Read She's Got It Bad Online

Authors: Sarah Mayberry

Tags: #Romance

She's Got It Bad

Zoe popped the stud on her hot pants

The small sound brought Liam’s gaze to her waist. She had a sudden flash of how it had been all those years ago, the way he’d slid his hand under the waistband of her jeans at first rather than undo her fly, how she’d had to beg him to touch her properly.

The memory urged her on as she slid her zipper down.

“Don’t.” His voice sounded too loud in the small space. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

Good. She wanted him to sweat. Once, she’d begged him to love her and he’d pushed her out the door then abandoned her without a word. Tonight she was the one in charge.

She pushed the hot pants down her legs and stepped out of them, standing in front of him in nothing but her black lace thong and bra and her red garters and stockings.

“So what’s it going to be, Liam? Are you going to give me what I need?”

She’d always imagined what it would be like to be with him. She’d been so desperate for him years ago that she’d begged him to take her virginity. But he’d pushed her away and left her wanting.

Not this time. Not if she had any say in the matter…

Dear Reader,

I had the beginning for this story years ago, and it has been percolating away in my subconscious ever since: a man walks into an art gallery and sees a portrait of a beautiful, naked woman and recognizes her as the great lost love of his life. I could almost see this moment in my mind like a scene from a movie. But for many years I had no idea what came after that moment, what kind of man he was, and what kind of woman she was.

Well, now I know. Liam is a bad boy, and Zoe is the perfect bad girl to help heal his wounded heart. Because they’re both so stubborn, their journey to love is a fiery and passionate one. I hope you enjoy reading it and watching them learn to trust again.

I love hearing from readers, so if you’d like to drop me a line or find out more about me and my books, please visit my Web site at www.sarahmayberry.com.

Happy reading!

Sarah Mayberry

She’s Got It Bad

SARAH MAYBERRY

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sarah Mayberry has recently decided to list her profession as Gypsy/writer, since she’s moved eight times in the past five years. Currently she’s based in Auckland, New Zealand, but she still calls Melbourne, Australia, home and hopes to have a latte on Brunswick Street sometime soon.

When she’s not writing books, she also writes for TV, reads, cooks, shops for shoes and tries to get her derriere to the gym occasionally.

Books by Sarah Mayberry

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

211—CAN’T GET ENOUGH

251—CRUISE CONTROL*

278—ANYTHING FOR YOU*

314—TAKE ON ME**

320—ALL OVER YOU**

326—HOT FOR HIM**

380—BURNING UP

404—BELOW THE BELT

425—AMOROUS LIAISONS

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

1551—A NATURAL FATHER

Every book is a journey, and I wouldn’t have been able to take this one without Chris holding my hand, as always. I love you.

Then there is my editor, the amazing and talented Wanda, who always steers me right—thank you for listening to me ramble and curse and always, somehow, managing to sound interested no matter how long it goes on.

And lastly, thanks to Mihiteria, for helping me keep writing and laughing even when sometimes it felt like an uphill battle.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Prologue

Melbourne, Australia

October 1997

IT WAS SO DARK that Liam Masters could barely see his hand in front of his face. His boots scuffed against an uneven stretch of concrete as he turned from the Fords’ driveway onto the paved path that led through their backyard. He could just make out the paleness of the studio ahead, a less-dark shape in all the blackness.

If he’d stayed at the party, he’d probably be peeling off Sally Kendrick’s underwear by now. At seventeen, he had more than enough experience to know when he was going to get lucky.

He had no idea why he’d decided to come home instead.

Stupid, that’s what he was.

A shadow moved against the side of the studio as he reached into his pocket for his keys. He froze, muscles tensing. Then he heard someone take a deep, shaky breath and the smell of honeysuckle reached him on the warm night air.

Zoe.

He pushed his hands into his back pockets. The safest place for them when Zoe Ford was around.

“You’re home early,” she said.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice came out sharper, harder than he’d intended.

“Waiting for you.”

He didn’t know what to do with her straight-up answer.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. “What if Tom comes home?”

Her brother was wildly protective of her. Liam didn’t need to see her face to know that she was frowning. Could picture her dark eyebrows knitting together, the stubbornness in her green eyes.

“I’m sick of waiting,” she said.

Shit.

He wished he hadn’t downed those three beers at the party. His brain was fuzzy, not as crisp as he needed it to be when he was within touching distance of his best friend’s little sister.

“No one asked you to wait,” he said.

They weren’t talking about him coming home from the party to find her on the front step of his temporary home. They both knew that.

“Is it true?” she asked.

“What?”

“What Tom told me. Is it true you’re going out with Sally Kendrick?”

“You need to go inside before your parents hear us,” he said.

“Are you going out with her or not?” Zoe’s voice was shaking.

“No.”

He should have lied. Told her he and Sally were nuts about each other, that he’d just rolled out of her bed.

“Is that why you’re home early? Because things didn’t work out with Sally?”

She’d moved closer, within reach. He could see the pale oval of her face, smell the sweet honeysuckle smell of her favorite body lotion.

She’s fifteen, man. Fifteen, and the daughter of the people who took you in when no one else wanted you.

He needed to make her go inside, back to her own bedroom, back to her single bed and her walls covered with posters of heavy-metal bands and football teams.

“I don’t know why I came home,” he said.

She took another step closer. What little light there was glinted off her eyes.

“Kiss me,” she said. “Please.”

He clenched his hands into the denim of his jeans.

“You have to go inside.” His voice sounded low and too quiet. Unconvincing. Desperate.

She must have thought so, too, because she took a last step and closed the distance between them. He could feel the warmth of her body, the brush of her small, firm breasts against his chest, the whisper of her breath on his neck.

“I can’t stand it anymore, Liam. Sitting opposite you at breakfast and dinner, seeing you at school, at home. I can’t stop thinking about you. Please kiss me.”

Every muscle in his body tensed as she slid her arms around his waist. She pressed her body against his, her hands clutching at his back. She lifted her head, and her hair skimmed his chin as she pressed tentative kisses onto his collarbone and neck. One, two, three, her mouth soft and moist.

He was already hard. Had been since the moment he caught the scent of honeysuckle. She pressed her hips against his and the pressure made him groan.

“No,” he said, reaching for her shoulders to push her away.

But somehow he was sliding his hands into her hair instead, holding her head and tilting her face toward him. Then he was kissing her, his tongue in her mouth, her taste surrounding him.

She’d never been kissed before. He knew because she’d told him two months ago. He’d been thinking about being her first ever since. He wanted to make his mark on her, make it perfect.

He stroked her tongue with his and traced her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. She made a small sobbing sound and angled her head to give him more access. She tasted so sweet, so clean and sweet.

He slid a hand down her back to cup her backside, holding her against himself as he flexed his hips forward, feeling her mound against his erection.

He was so hard. Man, he wanted…He wanted so much he was afraid he was about to lose it.

Her hands were tugging at the bottom of his T-shirt.

“Take this off. I want to touch you,” she said.

She yanked the T-shirt up and he released his grip on her long enough for her to pull it over his head. Then her hands were on him, touching, smoothing, teasing, discovering.

He couldn’t think. Didn’t want to. As her fingers found his nipples, he broke their kiss long enough to pull his keys from his pocket. His hand was shaking so much it was a miracle he got the key in the lock. Then he was kissing her again and backing her up the few stairs and inside the studio toward his bed.

She stopped when the backs of her knees hit the mattress.

“Wait,” she said, and he heard the rustle of clothing and knew she’d tugged off her own T-shirt.

He swore under his breath. She never wore a bra, even though her mom hassled her about it.

He’d wanted to touch her, hold her for so long now. Wanted to know what color her nipples were, if they were as sweet and plump as they looked through the fabric of her T-shirts.

“Zoe, I have to see you.”

He flicked the bedside lamp on and she blinked in the sudden light. Her hands came up to cover herself. He reached for them and slowly tugged them away, holding her arms out from her sides.

He sucked in a breath when he saw her, so pink and firm. Her nipples were like little berries, hard already even though he hadn’t touched them yet.

“Zoe,” he said, reaching for her.

She shuddered as he slid his hands up her torso. She felt like warm silk, so smooth and perfect.

His palms covered her breasts, his thumbs finding her nipples. She bit her lip as he teased them.

“That feels so good,” she whispered, her eyes half-closed.

She looked beautiful standing there in nothing but her jeans and bare feet, her long dark hair spilling down her back, her cheeks and chest flushed. He ducked his head and kissed her again, his hands teasing all the while. She started to press her pelvis forward and he could feel her heart pounding. He ducked his head and kissed his way down her neck to her chest until he was pulling one hard little nipple into his mouth.

“Oh,” she said. Her body jerked in his arms. Her hands found his head, her fingers burrowing into his hair as she held him at her breast, her breath coming in sharp pants. “So good, Liam, so good,” she whispered over and over.

He pushed her back onto the bed and they fell together. He relished the feel of her beneath him, loving the way she instinctively opened her thighs so that he could press his hardness against the hot heart of her.

They kissed and grabbed at each other for long minutes, hips grinding together through two layers of denim, the friction exquisite but not nearly enough.

He slid a hand over her mound and found the thick seam where her jeans joined at the crotch. He pressed firmly, feeling how hot and steamy she was. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders and her hips lifted.

“Liam,” she said. “Yes.”

He rubbed her some more, and she circled her hips, her eyes closed as she gave herself over to the moment.

He wanted inside her so bad. He slid a hand to the waistband of her jeans, slipped his fingers beneath the fabric. She caught her breath and he felt her belly tense beneath his hand. Then she was widening her legs, encouraging him to keep going. He slid his hand farther, into her soft curls. She stilled as he sent a single finger probing lower.

Man, she was so wet. Hot and slippery and wet. He pressed his hard-on against her thigh as his finger slid between her folds.

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