Take Me: BBW Virgin Bad Boy Romance

by Lulu Pratt

  “Poppy, I–”

  I lifted my gaze to meet his, and found his face surprisingly vulnerable and open. “Finn, why’d you have to be such a gosh darn…” I trailed off, polite words failing me.

  “Such a what?” he asked with a shy smile, his brogue out in full force.

  “Why’d you have to be such a prick?” I finished, immediately clapping my hand over my mouth. “See, look what you made me do! You made me swear – I never swear.”

  He bent down, and I felt heat around my ankle – he’d grasped it in one hand.

  “What are you–”

  “Relax,” he instructed me, and I could see that, despite my best efforts, my heel had gotten tangled in a wire, and he was gingerly extricating me from the cord. He bent back up to his full height, towering over my five-two frame.

  “You don’t swear, eh?” he replied, his expression absolutely wicked. “Well, there’s never a bad time to pick up such a fuckin’ good habit.”

  Ugh! He made me want to… to scream! His cockiness, his confidence, it was all so darn frustrating. I had to get away from this boy, and fast.

  “I’m going back to my hotel,” I said with a sniff.

  He raised his hands up. “I promise I won’t follow you. Sleep tight, Poppy. Dream of me.”

  “You wish,” I managed to reply, before practically running away from him.

  I was back at my hotel in under an hour, and as promised my bag was in my room. At least one thing had gone right today. But no matter how far I got from Finn, he seemed to follow me. All my brain could consider was his lanky build, his flowing curls, his hungry eyes. It was like a slideshow of temptation, and I couldn’t power it off. I half wondered if I could still smell his cologne.

  Distract yourself, I thought sternly.

  Yes, that was the cure – distraction. I pulled out my laptop and began to take care of business – social media upkeep, posting a vlog about the TV appearance, some emails and research. I even took another stab at my feature for BeYouGirl, though my mind was a bit too jumbled to handle such a demanding task.

  Before long, the afternoon had lapsed into night. I ordered room service, clicked on some Desperate Housewives, and curled up in my bed. Maybe it wasn’t the most NYC evening, but sometimes, a girl needs a little rest and relaxation – especially when an absolute hunk of man’s been hounding her.

  The next morning, I was awoken by a call from BeYou, asking me to come into the offices at once. Had I done something wrong?

  I scrambled out of bed, throwing together a make-up look that was just on the cusp between ‘casual Sunday’ and ‘hungover Sunday,’ and putting on a blue jumpsuit. My sun dress yesterday hadn’t quite cut it – I’d forgotten that, unlike the South, New York isn’t hot year-round – so I’d upgraded to a more sensible look.

  Within the hour, I was pulling up to the offices and scrambling inside, my stomach in knots over the early morning summons. Had they seen my talk show segment with Finn? Had I been too rude? I knew it, I should’ve watched my tongue. Oh Poppy, I thought with frustration, you sure have done it again.

  I found myself in front of the BeYou headquarters where an assistant spotted me and quickly ushered me through the halls. With a sudden, sickening dread, I realized she was dropping me off at Lauren Totelle’s office. Great. This should be fun.

  Stepping into the room, I saw Ms. Totelle right about where I’d left her – stuck behind that imposing desk, red lips pursed in dissatisfaction.

  “Poppy,” she said, the word on her tongue like a curse.

  “Ms. Totelle,” I began, thoughts spilling from my mouth, “I’m so sorry about the–”

  “What are you apologizing for?”

  I skidded to a halt. “The, err, talk show.”

  She waved a scrawny hand. “Don’t be insane, we loved it.”

  Uh… what?

  “Yes, Poppy,” she continued. “Loved it. Excellent TV. So Shakespearean, such spirited debate. The chemistry between you and Finn was excellent. Perfect content.”

  I was at a loss. “Thank you?” I said at last, unsure if this compliment could possibly be sincere.

  She took a sip from a ceramic tea cup with little orange floral designs, and went on. “We want to make you a regular feature writer.”

  “Oh my–”

  “I’m not finished,” she said sternly. “I’d like to make you a regular feature writer for BeYou Magazine, not just BeYouGirl, and… I want to send you on a shoot to the Caribbean for BeYou Magazine.”

  My lips hung open, and it was only with great effort that I managed to close them and avoid looking like a fish gasping in the air.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice squeaky.

  “Your next feature will be on all-natural products from the Caribbean. It’s a hot zone for beauty right now, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Of course–”

  “Interruptions,” she reminded me again. Where had my manners gone? “We’ll consider the shoot, and your write-up on it, your second feature. How does that sound?”

  I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I blinked them away, not wanting to smudge what little make-up I had on. “It sounds incredible.”

  This was my dream. Heck, it was many people’s dream – standing in the BeYou offices and getting told you’re good enough for Lauren Totelle, for her magazine, for New York. Oh, I could’ve died happy right then, a woman fulfilled.

  And that’s when the door swung open.

  “You rang?”

  I turned slowly, achingly slowly to the door, already knowing what I was going to find there.

  Silhouetted in the door was Finn, his leather-clad shoulder leaning up against the frame. He got one look at me, and his disinterested expression morphed to one of blatant carnal intrigue.

  “Poppy… we meet again,” he murmured.

  I was mute, absolutely struck dumb. Good thing Lauren had plenty to say. “Finn, come in,” she instructed. “You remember Poppy, from the talk show?”

  He sauntered into the room, thumbs in his belt loops. “How could I forget?” he remarked, subtly licking his lips.

  Why was he here?

  It didn’t take long to answer the question. Lauren continued, “Poppy, Finn’s going to be doing the shoot in the Caribbean.”

  “The shoot?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly high.

  “Your shoot,” she corrected. “Yes, you’ll find the products, get the story. He’ll shoot the results.”

  “But he works with Regency,” I said, unable to keep the whine out of my tone.

  Finn had assumed his position a few feet from me, his body angled to Lauren’s desk, but I could see plainly that he kept sneaking looks at me with eyes so demanding I wanted to put a ‘Rated R’ sticker over them.

  “He does,” Lauren agreed. “But BeYou Magazine and Regency are partnering for our September issue, as we have many times in the past. He’ll shoot your make-up picks on the Regency models for a combo make-up and lingerie shoot. Regency is one of our company’s oldest brand affiliations. I’m sure you were aware of that.”

  Distantly… yes. BeYou famously worked with Regency on a whole host of projects. It was a symbiotic relationship founded sometime in the nineties.

  “This will be good for both our companies,” she explained. “BeYou Magazine gets to do a full shoot with world-famous models, and Regency gets to look more socially aware because of your earth-minded products, Poppy.”

  The explanation made sense, but it also made my blood boil. Why did I have to be party to such an exploitative brand trying to rehab their bad image? It wasn’t fair.

  “So you two will be traveling together,” Lauren informed us, apparently unaware that my heart was threatening to burst through my chest and thump its final death knell on her carpeted floor. “You got on so famously during the talk show, we figured you might make a strong team.”

  Famously? Yeah, that was one way to put it. I’d have gone with infamously.

  “S
ounds wonderful,” Finn agreed from my side. I could feel the victory pouring off him in waves.

  I had to protest. “But, Ms. Totelle–”

  Her sharp, angular face darted to mine. “You have some objection to a week in the Caribbean?” she asked me, the words like bullets. “I assure you, Poppy, if you don’t take this job, there won’t be a feature position for you at our magazine. Understood?”

  I’d thought she might say that. Well, I was done for. This was, evidently, my fate. I was going to have to spend a week in paradise with a man who made me stark raving mad. I silently cursed Finn, that darn louse, for being so… so pleased with himself. You could hear the smile in his every word – this had gone, apparently, exactly as he’d wished.

  I wouldn’t let myself be charmed by him and his tantalizing mouth. I had to stay strong. That would be easy, right? I was an old pro at resisting men, even the dashing ones. Fine. I could do this.

  “Deal,” I said at last. “When do we leave?”

  Chapter 6

  FINN

  LAUREN DISMISSED us from her office in that impervious manner she does so well, and Poppy just about bolted from the room. I imagined a trail of cartoonish dust kicking up behind her, Road Runner style.

  By the time I’d made it through the door, she was halfway down the carpeted hall. She moved fast, for someone so short. Impressive.

  “You can’t keep running from me, love,” I called out to her back. “I’ll catch up, eventually. I always do.”

  She shook her head, her blonde locks sweeping over the blue of her clothing. She had that air of a modernized Disney princess. Cinderella with an Internet presence, I thought with a small smile. Without warning, Poppy pivoted back to me.

  “Of course I can keep running,” she snarled. “Just watch me.”

  Okay, maybe I’d been too hasty with the Disney description. Though, that being said, the best princesses had some bite to ‘em.

  I took a few large steps forward, closing the gap between us, diminishing it from one that was criminally vast to one that could be crossed in moments. We were now only a couple yards apart, though the energy vibrating between us made it feel like mere inches. Or maybe that was just her anger, reaching out with an invisible hand and grasping desperately for my throat.

  “We’re gonna be on an island together for a week,” I reminded her, trying to keep the laughter from my voice. “So, bit of advice, from one professional to another. You better think of a new strategy. Unless you plan to just sleep in your trainers, that is.”

  Poppy’s face was done up in an expression of anger and outrage. Or at least, that’s what it’d been trying to telegraph. Instead, her open mouth and blazing blue eyes tickled me silly. Her anger was just so… so cute. Like it was her first time discovering the feeling in any real way, and now she didn’t know what to do with the heft of it.

  Or, perhaps, I spoke too soon, because before I knew it, Poppy stormed up to me, though the ‘storming’ was hindered by her shoes sinking into thick carpet. She looked like a woman on a mission, and I suppose I had to admire her chutzpah. And several of her other, ahem, features, if we’re being accurate.

  A couple of yards had shrunk down to one. We were just a matter of feet apart. Her cheeks were red, which only served to make her eyes look all the bluer. She was drawn in many colors, each more vibrant than the next.

  “This isn’t gonna be some sorta vacation,” she growled. “We’re there to work.”

  “I know.” My shoulders rose and fell, and I batted one eye in a quick wink. “Who says there isn’t time for both?”

  Her lips pressed tighter together, forming a firm pink line. “I do. Besides, I didn’t create my brand, putting in years of hard work, just so that I could be tied to some scantily clad girls on a beach. That’s not what my fans what. It’s not what I want. And you’re gonna mess it all up, make the whole thing… sexy,” she finished, spitting out the last word like it was an epithet.

  “Sexy isn’t a bad thing,” I said, my mouth involuntarily splitting into a grin. “I would know.”

  She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her waist, striking an imperious pose. “That’s all fine for you, but I’m a modest girl. ‘Sexy’ ain’t for me.”

  “Sexy is for everyone. Sex is a universal experience. That’s why it sells, babe. Because we’ve all had it, and we all want some more.”

  “That’s mighty presumptuous of you,” she retorted. “Gettin’ up here, thinkin’ we all do such stuff.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not yet you don’t. Maybe you’ve just been waiting for the right person. And maybe the right person has already arrived, and you’ve been – or maybe, you’re being – too damn stubborn to see it.”

  Poppy gasped at my impertinence, a little noise that hitched in her throat. “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she huffed. “You’re a, a – you’re a cad.”

  “Be that as it may,” I replied. “You’re stuck with me and my sexy, sexy shoots. Chivalry doesn’t exactly pay the bills.”

  “It worked for our Lord and Savior.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, I’m not exactly looking to die on a cross. I was thinking more like a nice cottage in upstate New York, how ‘bout you?”

  Her nostrils flared, but I could see that the sparring was wearing her down.

  “I’m going to choose to pick my battles. And this ain’t a battle worth having, because fellas like you don’t change, not a bit. That’s your whole thing, you’re tough and cool and aloof, and you don’t feel squat.”

  “You think I’m cool? Why, thank you.” I raked my hand back through my long hair, pretending to drink in the compliment.

  Poppy exhaled, frustrated with my constant comebacks. Exhaustion was a frequent response to my antics – well, either that, or the quick abandoning of clothes. Usually the latter, if we’re being technical. I seem to have that effect on women.

  She turned, as if to walk away, but then added, “Don’t you go getting any ideas about me.”

  “What ideas?” I asked innocently, said ideas already well and truly percolating in my mind. Oh, what I could do to those breasts, her hips… It would have been delectable.

  “Ideas about my… my purity,” she replied, her words faltering and the blush creeping from her cheeks all the way down to her neck, then past her neck and spreading across her bosom. How could something so pure be so inherently sexual?

  “Poppy,” I replied, deciding she deserved some earnest assuaging of her nerves. “I’ll be on my absolute best behavior. And whatever ideas I may or may not get, you can rest assured I’ll keep them to myself.”

  She ran her eyes up and down my body, and I thought for a moment that I saw Poppy as Poppy did not want to be seen – as a sexual being with hungers, desires. If only I could pull that curtain back just a little bit more…

  “Do you promise?” she asked suddenly, the words escaping her throat as if she hadn’t intended to speak them.

  Promise. I wondered what a promise meant to her. In Poppy Reeve’s world, did people keep their promises? Of course I was a man of my word, but others out there weren’t bound to a similar set of morals. I’d had plenty of experiences with people making promises that they couldn’t keep, but I’d learned my lesson at a young age. It doesn’t take long to figure out that adults who say things shall happen, often mean that they hope they will.

  How many times had Poppy’s open nature caused her pain? I both envied it in a woman of her age and worried over it.

  “I promise,” I replied. “Though, love, in the future, don’t believe any man, even if he promises you something.”

  “Does that include you?” she asked, her brow arching. “It’d be awful bold to make me a promise and then tell me you’re lyin’.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m being sincere. But then, I’m an odd fellow. This is New York, Ms. Reeve. You’ve gotta be careful in these streets.”

  She pressed her lips together before at last saying, “I’m not an infant. I can t
ake care of myself.”

  “Oh, I know,” I returned. “I can see, clear as daylight, that you’re all woman.”

  I paused, my heart skipping several beats, and watched as Poppy sucked in a gulp of air. It puffed out her chubby cheeks, making her look a bit like a sexy Kewpie doll. She hesitated, faltering, unsure of what she ought to say.

  But luckily for her, I wasn’t finished. “You’re all woman, but you’re all country woman. You’ve gotta get some salt on your rind before you face the big bad city.”

  “You’re talking to me like I’m stupid,” she said, her eyes squinting. “I’m not.”

  “No, you’re just a woman who trusts a man who makes a promise. That’s not stupid, it’s gorgeous. And naïve.”

  She made a sound in her throat, somewhere between a laugh and a growl, and flipped her blonde curls over her shoulder.

  “It’s Christian.”

  “You ever heard of a guy named Judas? From what I know, Jesus trusted him too. How’d that work out?”

  Game, set, match. Though, if I’m being honest, sometimes I wished I could drop my argumentative nature and just have a normal conversation. Why’d I always have to be clever?

  Poppy stammered, “I’m not gonna debate the Bible with you.”

  “Good, because I’m sure you’d win. Just something to think about,” I finished smoothly, cracking my knuckles beneath my thumb.

  “I’m going back to my hotel,” she replied, and then in a challenging tone, “unless you think I can’t make it there by myself.”

  I sighed. I’d been trying to warn her about this industry, these men. Apparently, my efforts had been ham-fisted. Instead of being on her toes, Poppy was just about out the door. Goddammit, I should never have said anything. “Poppy, wait–”

  She was already walking the opposite direction, and called out, not even bothering to turn around, “No, Mr. Maguire, I don’t think I will wait. Independent women like me don’t wait for guys like you to give us the okay.”

  She left in a haze of blue and blonde, leaving me alone and confused in that fateful hallway.