The Bad Boy Wants Me: A Bad Boy Romance

by Georgia Le Carre

  Then we had both run out laughing.

  Robert drove us in a brand new, baby blue Cadillac to the desert to see the sun setting. I had never seen such a blazingly red sun before. It was so beautiful I began to cry.

  He put his finger under my chin. ‘I have a plan, Tawny. It’s a great plan. A long-term plan. But you must trust me. Even when it seems as if everything is nose-diving into the deep blue sea you must trust that I know what I am doing.’

  I didn’t know it then, but he was already very ill and he knew it.

  ‘All right,’ I whispered, and I meant it.

  Even now, when it looked as if his plan had already nosedived into the deep blue sea, I still cling to the idea that his plan would work. That in the end my life would not be completely ruined and the things we had done become all for nothing.

  I touched the gold circle. It had become so loose it spun around my finger, only my knuckle kept it from falling away. I slid it off and let my fist close around it. I clutched it so tightly the metal dug into my flesh.

  The ring was warm, but he was gone. Irrevocably. Forever. I would never see him again. See his bright eyes and hear his cackling hyena laughter. I unclenched my fingers and looked at metal lying in the middle of my palm.

  In my head a voice taunted. ‘Lies, lies all of it.’

  I put the ring back on my finger and closed my eyes with terrible pain in my heart.

  The Funeral

  Chapter 2

  Lord Greystoke

  In My Apartment

  I stood in front of the mirror, pulled the knot on my black tie up towards my throat and ran a brush through my hair. It was Robert’s funeral today and I guessed I’d be rubbing shoulders with his little widow.

  I’m not a religious man, never have been, but when I first looked into Tawny Sinclair’s bottomless blue eyes I started praying.

  Praying for my fun loving, whore of a dick.

  She was wearing a lime green dress. It wasn’t tight, or short, or revealing, but it made me actually crave her body. The desire to have her, open her silky legs, and get my dick inside her was so strong I wanted to pick her up like a Neanderthal, throw her over my shoulder and carry her off to my cave. In fact, I hadn’t had a hard-on like that since I was a teenager.

  Then Robert looked at me with shining eyes and proudly introduced me to her. She was his fucking wife! My stepmother.

  The revelation was a punch in the gut. I had to fight not to let my jealously show. Fuck, I was insanely jealous. I thought of his frail body over hers, and I wanted to throw up.

  I turned to her and … oh, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She smiled innocently at me with those wide blue eyes and I knew then.

  This one’s not figuring to leave your ass and take half.

  This one’s gonna stick around until you fall on your ass and take it all.

  A year later he asked me if I would take care of her after him.

  ‘Just protect her until she’s twenty-one,’ he pleaded.

  I said, ‘No. Ask some other fool,’ and walked out.

  But you know what? I was fucking dying to do it. Even the idea of him asking someone else made me feel sick to my stomach. But I couldn’t just give in. I had to prove to myself and him that I wasn’t soft on her.

  I wanted the old man to beg me. And I wanted to agree reluctantly. Let her understand that she was never going to twist me around her little finger like she had done to him. I guess Robert knew me very well. He was a crafty old bugger after all. He played my little game and eventually I did the right thing.

  I promised to take care of her after he was gone. The responsibility sat on my chest for a while, then without me realizing it seeped into my heart. I had taken her under my wing and though I hated to admit it, I liked it. I wanted to be her protector.

  I put the brush back on the dresser and the doorbell rang. I went to answer it.

  ‘Wow! You’re pretty unrecognizable in a suit,’ Chloe drawled.

  I let my eyes wander down her body. She definitely looked the part. Perfectly cut black dress, skin-tone court shoes, black pearls and scarlet lips. ‘And you look like you buy your tampons from Gucci,’ I replied.

  ‘What makes you think I don’t?’ she countered.

  I looked her in the eye. ‘You won’t think because I asked you to a funeral that we’ve got something going, will you?’

  ‘Of course not. Actually, I thought you had a funerals fetish and I might come in handy.’

  I smiled and she smiled back.

  ‘Do we have time for a quickie?’ she asked, cupping my crotch.

  ‘Does a dog need to be taught to fuck?’ I asked, and pulling her in, tore her panties off, slung on a condom, and fucked her right there in the corridor.

  ‘What, I wonder, would all the proper Lords and Ladies say if they ever met Ivan the Terrible?’ Chloe purred.

  I didn’t bother to respond. I just leaned my forearms against the wall, my dick still deep inside her, and felt glad I was taking her with me. Anytime I felt like my dick growing hard for Tawny Maxwell, I would just drag Chloe into the nearest closet and fuck the shit out of her. Besides, it would tell Tawny Maxwell not to bother going ahead with any poor-little-rich-widow act she might have planned.

  In time I’ll fuck Tawny, of course. That was always the grand plan, but it would have to be on my terms. She would be nothing but a toy. My toy. One of my many toys. Eventually when I got tired of her, I would walk away.

  I was not making the mistake Robert made.

  I was not falling for her.

  No. No. Fucking no.

  Never.

  No woman would ever make me stay.

  Tawny Maxwell

  The day dawned, freezing cold and white.

  I stood in front of the mirror in full black: felt hat; knee length, two-piece suit; tights and shoes. My nearly waist-length, straight hair neatly knotted at the nape of my neck.

  Yet, I did not look very funereal.

  Black simply accentuated the smooth alabaster of my skin, and made not only the blue of my eyes dazzle like the brightest sapphires, but my blonde hair shine like spun gold.

  I went back into the walk-in closet and stood looking around it. At the white carpet, the lovely French oil painting of a young ballet dancer, the velour tailor’s dummy, the pure white doors and drawers that moved or swiveled noiselessly to expose the expensive designer clothes, bags, shoes, belts, scarves, hats, and accessories.

  This was my favorite place in that whole house. Sometimes I came in here and sat for hours. No matter what problems I had, just being in here on my own calmed me. This was my zen space. Maybe it was because I still couldn’t believe that this closet was almost as big as our entire trailer back home in Tennessee. I looked around longingly. How I wished I could simply hide in here amongst my sweet smelling clothes for the next few days.

  But it was not to be.

  Today had to be faced.

  I keyed in the safe’s code, opened the heavy door, and selected a slim velvet box from inside. I lifted the lid and held up the large teardrop sapphire pendant necklace lying inside. I looked at it and felt no emotion. I could still remember gasping with shock when I first saw it. I had never seen anything so fabulously beautiful. Even my untrained eye could tell that it must have cost Robert a small fortune.

  Two point five million pounds, actually.

  I could still remember that day like it happened yesterday. It was my eighteenth birthday. The weather was bad and we had decided to stay in. Just the two of us. In those days he was still well enough to come downstairs so we sat in the blue drawing room by the big fire. Him in his big armchair and me curled up at his feet on the carpet.

  Oh, we had so much to talk about then. He had so much knowledge and I was like a sponge. Soaking everything up. I was his Eliza Dolittle. I arrived at this house a teenager bringing with me all my trailer trash talk. Patiently, slowly, day by day, he had polished away all the rough edges.

  On that da
y he had leaned back in his chair and watched me with indulgent eyes as if I was a particularly exuberant puppy.

  ‘Oh my little Tawny, if only you had come into my life sooner,’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m here now,’ I told him.

  That was when he pulled the box out of his dressing gown pocket. I started crying with joy and sadness. Even then we already knew his time was short. Then he cried and, later, when we were both drunk on champagne vodkas, he insisted I must wear it at his funeral.

  With a sigh I fixed the necklace around my neck. The metal was cold. I turned around and looked at the mirror. Against the pallor of my skin it glowed like blue fire. I stared at my reflection and heard his raspy voice again.

  ‘It’s going to be all old money, so venerable, so impeccable, so I want you to blow their silly socks off. Don’t hold a dreary wake for me. Throw a party. Serve the most expensive champagne. Hire musicians, dancers and fire-eaters. Make an inappropriate toast to me. Celebrate. But whatever you do don’t try to please those painted peacocks. They’ll despise you for it.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘You will be richer than most of them. Let them bloody well try to please you.’

  ‘Won’t they just hate me all the more?’ I asked.

  ‘So be it,’ he said cryptically.

  I frowned, confused. ‘Why? Why make them hate me more?’

  His eyes gleamed with unholy light and I got a glimpse of the cutthroat businessman he must have been before he became sick and weak.

  ‘Because a greater prize than my money waits for you, my darling.’

  No matter how much I asked he would not explain what he meant. ‘Trust this old man,’ he said.

  As I stood in front of the mirror, the memory of that night was so clear I could almost smell the burning logs, see the wicked gleam that shone in his cunning eyes, and hear the rich timbre of his voice. I touched my hat and his voice filled my head.

  ‘A good hat is a thing of beauty, but worn at the right angle it is a work of art.’

  Of their own accord my hands moved to tilt the hat to a rakish angle.

  I smiled at the effect. ‘You were right, Robert. A small tilt makes all the difference.’

  Without warning, pain like a stone wedged in my chest. Oh, Robert. I will never see your kind, clever face again. Suddenly the cocoon of protective numbness was ripped from around me and I felt as if my world was spinning out of control. Oh my God! All those people waiting for me and every single one of them bearing hostility and envy in their hearts. I felt as nervous as a long-tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I placed my palm on my midriff and took deep breaths.

  You need to be one hundred percent, Tawny. It’s an elite club you’ve wandered into. You can’t let our side down.

  I looked into the mirror, my eyes were wide and panicked. No, this won’t do. I forced myself to think of my mother.

  ‘Oh, Mama. I’m afraid,’ I whispered.

  The last thing she told me before she died floated into my head. ‘Ain’t nothing to be afraid of, honey. Take a deep breath and count to what you are. A ten.’

  I started to count. There was a discreet knock on the door and I whirled around and walked quickly into my bedroom. ‘Come in,’ I called.

  The housekeeper stood holding the door handle. ‘The car is here. Are you ready, Mam?’ she asked.

  Oh, how I miss being back in warmth of the Southern states again. Everyone here was just so damn polite and so hidden. There were layers and layers of mannerisms to trip on and show yourself up as the foreigner, the person who did not belong.

  ‘Yes,’ I told her nervously.

  ‘Good. It’s getting late and the car is waiting downstairs.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary.’

  She nodded and closed the door softly.

  I went to the dresser and picked up a framed photograph of Robert and me. My arms were thrown around him. The sun was shining and we were both laughing. It was taken during my first summer in Barrington Manor. I didn’t know he was ill then. He did though. My heart felt like it was in a vise. I put the photograph down, slipped into a thick woolen coat, and pulled on my black gloves. Deep breath, I told myself and went down the curving stairs and out through the great doors.

  Outside it had stopped snowing, and there was neither wind nor cloud. Just sub-zero temperatures and everything covered in a pristine layer of white. Even the leaf stems were white and sharp. Winter was always my favorite time at Barrington Manor. I looked around at the still wonderland with a kind of dull pleasure. I recognized its beauty even though I was too heavy hearted to actually appreciate it.

  Still, how bizarre! All this now belonged to me.

  The chauffeur opened the back door of the black Rolls Royce. I walked up to the car and with a grateful smile in his direction, slipped into it. It was warm inside the car. I breathed in the apple scented air-freshener and arranged my skirt over my legs. Then I leaned back and calmly stared out of the window at the passing scenery. My mind was mercifully blank. I would make it through this ordeal. I would wear my brave face. No one would ever know what I was really feeling.

  Let them think I was a cold bitch.

  Chapter 3

  Tawny Maxwell

  As soon as we reached the church I spotted my stepchildren.

  Robert’s oldest child, Rosalind, looked at me. Her eyes were shining with malice and hatred. She was the most dangerous and most vindictive of his children. At twenty-nine she was a tall, dark-haired, plain woman who had unfortunately inherited Robert’s big nose and strong jaw. She was married to a spineless man who hardly spoke at all and had two young children I had never met.

  The middle child, Bianca, was much prettier since most of her genetic identity came from her mother. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for me she was not the sharpest pencil. She was engaged to a well-known footballer who was standing beside her looking rather ill at ease. She was what my grandma would have called an undercover hater. She flashed me a fake smile before turning back to her fiancé and leaning her fair head dramatically on his shoulder.

  The youngest was Robert’s only son, Dorian. He was the best looking of the three. He had a full head of straight, dirty blond hair, smoldering blue eyes, and dimples when he smiled. He had charm and confidence, but underneath it lurked something dark. Much darker. In truth I was very wary of him. Slowly, he winked at me.

  It was so insolent, so inappropriate, and so disrespectful, I felt something crumple up and die inside me. Robert was wrong. I couldn’t handle these people. Not in a million years. Not alone, anyway. They were a totally different species than me. They were devious and cunning and false.

  My shocked gaze ricocheted away from Dorian and fell upon Ivan. He stood head and shoulders above everyone else. He was wearing a dark coat and his hair was slightly disheveled from the wind.

  Still, it was his face that made me freeze.

  Against the whiteness of the snowy landscape it was as if it was hewn from stone. His eyes were almost silver and shone out of his face like lights directly into my eyes. Through the distance something passed between us. Something electric that made the hairs on my body stand. I couldn’t look away. It was the strangest feeling. As if I had been walking for a long time in the wilderness and I was finally home. I had come home. As if even the life that I had lived was not my own. My life was with him.

  Then he nodded at me and I inclined my head before my eyes slid away to the woman with him. The obligatory blonde. Beautiful, spoilt and from the same class as him. How many times I have seen them, and yet this time I knew a moment of piercing pain. Where I come from we just call it jealousy.

  The jealousy surprised and confused me.

  Must be the grief, I told myself. He is not for you, but he will be there for you.

  No matter how cold and distant he was to me I could trust him. He was the only one I must trust. Robert had said so and I trusted Robert. That man will fight your corner, he said.

  I turned my eyes towards the church entran
ce. Yes, I could do this. I would die before I let Robert down.

  Ivan’s secretary hurried up to me.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs. Maxwell.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs. Macdonald,’ I said. All of a sudden I felt a jolt of panic. I clutched her hand. ‘The flowers on the top of the casket. They are dusky pink roses, aren’t they?’

  She smiled faintly. ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘Oh good. For a moment there I thought I forgot to tell Janice.’ Janice was Robert’s secretary and she had liaised everything with Mrs. Macdonald.

  ‘You didn’t,’ she said gently.

  ‘They were his mother’s favorite flowers,’ I explained.

  ‘I see.’ Her voice was polite.

  Mrs. Macdonald’s gaze slipped down to my pendant. I understood. She could not help herself. It was so special. In a rush her eyes came up again, her expression almost guilty.

  ‘Come this way,’ she said and led me inside the cold, damp cathedral filled with hundreds of people. A sudden hush fell upon the gathered mourners. We walked up to the front pew silently, our shoes loud on the limestone floor. I could feel all their heads turn to watch me. Some were curious, others were openly envious or resentful. I am the American girl who appeared from nowhere, married a multimillionaire, and in two years was the heiress of a sizeable fortune. They don’t know I loved him entirely, the good, bad, the ugly. I loved all of it. They could not see my silent grief.

  They just saw the gold digger.

  All I could see was the rosewood coffin. Pale morning light streamed in through the stained glass of the cathedral’s windows and fell on his fine casket with its gilt handles and a lush arrangement of dusky pink roses on it. Inside I knew it was silk-lined and perfumed with sandalwood oil.

  Robert was lying inside.

  I took my seat on the hard bench and listened to minister’s words and the well-spoken words of all those people who had not come to see him in his last months. They waxed lyrical about what a wonderful man he was. Then Rosalind took the pulpit for her tribute. I kept my eyes to the grey flagstones while dry-eyed, she told the world about her great love for her father.