Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Samantha Westlake

  I almost wondered if Rob would get mad at me for saying that. But instead, his eyes just crinkled at me as he pulled me closer.

  "Then I'll just have to work to charm you over and convince you to say yes," he whispered in my ear.

  "Shouldn't we go see this new place?"

  His hands had already burrowed into what I strongly suspected had become their favorite spots on my body. "We're not in any rush," he replied back, his voice a throaty, hungry growl as he eased me back onto the couch beneath his body.

  "Yes, but-" Rob's hands moved, and he kissed me, and I stopped thinking. "Well, okay."

  Eventually, we did manage to make it over to the new apartment, and it turned out to be every bit as nice as he'd promised. We moved in, and soon turned the second bedroom into an office for Rob to work from home. He'd still go into the office during the day, but he was often home in the afternoons, there to greet me when I got home. We even spent a couple weekends back up in the Hamptons, helping Diana clear the last of the old papers and files out of her study and trying to choke down the biscuits she pressed on us.

  Now, as I leafed through the latest copy of Grit to find my article, Rob paused to consider his own visage, looking back at him from the cover and frowning with an intense, dark-eyed smoky expression. Rob hadn't been thrilled with the photographer's photos, but I felt that the camera perfectly captured Rob's presence, his strength of character that helped him keep fighting to defend his innocence - and find the real culprit.

  "Well, I suppose that I can't complain about the photograph now," he said, coming over to sit beside me on the couch. "But in any case, congratulations! Your first cover story - and I'm sure that it won't be your last."

  I smiled as I leaned against him, content and warm and happy. "I'm just glad that you're here with me to see it," I whispered back to him.

  Rob just put his arm around me and held me close. "I love you, April," he whispered down to me, planting a soft kiss on the side of my head.

  "I love you too, my Wall Street Bad Boy," I murmured back, leaning in against him and closing my eyes. The two of us relaxed there on the couch, and I couldn't think of any possible way that my life could get any better.

  The End - but there's another story if you keep reading!

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  A Billion Little Clues

  Melinda Gaines, overworked personal assistant, is cursed with permanently bad luck. Her boss keeps making unreasonable demands, and no guy has seen the inside of her apartment in months.

  But when Melinda is sent to a party at the CEO's house, she ends up on a romantic, moonlit balcony with an unnervingly handsome stranger. Melinda is convinced that her run of bad luck is over.

  That is, until she finds that her latest crush is being accused of murder...

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  If you enjoyed this story, check out some of my other works:

  Big White Rider: A Motorcycle Club Novella

  "I stared up at this leather-clad, muscular man who had just caught me in his arms. I felt keenly aware of two facts:

  First, he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen.

  And second, his hands were wrapped around me, pressing against some very intimate places..."

  Deidre Reed is feeling down in the dumps. She's stuck in her dead-end job as a cocktail waitress, she hasn't been laid in months, and there are no boyfriend prospects on the horizon.

  No prospects, that is, until she literally falls into the arms of a handsome stranger.

  But this man, Ellison Granger, comes with his own set of problems. He's a biker in the True Sons - a gang that does not take kindly to women of color like Deidre. They're so frigid towards Deidre, she feels like she's trapped in a blizzard.

  If Deidre wants to be accepted by the True Sons - and have any shot at continuing to see Ellison's sexy, perfectly toned body - she's going to have to pass the True Sons' rituals of acceptance. She'll be tested, both physically and emotionally.

  Deidre's determined. This sexy new man in her life is worth it, she's sure - but just how far is she willing to go?

  Guns & Dusty Roads: The Iron Brotherhood, Book 1

  Kara needed the big, burly biker to keep her secret. She had to keep him happy - even if that meant giving in to his desires...

  FBI Special Agent Kara Sybil is composed, capable, and committed to her job. When a gun smuggling case comes across her desk, she doesn't hesitate to dive in. With help from her biker uncle, Kara infiltrates a 1% motorcycle club, the Iron Brotherhood, searching for clues and the culprits.

  Undercover, Kara's prepared for rough trials, uncouth bikers, and heavy interrogation and suspicion. But she's not prepared to be coupled with a handsome, sexy biker named Cross - who also knows her true identity!

  Cross is willing to help Kara ferret out the gun smugglers, as long as she grants immunity to the Iron Brotherhood for their other criminal activities. But as Cross and Kara become more entangled in their deception, they both start to feel the primal pull of attraction towards each other. How long can Kara hold out, resisting this criminal's sexy masculine appeal?

  The Stolen Girl: A Wild Roads MC Novel

  "Hello, little kitty," the big biker leered at me as I shrank back in fear. His black glove reached out for me. "You're coming with me!"

  When Senator Leonard Sterling comes home from the day's Congressional session, he finds his daughter missing from their family home, her bedroom window shattered, and a spatter of blood on the pieces of glass...

  When Elizabeth Sterling wakes up, she discovers that she's in a cheap motel room. Her hands are shackled behind her, attached to a radiator, and she can hear the thudding of heavy boots outside the motel room door...

  When Roads, the motorcycle gang's second-in-command, enters the room, he finds that the young woman, forced into a kneeling position on the motel carpet, is glaring up at him. Her beautiful face is filled with fierce defiance as she stares back without a shred of subservience...

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  Chapter One

  *

  "Admiral" Theodore Whiskers was missing.

  Although I didn't want to even consider the possibility, I felt my blood pressure rising as I moved from room to room in my little house. I knew all of his usual hiding spots, but with each place that turned up empty, my heart rate ratcheted up by another ten beats per minute.

  "Whiskers!" I called out, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Come on out, buddy! Where are you hiding?"

  Nothing. Not even a meow.

  In desperation, I turned to the big guns - the wet food. I grabbed one of his cans of cat food from the cupboard, holding it out in the middle of the kitchen as I pulled on the metal tab to pop off the top. The sound of the seal breaking resonated throughout my little cottage, but I still saw no sign of the large orange tabby.

  Dammit, I cursed, trying to use anger to control my rising panic. Now, just when I had so many other problems that I should be addressing
in my life, my cat had to vanish.

  I set the open can of cat food down on the counter, vaguely hoping that maybe Whiskers would come out and approach it on his own. He wasn't what anyone could call slender or svelte, after all, and he'd grown used to getting his can of wet food in the morning, chowing down while I dosed myself with caffeine. I picked up my still-steaming cup of coffee, taking a sip and hoping that the jolt of energy would bring inspiration with it.

  Should I call the police? The Truckee Firefighting Department? I knew that they (firefighters) were the ones to call about cats stuck in trees, at least according to popular myth, but I didn't know what they could do about missing cats. Thank goodness that I didn't have any children, I thought grimly to myself. I couldn't even keep a damn cat without losing him - and then panicking.

  Okay, Elaine. You can handle this. Just stay calm.

  What would a calm, normal, rational person do in this situation?

  I took another sip of my coffee, focusing very hard on keeping my hand from trembling. There we go, I told myself. Just relax. Everything is under control. No need to panic.

  A normal person wouldn't bother calling out Whiskers' name, because he never responded to his name. I didn't even know if he knew his name - how could I tell?

  So, running around the neighborhood frantically shouting out "Admiral Theodore Whiskers!" was out.

  A normal person would first search her house, looking for where her damn cat might be hiding. Check. I'd already checked all of his usual nooks and crannies, with no luck.

  Next, a normal person would look for possible escape routes. How could he have gotten out? I normally kept the house on tight lockdown, since he'd previously shown that he was willing to claw through a screen door-

  My eyes drifted up, above the sink full of dirty dishes that I'd been meaning to roll up my sleeves and wash for the last few days. They settled on the open window above the sink, my curtains flapping gently in the slight spring breeze that blew into my little cottage from the outdoor world.

  Dammit.

  Okay, my cat has managed to get outside. But he can't have gotten far, I'm sure. He's a big, fat, lazy orange lump, and he's not especially inquisitive. I bring home cat treats and toys for him all the time, and he usually only prods them for a minute or two before giving up on them and pretending that they don't exist. He wouldn't be tempted to run away.

  Sure, because cats are totally logical creatures. Right.

  I took a deep breath, downed one more gulp of my coffee, and then headed outside. "Here, Admiral Whiskers," I called out softly, just in case anyone I knew happened to be out for a morning jog and passed by my house. Didn't want to give the impression that I'd gone totally around the bend. "Here, kitty kitty. Where are you?"

  There weren't many places in my sparse backyard for my cat to hide, at least. The grass was fairly short, most of it slowly turning brown from lack of water and attention. I most definitely did not possess a green thumb. A couple scraggly bushes stood around the edges, up against the wooden fence that separated my backyard from the Winterhearst mansion on the property next door. At least that fence would surely prevent my cat from getting out of the yard - it stood a little over five feet high, made of wooden slats bolted onto beams running the length of my yard-

  -and as I looked up at the fence, I saw a fat orange blob sitting on top, looking very satisfied with himself.

  "Whiskers!" I burst out, glaring at my fat, rude asshole of a cat as he perched on top of a fence that he shouldn't have been able to climb, casually staring back at me. "Get down from there right now!"

  A little voice inside my head pointed out that I was talking to my cat, trying to give him orders. Maybe I really had finally snapped and lost it, that voice suggested. Poor Elaine Dean, not even thirty-five, already going crazy. It's all that time without a boyfriend, with no one around but her cat. She's lost it, started acting like her cat is a real person. She'll probably end up as a recluse, dying alone inside her house and only being found after her cat's managed to eat most of her face.

  I told that little voice inside my head to hush. I wasn't crazy. I might not have a boyfriend, or even any potential male suitors on the horizon, but I wasn't about to lock myself in my house and give up all contact with the outside world.

  At the very least, thanks to the wonders of Amazon and free two-day shipping, I'd be able to get my hands on plenty of cat food.

  I shook my head, blinking in the chill of the early morning as I stood in the warm sunlight. First things first. I needed to retrieve my cat.

  I slowly crept across my backyard towards the fence where Whiskers perched, trying to appear innocuous and unthreatening. "That's a good kitty, just sit there," I muttered to him as he regarded me balefully out of the corner of one eye. "Just relax, and let me get within arm's reach so that I can snatch you up and put you back in your prison..."

  My soft words seemed to be working. Whiskers shuffled his bulk a little bit as he perched on the top bar of the fence, but he didn't seem inclined to move. I reached the edge of my yard, slowly stretching out a hand towards the cat. Just a few more inches, and I'd be able to grab him by the chubby scruff of his neck...

  And then, just as my fingers brushed against his fur, the cat jumped down from the fence.

  On the other side.

  Into the backyard of the Winterhearst mansion, the building next door to my cottage.

  Double dammit.

  For a moment, I stood there frozen in place, my hand still outstretched as if hoping that I could summon my cat back up onto the fence. I lowered it after another couple of seconds and instead stepped forward, rising up on my tiptoes to give myself just enough height to peer over the wooden slats of the fence.

  Sure enough, Admiral Theodore Whiskers sat on the other side. The backyard of the Winterhearst mansion next door to me was overgrown and needed a good mowing, but Whiskers had moved through the long grass up to sit on the wooden deck of the central patio, right in the middle of a sunbeam. He'd already closed his eyes and flopped down on his side, and I could practically hear his loud, not-quite-even purring from the fence.

  After giving him a very rude gesture, I stepped back from the fence and considered my options.

  I could go around to the front of the Winterhearst mansion, heading down the sidewalk in front of my little cottage to the much larger, imposing, foreboding mansion next door, and see if anyone answered the bell. I didn't have much faith in this approach.

  I frowned, my gaze panning from where Whiskers sat and sunned himself up to the house itself. It was the biggest house in Truckee, and had stood on this corner for nearly a hundred years. At some point in its history, one of the former owners of Winterheast mansion painted the entire building a dark navy blue, very nearly black. The color had faded over time, lightening to more of a dull, heavy gray, but it still looked gloomy, even in the morning sunlight.

  For many years, I knew that the mansion had stood empty, that I hadn't had any neighbors. But I remembered my best friend, Della, mentioning something a couple weeks ago about someone new moving in. I tried to think back to recall exactly what she'd told me, but I drew a blank on any details. Maybe there was someone living there, maybe not.

  Given that this newcomer hadn't chosen to greet his neighbor, me, I decided that he probably wasn't the friendly sort. He likely wouldn't be happy, then, if I woke him up this morning by knocking on his front door and asking for permission to go into his backyard and retrieve my jerk of a fatass cat.

  What else could I try?

  My gaze moved back down to the fence itself, and I frowned in consideration. It was a fairly sturdy looking fence, and although the sides were sheer, thanks to the vertical boards that formed tight slats, it didn't look impossible to scale...

  A little part of my brain yelled at me that this was crazy, that I was acting like an impulsive, crazy person, but I told that voice in my head to shut up, and advanced towards the fence. I grabbed an old lawn chair that had bee
n mouldering in my backyard and pulled it up against the fence, bracing it and then using it as a step. There, halfway over already. Now, I just needed to lift up one leg and swing it up and over...

  Success! I managed to get one leg swung over the top of the fence between me and my neighbor's yard, and sat triumphantly on top of the fence. I didn't stay there for long, however, because although the boards had been worn a bit by weather, they were still somewhat sharp and splintery, poking into all sorts of uncomfortable places between my legs.

  I tried not to think about the fact that I couldn't remember the last time I'd had someone else poking into those regions. When straddling a five foot tall fence, Elaine, it's not the time to lament your lack of a love life, I admonished myself.

  Focus on climbing. Now that I'd gotten one leg over, I just had to very carefully lift up my other leg and swing it over next to its partner. That way, I'd be sitting on top of the fence with both of my legs dangling down into the Winterhearst backyard. Five feet wasn't that high, after all. I could just sort of lean forward, once I'd pulled myself into this sitting position, and drop down easily into the yard on the other side.

  I just had to get my other leg up and over. For some reason, that leg didn't want to release its stance on top of the lawn chair. I wavered, torn between my leg's reluctance to move, and the growing pain of getting poked by the tops of these weathered, splintery boards.

  No more time. Move and drop, one smooth motion. Just pull the leg up, lean a little too the side to bring it over but whatever I do, I can't overbalance-

  "Whoop!"