The Bad Boy Wants Me: A Bad Boy Romance (35 page)

Tawny Maxwell

I
opened my eyes the next morning and knew without a doubt that the wisest thing I could do was to go out and get myself a lick of space. Taking off to the island alone was the best option for me. Right after our wedding I should take off and get some perspective, figure my shit out. Because only a fool couldn’t see that I was blindly waltzing in the wrong direction.

Yesterday, I allowed myself to get too close to Ivan.

Yesterday, I started to think foolish nonsense about Ivan. Things I had absolutely no business thinkin’ about since it was obvious as hell that any feelings I developed for him would be doomed from the start.

Sure, the sexual thing was there in spades, but there was something else too. Something not right. A thing I couldn’t put my finger on. He was hiding a secret from me as sure as I was hiding a secret from him.

Even though I was dying for my morning coffee, I waited in my room until I heard him leave the apartment before I opened my door. After a strong coffee and a quick breakfast, I took a cab to the One Turtle Foundation’s office. I had only managed to clear a tiny amount of work yesterday, and there was actually quite a lot of stuff that needed my attention. I threw myself into it gratefully. For a while I even forgot to think of Ivan.

The proper return back to work was also nice because one of the first islands that Robert had turned into a sanctuary had just been gifted to the locals to manage on their own, and they had sent lovely thank you cards with pictures of baby turtles enclosed. There were also many unopened condolence messages waiting for me. I replied to all of them.

By the time I looked up from my desk it was already lunchtime.

After a hearty meal at a Moroccan deli with Angela and two other girls from the office, I went out to the shops to buy a few more bits and pieces that I would need for my holiday. Mosquito repellent and all the other stuff that was essential on an island.

Although I planned to go barefoot most of the time, I bought two pairs of flip-flops because the monkeys are always stealing them. I also bought lots of boxes of chocolates and biscuits for the volunteers who crave chocolates made in the West. Local chocolates simply didn’t taste as good as they had to be made with palm oil to stop them from melting in the heat.

It was nearly four by the time I let myself into the apartment, and I was dropping my shopping bags on my bed when the doorbell rang.

Curiously I went to answer it. It was Chloe.

‘Hello,’ she said, miraculously managing to make a harmless word sound like an insult.

‘Ivan’s not in,’ I said.

‘I know. I’m not actually here to see him. I left something in his bedroom and I’ve come to collect it.’

‘Oh, OK.’

I opened the door wider and she sailed in. She was wearing a beautifully cut navy blue coat. She undid the buttons. Under it she was wearing a blue dress. Someone should have told her that just because it zips up doesn’t mean it fits.

I moved back. ‘Well, you know where everything is,’ I said noncommittally, and began to walk towards the kitchen. I stood in the middle of the kitchen and heard her enter Ivan’s bedroom and close the door.

I looked around the spotless space. My stomach felt funny and there was a vicious taste in my mouth. I didn’t know why I had gone in there. I was not hungry and I was not thirsty. I went to the cupboard and opened it. My fingers were gripping the knob of the cupboard so hard my knuckles were bone white.

I really did need that holiday.

I stood staring at the contents in the cupboard. I swallowed hard. I should bake something.
Good idea, Tawny. Bake something
. I blinked blankly at the canned food and condiments on the shelves.

Cornbread.

That’s what I should do. Make a show stealing, rich, tender, moist, flavorful, crunchy-edged, buttery tin of cornbread.

Bitch
.

I turned away from the cupboard and went to the fridge. The first and most important ingredient: unsalted butter. I placed it on the counter.
Deep breath. Nothing to do with you. Don’t you be minding other people’s business, young lady.
Right. OK. Fine.

I closed the fridge and opened the cupboard where all the dry ingredients were kept. Brown sugar, corn flour, all-purpose flour, baking powder. I started pulling the ingredients I needed out, unconsciously slamming each one on the counter.

The last one penetrated my fog of fury.

I stopped and took a hold of myself. I had no right to be angry. Ivan and I were getting married, but it was a fake marriage. He didn’t belong to me. Besides, it was my idea to not drag sex into the equation. So really he could sleep with as many slutty Chloe clones as he wanted. I heard a noise behind me and whirled around.

Chloe was standing at the door, well posing, actually.

‘Found it,’ she announced with a smile and waved something in the air. ‘My butt plug.’

My expression must have betrayed my thoughts because she frowned and came towards me.

‘I know you. Don’t get ideas about Ivan. He’s no Robert Maxwell. He’s a man who needs things you know nothing about. You haven’t got the slightest clue how to keep him satisfied. Do you know how I met him? I met him in a club called The Dirty Aristocrat. Do you know what he was doing? He was finger-fucking a random woman on the dance floor.’

My mouth dropped open.

‘Yeah, I thought so. He’s wild. Like me.’

I snapped my mouth shut.

‘So here’s some good advice. Stay away from him. He’s mine.’

My skin bristled and the hairs on my body stood on end. I felt like one of those cats you see with their backs arched, their fur ruffled, their heads thrust forward, and their mouths opened in a threatening hiss. Then she made her first big mistake. She reached out and poked me in the chest with her forefinger. I forgot to say, I’m a bit fussy about who touches me.

I grabbed her finger so suddenly her head snapped back. I turned it upwards while I watched her eyes widen with shock and her mouth open in an inelegant (but extremely satisfying for me) grimace of pain. She tried to pull her finger out of my grasp, but I was the stronger of the two of us and I had no problem holding on.

‘Listen, honey,’ I said quietly. ‘I didn’t go to finishing school to learn how to eat a fourteen course meal in the proper way, but where I come from girls like me eat bitches like you for breakfast. Let this be your first and last warning. If you touch me again, it won’t be a butt plug being stuffed up your skinny ass, but my rolling pin.’

Her eyes bulged with fear. Her mama had obviously not told her to never corner someone meaner than herself.

I let go of her finger. ‘Now get out of my sight.’

She clasped both her hands together and took an unsteady step back from me.

‘What are you doing here, Chloe?’ Ivan asked from the doorway of the kitchen.

We were so engrossed in our little spat we had not heard Ivan come in the door. He had addressed her but he was looking at me with an odd expression on his face.

‘Chloe came for her butt plug,’ I said sweetly.

Ivan’s eyebrows flew upwards, and I swear, the beginning of an irritating smirk was starting to curve his mouth as he turned his eyes on her.

‘Oh good, you’re here. I was actually hoping to catch you,’ Chloe said, her voice quivering with relief.

‘Well, come into the living room then,’ he said, and turned his body sideways to make space for her. She practically ran out of the kitchen.

He looked at me. ‘I won’t be too long,’ he said, and followed her wriggling plug-hungry butt.

I curled my fists into balls of frustration. Ugh! What the hell was I doing living in his house and being forced to endure such humiliating scenes?  It was intolerable. I was so glad I was going off to the sun in a couple of days.

I switched on the oven and dialed it to 400 degrees.
Next:
melt the butter. I dumped the butter into a bowl and stuck it into the microwave.  I found my fingers tapping the countertop as I waited. I forced my fingers to stop. I looked at my watch. Three minutes had passed since they went into the living room and closed the door.

Is that not enough time to fit a plug into an itchy bitch?

Obviously not.

I took the bowl of melted butter out and thumped it on the island surface to cool. A little bit slopped out of the sides and puddled on the granite.

Next: DIY Buttermilk. I put three teaspoons of white vinegar into a cup and added whole milk into it. Unlike me, that was going to need five minutes to sour. I greased a round pan, then stopped, and listened. There were no sounds at all coming from the living room. I glanced at my watch. Honestly.

I began measuring the dry ingredients. Indian head stone ground yellow cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt. Next job: whisking the cooled butter, brown sugar and honey. I whisked the mixture so hard it began to froth. I poured in the buttermilk.

The bastard.

I whisked again. The door to the living room opened.

‘Bye, Tawny,’ the shameless slut called out in a fake-happy voice.

I didn’t answer.

Calm down, Tawny
, I told myself as I mixed the dry and wet ingredients with a lot more violence than necessary.

Ivan arrived at the door. I glanced up indifferently. He seemed very indifferent too. I didn’t comment on the lipstick staining his cheek and squashed the urge to straighten his skewed tie. I even managed to ignore the smell of her perfume.

He walked to the fridge and took out a beer.

‘What are you making?’

Oh! the cheek of the man. ‘Cornbread.’ My voice sounded vinegary.

I threw a sideways glance at him and the sorry ass actually looked amused. I felt like smacking his head against the fridge.

He sat on one of the stools on the other side of the island. ‘I’ve never tried cornbread,’ he said conversationally.

‘No, I wouldn’t have expected you to.’

‘Are you mad about something?’ he asked innocently, and I swear he was trying not to laugh.

‘No, whatever makes you think that?’

‘I don’t know. It could be the dark cloud over your head.’

I walked past him, picked up the greased pan, and on my way back to the bowl managed to accidentally purposely whack the side of his head with it. Hard. There was a satisfyingly hollow metal-meeting-skull thud.

‘Ow,’ he exclaimed.

There! That sure wiped the smug look off his face. ‘Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you?’ I purred.

He rubbed the side of his head and looked at me sheepishly. ‘What are you so furious about?’

‘Nothing.’ I flashed him my fakest smile.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘Chloe is not my girlfriend, OK? I don’t do girlfriends. I’ve had longer relationships with the cartons of milk in my refrigerator.’

‘Oh, is that why she smelt so off,’ I fumed.

‘You don’t believe me?’ He seemed shocked.

‘Do you want your answer in one word or two?’

‘Go ahead be a devil. Use two,’ he taunted.

‘FUCK NO,’ I yelled.

Those incredible silver eyes fixed me in a deadly stare. ‘You go ahead and believe what you want. I didn’t mislead her and that’s the fucking truth. She knew exactly what she was getting with me. She just came by to piss you off. For your information she won’t be coming around again, and if she does, please don’t let her in.’

I poured the batter into the tin and clunked it on the table surface to even it off, before I looked up at him. ‘Piss me off? I thought she came for her butt plug.’

‘Tawny,’ he sighed, his voice exasperated. ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you, but I’ll do it this time and only this time. I’m a man and I have needs. Since you’re not planning to take care of them there
are
going to be other women, probably lots, in my life. However, none of them will come around to wherever we are staying.’

I put the tin in the oven and banged the door shut. I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘You’re absolutely right. I agree with you. I won’t bring my sexual partners around to wherever we’re living either.’

He jumped out of his chair and crossed the room so freaking fast I gasped with astonishment when he grabbed my upper arms. His face was tight with barely leashed fury and his eyes were glowing. Oh my god! He could pierce someone’s soul with those wolf eyes. My mouth dropped open and I stared at him, shocked.

The air between us crackled with tension. He opened his mouth to say something, then he appeared to remember himself. His breath came out in a rush. He let go of my arms and stepped back. His hands hung by the sides of his body, but they were hard fists.

I stood rooted to the spot staring at him. It was amazing how suddenly and violently his mood had changed. One moment he was relaxed and placatory, even amused, and the next he was charging at me like some thunder god.

I was startled by the lightning change in him, but even more shocking and confusing was the way my traitorous body was
still
reacting to him. My eyes couldn’t help staring at his broad chest, the way it rose and fell with every breath he took, the snug fit of his trousers over his lean hips.