The Bad Boy Wants Me: A Bad Boy Romance (40 page)

Tawny Maxwell

L
ying on my stomach, I licked the vinegar of a pickled okra while Ivan looked sideways at me. He had already dismissed this Southern delicacy as inedible. I nibbled the tip.

‘Hey, you know when we first started to, you know, do it, you left me and went to your room because you had something important to do.’ I turned my face towards him. ‘What was so important?’

He popped a cheese ball into his mouth. ‘I had to jerk off.’

‘What? You left me waiting on my hands and knees and went to jerk off?’ I spluttered in disbelief.

‘You obviously have no comprehension at all of the male body. I couldn’t have lasted a few seconds inside you the way I was. I wanted your first time to be a bit more memorable than a premature ejaculation experience.’

I looked at him startled. ‘Well, in that case … thank you?’

‘You’re welcome. So you and Robert didn’t have sex, huh?’ he asked casually. Too casually. He made a point of not even looking at me.

I felt my body contract. We were travelling into dangerous territory here. I felt the relaxed lazy atmosphere change. A stillness fell over us. I bit my lip.

‘Uh, no, he … um … couldn’t,’ I said.

I didn’t think I had sounded convincing, but to my surprise he grinned suddenly and said, ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. It was fun being the first one inside you.’

I looked at him long and hard. His mouth was smiling but his eyes were deliberately expressionless. His reaction was not at all what I expected, but it was much better for me if we dropped the subject.

‘By the way, my mother wants to meet you.’

I shot up. ‘What?’

‘Fraid so,’ he said.

I put the half eaten okra back on the plate. ‘When does she want to meet?’

‘Tomorrow. She’s invited you to tea at Foxgrove.’

‘But you said she wouldn’t be caught dead in England during winter.’

‘Ordinarily yes, but she wants to meet the woman her son’s chosen to be the next Lady Greystoke.’

‘But I don’t have anything suitable to wear,’ I wailed.

‘That’s why you’re going shopping tomorrow. Something for tea with my mother on Sunday and something for our wedding on Monday.’

I worried my lower lip with my teeth. ‘What time is she expecting us?’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘it’s only you who’s invited.’

‘Oh no! She’s not going to give me the third degree, is she?’

‘Nah. My mother’s cool. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly so she’ll be right up your street.’

‘How should I address her?’ I asked nervously.

He grinned. ‘Call her Bobo.’

I scowled. ‘What?’

‘Bobo,’ he said slowly, as if I had said what because I had not heard him properly, and not because it was the most ridiculous thing you could call someone’s mother.

‘I can’t call her that,’ I protested.

‘Why not? That’s what her inner-circle call her.’

‘To start with I’m not part of her inner circle and I’d feel really silly calling your mother Bobo.’

‘You can’t call her by her official title either,’ he said reasonably.

‘You’re really serious. You want me to call your mother Bobo.’

He shrugged. ‘It sounds funny to you because you’re not used to it, but we all have nicknames. It’s what we aristocrats do. We give each other silly names that no one outside our circle would dare to use.’

I grinned. ‘So what’s yours?’

He looked at me playfully. ‘Should be BigDick, but in truth I don’t have one. From the time I was three years old I refused to answer to anything except Ivan.’

I screwed my face playfully. ‘Hmmm … so why do I remember Robert mentioning something about Ivan the Terrible.’

He frowned. ‘Robert mentioned that?

‘Mmm … so are you Ivan the Terrible or aren’t you?’ I asked.

He sighed. ‘Yeah, that’s me.’

‘So why did you say you didn’t have a nickname?’

‘That’s not a nickname, Tawny. That’s a title I earned while I was at Oxford.’

I lay back down and leaned my head on my temple. ‘You earned it?’

He looked embarrassed and I stared at him in surprise. ‘You’re not having a shy moment, are you?’

He looked down at his flat stomach, his eyelashes as extravagant as fans on his cheeks. ‘It’s hard for me to explain to you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re so real and down-to-earth and this story will only fly with the over-privileged, the shallow, and the utterly self-obsessed, narcissistic dip-shits that I, being one myself, ran around with in my youth.’

I touched his shoulder. ‘Try me. I’m not afraid of getting a little mud on my boots.’

He looked me in the eye. ‘You think you want to know, but you don’t, Tawny.’

I lean closer and whisper in his ear, ‘Do you know, they say in my neck of the woods, that if the dirt ain’t flying, you ain’t trying.’

He jerked back and looked at me, an odd glint in his eye. ‘All right. Let’s see how much dirt you can stomach.’

I stared transfixed at him.

‘I used to belong to a super elitist secret club. A gathering of the sons of the crème de la crème of society. All those who were in it with me now hold high political posts or are respected captains of industry, but back then we wore purple waistcoats tailored at Ede & Ravenscroft with pompous, swaggering conceit, and held grand banquets full of boisterous ritual. We drank heavily and reveled in vulgar and ostentatious displays of wealth and power.’

He sighed heavily.

‘We mocked the poor and the downtrodden, we destroyed purely for the pleasure of destroying. We’d go to restaurants and clubs and completely vandalize them. I mean tear them apart, cause tens of thousands of pounds worth of damage. At the end of the night we’d pay for the damages in cash, and just walk away.’

I gasped and he looked uncomfortable, but he carried on.

‘Our goal was to be as profligate as possible. We did anything we wanted, took anything we wanted, because we could. Because there were no consequences for us. We could buy our way out of everything. As horrible as it may sound to you, our parents took the attitude that it was a good place where we could unleash potent, pent-up aristocratic testosterone. Boys will be boys.’

I inhaled sharply, disgusted that such a society could even exist, and shocked that Ivan had been a member of it. How was it possible that the very people I always held as more refined and civilized than the rest of society, should be members of such a horrible club?

Ivan ignored my shocked expression.

‘There was another aspect to the club. It was very competitive. One time the club held a contest. Up for grabs were the words “The Terrible” affixed behind the winner’s name. The rules. The member who impaled the most women in a one-hour period would be the winner and forever after carry that title. No using prostitutes. Of course, I couldn’t let anyone else win. It would have been a slap in the face if someone else got the title that was so obviously meant to be behind my name. What was going to sound better than Ivan the Terrible. I wanted the title.’

He shrugged.

‘While everyone else was running around trying to get drunk women to lie low with, I got twenty women—some I’d already fucked before, some whom I knew wanted me but I had no interest in, and some that I promised to go out with even though I had zero interest in doing so—to stand in a row and I literarily fucked my way down the line. At the end of less than an hour, my cock had dipped into every one of those women. I was crowned Ivan the Terrible during a drink untilyou vomit ceremony. So there, that’s my dirty little secret.’

I have to admit the story sickened me. ‘Awww … bless your little pea pickin’ heart,’ I said softly.

‘Don’t think I don’t know that Southerners say that when they think someone is an idiot?’

‘I don’t know what to think,’ I confessed truthfully.

‘We were just a bunch of schoolboys, frauds, parading around pretending to be men. We didn’t feel like frauds because everyone else in our little club was just as fraudulent. Some of us grew up, Tawny. I did.’

‘Would you still do anything to win?’ I asked softly.

He looked me in the eye. ‘Yeah.’

‘That’s terrible.’

‘I can’t help it. It’s just in me. Once I set my mind on something I have to win at all costs.’

I stared at him. I definitely would not want to be in competition for something he wanted.

‘By the way,’ he said, and reached down to the floor for his pants. He put his hand into the side pocket and brought out a small box. He opened it and dislodged a ring from its velvet base. Then he pulled my hand towards him and slipped the ring on my finger.

‘That’s your engagement ring,’ he said flatly.

I looked at the ring. It was a baguette cut diamond ring, the biggest, showiest one I had ever seen.

I looked up at him. ‘It’s … big,’ I murmured.

He shrugged. ‘The bigger it is, the easier they will believe the lie.’

‘It feels so strange to be marrying you.’

‘It’s just an arrangement, Tawny.’

‘I know, I know,’ I said quickly.

‘Is there anyone from America you want to invite to our wedding? I can fly them over.’

I shook my head.

He frowned. ‘Your grandparents?’

I looked down at the huge ring on my finger. ‘They died in a car crash when I was fourteen.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right. It was a long time ago. It actually feels like another lifetime.’

‘No cousins, uncles or aunties?’ he asked.

I looked him right in the eye. ‘No, they all dropped away when my mother became a stripper.’

Then he said the most beautiful thing. ‘How I wish I could have met your mother,’ he said softly and sincerely.

My eyes welled up with tears. When I blinked to clear them away they rolled down my cheeks.

He wiped them away with his thumbs. ‘Do you have a photograph of her?’

Unable to speak, I nodded.

‘Can I see it?’

I nodded again and, uncrossing my legs, got off the bed and went to my phone. I came back to the bed and showed her to him.

He looked at her photograph carefully before raising his eyes to me. ‘You look just like her.’

I sniffed. ‘You really think so?’

He smiled. ‘Yeah. Like an angel. When angels take their clothes off they make rainbows in men’s hearts.’

I stared at him. ‘Why Ivan, I didn’t think you had it in you. You’re a poet.’

He laughed and, imitating my accent, said, ‘Honey, I am many things, but I ain’t no poet.’

Tawny Maxwell

N
othing suited Ivan’s mother less than the nickname Bobo. She had straight black hair like him and the same sensual lips, but her eyes were dark chocolate and her skin was carefully preserved and tended to, and despite her penchant for sun and heat, kept a delicate share of pale. She was wearing a grey turtle-neck jumper, a knee-length pencil line black skirt, and a pair of black kitten-heeled court shoes.

She stood up to receive me and it was immediately obvious that she must have been a great beauty once. Even now she was attractive, elegant and as narrow-hipped as a snake. Robert once told me that when he met her she was a drop-dead beauty. He called her a free spirit who could never be tamed by a mere man.

Her marvelously painted eyes watched me with vivid interest.

‘Hello, Tawny,’ she greeted. As I had expected, her voice was cultured and clear.

‘Hello Ma’am.’ I realized that I had unconsciously scrubbed the Southern twang out of my voice.

She smiled charmingly. ‘Do sit down,’ she invited, and vaguely gestured towards the sofa next to the one she had been sitting on.

‘Thank you,’ I said in my normal voice and perched at the end of the sofa.

She rang a bell and a woman in a black dress with a white apron appeared at the door.

‘You may serve tea now, Betty,’ she said.

The woman nodded and disappeared.

She sat on the sofa diagonal to me and crossed her smooth legs. ‘So you are about to marry my son.’

I smiled. ‘It would seem so.

‘Yes, I can see how my son would adore you, but you don’t seem to be Robert’s type,’ she observed shrewdly.

‘Well, I must have been. He married me,’ I said coolly.
You were right Robert
. Still she ain’t gettin’ no secrets from me.

‘Well,’ she exhaled. ‘He must have changed a great deal since I knew him.’

‘He always said wonderful things about you.’

‘Did he? He was a sly devil.’

I smiled. ‘Yes Ma’am, he was that, but he changed a lot in the last years of his life.’

‘I didn’t go to his funeral,’ she admitted softly.

I gave a little shrug. Looking out of the window at the rolling green landscape I remembered Robert. ‘I know. We played him Gustav Mahler’s Adagietto, 5th symphony.’

‘Yes, I remember now he told me he wanted me to play it for him at his funeral.’

An awkward silence descended on us. I brought my gaze back to her. ‘It doesn’t matter that you didn’t go. He knew you wouldn’t.’

She tried to frown but the Botox wouldn’t allow it. ‘Really?’

‘In fact, he said, if you came he would be disappointed.’

Her eyes were alive with curiosity. ‘Why?’

‘Because it would mean life had finally beaten you into doing things you did not want to do. He admired you for being, in his words, wildly and fiercely independent.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Are you in love with my son?’ she asked archly.

I bit my lower lip. She was far too intelligent for me to lie to her. ‘I hope you won’t think me rude if I don’t answer that question. I find it almost impossible to talk about my private life with someone I have just met.’

She leaned back and regarded me with a frown. ‘So you’re not in love with Ivan and yet you are marrying him. My son is no fool. Why would he marry you? Is it to protect you?’

‘You’ll just have to ask him that. I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.’

‘I wondered about you. Everybody said you were a gold digger, but you’re not, are you?’

‘What makes you say that?’

She smiled. ‘Because, my dear, I’m a gold digger and you’re nothing like me.’

My mouth dropped open.

She lifted one elegant shoulder and dropped it. ‘It’s not a secret. I married Ivan’s father for his title, but he was an impoverished Lord other than this place, which had been heavily mortgaged. He was, what is that charming saying you Americans have for a person who has nothing?’

‘Doesn’t have a pot to piss in?’ I said.

She smiled. ‘No, I was thinking of something else, but that will do. I left him shortly after I conceived Ivan. I always wanted my child to have a title. They’re so useful. Then I married Robert for his money, but he was … too headstrong and too selfish. Too much like me, I guess. I divorced him and married my current husband who is perfect.’

I stared at her, stupefied by her honesty. She was an awe-inspiring woman. The way she totally owned all her actions was impressive and empowering. She knew what she wanted and went out and got it, and in return for her unflinching honesty she seemed well adjusted and totally at ease with all her decisions. 

Betty came in with another girl carrying silver trays filled with a teapot, cups, and a three tier cake stand loaded with finger sandwiches and cakes.

Ivan’s mother picked up the pot of tea and began to pour it into two cups. Then she looked at me inquiringly.

‘Milk and two cubes,’ I told her.

She added the milk and sugar and passed the cup and saucer to me. Her hands were rock steady.

‘Thank you,’ I said, and took them with a smile of thanks.

She helped herself to a finger sandwich. ‘Cucumber. My favorite,’ she said.

I reached out, took one, and bit into it.

She put the plate down. ‘It’s nothing like Southern food, is it?’

‘No. If we see something we like we immediately smother it in cheese and fry it.’

She makes a comical face. ‘I had Country ham once with a gravy made of black coffee called red eye gravy, cat-head biscuits and melon. It was rather delicious, but very filling.’

‘My granddaddy used to say that Southern food always got him so full he felt like he was fifteen months pregnant. He swore he even got contractions.’

She laughed and so did I. I liked her.

She raised her cup, took a dainty sip, and put it back on the saucer. Then she regarded me, her smile quite genuine and totally harmless. ‘So,’ she said softly. ‘You’re in love with my son.’

The cucumber sandwich in my mouth felt like a lump of clay. Heat rushed up my throat and into my cheeks. I swallowed and looked at her pleadingly. ‘Yes, but please don’t tell him.’

She laughed. ‘I won’t. He is perfectly capable of running his own life.’

‘Thank you,’ I said gratefully.

She smiled mischievously. ‘You will be good for my son. It’s about time he had a real woman in his bed instead of one those vapid creatures he is so fond of picking up in all those strange clubs he frequents.’

After our tea, I asked her if she wouldn’t mind if I wandered around the grounds. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

‘My dear, you don’t need permission to walk these grounds. Tomorrow you will be the mistress of Foxgrove Hall.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘I am returning to London in the next half hour to catch up with some old friends, so I will see you at the registry office tomorrow.’

I nodded. ‘Thank you. I’m glad I met you,’ I said sincerely.

‘By the way, while it’s true that it is not often my son comes up with a good idea, you really should start calling me Bobo.’

‘It doesn’t suit you.’

She smiled warmly. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, dear child. It’s the perfect camouflage. Ivan’s father came up with it. Bobo. Doesn’t it make you immediately think of a brainless Duchess or a soft toy?’

I grinned at her, liking her even more. ‘See you tomorrow, Bobo.’

‘Until then,’ she said.

I knew Ivan was busy working in the library and I didn’t want to disturb him, so I went out through the conservatory and walked out past the formal gardens towards a wooded area. I took a narrow path until I came upon a breathtaking landscape. It was filled with tall straight pine trees. Their barks were covered with dark green ivy. I had never seen such a thing before. It was an amazing sight. Like being in a fairytale.

For a long time, I stood staring at the enchanted scene until a couple of rabbits caught my attention. They were brown with white on the undersides of their tails and they chased each other until they disappeared in some undergrowth. Still smiling, I moved on and followed a little stream. A couple of ducks were sitting on the bank and I was struck by the unspoilt beauty and wonderful silence around me. I sat on a rock and stared into the water. I heard a sound and turned. Ivan was a few feet away.

‘Hey,’ he drawled.

‘Hey yourself,’ I said, my heartbeat quickening at the sight of him. How on earth did he manage to look sexy in rubber galoshes? I wished I had worn a pair too, seeing that I had completely ruined my shoes in the mud on the pathway.

He walked towards me. ‘Peaceful here, isn’t it?’

‘Beautiful,’ I said quietly.

He stood a foot away from me and looked deeply into my eyes.

I blushed. ‘Has your mother gone?’ I asked to cover my awkwardness.

‘Yes,’ he said shortly.

I licked my lips nervously. ‘I like her.’

‘Apparently the feeling is mutual.’

His closeness and that intense look in his eyes were doing strange things to me.

‘She was nothing like I thought,’ I prattled on.

‘She’s like no one else.’

‘You’re a bit like her, aren’t you?’

‘Maybe. It’s getting cold. We should be getting back,’ he said, taking my hand. Holding hands, we began to walk back to the house. I stole a glance at him and there was a slight frown on his closed, preoccupied face.