The Bad Boy Next Door
Excerpt
B
ack. Go
back
.
I knew where Lucas was. Or at least, where he was headed. Back home. From where we’d come from. Maybe, if I left now, I could catch him on the road. Maybe…
A part of my brain wanted to focus on the
he loves you so much
. I wouldn’t let it. Not until I found Lucas and knew he was safe. Whatever he was going to do, we could do it together. He wasn’t going to do it alone. He didn’t need to. I was with him.
In every way, I was with him.
He loves you so much
. Huh, who knew the feeling was entirely mutual?
“Veronica,” Lila Winchester said my name like it was a warning. “Please don’t be thinking you can save—”
“Thanks, Doc,” I cut her off. “I’ll take a knife instead.”
I replaced the phone’s handset to its cradle before she could respond, hurried to the stainless steel knife block and yanked out the biggest. The same knife I’d first selected last time Lucas had gone AWOL in this house.
The butcher’s knife was at least ten inches long and wickedly scary looking. It was perfect. Let’s see Officer Dewey and or Detective Kitchner come at me when I was wielding this.
Knife in hand, I sprinted upstairs and grabbed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a pair of Chucks from the massive walk-in closet.
It took me less than seventy-five seconds to get dressed. I counted each one, a desperate fear Lucas was going to get himself killed over me building inside me. By the time I tied my last lace, my hands were shaking.
But I was angry. Seriously pissed.
When I caught up with him, we were going to have a very long chat about making me worry. And then I was going to climb him like a pole and ride him like a pony until we both came screaming.
Yes, I was that angry I’d resorted to tired clichés and mixed metaphors. Sue me.
Dressed for ass kicking, I picked up the knife and then ran down the stairs. If I was really
really
lucky, Lucas would have left the Ferrari in the garage. Surely whatever misguided mission he was on required stealth?
I didn’t need stealth right now. I needed speed. I needed to catch him.
Stop him.
I needed—
A soft thudding noise sounded near the front door.
My heart smashed up into my throat in one swift leap.
Lucas. Had to be. With the security at this place, who else could it be?
Knife still in hand, I ran to the door and pulled it open.
I froze at the sight of the tall, beefy man with the most porn-star moustache I’ve ever seen standing on the other side.
Lexxie Couper
Published 2016 by Book Boutiques.
ISBN: 978-1-944003-28-9
Copyright © 2016, Lexxie Couper.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Manufactured in the USA.
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He’s dangerous.
He came into my life when I was sixteen. Tattooed, ear pierced, ripped jeans and bloody knuckled. That was the day his family moved in next door.
For six years, I’ve watched my bad-boy neighbor, never knowing when he’s going to be there and when he isn’t. Never knowing what he’s doing when he’s absent, only that it’s dangerous.
And then one night I wake to find him in my bed. Naked. Bruised and bleeding. And hard.
Really
hard.
He wants me. And he knows I want him too. But he’s dangerous. On every freaking level.
Oh boy, this is going to end in pain…
Cover art: Valerie Tibbs, Tibbs Design
For Heidi, my earlier riser and coffee drinker.
I
was dreaming about Liam Hemsworth. I remember that. Naked and panting, Liam Hemsworth had entered the bakery where I work—I’m a final-year pastry chef apprentice, which translates to I make fuck all money, do most of the work and constantly smell like croissants. In my dream, the delicious Australian had hurried over to the counter, sought me out with those killer-blue eyes of his and said, “Ronnie, I need four bear claws now. And then I need to eat you.”
That’s the kind of dream any girl is going to enjoy, unless Liam was a cannibal in my dream, but by the hard-on he was sporting when he’d entered the bakery, I’m pretty certain
eat
meant oral sex.
I remember being very happy in the dream. Very ready to accommodate his needs. I’d just made the most incredible batch of bear claws as it were and had no issues at all with him eating them
and
me.
I was about to inform him of that when something woke me.
Something hot and hard.
Something suddenly on top of me, all solid and growly and panty.
A something that turned out to be a
someone
.
My MIA, bad-boy neighbor who I hadn’t seen for over three months.
Lucas fucking Pratt.
He was naked.
I could feel his incredibly muscled body that I’d spent six years trying not to notice sliding against my also naked body. I could feel his muscular thighs and chest and stomach rub against my thighs, my tummy, and my breasts.
I could feel his cock and balls grinding at my inner thigh, dangerously close to the place his cock and balls
should never
be close to.
His cock, my startled, befuddled brain was telling me, was hard.
My body thought that was goddamn awesome.
“What the hell are you doing?” I burst out, writhing and bucking and wriggling beneath him in the dark.
His hot breath fanned the side of my neck as he tangled his hands with mine in the sheets. He made a sound, a growl-slash-groan that sent shivers of something very much like hungry desire through me, and then his groin slammed to mine and his hands pinned my wrists to the bed beside my head.
Whoa.
“What the fuck have you done to me?” he snarled the words in that same growl-slash-groan as he ground my wrists to the mattress.
I still couldn’t see his face in the darkness of my room, but I could hear the slur in his question. And I could smell the coppery tinge of blood on the air. Along with his sweat and something that may have been whiskey on his breath.
Was he drunk?
I’d never seen him drunk.
If he was drunk, what the hell was he doing here? In my bed?
Trying to…do whatever the hell he was trying to do to me?
“Lucas.” I thrashed beneath him, trying to dislodge him. His naked body slipped and slid over mine. My brain registered the fact my nipples were dragging against his chest. My body registered the fact his cock—suddenly much more rigid than it had been a second ago—was grinding at my sex.
I wanted to scream.
Not in fear, in anger.
The trouble was all I could do was pant his name and writhe beneath him. This was not how I’d expected to be woken.
I should give you some backstory. Here’s the crib-note version.
1. Lucas’s family moved in next to door when I was sixteen and Lucas was seventeen, six years ago. Our families had been close ever since.
2. Lucas had been in trouble with the law before then. He had a juvvie record but I had no clue for what.
3. Lucas mocked me every time we saw each other because he didn’t believe I was bi—I’d been bisexual since I met my best friend at fifteen. We hadn’t lasted as girlfriend and girlfriend, but we
had
stayed BFFs.
4. Lucas would disappear frequently, with no word. Would turn up days, weeks, months later. Every time he did, he was bruised and looked more menacing than he had when he left.
5. In my last year of school, there were rumors he was making money as some kind of paid muscle for a motorcycle club.
6. The police would inevitably pay a visit to our house looking for him during every one of his mysterious absences.
7. He always had money to burn. And I mean,
serious
money to burn.
And 8. He would often confuse the hell out of me by randomly baking the most delicious brownies in the world and bringing them over to our house…usually after I’d had a crap day at school or work, and leave them with me without anything more than a silent nod and enigmatic smile.
That was my life with Lucas fucking Pratt as my neighbor.
There were joint camping trips to deal with, neighborhood barbeques in the summer, Thanksgiving Day dinners spent together. He had this unique ability of making me feel like he was sneering at me even when he wasn’t even looking at me. Any boyfriend or girlfriend I brought to any event spent most of the time under his intense, brooding snarl of a glare. That glare was intimidating. And unfortunately, fucking sexy as all hell.
When I was sixteen, all my friends wanted him to fuck them. Everyone thought he was dangerous and brooding and arrogant and hot.
Even I had to admit, he was incredible to look at. He was all sinewy muscle and broad shoulders and perfect six-pack. He was chiseled jaw and piercing blue eyes and tattoos that seemed to somehow emphasize the sculpted form of his biceps and triceps. When I talked about him to my friends I used the term “walking cliché” with dripping sarcasm. When I was with previous boyfriends, I fought hard not to compare them to Lucas. That was a difficult thing to do.
None
of them had looked like him.
And I’d
never
been woken by any of them in the middle of the night. Naked. Groping me while they were obviously sweaty, drunk and bleeding.
That’s
not
the kind of thing a twenty-two year old girl should get turned on by, right?
So why the fuck was I turned on? By Lucas? My neighbor. My
male
neighbor. Who I despised.
What the hell was going on?
Struggling against his grip on my wrists, I bucked upward. Not a smart move, given we were both buck naked, slicked in sweat and his rigid cock was rammed to my waxed-smooth pussy.
I swear to God, I felt the tip of his erection part my lips for a moment.
For a moment, my head spun and my heart smashed like a hammer in my throat.
“Lucas,” I shouted, wishing to fuck I didn’t prefer to sleep in pitch blackness. If I could see his face, I’d feel like I had some kind of grasp of the situation.
He didn’t sound…right.
He sounded…dangerous. Really dangerous.
“Get off me,” I snarled, thrashing wilder.
His grip on my wrists grew painful. His face mashed to my cheek. His knee rammed to the inside of mine and shoved my thighs wider. His cock nudged harder at my pussy.
“What,” he growled, his breath hot on my face. “Have you done. To me?”
“Nothing, you prick,” I snapped back. “Except put up with your shit for years.”
He grew still. His hands on my wrists loosened. He lifted his head. “Ronnie?”
Confusion filled his voice. I noticed once again he was slurring.
I shifted beneath him. His cock was still nudging my sex, inching a little deeper with every move we made. “Yeah?”
With a speed and strength that was both impressive and scary, he shoved himself off me and then off the bed. “Fuck.”
His mutter tore at the darkness in the room a second before I scrambled across the mattress and smacked my palm against the switch of my side lamp.
My bedroom exploded with light.
Lucas hissed, squinting against its harsh assault on his eyes. He raised his hand to protect them against the light, giving me a very clear view of his body.
“Jesus, Lucas,” I breathed, staring at him, my heart thumping fast. “What the fuck happened to you?”
He dropped his arm, the charged energy I was used to seeing in him suddenly turned up to a million. His blue stare locked on mine. His fists bunched at his sides.
I ran my gaze over his torso, too stunned to do anything about covering my own naked body.
Angry purple bruises the size and shape of fists peppered his ribs and abs. Cuts and gashes that could only come from knife strikes did the same, some weeping fresh blood that trickled down his body. Over his hips, down to his—
Fuck, he’s huge.
Jerking my stare up from his erection, I let out a gasp at the battered state of his face. His jaw and lips were as pounded as his body. A deep cut ran the length of his cheekbone below his left eye and also trickled blood.