Bad Boy's Bridesmaid (34 page)

“That was always
just part of the marriage.”

“Was it?” I
asked.

She fiddled with
her napkin. Didn’t like talking about sex, probably because she never had it
good. I changed the subject.

“So now your
grand plan is…?”

She nodded.
“Ruined.”

“That’s easy
enough to fix,” I said. “Change it. Live for the moment. Get fucked, have some
fun, you’ll find there’s more to life than structuring it.”

“Oddly sensible
coming from a man whose only goal is to win a game and have a foursome.”

“I don’t want a
foursome anymore.” I stole the appetizer if only to brush her delicate fingers.
“There’s only one woman I’d take to bed now.”

“And as
exhilarating as becoming one of your sexual conquests would be…” Leah rolled
her eyes. “I’ll pass.”

“Where’s your
sense of adventure?”

“I think
pretending to be your girlfriend is adventure enough for now.”

“I think you’re
afraid.”

“Don’t tell me
you were a psychology major in college?”

I was. Didn’t go
to any of the classes, but I won the college four bowl games. “You were hurt by
the prick who cheated on you. Your plan is ruined. You think you have no time
for fun, especially if you need to catch up on that big fancy wedding, the nice
career, and make all those little babies.”

“Fooling around
with you won’t get me any closer to my goal.”

“Who needs goals
when you can have fun?”

“There’s more to
life than sex.”

I grinned.
“You’re right. There’s kissing. Foreplay. Blow jobs. Blow jobs are my
favorite.”

“One of these
days, Jack, you’re going to meet a girl and fall so desperately and idiotically
in love that you won’t recognize yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. Do me a
favor and call me on that day. Tell me what you think life is about then.” Leah
thanked the waiter as he delivered our food. “I won’t even bill you for those
hours.”

“Not gonna
happen.”

“Your biggest
party will be the reception after the wedding.” She winked. “Guarantee it.”

She was
delusional but pretty. Good company over dinner too, better than half the guys
I usually went out with. No spilled beer or cat calls or molested wait staff.

I didn’t
remember what the soup tasted like or what the hell I even ordered. Leah sipped
her wine and giggled. I didn’t know if it was an act for those who recognized
us, or if she was actually having fun.

Only one way to
find out.

The live music
strummed some soft melody that I figured she liked. I much preferred the
bumping R&B at the strip clubs or the bars, but I offered my hand to lead
her to the dance floor.

She accepted
without checking the surroundings or ensuring anyone saw us.

The music wasn’t
bad. She didn’t grind against me, but her body fit perfectly against mine as I
wrapped her in a solid embrace. My hand drifted low, against her curves,
feeling her heat through the dress.

I hardened
before we even began to dance.

It was a
goddamned crime that a woman like her didn’t want a fling. Somebody needed to
drop her on the bed and give her the night of her life if only so she wouldn’t
move stiffly, awkwardly, like she was afraid to get too close.

I knew why she
was so resistant. It was the same reason my cock hardened for her.

I whispered in
her ear. “Why won’t you admit you’re attracted to me, Kiss?”

Her nails jabbed
me through the suit coat. “I’m not attracted to you.”

“Liar.”

“You’re not my
type.”

“What?
Successful, sexy men aren’t your type?”

“Maybe I like my
guys with a little humility?”

The music
swayed, and I spun her so I could check out her ass. “Humility’s boring.
Especially when you have reason to be confident.”

“Cocky.”

“Nine inches of
it, Kiss.” I didn’t let her pull from my arms. “What if I said that you were my
type?”

“Is it supposed
to be a compliment?”

“Well…yeah.”

Leah smirked. My
cock twisted.

And she called
me
trouble.

Her hands grazed
over my chest, as if poking me would shame the hardness away. “You’re attracted
to anything walking on two legs.”

I spun her
again, this time observing everything from her strapping black heels to the
hemline of her skirt. “Your legs are some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“I should be
insulted.”

“But you’re
not.”

She didn’t
answer. Couldn’t, because I was right, and she fucking knew it.

“Kiss, you are
an amazingly beautiful woman.” I let my touch drift low, brushing her arms, her
waist, and hips as I tugged her closer with the music. She let me. What a
tease. “I promised you the full Jack Carson experience. We ate dinner. We’re
dancing. Now there’s only one thing left to do.”

“And what’s
that?”

“My favorite
part of the evening.”

“Dream on,
loverboy.”

“Oh, believe me,
Kiss. After tonight, that’s all I’ll be dreaming about.”

She would too.
The little hitch in her breath gave her away. She wanted to know what it’d be
like too. She could find out. I’d drag her from the restaurant, toss her in my
car, and deliver her to my bed. I doubted she ever spent a night with her legs
in the air and her inhibitions tossed on the floor beside her panties. I’d have
her screaming my name and praising my cock before we were done.

And then I’d do
it again in the morning.

Just how Jack
Carson pleased the women lucky enough to attract him.

Fuck the music.
I lifted her chin, staring at her full, parting lips. I only had to convince
her.

I took another
kiss. Not like the one at the practice facility. This wasn’t some juvenile
posturing—overwhelming her just to crack that holier-than-thou façade. This was
a kiss meant to promise everything she never planned to experience.

Passion.

Lust.

Excitement.

Raw, carnal
fucking.

Her lips tasted
sweet like wine. I never kissed a girl with lips as soft as hers. Then again, I
hardly ever kissed women. Usually their puffy lips wrapped over my cock.

Just the thought
of Leah on her knees, opening her mouth, worshiping me between the silky caress
of her lips nearly had me explode.

Fuck.

Who the hell
gave this woman such power over me?

And why hadn’t I
tried to fuck it out of her before?

Her tongue
darted over mine. I pulled her tighter, harder.

Then…a flash.

A quick,
intrusive camera flash.

I knew the type.
Heard the shutter before. I ripped away from Leah as the jackass with the
camera stormed the dance floor.

A waiter and
server pulled him back, but not before the asshole grinned at Leah.

“How ‘bout a
picture for the Ironfield Almanac, baby? Jack Carson’s newest slut? Were you
one of the whores from the accident?”

I saw red. Rage.
The kind of aggression I only felt when the game clock ticked the seconds down
after the championship game and my opponents celebrated in the end zone off my
intercepted pass.

The bastard
insulted Leah.

She shouted as I
lunged for him, but I wasn’t aiming for his neck. That was the only reason he
survived.

I grabbed the
camera and spiked it onto the dance floor. The lenses shattered, but the
equipment didn’t smash until I drove my foot into it. The photographer swore. I
took Leah’s arm and hauled her away as the man broke down in ragged profanity.

“What the hell
are you doing?” She hissed.

“Getting you out
of here.” I nodded to the maître d'. He’d know where to send the bill for
dinner. “No one talks to you like that.”

And no one would
again.

Even if it was a
fake relationship. Even if we were pretending.

Leah Williams
was a goddamned lady who deserved better than a label of a
slut
.

She deserved
better than me.

Chapter Five - Leah

Jack was pissed.

More than
pissed.
Furious
. The kind of rage that made my job as his publicist
exceedingly difficult.

Usually his
worst scandals were sexual in nature. Occasionally he had a minor issue on the
field. Fortunately, he had only one physical altercation since signing with the
Rivets, and even that was settled quickly and quietly.

Lucky for anyone
who crossed him.

Jack was a huge,
imposing, utterly dominating beast of pure animalistic strength. Had he wanted
to hurt that tabloid journalist, Jack would have reduced that bastard to a pile
of broken bones.

It was the sort
of problem the league expected, and exactly the type of crisis he hired me to
handle.

Unfortunately,
his reaction to the journalist would get us both fired. I waited for the call
that’d summon us to the police station.

My heart thudded
in my chest. That was good. I thought I left it at dinner, puddling on the
ground at Jack’s feet while he delivered the single greatest kiss of my life.
Jack slammed his car door. The Porsche was too expensive to mistreat, but we
were damn lucky he kept the vehicle on the road and under one hundred miles an
hour as we launched from the restaurant.

 “What are you
doing?” I reached for his arm, but I didn’t have the courage to touch him.
“Jack, please calm down.”

Rage strained
his voice. “I’m getting you out of there.”

“Why?”

“So that
cocksucker can’t harass you anymore.”

I couldn’t take
a deep breath, and Jack stared at the road only to jerk the wheel and pass the
other motorists. Apparently, normal traffic laws no longer applied to a man who
single-handedly led the city to their first championship game in twenty-five
years.

I had no idea
what to say. “I’m fine, Jack.”

“What he said
wasn’t.”

“You broke his
camera.”

“He’s lucky
that’s all I broke.”

He jammed the
car in a higher gear and headed for the highway. I thought he would settle
down, but every agonizing mile only pumped him more. I knew he had a temper,
but he white-knuckle gripped the wheel. Was he really that upset on my behalf?

I didn’t ask
where we were going. He drove me out of the city and took the exit for Teagan
Heights.

This was a
section of town where I didn’t belong. There, the houses were worth millions,
and the men inside worth ten times that.

Jack took me to
his house.

The mansion
wasn’t the gaudy palace I expected, but it was gated, huge, and wrapped with a
pool, hot tub, and evergreen trees to offer privacy. He pulled into a ten car
garage. Only four of the bays were filled. A Mercedes, one motorcycle he was
restoring, a totaled classic car, and an old Toyota. Jack stormed past it, but
I pointed. He didn’t look.

“My dad’s old
car.”

He waited for me
at the door to the house. I remembered his file. “Your dad passed away?”

“Day of the
league draft.” He toughened, intentionally, hiding the pain. “He didn’t live to
see the Rivets take me. Come in.”

Jack’s
extravagant living room was too classy for both of us. The parlor was a fancy,
untouched slice of what a millionaire was
supposed
to like, complete
with chandeliers and paisley patterns. He showed me the kitchen and dining room
with a wave of his hand, but he steered clear of the sitting room that had
probably gone unused since he purchased the home.

His den was
downstairs, and it was a true man cave. He installed a wet bar and leather
seats, a fireplace and every game system imaginable for the wall sized TV. It
was dim, cozy, and served as an award room. He didn’t hang trophies and
accolades, but jerseys and photographs. I lingered near the newspaper articles
from his high school and the letters from old teachers and friends who
congratulated him on everything from his college bowl games to getting drafted
by the one of the most prestigious teams in the league.

This was the
real Jack, but even in his familiar setting, he hadn’t recovered his temper. He
poured a drink and downed it immediately. He had another before offering me
anything with a grunt.

“Jack, it’s
okay,” I said.

“He called you a
slut
.” He abandoned the hard liquor and opened a beer instead. The
bottle shook in his hand. “I’ve been with a lot of girls. Most of them are
easy, but you aren’t like them. I won’t let anyone talk about you like that.”

I wished my
heart hadn’t fluttered a little harder. “I can handle my own PR.”

“That wasn’t
good PR. He just wanted to snap a picture of me getting in trouble with a new
girl.”

I raised an
eyebrow. “But that’s exactly what we
want
. People have to see us
together. Those pictures will sell the story. It’ll be proof that we’re a real
couple.”

And the kiss the
reporter captured on camera was evidence enough, damning or otherwise. Every
part of my body still buzzed with the intoxication of Jack’s lips. My skin
heated. My tummy flipped. Parts of me that should never have pulsed for a man
like Jack suddenly came alive.

“We aren’t
telling people like
that
,” he said. “Not with a big fucking headline
calling you a
slut
. Christ, I’ve tried to get you into bed since the day
I hired your damn company. If you’re a slut, you’re the slowest score I’ve ever
had.”

“Isn’t that
sweet.”

He set the beer
on the bar and walked to me—long, confident strides that trapped me before I
could position the couch between us. “Look, Kiss. I’m a little…protective of you.”

“Since when?”

“Since some
asshole photographer with a blog decided to flash a camera in your face!” Jack
bit his words. I pretended not to flinch, but he saw. Apologized. “You aren’t
some random girl with me. Even if this wasn’t fake, even if we were a
legit…you’re not like the other girls. You’re…Kiss. You’re Leah.”

I swallowed. It
didn’t help. It was the first time in a year he actually called me by my real
name.

I had no idea he
was so protective, so valiant to defend my honor.

Craziest part of
all? I don’t think he realized it either.

“Thank you,” I
whispered.

He stood so
close, close enough to shield me with his muscular body from any threat to my
virtue in this world—except for him. I looked up, meeting the stunning gaze of
his eyes, the striking blue pinning me in place.

“Did I ruin the
night?” he asked.

“It won’t be a
good morning when the story breaks…” I didn’t move as he reached for me. “And
now I’m expecting a call from Jolene or the league or the police…but I don’t
think you ruined anything.”

His hands fit
over my waist, tugging me closer to him. His words rumbled deep inside me,
shuddering my core, my heart, my mind. Nothing made sense this close to Jack
Carson.

I had no idea he
could even touch someone so gently.

“I lost a chance
at my dance.” His voice melted me again.

“You were trying
to seduce me.”

“Was it
working?”

Like he couldn’t
tell by how eagerly I’d parted my lips and accepted his kiss. “It’s not a good
idea.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not
dating.”

His hand trailed
over my side, twisting in my dress, edging the hem into his curling fingers.
“What’s the problem?”

“It’ll get too
complicated.”

“Like faking a
relationship isn’t complicated…” He leaned down, skipping my lips and aiming
for my neck. “We can still be professional.”

I held my
breath, capturing his spicy cedar scent. “There’s nothing professional about
sex.”

“Sex is just
sex, Kiss.”

“Not to me.”

His lips traced
along my neck, nipping where my pulse beat and delighting me with every shiver
he could force through my body. “That’s no fun. Sometimes you just gotta fuck.
Ever felt like that before?”

No, but I was
starting to.

Still, that
didn’t make it right. Or good. Or anything I should have wanted from playboy
Jack Carson and his conquests.

“I won’t be just
another girl you take home,” I said.

“Afraid of being
the one I keep here?”

Yes, because it
would never happen. A man like Jack was trouble, especially when my life was
already in shambles. The only plan I had anymore was to slink home and soak in
the tub. I often pretended I hadn’t received the engagement announcement from
Wyatt and my former best friend. Jennifer was pregnant.

She had
conceived while I still wore the ring Wyatt gave me.

Jack wanted sex
for sex.

I looked for
stability. A relationship. The promise of romance, marriage, world-wide
travels. Kids.

We couldn’t have
been more wrong for each other. No one would believe we were dating.

But my head fell
back. I offered him another taste of my neck. The shiver was distressing.

Amazing.

His kiss
fluttered my eyes closed, and, for a long moment, I imagined what it might be
like to be swept in Jack’s embrace. To let myself go. To take that desire and
have sex for…fun. For pleasure. For myself.

I twisted,
meeting his lips. The kiss was as sensual as the one in the restaurant, as
powerful and confusing and absolutely
necessary.
His tongue flicked
once, twice against mine, and every stroke shocked me completely, buzzing deep
into places I wasn’t prepared to admit.

He loomed until
the back of my knees struck the couch. Jack pinned me with the promise of
something so frighteningly sexy I might’ve crashed into the leather from the
sheer anticipation of where else he might’ve touched, kissed, explored.

“Such a bad
idea…” I whispered. “We can’t.”

“Yes, we can.”
Jack’s fingers tangled in the hem of my dress. “What would it hurt?”

“It’d ruin
everything. We have a professional relationship…”

“Come on, Kiss.”
The material tickled as he drew it over my thighs. He exposed the sheer, red
panties I wore only because I didn’t think anyone would see that I matched my
underwear to my wrap. “I drove you crazy every time I came to the office. We
didn’t have a professional relationship to ruin.”

“We have one
now.” The dress slipped too high. My flat tummy revealed to him, and the
underside of my bare breasts peeked from the bound silk. A bad night to not
wear a bra. “Don’t you think this will make
pretending
to be dating
hard?”

“I’m used to
things being hard around you.”

“I’m not.”

He smirked.
“That’s because I behaved myself, Kiss.”

“And now?”

“What’s my
nickname in your office?”

“…Trouble-Maker.”

“You’re the one
in trouble now.”

I sucked in a
breath as the dress slipped off. Jack surveyed my body, nude save for a pair of
sheer panties that left none of my cocoa skin to the imagination.

Jack tossed me
onto the couch, falling over me only once he tossed away the sport coat and
ripped through the buttons of an expensive shirt. The bright, ragged ink on his
chest peeked through, swirls of dark and expressive tattoos that seared through
the façade of respectability he wove for the dinner we enjoyed.

Jack wasn’t
appetizers and cocktails and fancy French restaurants.

He wasn’t gentle
dances and soft whispers.

He was
fierce—raw and passionate. Sex for sex and enjoying every last second of
debauchery.

His lips feasted
on mine, his tongue stealing my overwhelmed murmurs and creating a wild moan in
their place. My skin chilled in the air conditioned house and cool leather, but
every swipe of his tongue heated me until the warmth consumed me and I begged
for a moment of air, of peace, of anything that would alleviate the intensity.

Jack delivered.
He grinned and seized my nipple within his greedy lips, nibbling against the
mocha nub just hard enough to make me squirm.

“A little
chocolate kiss.” He murmured with his mouth full and indecent and stuffed with
my breast.

I loved the
sight.

I savored the
shivers, the absolute decadence of letting a man touch where my fingers hardly
ever satisfied. He suckled and twisted, pulled and nipped, and the enthusiastic
pop from around the seal he created on my tip only excited me more.

This was wrong.
I knew it. Every instinct in my body told me so. God only knew how many others
he had teased this same way, and how many more he almost had if his car hadn’t
crashed and his intended foursome scattered.

But Christ, I
wanted this. So badly.