Bad Son Rising

Julie A. Richman
Text copyright © 2014 Julie A. Richman

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This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

Bad Son Rising

Photograph: Scott Hoover/Scott Hoover Photography

Model: Va’Se Georgiev

Cover Design: Robin Harper/Wicked by Design

Searching for Moore
Moore to Lose
Moore than Forever
Needing Moore Series Boxed Set
Bad Son Rising

For Les,

We could be heroes …

What am I? A freaking stalker?

Zac Moore had watched her all weekend. Every move. He knew where she was, who she was talking to, what she was doing. He didn’t even have to look for her to know. He just knew. It was as if he could feel her — like a wave wrapping around him and dragging him to shore, but before it delivered him to safety on the beach, it spun him around, pulling him precariously into its undertow, scraping his nose and cheeks on the rough sand and broken clam shells, and then left him gasping for air, disoriented on the shoreline.

What the fuck?
He was somewhat annoyed with himself, bothered by this obsession. Girls didn’t interest him in that way. Definitely not how he rolled. Zac Moore did not obsess over the female sex — they obsessed over him. That was the score. Satisfaction was the name of the game. His satisfaction. And when he was done, the encounter was done. It didn’t matter if the other person was done or not. Not his problem. Next …

She was now across the deck talking to his sister, Holly, and her boyfriend, Jared. He watched as the breeze off the ocean whipped her silky sheath of near-waist length caramel brown hair into her eyes. He wanted to walk over to them. Join in the conversation. Push her hair behind her ears for her as he smiled into her eyes. But he was hesitant. All weekend she had acted as if he didn’t exist. No female — from age eight to eighty — ever acted as if he didn’t exist. Six feet tall with thick blonde hair that naturally fell onto his forehead with a bad boy lock, piercing clear blue eyes and full lips had made him the focus of the female sex from the time he was a little boy. Hoodies and sunglasses had become his close, personal friends when he wanted to ward off excessive, unwanted female attention.

Feeling a hand touch his arm, she spoke before he could even acknowledge her presence. “Go hang out and talk to her.” His dad’s new wife, Mia, motioned with a nod of her head over to where his sister and Jared were talking to Lily.

Liliana Castillo.

Even her name sounded intriguing and exotic to him. So different than the homogenized names of girls from his boarding school in New Hampshire and now his college outside of Boston, where the WASPier the name, the higher you placed in the school’s caste system.

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” Zac shook his head.

“I think you intimidate her.” Mia surprised him with her assessment.

“Me? Intimidate her? I think she could intimidate the heavyweight champion of the world.”

Mia laughed and squeezed his arm, “Now that is an understatement. She’s pretty intense. I think you’d be a good balance for her. Get her to lighten up and enjoy life. She’s way too serious for a nineteen year old.”

Zac nodded. All weekend he had been obsessed with attempting to make her smile. He wanted to see her happy, to know what her laugh sounded like. Maybe a secret giggle that only the two of them would share. And more than anything, he wanted to feel her pressed up against his body. To feel her soft curves respond to his hard planes, hear that quick gasp as her breath hitched the moment he entered her, see the flash in her golden eyes as he buried himself fully inside of her. He wanted to melt into her. It was physical. He could feel the pain and longing. Longing for a girl he had just laid eyes on the night before for the very first time. What the fuck? Zac Moore did not long or yearn for women. Ever. And this one — what the heck was her story? She made him feel like The Invisible Man.

“Wait here a second,” Mia said and disappeared. He had forgotten she was standing next to him as he focused solely on his elusive object of desire.

A moment later, Mia was back and dragging him across the oceanfront resort’s large deck. Looking back at him with her trademark devil smile, Mia’s eyes were alight, “You owe me big time, bucko.”

They were upon Lily, Holly and Jared in a second. “They’re playing Bruce,” Mia announced to the group. Anyone who was familiar with his father’s new bride, Mia Silver Moore, knew that in her estimation Bruce Springsteen personified the second coming and not dancing to his music at her wedding would be considered both heresy and a personal affront to the bride.

Zac recognized the first strains of Springsteen’s
Dancing in the Dark
as Mia herded them all onto the dance floor. The five danced as a group, with Mia whooping it up in the center, moving with full abandon as if she were at a live concert. She was clearly giving the message, “It’s my wedding and I’ll dance if I want to.”

As the song wound down, Mia touched Zac’s shoulder and he bent down, “Now make your move,” hitting him with her devil grin, she danced off into the crowd.

The music segued into a slow tune, another Springsteen song, though one that he wasn’t familiar with,
Lift Me Up.
Holly and Jared floated into one another’s arms and he could see Lily stiffen, not quite sure what to do in this situation. Opening his arms to her, he smiled down into her pretty face, hoping to convey with his eyes just how much he wanted her in his arms.

With perceptible trepidation, she nodded and moved to him. Together they began to rock to the slow, ethereal tune, the top of her head just reaching his pecs. Stopping himself from burying his face in her silky hair as he breathed in her scent, took more willpower than he thought he possessed.

“You smell like a Piña Colada,” he whispered in her ear.

Pulling her face away from his chest, Lily looked up, meeting Zac’s eyes for the first time. The corners of her lips twitched as if she were going to unveil that very first smile and his heart revved up, ready to take flight. “Is that a good thing?” she asked.

Slightly taken aback, Zac smiled reassuringly. “Yes. A very good thing.”

“OK,” she nodded and her head went back to his chest, ending the conversation.

Am I that hard to be with?
Zac asked himself, his heart stalling, engines sputtering. Lily was a student at Yale, his sister at Brown, maybe she didn’t deem him smart enough since he wasn’t an Ivy Leaguer.

As he pondered why this alluring enigma in his arms seemed to have no use for him, he unconsciously began to stroke her long silky hair, gently running it between his fingers with an intimacy reserved for lovers. As his long fingers reached her scalp, she tipped her head back, looking at him questioningly.

Wishing he were more adept at reading the story in her eyes, he held her glance steadfast as they continued to move to the entrancing tune, bodies molded together, heat passing through fine cotton barriers on its journey to penetrate and warm the other.

Lily was the first to break the glance as she put her face back against his chest. Trying to act cool and nonplussed, he wondered if she could feel his heart beating uncontrollably against her cheek and if that was his tell, his admission that he was positively lost — for the first time ever.

A new song began, another slow number and her cheek remained firmly nestled into his chest. As he wrapped his arms around her tighter, he could feel how soft her body was, a maze of curves, so different than the starved to perceived perfection females he was used to touching. Burying his face in her hair, he smiled, thinking she probably mistakenly thinks she’s fat, when in fact, her lush curves were so incredibly feminine and natural that he likened them to what had inspired artists and sculptors throughout the centuries.

Everything about this girl was different than anything he had ever known. She was so smart and intense, passionate about working in developing nations with people in need. Who thought about that? Not any of the girls — or women — he’d ever been around. And with the way she had ignored him all weekend, she clearly wasn’t impressed by his seemingly perfect looks. Zac liked that. Yet, it scared him. If his exterior wasn’t a draw for her, she would never want him. He was too messed up to ever be a consideration for her. And she was smart, maybe she’d already sensed that, somehow already figured out his darkest secrets and shortcomings.

As the song was nearing its end, a feeling of resignation began building its shroud. It was almost time to let her go. “I’m really not that asshole people think I am,” he silently explained. “Give me a chance. I’ll show you,” he never said, as the song ended.

Lily let out a sigh and looked up. Her eyes flashing something that almost looked like hurt, confounding Zac as he loosened his hold. Placing the palm of her hand on his chest where her head had just rested, he felt a scorching burn from her flesh right through his shirt, searing his skin.

“Thanks for the dance,” and with her palm, she pushed away from him, turned on her heel and walked out of the ballroom.

His first instinct was to go after her, but his feet were not having any part of it, paralyzed and heavy, they remained glued to the spot where she had left him. Looking down at his white Armani shirt, fully expecting to see a brown scorch mark in the shape of her hand, Zac’s surprise was in seeing that his shirt was still a pristine white. Laying his right hand on the exact spot where she had placed hers, he could feel heat. Her heat. His heat. Their heat. And an overwhelming sadness descended upon him as it rapidly cooled beneath his touch.

Britt Logan was a Stage Five Clinger, but gave, quite possibly, the best head east of the Mississippi. The latter was the only reason Zac Moore tolerated her suffocating presence. Oh, and she did make nice arm candy, he’d give her that, although that was only of marginal importance to him.

Propped against pillows with his hands behind his head, he watched her head bobbing up and down, listened to her slurping sounds. In another time, another place, that would’ve gotten him so hot. The girl could suck like a Dyson, and yet, he had the urge to push her away and tell her to get the fuck out of his dorm room. But what the hell, he’d tolerate her until he came and then get rid of her.

Picking up his cell phone, he checked messages. Really wanting to know the scores on some games he had bet on, Zac was pleased to see he’d made a killing on a few of them as well as that he’d be collecting a shitload of money on the bets he took. As he became more engrossed in scrolling through the games, he became almost oblivious to Britt’s sucking. Placing the phone on the bed next to him, he closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind and concentrate. If he could concentrate, it would be over soon and he could get on with his night.