da…da,” he chirped, and had the gall to grin toothlessly at me.
“Right. That’s very good. Mommy is really proud of you. Now it’s time to say, Mama. Come on, be a good boy and say Ma.”
“Da.”
“Junior, say Ma.”
“Da.”
“Say Mama for god’s sake.”
“Dada.”
I took a deep breath. There must be another way. I walked over to the freezer and took out ice cream. I put it into a bowl and brought it back.
“Mmmm…ice cream. Say Mama.”
He flung his hands around excitedly and stared at the ice cream.
I scraped a little into the spoon. “Now say Mama and I’ll give you this ice cream.”
I heard a sound and turned. Max was standing there with his eyebrows raised.
“Are you bribing our son so he will say your name first.”
“No,” I denied awkwardly.
“I just heard you.”
I shrugged. “I was offering him ice cream.”
“In exchange for him saying your name. That’s called cheating, Mrs. Black.”
“No, it’s not. It’s called being inventive.”
I put the bowl of ice cream down and Junior suddenly screamed, “Mama.”
For a second both of us froze then I clapped my hands with joy and danced around happily. “Did you hear that? Did you hear he called my name?” I came to a stop in front of Max and put my hand out. “I win. You lose. He said my name first. Cough up the five hundred dollars, buster.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared at me. Oh my, my husband has a very, very nice chest.
“What?”
“Whose name did he say first?”
He stared at him incredulously. Surely, he wasn’t going to pretend Junior said his name. “Mine. You heard it yourself. He said Mama.”
“I forgot to mention that I stood outside the door for a few minutes before I actually decided to come in.”
I took a step back. “Oh.”
He shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe how competitive you are. You were going to let me believe that he said your name first, weren’t you?”
“I would have eventually told you,” I muttered.
“Really? When?”
“I don’t know. At his graduation or something.”
“Come here.”
I walked up to him and he put his arms around me.
“Are you mad with me?” I asked.
“Nope.”
I chewed my lower lip. “Why not?”
“Because you are the most delicious thing I ever laid eyes on. And there is nothing more entertaining than watching you blatantly lie and cheat just to win a bet.”
I grinned. “That’s not what you said about the first bet we took.”
“When you poisoned me, you mean.”
“It was not poison. It was just a laxative. Everybody needs to clean their system out now and again.”
“Actually, it was a love potion,” he said and kissed me. My husband knows how to kiss. He makes the rest of the world fall away.
THE END
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The Bad Boy Wants Me
by
Georgia Le Carre & River Laurent
The Bad Boy Wants Me
Copyright © 2016 by Georgia Le Carre
The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 9781910575383
You can discover more information about Georgia Le Carre and future releases here.
https://www.facebook.com/georgia.lecarre
https://twitter.com/georgiaLeCarre
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Created with Vellum
Appreciations
I wish to extend my deepest and most profound gratitude to:
Caryl Milton
Elizabeth Burns
Nicola Rhead
Tracy Gray
Brittany Urbaniak
Tori
‘I beg your pardon,’ Dr. Maurice Strong, London’s top plastic surgeon, says with a perfect mix of British snobbery and scathing contempt.
Anybody else would have cringed, but not Britney. She has absolutely no problem repeating her certifiably weird request.
‘I want you to make my eyes look like a cat’s. You know, going upwards, like this.’ She lays both her pointer fingers on the outer corners of her eyes, and pulls the skin upwards, as high as her seventeen-year-old skin will stretch.
Dr. Strong glances at me as if he suspects this whole thing is some sort of a schoolgirl prank.
I’ll admit it’s a feat not to laugh at the crazy scene unfolding before my eyes, but I’m damn good at keeping my expression shit-hot blank. It’s more than my job’s worth to express even a hint of mockery at Britney’s frequent forays into lunacy. I’m paid by her father to follow her around, fetch, carry, and generally baby her.
How can I describe my job?
Well, I guess it’s a bit like the ass-wipers of ancient China. No, I’m not kidding. Straight up serious. Apparently, every great emperor had a manservant whose sole duty was to carefully clean his master’s ass after he’d done a number two, then carry away the precious royal droppings and dispose of them. You’d think that would have been considered the most horrible occupation a man could have, wouldn’t you?
Not so.
The best part of this little nugget from the past is since the emperor was believed to be a god in human form directly from heaven, it was considered an awesome job, and eagerly fought over by many candidates. Only the luckiest guy got to smell and possibly touch a god’s poop.
Unfortunately for me, other than the silent laug
h factor of my job, there is no such satisfaction in mine. Getting nada from me, Dr. Strong pushes his glasses halfway down his nose (strange how plastic surgeons never have great noses) and peers frostily at Britney from the top of his gold-rimmed glasses. It’s obvious that he thinks she’s in need of professional help.
‘You want me to operate on your eyes to make you look like a … cat?’ he enunciates each word slowly, but drops the last word like a brick into the frigid air of his consulting room.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Britney confirms, flashing a heartbreakingly happy smile and nodding her blonde head eagerly at him.
Dr. Strong sighs, as if he has done this way too many times, or he might actually prefer the ass wipe job. He clasps his hands on his desk and looks at her grimly. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Hunter, but I’m actually here to make people look better, not turn them into ridiculous freaks.’
That floors Britney. This never happens on her favorite TV program, Botched, where even the bizarre people asking to be turned into dolls and aliens are mollycoddled and treated with kid gloves by the two resident plastic surgeons. For a few seconds she actually looks alarmed. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open. Then she sits forward hastily.
‘No, no, no, you don’t understand,’ she says, sheer panic of not having what she wants turning her voice into the high, whiny drone that always hurts my ears. ‘I won’t look like a freak. It will be brilliant.’
‘Regardless, I’m afraid I’m not the doctor for you.’
‘Oh, but I want you to do it. You’re the best,’ she wails. He doesn’t know it, but we’re this close (half-an-inch between thumb and index finger) to a full-blown tantrum.
Dr. Strong takes on the expression of a man who is sitting on a toilet and has not eaten enough fiber to make it a worthwhile exercise. He sighs.
‘Then take my advice and stop trying to ruin a perfectly good pair of eyes.’
‘I’ll pay more,’ she offers suddenly.
Oh! Britney, Britney.
For the first time, a flash of anger shows on the good doctor’s face. He spears her with a stink glance. ‘If there is another issue you wanted to discuss then please do so, otherwise this appointment is over.’
‘But …’ Britney cries petulantly. ‘You did my nose and my boobs. You have to do my eyes.’
‘I don’t have to do anything.’
‘Oh please,’ she begs, her hands clasped under her chin.
‘I will not do it, but if you insist on having cat eyes there will, no doubt, be other surgeons interested in making you happy.’
‘I don’t want to go to anyone else. You’re the best.’
Dr. Strong shakes his head, closes the file on his desk, and looks at her with cold finality.
‘This is so unfair. I want cat eyes. I’m not asking for something unreasonable … and I’m paying. You can’t just turn me away,’ Britney rages.
‘Miss Hunter,’ Dr. Strong reprimands sternly. ‘Kindly do not waste any more of my time, young lady.’
Britney jumps up. ‘Come on Tori,’ she orders huffily, and stalks out of the office, her nose held high in the air.
I shrug apologetically at the doctor and quickly follow her out.
She runs past the waiting room and rounds on me in the middle of an intersecting corridor. ‘I have to find a way to make him operate on me,’ she cries desperately. ‘Can you help me to convince him?’
‘Me?’ I ask, startled.
‘Yes. You. You’re always so sensible, Tori.’
‘To be honest I think your eyes are beautiful as they are.’
She looks at me the way I always imagined Cesar looked at Brutus after the knife was planted in his back.
‘What?’ I ask, bewildered. It’s not like we’re best friends or anything.
‘You don’t want me to be beautiful,’ she screeches suddenly, and streaks off in the general direction of the toilets.
I stare after her for a few seconds before I turn around and slam into a perfectly solid wall of cologne-scented, honest to goodness, male muscles. Strong, wonderfully warm hands curl around my forearms. I look up. OK, long tanned brown throat, unshaven jawline …
Oh! My! God!
Amused, bright green eyes fringed by eyelashes that rightly should have belonged to a girl; straight, black, cocked eyebrows; disheveled hair, and a badass smile curved on the sexiest most deliciously full lips. The kind you just want to sink your teeth into. Oh, and just before I faint, a chin dimple just made a late entrance to the party. This is exactly the kind of man my best friend, Leah, calls ‘a happening guy.’ Things happen around him.
‘Whoa, babe,’ he drawls.
How can I describe his voice? Warmed up chocolate sauce poured slowly down my naked back. Swoon, my ass, I fucking shiver.
‘Whoa, yourself,’ I croak.
He bares his straight white teeth. It’s one of those magic grins that begs any rational girl to suck it off his face.
‘Was that my sister I just saw bolting into the toilet for a quick meltdown?’
I swallow hard. This is so not how I expected to meet Britney’s famous brother. ‘Could be, if you’re the pop star big brother.’
Cash Hunter’s green eyes look like they’re on fire. ‘That’s me, babe. Pop star big brother.’
‘Great. Er … now might be a good time to let go of me.’
‘Give me one good reason why I should?’ he counters lazily.
My eyebrows fly upwards. ‘My knee’s reckoning on an upwards trajectory?’
Grinning, he lets go of me and raises his hands as if in surrender. ‘Looks like I caught me a wildcat.’
My legs play up a little as I take a shaky step back.
He watches me. ‘Where the fuck have you been all my life, Beautiful?’
I give a fake laugh. ‘Are you deliberately using bad lines to save on contraceptives?’
The leather-clad, powerhouse of sexy goodness throws his head back and laughs. This early in the morning the vodka fumes that hit my nostrils are strong enough to make me dizzy.
‘What’s going to work on you, wildcat? My cock wants to say hello to your pussy.’
‘Breath mints might help,’ I retort.
‘Damn girl, you sure know how to suck the juice out of a tender moment.’ He rummages around in his pocket, finds a mangy mint, and pops it into his mouth. ‘Now unless you don’t like a long, thick cock, we’re good to go.’
I look up at him with frosty eyes. ‘Personally I think size is overrated. Cock doesn’t have to be big to be good.’
His eyes gleam. ‘Baby, we’re in luck. There’s a man on the other side of the corridor who can customize my dong into the right shape and size for you.’
‘Hilarious,’ I say unenthusiastically.
‘I bet I can make you call me Daddy,’
‘Thanks, but … ugh, no.’
‘Right. Change of tactics. Not that I’m giving up on getting you into my bed or anything, but want to have dinner with me tonight?’
He’s too beautiful to be real.
‘Cash,’ squeals Britney.
Cash winks at me before he turns his attention to the figure flying at him. He catches her as she wraps her arms and legs around him like a big kid.
‘How did you know where to find me?’ she asks.
‘Isn’t this your second home?’ he asks dryly.
‘Not anymore. Dr. Strong won’t do my eyes,’ she grumbles.
‘Oh yeah. Why not?’
‘He’s says I’ll end up looking like a ridiculous freak.’
‘Hmmm … what did you want done?’
She climbs off him. ‘I want cat eyes.’
Cash’s gorgeous eyes widen. He nods slowly as she tells him about her disastrous appointment with Dr. Strong.
‘Well, Sparkles. I think cat’s eyes are a great idea.’
Jesus. Madness must run in the family.
‘You do?’ Britney asks brightly, her whole face shining with hope.
‘Absolutel
y. It’s a great look. It’ll make you look like one of those beauties from the fifties and sixties.’
‘What?’ She frowns.
‘Yeah, you know like Zsa Zsa Gabor.’
‘Zsa Zsa Gabor. Who’s that?’
‘She’s from dad’s time,’ he supplies with a wise nod. ‘Oh, and like … er … what was the name of that comedienne who died recently?’ He snaps his fingers and looks at me.
‘Joan Rivers?’ I suggest helpfully.
He stops snapping and points at me. ‘That’s the one.’ With a smile he turns towards his sister who’s looking at him with dismay. ‘Definitely a great look,’ he says approvingly.
‘But they’re both so … old.’
‘So what. They had style. Style never dies. Come on, let’s go and see Dr. Strong together. I’ll help you to convince him.’ He takes her arm.
Britney holds back. ‘Hang on a minute. I think Dr. Strong might have been right, after all. It’s a big step and I should think about this a bit more.’
‘Oh,’ he says innocently. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ she replies lamely.
‘In that case,’ he turns to me, ‘how about introducing me to this lovely creature?’
Britney turns to me. ‘Oh, this is Tori Diamond. Dad hired her to be my PA.’
He extends a hand out. ‘Hello, Tori Diamond. Cash Hunter, Britney’s pop star brother. How nice to meet you.’
I step forward and put my hand into his ridiculously strong hands. Damn, these are some hands. Must be all that guitar strumming. My imagination runs away with me. One finger inserted deep inside me, and curling to stroke me. Oh hell! Phew! Is it hot in this corridor or what? Heat creeps up my neck. I wipe my brow as surreptitiously as I can.
He smirks. The smarmy bastard.
I clear my throat. ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ I say in the poshest voice I can muster.
Tori
‘We really should be getting back,’ I announce awkwardly, looking at Britney.
Kissing Booth Page 35