Dr. Bad Boy

by Ainsley Booth

  In my first year at university I lived in the dorms, because my psychologist thought it would be a good transition back to being a normal young adult.

  Turns out it wasn’t that simple.

  I got Gavin out of the deal, though. But after that first year, I moved back into my house in Southlands, the oversized, extra-private modern mansion I’d bought when I was a sixteen-year-old angry at the world and desperate to hide. Third year I missed Gavin, so when he moved off-campus and finally convinced me I wouldn’t be recognized, I followed, sharing a two-bedroom apartment in a building not unlike this one.

  Of course, I always had my home to retreat to if I needed it. For studying or alone time or…play time.

  I was careful not to reveal my true self to my best friend until the last year of our undergraduate studies when I realized he might be into the kink scene, too.

  By that time, I was a veteran of the higher-end Vancouver circuit.

  A sought-after Dom at twenty-two.

  That was when I realized it was healthier to limit who I slept with by making it a formal financial arrangement.

  It hasn’t been exclusively call girls since then. Just ninety percent of the time, because the handful of attempts to find a sub I clicked with since had all been disasters.

  A harsh reminder I need as I climb the last half-flight of stairs to Violet’s place. She’s on the top floor. It looks like there are four places per level.

  “Do you know your neighbours?”

  She gives me an innocent look. “No, but they’re big and burly and tattooed and ride motorcycles. Carry sawed-off shotguns—”

  I lift my eyebrow and she stops.

  “Yes, I know them,” she says softly. She points to the nearest door. “That’s Matthew’s place. He’s a city cop.” A beat of hesitation precedes her next words. “And he’s gay. But he could totally beat you up. And he would. So keep that in mind.”

  “Be scared, but not jealous. Got it. Is he the guy you were on the phone with at the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “And in your office?”

  She pauses as she slides her key into the lock. “Are you going to tell me who you called as you left that evening?”

  I lift my chin and nod. We need to stop playing games with each other. “A friend. Also a cop. He’ll never beat you up.”

  There’s a moment that stretches between us as I say that, then it’s gone before I can grab on to it. She pushes inside and I follow. She points into a bright, tidy kitchen and I put the groceries on the table.

  The whole time a weird tension is coiling inside me. That moment at the door…I don’t know what that was.

  I don’t like not knowing. It sets me on edge.

  And Violet doesn’t deserve that from me. Fuck, she’s gotten the short end of a lot from me already. Maybe I need to start by apologizing.

  I watch as she puts the food away, leaving the loaf of bread on the table. The shopping bag is folded up and stowed in a dedicated spot on a freestanding shelf. When she starts to straighten things on the counter, I cross to her and lean against the next foot of laminate, blocking her from her busy-work.

  I wait for her to look at me, then I start. “I’m going to talk, and I want you to listen.”

  She glances away. “Never my forte.”

  “I recall your listening skills to be top-notch.”

  “That night was different. That’s not really who I am on a day-to-day basis, and we’re so complicated—”

  “Hush, kitten.”

  Her eyes flare wide, but she presses her lips together. My gut tugs in pleasure at her compliance. Kitten. Yes, we’ll be using that again.

  “I understand I hurt you, and—”

  She opens her mouth to protest and I lift my hand, pressing my fingertip to her parted lips. Heat swirls up my arm at the contact.

  “Before I met you, I liked my sex life a certain way. Contained. Controlled. Constructed to protect me from…” I sigh. “A lot of things. People who want more from me than I’m able to give. Secret fans. Anyone interested in being Mrs. Max Donovan, because Mr. Max Donovan isn’t interested in a wife. I even had a reporter infiltrate a sex club I went to back in my twenties.”

  Shock ripples over her face. I lift my hand, but not quickly enough to miss the puff of surprised warm air as she breathes my name. “Oh, Max. That’s awful. I never knew…”

  “Nobody does. Obviously it hasn’t come up yet here, but this is why it’s important to me to have a top-notch law firm working on my behalf.” I grimace. “I’ve had to take more than one so-called news agency to court before.”

  “How did you…” She trails off, and I can practically see her mind whirring through case law, trying to figure out how I stomped on freedom of the press.

  I shrug. “Most of that was a decade ago.” And cost me a lot more money than I’d ever like her to know about. Something tells me she wouldn’t approve. “I conduct myself differently now.”

  She blinks three times in quick succession. “I’m not judging. I’ve been to sex clubs, too.”

  Jesus. I don’t want to know that. There’s no way that Violet of the walk-up apartment and sensible sedan can afford the dues on any club I’d consider acceptably secure. “And we can talk about that once we’re done with this.”

  She shakes her head. “No we can’t.”

  I give her a stern look. “Violet, this would go a lot faster if you just let me get to the point.”

  “And what point is that?”

  “I want you. Nothing is going to change that, and we’ve both agreed that we don’t want each other to be with anyone else. So for the immediate future, I’d like to find a way for us to discretely have an arrangement.”

  She steps back, her face tightening. No problem looking at me now, and her gaze is sharp. “An arrangement.”

  I’m not a relationship expert, but when a woman repeats your words back to you, cold as ice…that’s not a good sign.

  “One we would negotiate, of course.” I frown. “You can set the terms.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’d really deny yourself?” I can’t wrap my head around that. I don’t want much, but what I want, I take.

  “I’m not sure what you were expecting.” She frowns at me. “I didn’t like being mistaken for a hooker the first time. What makes you think I’d want to re-play that experience over and over again?”

  Dumbstruck, I just stare at her.

  “This was a mistake.”

  “No.” I find my voice, thank fuck. “Whoa. Stop. Do not jump to any conclusions. I just used the wrong word.”

  She crosses her arms. Jesus, we’re having our first fight and she doesn’t even know we’re dating yet. Use that word, a voice whispers at the back of my mind.

  Ha. No.

  Instead I turn on the charm. When in doubt, use what works. I give her a bashful smile and shrug my shoulders. “You know this isn’t something I do often.”

  “Make arrangements? Actually, I don’t know that. I thought that was your entire modus operandi.”

  “That’s not what I mean. And it was, yes. Before you.”

  Her chest hitches unsteadily. “That’s a lot of responsibility to put on me.”

  I shake my head and soften my voice. I think of that first moment that I saw her, perched on that barstool. The surge of desire I felt, sudden and forceful—and how weak it compared to how she made me feel once we were alone in my hotel room. “That I can’t forget you is all on me. But you keep telling me that’s what I need to do, and I don’t want to. I want to…”

  She waits. She’s going to make me use the word. Damn it.

  “Date.”

  Her eyebrows hit the roof. “Pardon?”

  “I’d like to date you—in secret, for your benefit, not mine. The arrangements would be to protect you. And nothing like whatever I’ve done in the past.”

  “This isn’t a short term problem, Max. You’re my client and I hope to God
that doesn’t change because I won’t sleep with you.”

  “You have my word that won’t change. Even if we sleep together and it ends catastrophically badly, I will continue to employ your firm.”

  She flinches. Bad time to try for black humour.

  I try again. “In Vancouver, I saw my intellectual property and contract lawyer once a year at most. I saw my malpractice attorney more often, and that’s not your specialty. So it’ll be fine. And recent evidence to the contrary aside, I’m an experienced Dom. I know a thing or two about negotiating safe boundaries up front.”

  Wariness is still rolling off her in waves, but as she shifts back and forth, I can see that it’s the last thing I said that has moved her more than anything else.

  My pulse picks up. “Is that what you need, Violet? We don’t need to date. If D/s scenes are all you want, we could negotiate terms.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me what you want.” A restless need to please her rushes through me. “Anything. Name your terms.”

  She thinks on it for a moment, then her chin lifts and she gives me a serious look. “You know what I want, Max? I want a sandwich. And you promised me that you didn’t want sex, so you know what you can do?”

  I grin. “Make you a sandwich.”

  “Exactly.” She closes her eyes for a minute, drawing in a short, tight breath. “What should I wear to drinks tonight?”

  “Whatever you want.” I wave a hand down my body. “Jeans are fine. It will be casual.”

  “Jeans look totally different on you than they do on me,” she mutters. “And I need to shower sooner than later so I can do my hair.” She stops and points at me. “Don’t say a word about being high-maintenance. I’m going to meet the prime minister. I don’t care if he’s a frat buddy of yours or what, I’m doing my hair and not cutting any corners.”

  I raise my hands. “Go take a shower. I’ll make sandwiches. Then I’m going to peel you a pomegranate while you tell me what’s wrong a secret affair where I give you as many orgasms as you want.”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t remember that’s quite how the orgasms worked.”

  “No?”

  “I’m pretty sure it was as many as you wanted me to have, and I just had to take them.”

  “Right. I knew that didn’t sound quite right.” God, now I’m half hard just thinking about the way she held so still for me.

  She gives me a strange look. “Stop trying to be romantic, Max. I don’t expect it from you.”

  Clearly she hasn’t picked up on my perverted walk down memory lane. But there’s something else there that I shouldn’t ignore. “What do you expect?”

  “Honesty.” She hesitated. “And orgasms. Maybe. We’ll see.”

  I resist the urge to punch my fist in the air until she’s disappeared into her bedroom. Fuck, yeah. Now we’re onto something.

  But I have some coming clean to do first.

  While she’s gone, I slice tomatoes and spread mustard. Pile ham and stack crisp lettuce leaves on top. She’s got already sliced havarti cheese, so I put that on one sandwich and brie on the other. I’m not picky. I like nice food—nice things in general—but I’ll eat whichever she doesn’t want.

  When she reappears, she’s wearing jeans and another super-soft looking top, this one pale pink. It makes her lips look extra lush and I have to force myself not to stare. She pours two glasses of water, and we sit at her table.

  Sharing a simple meal with her shouldn’t make me this happy, but it’s like the first time I went to the Strong house for dinner. The normalcy of it, without any strings attached…to most people, it would be nothing. To me, it’s everything. And after twenty years of being aware of how different my reaction is, I’m able to keep it on the inside. I’m not able to squash it completely.

  But the ease of it can’t last forever, because I lied to her and she wants honesty.

  Damn it.

  I wait until we’ve cleared our plates. I follow her into her living room, warmly decorated with books and photographs where she’s making funny faces in some, beaming in others. She’s gorgeous in them all. The space is vibrant, warm, and honest, just like Violet. I clear my throat and spill what needs to be spilled. “I wasn’t entirely truthful when I told you that Gavin and Ellie asked to bring a date tonight.”

  She presses her lips together, but doesn’t say anything.

  “And you said you wanted honesty from me. So…since I’ve moved here, they’ve worried about me. They wanted to know if I was seeing anyone, and I said no. I haven’t been seeing anyone.” I haul in a ragged breath. “Thinking about someone nonstop, absolutely. Dreaming of one night that ended too quickly and has haunted me ever since—”

  “I’m confused,” she says, her brows pulling tight. “If they didn’t invite me…”

  I move closer to her, my palms itching to touch her. I stop just short. “I want you to meet them. And they know you’re coming. I texted Gavin.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “It’s kind of weird.”

  “They’re normal people.”

  “I’m sure they are. It’s you I’m not entirely sure about.”

  “I’m definitely not normal. But I’ve got some redeeming qualities.”

  This time when she slides her gaze to meet mine, there’s something new there. A sizzling heat that reminds me of that first night—and with a jolt, I realize it’s also what passed between us when we arrived at her apartment.

  Our complicated issues aside, we have crazy chemistry.

  She licks her lips. “Maybe you should remind me what they are.”

  I will. But I’ve used up my chances with her already. I get this right or I don’t get the girl at all. “Do you trust me?”

  She nods slowly, doe-eyed and perfectly submissive. It’s all I can do to keep myself from taking everything she’s offering.

  But I don’t want one afternoon. I want the chemistry and everything else, too.

  For the first time in my adult life, getting the girl has become incredibly important.

  11

  Violet

  My heart stops as Max cups my cheek, then trails his fingers down my arm. He picks up my hand, brushing a gentle kiss across my knuckles before he twists my arm behind my back. He crowds in front of me, sliding his other hand down my other arm, passing that wrist behind me to join the other.

  He holds me captive as he curves over me, watching me squirm and then still myself. I can be good for him.

  I smile. I want to be good for him.

  Set aside everything else. The risk and the drama. I want this. And I want it with Max. He’s the only man who’s ever unlocked this submission for me.

  “You’re such a natural,” he murmurs. “I can’t wait to have you on your knees for me.”

  Don’t wait, I want to say, but he’s bound my wrists, if only with his hands. We’re not in a scene, but we’re not… not in a scene.

  Like so many moments with Max, I’m not sure what we’re doing here, but I accept that we are definitely doing something.

  And good things come to those that wait. So I hold very, very still.

  He groans and covers my mouth with his, a hard, quick kiss that’s over before it begins. With his free hand, he grips my chin and lifts my face. He looks at me carefully, fire burning in his gaze. “We don’t have time to do this right. You’ll need to be patient.”

  It takes me a second to realize he’s waiting for a confirmation. Well, it wasn’t really said in the form of a question, now was it?

  “I can be patient.” My voice cracks because I don’t want to wait. His eyes glint at that, like he knows my resolve is well and truly broken. It’s a good thing he's in charge.

  “I’m going to take you for a drive. We can grab some dinner, and then I want you to meet my friends.” He pauses for a minute, a smile curling up his lips as he releases my wrists. “It’ll be fun.”

  Since he’s let me go, I let myself respond freely. “You s
ay that so confidently.”

  He lifts one brow.

  I roll my eyes. “When was the last time you had dinner and drinks with friends with a woman?”

  He shrugs. “Should I have put a question mark on the end of that? It’ll be fun?” He exaggerates the lift on the last word. “It’ll be with you, Violet. I have no doubt I’m going to enjoy myself.”

  Max drives a BMW SUV. It looks brand-new. But considering where we’re going tonight, considering what I know about his business holdings and his personal wealth, not to mention his income as a doctor…it’s hardly surprising. He could afford an entire fleet of these, one of every day of the week and two for Sunday.

  He drives it like it’s a Ford pick-up truck, his arm slung loose along the side of the wheel, his other hand on my knee. That’s hot, and the rest doesn’t matter.

  I almost slide into thinking this is just a regular kind of date, but that’s crazy because it’s so not.

  We’re expected at 24 Sussex, the prime minister’s official residence. We provide photo identification and I’m asked a few extra security questions, then we’re waved up to the front door.

  Max parks, then hops out. I take a deep breath before opening my own door—I’m not eager. I convinced myself earlier that this would be fine, but now that we’re here, I’m a mess of nerves. I glance towards the house as I climb out of the SUV to see the front door already opening. And now I don’t even get the luxury of the few seconds walk to the house to finish gathering my wits.

  I keep telling myself it’s no big deal. Drinks with Max’s friends. Laid back. Casual. No different than me taking Max to socialize with Matthew.

  Except it totally is different. Because I had to make it past a cop to get into Gavin Strong’s home, and… Okay, maybe that’s not so different. I’ve got a cop watching out for me, too. But everything else is.

  Max takes my hand. “It’ll be fine.”

  The prime minister—Gavin, I remind myself—and his fiancée—Ellie—are standing in the doorway wearing t-shirts and faded jeans, and I’m suddenly glad I listened to Max. I’m off-balance enough as it is.