Bad Boy Holiday (Bad Boy Inc. Book 6)

by Eve Langlais

“Don’t start, Fluff.” Yes, she was that crazy lady who talked to her cat. “You didn’t see this guy. He’s like sex on a stick.”

  She just wanted to lick and bite, which had never happened before. Just like she’d never slept with a guy so quickly. Hell, if she was going to be honest, she’d never had a fling.

  And here she was, getting ready for sex with an almost veritable stranger.

  Assuming dinner would lead to sex. Perhaps he’d cancel. Or he’d claim he was tired. Maybe find someone better. Skinnier. Prettier.

  She shook her head at the negative thought. Since when did she care? He hadn’t seemed to mind her shape earlier. And it wasn’t as if this was anything more than two people hooking up for some fun.

  Which meant no regrets.

  Given her legs were sensitive, she vetoed the stockings and put on some pants paired with a pink cashmere sweater threaded with silver snowflakes. She also shoved extra undies into her purse. A good thing because she spent the rest of that day thinking about him. How he’d made her feel. What would happen tonight?

  She’d already broken so many rules. And honestly didn’t care. She’d never felt so on fire for a man before. Needy. Wanton. Sexy.

  He had to be using her. No way was he overcome with lust. Believing that would make it easier to keep her heart out of it. This was just sex. Pleasure.

  In a few days he’d be gone. No one hurt.

  But she’d be doing a lot of laundry because there went another pair of panties. Seven o’clock took forever to arrive and then came too soon.

  Ready. Not ready. She’d never been so nervous before. It didn’t help that she’d convinced herself on the walk over that he wouldn’t show up.

  While she’d chosen the restaurant because of its delicious food, it never occurred to her that the bistro might be romantic with its tablecloths and rounded booths, the lighting dim.

  And he was already there. Arbuckle stood as she slid into the booth. He then sat across from her, doing nothing but being elegant and charming. She was the one with her mind in the gutter, constantly staring at his hand. The one that pleasured her.

  He growled. “Stop it.”

  “What?” She cast him a startled glance.

  “You make me forget we’re in a crowded place. All I want to do is get under that table and enjoy some dessert.”

  She squirmed. “I don’t think that’s allowed in public.”

  “I know,” he grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

  “About this afternoon…”

  “If you say you regret it, I will stab myself with this butter knife.” He held it poised.

  Her lips curved. “I was going to say I don’t usually do that.”

  “I should hope you don’t fool around with all your clients.”

  “Never. But that’s not the only first.” The wine loosened her tongue, and she almost slapped a hand on her mouth.

  “What else was a first for you, Blake?” He purred her name.

  She blushed and ducked her head. “Nothing.”

  “You’ve never been fingered?”

  She shuddered. “I have.” She didn’t add not as well as he’d managed. “I meant doing that in someone’s house. Standing up,” she stammered.

  He chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re usually in the bed in the dark.”

  “Isn’t that standard?”

  “If you can wait that long.” He slid over on the seat. His hand landed on her thigh. “Personally, if we make it out of this restaurant without you coming, I’ll be surprised.”

  Her lips parted. “Mr. Arbuckle.”

  “Call me Matt.”

  “Isn’t your name Larry?”

  “I prefer my middle name with my friends.”

  “I didn’t know we were friends.” Her breathing hitched as his hand traveled to the pulsing spot between her thighs.

  “Oh, I’d say we are good friends.” He pressed, and she shuddered.

  But she couldn’t let him control the situation this time. She placed her hand on his thigh. Squeezed it. His gaze locked onto hers.

  “I have your salad,” the waiter interrupted.

  She thought it was over, but Matt’s right hand stayed where it was. He ate with his left.

  Her left hand stayed on his thigh and crept over. She ate with her right. She couldn’t hold his stare, so she concentrated on her food. The salad disappeared.

  The main course took two hands, and she only ate a little before pushing it away. Her hand was back on his lap, hidden by the table and its cloth. His hand was buried between her thighs.

  The cake with whipped cream and fresh berries arrived. Not that she tasted anything when he slid down her zipper, slipped his hand into her pants, and fingered her directly.

  Her eyes lost focus as he kept rubbing. The forkful of dessert dangled in front of her mouth, and it took him whispering, “Eat or people will see you coming,” for her to climax.

  She might have cried out if he’d not taken that moment to kiss her, swallowing any noise she might have made as her orgasm trembled through her, pulsing around the finger he’d inserted.

  The cock she held through his slacks throbbed in her grip.

  She wanted nothing more than to be somewhere she could have him inside her. She opened her mouth and whispered, “Let’s go back to my place.”

  As he said, “My hotel is closer.”

  That was when her phone with its usual great timing went off.

  Chapter Seven

  Winters the Iceman was confused and so horny. He could flirt all day, even laugh and play, but admitting feelings was corny.

  “Whoever that is has shit timing,” Mathias grumbled, more blue-balled than ever. Only the Iceman didn’t feel cold. He ran a fever.

  “It’s actually the alarm for the office. Sorry, I’m going to have to cut our date short.”

  “You’re going to check it out?”

  “I’m closest.”

  It wasn’t just arousal that had him saying, “You aren’t going alone.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s probably the cleaning staff. And I won’t be alone. Security is there.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Perhaps he’d get a chance to find out more about the Christmas party, which, thus far, he’d not broached. Too busy seducing the lovely Blake Jenners. He wanted to lie and say he did it just to milk her for information. The truth was he wanted her something fierce.

  “I didn’t take you for the hero type.”

  “More like gentleman.”

  “I wouldn’t have used that word either,” she said with a teasing tilt of her lips as she squeezed his leg.

  Fuck. Did she realize just how badly his balls ached? “Careful, or we’ll be stopping in an alley along the way.”

  “We can’t!” she huffed, spots of color in her cheek.

  “Do you really want to dare me?”

  Rather than reply, she leaned out and signaled their waiter.

  Which led to a power struggle over the check.

  “I’m getting it,” he declared, reaching for the bill.

  She snagged it. “As my client, I insist. It’s a business expense.”

  “This isn’t business,” he growled. Which wasn’t entirely a lie. It might have started out as work, but he’d gone past that the first time he fingered her.

  Since she was reaching for her credit card, he threw cash at the waiter. Probably more than needed, but the guy in the suit didn’t argue when Mathias said, “Keep the change.”

  “Matt!” She squeaked his name.

  He’d rather she screamed it. “Let’s go see what the fuss is about.”

  He helped her into her coat, showing a courtesy he didn’t usually bother with unless playing a role. Like the one he’d been playing with Blake. Although, was it really a sham? It felt entirely natural to lace his fingers with hers and keep a grip on her hand as they walked the two blocks to her office building. He told himself it was because she kept slipping. Almost tripping.

  S
he chattered on the way, mostly about how it was probably nothing and he could stay downstairs while she reset the alarm.

  The moment he saw the empty desk in the vestibule and the coffee cup on the floor, he tucked her behind him. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Ya think?” she muttered. Then more loudly, “Kayla. Are you here?”

  He slapped a hand over her mouth. “Shh.”

  She bit him.

  He let go, not because it hurt. Either she got the point to be quiet or she didn’t. At least they were still close to the door. Easy to escape if needed. He left the gun inside his coat for now.

  Rather than retreat, Blake moved to the reception desk, and he had to follow quickly as she leaned over it, aiming her light. “I found Kayla.”

  Before he could stop her, she’d scooted around the counter and knelt. He reached her as she placed fingers on the woman’s neck. Her uniform was intact. He saw no signs of assault. No blood pooling.

  “She’s breathing,” Blake announced.

  “Is she napping?”

  “On the job and that deeply?” Blake snorted. “I think she’s been knocked out.”

  “Doubtful someone snuck up on her. I’m going to say sleeping drug, probably dumped in her coffee.” He pointed to the cardboard cup with a café logo. It had landed upright, unspilled.

  “Why would anyone put Kayla to sleep?”

  “To rob the place.”

  “We don’t keep any money in the office.”

  “Your company doesn’t, but what about the others in the building?” Home decoration on the second level. Renovation on the next. With the last floor being BBI Realty.

  Blake’s lips pursed. “I guess it’s possible. Which makes this a crime scene. You should go. I need to call this in.” She stood and began to shove him in the direction of the door.

  He dug in his heels. “I am not leaving you here alone.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m calling nine-one-one and requesting an ambulance and the police.”

  “They’ll want my statement.”

  “To tell them what? That you saw nothing? Go.” She kept shoving as she dialed one-handed and put the phone to her ear. She offered him a weak smile as someone answered, and she quickly said, “We need police and paramedics at Nine Elm Street. I think there’s been a break-in.”

  He didn’t hear the reply as the door shut behind him. He didn’t like leaving her alone inside, but the cops would be coming, and he knew all the exits and entrances to the building. He headed for the alley. No cars parked on the street. Probably meant if someone was still inside, they might have parked nearby.

  Or climbed in like he had the night before. That didn’t seem likely though given they’d taken the time to knock out the night guard.

  It wasn’t a car he found but a pair of motorcycles parked in the alley. Crotch rockets made for speed. One could belong to the security guard. But what about the other? Could it be someone else in the vicinity parked it?

  Sirens in the distance lifted his head.

  He really shouldn’t be caught in an alley. He’d been very careful to keep clean. He had no prints or DNA on file. Still, in his line of work, it was best to never be observed in the first place.

  Mathias Winters—whose clients and enemies knew as the Iceman—was a wanted man.

  As he eased out of the alley, he heard glass shattering. A body hurtled out of the window on the second floor, hitting the dumpster and rolling to the ground. Blake appeared in the open window and paused as if contemplating the jump.

  “Don’t you dare!” he yelled as he ran back into the alley.

  The jumper chose a bike and kicked at the stand. Vroom. Off they went like a rocket. If the keys weren’t conveniently in the ignition of the second bike for a quick getaway, he probably wouldn’t have followed.

  But fate intervened, and he couldn’t help himself. A purring machine between his legs. Wind streaming. The power and speed to fly.

  He weaved in and out of traffic following the other bike, wondering what he was doing. This had nothing to do with his job.

  Nothing even to do with Blake. Just him being…

  Not a hero. Never a hero.

  Nor was he a gentleman.

  And apparently, he wasn’t even a killer that night because rather than keep following the bike, when it became clear he wouldn’t catch it, he headed back for the woman whose scent lingered on his fingers.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late for dessert.

  Chapter Eight

  Forget a silent night, or my orgasmic plight. Nothing is calm or feeling quite bright.

  Blake watched him drive off and really had to wonder about Mr. Larry “Matt” Arbuckle.

  On paper, he was a serious guy who dealt in hand sanitizer of all things. But he had hidden depths. He had a quiet strength about him. A naughty edge.

  And he could ride a motorcycle like he was melded to the machine.

  Not what she expected from a guy with leather loafers not suitable for the weather and a peacoat.

  Then again, she wasn’t how she portrayed herself. She eyed the fellow on the floor. Knocked out cold. The lump on his temple would be a throbbing mass when he woke.

  She’d silenced the alarm and now waited in the lobby for the help to arrive. Joleen, another BBI employee, stalked in, wearing head-to-toe leather, high heels, and attitude that went well with her spiked blonde hair.

  Joleen arched a brow. “You caught a thief?

  “I’m just as surprised as you.” The moment Matt left Blake in the lobby, she’d heard the stairwell door click shut. Without thinking, she went after the intruder, taking the stairs two at a time, her huffing lungs glad they entered the second floor and didn’t go another flight to the third.

  She yelled. “I called the police.” Not entirely true, but good for them to know she expected company.

  Entering the second floor with its open concept, home décor stations, the person she chased had turned to confront her, pulling a gun, so she grabbed the first thing she saw. A vase, that probably cost more than she made in a day. It startled the intruder enough that the umbrella stand she snared and swung next had a chance to connect.

  The person hit the floor, unconscious. But they weren’t alone. A rustle of fabric drew her attention across the dim showroom to a shadow on the far side.

  Before she could flee—because she’d reached the limits of her bravery—the second intruder smashed through a window to escape. Obviously, they’d watched one too many action movies. Did the fall kill or injure them? She’d paused on that sill and had no intention of jumping even before Matt yelled at her not to do it.

  “Any idea who it is?” Joleen asked, drawing her back to the present as she checked the intruder for identification.

  She shook her head. “No clue, but he wasn’t alone. The other person got away on a bike. Mr. Arbuckle chased them.”

  Joleen blinked. “Arbuckle as in your client?”

  She nodded.

  “Why would he do that? And wait a second, how come your client was here in the first place? Was he in cahoots with them?”

  She bit her lower lip. “We were having dinner at Maria’s Fine Pasta when the alarm went off.”

  That got Joleen’s attention. “That’s not a place to do business.”

  “Their pasta is really good,” was her poor defense.

  “You don’t need to apologize for being horny. I saw your Mr. Arbuckle. Stupid name. Hot man. I can see why you’d want to have him over for dessert.”

  There was no point in lying. Joleen would ferret it out with the first syllable. “He’s only here for a few days.”

  “Sounds perfect to me. A little of bit of fun, then send him on his way. No fuss. No muss.”

  Funny how it sounded callous and cold when Joleen said it aloud.

  “I didn’t mean to get involved with him.” She felt a need to explain.

  “But you did. Happens to the best of us. I still remember Mrs. Robinson.” Joleen smiled. “We h
ad a great time on that yacht of hers before she lost it.”

  More like the feds confiscated it for crimes against the state.

  “He’s not even technically a client since the property he wants is actually sold.”

  “Then sell him another one. Or don’t. What matters is that you enjoy him while you can.”

  “I’ve never had a fling before.” And only a few relationships.

  “The important thing to remember is no regrets. Just relax and enjoy it while it lasts. Think of it as a gift to yourself. It is, after all, almost Christmas,” Joleen said, flipping over the guy to tie his wrists. “Speaking of which, the office holiday party is the day after tomorrow. You bringing him as your date? Because, if not, then I’ll bet Marissa would take him.” The older woman with her elegant blonde looks and svelte figure would chew him up and spit him out.

  Jealousy surged hot and quick. “He’s mine.” Quickly corrected to, “As my client, I’ll of course offer him an invite.”

  “Un-hunh.” Joleen turned to the guy stirring on the floor. “Sleeping beauty is waking up. What do you say we ask him a few questions?”

  “Do I have to watch?” Her stomach churned.

  She’d never get used to this part of the business. BBI, short for Bad Boy Inc., was more than a realty office. It acted as a cover for more illicit dealings. Not that she usually had any part in them. Her daddy learned early on she didn’t have the stomach for it.

  “Nah. Go home. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  As Joleen took her prisoner, Kayla stirred, sitting up, holding her head, with a groan.

  “You okay?” Blake asked. “I think someone drugged your coffee.”

  The night guard looked nauseous. “If they did, I never even tasted it.”

  “Not your fault.” They’d been targeted. Again. She thought someone had been in their office the night before. There was no glitch in the security system, and despite nothing being on camera, she’d gotten the distinct impression someone had been there. But that person at least acted subtly. Today’s intrusion lacked any kind of finesse.

  Why the sudden interest in this building? She’d let the more devious minds figure it out. She was going home. But not on the bus. Since she’d knew she’d be drinking, she’d not brought her car. She was loading a ride sharing app when she heard the hum of an engine. A peek outside showed a motorcycle pulled to the curb. Matt straddled it, looking quite at ease despite his less than adequate coat and wind-chafed cheeks.