Screwed In Sin City: A Bad Boy Romance

by Cass Kincaid

  “You know I can’t, Cohen.” It took everything I’d had to cup my hand over his and stop his roaming fingers from crawling higher up my ribcage.

  Despite the sigh he let out, he never pushed me. Not that time, and not the countless other times he’d brought up the subject of going further than kissing and cuddling and making out like fools.

  I wanted to give myself over to him. God, how I wanted to.

  But even perfect, gorgeous, smart Cohen Bradley couldn’t break the iron-clad rules I’d made for myself. “When we’re married,” I’d whispered to him, his deep hazel eyes locked with mine as each breath he took caressed my face like tender, ghostly touches.

  Cohen had pulled his hand from under my shirt and held me in place gently, lowering his body onto me again, and rocking against me. It wasn’t a crude, you’re-fucking-killing-me-here gesture, but a silent physical assurance that not only did he understand, but that he’d be there, waiting for me when I was ready, that he was there with me now in any and every way I could ever want him to be.

  “When we’re married,” he’d whispered, kissing me softly. “And I’ll spend every godforsaken minute until then wanting you. And when I’ve finally had you, I’ll only want you more.”

  I swear, I’d whimpered in desperate need for him after that. How did a woman, trapped under the weight of a man she adored, defend herself against an admission like that one?

  Cohen Bradley had me. Owned me. And he knew it.

  So did I.

  Which is why I’d given myself permission to change my rules for him. To give in to the want I had for him since the day we met four years ago.

  Tonight, I planned to love him in the only way we had yet to experience. He knew it, too, and he’d been shocked that I’d made that choice. He’d asked if I was sure—once, twice, and a third time for good measure—then nodded, kissing me with a passion and intensity not meant for clandestine meetings behind the stairs of our high school.

  Prom night. It was cliché, but it was our night. With me being the valedictorian, and Cohen being praised—as he always was—for being the captain of the school’s hockey team, we knew we were in the running for Prom King and Queen already.

  It was our night. Nothing could go wrong.

  Thank God for waterproof mascara, I thought with a grin. I’d managed to get through my valedictorian speech without a hitch, promising the Class of 2007 that the world was ours for the taking and that life began now. That we were free to follow our dreams and find our own path to success.

  The truth was, I could barely remember the words I’d rhymed off as I stood on that podium. I was so riddled with nervousness that my body was buzzing with anxiety. It had taken me four years of hard work and academic efforts to obtain my appointment of valedictorian, yet it didn’t seem to matter nearly as much to me now.

  All I could think about was Cohen.

  The way his hands would feel on the tender skin of my body. The sounds of his whispers and gasps and moans as he explored me completely and fully, unobstructed by the barriers of fabric.

  My mind was conjuring up images that made my chest heave and my body ache. I couldn’t seem to stop it, like a vivid series of images on replay.

  Even our eventual crowning of King and Queen did little to abate my preoccupation with the way Cohen’s suit seemed to shift and move so methodically, straining against his muscular arms as he held me to him on that stage for yearbook pictures.

  Could everyone read it on my face? Did they know I was about to cross the line and make love to Cohen, and that there was no turning back?

  Calm down. You’re psyching yourself out.

  But even my silent pep talks were doing little to ease the tension I wore like a tight dress, making each movement and smile strained.

  “You’re my queen, Vi. Crown or not.” Cohen’s whisper against my ear only made me weaker. All eyes were on us, and I felt as though I may as well be naked now. For someone who was usually so comfortable in social situations, I needed to get out of that auditorium and get Cohen alone…and fast.

  I turned to him as the flashes of cameras were still going off from all directions of the crowd. “I can’t wait anymore,” I said, my voice barely above a breath.

  For the first time that night, Cohen turned to face me, his mouth so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my lips.

  And I could smell the sweet, tangy scent it held.

  “Have you been drinking?” I asked. My voice had hitched a little.

  Cohen rarely drank, and even though it was prom night, I hadn’t expected him to do it when he knew our plans for the evening.

  “Only a drink or two. Nothing crazy, I promise.” His eyes were darkened, but I didn’t see any signs of inebriation in his gaze or his movements. “I wouldn’t do that to you. To us.”

  I was surprised when he pecked my cheek, much to the delight of the crowd. Cohen had never been one for displays of public affection.

  “Patience, my Queen.” He nuzzled against the side of my face before pulling away from me to flash another perfect smile at the cameras.

  Patience. This was coming from the man who’d jokingly begged and pleaded for this night almost every day since we’d met.

  But he was right. There were still hours of things to make it through—the dance, the fun selfies with friends, the laughs and jokes we would remember for a lifetime. Just because I’d finally made the decision to sleep with him, didn’t give me the right to take those other memories away from him.

  “Go have fun,” I huffed quietly, giving him a small smirk. “My king.”

  A wide grin spread across his face, and his hand slid from the small of my back to my hand, squeezing it gently. “A man could get used to that, you know.” He leaned in, lowering his voice again. “Meet me at the Mustang at midnight.”

  I laughed. He’d only reminded me of that plan ten times over the past twenty-four hours. Like I might forget, or something. “Sounds like I’m going to lose a glass slipper and turn into a pumpkin or something.”

  “You’re going to lose more than just your shoe, babe.” His joke bordered on crude, but his eyes were soft.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t know he meant that I’d lose everything.

  I’d never been much of a drinker, and partying had never been a highlight on my social schedule. Maintaining straight-A grades with the hopes of getting into Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism someday, and spending every other waking moment of my high school career with Cohen, had left me little time for hoards of friends or a full calendar of social functions. I’d kept my circle small, and because of that, I’d undoubtedly been labelled stuck-up, though I was popular enough amongst the other students, because I was nice, and didn’t step on toes to get where I wanted to go.

  Other than Cohen, my other best friend was Garrett. Yeah, I was best friends with a guy. And that definitely kept the gossipmongers in the hallways talking. I’d heard the whispers and the speculations, but it never really bothered me all that much. I knew the truth, and so did Cohen—I’d never do anything to ruin what he and I had together, especially not with the guy I’d grown up across the road from. Garrett was like a brother to me, and I’d never seen him as anything else in my lifetime of knowing him.

  We were close—as close as any best friends could be—and basically told each other everything. Garrett knew how hard I’d worked to maintain my grades, my dreams of being a journalist for the New York Times…

  And about my plans to give myself to Cohen tonight after the prom festivities.

  “You’re really going to do this?” he shouted to me over the blaring music. We stood by the punch bowl, but he was the only one drinking it. I was too scared that someone might have spiked it, and the last thing I needed was to end up puking on Cohen’s shoes as he tried to undress me.

  “I told you,” I said, clinking my glass of water—from the fountain down the hall, which I’d retrieved myself, just to make sure—with his plastic cup,
“It’s time. Cohen and I are on the same page, Garr. He said he—”

  “I know, I know. That he wants to marry you.”

  “You sound skeptical,” I replied, crinkling my forehead. I knew he’d never been a huge fan of Cohen, but he’d never really given me a reason to call him on it, either.

  “And you sound enamoured.” He sighed, leaning in closer so he didn’t have to talk so loud. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt. You said you weren’t going to—”

  “I know what I said,” I snapped at him. “But there’s no use waiting for him when I feel about him the way I do. And he feels the same way.”

  “I hope you’re right, Vi. I really do.” Garrett tossed back what was left in his cup, then glanced at his watch. “Better run, Cinderella. Your Mustang awaits.”

  His words brought a mischievous grin to my face. “Cinderella got to be a princess, Garr. I’m a freaking queen, remember?” I pointed to the silver tiara on my head, then chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You know where to find me,” I heard him say, but I was already pushing my way through the throngs of people to get to the exit doors. A few girls I recognized from a couple of my classes congratulated me on my crown, but all I could do was smile politely and keep moving.

  I had somewhere to be, with someone I loved, and as much as I usually tried to keep up with social graces, I wasn’t thinking about anything else except my night with Cohen.

  The night air was chillier than I expected, and goosebumps raised on my bare arms and shoulders. I had to pick up the long skirt of my gown as I made my way out to the gravel parking lot to try to avoid getting dust and dirt on it.

  Like it matters when it’s going to be in a heap on the floor soon.

  Hoots and hollers sounded all around the school property, and clusters of graduates in various states of drunkenness took up residence on truck tailgates and canvas lawn chairs, obviously getting the after-party started early.

  Cohen’s Mustang, cherry red in color with the top down, was parked close to a copse of trees near the back of the lot, under the security light and away from most of the other vehicles. He always feared someone might park beside it and bang their doors off of it.

  Even with the muffled sound of the music coming from inside the auditorium, I heard the voices before I actually saw his car. But it never once occurred to me that those voices were coming from in Cohen’s car.

  Until I came around the side of someone’s parked Impala, and the Mustang came into full view.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “Cohen?” The word passed my lips—at least, I thought it did—but it was so quiet that I wasn’t even sure I’d heard it, let alone him…

  Or the girl straddled on top of him in the backseat.

  “Cohen…” she was whimpering against the side of his face. “Come on, baby…”

  An audible moan was his only response, and Cohen’s head leaned back on the headrest of the car, his eyes closed as she rocked against him.

  “C-Cohen?” I choked out again, louder this time, but also closer to the verge of emotional upheaval.

  The girl looked up then, but shock didn’t register on her face.

  That was fine, there was enough shock written all over mine.

  Jenny Arnett, a senior known for her knockout body just as much as her sexual extracurriculars. If the rumors were true, there was nothing she wouldn’t do, given the chance.

  Including screwing my boyfriend.

  “Shit, Vienna!” Jenny exclaimed, scrambling to climb off his lap.

  But I’d already turned away. And I was running.

  Away from her.

  Away from him.

  And away from every plan I’d ever made for myself. Because until that moment, every one of them had included Cohen Bradley.

  Chapter 1

  Present

  Vienna

  For the first time in my life, I was late for class.

  It was just funny that it’d taken me so long to achieve such a thing.

  Mature student status. At twenty-eight years old. Not exactly something I was proud of, or something I wanted to do, but unfortunately it was a necessity at this point. I’d tried everything I could to get around it, but seeing that there didn’t seem to be many jobs available in a small town like Garrison, and I didn’t exactly have the cash flow needed to be picky, I needed to take this six-week digital design course at the community college campus in Prendiville if I was going to accept the only job offer I’d had, which was conditional based on receiving a passing grade in this class.

  In my head, I kept screaming, I’m a journalist, dang it!, but that didn’t matter much when I was now back in my hometown, my tail between my legs and my bank account dwindling. If I didn’t take this course to upgrade my skills and keep this job at the Garrison Gazette—granted, it was a journalism job, but the newspaper was small enough that one needed to know how to help in the publication department, too—I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  Yeah, this is my life. Right on track.

  I wasn’t sure how it could get much worse.

  I pulled by BMW into the Prendiville campus parking lot, and already had the door open before the car was even completely stopped. Prendiville was only about a twenty-minute drive from Garrison, but somehow I’d managed to forget my notebook, making me have to turn the car back around so I could go get it after I’d already wasted time making coffee, and then get caught behind the school buses as they dropped kids back home from school, which only added extra time onto my commute.

  I was scatterbrained, anxious, and absolutely disheveled as I scurried through the hallways in search of Classroom 204. The door was open, so I didn’t even bother to slow down as I rounded the corner to make a beeline for the nearest seat.

  My arms, crossed in front of me to hold the purse, notebook, and thermos of coffee, hit him first, and the impact of running into his chest was like hitting a brick wall. He didn’t budge.

  But he obviously had manners, and a deep, gritty voice said, “Whoa, hey, sorry!” just as an “Oh!” fell from my lips and my notebook fell to the floor.

  A series of snickers came from the classroom, and for the first time I noticed the other fifteen or so faces that were staring at me in amusement.

  Great, so it’s like being back in high school again.

  The man had bent down to retrieve my notebook, and I took in his collared dress shirt, dress pants, and neatly styled hair.

  Only here for three seconds and I’ve run headfirst into the teacher.

  “I-I’m really sorry,” I stammered. “I know I’m late, but I—”

  He’d stood back up, meeting my gaze for the first time, and my heart stopped.

  I couldn’t say his name, not only because it was stuck in my throat along with the years of pent-up anger and hurt that had immediately bubbled up at the mere sight of him, but also because the shock of seeing him had rendered me speechless.

  There was only one thought my mind seemed able to process.

  My God, he’s even more gorgeous than I remember.

  I just prayed that didn’t come out of my mouth.

  “Vi?” Cohen Bradley whispered hesitantly, as though speaking might spook me and cause me to run.

  Seeing as that was exactly what I was contemplating doing, I’d say he was right. It took a moment, but my brain caught up with my emotions and I was able to clear my throat, offering up a coherent statement. “It’s Vienna.”

  I didn’t trust myself to try to say anything more. With the prying eyes on us from all angles of the room, I didn’t want to, either. So, I side-stepped around him, careful not to touch him again, and found a seat at the back of the room.

  As far from him as I could get.

  Guess what, genius? Things just got worse.

  Cohen turned, and he was staring at me with an intensity that was making the other students turn toward the back of the room, too.

  I offered him only a
flicker of a glare before focusing my attention on nestling into the spot I’d chosen. Like ticking items off a list, I shed my jacket and hung it over the back of my chair, then opened my notebook to a blank page on the desk. Searched for a pen in my purse. Turned the ringer off on my phone. Anything to not have to meet those darkened hazel eyes I knew so well.

  Thankfully, Cohen took the hint and made his way back up to the front of the room, clearing his throat as he went. He had a job to do, and there was an audience. Whatever he felt compelled to say to me, it would have to wait.

  Or do. I wondered if he felt compelled to do, rather than just say, anything to me.

  Because it had been ten years since I’d seen him—the man I’d once loved—and I couldn’t ignore the way my body was reminding me that there were a heck of a lot of things I’d love to do to him.

  Everything was such an accurate rerun of high school that I was beginning to get a severe sense of déjà vu. Being the most studious one in the classroom as I took notes like a fiend, the loud clang of the bell announcing the end of the period…

  And the way Cohen was at the center of my mind both during and after class.

  I had to get out of there.

  When the bell clanged, I couldn’t pack my stuff up fast enough. Everything seemed louder somehow, and I idly wondered how that could be when I could barely hear everyone else shuffling around me over the deafening pounding of my own heart.

  The door was only fifteen feet away, but I may as well have had to cross the desert to get to it, especially at the sound of “Vienna, wait…” from behind me.

  I didn’t want to stop, I really didn’t. But my body, so engrained to respond to him, had yet to realize that a decade now stood between us.

  A decade, and his heartbreaking betrayal.

  I turned around at the sound of his voice, letting the last remaining student pass by me. I saw her sideways glance, curious and intrigued, but she disappeared out the doorway.