Big Girls & Bad Boys: 8 Scorching Hot BBW Alpha Male Romance Novellas Box Set

by D. H. Cameron

  “Why are you so fucking stubborn? That guy wanted a little pussy. You need money. I need money. We could’ve all been happy but you fucked it up...as usual,” Tony said and laughed softly but that didn’t mean he was happy.

  “I’m sorry,” was all I said looking at the floor.

  “Whatever, if you want to work here serving cocktails and dancing with these losers just to eat and pay me interest on your debt, that’s fine with me. Just don’t insult my customers. Next time I have to clean up your mess, you’ll pay. Got it?” he warned.

  “Yes, Tony. I got it,” I replied. Tony turned and walked off into the crowd, muttering something that sounded like, “Stupid bitch.” He’d called me worse. I wanted to cry or at least fight the urge but I didn’t have any tears left. I just felt empty. I took a deep breath and went about my work, fetching drinks and making nice with the single men. Then I saw him, the man that didn’t belong there. The Cuban man in the tuxedo with the dark, penetrating eyes, smoking a cigar and sipping rum as he stood at the end of the bar. He stared at me and made me feel something beyond fear and hopelessness.

  I looked away and busied myself, trying to ignore him but feeling his eyes on me the entire time. I stole a glance here and there but each time his eyes bore into me. I should have been nervous under his constant stare, afraid the handsome man wanted more than just an eyeful, but I wasn’t. I did, however, feel self-conscience. His eyes were hungry but not insistent. I made my way into the crowd, offering to take orders but when I looked again, the man was gone, his cigar still burning in the ashtray on the bar, bluish smoke drifting up and swirling above it.

  I looked around but he had vanished. I smiled to myself, something I rarely did anymore, enjoying the sudden fantasy his gaze had ignited. A moment later, I felt a hand on my lower back and I turned expectantly hoping it was the handsome Cuban. I was disappointed to discover it wasn’t. A Cuban man was indeed there but this one was old and frail. He asked me to dance with him in Spanish and smiled sweetly showing me his toothless grin. He looked harmless, a lonely old man looking for some temporary companionship. I smiled back.

  “Si,” I told him and let him slip his arm in mine and lead me to the dance floor after I’d set my tray on the bar. I looked at the cigar left by the Cuban man but then pushed him from my mind. A man like that wasn’t looking because he desired me. It was likely he pitied me or maybe he was amused by my situation. In any case, he wasn’t interested in a girl like me. In the middle of the dance floor, the old man slipped his hand around my waist and took my hand in the other as he led me through classic salsa steps with more vigor than I would have imagined.

  ~~~

  As Christmas approached, the usual festive mood was subdued by the advances made by the rebels led by Fidel Castro. Batista, Cuba’s president, was not popular but the revolutionaries were an unknown quantity for many Cubans and for the Americans that did business in Cuba. Since August, the beginning of the rebels’ latest offensive, an uneasiness had settled over Cuba and especially Havana. Some hailed Castro as a liberator who would bring justice and prosperity but others saw him as just another dictator thirsty for power.

  Little changed for me, however. Every day, I worked hard and every day I failed to put a dent in the debt I owed Tony. I was sure I’d never pay him off and eventually end up like Rosa. I’d seen too many women give in to the temptation of fast money only to be consumed by the life. I didn’t want to spend my youth servicing strange men only to find myself suddenly old, no longer able to attract customers and without any other means of support.

  I served drinks as the men ogled my assets in the skimpy outfit I wore, staring at my deep cleavage with dark intent. At least working for Tony provided me with some measure of protection from these men. I couldn’t pay Tony if I was dead but that didn’t mean he cared if men leered at me or even groped me. If Tony had his way, he’d have them do much more than that. As it was, I entertained the men in less demeaning ways, dancing and conversation.

  “Hey, doll!” came a call. I looked up and found a man in trousers and an open linen shirt, his hair-covered belly protruding over his belt and smelling of rum and sweat. I sighed but put on a smile for him.

  “I’m Nancy,” I told him as I pressed close trying to ignore his odor.

  “I don’t give a fuck! I’d love it if you wrapped those bazookas around me and let me shoot all over them,” he told me crudely. Would that be so bad? I could make a lot of money. Maybe Rosa was right. The man reached out and began squeezing my breasts roughly. “Oh yeah! What a set? Honey, you’re not the prettiest dame I’ve ever seen but these tits are amazing. Ten pesos to fuck these beauties?” he asked.

  I wanted to run. The man was disgusting and made my skin crawl, his lurid suggestions turning my stomach. If he had been younger, thinner or cleaner, I might have found the idea more appealing. Sure, it would still have been demeaning but maybe I could take some small pleasure from the act for myself. That wasn’t possible with this man. I smiled at him and ran my hand over his thigh, mostly out of habit. He grinned at me hungrily.

  “Well, maybe,” I replied weakly and reluctantly. The man took my arm as he stood from his bar stool but as he turned he was blocked from taking me away. The handsome Cuban man I’d found staring at me several nights past stood in our way. He was tall with dark, piercing eyes and smelled of fine cologne instead of alcohol.

  “Excuse me, Señor. I’m afraid the lady owes me a dance,” the Cuban man told the much shorter and fatter man whose fingers dug into my arm possessively suddenly.

  “Fuck you. This dame is mine,” he told the Cuban man though his voice cracked as he did. The Cuban man only stared at him, a friendly smile on his face but menace in his eyes. The drunken man tried to stand before the Cuban but he finally withered under the taller man’s stare.

  “Yeah, well there’s prettier girls,” the odorous man said and let my arm go. The Cuban simply nodded as the other man skulked away pretending he still had his pride intact. He didn’t. The handsome Cuban man looked at me like a father might look at a child in trouble for a moment but then his expression softened. He smiled warmly at me.

  “Will you dance with me?” he asked. I looked up at him, somewhat stunned and then nodded.

  “Yes, thank you,” I replied. The man offered his arm. I slipped my arm into his and he led me to the dance floor. As I turned to face him, the band played traditional salsa music and the tall man led me through the steps.

  “I am Marco Luis Fernandez. You may call me Marco. You are Nancy Cartwright, no?” Marco said by way of introduction.

  “Yes, how do you know my name?” I asked him curiously.

  “I know many things,” he said cryptically as he dipped me. Marco was strong and I felt like not much more than a feather in his grasp. His accent was deep but his English was perfect. His commanding voice and confident eyes were enough to make me melt.

  “Nice to meet you, Marco,” I told him. I wondered what this man wanted with me. I refused to believe he rescued me without expectations.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Nancy,” he told me as he stared into my eyes. I saw in them something that caused me to blush. “Why do you demean yourself in this place?” he asked pointedly.

  “What? What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You do not belong in such a place. You are far too...,” Marco told me, pausing to consider his words, “...graceful for this life. You are out of place here.” I smiled despite myself.

  “Well, thank you,” I said as the song ended and the other dancers applauded to show their appreciation for the band. Marco, however, didn’t stop staring into my eyes nor did he let me free of his arms.

  “Let me buy your freedom,” he said and I gasped.

  “What?” I asked, not believing his words.

  “For the evening. I ask for simple companionship. I know you must work but let me pay for your time if that’s what is required,” Marco offered. I narrowed my eyes, still not entirely sure of his inten
t.

  “Companionship?” I asked guardedly. I couldn’t deny that I found the tall Cuban attractive but despite my moment of weakness with the drunken, smelly man, I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. Not even with a man like Marco.

  “I apologize. I know that word has a double meaning in your language. My intentions are honorable, I promise. I only wish to know you better,” Marco explained. So this man wasn’t looking for a prostitute but what was he looking for and why was he seeking it with me?

  “All right. For the evening, I think the going rate is one-hundred pesos,” I told him.

  “Then I shall pay two hundred,” Marco told me. He produced the money and I looked around worried what people might think. Marco understood. “Never worry about what others think. Do what is best for you and you alone,” he told me. I considered that and then took the money. I felt Tony’s eyes on me and turned to find him standing just off the dance floor watching. He smiled at me but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. Instead his look was lurid and full of greed. I ignored him as Marco led me off the dance floor past Tony.

  “Fifty percent, Nancy!” he reminded me as I brushed past. Tony would get it all. Two hundred pesos would make a dent in my debt and I wanted to pay that son of a bitch off more than ever suddenly.

  ~~~

  ~2~

  Marco and I walked through the streets of Havana together, arm in arm. He was the perfect gentleman but I couldn’t help but wonder why this man would pay for my company unless he had some ulterior motive. He didn’t appear to be the sort of man that needed to hire escorts. No, it was more likely women would pay him to escort them instead. Besides, I wasn’t the type of girl that men hired to escort them. I wasn’t exactly a prize to be shown off to impress others, especially in my skimpy skirt and revealing top.

  “So, what brings an American girl such as yourself to Havana?” Marco asked as we strolled past the clubs, dance halls and casinos. Despite the revolution to the south the streets were crowded.

  “Work, excitement, adventure, I suppose,” I said.

  “Plenty of that at Aunt Nena’s. Too much in some cases,” Marco replied. I nodded. “Why do you stay there? Do you not wish for more?” he asked. His tone indicated he truly didn’t understand why I did what I did, why I didn’t seek more. I wasn’t there by choice, however.

  “I wanted to get out of the little town I grew up in. I thought it was so boring. I went to New York and worked there for a while. Then I met a man. He told me I could make a lot of money here in Havana. He offered to pay my way if I’d work for him,” I explained. I left out the part that now I worked for a pittance, paying interest on a so-called loan I’d never pay off without first trading any pride that I still had for money. I didn’t tell him that he expected me to work as a prostitute. Marco looked down at me and smiled warmly.

  “And now you still owe the man and will likely never pay him back. You are trapped,” he said and I looked up at him, surprised at all he knew. I wondered who this man was and how he could know so much about me, just a poor girl among many poor young girls just like me.

  “How do you know that?” I asked warily. Marco took my hand in his and stroked it.

  “I am no fool. I grew up in Havana. I know how this city does its business,” he said not really answering my question but putting me at ease.

  “Yes, I’m trapped. I owe Tony almost two thousand dollars. What I earn serving drinks and dancing with men barely pays my rent and buys groceries. I won’t ever pay him back unless...,” I told Marco, telling him the truth, trusting him for some reason. I didn’t want to tell him what Tony expected from me. The one thing that would allow me to pay him back but would destroy me in the process.

  “You will not do it. I see it in your eyes, Nancy. You have too much pride. You are not that sort of woman,” Marco replied.

  “I don’t feel that way. So, who are you? You don’t look like the typical Aunt Nena’s patron,” I told Marco, changing the subject.

  “Ah, well. Possibly I am that sort of man,” he said. I stopped and faced him.

  “No you’re not. You’re not the only one with the ability to judge character. You’re not like those other men. Who are you, Marco?” I asked. Marco laughed softly, amused by my assessment.

  “I make cigars. You have heard of Fernandez cigars, have you not?” Marco asked.

  “Yes. So you work there?” I asked not making the connection immediately.

  “I suppose you might say that. It is my family’s brand,” he said. I remembered his name, Marco Luis Fernandez.

  “You’re the owner?” I wondered.

  “Yes, my family is,” he told me.

  “And you run it all, don’t you?” I asked. I understood suddenly. He was a man with power but not like Tony. He wasn’t angry and hungry for power.

  “You’re very perceptive, Nancy. Yes. I took my father’s place when he retired. I was but sixteen. In Cuba, one is not a boy at that age. He is a man,” Marco explained.

  “So, I need to ask. Why am I here? Why are you paying me to spend time with you?” I wondered. Marco took my arm in his and we began to walk again.

  “I met a colleague at Aunt Nena’s and stopped to have a drink before returning home. I enjoy the atmosphere in the older clubs,” Marco told me but for the first time, I felt as if he wasn’t telling me everything. “When I saw you, I was determined to meet you. You intrigue me,” he told me.

  “But why?” I asked. I wasn’t the sort of woman that attracted men like Marco. He could have any woman he wanted and Havana was rife with beautiful woman, both Cuban and foreign.

  “I find you interesting,” is all Marco said.

  “Interesting?” I replied.

  “Yes, is that so hard to believe?” he asked pointedly, almost as if I was testing his patience.

  “Honestly, yes. What about me would make a man like you take interest?” I wondered. Now Marco stopped and faced me amongst the people walking along the street.

  “I find you captivating. To find a jewel such as you amongst the drab stones scattered about is a rare thing. It is not only your beauty, however. It is your character that I find attractive,” he told me firmly. I rolled my eyes and scoffed at that.

  “I don’t know what you’re selling but I’m not sure I’m interested. I appreciate the sentiment even though I’m not buying it,” I remarked flippantly. Marco’s face turned serious.

  “Why do you say these things? It is not for you to decide what it is that I find attractive. That is my choice and mine alone. You will accept what I say or you will not but you may not question my feelings,” he told me. His words were shocking but they held truth. I suppose he was right. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder but I still wasn’t sure I believed Marco.

  “I’m not sure I can accept what you say,” I replied.

  “Does another man occupy your heart?” he asked. That wasn’t what I meant.

  “No, that’s not it. I’m not captivating or a jewel,” I told him dismissing his assertion.

  “Then I have a challenge before me. I shall convince you otherwise, Nancy,” he replied. I looked away and smiled despite myself. I couldn’t bring myself to accept his words though I liked hearing them. Maybe he was right. Who was I to tell him what he could and couldn’t find attractive or beautiful. Did I deserve his attention was the question? Marco reached out and lifted my head gently with his finger until I stared up into his eyes. He was so handsome like so many Latin men were, his tanned skin, his dark hair and eyes, his square jaw. I could melt under his gaze.

  “I will make you believe,” he told me and then his lips met mine. I did melt as his warm lips pressed to mine and his hand slipped around my waist and Marco pulled me close. He took his time, savoring the kiss and causing me to feel faint and tingly. Then he pulled away and stared down at me. Suddenly I felt small and vulnerable in his presence but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was anything but.

  “You’re a mysterious man,” I said once he broke the kiss and
I recovered my composure.

  “I am a man that knows what he wants and is not afraid to pursue it. I’ve found what I want and I will move heaven and earth to possess it,” he told me. He didn’t say it was me he wanted but his intent was clear.

  “I don’t doubt that, Marco,” I replied breathlessly. I’d never had a man speak to me in that way. I enjoyed it immensely but that didn’t mean I fully believed it.

  “Come, let us walk and then I will see you home,” he told me and offered his arm. I took it and pressed close to Marco as we strolled through Havana. Suddenly, I saw the Havana I dreamed of before I arrived to find the reality. It was beautiful, a city made for love and romance. But I couldn’t think of Havana like that without remembering the revolution that raged to the south. Would Havana remain as it was or would it be destroyed? Maybe I was naive but I couldn’t believe war could ever come to this place.

  “Marco, do you fear the rebels?” I asked. He took a moment to consider my question before he answered.

  “I have no love for Batista. He is a dictator. I envy what you have in America. We have our freedoms but they are not guaranteed us. A dictator may change his mind as the winds shift. Cuba is rife with corruption and devoid of justice. But this revolution, I do not support it. These men, Castro and his brother, Raúl, Che Guevara, the rest, they promise justice and equality but they are no more just than Batista. They are communists in sheep’s clothing. I fear, however, Cuba will fall to them,” Marco explained.

  “Communists?” I asked. In America, communist was a dirty word. They were the boogie men threatening our way of life. I don’t know if I believed they were the godless, evil men they were made out to be but to be honest, I didn’t know all that much about them or what they stood for. All I knew was they were the enemy.