Taken (A Bad Boy Romance Book 1) (2 page)

I might not have much to learn from her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t teach her a thing or two about how I get things done in this life.

And her first lesson is simple…

I don’t take no for an answer. .

* * *

Leila

My body warned me the moment I saw his eyes. Dark, mysterious eyes that no woman alive could possibly ignore. I couldn’t pull away from them, no matter how hard I tried. They were like magnets that kept sucking me in. Bad, troublemaking, gorgeous magnets.

I should’ve slammed my door on him immediately. I should’ve lied, made up a reason why I couldn’t see him as a client. But I didn’t, and I’m still trembling inside because of this. It wasn’t all my fault though… I swear to god the first second I saw him it was like he controlled some sort of switch inside of me. He turned it on, and I couldn’t do a fucking thing to turn it back off.

Maybe he won’t ever come back.

Maybe he’ll skip town on his court-mandated sessions.

Maybe I won’t have to face that thick, rugged beard, or those broad, sculpted shoulders.

Maybe I won’t have to smell his intoxicating scent.

I take a deep breath and sit back in my chair, glancing over at the door to double check that he’s really gone. Something he did to my stomach, the way my heart fluttered, and the way I couldn’t concentrate… I didn’t like it. Not at all. I have too much to lose right now, too much to prove to the world- a world that’s been watching to see if I would fail, to see if I would or wouldn’t live up to my father’s legacy.

Brady Stone
. His name courses through my veins like a runaway train. Bad news, but I can fix this. I can find a way out and make sure I don’t ever have to look at that man for as long as I live.

His personal data chart that the court submitted was virtually useless. I know he fractured another man’s face in eleven different places with his bare hands. I know that a judge forced him to see a counselor
or
do time. But that’s where the knowing stops.

And the guessing starts.

Brady Stone
, the kind of bad boy enigma that a girl like me should stay as far away from as possible.

Unless my goal is personal destruction.

I look down at the tickets, and then over at the paper shredder. I know exactly what I need to do with those two pieces of paper. My heart startles as a loud thud lands on my door.

Please, no
.

I open the door and let out a sigh of relief as I see that it’s anyone but Brady Stone. In fact, it’s Mike Walsh, a conservative, hotshot lawyer fresh out of Harvard Law who likes to check up on me on a daily basis. In other words, it’s the exact opposite of guys like Brady Stone.

Oh, and then there’s the fact that Mike and I grew up together. We couldn’t be further apart when it comes to chemistry and all, although my parents would like to think differently. And apparently so does Mike because he’s been trying to get in my pants since high school.

“You look like you just saw a Casper. Everything okay around here?” He quickly scans my empty office. “Business still non-existent?”

Mike is brutally handsome in that clean-cut made in America sort of way. Perfectly groomed blonde hair, blue country club eyes, and a bronze complexion that speaks of nothing but tennis lessons and trust funds.

“Thanks, Mike,” I spout.

Mike peers around my empty office again, but not before glancing down at my cleavage. I cover myself up with my arms, and pretend like nothing just happened. I don’t think his intentions are all that horrible, at least no more horrible than most creatures that walk around with a penis.

“Just saying… You’ve been here for four weeks already Lei. And you haven’t seen any clients yet. How are you even going to pay the rent?” He pauses to rub his chin while he thinks. “Oh I get it, daddy’s going to save the day again.”

“Shut up Mike. Haven’t you heard of the phrase
setting up shop
?”

Mike is about to respond until his eyes catch the two rectangular pieces of paper off to the side. He scoffs. “Whoa, Lei, I never pegged
you
for the rock club type.”

The tickets. Brady Stone.
As annoying as Mike Walsh can be, he’s actually a much-needed distraction from even having to think about Brady Stone.

“I’m not, and you know I’m not.”

Mike shrugs his broad, rugby team shoulders. “Could’ve fooled me. I mean, I know your dad has done everything he can to keep you from going near anything that could put his little princess in harms way. But you’re not exactly a little girl anymore, are you Leila?” Mike’s eyes drop to my waist, taking things a little bit further than usual, even for him.

I clear my throat and turn my body to the side. “Gross, Mike. Thanks for your support but I have work to do.”

He makes a slight adjustment to his blue tie that’s peppered with tiny American flags. He scoffs again and says, “Whatever you say, Leila Crawford. Just let me know when you’re ready to grab a drink and go out with a real man.”

I roll my eyes. He should know better, but of course he doesn’t. “How does
never
sound?”

Mike shakes his head. “You and I both know it’s inevitable, for better or worse.”

My stomach churns. Our dads are best friends, our moms are best friends… hell even our sisters are best friends. And if it were up to all of them, Mike and I would already be married by now.

“Sounds a lot like true love,” I bite back.

“Maybe, maybe not. But I can guarantee it’ll be one hell of a good time, Leila.”

I rub my tired eyes. “Time to go Mike.”

I hear him hem and haw. When I look up, he’s gone. Finally, some time to myself. I walk back towards my desk, and stare at all the paperwork I need to go through. Insurance papers, information release forms, association by-laws. I sometimes feel like I’m a fish out of water in this career. I don’t even know how I got here in the first place. It’s like I went to bed at six years old and woke up a grown woman, living in a world that I’m pretty sure I got pushed into in the first place.

Another loud knock lands on my door.
Goddamnit Mike
. I walk over to the door to rip him a new asshole. With one fist clenched, and the other hand free to open the door, I swing the door open and almost scream.

It’s him again.
Brady
. Wearing that perfect set of white teeth tucked within his broad, confident smile. My senses catch fire instantly.

Please tell me he forgot his keys or his wallet or his…

“I forgot something,” he says.

Thank you
.

He looks around the room. Then I glance over at the two tickets that are now sitting on my desk.

I cautiously point to them. “You… You want those back?”

Brady chuckles and shakes his head from side to side. “Sorry Rookie, the tickets are yours. You’re coming to the show tonight.”

What the hell is he doing here then? I panic, but not for the reason that I should be panicking. He could literally drug me to sleep, kidnap me, and lock in his basement for the rest of my life. But that’s not what scares me about Brady Stone. No, that would be much simpler.

My heart starts to pound in my chest.
Why is he here
?

“I can’t go to the show. And I don’t socialize with clients, for obvious reasons.” Brady scans my chest and directs his gaze across my stomach so fast I hardly notice it myself. But the butterflies in my belly noticed every last morsel of his glare. “You really need to leave now, Brady. I have a client coming in a couple of minutes,” I lie.

His jaw tightens as he takes a quick step closer to me. I'm pretty sure he can see right through my lie. “You don’t have anyone else coming, Dr. Crawford. Just me.”

Lightning jolts my spine. The only thing I know is this: This man, whoever the hell he is and wherever the hell he came from, needs to leave and he needs to leave now.

I start to part my lips in order to act like the professional I’m striving to be by telling him that our time together is finished for the day. And maybe forever.

I just can’t have anything complicated take place in my life right now. My whole life’s been leading up to this moment, and everyone’s watching. I’m determined to make it on my own, without any help from my dad’s fame, connections, or money.

But it’s too late. Brady comes in hard and fast, causing my heart to almost drop down into my stomach as he pulls my body into his tightly.
Fight back. Do something. Do anything, Leila.

His warm, carnal beard rubs against the side of my tender face. He pushes his full, perfectly symmetrical lips against my mouth, and slides his tongue in between my lips before I can stop it. And now it’s too late. And it feels
too
good.

I can’t help myself as I start to kiss him back. My hands push into his chest, but it’s so thick and so cut that my fingers feel like plastic Q-tips against it. Brady kicks the door shut without looking back. When I hear the door slam, I know I need a Hail Mary pass to win this game now. Last time I checked, therapists don’t make out with their clients. And if a therapist did make out with her client, she would quickly lose her license become a non-therapist
. So why is my tongue pressed up against his, and why am I letting him run his hands across the back of my ass?

And why is this most amazing experience I had in my entire life?

He pulls me into his body tightly, and I can feel every last muscle from his abs and chest press up against my stomach and chest. My one and only client wraps his large fingers around my wrist and pulls it towards his waistline.

I gasp for air. He just pressed my hand against the big, hard bulge in his pants. And as much as I try not to, I can’t help but moan.

Everything is happening too damn fast for me to react with any sort of logic.

I need to get this man
away
from my body and
out
of this office immediately.

I hesitate, then pull my hand away from the bulge in his pants and pry my lips away from his mouth. Much to my dismay, I instantly regret my actions. But I’ll never let
him
to know that. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I say, suddenly folding my arms across my chest as I play my best victim role.

But the devilish glare in his eyes tells me he’s not all that ready to fork over an Oscar.

“Trying to make a point,” he says. He rolls up both of his sleeves, revealing thick, muscular forearms splattered with tattoos; another reminder just how much is type is absolutely nothing like mine.

The scariest, most delusional part? There’s a sick part of me that wants to do it all over again.

But I can’t, not if I want to live a decent life.

I shake my head and roll my eyes. My heart is still thumping hard in my chest, and I can feel beads of sweat form
on the
small of my back. “I really, really,
really
should not have done what I just did,” I say.

He laughs and parts his lips. “What makes you so sure of that?”

I hesitate for a moment, because part of me knows that he’s right. I’m
not
that sure. But everything I’ve ever known would tell me otherwise. For right now, I need to listen to that tried and true logic more than I need to listen to my own unreliable gut feelings. I trusted my instincts before, and look where that got me.

My tone is laced with frustration. “I just am, okay?”

His smile grows even wider, as if somehow he’s getting off on my self-combustion.

“Can you please just leave now?” I plead.

His eyes soften slightly as he stares directly into mine. I’m a torn up mess. Because on one hand I might have just made the biggest mistake a girl in my situation could make, and on the other hand I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.

He grins. “I have to say, our first session was way cooler than I ever imagined.”

I shake my head at him like he just landed in my office from another planet. “I don’t think you understand… This isn’t going to work.”

He chuckles as he rubs the bottom of his beard, “I think it’s working just fine, Leila. See you at the show.” He turns and walks out the door before I can even exhale.

I’m not going
, I say to myself.

Part of me thinks I should chase after them, just to tie up any misconceptions he still seems to have. There’s no chance in hell I can continue being his therapist.
And
there’s no chance in hell I’m meeting him at some stupid show.

Famous last words.

* * *

I love my little sister Sarah to death, but I just want to come home to an empty apartment for once. She’s been a mess lately ever since she dropped out of college. I guess that makes two of us who have been messes lately. But still, I’m her big sis, and no matter how bad things get for me I always feel the need to watch out for her.

Even if my life is falling apart too.

I tip toe inside our Brooklyn basement apartment. To call it an apartment is a major overstatement; it’s more like an oversized closet that probably violates every building code in the book. But apartments aren’t cheap in New York, and living in this dark cave, as sad as it is, beats the shit out of taking money from my dad.

I walk into our apartment only to hear a lipstick commercial blaring in the background. I see an empty pint of ice cream on the floor next to the couch, then I see my sister’s pink painted toes dangling through the end of a tethered wool blanket. It’s not unusual for her to be asleep in the middle the afternoon like this. This is one diagnosis I can handle: Major Depressive Disorder.

I feel sick every time I see her in this state, but I have my own problems going on right now. Like for example, the fact that I just went insane and grabbed my client’s erection. Yeah, I’d say that qualifies as my own set of issues these days.

I try to make my way past the couch that Sarah is lying comatose on, but the wooden planks beneath my feet are just too damn old and too damn creaky. “You’re home?” she says with a raspy tone as she sits up from her midday sleep fest.