A Bad Boy is Good to Find

by Jennifer Lewis

  “Where am I?” she shrieked, as he lowered her onto the bed.

  “Shhh. A motel in the desert.”

  She scanned the room as he disappeared back into the bathroom. Garish geometric curtains and a wood-grain TV suggested a time warp to the 1970s.

  He reappeared with a towel and started to rub. Conroy Beale, onetime man of her dreams, looked different with his shirt soaked and streaked with red dirt and his hair sticking in all directions. “You’ll get a mean headache soon, but after a rest you’ll feel good as new.”

  “I thought I killed you.” She flopped back on the bed as an anvil fell on her head. At least that’s what it felt like.

  He disappeared back into the bathroom and emerged with a paper cup. “Drink it.”

  “I can’t, my head hurts too much. What am I doing here?”

  “I kidnapped you.”

  “You’re an idiot. I’m broke, remember? Besides, my parents wouldn’t waste money on a ransom for me.” The cold emptiness threatened to close over her again. “Champagne, I need champagne!”

  “That’s the last thing you need. Drink this water and I’ll get you some more. I’ll bet you’ve been drunk an entire month.”

  “Best month of my life,” she rasped. Her head was too heavy to lift.

  “I’m not going to have your death on my conscience, so your boozing binge ends right now.”

  “What nonsense. Champagne isn’t booze. It’s made from squeezed grapes, you know. Healthy and delicious… Ow! Stop banging my head like that!”

  “I’m not. I’m a good five feet away from you.”

  The furniture shifted and twisted as she tried to focus. She could barely keep her eyes open. “Take me back to Zen Mind. I have yoga class at two and I can’t miss it.”

  “Yoga’s over. You’ve been out five hours. I thought you’d never wake up.”

  A hollow laugh rattled her ribs. “I’m almost sorry I did. Would have been fun to leave you with a body to dispose of.” Even in blurred half-vision he looked revoltingly handsome—all intense dark eyes and wild dark hair. Bastard. “Who am I kidding? You probably have experience disposing of dead bodies.”

  “Stop talking and get some sleep.”

  “I don’t think so! I just woke up, in case you’ve forgotten. And I can hardly relax around you. In spite of the fact that I nearly married you, I don’t have any idea who you are.”

  “Someone who cares about you.” He said it softly.

  Her heart tripped and she cursed herself for it. How many other things had he said to her with such breathtaking sincerity that had turned out to be—

  “Utter bullshit!”

  “It’s okay. I don’t expect you to believe a word I say. I’m just here to help you get dried out.”

  “Get another towel then. My hair’s still wet.”

  He walked into the bathroom and she rocketed off the bed toward the door. She was fumbling with the lock when he emerged with a curse. Suddenly she was on the floor, crushed under him.

  “Ow, my head hurts. Everything hurts. Where’s my stuff?”

  He picked her up and carried her back to the bed. Settled her down and tucked her in. His arms were strong and warm and she didn’t have the energy to resist.

  “I brought all your things in a bag. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice soothed her as he patted her hair with a white towel. “Get some sleep.”

  She couldn’t find any more words, so she closed her eyes.

  Lizzie crept back to consciousness, her mouth dry as a scoured pot. Water. Must get water. Thin light sneaking around the curtains suggested dawn.

  The sound of breathing alerted her to the presence of her captor sleeping next to her on the bed. He lay on his stomach, one arm under his head, the other touching her pillow. Dressed only in a pair of blue boxer shorts.

  She’d given him those shorts.

  Humiliation flooded back on a wave of adrenaline.

  She lifted her head and pushed aside the tangle of hair blocking her vision. His strong back rose and fell with the steady breathing of deep, dreamless sleep. A peaceful expression softened his masculine features.

  She’d like to disturb that peace.

  But first, she needed water.

  She eased off the bed in incremental movements, anxious not to creak the mattress. Crept across the stiff carpet into the bathroom and eased the door shut. She stuck her head under the faucet and gulped back water in breathtaking icy swallows. Drank and drank and drank until it tasted like thick cream pouring down her throat.

  At last she threw her head back and inhaled air. The sight of her face in the mirror made her gasp. Her hair, recently wet, had sprung back into a nightmare of tangled curls. Smudged mascara and eyeliner gave her eyes manic intensity. She scrubbed it off with the damp corner of a towel.

  The skimpy T-shirt and shorts she’d had on yesterday hung over the shower rail, alerting her that she stood there in only her bra and panties.

  He’d undressed her.

  The thought of his fingers on her skin made her flesh creep with… With disgust, surely. How could she feel anything else for him? He’d handcuffed her, stolen her away and locked her up in this strange motel.

  Her clothes were damp, like they’d been washed. She lifted the blinds and peered out the small, slatted bathroom window. Featureless desert stretched out toward a distant mountain range. Where the hell where they and why? What did he want with her?

  And more importantly, what had he done with those handcuffs?

  She found them in the back pocket of the pants he’d removed and left folded on a chair in the bedroom. She slid them out, along with the key, and held them behind her back. Held her breath.

  She crept to the bed on bare feet, heart thudding in her ears. Opened one chromed bracelet very slowly, careful not to jingle the chain. Then the other. The first one would wake him and she’d have to get the other one on before he could gain control of the situation. He was strong and quick.

  She decided to start with the arm stretched across her pillow, then she could sit on the other one until she got it fastened.

  Deep breath. She lifted one leg—doable, thanks to all that yoga—and spanned him with it. Moved the cuff through the air.

  Snap. It was on. She crashed down on him, backside on his, yanked his cuffed arm down and cuffed the other.

  Hah!

  He spun on to his back, knocking her to the mattress, and she scrambled to her knees. He grimaced as the cuffs dug into his back, then shuffled into a sitting position, hands behind him.

  His eyes caught her off guard as surprise turned to humor. She realized she was panting audibly, and she tossed her hair out of her face and drew herself up.

  Still in just her underwear, she sucked in her stomach. “Where are my dry clothes, you jerk?”

  “I forget.” A wicked smile hitched the corner of his mouth. The mouth that used to kiss her into oblivion.

  “Never mind, I’m sure I can find them.” She didn’t like to turn her back on him so she eased off the bed and backed away. He shifted position, as if getting comfy. His smile broadened.

  “Hey, you look good.”

  Against her will, her nipples tightened. She sucked her stomach in a little further as she backed toward the wardrobe.

  “You do. Damn.” He grinned at her. “I thought you got all skinny, but you didn’t. You look nice.”

  “Stop looking at me!” Suddenly every overly curvaceous inch of her bulged in all directions and she fought the urge to look down. She felt more clear-headed than she had in a month. She’d been strutting around like Madonna in her drunken haze—maybe she was still fat after all?

  She ripped open the dark brown closet.

  Empty.

  “Is the bag in the car?” She mustered a stern, schoolmarm expression.

  He nodded, excited grin still spread across his face.

  “Don’t look now, but your shorts are bulging. Any minute something’s going to come poking out and the
re won’t be a damn thing you can do about it.”

  “No,” he said wistfully. His eyes drifted over her breasts and belly.

  She grabbed a discarded sandal off the floor and brandished it over her shoulder.

  He winced.

  “Oh, you don’t like pain? Well, let me tell you, you don’t know anything about pain. Someday you should try sitting right on top of the world, then falling all the way off it.”

  I did.

  Did he say it or did she read it in his eyes?

  “Oh, yes, of course, silly me. Poor little Conroy got cheated out of all those lovely millions. How could I forget?”

  His lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Just regarded her steadily with those dark eyes.

  A harsh laugh slipped out. “You’d think the fact that your name is Con would have tipped me off, wouldn’t you? I guess you know a good mark when you see one.”

  He shifted on the bed, uncomfortable. Good.

  “Well, you marked me alright. I’m a completely different person now. Like I flipped inside out overnight. No one’s going to catch me with my pants down again. Ever!” She slammed her sandal against the wall over his head. He ducked as the shoe fell to one side.

  She realized she’d forgotten all about sucking in her stomach, and her breasts heaved with each angry breath. She pulled his shirt off the back of the chair and shoved her arms into the sleeves.

  “Car keys?”

  “No way.”

  “I just want to get my bag.”

  “Nope.”

  “I need some clothes.”

  “You’ve got some.” He flicked a glance down at the shirt.

  She made a show of wiping at a rusty smear of dirt on the front. “This shirt is filthy. You really should take more care with your appearance.”

  He met her challenging stare with a twinkle of humor. No one took more care with his appearance than Con. Of course now she knew why. Appearances were pretty much the full show. He’d combed his hair. Even after sleep it still lay neatly, one straight lock dipping to his eyebrows.

  A hand crept up to her own fright wig of disordered curls. That infuriating grin crept back across his insolent mouth.

  “You didn’t get it permanently straightened.”

  “Of course not. That would fry it. I had it ironed.”

  “Do they use a real iron for that?” Innocent curiosity.

  She picked up the other sandal.

  “Just asking.” He shrugged. Shifted his bound arms, which bunched the well-exercised muscles of his chest and stomach.

  She tore her gaze from his torso and settled it on his face with as much hostility as she could summon. Which was quite a lot.

  “I hate you. Now why don’t you tell me where the car keys are, and I’ll drive away and you can forget you ever met me.”

  “How do I know you won’t drive straight to the nearest bar and start slamming Fuzzy Navels?”

  “I wouldn’t be caught dead drinking a Fuzzy Navel.”

  “Well, whatever you ladies drink when there’s no man around to laugh at you. Baileys.” He smiled. “Didn’t you drink chocolate milk the first time I took you out?”

  Heat rushed her face and she was glad of hair to hide behind. “That was a lifetime ago.” Her voice sounded thin.

  His apologetic silence deepened her embarrassment.

  “Why did you ask me out that day?” she asked after a long pause.

  “Because I wanted to get to know you.”

  “Because I was driving a Mercedes and you thought I might be rich? Well, I’ll be honest too. I thought you were rich. Nice suit, Range Rover. You didn’t earn those on a mechanic’s salary, did you?”

  “No.” Con shifted. A pained expression flitted across his face.

  “Did the Range Rover belong to her?”

  “Who?” His brow furrowed.

  “Your sugar mama, of course. The one you traded in for me.” She kept her voice steady. Steeled herself against the answer. “Don’t lie to me. It’s all over now, and I’d just as soon know the truth. The real truth.”

  Con looked away. “Yes, the Range Rover belonged to a female friend.”

  I knew it. “What’s her name?”

  He hesitated, then shifted his shoulders. “Frankie… Frances Allen.” He blinked twice as he said the name. “She knows you.”

  “She does?” She racked her brain. “Wait a second, is she the one who just married the Greek shipping tycoon?” A thin, pretty woman she’d met a few times at parties with her parents. Not as old as them but not young either. Maybe mid-forties.

  “That’s her.” He didn’t meet her eye.

  “So what did Frankie Allen think of you pulling moves on me when you were out driving her car?”

  “We were just friends by then. I was doing her a favor by taking her car into the shop that day. When I told her I’d met a girl called Lizzie Hathaway, she was happy. She figured you and I might be a good match.”

  Lizzie stared at him. “How considerate of her to approve your new lover. She must care deeply about you.” Acid in her voice.

  She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed.

  “Do you have any idea how sick that is?” Her head shook as she spat the words at him.

  He looked sad. Aw, poor baby.

  “How did you get mixed up with Frankie Allen in the first place? I’d hardly imagine you run in her circle.”

  “Do you really want to know?” He dipped his head slightly.

  “Sure, why the hell not?” She crossed her arms over her chest in a protective gesture.

  “You know my car?”

  “The gold Mercedes? Is that actually yours?”

  “It’s mine now. It belonged to Frankie back then, and it had a problem with the distributor…” He paused, looked at her cautiously. “I was working at a garage uptown, and she arranged to have me drive it to her house in Greenwich when it was fixed. Once I got there she offered a big tip if I’d come take a look at the broken motor on her Jacuzzi.” He hesitated.

  “And soon you were coming over to service a totally different kind of body.”

  He nodded.

  “She gave you her car?”

  “It’s from the late sixties. Takes a lot of TLC to keep it running smooth. She knew I was the only person who could keep it purring like a kitten.” His look of satisfaction irritated her.

  “So when exactly did you stop sleeping with her?” She braced herself.

  “More than a year ago. She was getting over an ugly divorce when I met her. Once she was ready to start seriously dating again, I didn’t fit the bill.” He shrugged, but his expression didn’t quite match the casual gesture.

  “So she gave you your walking papers. How romantic. Did she give you money?”

  He met her gaze. “She helped me out. Taught me how to act, how to dress, bought me some clothes.” His face was grim.

  “How sweet. So you were a charity project for her? Her little Pygmalion. And the final triumph would be seeing you married off to a plump heiress?”

  “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “You wanted to marry me for my money, then dump me and keep half and you didn’t want to hurt me?” Her voice rose to a screech.

  “I didn’t plan to divorce you.” He spoke quietly.

  “Oh, so let me get this straight, you wanted to marry me, live high on the hog with me and keep me fat and happy for the rest of my days?”

  He licked his lips again. Shifted his shoulders.

  The idea sank in and gave her a strange queasy feeling. “You really planned to stay married to me?”

  “Yes. I think we’d have been a good team.” The wistful look in his brown eyes worsened the sensation in the pit of her stomach. She ignored it.

  “And, er, how did you plan to conceal from me that you spend your days under a car rather than in an office? That kind of illusion must take a lot of work to sustain. You wanted to keep it a secret until we were legally married, and then you�
�d spring it on me?”

  “Pretty much.”

  His quiet acknowledgement sent a flash of raw pain shooting high.

  She stood there, panting, staring at him. She could picture him discussing her over cocktails with Frankie Allen. They must have schemed to string her along and keep quiet about his true identity until it was too late.

  All the while, she’d thought she’d found a man who truly loved her.

  How could something so beautiful, so perfect, that brought her such shining happiness, have turned out to be a big joke at her expense?

  She shook her head, tangled curls blurring her vision. Hard breaths came like sobs, but she managed to get her breathing under control. Lifted her chin.

  He grimaced as he rearranged his arms again. “You’ve had your fun.” His voice was gruff. “Can you please take the cuffs off?”

  That nasty hollow laugh shook her again. “Had my fun? That’s where you’re wrong. I’m just getting started.”

  Chapter 5

  “Okay, okay, you sweet-talked me. Again.” She unlocked the cuffs and oddly it was a relief to see Con stretch and flex his wrists.

  She tried to ignore the ripple effect in the muscles of his back as he rolled off the bed and stretched.

  “We made a fair deal. You get the car keys. I get the handcuff key.”

  “How did you know I wouldn’t take the car keys and hightail it out of town, leave you here for the maid?”

  “Because you’re not like that.”

  “More fool me.” She jingled the car keys between her fingers. “You must really trust me—to let me go outside and get my clothes before I unlocked you.”

  “I’m a good judge of character.” Con still wore nothing but the pair of blue boxers she’d given him. All tan skin and toned muscles, dusted with black hair. She averted her eyes.

  “You can spot a sucker from fifty paces?”

  “Something like that.” A wry look. “We need to get you some food. We passed a diner on the way here. Let’s go there and get a good breakfast. How’s your head feeling?”

  “What head? I lost it over a man, remember?”

  “When did you turn into such a wiseass?” He picked up his pants.

  “I guess around the same time that someone made a total ass of me. Those pants are dirty. I brought you some clean ones from the car.” She picked up a pair of black pants she’d found in his luggage and threw them at him.