Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  She lunged for it but he held it up out of reach. “Uh-huh. I’m not just giving this to you out of the goodness of my heart. I want something in return.”

  The way he said it ... oh gods, the way he said it, it made her think of her bed, of him naked, of her writhing underneath him.

  Damn it, Marlowe, get a grip on yourself. He’s an asshole. We don’t picture ourselves fucking assholes.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, very aware she wasn’t wearing a bra. “Then I want to know that it works.”

  He waved at himself as if to say, “Hello, proof.”

  “It could be a spell or something.”

  “Spellcraft doesn’t work that way, but whatever. Give me your hand.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, then did as he asked. He swiped a bit of the cream over the spiders and roses on her wrist. When he did, the ink disappeared. “That’s amazing. Why doesn’t regular makeup work? Right,” she said, answering her own question, “magic.”

  “Magic is right, honey,” Dane said, twisting her hand this way and that. “Flawless. Where did you get that? I might need it for other clients.”

  “I’ll get you the details and a discount if you give us some privacy.”

  Dane slipped Beckett a card, air-kissed Marlowe’s cheeks and jetted before she had a chance to call him back.

  “What’s wrong, little girl, afraid to be alone with me?”

  Yes, she thought she was, not that she’d admit it to him. “Just tell me what you want.”

  “Mm. Nice place.” He wandered to the floor to ceiling windows and gazed out over the city. “You can look down on everybody at once, can’t you? That’s what you Montgomerys like, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. We’re snooty and we’re rich and we hate all you plebeians with your unwashed ways. What do you want?”

  He still didn’t answer, just slipped off his jacket and laid it neatly over the back of her couch. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his tight-fitted shirt, which was ridiculous because it was a fucking shirt and she never lusted after anyone ever. Not even Eric, with his runner’s physique and model abs. “A little civility would be nice.”

  “You just asked me if I liked looking down on people. What kind of fucking civility is that?” She really ought to curb this new predilection for cursing at every turn. With her luck, she’d slip and drop the f-bomb on her mother and get committed before the sun went down. But damn it, it felt so fucking good.

  And he didn’t care. Didn’t even flinch. Thought it was funny, maybe. She could say whatever she wanted in front of him and he’d probably heard worse, probably said worse.

  She could strip naked and he wouldn’t blink an eye. Maybe he even ate lunch and dinner while strippers danced in front of him.

  “What?”

  “Would you like some tea?”

  His lips quirked. “No. Thank you.”

  “Good. Civility taken care of.” She plopped down on one of the hard, uncomfortable chairs her mother had picked out—everything in her apartment had been chosen by her mother—and tried not to care that her ass was half hanging out her shorts. “What do you want?”

  “How well do you know your fiancé?”

  She made a face before she could stop herself. “What does it matter to you?”

  He moved around the couch, rolling up his sleeves as he did. His forearms were covered in tattoos, the right in color, the left in blacks and greys. She moved her gaze to the window to keep from staring. “Did you know he was engaged before? To a woman named Nicole Bainbridge.”

  Nicole Bainbridge? “The shipping heiress?” Eight years ago, the news had been filled with discussion about her disappearance. Marlowe remembered her because they’d been the same age and her parents had hired bodyguards to escort her to and from school for a whole year after. “They said she must have run away.”

  “‘Run away’,” he said, making air quotes and then sat on her awful couch as if he were at home.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He sat back, legs spread. “What do you know about your fiancé?”

  Same thing everyone who read the society papers knew. He was rich. He was the oldest son of Elmer and Regina Lightbourne. He was New Orion’s best hope for change. Her father adored him. “The son I never had,” he often said, as if she wasn’t supposed to care that her father never wanted her. “He’s very attentive.”

  Beckett laughed and though she wanted to be mad he was mocking her, he was right. It was ridiculous. She didn’t know a damned thing about Eric except her father liked him. She’d tried to like him too considering she was going to be married to him, but he was so chilly toward her. Except in public, except when there was press around.

  “You’re a little fool.”

  “And you’re a little boring. ‘Blah blah blah, little this, little that.’ Maybe get a new schtick.” Her heart raced as she said it; it wasn’t polite, it wasn’t nice, it wasn’t a Montgomery thing to say, but no one was here but this crew boss, this criminal ... this man who saved her life. “What do you want? Tell me or get out.”

  He pursed his lips and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

  Fuck. Why was she wondering that? It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. He was nothing, just a criminal. April 18th. Your engagement party.”

  She nodded. He’d been doing his homework.

  “What happened at the party?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was fairly boring.”

  His smile was mocking. “Poor little rich girl didn’t have a good time making a deal to get even richer?”

  She raised her chin, ignoring the taunt. “I’m sorry your brother is missing but I don’t know why you think Eric was involved.” She didn’t really think he’d had anything to do with it, not boring Eric. Then again, there was George’s note.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “People disappear around your fiancé. They ‘run away’.”

  “Eric would have told me he’d been engaged before. If not Eric, then his mother. And he’s not a crew boss. He doesn’t snap his fingers and have minions appear to take care of his problems.” She honestly didn’t know if Eric would have told her about his previous engagement, but his mother would have. His mother liked her. Marlowe made herself glare at him. “For all I know, you’re the one who ‘disappeared’ Nicole Bainbridge. Where were you when she ‘ran away’, hmm?”

  He didn’t answer, of course. “The Lightbournes are importers. That’s how daddy Lightbourne made his fortune, right?”

  She shrugged. The Lightbournes were a family as old as her own. They were pillars of the New Orion community and gave millions to charity every year. They were boring in their righteousness.

  “They’re smugglers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  He continued, ignoring her. “Of stolen goods from all around the world, religious artifacts, things no moral person would take, you ken? And humans, adults and children alike.”

  “Are you high?” She laughed because that was the funniest thing she’d heard in a long time. Eric, a human trafficker? He was too boring to be a trafficker. Too staid, too uptight. “Why did you come here? To feed me stupid lies to try to make me leave my fiancé? That’s your big plan?”

  “No, little girl, that’s not my plan. I just wanted to get to know you. To find out who you are, the real you. To figure out what kind of person would say yes to a man like Eric Lightbourne.”

  The words made her feel dirty and she didn’t even know why.

  SIX

  It was all he could do not to stare at her legs, at the long expanse of those beautiful legs, to imagine them wrapped around his waist ... or his head.

  If his pops were still alive, if he knew what his oldest son was thinking, he would have slapped him upside his head. “Ain’t that how you got into this mess, boy?”

  Nicole Bainbridge had been his girl before Eric had decided he was in love with her. It had been a secret love affa
ir because she couldn’t be seen with the son of a notorious crime boss, but they’d been planning to run off together. Stupid? Sure. Naive? Definitely. They’d been young.

  Nicole hadn’t known Eric Lightbourne was obsessed with her. Hadn’t known he’d been following her. Hadn’t known he’d seen her with Beckett on more than one occasion. It had been enough to drive the kid to corner them on Lover’s Dock and toss them both into the Azazel River.

  Beckett had survived. Nicole had not.

  Now here he was with Eric’s fiancée beholden to him. If he wanted to blackmail her, he certainly could. She was timid enough to let him, though she hadn’t seemed timid in the alley yesterday, had she? That fiery explosion was the reason he sat here now, debating whether to tell her the truth about Eric instead of watching her crash and burn from afar.

  Had it been coincidence, her being on the bridge that night or had Eric placed her deliberately in his path? It was probably giving him too much credit, but the thought persisted.

  When she moved in the chair—it was an ugly uncomfortable looking thing—his eyes were drawn back to her legs. Dear gods, if she was bait, she was a tempting morsel indeed.

  “I think you’re lying,” she said, cutting into his musings. “About him, about Nicole. I think you’re wanting to make me hate him because ...” She floundered then, because how would a man like him even know Eric to hate him? That was what she was thinking, wasn’t it?

  He raised his eyebrows. “Why do you think the river paired you with me?”

  She spluttered. “We are not paired up.”

  “No?” He moved toward her, sliding to the coffee table, to the spot right in front of her long, bare legs. He reached out and brushed the tattoo above her eye with his finger. “Same script, same sentiment.” She smelled good, brownies just out of the oven good and he wanted to taste her.

  God help him, he wanted to taste her.

  “For all I know, you put this here.” Her eyes dropped to his lips and she looked away, a pink flush stealing up her chest, her neck. Her shirt had fallen off one shoulder, her collarbone just there begging to be kissed.

  “You really believe that?”

  No, she didn’t, but she stayed stubbornly silent. She was so unlike the vacant-eyed doll he’d seen on the news. There were infernos in her eyes and the tattoos, gods, the tattoos. He was a sucker for them and on her? Montgomery’s good little girl?

  “What?”

  “Just wondering how you sleep at night, little girl.” He had murmured the words but she reacted as if he’d slapped her. He regretted it, seeing how she straightened, the flush of hurt on her cheeks. Regretted it, but knew he had to do something to keep himself from falling for her. He couldn’t. Not her.

  Seduce her right out from under Eric’s nose? That was another thing entirely. But he wouldn’t fall for her. Not a Montgomery.

  “I sleep just fine. And you need to get the hell out of my apartment right now.”

  “Mm. I don’t think I will. You want this, right?” He held up the jar.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Yes, I am.” As he watched, another tattoo snaked up her leg—a literal snake. She hadn’t noticed, not yet, not until he touched the place the serpent slithered.

  She jerked away from his touch, then shrieked. “Fuck! Why is this happening?” She glared at him. “Did it happen to you? All those from the river?”

  “Nah. Just this one.” He tapped the word above his eyebrow. “Apparently, it thinks you needed a bit more color.”

  “This is insane.” She leapt to her feet and began to pace, giving him a great view of her ass whenever she passed by. “My life is ruined. You get that, right? The second my parents see this,” she gestured exaggeratedly at herself, “and Eric, I’ll be over. No info for you about Rhys. No nothing.”

  “Poor little rich girl afraid of losing her penthouse apartment, her diamonds, her driver, her friends—”

  She snorted. “Fat lot you know about me.”

  “Then tell me about you.” The words were out before he could help himself. He did want to know about her—the woman with fire in her eyes, not the doll Eric paraded in front of the cameras.

  She tipped her head, assessing him, perhaps wondering if he was mocking her. “There’s nothing to tell. I’m the daughter of a rich man, the fiancée of a rich man. That’s all you see, isn’t it? Even if I told you about myself, you’d either not believe it or you’d make fun of me. And you know what? After the day I’ve had, fuck that noise and fuck you.”

  He laughed. “There is something sexy about those filthy words coming out your prim little lips.”

  “I’m not little!”

  He crossed to her, crowded her space, wondering if she would push him again or back up. She did neither, standing her ground, glaring up at him. He wanted to plunge his fingers into her hair, wanted to kiss her until her pink lips turned red, wanted to press her up against the wall and run his hands over the new color on her skin, wanted to chase that snake up her leg with his tongue.

  “Get out,” she said, but her words had gone all breathy, the conviction gone. She didn’t want him to leave.

  He stepped forward and she did give then, one step. Two. He backed her into the wall, gods help him. Her breasts were inches away from his chest, all that hot flesh of hers a thin scrap of fabric away from his hands. “You need to be very, very careful if you decide you’re brave enough to poke around.”

  Sparks glittered in her eyes. “You’ve got Eric all wrong. He’s ... he’s boring. Okay? No way he’s imaginative enough to run a smuggling operation.”

  He snorted. “I agree that he’s boring as hell, but he’s dangerous. His family is dangerous.” He debated for a moment, then ran a knuckle along her jaw, gratified when she shivered. “Be careful, little girl.”

  “Stop calling me that,” she said hoarsely.

  “Then impress me. Show me what you got. Find out what happened to my brother.”

  “Brother? Rhys was your brother?”

  He cursed himself inwardly. “Try not to get yourself ‘disappeared’, all right? I kind of want to see what happens when you unleash that dirty mouth of yours in front of your father. Oh, or on live TV. Perhaps when your lovely fiancé is asked about his opinion on crime in our fair city.”

  Her eyes were velvety brown, the kind of eyes a man could get lost in, and they searched his face. “It’s fading.”

  “Hmm?”

  “The makeup. I can see your tattoos. They’re starting to creep through. I thought you said this stuff was magic?”

  “It is. And like all magic, it fades. Remember that, Cinderella, when you’re out at the ball.”

  “Fuck.”

  He laughed, then pressed the makeup into her palm. “I’ll send over more along with my bill. What?” he said at her sour face. “You can afford it.”

  “Why did you jump in after me?”

  Because I saw something in your eyes that night that reminded me of the man I used to be. “Goodnight, little girl. This was an enlightening conversation.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “I know.” He paused, then said, “Fuck it, I have to taste you,” and captured her mouth with his.

  She tasted like sweet tea and honey, all things sugar, and gods he wanted to drink her down. He wanted to pull her close, wanted to strip her bare and take her in front of those floor to ceiling windows.

  If her response was any indication, she’d let him. She wound her arms around his neck, pressing her hot little body up tight against him, nothing of the timid arm candy left as she took as good as he gave.

  He wanted her so badly. Wanted to sink inside her and feel just how hot and wet she was.

  ‘Think with your dick, son, and you’ll end up dead.’ His father’s voice. It was like getting hit with a bucket of ice water.

  He dragged his lips from hers with some effort. “You’re a gods damned honey trap,” he said raggedly. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips swolle
n. “Did he put you on the bridge to tempt me?”

  “What?” she blinked like someone waking from a deep sleep. It was what she’d look like after a night of lovemaking.

  Fuck. He had to stop thinking of her that way. Thinking of her naked. “Your fiancé. Did he put you there that night? It’s conceivable he’s had his people follow me. How did he convince you to play damsel in distress?”

  Tears welled in her eyes, those damned beautiful eyes and he almost regretted putting them there.

  He waited for her to lash out at him, to tell him off, to shove him but the fire never ignited in her eyes. Instead, she sagged in on herself, seemed to shrink as if he’d hit her. “Go away.”

  “Touched a nerve, did I?” he taunted, hating himself for it.

  “I thought ...”

  “What? That I’d let you seduce me, and you and Eric would toast each other over my dead body?” Stand up to me. Tell me I’m wrong.

  “Sure. Yeah, that’s what happened.” Her face was tired when she looked up at him. “Get out.”

  He thought he would feel victorious having sniffed out Lightbourne’s plot ... but of course, he didn’t really believe she was working with Eric, did he? Not after seeing her fire in that alley, not after seeing her confusion when he told her about the Lightbournes, not after feeling her, tasting her—gods, how she tasted.

  He stopped himself before he did something stupid like tell her sorry.

  If Eric were listening in, he would laugh his ass off.

  “Don’t forget our deal. Find out what happened to Rhys and I’ll help you get rid of those.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Will you please go?”

  She looked so fucking dead, like he’d pulled a plug on her. The times he’d seen her on TV he’d wondered if she was just some sort of robot they programmed to stand by Eric’s side. She was nothing of the sort, but she’d found a way to make herself go away. She was doing it now, going away so she didn’t have to feel, didn’t have to argue.“What have they done to you?”

  A bit of life sparked in her eyes. “Done to me?”