Bad Romance

by Jen McLaughlin

  “Nope. Last time I was at your place, your dad told me to leave and never come back.” I shrugged. “So I didn’t.”

  “Yeah. I know. I remember that night very clearly,” she said softly.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets, ignoring her comment, because I did, too. “Go back inside. You never saw me.”

  “I won’t tell them.” She sighed. “Do you need a ride home?”

  Hell, yes. “No. Run along. I’m not fit company for you right now, little girl.”

  I used the old nickname I’d given her on purpose.

  She’d hated it back then.

  Chest heaving, I stayed still, not daring to turn around and look at her. Not daring to see how much prettier she appeared in the waning moonlight, because damn it, I bet she did. And the fact that I cared was wrong. I waited to hear the door shut behind her. Waited for her to take my advice and run along. Because if she didn’t…

  God help us both.

  Chapter 2

  Lilly

  The man standing in front of me, looking as if he was about to self-combust, screamed of danger. Hot, powerful, sexy danger. When I first saw him standing there, breathing heavily from anger and the ass-kicking he’d given Derek, I wanted nothing more than to go over to him, take his hand, and bring him home with me. I wanted him to be my first act of rebellion after a lifetime of doing everything right.

  The timing had seemed perfect.

  Just recently, I’d decided to take charge of my life. I never had a chance to do so before. Never had a chance to dissent, minus the one night where I had kissed Jackson. Now was my time to do what I wanted to do, for once in my life. Seeing the man you’d been all but ordered to marry getting it on with someone else, when he never so much as tried to kiss you, had that effect on a person.

  Not that I actually planned on marrying Derek, or like I cared, but still. It made me realize I’d wasted my life away in a world of “Yes, Daddy” and “Right away, Daddy” for so long that I’d never really gotten to live. And it was time to change that.

  Starting tonight.

  So when some dude came rushing to my rescue, fists and sarcastic replies flying, I’d felt…alive. Like, really alive. And when I’d realized why the man caught my eye in the first place…the feeling hadn’t entirely gone away.

  Even though he was Jackson Worthington.

  My stepbrother.

  I almost hadn’t recognized him, though. Seven years was a long time to go without seeing someone. Back then, I hated my father for moving on and remarrying so quickly after my mother’s death, and I hated that he chose Nancy, a woman I had never met before. But everything changed when I met him. Jackson.

  The day we first met, I’d spent the entire afternoon baking him cookies—chocolate chip, since they were his favorite, according to his mother. The still-warm cookies in hand, I went into the den, prepared to introduce myself to my new, impossibly attractive, older future stepbrother. Upon spotting me, and the cookies in my hand, he stood, smoothed his baggy shirt over his stomach, and straightened his hair. In that moment, I knew, then and there, that he was the cutest boy I had ever seen.

  Or ever would see.

  For a second, his expression went all soft and warm, like the melted chocolate in the cookies, and a smile quirked his mouth ever so slightly. He stepped closer, and his face transformed into something undeniably beautiful. But when I smiled back, something changed inside him. He backed off, took the cookies, and coldly thanked me—without a hint of emotion in his expression.

  After that, he sat back down on the couch and ignored me.

  With a flick of his wrist, the rap pouring out of his headphones drowned out anything I might have said in return. He tried to continue the pattern of ignoring me during the time we lived together, but I never gave up. I was determined to get him to notice me. He had. In fact, it even seemed as if he liked me.

  But then I kissed him.

  And he left.

  Daddy said Jackson had used me to get kicked out of the house. If he had, it worked. After walking out, Jackson joined the army, like he wanted to. Lived the life he wanted to.

  And I’d been left behind. Forgotten.

  At first, I hadn’t wanted to accept the possibility that he’d only kissed me because he wanted to escape. That he’d used me. I wrote to him for years while he was off fighting, asking him if it was true. If he’d only kissed me to make Daddy angry enough to kick him out. For years, I spilled my heart out to him, begging him to write back even one simple word…and he’d never once written back to me.

  Not even so much as a Hey, I’m still alive. I still think about you sometimes. I didn’t use you, I swear. But even though he didn’t write back, I knew he received the letters because they were never returned. At least it wasn’t just me he ignored. He never wrote to anyone in the family at all. It was as though once he was gone, we were out of sight and out of mind. It even bothered Nancy, who had never given a crap about him in the first place, that her son didn’t want to talk with her.

  It became painfully obvious that joining the army was his escape plan—and I had been a means to an end to get it. He’d used me, and then walked off as if my emotions didn’t matter at all to him. Probably because they didn’t. I didn’t.

  Daddy had been right all along.

  Once I went off to college, I’d finally stopped writing him. Stopped trying to get him to care about me, or even let me know he was alive. Some small part of me had been sure he would miss my letters, even though he’d never responded. That once he got my last letter, he would write to me and beg me to continue.

  But he hadn’t. Clearly, he hadn’t missed me at all.

  Go figure.

  Now, after years of complete silence, he came to my rescue in a crowded bar, punches flying and rage burning in those brown eyes of his I never truly forgot.

  He let out a long, annoyed breath. “Go. Leave. Now.”

  I watched the back of his head, my heart racing. Where had he been all these years? Well, I mean, I knew where he’d been. But what had he seen? Done? And why had he gotten all that ink? The tattoos spread all up his arms and under his shirt. God knows where else. I mean, it was hot and all, but what would Nancy, or my father, for that matter, think of it? Who was Jackson Worthington now?

  The old me would never ask him those personal questions.

  The new me wanted to, so badly.

  All my life, minus that one night by the pool, I’ve only ever been good little Lilly Hastings. I experienced twenty-two long, boring years, trying to be as perfect as I could possibly be, and it was killing me. As the only daughter of the reliable Mr. Hastings, the CEO of Hastings International, the best was expected of me, and I’ve always been overeager to deliver. He’d expected me to get good grades, so I had. I was told to go to school for marketing so I could work in the family business, even though I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, so I did. I’d been told to never stray from walking a straight line, so I never swerved out of my lane.

  I always did what I was told to do.

  But when they told me I had to marry Derek Thornton III, once I graduated, I finally realized that it would never stop. The demands. The orders. The expectation of perfection. If I married Derek, it would continue. And I’d never be free.

  That was when I decided it was time to live my own life, for once.

  Playing along as if I planned to marry Derek, I secretly sought out ways to escape the match. Sure, our fathers signed contracts, and, sure, they were legal. Hastings International needed Thornton Products to survive, and vice versa. But there had to be a way for me to get out of it, and I refused to stop looking till I found it.

  And if I didn’t…

  No. I wouldn’t even think about it.

  When Derek came into the bar tonight and demanded I leave with him, even though I knew for a fact he had been getting up close and personal with someone else just a few hours earlier, I’d been annoyed. He might not have seen me in that dark parkin
g lot, but, God, I’d seen him.

  A lot of him.

  Ripping myself from my thoughts, I eyed Jackson again. He’d come over, punched Derek, and laughed. That was insane. Crazy. Maniacal. And yet here I was, just staring at him, after he told me to walk away. I probably should have listened.

  Backing up a step, I grabbed the door and opened it.

  I almost went back in. I probably should have.

  But I refused to be dismissed so easily. I wasn’t a doormat, and if I wanted to stay…then I would stay. Even if my racing heart drowned out all the noises of the busy street in front of us. Taking a calming breath, I released the door handle….

  And let it close.

  The second it did, Jackson covered his face. “Son of a bitch. How stupid can you be, Worthington?”

  Blinking, I knew I witnessed a private moment.

  One I didn’t deserve to see, because he obviously thought I had left, as advised to do. He also obviously thought I was still that overeager kid, whose only goal was to please those around her. The same one he thought wouldn’t have the balls to kiss him by the pool. I’d proved him wrong then, and I would prove him wrong now. “I insist on giving you a ride. It’s the least I can do.”

  Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowered his hands. Letting out a harsh laugh, he spun and advanced on me. “You’re really gonna do this, little girl?”

  That nickname…

  It was, and always had been, a way to keep us separate. In my opinion, every time he called me that, he was reminding himself exactly why we shouldn’t be together. Why he shouldn’t let me too close. I hated it then, and I hated it now.

  And everything it stood for.

  I bit back any retort a younger me would’ve given him, lifted my chin, and stared him down. He might be bigger, and drunk, but he didn’t scare me. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Call it instinct. Call it intuition. Call it stupidity. All I knew was Jackson Worthington would never lift a hand against me. “Yes. And you won’t scare me away by being all tough and snarly. I’m not a little girl anymore, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  He stopped when he was directly in front of me. Looking down at me—God, he was as tall as I remembered, at least six foot three or so—he cocked his head to the side. “You still look pretty little to me.”

  I stared up at him, my breaths coming rapidly. He still had that hard, unyielding jawline I remembered so well. And his lips were wide and generous, even if they were pressed in a tight, angry line. He was pure muscle, but not in that bodybuilder way that a lot of guys got. More like a lean, strong, disciplined piss-me-off-and-I’ll-kick-your-ass kind of way. And all those tattoos…

  God, he was hot. Really hot.

  I forced my mind off him, back onto the conversation, and shrugged. “Can’t help that. Genetics will get you in the end.” I gave him a once-over. “It certainly got you. You look…different. More colorful, though that part isn’t from genetics, of course.”

  “Hmm.” He lifted my chin and turned my head to the left slightly. His rough fingers on my skin sent a long, powerful tremor of memories and old feelings racing through my veins and mind. “You don’t. You look the same as you always did.”

  I laughed uneasily, not fighting his hold on my chin, still aware of the feelings his touch triggered. “I beg to differ. Last time you saw me, I had braces and frizzy hair, and I barely had any breasts.”

  He choked on a laugh. “Jesus, Lilly.”

  “It’s true. I was a late bloomer.”

  He stared at me. “All I see when I look at you is the same kid who always did as she was told.” One of his long fingers caressed my throat ever so slightly before it froze, and my stomach trembled in response. “You still that good little girl?”

  There was something in his voice, and the way he held me, that said he wasn’t as unaffected by me as he wanted me to think. And rebelliously, I latched on to that. Just like I had that day at the pool. “What do you think? Do I look good to you?”

  I felt, more than saw, his attention roam my body. Though he hadn’t moved even a fraction of an inch, my nipples tightened in silent reply. Squeezing my thighs together, I tried my best to ignore the desire he brought to life within me. I might be trying to dirty up my halo, but I was still very much a novice at being a bad girl.

  Even if I still wanted to be bad with him.

  Seven years hadn’t changed that.

  “Are you flirting with me?” he asked.

  Yes. No. Maybe. “What do you think?”

  His nostrils flared, as if he sensed my thoughts, and he stepped closer to me. His fingers tightened on my chin ever so slightly before he let go, almost reluctantly. “Look, I’m gonna be completely honest with you. I’m drunk as hell, and probably not the best person to test your flirting skills out on this time around. Don’t get me wrong.” He studied me, and I shivered despite myself. “If you weren’t, well, you, I’d go home with you. Truth is, you’re beautiful. If you were anyone—literally, anyone—else, I’d take you home, fuck you, and make you come so hard you’d never feel clean again. But you’re you, and I’m me, and we’re supposed to be brother and sister, so, really, that can’t happen.”

  I crossed my arms, ignoring the rush of warmth his words brought out inside my belly. Jackson Worthington, all grown-up and talking dirty, was a sight to behold. But I refused to let him see how deeply his words shocked me. “First of all, I’m not your sister, and you’re not my brother. Second of all, I never said a thing about sleeping with you. I’m simply offering to bring you to wherever you’re staying because you’re drunk.”

  He frowned. “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” I pointed to my red car. “So get in, shut up, and tell me where you’re staying so I can take you there. Or…I’ll tell your mom you’re home.”

  For a second, he gaped at me, as if he couldn’t believe I’d dared to issue an order to him. Clearly, I surprised him. But then he laughed, and I couldn’t look away because he was beautiful, in a rough, manly, dangerous way. He had dark brown hair, and a five o’clock shadow that was stark against the pale white skin that covered his slightly crooked jawline. He had tattoos under the neckline of his shirt, and every muscle on him looked hard as a rock, but still.

  He was beautiful.

  Always had been.

  “Damn, you grew claws while I was away, little girl.”

  “It’s called growing up.” I shrugged. “You should try it sometime.”

  I headed for my car, unlocked it, slid into the driver’s seat, and buckled up. He shut the passenger door behind him, settled into his seat, scratched his head, and opened the window all within ten seconds of sitting down. It was July in Arlington, Virginia, so it was still hot, but the breeze felt good. He didn’t buckle his seatbelt, so I didn’t move.

  After a few moments, he turned to me. “What?”

  “Buckle up.”

  He leaned closer, and I caught my breath. He was even more attractive this close, and he smelled good. Too good. Like Calvin Klein and the beach. It was intoxicating. “Seriously, little girl?”

  I blinked at him, annoyance heating my cheeks and making me flush despite my best attempts to ignore his goading of me. “Do you even remember my name? Sometimes I wonder. Or maybe you call all the women you meet in bars ‘little girl,’ so you can send them on their way without having to forget their names afterward.”

  Laughing, he watched me.

  When I didn’t join in, his laugh faded, and a moment passed between us where, for once, he wasn’t hiding behind his cocky, aloof, “I don’t care” attitude. And for a second, just a second, I thought I saw the real him.

  The one I’d known, and loved, all those years ago.

  But when I saw what hid in his eyes—pain, regret, fear, and passion—it literally took my breath away. My heartbeat thudded loudly in my head, so loudly I almost missed his soft words, and I held my breath. He rested his elbow on the center console, his breath fanning out over my cheek. “Lilly. Your
name is Lilly Hastings.”

  “Yeah.” I sucked in a deep breath, filling my starved, stinging lungs. Even though I knew we were too close to one another, and that I should put some space between us, I couldn’t move away. It was as if some sort of magnetic force held us together, and there was no breaking it. No breaking free. “Jackson…”

  With a softly muttered curse, he did what I couldn’t and broke the moment, rubbing his jaw and turning away, facing the window. “I don’t wear a seatbelt, so go ahead and pull out.”

  Ignoring the tension between us, I didn’t do as told.

  He’d notice soon enough. Which he did.

  “Lilly.” He leaned in till our noses were practically touching, his chest rising and falling rapidly, getting way too close yet again. He smelled like whiskey and man. Pure man. “Listen, and listen well. I’ve faced insurgents, bullets, and bombs. I’ve held my friends in my arms as their blood turned the earth red, and somehow lived to tell. So if I want to face a road without protection, then it’s my right, and nothing you do will stop me from claiming it.”

  Oh. Ooooh.

  So that was why he was the way he was. It explained so much. It explained so many of the changes I’d seen in him. But he wasn’t about to die on my watch, not if I had anything to say about it. “It’s the law. You’re supposed to.”

  He looked less than convinced. “Do you still always do what you’re supposed to do?”

  Yes. No. Maybe. But I was trying to fix that, thank you very much. And he was helping me there, because for some reason, it was so easy to say no to him. “You could be injured.”

  He shrugged. “No one would give a damn.”

  “That can’t be true.” I started the car with trembling hands and pulled up to the intersection. “Someone would care. Your mother, for starters. My father.” And me.

  “Your father hates me, and you know it,” he said matter-of-factly. “Turn left at the light.”

  I did as instructed this time.

  The whole time, the questions I wanted to ask most ran through my head. Did you use me? Did that kiss mean anything to you? Do you even remember it? Did you even want me, or did you only do it to hurt my father? Why didn’t you write me back?