Good Girl's Bad Lessons

by Carmen Falcone

  A woman in her fifties, with a blond pixie cut and wearing a tweed skirt and suit jacket sauntered in their direction. She broke her lips in a smile that showcased straight white teeth. “Nico…so nice to see you.”

  “Thanks, Veronica. I’m here to help my friend Emma pick up some cocktail dresses.”

  The woman’s gaze landed on her, and she made a quick assessment. “Of course. I’m Veronica White. Pleasure to meet you.”

  Emma shook her hand. “Emma Cavanaugh.” Hopefully Emma Larson by the end of the year if this whole charade worked. If Simon saw how perfect she was for him, he’d get back together with her and set a date. Their sexual, hmmm, problem was the only detail keeping them from having the life she’d always planned—marriage, two and a half kids, and a couple of chocolate Labs that ruined her furniture. She’d name her first son after her brother Zachary.

  “Wonderful. Come with me; we’ll talk about your needs.”

  Her needs? She slapped a smile on her face and listened to the woman who took her to a separate area of the space. For the next thirty minutes, while sipping on champagne, Emma told her about her color preferences, personal style, and measurements.

  Veronica nodded from time to time, sliding her finger on her mini iPad. Then, she took her to a stall and brought a rack filled with clothes that had nothing to do with the list she’d given her. Maybe Nico had coached her before their visit…or she just guessed his preferences. Jeez.

  He sat on one of the leather sofas and alternated between drinking espresso and texting. Thankfully, he didn’t butt in much.

  She looked at the colorful offerings, mostly dresses. The pants fit snugly, maybe for someone who didn’t have a giant ass like hers. She picked a forest-green gown and slipped it on. The moment the luxurious fabric touched her body, she prickled. She smoothed her hand over the ensemble, admitting to herself she’d never get away with that plunging V-neck dress if she had large breasts.

  “Nice,” said the deep voice behind her.

  She almost jumped, the hairs behind her neck standing on end. “What are you doing here?”

  “Giving you my input.”

  “Since when does clothes shopping require a team? And where’s Veronica?”

  “I sent her to the lower floor to grab some lingerie.”

  Lingerie? A wave of warmth spread across her cheeks and neck.

  “Just look at you, Emma. The green brings out your beautiful brown hair and accentuates your hazel eyes.”

  She squared her shoulders, even if his voice made her melt in delicious ways. She knew what she looked like, so what the hell did he imply with that sinful accent? He clutched her shoulders with his strong hands, and the simple touch shot a surge of awareness all the way down to her clit, which throbbed wildly.

  She licked her dry lips and dared to look at her reflection. Her pupils were dilated, making her eyes bigger, glossier. He stood behind her, and when her gaze collided with his in the mirror, she drew in her breath. Flecks of gold shimmered in the depths of his green irises, lust hardening his features.

  Not only his features, she realized, when his erection rubbed against her back.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “The cut outlines your sexy curves.” He slid his hands to her sides, tracing the indent of her waist to her hips. She shivered, heat radiating from her chest. “When you walk, these sway,” he said, clutching her hips. “And it’ll make any red-blooded man imagine what it’s like to see you naked, to touch this gorgeous ass.” He squeezed her cheeks, and she moaned.

  “All from one outfit, huh?” she asked, out of breath.

  “Yes,” he said, and withdrew from her.

  Disappointment made her look away from him and fidget with her hair. A part of her almost wished he’d continued what he’d started and just take her there and then.

  An hour later, she exited the department store with Nico carrying more than just a few bags. He held them like they were no big deal—he’d offered to pay the small fortune for her new outfits, and her pride took a backseat to practicality. Why get in debt when he had money to throw around?

  “How about something to drink?” she asked him, pointing at the café across the street from the store.

  “Sure,” he said, and signaled for his driver, who stopped by the curb and retrieved the bags from him.

  The driver had been waiting. Shit. Of course, Nico was a busy man. He didn’t have time to just dillydally with her—shopping had been part of his goal to have her look good. She chewed her lower lip. “Look, if you’re busy I understand…”

  “No, that’s fine. Come,” he said, and held her elbow to pull her closer as they joined the crowd crossing the street.

  Just because they were having sex didn’t mean she couldn’t get to know him a bit better, right? Maybe an unlikely friendship would remain after this deal ended. She sat across from him at a table and watched him order drinks at the counter. His pants fit him snugly, cupping his perfect ass and hinting at his long legs. She sighed. No. Friendship might be impossible.

  He returned to the table. “Why did you pick translation for an occupation? Seems different.”

  She touched the edge of the table, her finger caressing the smooth surface. “It started when I was eleven. I knew some basic Spanish from school and was on a cruise with my family. The crew had a hard time understanding a few Spanish-speaking passengers, and I offered to help for fun. After that vacation, I knew I wanted to work with languages at some level. I loved helping people get the message across. It’s rewarding.”

  “Why French and not Spanish?”

  She flushed. “There was a lot of competition for translators and interpreters of Spanish when I started. The French language wasn’t as intense. Besides, the language is so—

  His lips curved into a mocking smile. “Romantic?”

  Busted. Yes, she had seen her share of French movies and read a copious number of French poets as a teenager. God, what a nerd. She glanced around them, looking nowhere in particular. Turn the tables, Emma. She’d asked him for coffee to know more about him, not the other way around.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Oh. “Er, hmmm, you seem to really want to buy that house from Desmorais. But I still don’t know why,” she said, insisting on bringing up the one subject he obviously didn’t want to discuss. What if she found a way to convince him to buy a different property from Desmorais? The man owned many in Mauritius, and she doubted only one met Nico’s high standards. “Entertain me.”

  He frowned, then touched his collar, glanced around them in silence. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable before. “I…”

  She should reach across the table and squeeze his hand, say he didn’t have to tell her, because, well, he didn’t. Her heart tightened, and somehow the words never made it past her lips. Shit, she wanted to know, even if it landed her in hot water. “Tell me.”

  “I have happy memories about that place,” he said in a clipped, even robotic tone, like he had rehearsed an explanation for an emergency. “I used to vacation in that house with my family before my mother got sick and died.”

  Crap. She remembered Zaine had mentioned Nico’s mother had suffered from schizophrenia and taken her own life when he was a kid. She drew in a breath, her fingers fidgety on her lap. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I… My father sold that place without letting us say goodbye to it. He didn’t care how much we loved it there, he wanted all those memories gone.”

  “Maybe he was hurting, and that’s how he dealt with your mother’s loss.”

  A flicker of sadness gleamed in his eyes. He leaned closer. “You’re romantic, Emma Cavanaugh.” He ran his finger along her cheek. “That bastard Samuel better appreciate you.”

  “You mean Simon?”

  He waved her off. “Yeah. Whatever. He better give you all you deserve.”

  “Thanks… I’m sure in time you’ll meet a dashing European supermodel who’ll convince you to marr
y and have kids and you’ll end up whipped,” she said.

  “Impossible. Kids are not in my future.” The attendant called his name, and he stood, walked up to the counter, and grabbed the two drinks. He gave her the peach iced tea she’d ordered and took a sip of his coffee, his expression neutral.

  She played with the lid of her drink, knowing full well she should drop the subject. He obviously already had. She took a gulp of her iced tea, and maybe the sugar encouraged her curiosity, because she swallowed it down, then set it on the table. “Why are you so sure you won’t ever have children? Do you have a crystal ball?” she asked, keeping her tone playful.

  A flicker of an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint touched his emerald green eyes. Pain? Regret? She angled closer, wishing she could figure it out.

  He cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ve had a vasectomy.”

  Her stomach curled, like someone had punched it. She blinked, her own reaction confusing her. What did she care? A strange, nauseating sensation cooled her veins. “I. That’s very…final. May I ask why?” A second later, she mentally slapped herself. It’d been his decision, because he didn’t want to have kids—and made sure it’d never happen. His longtime life goal contrasted with hers, and though it shouldn’t bother her, it did. It fucking bothered her.

  He shook his head, lifting the coffee cup to his lips. “That’s a story for the next therapy appointment,” he said, in a voice that left no room for arguing.

  …

  “I’d like some iced tea, please,” Emma asked the bartender of the VIP lounge in the private airfield Nico had taken her to.

  The slim blonde turned around to prepare the drink, and within a couple of minutes returned and handed it to Emma.

  “How much is it?” Emma asked.

  “It’s complimentary,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Your first time in here?” the woman asked with a smug look on her pretty face.

  “Yes, can you tell?” Emma glanced around. Even though the place was half dead as night fell outside, the see-through walls with the view of jets arriving and departing outside still intimidated her.

  Nico had gone to talk to someone, and she’d been playing with her phone. The way the female attendants glanced his way completely dismissed her presence. She clenched her fists, and irritation throbbed in her ears. Jealousy? She snorted, willing the stupid idea away. No, simply common sense.

  Of course they were in a fake relationship, but really, those women didn’t know that. From the receptionist to the bartender who tended to only a few clients, each one of them had shown an eagerness Emma doubted had been just because of the fat tips he gave them.

  “You’re here with Mr. Giordano?” She angled closer.

  Emma nodded.

  The bartender gave her a slow smile that didn’t seem all that amusing. “Enjoy.”

  Enjoy while it lasts. Emma read between the lines. She clenched her fists tighter, her fingernails biting into her skin. “Does he bring a lot of women here?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

  The bartender looked to the sides, as if to make sure no one heard her, then said, “All the time. I never get to see them a second time, though. Seems like he’s a one and done type of guy.”

  “Well, my situation with him is different,” Emma said. I had to convince him to sleep with me, for starters. She flexed her fingers, but her muscles remained stiff. How pathetic. If anything, pondering her situation made her feel even worse. The women he brought with him came because he wanted them there—not because of a deal.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it is. That’s what the girl last month said, too.” She shrugged. “Anyway, enjoy the tea. Have fun on your trip,” she said, then sashayed to the other end of the bar to help another customer.

  Emma shook her head, hoping to squash the anger creeping under her skin. How dare she? And if her heart were involved, how bitter of the bartender to assume their relationship wouldn’t last.

  She left the bar area, and returned to her oversize seat. She opened her bag and retrieved her cell phone. Emma stared at the picture she’d saved from Simon’s most recent Facebook post. He’d arrived in Venezuela for his missionary trip, wearing one of the T-shirts she’d bought him a couple of months prior. The special material, a wicking fabric, kept the body cool and dry even in the heat. She’d bought a few of them and given them to him after he’d told her about his trip.

  Was he just being a guy and wearing that T-shirt because of the good quality, or did he take it with him because she’d bought it for him?

  She crossed her legs then uncrossed them. One of the reasons she favored pants was not having to worry about the perfect sitting pose to keep strangers from zooming in on her crotch.

  “The mechanic is finishing his routine inspection on the jet. Shouldn’t be too long now,” Nico said, approaching her.

  She gazed past him and found the bartender drying a glass and glancing at his behind. Not that Emma blamed her, but damn. Did she have to be so obvious?

  She wants what I have or what she thinks I have. Emma had lived in Los Angeles her entire life and excelled at recognizing women and men with an agenda. If the bartender wanted to make her feel like shit and rile her up, she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. “Nico.”

  He sat next to her and was about to reach for his leather briefcase when she touched his leg. “Emma,” he said, using the same rushed tone she’d used calling his name.

  She glanced behind him, the bartender studying them with her eyebrow raised. “Kiss me.”

  Chapter Six

  Kiss me.

  Before he could register her words, she slid on top of him and lowered her lips to his. What the hell? He opened his mouth, tangling his tongue with hers, his heartbeat quickly accelerating. Maybe he could file this in the lesson about spontaneity.

  They’d avoided public displays of affection so far. Number one because they didn’t want anyone to see them and know about their temporary affair. And number two, what affection? He liked her, sure, but not in an affectionate way. Such feeling would be futile, especially after she seemed so shocked when he’d told her about his vasectomy.

  Sweet Emma wanted marriage and kids, and he couldn’t offer her either—even if he wished to do so. He’d seen firsthand what great passion did to a man—and he was far too much like his damaged father not to do the same. Besides, what kind of dad would he be given the crappy example he’d had as a child? And, shit, he hadn’t even been able to protect his own brother.

  Emma linked her arms around him, and any rationalization went out the window. He intensified the rhythm of the kiss, her moan reverberating inside him. His cock throbbed, and he doubted he’d be able to stand without exposing his hard-on. She shifted on his lap, bringing them to a sinful position that could land them both in jail.

  “Emma, piccola mia…”

  The warmth from her pussy sifted through the material of her skirt.

  A clearing of a throat pulled him from the brink of madness, and he withdrew his mouth from hers, his hands still gripping her. “Mr. Giordano?” Nance, the concierge he’d known for years, said, blushing. “Your crew is ready, sir.”

  “Of course.”

  She flashed him a courteous smile and sauntered out of sight.

  Emma slid off his lap to the seat next to her, smoothing her hands down her clothes.

  “Care to tell me why you mauled me out of the blue?”

  She finger-combed her hair, probably unaware of how sexy she was. A glint of light hit her pretty eyes, and he had to curl his fingers into a ball to keep from moving her back to his lap, the place she should never have left. The place where her kitty belonged.

  “I’m sorry…the bartender,” she said tilting her head in the direction of Skylar, the manager of the bar catering for customers and crew, “she threw some shade about you being with me, and I wanted to show her rather than tell her my point.”

  A pang of disappointment sta
bbed at him. It’d been all about female vanity. “I never took you for catty.”

  “Neither have I, but we learn new things every day, right?” She gave him a nervous smile.

  “Yes. And I think it’s time for a new lesson.”

  “Which is?”

  “Never kiss me in public to make someone jealous without my full participation.”

  She frowned. “What? What kind of bullshit lesson is that? Sounds too specific. I doubt I’d ever be in this situation with Simon.”

  “This isn’t about your pansy fiancé. This is about a lesson I’ll teach you,” he said, standing. “Shall we?” He offered his hand, but she didn’t take it, narrowing her eyes like she wouldn’t go along with whatever he had in mind.

  Go along she would. He caught himself smiling, savoring what would happen once the plane took off. When she’d kissed him and caught him off guard, he’d enjoyed it, and she’d turned him on. But after she’d told him about Skylar, a part of him felt a discontent he shouldn’t be allowed where Emma was concerned. She reminded him of some of the uber-competitive women he’d dated, who enjoyed one-upping each other.

  And he preferred the Emma he’d known before the lessons started, because he appreciated her brutal honesty and pragmatism.

  He followed her into the private jet with his wicked ideas about sexy ways to punish her clear in his mind. She sat across from him and fumbled with the entertainment system, avoiding his gaze. He, bastard that he was, kept his eyes on her, and every time she perhaps accidentally tossed a glance his way, he intensified his stare. She shifted in the oversized seat, fidgeting with one of the magazines, her soft fingers and white-tipped nails caressing the pages one by one.

  When they reached a safe altitude and the safety belt sign turned off, he said, “Come.”

  He took her to his suite, proud to have bought this new jet with extra privacy. She entered and studied the minimalistic décor and bed. “I can’t believe there’s a bed in here,” she said plopping on it.