Bad Boy Holiday (Bad Boy Inc. Book 6)

by Eve Langlais

  “Then what’s that?” Roarke asked, pointing to the box Mathias still clutched.

  “A watch.”

  “You opened it?” Hugo asked, only a slight twitch of a brow showing his surprise.

  “Someone wants to pay me a hundred grand to deliver something, fuck yeah I’m taking a peek.”

  “A hundred?” Joleen, the woman he’d met at the door, whistled. “Fuck, for that price I wouldn’t have cared if it held a bomb.”

  “Who gave it to you?” Hugo asked.

  Mathias shrugged. “Don’t know.” Even if he did, he wouldn’t tell. People who ratted out clients didn’t work for long in the business.

  “Open it,” Hugo asked, even as his wife cast him a startled glance.

  “Okay.” He tugged the ribbon then opened the hinged lid, revealing the old watch.

  “I don’t recognize it.” Not a single expression creased Hugo’s face, yet Mathias would have sworn the man was lying.

  “Doesn’t really matter. It’s yours. Keep it. Toss it. Up to you.” He placed it on a passing tray and grabbed a canape, something squishy and pink on a cracker.

  “What use do I have for an old broken watch?” Hugo muttered, turning away. “Let’s dance,” he said to his wife, never realizing he’d revealed something.

  Mathias had never told him the watch was broken.

  Not his problem.

  Roarke chose to remain and glowered. “You going to leave now that you’ve delivered your package?”

  “Leave? But the party is just starting.” He grabbed a glass of nog and raised it, pretending to take a sip. The glazed expressions on a few faces spoke to the liberal imbibing of it.

  “What’s your game, Iceman?”

  “No game. I’ve done my job. I am off the clock as they say. Ready to enjoy the delights of your quaint town.” He deliberately baited the other man.

  Roarke growled. “Leave my daughter alone.”

  “Too late for that.”

  He expected Roarke to snap. He was wrong.

  The man laughed. “You won’t be dallying with my girl anymore, not now that she knows the truth. Tell me, did you like the present I left you out front?”

  The snowman and Santa, one of them getting fucked.

  “You knew I was here,” he huffed.

  Roarke grinned so wide his face almost split. “Not at first. Your Arbuckle cover was quite clever, but I happened to see you on a security camera.”

  “And didn’t have me taken out?” Surprising given where he’d spent the last few nights.

  “That would have been my preference, but I needed you away from my daughter first.”

  “Is this where you tell me to step outside so you can kill me?”

  Roarke shook his head. “Hugo said I can’t take you out unless you do something stupid first. Apparently messing with my daughter isn’t enough.”

  “I have the utmost admiration for her.” He felt a need to let her father know he wasn’t just using her. “She’s beautiful and brilliant. In other circumstances…” He trailed off because he didn’t know what he’d do.

  “There will never be a circumstance where I’d want her dating you. Go home, Winters. There’s nothing here for you.”

  Roarke seemed sure, but Mathias remained unconvinced.

  He eyed the stairs where he’d seen her climb. She obviously didn’t want to see him.

  He should leave. This was her party.

  Instead, he stood to the side, indulging in idle chitchat with a few agents more curious than aggressive. One chap, a hulking fellow by the name of Gerome, asked him if he’d be interested in perhaps working full-time for one employer.

  An intriguing idea, especially once he heard who Gerome worked for.

  He barely moved, and never out of sight of the staircase. He knew from their walkthrough that there was no other way down to the main floor, unless she went out a window. He highly doubted she’d ever be that desperate.

  A few minutes passed. Thirty. Blake remained missing. He watched as her father, then Joleen, even their hostess, went upstairs to talk with her, only to return without her.

  She probably felt betrayed and with good reason.

  Guilt wasn’t something he was accustomed to, and neither was that heavy feeling in his gut. The one that seemed to think he should apologize.

  She doesn’t want to hear it.

  Or was he too afraid to tell her he’d done wrong?

  The waiter came by, trying to force him to take a glass of nog or punch. He waved his still full vessel. Not so the rest of the party. Even Hugo’s man, Gerome, looked a little bleary-eyed.

  He should leave. Go home to an empty house. An empty life.

  But if he stayed, he’d have to find his balls, apologize, and see if he could salvage something.

  Either way he had to stop stalling.

  He set his glass down and went up the stairs, certain he’d hear Roarke challenge him when he realized what he was doing. But the man was currently singing along to “Rudolph” and not paying him any attention. No one stopped him from reaching the second floor of the house.

  He glanced to his left and the double doors at the far end. He doubted she’d be in the master bedroom. To his right, more bedrooms. He checked the closest one done in shades of plaid. It was empty.

  The next had some kind of springtime flowery theme. Also vacant. The third room was a study, lined with books and a comfortable chair. There was a set of spiral stairs in the corner leading to the attic room tucked into the very peak of the house. A craft room with bars dangling rolls of paper, spindles of ribbon, and a veritable vomit of Christmas cheer and bows. In the middle was a counter with drawers, probably full of more useless crap.

  None of it mattered when he beheld the rounded shoulders of a woman betrayed. She hugged herself as she stared out of the window.

  “Blake…” he said softly.

  She stiffened. “Go away.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

  “Well, that’s too bad because I’m going to speak and you’re going to listen.”

  She whirled, eyes flashing with anger. “Listen to what? More lies? We both know you’re good at that. You used me. Seduced me because of a job.” Her chest heaved with her agitation. Cheeks red with fury. Still beautiful. It hurt him to see the betrayal in her gaze.

  “I’ll admit that was my plan at first.” He stuck to the truth and deserved the stinging slap. His face turned with the impact, but the blow to his heart was more painful.

  “You asshole!”

  When she would have slapped him again, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her into him. “Yes, I’m an asshole. A cold-hearted bastard. I admit I set out to use you to complete my mission. But there is one thing I didn’t lie about and that’s how I feel about you.”

  “Is knowing you’re horny for me supposed to help?” she asked on an incredulous note.

  “This isn’t about sex. I care for you.”

  “Not enough to tell me the truth.” Her voice thickened.

  “And how was I supposed to explain? Hey, Blake, FYI, I’m a killer for hire.”

  “You lied to me about everything.”

  “Not true. I told you my real name. Matt. Short for Mathias.”

  She glared. “Not helping.”

  “You can’t throw all the blame on me. You’re not completely innocent in this. You’re Roarke’s daughter. The guy who can whisper any lock open. Who managed to steal that painting out from under the most sophisticated security system. I’m going to wager BBI is a cover for his activities, meaning you obviously do more than just realty.”

  For a moment she looked like she’d say one thing, only to slump. “Mostly right except for the part where I’m involved. I’m one hundred percent legit and boring. While most of the office is gallivanting around, handling big property deals”—she crooked her fingers in air quotes—“I’m making sure the paperwork is f
iled, keeping everything on the straight and narrow so they don’t draw attention.”

  “You’ve done a brilliant job,” he admitted. While he’d noticed oddities, his interest in Blake made him neglect looking any deeper.

  “Congrats on knowing the secret.”

  “Blake.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, not knowing the right words to say.

  “Why haven’t you left? You did what you came for.”

  “I meant what I said earlier. I don’t want to leave. You,” he added in case that wasn’t clear.

  “Still got another part to your mission?”

  He shook his head. “No work. I’d like to spend more time with you.”

  Her chin dropped. “I can’t trust you.”

  The words shattered his icy heart. “Fuck.” He couldn’t apologize enough, so he instead snared her around the waist and drew her close for a kiss.

  Her mouth trembled, and he held still. If she pushed him away… If she said no…

  To his relief she kissed him back, grabbing him with a franticness that had him groaning.

  He could fix this. Make things right. Show her that not everything was a lie.

  He sat her on that island, shoving aside the paper and scissors atop it. Her lips were parted. Her eyes bright.

  He put a hand on her knee and slid it up her leg, snaring her dress and pushing it to the top of her thighs. She parted them and leaned back, braced on her hands.

  The crotch of her panties peeked, the snowmen on them distracting. The fabric was damp when he pressed the darker ones. She was always so wet when he touched her. Desired him as ardently as he needed her.

  He pivoted her until she could lie lengthwise, and then he grabbed her legs and dragged her so that when he bent forward, he could bury his face against her pubes. Her bare mound.

  He glanced at her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Enjoy it while you can because I doubt I’ll do it again,” she murmured.

  He nuzzled the shaven area before he shifted lower and found her clit. The moment he latched on, she bucked. Her hips thrust against his mouth. He held her steady as he licked and sucked. His tongue probed between her nether lips, lapping at her honey.

  She moaned, her head back, wanton and ready.

  He stood and unzipped, rolled on a condom before sliding her to the edge of that island. The head of his cock rubbed against her hot, wet sex. A hand on each hip, he yanked her onto his dick, penetrating her plump lips, feeling her channel squeezing him.

  “Matt,” she sighed as he took his time, slowly thrusting and grinding, driving deep and striking that sweet spot inside that always made her tighten. He pumped her, and she welcomed the thrusts of his cock, her legs wrapped around him, panting as their flesh slapped together.

  Pleasure coiled tight in him, and he wanted to let go but not until she came. He altered his angle slightly and pushed her over the edge. She gasped and went taut, her body bowing as he slammed one last time, deep inside. Came.

  For a moment, everything was still. Then he was pulling her into his arms, bodies still joined. He held her and buried his face in her hair, unsure for the first time of what he wanted out of life, other than the fact he wanted more of this. More of Blake.

  But she was done.

  She shoved at him. “Thank you for that goodbye.”

  “What?” He felt as if he were partially asleep as she shoved at him and slid off the table.

  “We both knew when we started sleeping together it was only temporary. You’ve done your business. Time for you to go home.”

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Then don’t. But don’t stay because of me. We’re done.”

  She left, and the world became an even colder, lonelier place.

  Chapter Twelve

  Blue Christmas; she finally understood the song even as she wondered, since when did she need a man.

  As she left him in the attic, she held her chin high but inside called herself all kinds of stupid. The sexiest man she’d ever had the pleasure of knowing intimately and she was walking away.

  Did she have a choice? He’d used her.

  He’d also apologized.

  He was a killer.

  Just like her dad. Something she tried to not think about. Too late. The reminder thrust her into the past, and she barely managed to make it into a bathroom off the hall before the memory hit.

  The dinosaur looked bright and pretty on the page. Pink with purple. No yucky green. The little girl coloring at the dining room table happily scribbled when the door to their house was kicked in. It slammed hard into the wall. She startled, sending her crayon streaking out of the lines.

  Her mother, standing at the kitchen sink, turned, eyes wide. Her voice quavered as she barked at Blake, “Run to the Andersons’ house. Through the back door, quick.”

  Blake wanted to; she just couldn’t. She was frozen in place. She’d never seen her mother scared, and it frightened her. Especially when the three men in masks poured into the kitchen pointing guns.

  The biggest one yelled, “Grab the woman and the kid.”

  Her mother screamed, “Don’t you touch her!”

  Fat, hot tears rolled down Blake’s cheeks as her mother fought them. Her arms and legs spun like the action heroes on television. But on TV, the heroes got up when knocked to the floor and her daddy told her the red stuff was just ketchup.

  She didn’t think her mother had ketchup coming out of her nose.

  The bad men dragged her mother to a chair and tied her to it. Then they took hold of Blake and bound her tight, too. Although one did protest, “She’s just a little girl.”

  “Let’s see how much she’s worth,” was the sneered response.

  Then everything blurred. She remembered there was a lot of yelling and crying, some by her, as those men questioned her mother, asking about guns and drugs. When hitting her didn’t give them answers, they slapped Blake. She was so shocked she couldn’t cry.

  But her mother snapped, flinging herself and the chair forward to smash into one of their attackers. In the struggle, the knife they’d threatened with ended up shoved into her mother.

  Mama, the one to read bedtime stories and kiss her gently on the forehead each night, slumped to the floor. Eyes wide open.

  Gone.

  Only then did Blake begin to bawl. Bawled so loud none of them ever heard her father coming home.

  They didn’t even realize he’d started killing them since her hiccupping sobs covered the soft pops as he aimed a gun and shot the bad men.

  Killed them but could do nothing to fix her mother. Only hold Blake as she snotted on his shoulder, gulping tears and hugging him tight.

  That day her innocence was stripped. Her father didn’t hide what he was from her, mostly because he used it to help her when the nightmares woke her screaming. Each time, he’d rock her as long as it took to calm her, murmuring, “Shh, baby girl. Daddy’s here. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”

  And he kept that promise. No surprise that after the home invasion he became a little overprotective. No one hurt Blake and got away with it, but even he couldn’t shield her from a broken heart.

  She’d screwed up so badly. Not because she’d slept with a mercenary but because she’d made the mistake of falling for one.

  It was best she walked away, even as part of her wanted to go running back and say to hell with it. The pleasure was like a drug. She wanted more, even though she knew it was bad for her.

  She ran the water and washed her face, patting her hot cheeks to try and cool the heat in them. Tried to dampen the emotion.

  How could one guy cause so much turmoil in such a short time? Time to forget him. To get on with her life. She needed more of that spiked eggnog. Lots more. And maybe some Christmas karaoke because she could use some happy jingle bells in her life right about now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Into the laundry shaft, with a fishing wire in his hand, scooting here and there, movin
g with great care, taking out the enemy where he can.

  Mathias waited a good ten minutes to see if she’d return. Pathetic.

  Just like he was too cowardly to go after her and try to change her mind.

  Eventually, he started down the spiral staircase. A sudden pop stopped him in his tracks.

  Champagne?

  Judging by the strangled scream and the shouted, “Hands up, mother fuckers,” it appeared to be more ominous.

  Someone had attacked the party. For real, or was this some kind of joke?

  Quietly, he crept down the spiral stairs and then even more slowly down the hall until he reached the railing overlooking the great room. The guests were currently being held hostage by the staff, still dressed in their elf costumes, four of whom held automatic rifles. The guests were gathered around the tree, some of them slumped. A few were weaving where they stood. Only a couple didn’t appear drunk.

  Or should he say drugged? He’d thought people seemed a little more tipsy than normal, but he’d been distracted by Blake. Speaking of whom, he didn’t see her among the guests. He heard the faint flush of a toilet then running water. He glanced up the hall then sprinted as quietly as he could. The moment the guest bathroom door opened, he swept her into his arms, a hand over her mouth as he pulled her back into the bathroom.

  Her eyes flashed in anger.

  He shook his head and mouthed, “Attack.”

  She frowned and mumbled something against his hand.

  He whispered a reply. “The waiters have guns and have rounded up everyone at the party.”

  “My dad?” Her lips trembled.

  “No one seems to have been shot. But I think the drinks were spiked.”

  “That would explain why two sips had me a little lightheaded. What do they want?”

  He shrugged. “No idea. For the moment, they appear to be holding them hostage. Given there’s a lot of wealthy people downstairs, I’m going to guess robbery.”

  “A home invasion.” She sounded absolutely terrified. “We have to call for help.”

  She pulled out her phone from a pocket in her snowman’s belly. Frowned. “No signal.”