Bedding The Bad Boy (Dalton Brothers Novels) (3 page)

He let her go and crossed his arms over his chest. “Uh-huh. And you didn’t hear me calling you?”

“You called me?” she asked, eyes wide, her tone obviously forced. Lord, she was such a horrible liar.

Slower than molasses going uphill in January, his gaze traveled down her body, taking in her outfit. A rose-colored halter, black skinny jeans and heels. Definitely club worthy and sexier than anything he’d ever seen her wear. When his eyes finally met hers again, she couldn’t help but gasp.

His expression was hot. Scorching. And unless she was mistaken, he looked like he wanted, really
needed
, what the brunette had said he was very good at providing. Fast and furious sex with a woman all night long. Sex with
her
.

Before she could stop herself, her gaze traveled to the front of his pants where sure enough…

The evidence of his obvious desire ignited her own.

She’d come here for a reason and now she had her opening.

The question was whether she was going to reach out and take it.

The answer was a resounding no.

She couldn’t.

Couldn’t endure being in Max’s arms only to have him witness her inability to do what so many other women seemed to do so easily. Besides, although he’d checked her out and seemed to like what he saw, it was probably just reflex. She was dressed up. He was on the prowl. More importantly, she’d actually been running from him. His hunter instincts had kicked in was all.

She started to back way. “I’m sorry, Max, but I have to go. It was good seein’ you again.”

“Damn it, wait.”

At the commanding tone in his voice, she instinctively stopped. She held her breath as he walked toward her. That breath whooshed out of her lungs when Max lifted a hand and cupped the side of her neck. She gasped at how delicious his touch felt, how it was both tender and inescapable, and his eyes darkened to a deep burnished gold.

“What’s going on, baby? Why are you here?”

The way he stared at her, intense and deep, coupled with the way he called her baby, almost made her knees buckle. They certainly quivered, as did that tender spot between her legs. Heat washed over her then exploded when he skimmed his thumb across the line of her jaw. The way he was looking at her… as if he saw something in her that others didn’t, as if he liked what he saw and wanted to spend some time exploring it and hoped that’s what she wanted too… made a foolish hope start to bloom.

“Grace,” he said. “Answer me.”

“I—” She licked her lips, noting how his gaze dropped to her mouth as she did so. “I came to ask you…”

When she paused again, he leaned closer, until she could feel his breaths on her mouth, like tender air kisses teasing her with all that could come next. “Grace, I know you’re having a problem with something. You don’t know me well, but I think you know I’ll help you if I can. So tell me. What did you come to ask me?”

She took a deep breath and wondered if she was really going to say it, right here on the street. But the way he was looking at her, the way he was touching her… she wanted more of that. She wanted it too much.

Her gaze flitted away from his. “Max, I can’t…”

He raised his other hand so he was cupping both sides of her neck now. It made her feel boxed in. Trapped.

And she never wanted him to let her go.

Instinctively, she gripped both his wrists.

“Grace. What did you want to ask me?”

“You’re being far too bold, Max. I’m not goin’ to—”

“What did you want to ask me, Grace?”

“Will you please stop—”

“Dammit, just tell me.”

“I want you to give me an orgasm!”

They both gasped.

Oh God, she’d actually blurted it out.

Max looked shell-shocked. But she had to admit, he didn’t exactly look turned off by the idea.

His expression softened, if softening and burning could happen simultaneously, and he moved even closer, covering the throbbing pulse at her neck with his thumb. “Baby—”

“Max.”

They both jerked at the sound of someone calling his name.

Grace looked over Max’s shoulder at the gorgeous blonde gliding toward them while a bevvy of what appeared to be reporters trailed after her. A few people on the street stopped. Stared. Pointed.

Max cursed under his breath, stepped back, dropped his hands, and turned away from her. Grace felt the loss of his touch like a slap. He cursed again and said over his shoulder, “I’m sorry, Grace. I have to—” His words cut off as the blonde threw her arms around him and kissed him. Grace felt like she’d been run over by a train. Twice. Mortification flooded through her flattened remains and her skin turned as cold as a cast iron outhouse on Christmas day.

Oh God. Oh God.

She’d just said she wanted him to give her an orgasm and he was obviously dating this gorgeous woman.

Oh God.

Camera flashes went off.

Paralyzed, Grace waited for Max to pull away and acknowledge her. Waited for his attempt to ease the embarrassment and humiliation he had to know she was feeling.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around the blonde and kissed her back. Passionately.

The crowd hooted and hollered, and more camera flashes went off.

Finally, the couple pulled apart. The blonde buried her face in his neck, now seeming embarrassed by the attention she garnered. Max darted Grace a quick glance, a slightly strained smile on his face. But then he turned back to the blonde, shielding her even as he maneuvered her through the reporters hurtling questions at them and towards Club Lodi.

Even after they disappeared into the crowd, Grace stood there for several minutes. People on the street bumped her as they passed. Abruptly, she began to laugh.

It was either that or cry. And she’d already made a big enough fool of herself. Despite what she’d tried to convince herself, she’d obviously still harbored hope that there was more to Max Dalton than met the eye. That he could give her more than sex.

That she could give him something special in return.

That he could at least be a decent human being.

All it had taken to get her there was him coming after her, calling her baby, and asking her what she’d wanted and she’d virtually stripped herself naked in front of him.

At which time he’d kissed another woman and left.

She was such a fool.

Without looking back, she walked away, checked Operation Orgasm off her mental list, and forced herself to contemplate what came next.

CHAPTER TWO

Max’s Magic Rule #3:

Cover up mistakes and turn them to your advantage.

The day after seeing Grace at Lodi’s, Max dropped by Rhys and Melina’s house. When he got there, the newspapers on the dining room table jumped out at him. Each one folded to reveal a photo of him and Elizabeth kissing outside Lodi’s. Their plan had worked. He was now being heralded as the actress’s new love, the one destined to heal the wounds recently inflicted by her cheating husband, a famous Hollywood director. Another paper had gone with pictures of Max and Elizabeth walking into his condo later that night.

Soon, the Internet would probably be flooded with pictures of him kissing her goodbye at the airport this morning. Their hope was the photos would go a long way towards giving Max, and thus his show, the increased sales Jeremy wanted, as well as giving Elizabeth’s husband the impression his wife was moving on. In truth, she was still grieving their separation. Temporary solutions, both of them, but enough to buy them more time so that better alternatives could be explored.

Nothing to feel guilty about. He was single. Elizabeth was legally separated. There was no reason kissing Elizabeth in front of Grace should have made him feel like shit.

But that’s exactly how he felt.

Max helped himself to some beer from the fridge. He still couldn’t believe Grace had come to him for sex in the first place, let alone that she’d admitted it to him. But the fact that she had, and the memory of how vulnerable she’d looked when she’d said it, told him he was an asshole for walking away with Elizabeth last night.

His only excuse was he’d been shocked by Grace’s admission and feeling pressured to fulfill the bargain he’d made. How would it have looked to those reporters if he’d pushed Elizabeth aside to continue his conversation with the beautiful Grace Sinclair?

So he’d stuck with Elizabeth, showed her to his guest bedroom later that night then tried calling Grace at her hotel. She hadn’t answered. When he’d gone by the hotel to see her after he’d dropped Elizabeth off at the airport this morning, she hadn’t been there.

Which was part of the reason he was now here.

According to Rhys, who had called him early this morning to grill him about Elizabeth, the women were out shopping. He’d told Max to use his spare key and meet him at the house.

When the girls returned, he was going to explain why he’d walked away last night, apologize and get Grace to talk to him. Then, after making sure he’d actually heard her correctly, he was going to give her what she wanted.

What they both wanted.

Hell, part of him still wondered if he
had
heard her correctly or if hearing the word orgasm come out of her mouth had been wishful thinking. How many times had he fantasized about making Grace come? Too many to count.

Grace always looked good, but last night she’d looked
hot
. Not only because her hair had been big and her clothes had hugged her body just right, but because of the look in her eyes. Nervous but aware of him as a man. As if she’d wanted to get down on her knees and pleasure him, right then and there on the street. As if she’d wanted him to do the same to her. Later, even with Elizabeth bunked down in his guest room, Max had gone to bed reminding himself all the reasons he’d fought his attraction to Grace in the first place. Then, after falling asleep, he’d promptly fantasized about his hands on Grace’s body and her mouth around his cock. He’d woken up sweating and on the verge of coming. From that moment on, staying away from Grace made no sense at all.

They were both adults. He’d never tried to convince her he was anyone but who he was. If Grace was into him in spite of his reputation, and if she remained into him despite what had happened the night before, then why shouldn’t they explore what they felt for each other?

“I’m raisin’ the white flag, girls.”

Max choked on his beer when Grace’s voice came out of nowhere. He whirled around, expecting to see her standing next to him, but the kitchen was empty. So was the family room.

What the hell? He sure as shit wasn’t hearing ghosts.

Max scanned the room, finally spotting the baby monitor sitting on the counter by the toaster. Melina must have been testing it and forgotten to turn it off, which meant Grace, and probably Melina and Lucy, were in the upstairs nursery. He stepped up to the monitor, reaching out to turn it off, when he heard Melina speak.

“You can’t, Grace. You swore you’d never give up.”

“I was wrong. I’m a sorry excuse for a woman. I’ve given it my best shot, but my ‘get up and go’ has got up and went. I’m nevah goin’ to have an orgasm with a man,” Grace said.

The air whooshed out of Max’s lungs.

He felt like he’d been sucker punched.

Grace Sinclair—Melina’s smart, gorgeous and amazingly hot friend, the one who had him hard and aching on several occasions, including all of last night—had never had an orgasm with a man?

How the fuck was that possible?

And even worse, she thought that made her less of a woman?

Max dropped his hand. How could he be expected to do the right thing after what he just heard?

He placed his beer bottle next to the monitor then braced both hands on the counter, willing Grace to speak again.

“You know, Melina,” Grace said. “I like both fabric patterns. What do you think, Lucy?”

Fuck the fabric patterns, Lucy. Are you going to just sit there while your friend resigns herself to a life that doesn’t include the ultimate sexual pleasure? You’re a fucking feminist, for God’s sake.

“I think your sexual frustration has reached unprecedented heights,” Lucy said. “Time to come back down to sea level. You’re not giving up, girl. You need head-banging, ear-splitting, crazy-inducing sex. And we’re going to find the guy to give you an orgasm that will send you to the moon.”

Yes, Max thought, mentally giving Lucy a high-five. Though he had to admit, picturing Grace with some faceless jerk as said jerk bent over backwards to pleasure her didn’t sit well with him. In fact, it pissed him the hell off.

But Grace only responded with a small feminine snort. “I’m frigid and I have to accept it but I’m not givin’ up on love. I’m just movin’ forward with my life.”

Max mentally snorted. Grace saying she was frigid was as ridiculous as Melina thinking she needed lessons in sex because her ex-boyfriends were ass-hats. Rhys had disabused her of such silly thoughts, and now it was Melina and Lucy’s job to do the same for Grace.

Only… only…

“You’re not frigid because there’s no such thing. But…” Melina hesitated, then sighed. “You
have
given plenty of men a fair shot at pleasuring you. Why continue to force things? Until the right man comes along, maybe you should—”

“Jesus,” he muttered in disgust. He wanted to charge into the nursery and say, “What the hell are you thinking? You’re a beautiful, responsive woman. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, other than needing to be fucked, long and hard, until you’re screaming out in pleasure. If the men you’ve been with have been too incompetent to accomplish it, then I’ll—”

Before he knew what he was doing, he took several steps toward the kitchen doorway, stopping only when Grace spoke again.

“I’ve wasted my adult life tryin’ to find a man who can pleasure me so I could move on to the good stuff—marriage and a family. Well, I don’t need a man to get me off sexually, and I don’t need one to raise a baby, either.”

“A baby?” Lucy gasped. “That’s your new plan? Are you crazy?”

Max winced. He could practically hear her hurt in her silence.