Love Struck Bad Boys - 3 Novel Box Set

by Amber Burns

  She quickly turned her head away from me and rubbed at her face.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  With a sniffle she faced me again.

  “Just… just sand in my eye,” She chuckled, but I knew better.

  I couldn’t help myself, and asked, “I know this is out of the blue, but do you want to have a glass of wine with me sometime?”

  Annabelle seemed startled.

  “What? Me? Really?”

  Now it was my turn to laugh at her stumbling.

  “Well yes, unless the seagull over there enjoys Pinot Grigio, I meant you.”

  She blushed the most beautiful shade of crimson I have ever seen, and I didn’t imagine ever describing crimson as a beautiful shade either, and burst into giggles again, I had to admit, no matter how sad this girl sometimes looked, she could laugh at herself.

  “And where do you propose we have this wine? I don’t like crowded restaurants and I’m not quite ready to have a date at your place or mine since I don’t know you. Sorry, my mom told me never to trust strange men.”

  I frowned for a moment, deep in thought.

  “I could always just gate-crash your walk again, and this time, bring wine and glasses?”

  She nodded.

  “I like that idea. Neutral territory, and a seagull chaperone.”

  We stood and said good night. I saw her shiver as it was growing darker and chillier.

  “Are you okay to get home alone in the dark?” I asked, hesitant to touch her, yet dying to take her safely home.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll be fine, and I will see you tomorrow for that gate-crash of my evening walk and hopefully a glass of wine?”

  “Yes, good night. See you tomorrow,” I said, turning to walk back up to my own house (and avoiding the urge to skip with joy.)

  When I arrived back at my home (that’s still weird to say) I was pounced on by a bundle of claws the moment I opened the door.

  “You little hooligan!”

  I backed away with Armand attached to my chest, rubbing his head under my chin. When I walked into my bedroom I realized he had taken revenge for being left alone when I smelled a strong whiff of urine, and felt my pillow. There was a sopping wet patch.

  “How does something so small even pee so much?” I asked him, holding him at arms’ length

  He only blinked his little mismatched eyes innocently at me.

  “You’re a little devil.”

  But as ever, the little devil won the battle and once again. I fell asleep with a paw on my face as he purred in my neck. I dreamt of turquoise eyes and soft lips that night and woke up covered in sweat with a raging hard-on from the sensation of her small hand moving down my throat. Turns out it was Armand, and when I turned on the light he lay staring at me with his eyes hooded and only half asleep. I turned over onto my side with an exasperated sigh and tried to sleep again to no avail, my mind was in Annabelle-ville, deeply.

  I gathered a few things for our date the next night, well I viewed it as a date, and I was even nervous. I had a picnic blanket, ice-bucket and set of glasses, the wine and a bag of ice. I also took the liberty of sticking a pack of candles and some matches in the basket I threw everything into. We might sit out there late and I wasn’t overly fond of having her feel unsafe, she seemed nervous around me.

  Everything was ready by the time I heard her behind me as I knelt on the blanket emptying the bag of ice into the bucket, Armand was snaking around my knees and standing up against my legs to protest the lack of attention he was getting. She let out that typical loud and girly ‘Awwwww!’ when she caught sight of him. Before I knew what was happening (and I think the same was the case for the poor thing) he was in her arms.

  She squished the little kitten to her chest, and I watched as he seemed to go limp in her hands and allow it. I audibly heard the purring from the ground where I knelt.

  “Traitor.” I muttered, narrowing my eyes at him.

  He only blinked at me and continued to purr, so I picked up a glass to fill and hand to her. She sat quite happily with the furry scarf over her shoulder; stroking him when she spoke.

  “How long have you been living in Crystal Beach,” I started.

  “I’ve lived here all my life, and I own the house my parents lived in until my mom passed away a few years ago. It’s cozy but I get lonely.” She stopped herself, “Sorry, that was too much sharing.”

  I took a drink of my wine before replying.

  “No, don’t feel that way, I’ll reciprocate if it makes you feel better.”

  I hadn’t told anyone outside the military about what happened in Afghanistan, and neither had I let anyone get close enough to know me since I made my home here. With a deep breath I opened my mouth and it just began spilling out.

  “I came back from Afghanistan after my best friend was killed. Everyone called him Maxwell, his last name. We were on a simple extraction detail, shit went wrong, and he was killed. It broke something deep inside me, and they sent me home.” I drank a bit more of my wine. “I imagine you’ve heard some stories around…”

  She sat there so quietly with Armand over her shoulder gazing at me.

  “I don’t usually judge until I’ve heard both sides of a story Mr. Deverroux. People can be gossipy. Besides, they probably talk about ‘the frigid nun who lives in mommy’s old house’ just as much as they talk about ‘the drug dealing violent addict’ in the Lechat house… Don’t you think?”

  She chuckled as she stroked the cat, who seemed totally content and in love.

  “Well I haven’t heard about any nuns here, but apparently the drug dealer is mean. Steer clear of him,” I said. “Why would they call you a nun anyway? You are young and beautiful and probably have men falling over their feet to ask you out.”

  I looked toward her when she didn’t reply, and there were tears on her cheeks.

  “I used to be engaged Michel, and I loved him. Again I think this is too much sharing, but I feel like I can talk to you for some reason… He left me after my mom died when I was stuck in the most horrible depression. But he was kind enough to cheat on me first with his assistant. I caught them one night, and then we split up a month before our wedding.”

  I could not help but feel for this girl. That sort of experience is enough to put anyone off relationships.

  “What a dick,” I said, staring out at the sea.

  She burst out laughing.

  “I never swear like that! But yeah, he is a… He is a dick!”

  Her laughter tinkled and drifted out across the beach, making the already beautiful evening even more perfect. It was starting to get dark, so I took out the candles and lit them, sticking them in the sand all around the blanket. She went silent, as I turned toward her I saw her nervous facial expression. “Why are you nervous Annabelle?”

  “I haven’t been alone with a man since Malcolm, my ex, and I am just not ready for the whole candle-light thing. I think. I should get home.” She put down a protesting Armand on the blanket, and stood.

  I frowned.

  “Wait! I was just doing that so that you’d feel more comfortable than being in total darkness…”

  She had already straightened her top though and then smiled even more nervously.

  “Yeah, sorry. Thank you, but I should go, you can do so much better than me…”

  Before I could come up with a response she was walking quickly down the beach, vanishing into the dark. Her sudden strange behavior left me totally perplexed. As far as I could tell, I’d done nothing inappropriate, hell, I hadn’t even touched her. That Malcolm guy really pulled a number on her. I gathered all the stuff together, packed it into the basket and draped a dazed and half asleep Armand over my shoulder for the walk back to the house. I ate grilled cheese for dinner, and vowed to try and talk to her again. There was no way I could let this girl get away, not with what was going on in my heart for her. I knew she was made for me.

  “Thank God she’d never married the oth
er ass!” I told myself.

  6

  Annabelle walked straight into her house, up the stairs, and fell down into a small heap in the corner of her bedroom and let go. She had not allowed herself to mourn the end of her relationship until this very moment. Sobs ripped through her chest and pulled at her ribs so hard it felt that they might burst open to reveal the black hole Malcolm had left there. She didn’t have the strength to stand, so she curled up on the rug where she lay and cried herself to sleep right there.

  The next morning when she woke, her head hurt, her neck was sore, and she felt so weak she could barely crawl to the phone. She notified her dad she couldn’t come to work because she felt sick and somehow convinced him not to come around and check on her. “She didn’t want him catching her germs,” was the excuse she used. Once she gathered the energy, Annabelle dragged herself to the shower. All she wanted was to be alone.

  The water pounded down onto her aching body and soothed some of the soreness from her stiff muscles, but she still had a throbbing headache when she stepped onto the shower mat. She picked up a fluffy towel and dried herself off, walking into her bedroom to get dressed. When she opened her walk-in closet and saw the wedding dress in its pristine white garment bag still hanging there; her crying started all over again. She sank down against the closet wall and sat there on her knees staring at the bag. Through fits of agonizing sobs, Annabelle was overtaken by a deeper rage than she’d ever known in her life. It felt as though her blood was boiling.

  “Was this what it felt like to grieve the loss of a relationship?” She asked herself.

  She had lost three years of her life to solitude because she had been so intensely terrified of being be hurt again. What man had the right to do this to any woman? Annabelle pushed herself up off the floor and walked to her dressing table. She returned to the closet armed with a pair of large silver dress-maker’s scissors, and stood in front of the garment bag. With one smooth motion she slid the zipper open down the front and pulled out the exquisite Vera Wang creation of tulle and corseted bejewelled bodice. To an outsider she would have looked nuts as she went at the dress with her scissors. Her hair flew wild around her as tulle and sparkling fabric was flung in all directions. Twenty minutes later Annabelle sat on the floor in a mountain of destroyed fabric.

  “Oh no, what have I done?” She muttered, looking at the carnage around her.

  She had momentarily lost control and destroyed the single most expensive thing she had ever owned, and with that thought she grinned and started laughing manically.

  “Malcolm paid for the dress!” she laughed to herself.

  Her spirits were instantly lifted by the act of childish vandalism, and she put the scissors back where they belonged. Dressed in jeans and a T-Shirt, Annabelle padded down to her kitchen to fetch garbage bags. It took three to stuff the mass of fabric into, and she left it near the front door to take away at the next opportunity.

  For the next three days she cleared her house of every piece of evidence of Malcolm’s existence. She threw out photo albums, trashed gifts he had given her, got rid of clothing that reminded her too much of him. She even tossed out her perfume she’d used when they were together. It was time for a total change, and by the end of it she felt able to breathe again. The process had been the catharsis she needed. She was a total hermit for these three days, not even leaving the house even to go for her walks in the evening. Finally finished, Annabelle stood on her porch looking out over the sea and thinking of Michel Deverroux.

  Annabelle had no idea how concerned Michel was about her, and that he stood on his own porch every single night watching for her, waiting to see her pass by. He had gone to the shop every day, buying items he didn’t need, simply to talk to her. But every time he stopped by he found someone who wasn’t Annabelle manning the register. Within a few days Michel found his wine cellar was pretty well stocked.

  But she pictured him, the slightly too long dark hair, those unfathomable deep brown eyes, and she was curious about the tattoo on his back. He was so well built and she daydreamed what it would be like to hold him. She pictured his lips that looked so soft, with that pronounced cupid’s bow…

  “Geez, down girl.” She reprimanded herself and then walked back inside.

  It was just past six thirty when there was a knock on her door and she jumped up from where she sat in her kitchen to go and check on who it was. As she moved aside the small curtain at the glass she saw Michel’s profile through the door, and cursed under her breath. She looked terrible. She was sweaty, dressed in torn denim shorts and a faded old navy blue T-Shirt. Her hair was knotted in a rough plait down her back, and she wore no makeup.

  She opened the door with a flush on her cheeks and stood flustered, wiping the strands of hair from her face while she greeted him.

  “Michel, hi. What are you doing here?” She stood back and beckoned him inside. “Please excuse the state I’m in, and the house, I have been doing a lot of… Cleaning out.”

  He looked around and commented, “You have a lovely home, and in truth I came to check that you were okay. I haven’t seen you take your walks and I got worried. You weren’t at the shop either.”

  She stopped and gazed intently at him.

  “You’re checking up on me?” She asked, frowning.

  Michel stood with his arms crossed and looked around, everywhere but at her. He nodded, but didn’t speak. Annabelle felt suddenly very self-conscious, even more so than before she had opened the door for him, and she didn’t quite know what to do.

  “Michel, I am not used to having anybody check up on me, and I am not used to anybody caring for me anymore besides my father. After Malcolm… Men scare me, and I don’t want to get hurt again.”

  She stepped from foot to foot, her equivalent to a nervous twitch, and didn’t know whether to sit, stand or walk around.

  “Sorry, that was a bit blunt. Would you like some tea? Coffee? I think I have decaf. Come through to the kitchen.”

  He followed her and sat when she gestured to a seat for him.

  “Coffee would be nice thanks,” Michel replied.

  She watched as he rested his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands.

  “Annabelle, I can’t explain why I had to check on you, or why I worried about you, except that I knew I had to. I have wanted to know you since the very first time I saw you in the shop, and as I said, I have wanted to walk out to you since the first time I saw you standing on that beach staring out at the sea, so desolate.” He looked up at her, “God knows, I am a bad person for some of the things I have done, a lot of the things I have done, but every part of me wants to protect you and keep you safe, no matter what.”

  Annabelle was leaning against the counter, her back to the kettle as it boiled and hissed a cloud of steam.

  “Why me, when you could have your pick of any beautiful, perfect holiday girl here?”

  I stared at this angelic girl with the turquoise eyes and said sternly, “Do you not see yourself clearly Annabelle? You are kind and gentle, you speak with love in your voice when you mention your father, and then you work in his store during holidays when you could be off having fun. You are soft and loving to animals, I think Armand might be in love with you just by the way. Besides the lovely personality and nature you have, you are beautiful. Do you want to know what I have secretly nicknamed you?”

  I looked straight into her eyes, where a few tears were forming, and she nodded. I smiled.

  “Mermaid. You look most at home standing on that beach, but you look as though you want to shed your skin and disappear into the water. It makes me think about the Scottish legend of the Kelpies.”

  She silently turned her back to me and finished making coffee. When she placed everything on the table, she sat opposite me with eyes full of tears now.

  “Michel, no man has called me beautiful before, and Malcolm did a very good job of destroying any confidence I had when he left. I know about the Kelpies, and I wish I was o
ne. You describe someone I do not see in the mirror, or feel when I dress.”

  She wiped at her face again, and I automatically handed her the handkerchief I had in my pocket, it got a giggle from her.

  “I didn’t even know men still carried these.”

  “Old habit taught by my uncle, for situations just like this one.”

  She frowned at me, “What? So you are frequently making women cry?”