She pulls away, unmoved.
“Franco, if she doesn’t want to marry you…” My father tries to soothe my ego. But that’s not the problem.
I want her more than ever.
She was right to fight this. I respect her more for showing some spirit. She values her dignity and she should. My lady isn’t a piece of merchandise to be bought and sold to the highest bidder.
She’s being bullied and that’s no way for us to start our marriage. I won’t deny this complicates things and as everyone knows, I’m not a patient man.
I want what I want when I want it. And I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more than Carine.
Liked a caged animal, she panics. With tears in her eyes, she squirms lose from my grip, nearly knocks down her parents and flies out the door.
When her parents try to chase her, I shout everyone down and insist I’ll check on her myself. She needs time to breathe. She needs to feel safe. She needs to regain control. I understand.
This is only a momentary glitch. Now that I found her, now that I know her name, she’ll be easy to find.
The chase is on little girl.
After she leaves, I confront my father in private. “You better fix this old man. That’s the girl I’m going to marry. That’s the only girl I’m going to marry. If you’d like grandchildren from me, I suggest you squeeze her parents dry.”
I don’t want or need her parents forcing her into this. I’ll court my girl. But if they can push her to give us a chance, I’ll take what I can get.
Before I leave to track her down, I shout to my father. “Call the priest in the morning. Give a donation, work your magic and get me a wedding date before the end of the month.”
The only thing on my mind is Carine. Wired and restless, I take a cab to her place.
We need to talk.
7
Carine
I’m in trouble. This is a first.
Mom says Mr. Bianchi is furious I’ve humiliated his son. Dad is pissed that I might cost him over thirty million in campaign contributions four months before a heated election. And as always, Clarisse doesn’t understand what’s going on.
“Shouldn’t you be showing?” I ask her over lunch.
“I’m only two months.” She shrugs.
“I thought it was three months.” I frown and shove a roll in my mouth. Ever since Monday night, I’ve been eating my feelings. I can’t stop thinking about him and I hate that he effects me this way.
I don’t like bad boys. That was a phase. I was sixteen. He was dangerous and swarthy. My innocent eyes couldn’t detect husband material from the kind of boy you use for a good time.
A good time? What am I saying?
I haven’t told my parents, but Franco’s tracked me down. He wants to have dinner tonight. We should break bread. That’s what he said. It was odd, but sweet enough to persuade me.
Just dinner. No funny business.
“Yeah, three months. Whatever.” Clarisse takes a sip of juice, then sits straighter when my mother reappears.
“Your father just spoke to Mr. Bianchi. Not only is he not contributing to your father, he’s persuaded every major donor to pull funds as well. This is becoming bigger than your sister’s indiscretion.” She sighs.
“Indiscretion? She got knocked up at an orgy!” I cover my mouth and look around. That was louder than I expected.
“You can’t make her marry him. Franco Bianchi is too much man for Carine.” My sister frames her insult as a show of support. Typical. I’m sure she’d love to get her tramp hands on him.
Fat chance, slut.
“Young lady, as a matter of fact, Franco Bianchi is head over heels for your sister. He told everyone last night, he only wants Carine. He says and I quote, “He’ll only marry Carine.”
My heart soars. Franco. Head over heels?
My cheeks heat. My body hums with joy. I want to ask for more information, but I don’t need my mother piling on additional expectations before he and I speak alone.
Clarisse chimes in and as always makes it her mission to destroy my world.
“Franco gets around. He’s a bad boy and Clarine is a mousy good girl. They’re like oil and water. Soon, he’ll get bored and look for his bad girls again.” She waves a dismissive hand and my mother slaps it away.
I gasp. Mousy!
“Why don’t you shut-up? You’re the reason this is happening. Your poor sister has to save the family due to your carelessness.” Mom turns to me.
“Don’t listen to her sweetheart. This is why no one likes her.” She pats my hand.
Mousy!
I’m not a one-dimensional woman. I can be good and bad. After all, if we’re married, it doesn’t really count as bad, does it?
Stop this. You’ve got nothing to prove.
Yes, I do. We’ll see who’s the mousy.
8
Franco
After some prodding and a bit of rearranging on her behalf, she agreed to have dinner with me tonight. It’s my thirty-fifth birthday and there’s no time to lose. I’ve got to woo my lady before she figures out a way to get out of this arrangement.
She’s hiding her attraction. I’m no amateur—I can read body language. I know there’s another Carine lying in wait just beneath the surface, waiting for just the right push from just the right man.
And you better believe that man is me.
Mark my words, Carine DuBois will soon be the property of Franco Bianchi until the end of time.
I’ve done some digging. It took very little time to discover that she’s far beyond a good girl. She’s a freaking saint.
Catholic grade school, Catholic prep school and then off to Boston College where Jesuit priests and monks still roam the halls. No boyfriends. No attachments. I’m not sure she has any close friends outside a few older ladies in a book club she recently joined.
If I was a betting man, which I am, I’ll bet this girl is a virgin.
Goddamn, I feel like a kid on Christmas.
I’ll need to get creative. This is uncharted territory. I haven’t been with a virgin since I lost my own virginity in high school and if our first time goes like that, I’ll die of shame.
She’ll be a worthy challenge.
Years of Catholic school sexual repression have done a number of her brain. I can seen the curiosity in her eyes. I can smell the naughtiness brewing, bubbling up, waiting for me to screw that cap loose and let her combust right in my hands.
Fuck, that gets me hard.
The way I see it, God doesn’t give you a body like that to keep it all to yourself. It’s meant to be enjoyed by the right man and that’s exactly what I intend to do.
My angel is in for a surprise. She’s too naive to understand the rigorous demands I’ll place on her supple, innocent body, but it’ll be my pleasure to teach her.
Those full breasts will never be far from my grasp. That gorgeous ass won’t know a day without a good spanking. Her pouty red lips, perfect for kissing, will look even better wrapped around my shaft, swallowing my cock as deep as she can take it. And best of all, that tiny waist will be so easy to grip while I bury my thick cock in that pretty little virgin pussy over and over until I fill it with so much seed, I can watch it slide down her thighs.
Starting tonight, I’m on a mission to whittle away at some of that Catholic guilt. It’s about time my sweet Carine got a taste of what she’s been missing.
On my way out the door, I take a quick look at the engagement ring in my pocket. The gravity of the moment sets in. I’m asking a girl I hardly know to be my wife. I should be terrified, but I’m not.
Carine is the one.
I don’t need weeks or months to figure out that this is the girl I want to come home to every night for the rest of my She’s a once in a lifetime catch and my objective is clear. I need to reel her in, shove that gorgeous body into a wedding dress fit for a queen and drag her down the aisle.
She’s not escaping.
That’s righ
t, doll. Come to Daddy.
9
Carine
I’ve never been naughty. I never wear naughty things. But when my neighbors, the Donatello twins caught one look at the big strapping man at my door, begging for a date, they insisted I go for a shopping spree.
They’re pretty progressive for women in their seventies. Carmen demanded I buy sexy lingerie. Angela picked out this low-cut dress that gives a hint of cleavage without giving away the farm. Her words. One did my hair and the other helped with my make-up. The only payment they request is details.
Graphic details.
For their sake, I’m willing to lighten up, get in touch with my inner bad girl and see where Franco wants to take the evening.
“Tell me more.” He smiles as he takes a sip of chianti.
My cheeks warm, and a rush of heat travels through my heart and into my tummy. The tenor of his voice and the scent of sandalwood mixed with his heavenly masculine aroma stirs something inside me. He’s irresistible. No matter how much I try to play it cool, my insides tingle and vibrate with every word he speaks and every gaze we exchange.
This must be lust. In twenty-two years, nothing this powerful has overtaken senses. Every nerve feels jarred and rattled. I’m a bomb about to explode and the only person who knows which wire to pull is Franco Bianchi.
Although, judging by the look in his eye and the hand on my thigh, he’d prefer I detonate beneath him.
This could be a test. If it is, this is cruel and unwarranted. I’ve been good. I’ve done everything right. I don’t need a dark-eyed, 6’4 Italian god to whisper sweet nothings while his warm fingers graze the naked skin on my arms.
I feel like Job. Although, Satan wouldn’t smell this good.
This feels far more natural than I anticipated. I always feared this might happen. I’ve never been tempted. All this time, I believed I was strong enough to resist sin. I’ve convinced myself I’m not like Clarisse.
No, you’re just a mousy good girl.
I really have to let it go.
If this is a test, I’m flunking fast. We’re an hour into our first date, and I’m already unrecognizable. When he curls his hand around my waist and pulls me closer, I instinctively crush my breasts against him, seeking the warmth of his body and the feel of his muscles against my sensitive skin. A simple graze and I shudder with desire. He releases a breath and my skin prickles. Every ounce of my previously impervious self-control has dwindled to nothing in the presence of this beautiful man.
Oh, this is scandalous. I’m going to hell.
I could move away, but I can’t stop touching him. And for every liberty I take, he takes two. Yet, I continue to push the envelope like a cat in heat. This feels like too much, too soon. I’m not experienced enough to handle such naughty emotions. I don’t know how to play games.
“Carine?” His eyes seek mine.
“I’m sorry. More?” My voice shakes.
“Yes, please. I want to know everything about you.” His eyes shine as he kisses my left hand and admires the ring he slipped on my finger less than an hour ago. I didn’t say yes but I didn’t say no. I said I’d consider it. That was enough for him. It’s a beautiful ring. Too big, but he insists he wants everyone to know I’m off the market.
That’s presumptuous. Hot, but presumptuous.
He proposed in my living room, on one knee, with flowers and a speech that brought tears to my eyes. It wasn’t poetry. It was honest. We don’t really know one another, but there’s something between us that neither can explain. I was tempted to run, turn him down, yell at him for breaking my sixteen-year-old heart, but his smoldering gaze kept me glued to the carpet.
“I’m sorry.” I fidget. “I’ve told you about my childhood and college. You know about Clarisse and my parents. There really isn’t much else. I work, go to church, volunteer when I can and read. Sorry I’m not more exciting.” My heart stings saying it out loud.
He groans. “Don’t say that. Whatever you are, this is the happiest I’ve felt in years. This almost happened on its own, Carine.” He brings me closer and kisses my cheek.
“What do you mean?” I fake a chill and he promptly wraps his arm around my shoulders to keep me warm.
I’m shameless.
“I saw you two weeks ago, coming out of Saint Patrick’s on your lunch hour. As soon as I saw you, I knew you were for me. I knew you were the girl I’d marry. You’re the only reason I’m going along with this. If you hadn’t walked into that living room, I would have told my father to go to hell.”
My heart flutters. Church? He saw me coming out of church? Maybe, this is destiny.
“But Franco... the 30th? Why so soon? Marriage is serious. I want a family and the father of my children needs to be someone I can trust and count on. I don’t know details, but your reputation precedes you. I don’t want a bad boy. I want to marry a good man who will help me raise my babies. Do you understand?” I take another sip of soda if only to avoid the intensity of his gaze.
He clasps my hand tighter and almost yanks me into his lap. “I’m that man, Carine. Trust me. I’m your man.”
I shudder. “My man?” Good lord.
“Yes. And I’m not a bad boy. That’s not me. From now on, I can be the man you need. Tell me what you need, baby.”
For the second time this evening, he brings his lips to mine. I’m ready now. The first kiss scared me. So much heat. So much tongue and lips, I got carried away in the thrill of being kissed for the first time. Now, when his lips sear to mine, I let him lead us into a slow, blistering dance that starts at my lips and spirals into a whirlwind of moans I stifle against his mouth. I didn’t know kisses were like this.
I didn’t know you felt them everywhere.
With a soft touch, he winds his hand around my neck and pulls me close enough to whisper. “What do you need from me, angel?”
If he’s serious, I need to test the waters and open big. “I need you to stop drinking.”
His eyes grow twice their size. He didn’t expect me to go for the jugular.
“What makes you think I drink heavily?” He stutters.
“People talk. I’ve seen you in the papers. You’ve had two glasses of chianti since we arrived.” I lean into his shoulder and let a finger travel up his hard chest. Hoping he won’t grow angry with the accusation.
He knits his brow. “Sorry, I’m nervous.”
“Do you drink heavily? It’s not a judgement, Franco. As I said, I want a family. These things matter to me.” I stir my drink and try to stay calm. If he says he can’t, then I may have to give this ring back and cut him off. I don’t want to be married to someone who can’t control his demons.
But it’s Franco. Lord, help me.
“I do. Forgive me for denying my flaws. I’ll dramatically decrease my alcohol intake for you, sweetheart.”
“That doesn’t sound effective.” I grimace.
“I’ll give up hard liquor. I’m not giving up wine. I can’t, I’m Italian.” He grumbles.
“I’m French and I don’t drink at all!” I frown and push him away.
He narrows his eyes. “Don’t get me started on French wines. I’m talking about real wine. My family owns vineyards across the Tuscan coast, I can’t give up wine entirely. And while we’re on the subject, why don’t you drink?”
I shrug. “I never started. Why start now?”
“Because my wife will also own vineyards and wine is something I enjoy. Give it a taste.” He slides his glass closer to me.
I shake my head. He slides it closer.
“Take a sip. For me. It’s my birthday. I’m giving up a lot and I’m fine with it. It’s for the best and you’re worth it. But marriage is about compromise.” He smirks and slides it into my fingers.
I sniff the glass. It smells sweet. Like cherries with a hint of coffee. When I bring it to my lips, the taste startles me.
“How do you like it?” He smiles and kisses my wine-stained lips.
“It was st
rong, but good.” I grab the glass and take another drink, trying to pinpoint the different tastes swimming on my palate.
By my fourth sip, he swipes the glass back. “That’s enough for now. I’m taking you home and I don’t want to blur the lines of consent.”
I gasp. “What?”
10
Carine
Two steps into the foyer and he pounces. There’s no time to protest. I have no desire to stop him. He slides his hand up my back, grips the nape of my neck and crashes his mouth to mine. My shoulders slump. My head falls back, limp and lifeless in his grasp. There’s no fight in me.
I really thought I’d put up a bigger fight than this.
Trembling with desire, I wind my arms around his back and eagerly surrender to this sensual assault. His lips, hands, warmth, taste, and scent converge to overwhelm my senses and leave me bereft with each pause. He feasts on my lips, the sensitive skin on my neck and shoulders and lets the palm on his hands press gently into my breasts. My nipples tighten painfully and long for his touch. They want to be his. I want to be his.
I make an empty attempt to save face. “Franco, maybe we should wait.”
He shakes his head. “We see the priest on Friday. Our wedding is three weeks away. You need to marry me, Carine. I can’t live without you, now.”
I give him a shaky nod, unsure if it’s my long unrequited love or the ache in my core that needs to be quenched. It doesn’t matter. I need him. My body needs him. My heart just came alive and it doesn’t want to fall asleep again.
“It’s just three weeks. We could make love and we wouldn’t find out if we’re expecting until we’re on our honeymoon.” He lifts me and carries me further in.
Expecting? A baby? Oh no, he said the magic word.
“You want to get started so soon?” My eyes mist recalling years of ridiculous fantasies involving Franco Bianchi’s babies.
Bad Boy Page 3