The Bad Boy Wants Me: A Bad Boy Romance (32 page)

Lord Greystoke

I stood outside her door, one hand on the knob. I wanted to go in. I really did. No one would ever know if I did. I’d simply look at her and then I’d walk out. No one would be harmed. Nothing would change. I felt a twinge in my body. Fuck the twinge. What about the upheaval and the loss of control and power going on inside me? The urge was so strong my hand gripped the knob until it felt as if it would break.

I snatched my hand away.

I took a step away from the door.

Jesus, this was so screwed up. What the fuck was I doing? There was a world of possibilities and choices out there. Beautiful, willing, anonymous women who didn’t make me feel as if I was worthless without them. Women who didn’t gnaw in my blood like fucking viruses when I stayed away from them. Women who did what I wanted.

I needed those women.

Not this sick addiction for her body, her skin, her smell, her smile, her fucking lying lips.

She never wore shoes in summer. Yeah right. She always let her hair dry naturally. A little harmless Southern girl. She doesn’t fool me. Not for one cotton pickin’ second. I’m not Robert. She’s no good.

And yet I want her. So bad.

Fuck!

I should stop thinking about her. I should stay away from her. I should go out and bury my cock in other bodies. Eventually one of them will immunize me against her. Surely that cannot be too difficult to do.

Not for the man who won the title of Ivan the Terrible.

Tawny Maxwell

B
y the time I woke up it was nearly six o’clock in the morning, but the long sleep had cured me somewhat, and I felt much stronger both mentally and physically.

I washed and dressed quickly in the sweats that Theresa had brought. They were a little big, but they would have to do for the meantime. I put my hair in a plait, and opened my bedroom door.

The apartment was dark and still. Ivan’s door was firmly shut and there was no noise from within. Quietly, I passed his door and, picking up the set of keys that were in a silver bowl by the front door, let myself out into a corridor.

I stood for a moment taking in my surroundings. It was quite spooky that I totally could not remember passing through any of it. There were only two doors with numbers on them on that floor, Ivan’s and another on the opposite end of the corridor. I passed a lift and made for another door that looked like a fire escape.

I opened it and ran down two flights of steps to the ground floor. I exited out into a classy lobby with a highly polished floor and granite walls. There was a large vase of fresh flowers at the reception desk. A man in a cheap grey suit was standing at the glass front looking out. He turned around when he heard the door open.

‘Hello,’ he greeted, his tone polite, but his stare was full of suspicion.

‘I’m staying temporarily at Apartment 5. Just going for a jog,’ I felt compelled to explain.

‘Have a good run,’ he said formally, as he moved to hold the door open for me.

I thanked him and ventured out into a dark and mostly deserted London. Unlike Bedfordshire, there was no snow at all in London. It was just cold. I turned left and began to jog down the empty street. The cold wind whistled around my ear. I made a few turns, all the while carefully memorizing road names and landmarks, and eventually ended up in Brook Street. I ran down it until I came to Grosvenor Park.

There were other joggers and people with their dogs. They smiled at me or called out greetings. I passed the familiar American Embassy building and ran further up the road until I got to Hyde Park where a group of people were practicing Tai Chi, their movements slow and graceful. I kept going until I reached the Serpentine Lake before my lungs felt as if they were on fire, and I turned around and started to retrace my steps.

The morning sun was beginning to filter through the buildings and London was coming alive with pedestrians and morning traffic. Almost everybody was dressed for a day in the office and not as friendly as the dog walkers and joggers I had passed on my way out. By the time I got back I was drenched with sweat, but feeling absolutely exhilarated.

I let myself into the apartment and I could tell immediately that Ivan was up and about. His bedroom door was yanked open suddenly and he stood at the doorway in his pajama bottoms, shirtless and frowning. My eyeballs nearly exploded. Whoa! I’ll be dog-gone! Who knew that underneath all those perfectly tailored suits the icy English Lord had a chest full of tats?

Designs like you would see in Chinese landscape paintings decorated his pecs. Like dragons or flying beasts, the inked creatures flew down the powerfully developed muscles of his upper arms.

It was shocking to think that half-asleep and grumpy as a grizzly, a man could
ooze
raw sex appeal like that, but before he could think I was a special kind of stupid I dragged my eyes back up to his brooding face.

‘Good morning,’ I said cheerfully.

His eyes moved arrogantly over my hot, sweaty face. ‘What’s good about it?’ he asked moodily.

‘I don’t know. The sun is shining? We’re alive?’

‘Of course you’d have to be a morning person,’ he groaned disgustedly.

I smothered a laugh. ‘And of course, you’d have to be a mean sow in the morning.’

He threw me a filthy look, and was about to turn around and disappear into his room again when I spoke up.

‘I could make us breakfast?’ I suggested brightly.

‘No. I have a breakfast meeting.’ He paused. ‘Maybe coffee?’

‘Aye, aye, sir,’ I said with a mocking salute.

He nodded and went back into his bedroom.

After he shut his door I went into the kitchen and switched on the machine. While it was heating up I hit the shower. I hurried through my toilette, but by the time I came out of my room he was gone. There was an empty coffee cup in the sink.

The sight deflated me further.

Oh, well. I had the whole day to myself, maybe I should do some shopping. All the stuff Theresa got for me was too big and clumsy. Yes, I should go out and get a few things that I needed. With some amusement I realized that I, the dreaded gold digger, didn’t have any money.

I called up the bank and asked them to courier a replacement debit card to Ivan’s address. They were extremely accommodating even when I told them that I had no ID on me. They said they would send a teller who could recognize me with my new card. I would have it in less than two hours. I put the phone down and reflected that the world really did bend over backwards to accommodate people with money. I remembered when I had none at all, how the bank manager looked at me as if I was a bit of shit at the end of his shoe.

Well, no more of that. Robert had seen to it that I would never again have to endure such a situation. I put the phone down with a feeling of accomplishment.

Right, breakfast. I went back into the kitchen and looked around.

I was actually ravenous and ended up eating a bowl of cornflakes, two fried eggs, bacon, and two slices of toast. I washed it all down with two glasses of pomegranate juice. Afterwards, I placed all the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned up after myself, then got ready to go out.

I was pulling on my shoes when the phone by the front door rang. The concierge was ringing from downstairs to say that there was a flower delivery.

‘Shall I send her up?’

‘OK,’ I said.

I opened the door and a woman wearing a smart uniform said brightly, ‘Hello. Where do you want these?’

‘Wow!’ I said, looking at the riot of colors. It was a really big and gorgeous bunch of flowers. So beautiful it was more like a work of art. I opened the door wider and bade her to put them on the dining table.

‘Thanks,’ she said after I signed her little pad and gave it back to her.

After she left I went to look at the flowers in surprise. Whoever they were from they must really be crazy for Ivan. I went closer to the arrangement and to my surprise I saw that the card was actually addressed to me.

Bemused, I tugged it out and opened the envelope.

Happy Valentine’s Day

Underneath was a large scrawling signature that clearly read Ivan. With everything that had happened, I had even forgotten it was Valentine’s day.

Obviously, it did not mean anything.

I was staying at his flat and he must have felt sorry for me. I walked around the bunch admiringly. Gosh, it must have been really expensive. Hmm … I wondered why he had decided to spend so much money on me. Did he expect something back in return?

The phone went again. It was the bank employee with my replacement card.

‘I’ll come down and get it,’ I said.

She was very pleasant. ‘Anytime you need our help, please don’t hesitate to call,’ she said.

I got the card from her, then took a taxi to Fenwicks of Bond Street where I picked up a whole bunch of lovely lingerie, matching bras and panties, garter belts, camisoles, slips, a totally sexy and unspeakably naughty blue brocade corset, and a peek-a-boo black baby doll. I knew I would probably have no use for them for the foreseeable future, but purchasing them was therapeutic. Buying gorgeous underwear always made me feel better, and already I felt a whole lot perkier.

Carrying my bags quite jauntily, I stopped for lunch at a pretty little crepe café. As I was enjoying my goat’s cheese, scrambled eggs and herb crepe, I overheard a snatch of conversation between two women who were passing by my table.

One was telling the other, ‘I’ve booked a cab, but I might stay on at the party. It all depends what everyone else wants to do after that, I guess.’

Both women moved out of earshot and I did not hear more, but that little snippet of their conversation made me feel unaccountably sad. That was exactly the kind of life I had always wanted for myself. Having workmates and good friends and going to parties that I have to book cabs home for.

Slightly depressed, I paid for my food and walked up the road to Liberty’s. It was a grand, two hundred year-old nineteenth century Tudor revival department store that was that an Aladdin’s cave of fabulous things. I spent the afternoon acquiring two pairs of skinny jeans, a few tops, a couple of tracksuits for running, a pair of cowboy boots, a cream cashmere coat, a soft woolen scarf and leather gloves.

I was already weighed down with packages and bags and thought I was done, but as I was leaving the store I noticed a mannequin wearing a black silk, sleeveless, wraparound evening dress. It had a wide, deep V-neck and a bowknot sash at the waist. It had been accessorized with an intricate necklace made of red stones. I bought both without trying them on. On another floor in the shoe department I found a pair of red high heels to match.

It was nearly six o’clock when the taxi dropped me at the entrance of my temporary home. When I got into the apartment I realized that Ivan was already in. I always knew when he was around. The atmosphere became electric.  I went into the kitchen and, firing up the kettle, switched it on. I was sitting at the island with my sweet tea when he walked in wearing a dinner jacket and pale yellow shirt.

I did not dare stare but, my, my, what a very attractive specimen he was. Speaking totally neutrally of course. I’m not interested in him like that.

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ I said. ‘They’re very beautiful.’

‘Yes, I guessed you’d need a bit more time before you snared your next conquest.’

My shoulders slumped. For a second I looked at my bare feet. Wow, that hurt. I felt wounded, actually. Maybe because I had not been expecting it. I looked up at him. ‘Did you send me flowers so you’d have another excuse to insult me?’

He stared at me and I could tell that he regretted what he had said. ‘That was uncalled for. I’m sorry,’ he muttered finally.

‘It’s OK,’ I said softly.

‘You’re going to be OK on your own?’

I smiled. ‘Yeah. I like my own company anyway.’

‘Good night, then,’ he called moving away.

‘Ivan,’ I called.

He turned back around, one eyebrow raised.

‘Have a nice night.’

‘Thanks,’ he murmured, and hesitated as if he wanted to say something else. He must have thought better of it because he shook his head, smiled at me, and walked away.

Tawny Maxwell

I
sat staring at my cold tea. Without him the apartment felt so empty. I stood up and paced the kitchen restlessly. I couldn’t get the image of him as he hesitated, out of mind. The moment was like a splinter in my flesh. He was out having a good time. Everybody was out.

I felt lost and lonely.

Maybe I should go out for a walk, but it was probably a bad idea to be wandering about aimlessly on my own on Valentine’s night. What I needed was something to do. I should watch a movie. Or read a book. My eyes fell on the lemons in the stainless steel lemons basket. I knew what I wanted to do.

Bake a cake. A lemon cake like the ones that my grandma pulled out of her oven. Lemon cakes were simple things to do and all the ingredients were sure to be in the house. Besides, baking always calmed me. I’d probably have to beat the cake by hand, but that might be a good thing considering the state I was in. Burn off some of that excess energy bubbling inside.

I looked in the fridge and the cupboards, and the only things I was missing were a pound of unsalted butter and kitchen scales, but I had made this sort of cake often enough that I could probably guess at the measurements and get it right. As for the butter, I could pop down to the Newsagent that was less than a ten-minute walk away for it.

I put on my coat, picked up the extra key that Ivan had left out for me and went out of the door. As I pulled it shut behind me I saw a gentleman put his key into the apartment door at the opposite end of the corridor. I only hesitated for one second.

‘Excuse me,’ I called out.

He turned around slowly. He was good looking in a very English sort of way, dark brown hair, pale skin, nice, boyish eyes and proper. Very proper.

‘Yes, can I help you?’

I walked up to him and smiled. ‘I’m temporarily living at the end of the corridor and I was wondering if you have a kitchen scales that I could borrow?’

His eyes filled with amusement. ‘I thought neighbors usually wanted to borrow a cup of sugar?’

I grinned. ‘I’ve got that. I’m trying to bake a cake.’

He put his hand out. ‘Ralph Drummond-Willoughby.’

I placed my hand into his. ‘Tawny Maxwell.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Ah, the American heiress everyone is talking about is hiding out in my block.’

I grinned. ‘You won’t tell anyone will you?’

He smiled rakishly. ‘Not if you promise to share a slice of your cake.’

‘Deal.’

He pushed open his door. ‘Come in. There should be a kitchen scales around somewhere.’

I followed him into his apartment. To my surprise it was decorated in a very similar manner to Ivan’s apartment. ‘Who decorated your apartment?’

‘My mother. Why do you ask?’

‘She wouldn’t have decorated Ivan’s apartment too, would she?’

‘I doubt it,’ he said dryly. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘They are both startlingly similar in style and taste.’

He turned around and looked at me as if did not believe me.

‘I promise you they are. You must come and see it,’ I insisted

He nodded and, going into the kitchen, came out with the scales. ‘So you are baking on Valentine’s Day.’

I nodded. ‘And why are you not out on a date? You seem … most eligible.’

He grinned. ‘I like eating cake on Valentine’s with astonishing blondes.’

I took the scales off him and smiled. I liked him. He was good in the most unthreatening way possible for my battered ego. ‘I’ll bring you some later.’

‘Well then, I suppose I’d better help you carry this into your kitchen.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. This weighs an absolute ton.’

I looked at the little plastic thing cradled in his hands. ‘Listen,’ I said, and smiled to take the sting out of my words. ‘I’m still in mourning for my husband so I hope I’m not giving you the idea that I’m available or anything like that.’

‘Perish the thought. You’re absolutely ravishing. Of course, you’re not available.’

I laughed and he followed behind. I opened the door to Ivan’s apartment and he carried the scales in and set them down on the island. He looked around him.

‘You’re right. The color scheme is remarkably similar.’

‘Thank you for the scales.’

‘Right. I guess I’d better be off. Bring the cake around anytime it is ready. I’ll open a bottle of champagne and we’ll have cake and bubbly to celebrate our … um … friendship.’

‘All right, see you about ten o’clock,’ I said happily.

This day was turning out way better than I had thought it would. After he left I popped around to the corner shop for the butter. Then I set about baking my cake. It was nearly ready when I heard the key in the door. I felt my body tense up. I was not expecting Ivan to come back for ages and he had not warned me that anyone else had the key.

‘Who is it?’ I called out.

Ivan appeared at the door. ‘Me,’ he said.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

He sniffed the air. ‘What’s that smell?’ he asked.

‘I’m baking a cake.’

He seemed surprised. ‘You bake?’

I smiled. ‘Yup. I love baking. I usually bake in the middle of the night when there is no one around. It calms and relaxes me.’

‘Really?’

‘What are you doing home so early?’

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne. ‘If I tell you, you’ll never believe me.’

I leaned a hip at the counter top. ‘Try me.’

He plucked two tall flutes from one of the top shelves and placed them on the island top. Deftly he untwisted the metal from around the top of the champagne bottle and removed it together with the foil. The cork came out with a quiet hiss and he filled the two glasses. Picking them up he came towards me. He handed me a glass and I took it.

His gaze met mine. ‘I thought you shouldn’t spend Valentine’s night on your own.’

My eyes widened with surprise.

‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Tawny.’ His voice was strange, thick.

We clinked glasses. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Ivan,’ I echoed.

I watched him over the rim of my glass.

‘Does it taste like the greatest champagne ever made?’ he asked.

‘Why? Who says it is?’

‘The head of Sotheby’s Wine Department.’

I let my gaze float down to the faded label on the bottle. Krug Collection 1928. ‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. ‘It’s older than both of us put together.’

‘It was served for King George VI and his guests at the first royal banquet in Buckingham Palace.’

‘Hmm … I’d have saved it for a more special occasion,’ I murmured.

‘It is a special occasion.’

‘It is?’

His fingers flexed restlessly. ‘It is.’

I cocked an eyebrow. ‘So what’s the occasion?’

He shrugged. ‘Something at work.’

‘Oh. Great.’

His eyes were hooded and watchful. He raised his glass as if in a toast. ‘Do you like it?’

I took a sip and considered the taste. ‘It’s … racy?’

He nodded and drained his glass. Then he began walking away from me and poured himself another glass. There was something different about him. A coiled tension. If I didn’t know better, I would have said it was sexual in nature.

‘What happened to your date?’ I asked as he turned to face me again.

He looked at me expressionlessly. ‘What do you think happened to her?’

I shook my head.

‘God, I really hate Valentine’s Day. First you have to send out for overpriced flowers, and then you have to take them out to restaurants where you are cajoled into the set menu that you would never choose ordinarily, and then the couple sitting at the table next to you starts arguing.’

‘Ah,’ I said, trying not to smile.

‘And this year I was one half of that arguing couple.’

‘Oh dear! I’m sorry to hear that.’

A ping went off and I walked over to the oven and looked in through the glass doors. The cake looked fabulous. I switched off the oven and, donning thick mitts, opened the door and brought my cake out. Ivan came over and stood beside me looking at it. I heard his breathing deep and quick and felt his powerful body almost vibrating with tension. My pulse started leaping.

‘Impressive,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised you managed to find all the ingredients in my kitchen.’

I moved slightly away and forced myself to smile. ‘Almost. I went down to the corner shop for the butter, and Ralph lent me the weighing scales.’

His body became peculiarly still. ‘Ralph?’ he queried softly. There was menace in his voice.

‘Yeah. He had a real posh, double-barrel last name, but he lives at the end of the corridor.’

He frowned. ‘I’ve been living here for years and I’ve never seen my neighbor.’

‘You should meet him. He’s really nice.’

He lifted his glass and took a sip, but there was a new tension about him.

‘In exchange I promised him some cake.’

‘How civil,’ he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘And when did you plan to take the cake over?’

I flushed bright red. I couldn’t explain. No matter what I said, champagne and cake would look bad.

‘Oh my. Have I interrupted a late night cake eating date?’

‘It was not like that. I was just being friendly.’

‘Friendly?’ he snapped.

‘I was being neighborly. He was good enough to bring the scales over,’ I explained.

‘He came here,’ he growled, suddenly aggressive.

‘Well, yes. He helped me to carry it over.’

His eyes moved to the scales. ‘What? That heavy thing there?’

I felt my face grow hot again. ‘Don’t you judge everybody by your standards, Mister,’ I hit back angrily.

‘What’s wrong with this story, Tawny?’

‘All right,’ I conceded. ‘He did try to hit on me, but I set him straight. I told him I was still mourning Robert, but we could be friends and he was totally fine with it.’

He laughed, a brutal, cutting sound. ‘I can’t decide if you’re dangerously naïve or a total idiot.’

‘Just because I’m a country girl, doesn’t mean I’m illiterate or stupid,’ I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I felt crushed by his assumption that I was stupid and naïve, and disappointed that again we were at loggerheads over something totally innocent. I would have turned away and stalked out of the room if he had not caught my arm and spun me around. My heart jumped.

He pulled me towards him. ‘Let me tell you something about men, country Princess. We
don’t
befriend attractive women.
Never
.’

‘Just let go of my arm, please. I want to go to bed,’ I said through gritted teeth. I had been looking forward to having champagne and cake with Ralph. He was the first man who offered me the hand of friendship ever since I came to England, and now Ivan had completely spoilt it.

‘I’ll be damned if I left my date because I didn’t want you to spend Valentine’s night on your own, and you go off to bed in a huff because you don’t like the sound of the truth.’

I looked up at him, the warmth from his hand seeping into mine, and something in my stomach suddenly fluttered. Jesus, his eyes really were insanely beautiful. Like liquid silver. They poured over my face hungrily. Something dangerous whispered in my blood.

He’s your stepson, Tawny
.

The air was suddenly deadly silent. I could hear myself think.

Hell to the no. He’s your freaking stepson.

I blinked. ‘Do you want to have some cake?’ I asked jerkily.

‘Cake? Yeah, I want cake,’ he whispered hoarsely.

I stared up at his lips as they moved in their sensuous dance of making words. Something bloomed between us. I wanted more. Much more. Unconsciously, I licked my lips and, from the way his eyes flared, it was clear that it was actually an invitation, pure and basic. A female calling to her male.

He brought a hand to my hair and fisted it. Pulling me back, he covered my neck with his hand. His skin practically burned me. There was something dark and desperate about the gesture. My pulse raced wildly under his fingertips.

‘Oh, fuck it,’ he swore suddenly and before I knew it, his muscles flexed, my body slammed into his, and his mouth crashed onto mine.

Oh, badass! 

His tongue pushed into my mouth and the sudden explosion of lust between us was unbelievable. Never in my wildest dreams. Fireworks went off in my core. The passion was like wildfire that threatened to consume me.

‘I’m sorry I questioned your intelligence, but you’re fucking driving me crazy here,’ he growled, and swept his mouth along my jaw while his hand trailed down my neck and captured my breast. He rubbed his palm over the sensitized tips. Heaven.