A Bad Boy is Good to Find (14 page)

“Where are we going?”

“Surprise!”

Lizzie was already in bed, back to him, as Con climbed in. The cool night air still tickled his skin as he eased under the cozy covers and stretched himself along the delicious warmth of her body.

“You’re cold,” she muttered.

“There’s a nip in the air.” A nip in her voice too. She wasn’t going to forgive him for bringing Frankie. “You’re nice and toasty.”

“That’s me, a warm body.”

And how. He’d left his underwear on so as not to piss her off, but he couldn’t resist shifting into the curve of her lovely, round butt. All that soft skin in soft cotton underwear was a balm to his tired body.

“I tidied up the flower beds and edged the lawn. Looks neater now. Should help the place sell.” The fumes from the weed wacker still hung in his nostrils. His way of apologizing.

“Good. Just do me a favor and don’t sell it to anyone you’ve slept with, okay?”

“Deal.” He slid his arm around her waist. She flinched slightly as his fingers touched the bare skin of her stomach, then she relaxed into his touch.

Damn it felt good to have her back, even under these strange circumstances. Yes, it hurt that she’d dumped him so fast when she found out he wasn’t rich, but he could understand her being mad that he misled her.

He’d missed her so much it itched like a raw burn. Those few weeks they’d had together had been a little piece of heaven on earth. She’d brought out a part of him he’d never dared show anyone before—heck, he’d asked her to marry him! He really and truly wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

He’d brought out something new in her too. She’d softened and warmed, come alive. Come out her protective shell.

Shame it was back now, and harder than ever.

She was tough now, with a fierce edge that…drove him crazier than ever.

God he loved her body. Still soft and curvy in all the right places.

He let his fingers play over her stomach.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He buried his face in her curls.

“Touching me.” Her stomach quivered under his touch.

“Can’t help it. The bed’s too small.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to…fondle me.”

“Just letting you know that I’m right here if you’ve got any itches need scratching.” Sparring with the sassy new Lizzie got him going even more.

“No, thanks. I prefer cortisone cream.”

“Yeah?” His thumb “accidentally” brushed her nipple, and he noticed with a jolt of pleasure that it was hard. “Sometimes creams don’t work. When the itch is too deep.”

“You’d know.” Her voice was icy. “Scratch any itches for Frankie today? I bet a wrinkled Greek can get tiresome after a while.”

Ouch. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do I? Why not? There’s nothing between us but a business agreement so you don’t owe me any debt of fidelity. I’d feel no guilt about sleeping with any handsome, available men who happen to be interested. Not that any are, of course, now I’m flat broke.”

“I know one who is, ” he whispered into her thick hair.

“Trust you to call yourself handsome.”

“I’m not? A guy could get sensitive, especially if his nose got broken.” He teased his tightening erection against her butt.

She stiffened. “I feel an uncomfortable bump. Kindly back off.”

“Maybe there’s a pea under the mattress?”

“I believe it’s a thorn in my side.”

“Aw, come on. Wouldn’t you like to screw me again? Fuck me hard and toss me aside like you did back in the desert? I wouldn’t mind.” His cock throbbed at the memory.

“I hate to repeat myself. Now back off or you’re out on the patio.” She flipped over to face him and her breasts grazed his chest as she glared at him.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be good.” It caused him pain, but he backed off a few inches onto a chilly part of the sheet. “Go on and go to sleep, I’ll do the same.”

She turned over again, flicking her hair in his face, and settled down with her back to him.

You’d think since he was going along with her wacko plan she’d at least share a little affection with him. He didn’t like this whole game she was playing and couldn’t help a nasty feeling it was going to blow up in their faces. But, she felt he owed her and he couldn’t argue with that.

And as long as they were still together, anything was possible.

Chapter 11

C
on’s enthusiastic grin sent a stab of guilt straight to Lizzie’s heart as he settled himself into the leather seat of the corporate jet taking them to their surprise destination. She’d convinced the show to fork out for the jet on the grounds that she was
the
Lizzie Hathaway. The real reason was more practical. If they’d taken a commercial flight to, say, New Orleans, Con might have figured out their destination at the airport and balked.

“Pretty slick.” He fondled the leather armrest like it was a woman’s thigh.

Lizzie crossed her legs and snapped her seatbelt closed. “It’s just a plane. I can’t believe you’ve never been on one before.” An odd thought tweaked her. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Same age as you.” He jumped up from his seat and walked around the plane, peering out the windows and studying the door into the cabin. Avoiding her glance.

She blinked at him as her guilt evaporated completely. “Why am I not surprised? For some reason I believed you were twenty-nine, but now I know better than to trust any information I acquired back when I was the target of your money-grubbing affections. Let me see, I think I asked you how old you were, and you said, ‘How old do you think I am?’ then laughed and looked delighted when I said twenty-nine. So naturally I assumed…” She paused and shook her head.

He shrugged, rueful expression undercut by twinkling eyes.

She stared at him. “You look at least thirty, by the way.”

“A hard life will do that to you.” He shot her a cheery grin and settled into his seat. “This is the life for me.”

“I guess this is all excellent practice for your next attempted conquest. I’m sure you’ll have her eating out of your hand as you describe all the details of a private jet that you will just delicately hint is all yours. I can see you making mental notes about everything here in preparation.” Lizzie ignored the way her legs responded as if he was stroking them.

“Nice, though, isn’t it?” He stroked his armrest again.

“Whatever. Planes all look the same to me. A way to get from A to B.”

“Speaking of which, d’you think I should ask the pilot where we’re going?”

“No!” She said it too fast and loud. “We’re under contract. If they want to it be a surprise, lets keep it a surprise.”

“Are they going to film us as we get off the plane or something?”

“I don’t think they’re going to film us at the airport—there’s a car meeting us there—but they’re definitely going to film us arriving at our destination.”

“I don’t get. What’s the point of making it a surprise?”

Lizzie tried to look casual. “I guess they want those expressions of heartfelt joy on our faces. They said it was going to be somewhere special, that would mean a lot to us.”

A crease appeared between Con’s eyebrows. “What exactly did you tell them about us?”

“Nothing but the truth. Or at least what I’ve been told is the truth. One never really knows around you. Though naturally not the whole truth.”

Con’s frown deepened. With his sun-scorched skin and expression of hard-won wisdom, he didn’t look even close to twenty-five. Was he bullshitting her again?

Now the gloves were off, she didn’t think he’d lied to her. He’d been good to her in his own misguided way. She shook her head at the memory of Mrs. Frankie Gianopolous on her lawn. Did he think you could just charm women into anything?

Con peered out the window during the flight. Lizzie closed her eyes, not wanting to see his gleeful enthusiasm over every new detail he spotted out the window.

Okay, so maybe he really was twenty-five.

But her plan wasn’t cruel. She was taking him home. Yes, she wanted to put him on the spot and make him sweat. She wanted to see the real Con, not the slick, polished version that led her up the garden path. If he had an embarrassing past he’d tried to leave behind, it would be character building for him to face up to it. Maybe he’d form new loving relationships with all the relatives he’d left behind and he’d thank her for turning his life back in the right direction.

Right?

She glanced out her own window. He had to have realized by now that they were heading South.

“I think it’s going to be Mexico.” He settled back in his seat with his hands behind his head. “I can’t wait to see you in a bikini.”

“What a scary thought. Luckily, I don’t have one.”

“Why are you so down on yourself? You had a beautiful body before you starved yourself half to death, now you have a beautiful body by anyone’s standards.”

Why did he have to wear that expression that looked so much like genuine concern?

“Trust me, women are more critical about these things. Next to Maisie I look like a hippo. I could work out day and night for a year, and she’d still find something to chuckle over. I’m sure she was laughing her ass off at me wearing all that skimpy gear she helped me pick out at Las Gordas. Probably going around calling me La Gorda.”

“I thought you two were such great friends while you were there.”

“I thought so too. Of course I was drunk as a skunk the whole time, no small thanks to Maisie. With the hindsight of sobriety I can see she was having fun with me the way a cat has fun with its prey before it bites its head off.”

“Aren’t you stepping into her jaws, then, by going on her show?”

“I’m in control now. She’s in my jaws.”

“Hardly. She’ll be the one doing the editing.”

“But I’m writing the script. It’s not as if any of this is real.”

“A typical reality show, then.”

“Exactly. And with your acting skills it should be better than most.”

“I’ll tell you straight up. I don’t like it.”

“I know. That’s part of the appeal for me.” She shot him a dry smile.

“I’m impressed that you trust me to go through with it.” Con looked at her, expressionless.

Lizzie froze. Would he? Or would he screw her? Or more likely, would he screw Maisie and then they’d both screw her? Suddenly all that empty air under the jet threatened to suck her screaming into an abyss.

She struggled to look composed. “You have a bizarre sense of honor. I believe you when you said you’d have married me that day. I believe you’ll marry me now.”

“And divorce you.” He spoke softly, eyes narrowed.

The breath squeezed out of her lungs. She held his gaze. “Yes. And divorce me. By age twenty-six I’ll be a gay divorcée and you’ll be off on your merry way to seduce some other hapless heiress.”

“That’ll be tricky if I’m famous as the man dumped by Lizzie Hathaway.” Humor twinkled in his eyes.

“This show is going to blow your cover. What a tragedy, you’ll never be able to pretend you have a private jet as everyone and their dog will know you’re just a gold-digging grease monkey.”

A muscle flickered in Con’s cheek, and she suffered a stab of regret over her snobbish jibe, which was the kind of thing her parents would say. It felt dead wrong to insult his profession, which he obviously enjoyed and was good at.

But he’d preyed on her hopeful naiveté, exploited her trust. He deserved to feel pain.

She looked out her window. Blue sky for miles.

“You can see why I was afraid to tell you the truth,” said Con after a pause. “You’d have tossed me out on my ass.”

“As you so richly deserve.”

“But think about it. You didn’t love me because I was a big-shot engineer, or because my folks had some fancy estate on a bayou. You loved me because of the good times we had together. The dinners we cooked, the walks in the park holding hands, the long conversations about books, music, life. The kissing and hugging and…”

“The hot sex.” She hissed it between tight lips. Tried to ignore the odd tug she felt as memories forced their way back.

Con looked at her with those deep brown eyes. “None of that was fake. I had the best time of my life with you.”

Shit. He was getting to her again. How did he do that? She couldn’t deny that it was the best time of her life too, by a long, long, long way.

Then she remembered. “I thought you were someone else. Someone who loved me.”

She looked right at him. Steeled herself against his masculine profile, those dark, soulful eyes.

He held her gaze. “I wanted to be that person. Someone who could love you the way you deserve. But that part of me is…Broken.”

“That makes two of us.”

He looked at her, eyes so sad, as silence roared between them over the hum of the engines.

Con got a nasty feeling in his stomach as the pilot asked them to put their seat-belts on in preparation for landing.

They’d never left the continental United States.

All those snake-curving rivers, all that lush green beauty—he’d never seen it from the air before but he was pretty sure it was the Mississippi Delta he’d spent some seriously rotten times in. And that glimmering fat ribbon down there had to be Old Man River itself. They’d probably flown right over his “alma mater” down in Natchez. And if he wasn’t very much mistaken, right now they were coming in for a landing in…

Louisiana.

He glanced at Lizzie. Tight-lipped, she adjusted her seat-belt—she’d never unfastened it—and stared out the window.

You have good food to eat, a roof over your head, you’re helping Lizzie get back on her feet. You aimed too high and got your wings burned off. You called the tune, and now you have to pay the piper. Deal with it
.

He’d been honest when he told her he couldn’t love her. When you loved people, you lost them and it ripped your heart open and bled out all the good stuff. Left nothing but the working parts.

Turned you into the kind of person who could deceive someone you cared about.

He took a deep breath and straightened his cuffs. Braced himself as the plane descended toward a sliver of tarmac shimmering in the afternoon heat. A couple of bumps and they were down.