I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances

by Sophie Brooks

  Damn spring allergies.

  “There was no body… but the land will claim its own. No body, animal or human, will last long in the bush.”

  “Grizzlies?” I asked, suddenly revolted.

  “Among other things,” she nodded.

  I sat stunned while speculations as to Blaine’s fate abounded. Rick Blanchard offered to take Lucy out to lunch while Louis mentioned a concert in a large Victorian greenhouse she might enjoy, going on tomorrow evening - everyone wanted to take Lucy out somewhere and have her try something she’d never see back home. She gave a faint smile. “Don’t take me where there are people. This city is too…too busy for me.”

  “Would you like to use my apartment?” I asked. “I often stay with Rafael. It’s empty – you will have privacy.”

  She thought hard. “If it’s not an inconvenience…”

  “You’re staying at Evelyn’s and Rick’s taking you out to lunch,” Raf declared as though it was a done deal. For the first time, Lucy raised her deep brown eyes to mine, and smiled.

  “DAMMIT,” I said, blowing my nose in Rafael’s now-empty office. “I hate these spring allergies, you know.”

  He lifted his blue eyes up from a letter Celia wrote while climbing some obscure, smaller peak in Mexico.

  “C’m ‘ere.” He patted his lap with his hand and leaned back, setting the package onto the table. I scowled. I wasn’t a dog to come when called, and said so.

  “Eve?” His voice was plaintive and needy all of a sudden and I was drawn to him, letting him pull me into his embrace.

  “Sit up, will ya?” He said, stretching so he could reach past me, grasping the red velvet box. He leaned back and opened it.

  “It might fit you, you know.” His eyebrow was cocked at me, gauging my reaction.

  “No way. Too expensive. I’d just lose it or trash it.”

  “Let’s see anyway.” He removed the white gold and platinum band out of its satin seat and stroked my left hand. “Your fingers are more slender than hers.”

  “But I climb. It leaves them gnarly.” My protest was of no use as Raf slipped the engagement ring down the correct finger.

  “Looks good,” he decided.

  I eyed with as much impartiality as I could muster. It didn’t look bad – it didn’t feel right though. It was too soon and the opportunity arose in too awkward a manner.

  “It’s beautiful. Too bad, Rafael.”

  “I want you to wear it.”

  I turned toward him and hiked my skirt up to straddle his thighs, arms draped around his neck.

  “I’ll wear it today. Then, tonight we’ll put it back in its box and you’ll put it in your safe. You could buy a decent condo for that ring, Rafael.”

  His eyes got that wistful, faraway look.

  “I don’t want to pressure you, Evelyn. I know you like keeping your apartment and not always staying with me. You need your space and I’m okay with that. It doesn’t make us any less of a couple, although… although I wouldn’t be opposed to a more permanent arrangement.”

  I nuzzled his neck, my mind reeling with possibilities. The damn ring felt annoying on my finger. I couldn’t imagine using my computer keyboard with it on. I knew I’d lose it sooner or later, probably while climbing or hiking somewhere outside. If it had only been attached to me…

  “Rafael.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’d like some token of our relationship, too, but it has to be two-way.”

  His hand stroked my back up and down absently, making me feel warm enough to close my eyes. I had to fight to stay awake.

  “What do you have in mind, Eve?”

  “How about a piercing?”

  RAF TOOK the rest of the day off, I collected my laptop and we shucked our suit jackets so we could better feel the warm breeze. Rafael whistled as he took his tie off, smiling.

  An hour later, we both had a cubic zirconia earring in our left earlobe, its surgical steel post still making the area feel swollen and sensitive.

  “When this heals up, I’m buying you the most awesome diamond earring there is.”

  “Let’s go dutch, buy a whole pair.”

  He elbowed me in the ribs. “Shaddap. I get to do stuff for you if I want to.”

  I snorted. “I wish Blaine was here; what would he say if he saw you trying to fuss over me?”

  “You mean, when he finds out I’ve been constantly fussing over you?”

  I stopped on the cool concrete sidewalk feeling stunned by his words. The shadow of the half-leafed tree keeping the eager spring sun off my shoulders.

  “There was no body, Evelyn.”

  “But, it’s Alaska.”

  “But, it’s Blaine. Trust me, Evelyn. I knew him well enough to know that just about now, he could be just about anywhere.”

  SPRING GAVE way to summer and the summer heat had receded, allowing the fall to move in and paint maple leaves with its frosty brush. Raf and I wore our diamond and platinum earrings, unless we were out climbing – then they kept Celia’s ring company in Rafael’s safe.

  We were done with what was probably the last outdoor climb of the season. The chill wind chased us into an eclectic bookstore with a small café. We stood in line, eager to try one of their spicy autumn blends, when my eyes fell onto a familiar outline of a mountain. The drawing of Mt. Denali decorated the dust jacket of a slim volume of poetry. The author’s name was Theresa Elias and her sonnets described many an interesting piece of rock in Alaska. The book’s pages emanated the solitude of eternal winter nights. I could just hear the howling, ice-cold winds and feel the frozen rock under my fingertips, lit by naught but the eerie Northern lights.

  Demon of Santa Theresa.

  Mount St. Elias.

  Could it be?

  Raf and I bought the volume and settled on a beat-down coffeehouse sofa. I sipped my coffee, nestled in the crook of his arm while he read the verse in a hushed whisper, right by my ear.

  The cadence… the word choice… the mood.

  After having Raf read all of Blaine’s poetry to me, it felt awfully familiar.

  I could no longer contain myself. “Rafael. Raf, do you think…?”

  “Hush. Here’s a good one about Sedna, the Goddess of the Underworld…”

  I closed my eyes and smiled, content to be lulled by the smooth cadence of Rafael’s voice.

  THE END *

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  Kate Pavelle learned to use a gas mask in first grade. She fired her first AK47 in her sixth grade civil defense class. Her first dog was a wolf hybrid stolen from the Czechoslovak border guard. Her eccentric father blew out the windows of their house with a stun grenade - on purpose. Unlike his chemical explosions —those were always by accident. Her high-stakes, high-adrenaline childhood leaves her searching for the next exciting thing. Martial arts and travel and rock climbing. Horses and cookies and toxic mushrooms. Medieval combat and children and brain-tanning deer hide in her Pittsburgh driveway.

  Her quest resonates through her mystery thrillers and romances, matched only by her drive to share the fun with her readers. Kate once knew the hunger of being a political refugee and the terror of being pursued by government agents. She imbues her characters with her own struggle for survival, excellence, and world domination. Only the dead bodies are imaginary.

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  Billionaire Bad Boy

  (Book 1: Tempting the Heiress)

  By Jenna Chase & Cynthia Dane

  Chapter 1

  DAPHNE

  This insufferable asshole.

  I’m not even sure he’s a man – more like a boy.

  We met not two minutes ago, and I’m already prepared to rip his throat out and make him watch me devour it whole. I’m not kidding!

  His name is Logan Dean. Yes, that Dean. The first thing I learned about him is that his mother is Camilla Dean, the actress with more Oscars than Meryl Streep. The second thing I learned about him? He’s a jackass.

  Right now I’m learning that he has one of the pearliest white smiles I’ve ever seen. Because he’s laughing right in my face from across the table we’re seated at. At this rate he’s not going to be keeping that nice smile for much longer.

  “So, Daph…” He pops more artisan bread into his mouth, flakes and crumbs falling from between his teeth. Gross.

  I’m frozen, though. What gives him the right to shorten my name like that after knowing me for two minutes? Besides, what does he think I am? Some commoner?

  “It’s Daphne.” My teeth are gritted to the point I can barely understand my words. The recipient of my murderous look is my supposed best friend, Ashleigh Lee of the Cantonese hedge fund Lees, who was responsible for dragging me into this quagmire.

  Logan’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “That so? I think Daphne suits you so much better. It’s very… homely.”

  What? What did he just call me?

  Luxurious. Stunning. Beautiful. Sophisticated. Patient. Regal. Those are the words people call me. Those are the words I appreciate being called!

  Homely? Fuck right off with that shit!

  He definitely notices my anger. Logan is going to ride my rage into the sunset, like I’m some deranged bucking bronco (mare?) in need of taming and training. “Daph,” look at him take great joy in calling me that, “I hear you’ve shacked up with plenty of dudes over the years. So what made you choose Angus of all assholes over here?”

  Beside me, Angus Smith, the worst date I’ve ever had, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Ashleigh is responsible for this mess, but it’s only because Angus and Logan are good friends and the former needed a date – and I’m single. I have no idea how Angus and Logan are friends, though. They couldn’t be more different!

  Let’s start with Angus Smith. Perfect, London-bred, little bit on the short side but who’s measuring… he’s got the boyish good looks to make up for it. You might even say he’s our city’s very own Prince Harry. Every girl I know, whether from the country club or my alma mater Winchester Academy, has some nasty, dirty dreams about Angus Smith.

  Then there’s this damned Logan Dean. Nouveau riche, I shall say out of politeness. We all know his illustrious mother, a classic rags to riches story starting as a teen in the ‘70s. Nobody knows who his father his. Does Camilla Dean know which Hollywood riff-raff knocked her up to create this piece of work? Logan looks more than fine on the outside – what? I can admit when a guy I greatly dislike is hot. He’s taller than me when I’m in my sky-high heels. His thick hair begs for someone to either mess it up or comb it to perfection. Now look at those broad shoulders and that muscular chest. Or so the tabloids – which I read religiously for a mention of my name – are always talking about. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been looking.

  The thing the tabloids have forgotten to mention to loyal readers like me is that he’s a terrible fuckhead who should not bother being in my presence.

  In a matter of ten minutes, this double-date has gone straight to hell, and there is no one to blame save for Mr. Dean. Even though he is my friend’s date, he has made several crude remarks about me, shot me down even after polite answers, and managed to trip me on the way into the restaurant, breaking the heel of a Louboutin. While I hobbled into the restaurant, he laughed it off and pinched Ashleigh’s ass.

  Back to the gross thing he asked me. “I think that’s a bit inappropriate to ask,” I snap, although I’m blushing. I don’t want to be blushing. Logan’s shit-eating grin makes me wonder if this isn’t a blush of embarrassment, but pure, righteous anger.

  I look to Angus for some support. All he does is clear his throat.

  “Come on, Logan, don’t be a dick.” That’s all the help I get?

  “So,” Ashleigh chirps, since we’ve all but forgotten the woman responsible for this mess. I’m dropping boulders in her face with this glare of mine, but she won’t meet the avalanche heading her way. “Thanks for conning me into this, Ash,” I want to say. “You kept going on about how hot Logan is, and then I had no choice but to come when it turned out he was Angus’s friend.” I keep my trap shut. “Have we decided what we want to order?”

  “I’ll have the ossobucco,” Logan begins, up to no good beneath our table. Ashleigh’s visage goes from happy to horrified in about two seconds. “And I wouldn’t mind having you for dessert, if you know what I mean.”

  I lift up the tablecloth and find Logan’s hand on my friend’s bare knee, trekking dangerously close to her small thighs. There is not much to grab there, so he’s about two inches away from being in a place he has no business being.

  “Ow!” Yes. That was my foot meeting Logan right in the shin. He got his hand off my friend, didn’t he? Except now that icy grin is directed right at me again. “What’s the matter, Daph?” he asks through those pearly whites. “Jealous? There’s more than enough room, so you’re definitely free to join us for a ménage a tois. I hear it’s the trendy thing around here.”

  Both he and Angus laugh like that was the most hilarious joke in the world. Me? I’ve had enough.

  My napkin hits the table. My chair screeches as I push it back abruptly. Now no one is laughing. “You may treat girls like that in California,” I say, “but we have standards here in New England.” I use the last of my energy to give him the most derisive glare I can devise. Not even Angus Smith is worth this bullshit. “Come on, Ashleigh, let’s get out of here and let these boys laugh alone.”

  Ashleigh is squeamish, shifting back and forth in her chair. Finally, she meets my gaze. For the first time in a long while, she’s defiant instead of compliant. Damnit. The one time she decides to grow a backbone!

  “Looks like you’re on your own.” Logan swings his arm across the back of Ashleigh’s chair. Ownership isn’t cute, Dean.

  Fine. I will snatch my purse and leave with my head held high. At least I’ll have tha…

  “Ah!” My heel! It’s broken! Shit, shit, I forgot! Here I go, down, down to the floor in one of the city’s nicest brunch spots, latching onto the tablecloth as if it’s going to save me.

  Haha. More like I take the whole damn thing down with me!

  The tablecloth drapes over me as I look up at the ceiling. Cutlery sings around me as it plunks onto the floor. The whole restaurant has stopped functioning. Why pay attention to your own table when you can gawk at the mess I just created? Pull out more cell phones and snap more pictures, why don’t you!

  Logan is the first to try to help me up. While I would love to shirk him off out of principle, I grasp his hand and wobble my way back to my feet, sans one heel. Nope. Can’t do it!

  He slams back into his chair as I topple onto him. “Oh boy,” he grunts, catching me by the armpits, my left foot scrambling for purchase on the floor. I’m such a mess by now that all I can do is sink to my knees.

  My head rests most unceremoniously on the side of his lap.

  “I was gonna buy you a drink first,” he murmurs so only I can hear. “But hey, if you wanna get right to it…”

  I’m up in a flash, hopping on one foot in a mad dash to get away from this morbid humiliation. A waiter is rushing up to me, asking me in accented English if I need someone
to call 911. Ashleigh’s getting up and rounding the table. Angus has both hands on his face, and I can’t tell if he’s gasping or holding back more awful laughter. Everyone at the nearest table continues to gawk.

  I ignore them. With my chin tilted far too high, I slip out of my broken heels and carry them with me out of the restaurant, barefoot. Who knows? There might be a pap around here, and if I’m gonna show up in the The Daily Social, it will be with my pride intact!

  Then here I am, standing on the sidewalk, realizing that I forgot my purse, cell phone, and sweater in that cursed place.

  Deep breaths. Remember, you’re Daphne Fucking DeMarco. One of the most put together girls in all of New England. Heiress to a department store empire.

  I’ve got what many women don’t. Long legs. Hair made of silk. Blue eyes and the lightest brown hair around, as expected of an upstanding young woman. Plus a mega rich Daddy who thinks I’m his shining star.

  Nobody… nobody fucks with me and gets away with it!

  Daggers fly from my eyes as Logan Dean steps out of the restaurant with my things. I yank them from his grasp, tell him one more time that I do not appreciate being treated like a rotten piece of meat, and go hail the first cab I find.

  We drive by him still standing on the sidewalk. “Sorry,” he mouths. Too little, too late.

  Chapter 2

  LOGAN

  I met a girl today.

  Just a regular ol’ walking cliché, that’s me.