Big Bad Wolf: A Bad Boy Next Door Second Chance Romance

by Frankie Love

  She wrestles the panties off herself, and I appreciate her desire to be completely bare. It’s exactly what I want, too.

  A slow grin spreads across my face as I take in her naked body, every inch of her skin smooth and soft and ready to be devoured.

  Her hands run over my chest, her blonde hair falling in her eyes. I brush it away, wanting to see her green eyes and heart-shaped lips, wanting to memorize the slight upturn of her nose and the subtle dimple in her left cheek.

  “You are so beautiful, Claire. I could look at you all night.”

  “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t say words that aren’t true.”

  “You are quite the jaded woman, aren’t you. Not into sentiment?” I kiss her shoulders, her protruding collarbone that for some reason is fucking making me hard as a rock.

  “Look, Landon, I’m not bitter. Just a realist. And I don’t need you to tell me I’m pretty to sleep with me. Right now, I just need to be fucked. It’s been way too long.”

  Her mouth is on mine again, and I love that she isn’t tiptoeing around what this is for her. This is about sex for her. And it can be about sex for me, too.

  But, damn, she really is gorgeous.

  I roll on a condom, and I see her eyes flash with fear for a moment. I watch as she quickly looks over to her purse on the floor.

  When no phone rings, when nothing threatens this moment, I hold her hips, and help ease her onto my base.

  “Landon, you’re so fucking hot,” she says, covering her face with her hands.

  “No sweet words, remember?” I tease, pulling her hands away from her face.

  “Calling you fucking hot isn’t romance, Landon,” she says, resting her hands on my chest.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Even if it is just about sex, a man likes to be called fucking hot.”

  She whimpers as she lowers herself onto me, seeming to pause before letting herself sit all the way down on top of me.

  “That hurt? I ask.

  “I’m moaning because your accent is so sexy. And I swear, without the accent I’d think you were just a regular American guy—most of whom do nothing for me. Lucky for you, the accent is hot as hell.”

  I laugh. This woman has worked me over and she doesn’t even try.

  “Claire, it’s time for you to enjoy yourself. Sit down on me, on my cock, nice and hard,” I tell her. “You know you want to.”

  “I do,” she breathes in my ear, her tits heaving with each breath she takes, her arms wrapped around my neck.

  She eases down, and I grab her firm ass with my hands, my fingers grazing at her pussy, helping her down. “Landon, it’s too much. You’re so big.”

  “You can fit me. Your pussy needs to know what a real cock is. I’m gonna fucking teach you.”

  “I want you to teach me, Landon,” she moans as she sits herself down, groans escaping her mouth as her head falls back in pleasure. “Oh, fuck,” she pants. “Oh, fuck me, Landon.”

  A grin covers my face as her pussy starts to really love my cock. I thrust into her nice and slow, as we find a gentle rhythm so it doesn’t hurt her. Her pussy’s so tight I could swear she’s a virgin. My cock fucking loves filling her up.

  “Oh, yeah, baby, that’s good,” I tell her as sweet juice flows from her, soaking my base, my thighs.

  “Oh, yeah,” she says, her hands running through my hair, gripping me tightly as she comes, again and again. Her orgasm floods us and she moans loudly as my come shoots out. I hold her soft hips in my hands as I thrust again as I get off with her on top of me.

  She falls into my chest, both of us catching our breath. My cock is still hard as a rock, and I pull off the condom. She cups my balls in her hand, as she lies down next to me, as she catches her breath.

  Her head rests on my chest and my arms wrap around her, and for a moment it feels like more than a hook-up, more than a quickie.

  CLAIRE

  I fall asleep, Landon’s arms wrapped around me, and the next thing I know I wake with a start. Switching on the lamp, I try to get my bearings.

  “Landon,” I say, shaking him awake. A sheet is wrapped around us. Blackout curtains block out the lights of the Vegas strip.

  “What, woman?” he asks, groaning, covering his face with his forearm.

  I see the clock on the bedside table and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s 5:00 am. My internal clock is set for early rising, I’m always up two hours before Sophia to get ready for work, and I’m grateful that even on my day off I’m up when I should be.

  Holy crap. I really used a hall pass.

  A smile breaks across my face, realizing that sleeping over with a man is something I haven’t done in literally years.

  And it feels good.

  Like, hot damn good. Landon is does not disappoint.

  “Why are you smiling?” he says, easing himself up. “It’s not even morning yet. Are you headed out?”

  “I probably should.” I stand, grabbing the sheet as I move. I reach for my purse and see Mom never texted. Thank god. Nothing happened while I was out.

  My shoulders fall with the relief only a mother can know. Sophia is okay. I’m okay. I left her for the night and nothing happened.

  It’s only the third time I’ve ever done this. The first few were last month when Emmy had her world rocked and Tess and I stayed with her at her apartment. Those times, I never felt guilty, because I stayed out so I could support a friend.

  This time, I left Sophia for purely indulgent reasons.

  And maybe … just maybe … that is okay.

  “Well,” Landon says, sitting up now and reaching for the telephone. “When I have sleepovers I feed my guests. You can’t walk out of here without a proper breakfast.”

  “I think I can.”

  “No, it’s not fit, Claire. You need coffee. Toast. Eggs.”

  Setting my purse down, I tell him to go ahead and order room service.

  Settling back into the bed, I wonder why I’m going along with this charade.

  Maybe the only reason is because it feels really nice to be taken care of.

  And maybe that’s reason enough.

  LANDON

  While we wait for room service, we fuck again. This time it isn’t tender or sweet. It’s fast, hard; I come with the speed that only happens when you wake up with a hard-on.

  Claire falls into the pile of pillows on the king-sized bed. “Thank you for that.” Her eyes rest on my still-bulging cock.

  “Any time,” I say, meaning it. “Although, it is pretty fucking early in the morning. You always get up this time of day?”

  “I do.” She doesn’t expound on the early hour. Instead she explains the hook-up. “It needed to happen, you know—you and I finishing what we started. Otherwise, I think I’d always have wondered about it,” she admits. “And this way, when I see you at work, it doesn’t have to be awkward.”

  “There is literally nothing awkward about you,” I tell her. The knock on the door has me pulling on a robe, and letting in the breakfast cart.

  A few minutes later, she and I sit in bed with bacon and eggs. She uses a fork and knife, and cuts each bite with the precision of an English lady. A napkin is across her bare thigh, and she literally raises a pinky as she sips her coffee.

  Watching her eat, I can’t help but realize she really is the most laid-back woman I’ve ever been with. She isn’t high maintenance. She isn’t annoying. She’s polite, has manners, and knows how to dance.

  An idea formulates in my mind and, the instant it does, I know it’s the most ingenious idea I’ve ever had. I know exactly how I can show my parents that I’ve become a solid, reliable son.

  Obviously they won’t know I’m being dishonest.

  “So,” I say, spreading jam on my toast. “Do you have any plans next week?”

  “Just work,” she says, smiling at me. “Mostly.”

  We could work around work. Hell, with what I was prepared to offer her, she might not need to work for quite a while.
<
br />   “Do you have a passport?” I ask, wondering how tricky my idea might be to play out.

  “A what?”

  “A passport. A little blue book documenting your country of residence?”

  “I know what it is.”

  “I wasn’t implying you didn’t,” I tell her, realizing this might be a tricky proposition. I don’t want to offend her.

  “I do have a passport. Which is ridiculous.” She waves her hands in the air as if somehow I would know why it’s so insane for her to have identification to travel.

  “How so?”

  “I’ve never used it.”

  “Really?” I try to not sound surprised. I shouldn’t be. I know it costs money to travel. And, by the looks of things, Claire doesn’t have loads of that.

  “When I was little, I used to dream about traveling and going to the places I read about. So when I turned eighteen the first thing I did was apply for a passport. I thought that as an adult I could do anything, go anywhere.”

  “What happened?” I ask, shifting my body closer to hers on the bed.

  “Life?” Claire smiles sadly, as if wistful memories are all she has of her still-unlived life.

  I want to wipe that look away. I want to make Claire happy, to see her smile a real smile.

  “How old are you, Claire?” I ask.

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Well, I’m twenty-seven. And I sure as hell hope there’s time left to travel, to use the bloody passport. To see those forgotten dreams.”

  “Look at you,” she says, patting my knee. “Being all sweet to me.”

  “I mean it.” I take her hand in mine, and look in her emerald green eyes, straight on. “Claire, what would you say if I offered you a one week job opportunity?”

  “I already have a job.”

  “Well, this job would be in England. At my family estate. If we succeed in our job, you would be paid one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  She laughs and then, when she realizes I’m not joking, her eyes narrow in on me. “And what is the job I’d be doing?”

  “You’d be my one-week fiancé.”

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  Copyright © 2016 by Isabella Starling

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  Bianca

  I live a privileged life.

  The life of a princess.

  Except my daddy, the king, isn’t a kind and gentle ruler. He is the head of the Da Costa crime family, and if someone hurt me, he’d have them killed and gone without a trace – something of which he likes to remind me as often as possible.

  I sigh and lean my head against the window of the car. I didn’t ask for this life. I never wanted to be the sheltered princess living in a tower, inaccessible to anyone but immediate family. But it’s the life my daddy chose from me, and I didn’t get a word.

  “You alright back there, Miss Bianca?” my bodyguard asks me gruffly, and I mumble something in response. Used to my non-verbal replies, he grunts. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

  I remember why I’m meeting my father today, and my heart constricts with pain.

  My brother died two days ago. Killed in cold blood by a hitman. If I ever find the man who did this to my family, I will claw his eyes out. No one messes with the Da Costas.

  My daddy has been heartbroken ever since his son died, and deep down I know what today’s conversation will be about.

  My brother, Lorenzo, was daddy’s only remaining son. He was my half-brother, really. We shared a dad, but not a mother. I’m an illegitimate child, though that’s a story for another day.

  “Parking in front now,” my bodyguard says over his mobile phone. “We’ll bring her round the back. Everything clear?”

  It hurts so damn much, losing my brother. What is worse is that I am now my daddy’s only remaining child. I know what that means… At merely eighteen years old, I will be told I’ll inherit daddy’s mafia family when he passes away.

  I never asked for this life. It was given to me with no option of giving it up, especially now that Lorenzo is gone. His face makes another appearance in my mind and I feel a tear trickle down my cheeks. Lorenzo and I had always been close, growing up together as if we were true siblings despite our mothers being sworn enemies. Lorenzo always treated me well, like a real sister. I will miss that man dearly. He was my big brother, my rock, my protector. Now, he is just gone.

  My fists tighten, my knuckles whitening. Once again, I wish I could get my hands on the man who did this to my family. I would fucking kill that cazzo.

  The car door opens and a hand reaches inside for me. I let Franco, my bodyguard, help me out, pulling down my Prada sunglasses to shield my eyes from the sunlight. Franco gently but firmly leads me through a throng of other burly, broad-shouldered men.

  All here to protect me.

  I’m only now realizing my life might be in danger, too. I know my father has at least one sworn enemy, who would love to see my white summer dress soaked in blood.

  “Miss Da Costa, follow me, please,” a rattled assistant tells me, leading me inside daddy’s mansion. Despite being his daughter, I rarely come to his house. Daddy’s wife only passed away a year or so ago, and she never liked me being here. Even though she’s gone now, I don’t like being in this place. It’s like a mausoleum – a huge, deserted mansion that gives me the creeps.

  “Is daddy waiting for me?” I ask nervously, biting on my fingernail. I don’t want to hear the news, I really don’t.

  Bianca, you’re now my only child. When I die, you will hold the future of this family in your hands. We need to find you a husband, first, and then toughen you up.

  I can see my future life in front of me. I know I’ll be protected even more so than I am now, shielded like a porcelain doll.

  “Miss Bianca, your father will tell you everything in due time,” the assistant cuts me off, opening the door to my father’s salon. She gives me an expectant look, finally gently pushing me inside the room. “Go on, then. Don’t stall.”

  I walk inside the room, my heels clacking on the floor. I’m dressed the way daddy likes it – girly and innocent, but the heels are my own form of rebellion.

  “Daughter.” His deep voice greets me, thick with emotion. I know losing his son has broken daddy, and I swallow the lump in my throat when he embraces me. Daddy is a big man, tall and slightly overweight and I get lost in his hug. It feels good to pretend, to forget about everything, if only for a brief moment. I do notice his clothes hang on him, though, and I remember to tell him to see a better tailor, as stupid as that is.

  “I’m sorry, daddy,” I tell him, my voice already strained with the tears that are threatening to spill from my eyes any moment now. “Are you all right?”

  He sighs as he lets go of me, keeping me at an arm’s length so he can observe me. His eyes show approval when he sees my dress, but once his gaze lands on my shoes, I can tell he’s displeased about my small misdemeanor. He doesn’t mention it, though, too preoccupied with the reason he called me here.

  “I am sorry about Lorenzo,” I say with a heavy heart. “It is horrible news, daddy… Absolutely horrible. How are you holding up?”

  “We need to speak,” he interrupts me right away. I can tell the subject of my brother will not be breached again. This has happened before – every time somebody in our family dies, my father refuses to acknowledge it. I can play this game. After all, I’ve done it plenty of times before.

  I nod sol
emnly and follow my father inside the room. He points for me to sit down in an overly stuffed armchair, and I sink into its softness with a feeling of dread once again creeping up on me. Daddy doesn’t sit down next to me, instead choosing to pace the room nervously as I wait for his speech.

  “You are all I have left,” he says in a grave voice. “All I have now, my daughter, my beautiful Bianca. And no one is going to take you away from me.” There is determination in his voice, and I know there will be no arguing with him.

  I think about speaking up for a second, perhaps asking for mercy. Of course, in my father’s eyes, it wouldn’t be mercy. Being the heir to our crime family is the highest honor in his eyes. I quickly change my mind and quiet down, waiting for daddy to deliver his blow.

  “Bianca, you will need to be trained to protect yourself. You will need to be surrounded by guards constantly. I will send two additional members of security to your house tomorrow – they will ensure you are always safe,” he says, and I cringe.

  Even less privacy.

  Even more monitoring.

  My life as I knew it is over.

  Daddy sits down in a sofa opposite of me and takes my hand in his. “I have already found you a husband,” he tells me. His voice is devoid of emotion as I take a sharp intake of air. How can he be so blasé about all this, when my heart is threatening to pound straight out of my chest?

  I am only eighteen years old. My life is supposed to be beginning, but instead it’s over before I even had a chance to experience anything. I was private schooled for most of my life, and I’d pleaded for months with daddy to let me go to college once I finished my high school education. I’d gotten his approval after numerous pleas and so much crying my eyes still sting just thinking about it. But of course, with Lorenzo gone, all those hopes have died.

  And now I am to be married.

  “Who?” I ask softly, making sure to keep my voice strong. Daddy can’t see me breaking now, I must be strong for him. I am no longer an insolent teenager in his eyes. I am his only heir. “Who is to be my husband?”