The Bad Boy Next Door

by Lexxie Couper

  Before I could stop myself, I opened the sketchpad.

  “Goddamn it,” I breathed, looking down at myself.

  Sketches of me. Of my eyes, my face, my smile. Incredibly talented sketches. Whoever the artist was, they were good. Very good.

  Lucas. Who else would it be?

  The thought unsettled me, even as a strange ribbon of what I could only assume was excitement unfurled through me. It was like I’d stepped into some kind of movie. I had no clue how to respond to it.

  Closing the sketchbook, I found myself back in what had to be the master suite.

  Above the headboard was an abstract painting that was strangely peaceful to look at. Above the bed, directly above the bed, fixed to the ceiling was a mirror.

  I found that strangely disquieting. And arousing. Which was even more disquieting.

  “Ronnie?”

  I squealed.

  Spinning around, I found Lucas in the doorway, leaning against one shoulder, completely naked. He stood still, radiating a poised menace I didn’t think he was currently medically capable of.

  He regarded me, expression enigmatic. But his eyes…they were hot. Not with anger though. With lust. “You found my bedroom.”

  I swallowed, shuffling my feet. “You shouldn’t be up. How are you up? How are you even alive?”

  His lips curled in a smile that sent liquid electricity pouring straight into my pussy. “I’ve got serious stamina, Ronnie.”

  A nervous chuckle fell from me before I could stop it. I shuffled my feet again, scrubbing my palms on the fronts of my thighs. Oh man, why was my clit tingling like it was suddenly filling with eager blood.

  Err, because it is? Because Lucas is in front of you, naked and gorgeous and dangerous and he clearly wants—

  The doorbell chimed.

  Murderous rage flashed over Lucas’s face as he swung his head toward the sound. His fists bunched.

  “I called Doctor Winchester,” I blurted out, taking a few hurried steps toward him. “Well, I called a Doctor Winchester. A veterinarian. It could be him.”

  Lucas raised an eyebrow at me.

  “You told me to,” I said, my nerves kicking up to full-blown freak-out.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  Before I could say anything, I heard the front door open.

  Holy fuck.

  Without thinking, I bolted. Passed Lucas, down the stairs.

  I had no idea what I was going to do, but the need to protect him, to confront whoever was letting themselves into our hideout had turned me into some kind of maniacal fighter.

  Head roaring, heart pounding, I charged to the stairs, snatching up a table-lamp-sized statue from a console table as I did so.

  I was on the second to bottom stair when my stare found our new arrival. My feet stumbled. Enough to make me completely lose my balance. I tripped and scrambled and fought for balance, all the while under the direct gaze of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  My cheeks were flaming when I finally found my balance. That didn’t stop me raising the statue over my shoulder and glaring at her. “Who are you?”

  The stunning woman’s lips curled. “Doctor Winchester.”

  I blinked. “You’re the veterinarian?”

  “Watch her, Lila,” Lucas’s voice came from behind me, the words dancing with playful humor. “She’s a feisty one.”

  Lila Winchester ran a slow gaze over me. “I can see that.”

  I turned, my grip on the statue tight, and glared at Lucas. “Fuck you, Pratt. That’s the last time I—”

  Lucas wobbled on his feet, but before he could fall, I leapt for him and grabbed him around the waist.

  “Sure it is,” he mumbled, smiling down at me with heavy-lidded eyes before becoming a heavy lump I had no hope of holding up.

  Lila Winchester was at my side the second I started to stagger. For a tiny thing, she was incredibly strong.

  With blunt, no-nonsense instructions, she directed me to Lucas’s feet. We had his unconscious form on the sofa—yep, there were the blood stains I’d feared earlier—with nowhere near the same panting and grunting as my previous effort.

  Wiping her hands together with a slapping motion, Lila leveled her attention at me. “What do you know about his injuries?”

  I swallowed. “Not much. He turned up at my place delusional, looking like he does now, and has gone in and out of consciousness since.”

  “When was that? What time? Exactly?”

  I didn’t know exactly what time and told her so.

  She scowled. “Has he done anything energetic in the periods he was conscious?”

  My cheeks filled with heat again. God, did I tell her about the wild orgasms Lucas had given me on my bedroom floor?

  “So he’s not dying then,” she answered before I could open my mouth.

  I blinked.

  She ran another inspection over me, from head to toe and back up to my face. “Go have a shower. You look a mess. I’ll deal with Lucas.”

  Anger lashed through me. I crossed my arms over my breasts and glared at her. “If it’s all the same with you, I think I’ll watch you dealing with him. No offense, but I have no clue who you are.”

  “And Lucas told you to trust no one?”

  Jesus, who was this woman?

  She grunted at my silent non-answer that was more an answer than any I could have uttered. “You can trust me. Lucas does. I promise I’m not going to do anything to hurt either of you. Here.” She reached behind her back and was suddenly offering me a gun. A big gun. The kind you see on cop shows. “Take this. If you think I’m not doing right by him, you can shoot me with it.”

  I gaped at her. At the gun.

  She jiggled it about in her hand toward me. “Take it. It’s loaded. The safety is on though, so you’ll need to fix that if you plan to pull the trigger.”

  When I didn’t move, she placed the gun on the coffee table beside us and smiled.

  God, she had a gorgeous smile. It didn’t, I noticed, reach her eyes though. Not really.

  “Now I need to get to work,” she said, shucking her jacket off. She had beautiful, toned arms and shoulders and smooth sun-kissed skin. Her snug white sleeveless shirt made her breasts look amazing. “If you’re not into the sight of blood, you might want to look away.”

  “Who are you?” I demanded. “Who is Lucas? What the fuck is going on?”

  She made a clicking tsking noise and smiled more. This time it did make it to her eyes. “I’m the doctor who is going to fix him up. As for Lucas? It’s not my place to tell you.”

  And with that, she turned to Lucas as if I was no longer there.

  Chapter 3

  She did things to Lucas I didn’t ever want to see. The first one was to inject him with something that looked like it should never be injected into a human. I watched her, wishing to fuck I had even an iota of medical knowledge.

  “Get me some warm water and a washcloth,” she instructed as she removed the needled from Lucas’s butt.

  It was a big needle. I swear to God, I’m positive I could see the hole at the tip of it.

  I was halfway to the bathroom when it occurred to me the request for warm water and a washcloth was possibly a ruse to get me out of the room. My heart slammed into my throat and I ran back to the living room.

  Doctor Winchester looked up from the open medical bag at her knee and gave me a sharp look with a raised eyebrow.

  I swallowed. Stared at her.

  “Veronica,” she said, obviously struggling to keep her voice calm. The fact she knew my name was Veronica—a name I rarely ever use—told me a lot. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “I am not going to hurt him or kill him. I promise. Now I really need that water and cloth. I’m about to poke my finger around in his wounds to make sure there’s nothing in there that will cause complications before I stitch him up. It’s going to get bloody.”

  A shaky breath burst from me and, with a stuttering kind of nod, I made my way to the bathr
oom.

  When I returned, with as many washcloths as I could find, she raised her attention from one the wounds in his side and offered me a smile. A real smile. “Thank you. Make sure the water isn’t too hot, okay?”

  After I delivered the lukewarm water—in a salad bowl that looked more expensive than my car, I sat in the chair opposite the sofa and watched her do her thing.

  I have no idea if she was doing her thing well or not, but efficiency and competency radiated from her.

  At one point, she flicked me a quick look. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

  Before I could ask her what she meant, she sliced at the swollen, bruised flesh beneath Lucas’s right eye with a scalpel.

  Blood oozed from the cut, bright red and thick.

  I didn’t pass out, but damn, I came close. My head swam, my eyes filled with black swirly smudges and my skin grew prickly.

  It took my brain a few minutes to recover enough to register the fact she was now gluing the fresh cut back together.

  Glue. It looked just like super glue.

  “Lucas would kill me if I put a stitch in his face,” she commented without lifting her focus from what she was doing.

  I stayed and watched her inspect and then stitch up the various wounds on his body she deemed necessary to stitch. I handed her washcloths when she requested them. I tried not to freak out too much about the surreal situation I was in.

  Finally, she straightened to her feet and fixed a level gaze at me. “He’s going to be sore and angry when he comes to, but I don’t think there’s any permanent damage, unless you count his ego and pride. No crazy physical activity for a few days. Keep his fluids up. Keep his wounds clean.”

  I nodded. And then blinked. “Are you going?”

  She smiled. “I am. ADBB. I’ve got a horse to inseminate and a Great Dane to neuter.”

  She made her way to the powder room adjacent to the living area and washed her hands. I tuned out the sound of running water, focusing instead on Lucas. I tried like hell not to notice he was still naked but wasn’t overly successful.

  “ADBB?” I asked, raising my voice so Doctor Winchester would be able to hear me.

  “All done. Bye bye.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “How long will he be out of it?” I asked. Damn, Lucas had incredible legs. And abs. And chest. I mean, the guy was sedated—with an animal tranquilizer, for all I know—but even zonked out he was sexier than sin.

  Still roaming my gaze over his body, I reached for the last clean washcloth sitting on the coffee table and draped it over his groin. It was that or find myself staring at it.

  “No idea,” Lila said right beside me.

  I jumped. And swore. Jesus, how did she make no noise walking about in stilettoes?

  “Take this.” She circled my wrist in a firm grip, raised my hand palm up and deposited the gun she’d offered to me earlier in it.

  I jerked my stare to the gun. GLOCK 36 was etched into its side. My heart and my pulse decided it was the perfect time to compete for fastest thing pounding in my body.

  “Remember about the safety,” she went on as if she hadn’t just casually given me something I’d never possessed before. “And try not to shoot your own foot off.”

  She bent at the waist, scooped up her medical bag and smiled again. “I’ve written my cell number on this.” She handed me a small white card. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t give it to anyone. Oh, and tell Lucas the bill is in the mail.”

  I searched for something to say, something witty, something profound, something snarky, but she was gone before I found it.

  The solid thud of the front door closing announced it was just me and Lucas again.

  Puffing out a breath, I dropped into the chair I’d supervised his medical care from and stared at him.

  He didn’t move.

  I turned my stare to the gun in my hand.

  It also didn’t move.

  My heart and pulse intensified their competition, thumping and beating and hammering away in my throat and ears and chest.

  Returning my gaze to Lucas, I frowned. “You better give me answers when you come to, Pratt,” I muttered, putting the gun and her card on the coffee table before rising to my feet, “or I am going to shoot your foot off with this thing.”

  Lucas insisted on remaining motionless. Bastard.

  I pulled a face at him. “Okay, I’m going to make some coffee.”

  I did just that. For the next thirty minutes, I drank coffee, ate toast—the kitchen was not only fully equipped, it was fully stocked with a refrigerator full of fresh fruit and vegetables, eggs, bacon and milk—and wandered the house.

  There was no denying it was Lucas’s place. It radiated Lucas.

  Making certain the doors and windows on the first floor were locked and latched, I made my way down the stairs, munching on a slice of toast as I did so.

  If my mouth hadn’t been full of toasted bread, peanut butter and jelly when I made it to the bottom step, I would have let out an impressed whistle.

  A state-of-the-art gym took up the space before me. Treadmill, weight machines, a Stair Master, a rack full of dumbbells of various sizes, basically anything you would find in a gym, it was here.

  Also in the space was a punching bag that looked heavy and imposing, a speedball and another rack on which an array of Samurai swords rested. Something about the lethal way those swords looked made me think there was nothing ornamental or decorative about them.

  I swallowed.

  This room, this space, was for one thing and one thing only—to hone a person’s ability to inflict a lot of pain effectively.

  In other words, a room—I was beginning to believe—that suited Lucas perfectly.

  Making my way through it, I headed toward one of the closed doors at the far end.

  The thought of not opening the door flittered through my head for an infinitesimal second, and then I wrapped my fingers around the knob and twisted my wrist.

  “Fuck me,” I whispered.

  This room was a firing range, complete with a paper target dude hanging from a clip. The dude, I couldn’t help but notice, had a bullet hole right in the middle of his head.

  I backed out of the room, closed the door and moved to the next closed door. Okay, I was probably being a masochist, and I’m very aware of curiosity being responsible for the cat’s demise, but there was no way I could stop myself opening it.

  After I did, I kind of wished I hadn’t.

  There was nothing in this room but a safe. Big one. Metal. Just a safe.

  For some reason, that was more unsettling than the personal firing range in the other room.

  Who the hell had a safe in a room like that? Who the hell was Lucas fucking Pratt?

  I closed the door, turned back to the gym and stared at it blankly.

  What did I do? Leave? I could. Lucas wasn’t in any state to stop me. I could get in my car—or the Ferrari in the garage—and hightail it back home. But to what end? What would that achieve? It would only piss Lucas off, and it was becoming increasingly obvious to me he was not the kind of person you wanted to piss off.

  I could call his parents, tell them where we were and what was going on. The thing was, I really didn’t know what was going on. What would I say to them that wouldn’t freak them out? Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Pratt, guess what? Your son turned up at my house naked and beaten up, revealed to me he wants me in ways a good girl shouldn’t enjoy, made me come a lot and then told me to drive him to this amazing isolated house on a cliff upstate. We’re here now. A veterinarian with a killer rack and a Glock 36 operated on him and I’m now standing in his personal gym, studying his sword collection. Oh, and he’s told me someone is out to hurt me and not to trust anyone. Do you know what’s going on? And by the way, are we still on for dinner when you get back from the cruise?

  No, that was a conversation I didn’t want to have. And really, what help could they be from all the way in the Caribbean?


  Which left me with staying where I was, not calling anyone and completely lacking any answers.

  I huffed out a breath. “I wonder if he’s got cable?” I muttered, pushing myself from the door and stomping through the gym.

  When I got back up to the living room, Lucas was gone.

  Fuck.

  Panic, I’ve come to realize, tastes like metal and fire in your mouth.

  I stared at the sofa where Lucas had last been, my brain desperately trying to process the cushions I was looking at where a sedated six-foot-five man should be.

  “Lucas?” I shouted.

  And then slapped my hand to my mouth. If he wasn’t here, than someone must have moved him, right? Which meant I wasn’t alone.

  And I’d just announced my presence to whoever was in here with us.

  Shit.

  Half crouching—no, I don’t know why either—I hurried through the living room to the front door.

  Locked and latched. From the inside.

  My stomach churned.

  Standing—or more to the point, still half crouching—I listened to the house’s silence.

  It was just that. Silent.

  Not a sound.

  Mouth dry, eyes burning, I scanned the room. Nothing was out of place. Well, apart from Lucas, that was. Even the Glock Doctor Winchester had insisted I keep was still on the table where I’d placed it.

  Shit.

  Straightening, I slowly made my way to the kitchen. Slower still, I withdrew the biggest knife in the knife block on the counter.

  I couldn’t shoot my foot off with a knife.

  Grip tight enough on the hilt my knuckles ached, I climbed the stairs.

  Every molecule in my body thrummed and sparked and quivered with fear. As much as I wanted to run, I needed to find Lucas first. I couldn’t leave him. He was defenseless. Vulnerable.

  The first bedroom was empty.

  So was the second.

  Which left the master suite.

  I paused at the closed door, pressed my ear to its surface.

  Not a sound from the other side.

  Adjusting my grip on the knife, I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and turned it. Slowly. Slowly.