Bringing Home the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

  Evan was worth it.

  If they never became more than what happened on the couch and in the shower and on her bed, she knew she’d never regret spending this time with him. Memories to keep for a lifetime, no matter what happened after. She wouldn’t let it come between them—ruin their friendship, or her relationship with Lyon.

  She couldn’t.

  Simple as that.

  Evan and Lyon were as good as family. Charlie wasn’t willing to lose them. Not ever.

  Disconnecting her heart from her body was the only way to pull this off. Evan didn’t need to know he was fulfilling a dozen different fantasies for her. If he could compartmentalize, so could she.

  A cup of coffee appeared by her sandwich.

  “Get to work,” he said, then vanished down her hallway.

  * * *

  Charlie rubbed her eyes and blinked at the screen. Her back hurt, her head hurt, her neck hurt. She had no idea how many hours had passed, but the sun was bright in the sky, telling her there were plenty more hours in the day. And she still wasn’t done. She stood and stretched, tilting her head left then right, and noticed someone coming her way.

  Evan cut across the sandy grass to her house, sunglasses over his eyes, hair blowing in the wind, and a very large pad of paper and a black bag she’d bet held an array of artist’s instruments inside. Seeing him perked her up, made her heart flutter. In a very not temporary way.

  A flutter of love, the real kind. Not the lusty kind, though it was there, too. The I’ve-known-you-for-years-and-respect-and-adore-you kind of flutter. It was a flutter that, if she allowed it, could transform into a flap with big, sweeping wings. The kind of flutter she’d seen in brides at the weddings she’d shot, or on occasion while in town and walking behind a hand-holding couple on a date.

  It was the kind of flutter she had to keep in check. Or else she could lose everything.

  He let himself in. He’d been whistling and he segued into a wolf-whistle when he saw her. She rolled her eyes, but playfully. He flattered her constantly.

  There went the flutter again.

  “Thought you were stuck inside all day,” he said as she stood. “Why the dress?”

  She ran a hand down the huge red flower on one side of her short, white dress. The brushstroke-style poppy’s petals blanketed both the front and back of the dress, its black center at her hip, where she rested a hand. “I have to get dressed or I can’t work properly.”

  His eyes tracked down to her sandals and up her body again in an appreciative sweep. “That theory needs testing.”

  He dropped his pad of paper and bag onto her couch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Working with you.”

  She studied her tiny office-slash-rec-room. “Wouldn’t you have more space in your studio?”

  “Yeah.” He ambled over and clutched her hips. “But my studio doesn’t have you.”

  Her next breath came out shallow. “Won’t it be hard to concentrate?”

  She didn’t know if she could concentrate with him here. She couldn’t concentrate now. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he leaned down and kissed her, and when the kiss was over she knew for sure. She definitely couldn’t concentrate with him here.

  “I have a deadline.”

  He shifted his glance left, then right, then back to her. “Me too.”

  She gave him a patient smile.

  He returned it. “You’ll never know I’m here,” he lied.

  * * *

  On the large pad of paper resting on his knees, Evan sketched various poses for Mad Cow and Swine Flew’s adventures. Swine’s character attributes were solid. Now to set Asher’s words to pictures.

  Evan took a look at the eight drafts he’d drawn, satisfied at least two of them would become large paintings ultimately used in the book, and became aware of the soft clicking of the mouse across the room.

  Charlie sat forward, her posture abysmal—back curved, neck jutted forward like a chicken—and stared, no, squinted, at the screen.

  “Need glasses, Ace?”

  She jerked as if his voice had surprised her. It may have. They’d been working without a word for a while.

  “Sorry?”

  He gave her a slight headshake. One day, he swore on everything he loved dearly, Charlotte Harris would stop apologizing for her actions. Instead of engaging her in conversation, he set aside the pad and strolled over to her. She sat straighter, big eyes growing bigger as she tilted her head to look up at him. His girl. So damn gorgeous.

  She’d pulled her thick hair into a ponytail. He reached for the band and slid it from her hair. It whispered free. Fingers in her strands, he arranged it over her back and then dug a thumb into the muscles in her shoulder.

  She moaned.

  He smiled. “Your posture’s a chiropractor’s wet dream, honey.”

  Her top lip curled in amusement. “I won’t say anything about how you were hunkered over your drawings for the last hour, Igor.”

  “Good,” he teased. Taking her hands, he tugged and she stood. He sat on her chair and pulled her down onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her sexy white dress with the red flower on it when she was settled.

  He moved her hair to one shoulder and settled his chin on her other.

  “If you didn’t want my hair in your way, you shouldn’t have taken it down.”

  “Like it down,” he told her, peering over her at the photo she was retouching. He turned his face and pressed a kiss behind her ear. “That’s good.”

  She hummed in the back of her throat but kept her attention on the screen. “Thanks.”

  Another kiss to her neck, his arms gave her a squeeze. “Show me more.”

  “Okay.” Breathy, she maintained her position at the mouse, minimized the window, and brought up another, this one displaying multiple images. She scrolled through, commenting on which photos she preferred, on which the family preferred.

  He continued moving his hands over the material of her dress, up her ribs, along the sides of her breasts.

  Somehow she stayed focused. The Force is strong in this one, he thought with a small grin.

  “We agree on this one.” She maximized a portrait of the entire family. Not a single one of them looked at the camera. Several kids ranging in age were scattered at the elders’ feet, some playing in the grass, some crying, and two boys he guessed around Lyon’s age appeared to be mid-fistfight. The parents were in various poses—each reprimanding their own misbehaving children. The oldest couple in the center of the photo Evan would bet were the grandparents leaned close to one another, watching the melee and sharing a secret laugh.

  Charlie’s finger brushed the corner of his mouth. “See? It makes you smile.”

  “It does.” He moved his palms to her shoulders and began to knead. “You done?”

  Where she’d begun to relax against him, now she stiffened and blew out a breath. “No. I have to retouch five more photos, e-mail Tami, and order matte boards since I’m out of stock.”

  “Custom framing, too, Ace?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. But when I have one I like, I like to matte it for the buyer. A little something extra.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  She ducked her head and watched him over her shoulder. He took the opportunity to kiss her jaw, then move his lips down and nuzzle her neck. She squirmed.

  Another good sign.

  “Keep doing what you do,” he told her. “I’ll be here, making sure you don’t pull your spine out of alignment.”

  A soft chuckle emitted from her throat. Too bad he wasn’t kidding. He reached for the zipper at her neck and lowered it while she wiggled her ass on his lap. When he had unzipped to her waist, he slipped a hand inside and cupped her breast over her bra.

  “Like I’m not even here,” he said against her neck, thrilled to hear her laughter ebb into a soft “mmm” sound.

  He thumbed her nipple and she wiggled again.

  “Ev.”
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  Rae’s nickname should sound wrong coming from her, but it didn’t. It sounded scary-right. So right, he was getting hard.

  He licked the sensitive skin behind her ear again. “Yeah, baby.”

  “I can’t”—her hand covered his tweaking fingers on her breast through the material of her dress—“I can’t concentrate on the Johnsons with you doing that.”

  “Doing what?” He pinched her nipple, then let up.

  She gasped, her head falling back. “That.”

  “Seems fair,” he said. “I can’t concentrate on anything but my johnson while I’m doing this.”

  Clucking her tongue, she breathed, “Crude.”

  “What else am I supposed to call it?”

  “Um… I don’t know.”

  “Bet you do.” He continued kissing her neck, slipping his other hand into her dress and massaging her other breast as well. She tilted her head to give him more access. He took it, exploring the length of her neck with his tongue.

  “You prefer cock?” he whispered when he got to her ear.

  “Every chance I get,” came her sultry reply, followed by laughter letting him know dirty talk wasn’t something his sweet girl was normally into.

  He nipped her neck. “Know what I like?”

  Her breaths shortened as he took one hand from the inside of her dress, spread her legs, and slid his fingers along the inside of her right thigh.

  Licking her ear, he whispered in his quietest voice, “Your sweet pussy.”

  Her head snapped up. “Evan!” But the scolding came in the form of a hot, expelled breath. Yeah. She liked that, too.

  “Would you prefer…” He glanced around as if he was thinking. “Love mitten?”

  “Love mitten?” That sultry laugh again. He loved that laugh.

  He brushed his fingers over her panties. Her laugh died.

  “I prefer you didn’t talk about it lewdly.”

  “I wasn’t being lewd.” He breeched the barrier of the cotton underwear and stroked her folds, only to feel her wet and warm against his fingers. She turned her face and kissed him.

  “That’s a term of endearment,” he muttered against her lips.

  Her mouth dropped open, her breath rolling over his lips. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, Ace. I have more. Want to hear them?”

  She shook her head. With absolutely zero conviction.

  He continued touching her, leaned into her ear and whispered a litany of descriptions for the part of her he was currently worshipping, pleased when she squirmed against his hand and turned halfway in her seat to hold his head to her ear. She came shortly after, spasming around his fingers, her cries wrapping around him, filling his ears.

  Not wanting to waste any time, he pushed her to standing. She bent over the desk, giving him a helluva view.

  “Ev,” came her impatient mewl.

  “Gimme a sec, Ace.” He wrestled off his jeans while admiring her nude bottom and the glorious part of her he’d complimented seconds ago. Every inch of her—fantastically gorgeous. Condom in place, he sat, grabbed her hips and backed her onto his lap, pulling her down on his length. She accepted him, sinking slowly, impaling herself with a long, low moan. He grunted, a shake working its way across the width of his back, down both legs. He dropped his forehead onto her back.

  “Your cock feels good,” she said, moving up and down on his shaft.

  “Now? You tease me now?” His speech was broken, his mind erased.

  She sank down twice as slow while he metered his breathing. “So, so good,” she said in a seductive purr.

  His hands tightened on her perfect ass. “Hang on, Ace.”

  She looked at him over her shoulder, cheeks flushed, eyes half-mast. “I can’t reach your hair from here.”

  He lifted his hips, thrusting deep, and watched her profile as her eyes closed and her mouth dropped open. “Better hold on to something.”

  She obeyed, grasping the arms of the chair he prayed would hold them both, and he clutched her hips as hard as he dared, lifting her off his lap and slamming her back down while her cries rang out around him.

  Not muffled. Not muzzled. Not controlled. Wild, crazy cries that turned into whimpers of pure satisfaction. When she pulsed around him again, he let himself go.

  “Ace,” he growled, one arm around her waist the other wrapped around her front and clasping on to one of her shoulders. “Baby.” He kissed her bare back and, still encased in her warmth, pulled out and pushed into her a final time. She dropped forward onto the desk, her breaths heavy. He rested his cheek on her back.

  “You…” she said, trying to catch her breath. “… have… a… dirty… mouth.”

  Grinning, he said, “Sorry.”

  Her body shook gently with laughter, and he lifted his head to see her cheek leaning on her forearm. She peeked at him through tangled hair, smile affixed to her face. “No apologizing.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Charlie had grossly underestimated how much Evan could eat.

  For dinner, she’d made grilled cheese sandwiches and soup. He’d devoured the meal—with groans of appreciation reminding her of earlier—then went back to the kitchen and made not one more, but two more sandwiches and inhaled those, too. She also learned she’d cut them “wrong.”

  Triangles, Ace. Lyon would never stand for this kind of shoddy craftsmanship, he’d joked of her “square-cut” sandwiches.

  He gave her a bite of the pointy end of one of his halves and she agreed. Henceforth, triangles. They did taste better that way.

  More quiet hours passed after the sex on her office chair. She spent them listening to the pencil scratches coming from his talented hands and thinking back on the completely amazing experience of making love to Evan Downey.

  Both gruff and sweet, as concerned for her well-being as he was willing to push her limits, she’d never experienced a lover like him. She shouldn’t, but while she was at it, she allowed herself to imagine this was really her life. That she and Evan would work quietly side by side every day, and end curled against each other in bed at night.

  But that wasn’t the case, was it? The thought made her heart hurt.

  They were in a bubble. Like a vacation where you eat too much of the wrong thing, drink way too much, and have temporary consequences, then return home where you have to resume a normal, human schedule and eat responsibly.

  Reality sucked sometimes.

  She thought back to the day they returned from the farmer’s market. They’d been chopping vegetables for salad and Evan had been instructing a very uncooperative Lyon to set the table.

  “I’ll do it,” she offered.

  This earned her Evan’s frowning eyebrows. “We’re not on vacation, Ace.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  Because he seemed angry, and because she found this unfair, she mirrored his stance, leaning a hip on the counter and crossing her arms.

  “You’re catering to us as if we came to visit,” he said. “We’re not visiting. This is where we live.” He gestured around to the bright, airy, work of art that was his home. “He has to do things here same as he did at home. Go to school. Do his chores.”

  His words echoed in her ears now.

  We’re not on vacation, Ace.

  They weren’t. Seemed they’d forcibly forgotten that for the meantime.

  Finished with her photos, she e-mailed Tami Johnson to let her know her retouches were ready to go, when Evan’s voice sounded behind her.

  “Hey.”

  She started to respond until she heard him continue.

  “Are you having fun?” His tone had changed, going soft, his voice dipping when he said. “The diving board? Poppa show you how to do that? Yeah? What else?”

  She sat, back to him, listening to the exchange between father and son and feeling the recurring ping of longing in her chest. She remembered Rae and Lyon playing together when he was very little, and she remembered Evan and Rae
together, exchanging diaper duties, or running to get their crying baby boy when poker night ran late. Charlie had watched them throw rock-paper-scissors to determine who would fetch Lyon. The memory made her smile. Rae only ever wanted her boys to be happy.

  Charlie hazarded a glance over her shoulder at Evan, feet kicked up on her sofa, hand in his hair, phone to his ear. He chuckled at something Lyon said on the other end of the phone, and the scene both tugged her heart and her lips into a smile of their own.

  Somehow, in spite of Rae’s not being here, her boys were happy.

  “They’re okay, Rae,” she whispered to the ceiling.

  “Brush your teeth, buddy,” Evan said, wrapping the call. “Love you, too. ’Night.”

  Charlie had made a vow to Rae after she passed to look after Evan and Lyon, at the time never intending on replacing her. If Lyon knew she was with his father, would he see her as trying to replace his mommy? Would he reject her right out? Rae’s son had no memories of her that weren’t soaked in love, Charlie had seen to that. And now here she was, horning in on that relationship by getting close to Evan.

  Her chest squeezed in a different way from before. A worried way.

  Warm hands slid over her shoulders and massaged. Her eyes closed. “Come on, beautiful. No more work today.”

  He dug into a very sore muscle in her shoulder and because he’d done that earlier, she immediately thought of the amazing sex they had on this very chair. An answering heat jettisoned to her girl parts.

  Pavlov would be proud.

  “Don’t you have to paint?” she asked.

  He sighed.

  She put a hand on his. “Go. Get your work done. I need to sleep anyway.”

  His lips came down to kiss the top of her head. “Don’t wanna let you sleep.”

  Laughter rolled in her chest. It felt so good to be with him like this. Bubble or not, she’d take it. “A few hours of sleep, I beg you.” But she needed space for a different reason. To get used to the natural space between them when Lyon came home. She couldn’t help adding, “You can harass me tomorrow.”

  “We can go out on the lake,” he said. “Asher’s been wanting to spend a day boating. You available?”