Badd Kitty

by Jasinda Wilder

  “Or his hands,” Izzy added.

  I twisted, glancing at my backside—the dress scooped down to almost the small of my back, clinging to my hips and thighs, the hem ending at mid-thigh. The cut of it made my already generous hips and butt look even wider, more bell-shaped, and my cleavage was, conservatively, eye-popping. The low neckline meant I was showing off serious side-boob.

  “I look like a skank.” I tried to tug the neckline up, but Izzy batted my hands away.

  “Leave it. You look just skanky enough. Classy and sexy without being trashy.” She lifted a shoulder and made a face. “I have to admit, the man can pick a dress.”

  “You picked it, didn’t you?” I asked.

  She lifted both hands palms out. “No, I didn’t, I swear by the girlfriend code. I told him your dress and shoe size and that was it.”

  “My hips and butt look enormous,” I complained, smoothing my hands over them, as if could make them slimmer by doing so.

  “Your hips and butt look incredible,” Izzy countered. “Stop being self-conscious.”

  “I can’t help it,” I whined. “It’s just been so long since I dressed up like this.”

  “You look beautiful, Kitty,” Juneau said. “For real. I’m straight as an arrow and you’re making me horny.”

  I laughed in shock. “Juneau!”

  She laughed with me. “What? You really do look that good.”

  Izzy caught at my hands, her eyes telling me I wouldn’t like her next statement. She held out a hand to me. “Panties.”

  “I’m not going without underwear, Iz.”

  “Yes you are.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “It’ll feel weird at first, but you’ll thank me later.”

  I glared at her, and then at my backside again, in the mirror. “It’s not necessary. You can barely see the panty lines.”

  Izzy just lifted an eyebrow. “Barely see them still means you can see them. Off.” Her expression softened. “Just trust me, Kit-Kat, please?”

  “Gahh, fine!” I shimmied the dress up around my hips, wiggled out of the underwear, kicked them off, and tossed them from the bathroom onto my bedroom floor. “Happy now?” I demanded, giving myself one more look-over in the mirror.

  And damn her, but Izzy was right—the effect was improved without the underwear. The dress clung to my butt and hips, highlighting their curves, and without the underwear lines, it was all round curve.

  “Yes, much better.”

  “I could have just put on a thong,” I muttered.

  “True, but it’s better this way. You’ll see.” She winked at me. “You look hot.”

  I rolled my eyes as I left the bathroom, snagging my purse from the counter. “Okay. I should go.” I transferred my phone, wallet, and keyring to my white Coach clutch. “I’ll text you when I get to wherever he takes me. If you don’t hear from me in a few hours, assume he’s kidnapped me.”

  Izzy laughed, shoving me out of my bedroom, making me trip as I slipped my feet into the strappy sandals. “If I don’t hear from you in a few hours, I’ll assume he’s kidnapped you and plans to fuck you six ways to Sunday.”

  “Isadora!” I protested, laughing. “You’re so bad!”

  “You should try being bad sometime. Like tonight. You could use a little irresponsibility and recklessness in your life.” She winked at me, kissing me on both cheeks. “For real, have fun. Loosen up. Give in to your basest desires. I have a good sense about this guy, Kit-Kat. Give him a chance.”

  Juneau had vanished, and reappeared with a string of studded Magnum condoms; she unzipped my clutch and stuffed them in. “Just in case.”

  I stared at her. “Really, June? Studded Magnums?”

  She stared back, wide-eyed with innocence. “There was a reason I slept with Chris as many times as I did. I would have kept sleeping with him had he not tried to trick me into a threesome with his booty call or whatever she was.” She leaned close to us, whispering conspiratorially. “He was hung like a horse.”

  I laughed. “Oh, June. You never cease to surprise me.”

  She leaned in and kissed my cheeks too. “I’m picky about my guys, but when I find one I like, I don’t mind being a little naughty.”

  “I have so many questions, now,” I laughed, heading for the door.

  “Later,” she promised. “As long as you have some juicy details for us, too.”

  “I’ll give him a chance,” I said. “This is a pretty romantic gesture.”

  Izzy popped me on the butt as I exited our apartment. “Have fun!” she called after me. “Do everything I would do! Channel your inner Izzy!”

  “I don’t know about that,” I called back. “There’s not much you wouldn’t do!”

  “Exactly!”

  A sleek white Lexus SUV was waiting at the curb, with a middle-aged man in a trim black suit leaning against the front passenger seat, staring at his phone. As soon as he saw me, he tucked his phone into an inner pocket of his suit coat and stepped forward.

  “Miss Quinn.” He smiled at me, reassuring and kind and welcoming. “My name is Tony. May I say you look absolutely stunning this evening?”

  “Hi, Tony. Thank you.”

  I angled for the front door, but he intercepted me, opening the back passenger door. I tucked my knees together and scooted up into the seat, smiling at Tony as he shut the door after me. He slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and pulled away from the curb.

  “Do you know where we’re going, Tony?” I asked.

  He grinned at me in the rearview mirror. “Of course. We’re going to the Yacht Club.”

  “Really? The Yacht Club?”

  He nodded, and withdrew a piece of paper from an inner pocket. “Mr. Badd told me to give you this.”

  I took the paper from him—it was another piece of linen cardstock with his handwriting on it.

  * * *

  Kitty,

  * * *

  I want you to be comfortable, and I figured you’d want to know ahead of time what we’re doing so you can check in with Izzy and Juneau. I’ve chartered a private boat for the evening. Her name is The Bonnie Lee, and we’ll be having dinner and taking a tour to the north. I’ve chartered her until tomorrow at noon, but we can return at any time, and Tony is on call to bring you home, if that’s what you end up wanting to do. You know damn well how I want this evening to end, but I’ve given you escape options in case you have other ideas. I have to admit I desperately hope you don’t use those options, but they are available.

  See you soon.

  * * *

  —Roman

  * * *

  P.S. I can’t wait to see you in that green dress.

  * * *

  Instead of trying to communicate all that to my roommates via text, I just snapped a photo of the card and sent that to them in our group thread.

  Juneau texted back first: OMG. That’s so thoughtful!

  Izzy: Seriously. This dude is pulling out all the stops. This is an all out attempt to woo you.

  Me: Woo? Now who’s the ninety-year-old grandma?

  Me: I’ll text you again from the boat, when I figure out whether I’m staying.

  Izzy: if you don’t stay, I’ll kill you.

  Juneau: Unless you have a legitimate bad feeling about him. Obviously trust your gut and be safe. But don’t use not feeling safe as an excuse to chicken out.

  I sent them a GIF of Michelle Tanner from Full House rolling her eyes, and then put my phone on vibrate before tucking it into my purse.

  I tucked the card into my clutch and watched the scenery pass out the window, trying to calm my nerves. I was not exactly successful, however. The butterflies were in full flight in my belly, leaving my hands trembling a little, especially as we neared the Yacht Club.

  I had to admit that this was easily the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. Tom had taken me on plenty of dates over the eight years we’d dated, but never anything like this.

  As we pulled into the parking lot I
thought also about Izzy’s advice—give him a chance. Be a little reckless. Irresponsible, even. Well, I wasn’t sure about reckless and irresponsible, but I would give him a chance.

  8

  Roman

  * * *

  I stood near the prow on the deck of The Bonnie Lee, one hand on the railing, watching the sun sink toward the horizon. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, which irritated me. Girls didn’t make me nervous. I hadn’t been nervous when I lost my virginity, or when I fought my first wildfire as a hotshot, or when I parachuted the first time. Nada. No nerves, just excitement and anticipation, the rush and the thrill.

  Right now?

  Nervous as fuck.

  My hands were shaky and clammy, and it felt like a whole damn zoo had escaped and was running wild in my stomach.

  I tried not to glance back at the dock again—something I’d been doing obsessively for the last forty-five minutes, waiting for Tony to get here with Kitty. I tugged at the sleeves of my dress shirt, and then adjusted the tie at my neck—I hadn’t buttoned the very top button, but I did have a tie on. My suit didn’t quite fit—it was snug in the shoulders, chest, and arms, and the pants were tight around my thighs and ass, as I’d put on a bit of muscle since the last time I’d worn this thing. I hated it, but I wanted to look my best. This wasn’t a jeans and button-down sort of date, which was my usual attire for anything that resembled a date, something that, honestly, I didn’t do as a rule. If I really liked a girl and wanted to extend things with her beyond a night or two, I’d take her to a mid-level restaurant, buy some food and wine, sweet talk her a little, and that was about it. More out of courtesy than anything else.

  This was different.

  Kitty was different.

  I’d never done anything like this before. Never wanted to. Never even considered it. Why would I go to this kind of trouble for a hookup? I wasn’t sure what she was, but I knew one thing for sure and that was that Kitty was not a hookup. So what was this thing I’d arranged? I hadn’t answered that question yet, even in my own mind. I couldn’t. I just knew if I wanted there to be even a possibility of anything with Kitty, I had to step up my game. A smile, a little charm, some sweet talk and smooth moves…it wasn’t enough for her.

  She deserved more, and she knew it. She was a girl who knew her worth.

  Of course, she’d let me get pretty far last week, but then she’d flipped out and shut down. She’d used naming the bar after her as an excuse, but I knew it was about more than that. She was embarrassed, ashamed, and pissed off at herself for letting me get her worked up, and pissed off at me for using her own desires to manipulate her.

  I felt shitty about that, honestly. I knew she’d been hesitant, but I knew that she was attracted to me on a purely physical level, and I’d worked her horniness against her, until she was so mixed up and raging with libido that she couldn’t think straight. It had been a dick move.

  Granted, most chicks I’d ever spent time with hadn’t cared. They’d been all too eager to have my hands and mouth on them. In all honesty, Kitty was the first girl who’d ever shown any reticence, let alone had actually stopped me once I got started.

  I sighed bitterly, remembering Bax’s words to me: I needed to know I deserved her.

  Did I deserve a woman like Kitty?

  Fuck no.

  I heard an engine and tires crunching across the parking lot. Turning, I spied Tony’s Lexus pulling around. He parked with the rear passenger door close to the dock, exited, walked around and opened Kitty’s door. My breath caught, relief slicing through me—it wasn’t until that moment I realized I’d been half expecting her to stand me up. But no, she was here.

  One of the green, sparkly sandals I’d bought her lowered to the parking lot, and then, carefully, keeping her knees together and moving slowly and somewhat stiffly, she slid out of the SUV. My breath was already hitched in my chest, and I gasped audibly at the sight of her.

  Holy mother of all fucks. I had seriously underestimated the beauty of Kitty Quinn. She was sexy in work jeans and a bar T-shirt. Breathtaking in barely there pajamas. Achingly perfect in a little sundress. An object of perfection and purity with that dress tugged down and pushed up, baring her pale, creamy, silky skin.

  In that green dress, each curve was highlighted and hugged and shown off. Her hair was down, just the way I liked it, and curled into loose spirals, framing her lovely face…Jesus. There weren’t words to describe her.

  I was still over a hundred feet away from her and barely able to make out specific details, but I was having trouble breathing at the sight of her.

  My fist tightened on the railing of the bow until my knuckles hurt.

  She paused, ran one palm down a hip, lifted her chin, let out the breath, and took a step forward. I could hear her heels on the wood planks of the dock as she walked toward The Bonnie Lee. It was late in the evening, nearing sundown, and the club was mostly deserted. A boat owner was cleaning his vessel on the other side of the marina, and another was putzing with his fishing gear a few slips down, but otherwise The Bonnie Lee was the only boat lit up, engines idling, and I was the only person visible.

  Her eyes latched onto me as she made her way toward the slip, and I noticed her hands obsessively running down her waist and over her hip; she transferred her purse from hand to hand now and then too, and her empty hand was always smoothing over her hip.

  Self-conscious? Nervous?

  How could a woman as stunning as Kitty be self-conscious? She seemed to be confident and centered—except when I went out of my way to piss her off.

  I shoved my hand in my trouser pocket, still gripping the railing to keep from giving in to my own nervous habit: running my hand through my hair. I’d gelled and spiked it, obsessing over each strand until Remington had threatened to shave it off if I didn’t quit. I tried to pose, to stand tall, shoulders back, chin high. Put a little smirk on my face, like I’m as cocky as ever instead of shit-my-pants nervous.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Kitty was standing at the side of the yacht, smiling nervously at me. I crossed the deck and extended my hand to her. She hesitated a moment, and then placed her hand in mine, pressing her palm against mine as she stepped across onto the boat. Once in, she was still holding my hand, staring up at me, blinking slowly and breathing even slower.

  “You’re a fucking goddess, Kitty,” I murmured. “The sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “Thank you.” She ran her hand over her hip again. “The dress is…very tight.”

  I rumbled a laugh. “Had to get you in something that showed off your perfect figure.”

  She blushed. “Haven’t you already seen my figure?”

  “Nowhere near enough of it.” She blushed harder, her teeth threatening to go straight through her lip, and I growled. “Remember what I said about you biting your lip?”

  She nodded. “Yeah?”

  “You’re biting your lip again.”

  “I’m not allowed to bite my lip?”

  “You’re allowed to do anything you want, Kitty. Problem is, when you bite your lip, it makes me crazy.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t be sorry, just be aware, if you bite your fuckin’ lip again, I’m gonna do what I did last time. Which will cause me to short-cut past all the stuff I had planned for us this evening in favor of getting right to…dessert.”

  She trembled. “Dessert? What’s dessert?”

  “You are.” I pinched her lower lip between thumb and forefinger. “This plump little lip first, followed by everything else.”

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, as if to steady herself. “Roman, slow down.”

  I laughed, backing away half a step. “See? Exactly. That’s what you do to me when you bite that damn lip.” I snagged her wrist as she went to run her hand down her hip yet again—the millionth time since she’d got on board. “And this hand is another problem.”

  She blinked at it curiously. �
�It is? Why?”

  “Because you keep running it over your hip, and it’s doing things to my self-control.” I ran my thumb over the tender skin on the inside of her wrist. “So…stop doing that.”

  “I’m not conscious of doing anything.” She smiled weakly. “Honestly, it’s a nervous habit. I’m self-conscious in this dress because it’s more…revealing…than anything I’ve ever worn. Plus, I’m just nervous.”

  I tangled my fingers in hers to prevent her from making the gesture again. “Couple things. One, you shouldn’t be self-conscious, because like I said, you are, very truthfully, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen with my own two eyes. That’s no lie, and it’s not a line. It’s the truth. You’re fucking gorgeous. And two, I’m nervous too.”

  She stared up at me in surprise. “You are?”

  I laughed, nodding. “I don’t get nervous. Not ever. Not about anything.”

  “Not even when you’re about to jump out of an airplane into a fire?”

  “Especially not then. I get jittery from excitement, but not nervous.” I ran my thumb over the web her hand between thumb and forefinger. “You make me nervous.”

  She laughed. “I do? Why?”

  I went for broke. “Because I don’t have the slightest clue what the fuck I’m doing with you, Kitty.”

  “You sure seem to know exactly what you’re doing.”

  “It’s all bullshit and bravado, babe. Especially right now.”

  A throat cleared discreetly behind us, and we both turned. A tall, slender man with close-cropped gray hair and weathered, tanned features stood before us, wearing pressed black trousers and a white short-sleeve button-down.

  “I’m Captain Martin,” he said, in a gravelly, powerful voice. “We’ve got perfect conditions for a romantic evening sail so, if you two are ready, we’ll set off.”

  “Take us out, Captain,” I said.

  “Very well, Mr. Badd. “If you’ll both take seats in the saloon, we’ll be underway. Once we’ve cast off, Ms. Cowell will begin the food and beverage service.”