The Bad Boy Next Door

by Lexxie Couper

  A keening cry filled the room, raw and ripe with pleasure. My cry.

  “So gorgeous,” he said as he drove up into me over and over. “So perfect, so beautiful.”

  Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me, fed by his words, his hands, his touch.

  As the last pulses of my orgasm began to fade, Lucas drew me down to him and captured my mouth with his, kissing me—really kissing me—as my body milked him of his release and his hands worshipped my ass.

  And then it was over. Utterly drained, I slumped onto Lucas’s upper body, my pussy gripping his still-throbbing length, my cheek mashing against his chest.

  It took a second for rational thought to activate.

  “Shit,” I blurted out, scrambling off him. “Did I hurt you?”

  He chuckled, watching me from his back, his hands threading behind his head as I came to settle in a nervous kneel at his hip.

  “I love that you’re asking, but no.”

  Heart racing, I studied his face, his chest, the rest of his body. Doctor Winchester had been adamant he not do anything strenuous, and there was no other word than strenuous to describe the physical level of what we’d just done. What if I’d torn open one of his wounds, or caused whatever had made him cough up blood earlier to start making him—

  “Ronnie.”

  Lucas’s deep chuckle jerked my stare back to his face.

  He grinned at me, devilish delight dancing in his blue eyes. “Fucking you, being fucked by you, could never hurt me. It can only strengthen me.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, unconvinced.

  He laughed again. “I’m tough,” he said, smoothing a hand up my side. “I can handle it.”

  Twisting my lips, I removed his hand, placed it on his stomach and crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay, tough guy,” I said, arching an eyebrow. “Talk. Tell me why you can handle it. And while you’re telling me that, you can also tell me just who the fuck you really are and what the fuck is going on.”

  Chapter 4

  He didn’t answer me. Not at first. It took me starting to climb off the bed before he did. Mind you, there were no words to start with. Instead, he snared my wrist in a tight grip, halting my exasperated shuffle toward the edge of the mattress.

  I stopped, fixing him with a pinning glare. “No dodging or side-stepping or sweet-talking your way out of telling me, Lucas,” I ordered.

  “What if I make you forget with more incredible fucking?”

  Even though my tummy and pussy fluttered and constricted at his question, I held firm. “We just had incredible fucking,” I pointed out, “and I haven’t forgotten how you turned up at my place, nor the fact we’re in a house I didn’t know you owned, with a fully equipped gym and firing range downstairs.”

  An unreadable glint filled his eyes and his jaw bunched. “You’ve been through the house, I take it.”

  I nodded. “I have. Care to tell me what’s in the safe?”

  “A new life.”

  I blinked. “Well, that sounds ridiculously ominous.”

  He grinned.

  I frowned. “Care to elaborate?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. Ask me about the house first.”

  I frowned again. Considering I was meant to be in charge of this interrogation, I was feeling a tad not in charge. “Tell me about the house. How can you afford something like this? And why do I have a garage door opener for it in my car?”

  “I bought the house with cash three months ago.”

  “Cash?” I don’t think my eyebrows could go any higher up my forehead. “You bought it for cash. It must be worth—”

  “I paid two mil for it.”

  My stomach dropped. My mouth fell open. I gaped at him, not sure I’d heard him correctly. “Two mil. You bought this for two million dollars cash?”

  He grinned. “I had to talk the previous owners down a few grand, of course.”

  I pulled a face of mock agreement. “Oh, of course.”

  He laughed. God, it was a sexy, unsettling sound. It made my nipples pebble and my tummy flutter. Damn him.

  When he didn’t elaborate, I gave him a go-on glare.

  He chuckled. Again, my body reacted. Damn him again. “There’s a lot of money to be made in underground professional MMA, Ronnie.”

  “MMA?” I frowned for a third time. “What’s that?”

  “Mixed martial arts.”

  My tummy fluttered again, but this time it had nothing to do with sexual excitement and everything to do with stunned horror. “That barbaric sport where two guys try to beat the shit out of each other any way they can?”

  “That’s the one.”

  I swear to God, he sounded proud.

  I wanted to hit him.

  Instead, I shook my head. “You bought a two-million-dollar house with cash you made being a MMA fighter?”

  He nodded and then changed the nod to a non-committal head wobble, his expression equally as ambiguous. “Yes and no.”

  “Tell me about the no part,” I instructed.

  He shifted on the bed. I thought he was going to reposition himself to a sitting position, but instead, he rolled onto his side, propped his head up on one hand and drew a lazy line up and down my thigh with a finger. “The no part isn’t pretty.”

  “Neither are you,” I shot back, feeling snarky.

  He smirked. “True.”

  That was a lie. He was freaking gorgeous. Even with the dangerous mystery about him, he was gorgeous. Maybe even more so.

  Oh man, what was wrong with me?

  “Tell me about the no part,” I repeated, making my voice stern. I didn’t, however, move my leg. The simple caress of his finger tracing over my thigh was too…nice.

  Who would have thought the words nice and Lucas fucking Pratt could ever go together?

  His smirk slipped a little. For a moment, anger shadowed his face, and then it was gone, and it was his normal arrogant indifferent expression again. The thing was, I was starting to realize that expression was a façade.

  “I’ve been fighting in the underground MMA circuit for many years now. Since I was fifteen,” he said, moving his gaze to where his finger touched my leg.

  “Before you moved to Willow Falls?”

  He nodded at my question.

  “Do your parents know?”

  At this question, he shook his head. “To start with, it was a way of letting off some steam. My biological father, Mom’s ex, was a prick who beat on us. I started learning how to fight back when I was ten.”

  My stomach churned. I knew little about his life before his family had moved next door, and I hadn’t ever asked about it. So I didn’t now. Lucas hadn’t made me want to anyway, what with his dangerous arrogance and mocking demeanor.

  “Lucas,” I whispered, letting my horror and sympathy fill my voice and face, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He flicked me a quick glance. Our eyes connected for a heartbeat and then he was looking at my leg again. “It was what it was,” he said. There was nothing bitter about his declaration. Rather, it was matter-of-fact and empty. But I sensed something deep and dark in those five words. Something scary.

  “Did your mom press charges?”

  “Hard to press charges against a dead man.”

  My stomach didn’t just churn. It twisted into a knot. Dead man?

  His finger on my leg grew still. His stare stay fixed on it. “He died in a street brawl a month after Mom finally got away from him. I was fifteen.”

  Got away. Not left him. Not divorced him.

  The implication behind got away sent a chill up my spine.

  “That was the night,” he went on, “I realized how easy it is for a person to die with the right kick to the head.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, what to do. Hell, what to think.

  “It was also the night I was initiated into the Trinity.”

  Okay, had I thought I didn’t know what to think before?

  The Trinity? One o
f the most notorious gangs in our city? Maybe even the US? Lucas, my asshole next door neighbor, was a member of Trinity?

  Holy. Fuck.

  My horror must have shown on my face. Lucas let out a ragged sigh and removed his finger from my leg. “Does it help if I say I was there for a reason?”

  “What could possibly make you become a member of one of the most brutal, murderous, criminally depraved gangs around?”

  I didn’t hide my contempt. Nor did I hide my disgust. I felt sick. Was I in a house paid for by drug money? Illegal prostitution? Blackmail? Violent crime? God, had I just had the most amazing sex of my life with someone who committed those horrific crimes?

  “To start with, it was because I was a fucked-up teenager with a shit load of anger and hate directed at a world that had shown me and my mom nothing but cruelty and pain. But then…” He drew in a slow breath and looked back up at me again. “But then my mom met my stepdad, and we moved to Willow Falls and I met you and my view on life changed.”

  I swallowed. “Are you…did you…” My heart was going crazy. My tummy was a tornado of sickened confusion and uncertainty. I knew Lucas was dangerous, but my brain couldn’t coincide the arrogant bastard guy from next door with the kind of sadistic murderers the Trinity members were known for being.

  “Am I still a member?”

  All I could do was nod silently and stiltedly at his calm question.

  “That’s another yes-and-no answer, I’m afraid.”

  The complete non-answer pushed me over the edge. Red-hot fury flooded through me, a torrent of rage unlike any I’d ever experienced.

  “Fuck you, Pratt,” I snarled, shoving at his shoulder with all my strength before scrambling off the bed. Screw his injuries. Screw his mysterious charm and dangerous sexiness. “I’m out of here.”

  I stomped away from the bed, snatching up my clothes from the floor as I did so. I didn’t want to be near him anymore. I couldn’t deal with this.

  He snagged my wrist before I made it to the bedroom door. Yanked me to a halt.

  I spun on my heel, smashing my fist into his jaw.

  I can punch hard when I want to, and I wanted to punch so very hard right at that second.

  His jaw crunched against my knuckles. Pain sheared through my hand, up my arm, into my shoulder.

  I didn’t care. The sight of his head snapping backward under the force of my punch filled me with a bleak, cold joy. “Stay away from me, Pratt. Don’t ever touch or talk to me again.”

  His grip on my wrist didn’t slacken. In fact, it grew to a painful vice. Without so much as a grunt, his stare found mine once again. “The last woman who hit me ended up in hospital, Ronnie,” he declared, his voice calm. So calm.

  My stomach rolled. My throat seized up.

  “Why am I not surprised?” I shot back. I was operating on incensed adrenaline now. It occurred to me, in amongst all my rage and contempt, that all this scintillating conversation was taking place while we were both naked.

  Seriously, folks. How fucked up was that?

  “I didn’t put her there,” he said, still calm. “A cop did. The cop who is trying to fuck me over.”

  For the gazillionth time in the last twenty-four hours, I was at a complete loss for what to say.

  So I said “What?”

  Lucas released my wrist. “How about we get dressed, I’ll make us coffee and something to eat and tell you everything?”

  Studying him, I rubbed at my wrist.

  Grief and guilt filled his expression. “I’m sorry, Ronnie,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  It didn’t hurt, but I felt wounded all the same.

  Letting out a sigh, I shook my head. “You didn’t.”

  Relief washed over his face.

  “Go put some clothes on, Pratt,” I ordered, knowing I sounded tired and drained. “I’m assuming you have some here?”

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “Yeah, I do. And so do you.”

  I blinked. “I what?”

  “There’s clothes for you in the closet.” He nodded his head toward the wall on the other side of the room. “If you want to put something fresh on.”

  I don’t know what I was more stunned by. That there were clothes here for me, Or the fact Lucas didn’t seem contrite about that fact.

  “My clothes?” I asked, my tummy churning in a very unexpected way. “From my closet in my house?”

  He chuckled. “No. Clothes I bought for you.”

  And with that, he turned on his heel and wandered into the room’s bathroom.

  I heard the distinct and unmistakable sound of him emptying his bladder a few seconds later.

  “Are you kidding me?” I shouted at the open door. I was a mess of anger, incredulous disbelief and something so much more disquieting: contentment.

  His answering chuckle wafted out to where I still stood near the bedroom door. “We all pee, Ronnie. It’s a natural part of life.”

  I ground my teeth, rolled my eyes and stomped my way to the bathroom.

  “Sure,” I snapped, glaring at him where he stood in front of the toilet. “I just don’t want to hear it.”

  I pulled the door shut on his smirk.

  Lucas fucking Pratt. Bastard.

  Thrumming with an energy I wasn’t yet prepared to contemplate, I flung my glare toward what I’d assumed was—on first entering the master suite—some kind of feature wall, but was apparently the closet.

  There were no handles or hinges or anything that would suggest it was anything other than a wall, but that was the direction Lucas had indicated with his head earlier when dropping the bomb I had clothes here.

  Eyes narrowing, I crossed to the wall. I let out a soft gasp as I realized it wasn’t a wall as such, but a divider almost the length of the room behind which was the closet.

  The biggest walk-in closet I’ve ever seen.

  On one side hung a collection of clothes that could only belong to Lucas. Jeans, shirts and suits. Suits. Oh God, how freaking sexy would he look in a suit? I couldn’t begin to imagine. If I did, I’d probably have some kind of mental orgasm.

  On the other side…

  My heart tripped over itself as I stared at the clothes on the other side of the closet.

  Dresses. More dresses than I’ve ever owned. Exquisite silky dresses. Beautiful shimmery dresses. Mini dresses in a variety of fabrics. Maxi dresses in flowy chiffon. So many dresses. Beside the dresses, were shelves full of denim—jeans of all shades of blue and black. I’ve been a sucker for jeans for as long as I can remember, a fact Lucas was plainly aware of. I could also see denim shorts and denim miniskirts.

  And I could see T-shirts.

  If there’s one item of clothing I have a weakness for, it’s T-shirts. Especially T-shirts with retro logos on them. And in amongst all those folded T-shirts, I glimpsed what could only be the logos for the Rolling Stones, Star Wars, Ghostbusters, the Ramones, AC/DC, Wonder Woman…

  Oh boy.

  I moved deeper into the walk-in closet, trying to hold onto my fury at Lucas but damn near salivating at all those T-shirts.

  And then I spied the shoes and kind of lost it for a second.

  Doc Martens and Chucks and flip-flops and strappy stilettoes of all colors lined up beside each other. I didn’t need to pick up any of them up to know they were my size.

  Oh boy. Again.

  Clothes. For me. Picked for me. Bought for me.

  By who? Lucas? Or the good doctor? I couldn’t picture Lucas in any kind of store that would sell women’s clothing. Not at all.

  Chest tight, pulse pounding, I approached the shelves of denim shorts and trailed my fingertips over them.

  Dressed. I needed to get dressed. So I could tell Lucas exactly what I thought of—

  “I’ve always loved your ass in those short shorts you wear.”

  I startled at Lucas’s deep voice to my right.

  He leant against the inside wall of the closet, his grin
lazy and satisfied as he watched me. There was no way I could miss the fact he was still naked. Christ, he was the most exquisite example of the male species I’ve ever encountered. And the most arrogant.

  Prick.

  Of course, that didn’t stop my body reacting to the open hunger in his eyes as he regarded me, or the sheer maleness of his naked form.

  Stupid body.

  “In that case,” I said, turning back to the clothes, “I think I’ll wear a maxi dress so you can’t—”

  His laughter preceded his firm grip on my wrist, which preceded—by barely a heartbeat—him yanking me to his chest and crushing my mouth with his.

  The possessive kiss lasted a split second. Long enough for me to realize I had fuck-all chance of resisting him.

  And then he let me go with another chuckle.

  I swayed on my feet for a second. Swayed. For a goddamn second.

  He chuckled, and slapped my ass. “Short shorts, Ronnie.”

  Grinding my teeth, I watched him turn to his side of the closet and select a pair of Levis that looked like they’d been worn a hundred times.

  I made the mistake of tracking his hands as he shook out his jeans, which brought my line of sight dangerously close to his groin.

  My pulse quickened as his impressive cock came into my peripheral and, muttering, “Bastard prick,” loud enough for him to hear me, I snatched a pair of shorts from my side, along with a T-shirt.

  Shorts.

  Yeah, I know.

  Without looking at Lucas, I stomped from the closet and across the bedroom.

  My overnight bag with my toiletries was still in my car in the garage. I could stomp out to it naked to collect it, thereby allowing me to apply my jasmine-scented deodorant, or I could stomp into the bathroom and use Lucas’s deodorant.

  I stomped to the bathroom.

  Screw him.

  I’d just finished dousing my armpits in sandalwood-scented spray when Lucas came up behind me.

  His hands slid over my hips. My bare hips. Damn it, why hadn’t I at least put my shorts on first?

  Because I wanted him to come in here to me?

  He pressed his groin to my ass, the smooth denim of his jeans a wicked friction against my skin. “Sure you want to talk, Ronnie?” he murmured into my ear, his lips a tickling caress. A ripple of excitement licked up my spine. My nipples pebbled.