Bad Intentions

by Carmen Falcone

  Yep, she needed a boyfriend. Badly.

  Lack of sex definitely messed with her brain. Broke and dick thirsty she might be, but her mom certainly didn’t raise her to ogle a friend’s ex—legally, not even an ex yet.

  “Brit?” Damian called her, walking up to her.

  She cleared her throat, wishing instead of the sweatpants and t-shirt she had on something more flattering. Especially because of her extra pounds, manly hanging on her belly and ass, anything else would give her a better shape.

  He tilted his head, a flick of concern in his lush brown eyes. “Your car is dead. Can I pronounce a time of death?”

  That would be two years ago, but I keep resuscitating it. No wonder she’d been calling her clunker Buddha. Poor thing probably dreamed of re-incarnating as a butterfly or a puppy. “I’ll make it work.”

  He perched his hands at his waistline. “What happened?”

  Being a single mom and trying to start up a career. Warmth filled her cheeks. She rarely blushed, but him asking those questions threw her off balance. “Oh, it’s been like this for a while. I’m saving to get a new car.”

  “You shouldn’t be driving around like this.”

  “Look, don’t worry, okay?” she snapped, then drew in a breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to come across as ungrateful. But I’ll take care of it.”

  “Sure.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “Your call.”

  He gestured for her to enter his home, and she did so. She smoothed her hand over her sweatshirt, her shoulders suddenly tight and heavy. She removed her shoes before she walked across the marble floor.

  A collection of expensive rugs, paintings and accents added warmth to the spacious, airy living area. The kids had already gone to the second floor to play, and she imagined Trevor napped in his room. She placed her back in one of the chestnut colored sofas, and turned to him. “Anything I should know?”

  “No. I should be back in three hours. I have dinner with an investor, and I can’t cancel.”

  “Sure, I understand. New business venture?”

  A twinkle hit his eyes. “Yeah. I’m pitching a new hospital for surgeries that insurance companies don’t cover to those who can’t afford them.”

  Sign me up for an overhaul. “Oh. Yeah. Like, I could walk in there and get lipo or butt reduction surgery at no cost?” She chuckled.

  “You don’t need any procedures,” he said.

  “Easy to say from a man who never saw me naked.” The words fled her lips before she restrained them. When she heard herself out loud, a deeper shade of red covered her cheeks. Shit. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, that sounded bad. Sorry, it’s been one of those days.”

  “No worries. Wish you could come to dinner with me instead. It’s been a pain going to these things alone.”

  “Yeah my sweatpants ensemble would really impress an investor.”

  He chuckled. “It might. Shows we really need the money.”

  Regret clogged her throat, and she recoiled, unsure if anger or embarrassment flowed through her veins. He must have sensed her discomfort, for he bridged the gap between them and squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, that was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.”

  “S’ okay.” She waved him off. After a childhood of wearing secondhand clothes and finding how many ways she could recycle old shoes, his comment cut deep into her soul. She’d thought she made it by having a misleadingly glamorous occupation, where she helped people become prettier. Or perhaps by hanging out with her friends who never made her feel out of place even though they had fatter bank accounts.

  But his words had the power of taking her on a time travel back to when she’d been a teenager and worked double shifts to help her mom make ends meet.

  “No, really. After all you’ve done…”

  “Violet is my friend. She would have done the same for me,” she said, and the pulse in his neck jumped. She lifted her chin in challenge, aware he didn’t like whenever anyone mentioned Violet.

  He looked away. “I won’t be late. Thank you again.”

  She forced a smile. “My pleasure.”

  “Very well, Damian. You have an ambitious plan,” said Bill O’Donnell, the fifty-something investor who he’d been trying to get ahold of for weeks. Finally, the man agreed on having dinner with Damian.

  “It’s a win-win. The investors will get great PR, spend chump change and also enjoy tax write-offs.” Damian lifted his tumbler of scotch to his lips and sipped. His goal was to provide benefits for the people who really needed procedures deemed mainly cosmetic by insurance companies, but he knew focusing on the financial aspect of it would sway Bill a lot faster.

  “What motivated you to do this?”

  “Growing up, my mother was in a fire accident and faced horrible burning. But after a while, she couldn’t afford surgeries and the insurance considered some elective. She had a hard time finding jobs,” he said, remembering how much harder his father had to work after the fire accident. Guilt tightened around his heart like a noose. If he hadn’t distracted his mother from cooking and asked her to play with him, maybe she wouldn’t have forgotten the gas on.

  Billy nodded. “I’m sorry. Must have been tough.”

  “Yes. I wanted to become a surgeon to help her with her scars, and I did—mostly. But I can’t stop thinking there are lots of people out there still needing help,” he said, pleased at how casual he sounded.

  Bill ran his fingers through his curly red hair, a gift from his Irish heritage. “People will always need help. Listen, I have a financial advisor who goes over these projects with me. It’s easy to say yes, but sometimes crunching the numbers is better in the long run.”

  “I fully understand.”

  “I’ll get in touch with him and send him the proposal. We’ll take it from there.”

  “Sounds great,” he said. Enthusiasm sung in his bloodstream. A man like Bill wouldn’t have accepted going out for drinks with him if he weren’t interested, and he certainly wouldn’t pass the info to his financial guy if the idea didn’t warrant merit.

  “Yeah.” Billy ordered another drink and began talking about his love of sailing. Damian watched him, hoping he pretended to show interest. His gaze strayed to his tumbler, half empty. He touched his cell phone, and fished it out of his pocket quickly for a glance to make sure everything was normal at home.

  Well, why wouldn’t it be? Brit was pretty great—his kids loved her, and they understood her. The discerning way she looked at him when he made that stupid joke haunted him. His gut clenched. There had to be a way to make it up to her.

  During the past few months, once a week Brit came to visit his kids to provide them a sense of normalcy. Violet’s other close friends, Nikki and Lara, had also offered their help. But Nikki got married, and had her hands full with a work project. And Lara didn’t have children herself, so Damian felt bad in asking her to fulfill that role with his kids.

  So, Brit stepped up.

  Until tonight, it hadn’t occurred to him she needed money. Sure, she wasn’t wealthy, but she always had some interesting makeup on her pretty face, and she worked at a luxury department store at the mall. He assumed she did okay.

  The memory of a small rip in her sweatpants popped in his mind. It caught him eye when she walked in front of him, and sadly, not only because of the worn-out fabric. The sway of her hips sent a thrill of excitement through him. What a crazy idea. He’d never looked at her that way, not because she wasn’t attractive, but she was one of Violet’s best friends. Though he didn’t plan on getting back to his former wife, an entanglement with Brit would only cause problems for everyone. Besides, relationships were the last thing on his mind. After his doomed marriage, he needed months, if not years, alone.

  Then, why didn’t rationalization work this time?

  Why did the image of her lush ass increase his internal temperature?

  “Damian,” Bill called him, raising his voice. “Are you with me?”

 
; Damian cleared his throat, yanking himself back to the present. Don’t screw this up. “Yes, of course. Sorry. I haven’t had scotch in a while and it just hit me.”

  “That’s right. I heard your wife left you with the kids.” He took another sip of his drink, then shot him an apologetic smile over the rim of the glass. “Bet that’s hard.”

  Damian clenched his tumbler. Hard didn’t begin to cover it. How did he go to bed and wake up each morning not knowing when to tell his children their mom would return? “Yeah. Which is why a project like this will give me a great boost.”

  Bill chuckled. “You’re an interesting man, Damian. Focused. I like that.”

  A blonde woman in her late twenties slid next to them, squeezing Bill’s shoulder. “Hey, honey.”

  Bill’s eyes glinted with pride. He kissed her cheek. “Hi, love. Damian, meet my wife Caroline. She was having dinner with friends at the restaurant next door and decided to say hi.”

  Damian stretched out his hand. Was this wife number three or four? “Nice to meet you.”

  “Pleasure,” she said, her gaze resting on his. A small smiled curled at her lips, far too big for her age. He recognized a filler job when he saw one, and damn, that lady certainly didn’t need it.

  “He’s been pitching an interesting idea.”

  She tossed her long hair to the side. “Oooh, I remember you mentioned him. You’re a surgeon, right?”

  “Reconstructive surgery, yes.”

  She nudged his elbow, “Interesting. Married?” She leaned in.

  “Separated,” he said, hoping his ex would sign the divorce papers he’d sent through his lawyer. He saw a spark if interest in her eyes, then decided to add, “Two kids.”

  “Why do you care, Candi?” Bill asked, scratching his chin.

  She played with the straw in her cocktail drink. “Oh, honey, you know I have a lot of single friends and I love playing matchmaker.”

  He held up his hand. “It’s okay. I’m good.” A couple of doctors from his practice had suggested he dated to distract himself from the chaos his life had become, but he’d been able to be more blunt with them than now with the investor’s wife.

  “Anytime,” she purred.

  Damian looked away. She certainly sent some flirty vibes his way, and he hoped she acted like this regularly. Some people enjoyed attention, and whenever he told his profession in a social setting, he either intimidated women or encouraged them to hit on him. He didn’t want to cause any friction between Candi and Bill, especially before he got him to agree to his proposal.

  “Well, I should leave you two to it and will follow up with you soon,” he said, staring at Bill.

  “Wait,” she said in a sultry voice. “We’re having a party next week. You should come.”

  “Thank you,” he said, unsure about what to say. Was she just fucking with him at this point? Did she expect him to flirt back in front of husband? “I’ll wait to hear from you, Bill. Appreciate your time.”

  He strode out of the bar and glanced at his watch. He’d told Brit he wouldn’t be home for another hour or so, to be on the safe side, but turned out he’d be there sooner.

  Brit. Maybe he could bring her dinner. What food did she enjoy? A jolt of anticipation traveled through him, kicking his heartbeat up a notch. The image of the sexy sway of her hips unfurled in his mind, and he shook his head. He’d grab a bite to eat on his own then head home. He had two kids to take care of, a busy lifestyle and a cause he was passionate about getting off the ground. A relationship was the last thing in his plans… no matter how tempting she was.

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  Dying to know what happens next? Pre-order Bad Friend.

  About the Author

  Carmen Falcone loves to spend her time writing about hot Alpha males and the quirky, smart and sassy heroines who turn their world upside down.

  Brazilian by birth and traveler by nature, she moved to Central Texas after college and met her broody Swiss husband—living proof that opposites attract. She found in writing the best excuse to avoid the healthy lifestyle everyone keeps talking about. When she’s not lost in the world of romance, she enjoys spending time with her two kids, being walked by her three crazy pugs, reading, catching up with friends, and chatting with random people in the checkout line.

  She writes category contemporary, erotic romance, and romantic suspense.

  To keep up with her news, enter giveaways and exclusive sneak-peaks join her newsletter. She’ll never share your information and won’t spam your email.

  For more about Carmen, please visit her website: http://www.carmenfalcone.com

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Christine Glover for being such an amazing partner in book crime. I truly appreciate you.

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  As always, I really appreciate my Facebook group, Carmen’s Crew. Thanks, ladies, for your support, friendship and laughs. You make an awfully good distraction for the procrastinating writer in me!

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  Thank you to my readers for continuing to support me on my journey as an independent author. If you enjoyed this or any of my books, please consider leaving a review online so it’ll be easier for other readers to find me.