The Bad Boy Wants Me: A Bad Boy Romance (34 page)

Tawny Maxwell

I
woke up with the chickens and went out for a run in the dark. It was a good decision. Finally, I felt as if my body had completely recovered from being laid up. I felt strong again, and it smelt like it was going to be a sweet day. In my experience those mornings always turned out best.

As I was coming into the foyer of the building, I bumped into Ralph. His boyishly handsome face creased into a genuine smile.

‘Hey stranger,’ he said.

‘Hey yourself,’ I panted and, putting my hands on my knees, caught my breath before I straightened again and tried to talk. ‘Listen, Ralph. I’m really sorry about the last time. It was my fault. I should have checked with Ivan first before I invited anyone around into his place.’

He grinned. ‘Make up for it by having breakfast with me.’

I jerked my head back. ‘What, now?’

‘Sure.’

‘I’m all sweaty and smelly.’

‘Don’t you know? Guys love sweaty smelly girls,’ he teased.

I laughed.

‘How about I meet you back here in twenty minutes?’ he suggested.

I hesitated and thought of Ivan’s reaction.

‘It’s just to that little café across the road. They do the most amazing blueberry muffins I’ve ever eaten.’

I turned and looked to where he was pointing. It was practically across the road, and it looked warm and cheerful inside with yellow lights, wooden tables and chairs, a long counter full of all kinds of baked goods, and waitresses in white shirts and short black skirts. 

I bit my lip considering his offer. Well, I had nothing better to do. Why shouldn’t I go? After all, Ivan spent his night with Chloe.

I smiled. ‘OK, see you here in twenty.’

‘I’ll be waiting right here.’ He grinned broadly, so obviously and sincerely pleased that I instinctively warmed towards him.

I waved and jogged up the two flights of stairs. I let myself into the apartment as quietly as possible, almost tip-toeing into my room. I showered, moisturized my face, dried my hair, and got into my new purchases; jeans, blue and white sweater, and cowboy boots. Then I slicked on some lipstick and opened my door.

All was silent and there was no movement at all inside the dragon’s den. It did feel as if I was sneaking around, but honestly, Ivan was like a bear with a sore head first thing in the morning, and I didn’t relish telling him I was having breakfast with Ralph. I scribbled a note and left it propped up on the kitchen island.

Ralph was seated on the long cream sofa in the lobby. He looked like he was playing a game on his phone. When he saw me coming, he stood up with a smile.

‘How do you manage to look so good so early in the morning?’ he asked.

I smiled at him. ‘Tell me your secret and I’ll tell you mine.’

He laughed. ‘Keep that up and lunch and dinner are on me.’

‘So what’s the story with the frosty bugger?’ he asked with a sideways glance.

‘Every dog should have a few fleas,’ I said firmly.

He looked at me quizzically. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nobody’s perfect. He’s frosty and cocky, but his heart’s in the right place.’ I smiled. ‘He rescued me.’

‘Right,’ he said, and held the door open for me.

As we walked across the road towards the café, he had his hand solicitously and lightly placed on the small of my back, but as soon as we were on the other side he dropped his arm. I was impressed. It was exactly the kind of Southern courtesy my mother had taught me to expect from a man.

He moved ahead of me, opened the door, and held it open for me. Hmmm … more brownie points. We sat at a table by the window and ordered blueberry muffins and coffee. I had a cappuccino and he had a tall latte.

The muffins arrived and they were a hair’s breath away from being as good as my grandma made them, he was easy to talk to, and he kept the topics light. I was feeling totally relaxed and happy when Ivan suddenly loomed next to us.

He didn’t look at me. He put his hands on the table and stared aggressively into Ralph’s face. ‘You’re obviously a thick bastard. Here, let me make it clearer for you. She’s out of bounds. Now fuck off.’

Ralph was cool in that stiff British way. He leaned back and said, ‘You don’t own her, Greystoke. And last time I looked you’re not my father, or my boss, so you don’t get to tell me what to do.’

‘Well, I’ve got news for you, shithead. She’s my ward. So you don’t get to date her unless I fucking say so.’

At that point I shot up. I was furious. ‘No, Ivan. You don’t get to say who I date. I’m only your ward as far as managing my inheritance. Nothing more.’

He turned to me, his eyes glittering savagely. ‘If you just hang on for one minute I’ll deal with you.’ Then he turned his attention back to Ralph. ‘If I see you with her again, I’ll punch your lights out. You’ve been warned.’

To my utter humiliation, Ivan then grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the restaurant with him. Everybody was looking at us in amazement. I was so embarrassed my face was flaming. Never in my wildest nightmare had I dreamed I’d be in a situation where two men were squaring up over me in a café full of ogling customers. Once outside, I let him pull me along until we were past the glass fronted shop window before I jerked hard at his hand.

‘Let go of me, you brute,’ I yelled. I was desperate to kick his stupid, sexy legs.

He stopped and turned towards me, his jaw tight.

‘How dare you embarrass me like that?’ I demanded furiously.

‘Awww … my heart is bleeding.’

‘What is the matter with you?’ I exploded.

‘What is the matter with
you
?’ he countered.

‘I was having breakfast with Ralph. He’s a friend. It was an innocent thing until you came barging into that café to harass us. I am so humiliated I will never be able to go back there again. For your information Ralph is a perfect gentleman. Unlike you. He never tried it on once with me. And here’s something else for you to think about, you big tree. I really don’t appreciate you thinking that you can run my life or pick my boyfriends for me. I’m old enough to pick my own, thank you very much. Now, let go of my hand before I cream your corn,’ I roared.

‘I’ll let go when you stop behaving like you’ve been given cornbread for brains.’

My jaw hung loose. People were passing us on the pavement and giving us a wide berth. ‘If you must know I happen to
love
cornbread, so when you get a chance to get off Twitter, you … you troll you, you might want to come up with a more inventive insult,’ I yelled in frustration.

He let go of my arm.

I rubbed it. ‘What have I done that is so bad, anyway? I had breakfast with a neighbor,’ I demanded.

‘I think it’s a phenomenon called karma. You know, what goes around comes around. Since you’re now worth over a hundred million,
you’
ve become the target for every fortune hunter in the country.’

I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Wow! I can’t believe I’m hearing this. So you assumed that Ralph is a fortune hunter? Just like that. No evidence?’

‘No,’ he stated clearly. ‘I didn’t just assume. I
know
he is. He’s a city boy who hasn’t made any money for more than a year. He’s had to take a third mortgage out on his flat, and his credit cards are all maxed out. He hasn’t a bean to his name.’

The first sensation was one of hurt. The knowledge that the lovely, ordinary life I had dreamed about was never going to be mine. From now on I was always going to have to examine the motives of everyone who came into contact with me.
You can either have good friends or you can have money
. I covered the wound with indignant anger.

‘You had him investigated? How dare you poke your nose into other people’s business like that? So what if he’s poor. It doesn’t make him a bad person.’

‘I didn’t have him investigated. Just ran a credit check. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re so mad about. It’s what you should have done before you agreed to go for a cozy muffin breakfast with him.’

The suspicion that I had been bottling up bubbled over. ‘Maybe I should have you investigated.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

His voice was suddenly deadly quiet, but I had got this far and I wasn’t backing down. ‘Maybe I should have you investigated. Find out why you’re going to all this trouble for me when you don’t even like me.’

He crossed his arms. ‘I told you why I’m doing it.’

‘The deathbed promise to Robert to take care of me? Or maybe … you’re so eager to marry me for my money. It is a lot, isn’t it?’

His eyes widened comically. Then he laughed, a sarcastic, arrogant laugh. ‘That’s rich. Really rich.
You
are accusing
me
of being a gold digger?’

I shrugged. ‘Why not? You’re making love to Chloe while asking me to marry you.’

He looked at me strangely. ‘I don’t make
love
to Chloe. We have sex. I fill up all her orifices and ejaculate in them. Her pussy, her mouth, her ass.’

My mouth dropped open at the last orifice he mentioned.

He smiled wickedly. ‘Why, Tawny honey,’ he said in an irritating parody of a Southern accent. ‘I didn’t know you were into ass play. All you had to do was ask.’

‘I am not, and if I was you’d be the last man I’d ask,’ I gritted furiously.

He threw a fake grin. ‘Shame. It might have been real fun filling up your cornbread eating ass.’

‘Trust you to be as disgusting as possible. However, I noticed you didn’t deny wanting to marry me for my money.’

‘That’s what our pre-nup is for, darlin’. I don’t take yours and you don’t take mine.’

‘Yes, but I bet being married to me would mean you could live better and bigger, wouldn’t it?’

His expression changed. He paused as if debating whether to tell me something. It was hard for me to know what was going through his head. Finally, he said, ‘Come on. I want to show you something.’

‘Forget it. I’m not going anywhere with you,’ I said stubbornly.

‘It might clear up the misunderstanding you have about me and my … er … intentions towards you.’

I hesitated.

He turned and began to walk away. For a few seconds I hesitated, then he turned around and cocked an eyebrow, and I knew I was going to follow him. How could I pass up such an intriguing offer to know my husband to be?

‘This better be good,’ I mumbled, taking a step towards him.

‘It is,’ he said, and smiled as I drew up alongside him.

He took me around the block to where his car was parked. Oh. My. God. Of course, he would have to be one of those guys who spent all their money on a car. It was a mean looking black Lamborghini with red leather seats. The car doors lifted up.

‘They say men who buy these kinds of cars are compensating for a lack of size or performance elsewhere,’ I said airily.

‘Have you ever noticed how haters are never as successful, as clever, or as good looking as the people they’re hating?’ he asked, and slipped into the car.

I got in, the wings came down, and he turned the ignition on.

‘Where’re we going?’ I shouted over the fantastic roar.

‘Buckinghamshire,’ he said shortly.

For crying out loud! ‘
Why
are we going there?’

‘Let’s just call it a surprise,’ he said casually and switched on the stereo. He pressed a few buttons and Johnny Cash’s
Ring of Fire
came on. ‘It’s a long ride. Lie back and enjoy the music.’

I crossed my arms huffily. Fine by me. If he imagined he was insulting me by playing country music, he could think again. I
loved
country music and I was proud of where I came from. Besides it would mean he would quit his belly achin’. 

We drove without exchanging a single word for almost an hour. Eventually he turned off the motorway and drove down a dual carriageway for another ten minutes before we got on to quieter country lanes.

A brown road sign indicated that Chiltern House was nearby. I had heard of it. It was meant to be very beautiful. I saw a picture of it in a magazine once at the dentist’s office.

To my surprise he turned into the road that lead to Chiltern House.

‘Are we going to Chiltern House?’

‘Yup.’

I turned in my seat to face him curiously. ‘Why are we going there?’

He glanced at me briefly before turning his eyes back to the road because we had reached a gated entry manned by a man in a uniform.

The man smiled and respectfully called, ‘Morning m’Lord.’

Then the gates swung open.

Tawny Maxwell

H
e nodded and we drove through with my brain racing in overdrive. The road climbed a hill. On either side was beautiful rolling countryside. My gaze was drawn to a herd of deer resting under a massive, old oak tree. The car came to a halt at the crest of the hill and from our vantage point, Foxgrove Hall sprawled out in the stately grandeur of a time past. I took a deep breath. Well, knock me down and steal my teeth!

‘All this belongs to you, doesn’t it?’ I breathed.

His response was a shrug.

Well, shut my mouth. There I was thinking he wanted me for my money and the man had enough to burn a wet mule. No wonder he was drinking a bottle of champagne worth thousands of pounds for no good reason. Now I understood why Robert had entrusted my entire inheritance to him.

I felt a great sense of relief: he didn’t want to marry me for my money. He genuinely wanted to help me. I gazed in wonder at the splendid building. I had never seen anything so grand in my life. It was at least five times larger than Barrington Manor.

‘How big is this place?’

‘It’s set on seven hundred and fifty acres.’

I whistled.

‘You’re wishing you hadn’t insisted on that pre-nup now, aren’t you?’ he teased with an irrepressible grin.

‘No,’ I said slowly, ‘but I am
very
embarrassed. Turns out you’re waaaaay richer than me. Why didn’t you correct me?’

‘I’m correcting you now,’ he murmured.

‘You live in London. So who lives here?’

He started the car. ‘Me sometimes.’

‘Jeez! What a waste!’

‘I guess I’ll use it more when I have a wife and kids.’

I felt a strange hollow feeling in my stomach. I knew he was not referring to our pretend marriage. One day, after he divorced me, he would fall in love and marry someone for real.

‘My mother lives here for certain parts of the year,’ he said.

I filled my lungs with air. ‘Is she here now?’

‘No, you’ll never catch her in England in the winter.’

As we drove closer to the house I saw just how tall and imposing the thick front columns were.

‘So you inherited all this, huh?’

‘The house has been in the family since the eighteenth century, but almost the entire west wing and its contents were destroyed in a fire in 1995. There was no money to rebuild it so it remained that way until I inherited it. I was seventeen when it became mine and I remember coming here that first time and not only the west wing was a burnt shell, but the whole place was in a terrible state of disrepair.’

He shook his head with the memory.

‘I was advised to turn it into a trust building, but I refused. It took me ten years to return it to its former glory. You are looking at the only classical Greek revival stately home in all of Buckinghamshire,’ he said with quiet pride.

‘If your father couldn’t afford to rebuild it, where did you get the money from?’ I asked curiously.

‘Well, I took a big risk. I knew there were billions to be made in the emerging property market in China, so I mortgaged everything I had and invested every penny I had. I could have lost everything.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘No, I didn’t. You know all those images of ghost cities that are on the net?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I helped build some of them.’

I frowned. ‘How did you make money building those? Aren’t they supposed to be failures? Years later and nobody is living in them.’

He smiled and shook his head slowly. ‘No. They are the opposite of ghost cities. A ghost town is one that is abandoned when the town’s fortunes decline and the people move away. These are the opposite. The people have not come in to occupy them yet. The Chinese are long-term planners. They can defer pleasure for years in the pursuit of a cherished goal.’

‘So you must be a real catch. What are you, like Britain’s most eligible millionaire or something?’ I clapped my hands over my mouth.

‘Billionaire,’ he corrected.

‘Sometimes you need a billion dollars,’ I quipped.

‘That’s truer than you realize,’ he said. ‘There’s almost nothing to beat the feeling of being so completely and utterly financially solvent.’

I looked at him and for the first time I felt as if I was seeing the real him. I felt a sense of peace spring up between us and I felt connected to him. We didn’t have much in common but we had this. We didn’t try to pretend that money was not important. We both knew it was. Without it this world was a cruel place indeed.

I knew what it was to have nothing, not even a roof over my head, and it was the scariest, most horrible feeling in the world. I will never be able to scratch from my mind the sensation that felt as if my stomach was slowly digesting itself, and how that hunger robbed my spirit. I don’t care what anybody says: hunger butchers love.

When Robert took me under his wing and said, ‘From now on until the day you die you’ll be able to afford anything you want,’ I cried with relief.

I looked into Ivan’s crazy-assed, silver eyes and that nameless thing between us started crackling again. If I had carried on looking at him the atmosphere in the car would have changed. The peace would have dissipated. Electricity and an aching longing would have taken over and I would be under his spell again, boneless, unable to do anything but what his body demanded of mine. I didn’t want that. Not now when I just found a real connection to him.

‘Oh my God!’ I cried in a mock-horrified voice. ‘The tabloids will have a field day. I can just see the headlines now.’ I zipped my hand in the air to punctuate every word that followed. ‘Greedy American Widow Steals Britain’s Most Eligible Billionaire.’

‘No, they’ll say, “Lucky bastard marries breathlessly beautiful, leggy blonde.”

I swallowed. If only it could always be like this between us. ‘No they won’t,’ I croaked. ‘They’ll hate me. I don’t have the right accent.’

He opened his mouth to speak but I interrupted him.

‘But don’t you worry about nothin’. I’ll be darling at being a billionaire’s bride.’

He threw his head back and laughed, the first real laugh since I knew him, and that made me smile. Sometimes, I decided, I really liked Ivan de Greystoke. 

Ivan parked the car on the vast gravel car park and we got out. A white delivery van drove in after us and drove around the back. We were walking towards the imposing frontage when a man in a cream sweater and white slacks ran out, his face wreathed in a large smile. He might have been gay. He flapped his hands expressively.

‘Good morning, my Lord. How wonderful to see you again. Will your Lordship be staying? Should I get your room ready?’

‘No, I’m not staying, Lee. Just wanted to give my fiancée a tour.’

Lee’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

‘Why, my Lord, I had no idea. Congratulations are in order.’ He turned his face towards me, his expressive brown eyes zig-zagging down my body and lingering one second longer on my cowboy boots. Yes, definitely gay. ‘Welcome to Foxgrove Hall, Mrs. Maxwell.’

I raised my eyebrows, surprised that he knew who I was, but I guess I was talk of the town.

‘Thank you, Lee,’ I said politely.

He smiled and turned towards Ivan. ‘Well, I can serve brunch or lunch if you prefer anytime you feel like it.’

‘Does Mrs. Kennedy know to make muffins?’ Ivan asked.

‘I only have to inform her.’

Ivan looked at me. ‘What flavor?’

‘Blueberries,’ I said.

‘Done,’ said Lee with a smirk.

Then Ivan put a possessive hand on the small of my back and led me up the grey stone stairs, and it was nothing like the polite one that Ralph had used to guide me across the road. This one said, this woman is
fucking
mine.  

This was turning out to be a sweet day, but a surreal one.

In the tall stone hallway where the house branched into three parts, Ivan stopped. He said he had a few phone calls to make and asked if I wouldn’t mind doing a bit of exploring on my own for a bit.

‘Yeah, I can do that,’ I agreed.

He suggested we meet back in the breakfast room in an hour. He waved his hand down the corridor on the left. ‘It’s the last room at the end of that corridor.’

‘OK,’ I said casually and wandered towards the main part of the house. But as I wandered wide-eyed around that sumptuous, awe-inspiring edifice, I realized that Foxgrove should not be confused with being merely a house.

It was a blatant status symbol built to show the rest of the world in no uncertain terms that its occupants were superior, untouchable beings. It took me almost an hour to see just one room filled with sculptures and artifacts from around the world. The sensation I had was similar to walking into one of the rooms in the British Museum. All these amazing sculptures, no doubt some illegally brought back from their countries of origin to England.

I turned around and went back to the breakfast room. Foxgrove’s idea of a breakfast room was my idea of a palace. There were gilt moldings, ceilings painted with angels and people in robes. There was velvet and brocade and different types of marble on the walls and floors.

‘Hey,’ Ivan said from behind.

I turned around. ‘Nice home you have,’ I said politely.

‘Yes, it is nice. I sometimes forget.’

Lee came into the room, walked to the long table, and pulled out a chair for me on the nearest corner.

I took it and Ivan sat next to me so we had the table corner between us. The muffins were brought in. They were still warm and delicious. Lee disappeared and we started to talk. Cautiously. A bit about me, but I kept the conversation flowing mostly about him.

I learned that he had spent a few years in America. Mostly in New York, a place that he loved and still went to a lot as he had a lot of business dealings there. He loved the fact that you could travel for hundreds of miles in America and still be in the same state. He thought America was one of the most beautiful countries in the world, but he hated the American prison for profit system.

Just as I was getting to know him, he got another phone call and we had to return to London. At my request he dropped me off outside One Turtle, and I didn’t see him again for the rest of the day.