BAD BOYS ON BOARD

by Lori Foster, Donna Kauffman, Nancy Warren

  "I'm afraid I took another liberty."

  "I believe you've pretty much taken as much liberty with me as humanly possible," she said dryly.

  He grinned again, but there was still something almost twitchy about his demeanor. If she didn't know better, she'd say he seemed almost nervous. Dominic?

  "What liberty did you take?" she asked, curiosity vying with an aching need to just blurt out everything she'd been thinking since she'd left him this morning.

  "I called Stephanie and told her you wouldn't be in today. At the same time I cancelled our meeting, and my—"

  "Tell me you didn't let what happened between us screw up your business de—"

  He shook his head. "In fact, I told her to draw up the papers, that I'd sign anything she wanted."

  Callie's mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. "She's a total shark, Dominic, and elevator stall or not, she'll take full advantage—"

  "I know," he said, obviously unconcerned. "In her position, I'd do the same thing."

  "Then why—" She stopped, realizing they were still standing in her doorway. She stepped back. "Do you want to come in?"

  "Actually, I'd love to, but I sort of had other plans."

  For the first time since she'd flung open the door, Callie's heart clenched painfully. "Oh," she said, not urbane enough to hide her crushing disappointment. "Then why did you send my cab—"

  He stepped back and waved toward her driveway. She leaned past him, and gasped. "Is that a real—"

  "Aston Martin. Yeah, it is."

  Then she looked at him. Really looked at him. And for the first time, realized he was wearing a full dress tuxedo. "Why are you dressed like that?"

  He nodded toward her. "I might ask the same thing. Something tells me you weren't planning on heading to the office in that taxi."

  "No, I wasn't. It's a long story."

  "I'd like to hear it."

  "But you have plans. And you still haven't told me what you're doing in that tux."

  He smiled a bit sheepishly, something she wouldn't have thought possible for Dominic Colbourne. And absolutely endeared himself to her for life because he could. "I guess I don't do a very good James Bond impression."

  "James Bo—" She stopped, covered her mouth.

  "Go ahead, laugh," he said. "It was probably a loony idea in the first place. But my ability to reason has been a bit dodgy since you climbed in that cab this morning and left with without so much as a farewell."

  "I really didn't have much of an option. Stephanie was there and—" She broke off. "You didn't exactly make an effort either."

  "I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your boss. And I wasn't sure you wanted me to."

  She propped her hands on her hips. "Since when do you care what others think about what you do? I thought you went for what you wanted and damn the consequences."

  "I did." He stepped closer to her. "Until I met you. Now I find myself questioning every last thing and second-guessing the rest."

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

  He pulled a box out from behind his back. She hadn't even been aware enough to notice he'd had his arm tucked back there. "I'm guessing this will go over about as well as the Bond idea. It's not exactly what you wanted, but it was the best I could do on short notice."

  She looked at the box he was holding out to her, then up at him. She couldn't tell what was going on behind those enigmatic dark eyes of his, other than to note that he looked even less sure of himself than he did five minutes ago. Interesting. And incredibly appealing.

  She took the box. "What's in it?"

  He sighed.

  She smiled. "What?"

  "I might be a complete cad when it comes to relationships, but I have given my share of tokens in the past. It's been my experience that women generally enjoy getting gifts. You're looking at me like—"

  "Like what?"

  He shrugged then, and it was as endearing as the sheepish grin.

  She shook the box, which was the size of a sweater box. Something rustled within. She looked back at him. "So this is just another one of your tokens? Because, frankly, I'd rather have that lunch in Paris."

  His mouth dropped open at her deadpan tone.

  "I was kidding." She touched his arm. "You're really worried I won't like this, aren't you?"

  "Terrified. In fact, give it back to me. It was a stupid idea. I was just trying to think of something that had meaning, just between you and me, and—"

  "And I'm sure I'll love it. For exactly those reasons." He was so flustered she wanted to do anything to reassure him. But she couldn't seem to stop smiling. She, Callie Montgomery, had flustered Dominic Colbourne. Apparently there was no limit to her powers. She wanted to laugh herself silly at the mere thought, but the box and Dominic, beckoned.

  And then she put it together. Tuxedo. James Bond. "Wait a minute, this isn't—" She laughed as she tore open the box. "Are you here because you want to have costume sex?" Then she gasped as a familiar looking blue, red, and gold cape and body suit fell out into her arms. A pair of stretchy, blue boots lay beneath.

  "I had to guess your size."

  She shook out the Wonder Woman cape. "They come in sizes?"

  He sort of shrugged. "Catwoman was sold out. And I couldn't find a seamstress on short notice to do justice to a Barbarella outfit."

  She clutched the box and its contents to her chest. "So, did you really did come here for—"

  He shook his head. "No, no. I'm really making a royal muck of this, aren't I?" He motioned past her. "Maybe it's better if I come in after all. I'd thought to take you for a drive. Out to the country. Maybe take a look at a horse or something."

  "Horse?"

  He actually shifted from one foot to another, looking entirely nervous. "You said you rode. For pleasure. I thought maybe that was something I could stand learning a bit more about. I thought, I guess, that maybe you would be the one to show me."

  Now her heart started up again, back in its rightful place. And the grin came quite naturally to her face. "After we have the costume sex, you mean, " she deadpanned. "Or were we supposed to go all gussied up like this?" She gestured at his suit. When he looked almost desperate, she dropped her hand. "I'm kidding, Dominic."

  He let out his own whooshing breath. "I really should have—"

  "You did, and I love it. As for the horse lessons … well, I suppose it's only fair, seeing as you gave me a lesson in what you excel in."

  He actually blushed. Blushed!

  "Callie, listen, I didn't mean any disrespect with the costumes. I was simply trying to do something, I don't know, original. It was meant in fun. I don't care if we ever have sex, in or out of costume—wait, that didn't come out right. I do want to have sex with you. A lot of it. It's just not what I was thinking about when I—what I mean to say is—oh bloody, buggering hell."

  Callie tossed the box to floor and simply yanked him inside. "So just tell me," she said, quite seriously. "Why did you come here?"

  He looked down at her, then let out a deep, somewhat shaky sigh. "Because I can't stop thinking about you. And I don't want to stop thinking about you. Because I don't need another corporation. But I do need you. I need your laughter. I need your frank responses. I need your smiles, your pithy little comments, your directness, and most of all, I need you to be willing to share them all with me."

  "Oh," she said on a sigh, totally unprepared for the emotions his words unleashed inside her. "Oh, Dominic. I shouldn't have teased you. I want the same—"

  "Wait, let me finish. I know I've admitted I don't have a clue about handling relationships, and I'm sure I'm a bad bet in just about every area but bed." A hint of his grin surfaced. "Though, if you're willing to start there and let me work my way up—"

  Somehow she managed the comeback, despite the fact that her heart had started up its staccato beat once again. "And here I thought you were more interested in working your way down."

  His smile flickered to a g
rin, then faded again. "I want you, Callie Montgomery. However you'll have me."

  Now it was her turn to tremble. "I want you, too, Dominic Colbourne. In fact, I—"

  "If you're worried about this deal with Stephanie, I—"

  "No. No, that's not a problem. I quit about an hour ago."

  "You—you what? Because of what happened between us?"

  "Yes, but not for the reason you think. I just realized that a high-powered career didn't equal success. Not the kind I want. I realized that having a life, forging my own path, deciding for myself what success means, and what it doesn't—for me—is what's important." She fingered the lapel of his tux. "So I decided to stick with my temping job. At least for now. I enjoy the variety of it, now that I've let myself sit back and realize it. And I enjoy the time it gives me to explore all those … possibilities I guess I was letting pass me by." She stopped then, knowing what was left to say, but finding this part a bit harder, despite all he'd said. "And … and—" He tugged her arms. "Callie—"

  "No, now you have to let me finish." She took a breath and leaped. "I also decided I wasn't ready to walk away from you. That I thought there was something there, something more than, than—"

  "Screaming orgasms?" he said, his lips twitching.

  "Yeah. Something like that."

  "And so, where were you headed when I got here, if not to work?"

  "I was coming to find you." She looked down at her clothes and laughed. "I know we took the opposite approach in terms of apparel, but I figured that if we were going to take any step beyond the ones that had us walking away from each other this morning, then I wanted to take mine as the real me." She swept one hand downward. "This is pretty much who I am. I'm not glamorous, I'm not sophisticated. And I wouldn't know an escargot fork from a butter knife."

  "The fork is the one with the prongs," he said, the amusement and the excitement, twinkling in his eyes now.

  "Ah."

  Dominic reached out, touched her chin, turned her face to his. His finger was quivering. Or maybe it was just her.

  "I know who you are," he said quietly. "At least all I needed to know to want to learn about the rest of it. I want you. All of you." He glanced down. "But, unfortunately, this is who I am. Or who I've been. I know all about silverware placement and how to make reservations anywhere in the world. But I'll tell you, glamour and power isn't all it's cracked up to be. And none of it is any real fun if you don't have anyone to share it with, to make it real. To give it value." He looked back into her eyes. "I don't know where I want to go, or how good I'm going to be about getting there. But I do know I want you with me while I bumble my way along."

  "You? Bumble?" She was grinning, but her eyes were swimming with tears.

  "Yeah," he murmured. "And I'm afraid I'll do a fair lot of it. Will you help me, Callie?"

  She wiped at her eyes, laughing, feeling so giddy she was faint with it. "Do I have to wear the Wonder Woman suit?"

  He shook his head, tugging her closer, so his body, so perfectly lean and hard and, well, perfect, was up against hers. Then nuzzled her ears and said, "Maybe just the boots?"

  She laughed.

  And his control finally snapped. "Can I kiss you now? I'm dying here."

  "Yeah," she said, weaving her arms around his neck. "I was wondering what was taking you so long."

  He groaned and yanked her tight up against him, surprising a little squeal of delight out of her. What little part of her heart she still controlled, was lost the moment his mouth joined with hers.

  She groaned, or maybe it was him, when he expertly shifted them around, so he could push her up against the wall.

  "Something about this position works for you, doesn't it?" she murmured against his lips.

  "It did have its merits," he said, running the tip of his tongue down the side of her neck. "But I'll admit to being more partial to a nice down mattress."

  She leaned over and bit the lobe of his ear.

  He sucked in a breath and reflexively pushed his hips into hers. "Of course, any—any flat surface will do."

  "There's a bed about twenty yards behind you, through that door."

  He didn't take his mouth off of her, even as he bent to scoop her into his arms. "Dominic!"

  "Just call me Bond," he said, with a sly wink. Then rolled his eyes even as his cheeks flushed, which made the whole thing too perfect.

  "Okay, James," she said, looping her arms around his neck. "Stir me." She grinned. "But first, why don't you let me get those boots."

  "But of course." He let her feet drop and bent for the box. She beat him to it and snagged the latex boots, and the cape while she was at it. "I'm thinking I might need this."

  He snatched the cape and the boots from her hand and tossed them over his head. "You don't need anything."

  "Just you."

  He tugged her close. "Yes, thank God. Just me." He scooped her up again and carried her to bed.

  "And maybe one other thing," she murmured into his ear. "Seeing as you have all that power and all…"

  "What were you thinking," he said, nibbling at her chin, the corner of her mouth.

  "Oh, nothing fancy, just a small, tasteful—"

  "Diamond?"

  She just gave him a look.

  "What?"

  "Elevator. For when we get nostalgic."

  "Our own little lift," he said, then tossed her on the bed, just before dropping onto it himself. "Hmm."

  "Hmm, yourself." She traced a hand along his body. "Ah, going up?" she teased, as he grew beneath her touch.

  He nipped her earlobe. "Cheeky." Then he began to trail kisses down her body, leaving damp marks all the way down her T-shirt.

  "Oh," she said, on a groan, as he unzipped her jeans and tugged them down over her hips. "Much better."

  "This way you get both," he said, grinning up at her.

  "Uh-uh," she gasped, letting her neck arch, her eyes might have rolled back in her head a little. "With you I get it all."

  * * * * *

  Chapter One

  The low rattling hum, like a hornet refusing to retreat, had Gertie's head jerking up from the middle row of the vegetable garden, where she'd been staking peas. Those dratted motorcycles were as bad as hornets, too, she thought as she wiped perspiration from under her straw hat. There was never just one. They came in swarms, causing nothing but trouble. Pests.

  And like pests, the motorcycle gang should be fumigated, swatted, and otherwise encouraged to leave.

  Gertie'd lived in Harleyville all her life. The town was named for Dr. Ernest Harley, one of the town's founding fathers, and not Harley Gee Dee Davidson. Gertie's swift movements belied the bent crow angles of her aged body as she scuttled to the two-lane road that bordered her property.

  Well, if those motorcycles couldn't respect speed limits, or the peace of the Lord's day, she'd remind them with her own homemade speed bump.

  With jerky movements she dragged out the felled poplar branch she'd placed at the roadside for just such an occasion and swiveled it across the road, huffing a little with the effort and the heat.

  The buzzing grew louder and she did an arthritic sprint back to the pea patch before the sight she'd begun to loathe came around the bend in the road faster than the wrath of God Almighty.

  She caught a glimpse of leather vest, too-long tangled brown hair blowing in the wind, sunglasses—the kind that looked like twin mirrors so you couldn't see the eyes behind them—and the nasty, low motorcycle.

  Then everything happened at once.

  She heard a curse that made her clutch her arms around herself in horror and duck her head. Then the sound of the motor changed. Good. The crazy devil must have seen the speed bump and was slowing down.

  But the driver slowed too late. The front wheel hit the branch, and the next thing she knew the motorcycle lifted right off the ground.

  Gertie's jaw dropped until her upper teeth threatened to slip off her gums. She shut her mouth with a clicking snap.
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  Up they went into the air, motorcycle and rider. They seemed to hang airborne for a long timeless moment; then the bike dropped while its occupant kept flying—head first into the string beans.

  Gertie took one trembling step toward the silent lump of leather and denim in the middle of her vegetable garden, then another. Before she could take a third, her great-niece, Nell, came tearing out the front door and raced to the man's side.

  Gertie'd never been so glad to see anyone.

  She watched Nell drop to her knees in the dirt, bend over the motorcycle man, and press her ear to his massive chest. After a long moment Nell raised her head and their gazes met.

  "Damn it, Gertie! You've killed him."

  * * *

  Nell pushed her fingers harder into the man's neck. She was pretty sure that was his carotid artery she was pressing on. He had a muscular neck, so it was difficult to be certain, but there was still no pulse. She bit her lower lip trying to dredge up everything she'd learned in that CPR course she'd taken a couple of years ago.

  Heat prickled the back of her neck and pure blind fear prickled every other part of her body. He couldn't be dead. That would make Gertie, whom she loved more than anyone in the world, a murderer.

  He sure looked dead, though.

  He was utterly still, wild strands of dark toffee-colored hair trailing in the dirt behind him. He wore the colors of the Hog Squad, the motorcycle gang that had turned quiet Harleyville, Kansas, into Trouble, USA, in the last few months, but in death his face didn't look mean.

  It appeared strong and sensuous. Dark lashes lay in innocent silky crescents under his eyes. His nose was a bit on the big side, but straight. His lips were full and firm, but parted as though in sleep.

  She wished she could shake him awake and send him on his way. He was warm, which gave her hope, until she recalled the sun could be heating his body.

  She heard Gertie grunting and muttering and turned her head in time to see the older woman drag the branch out of the road. She didn't have time to help her. How many minutes was it before brain damage set in? She couldn't remember.