A Bad Boy is Good to Find

by Jennifer Lewis

  She remembered how her mother used to always tuck her in at night with a kiss. Even if they’d barely spoken all day, or if she’d been berating Lizzie over her weight or her hair or some other chronic failing. The day always ended with a kiss. That wouldn’t ever happen again. She buried her face in the pillow so any stray tears would disappear into the hotel-issue pillowcase without pricking her skin. Willed her breathing to stay even.

  They’d all betrayed her. Schemed and planned and defrauded her. Left her with nothing.

  Maybe if she just pressed her face into the pillowcase hard enough she’d stop breathing and all the pain would go away.

  Or not. She flipped onto her back, eyes staring into the darkness. Con grunted softly, and before she could roll out of the way, he’d turned onto his side and slid an arm over her.

  Excuse me?

  Still asleep—apparently—he shuffled closer and wrapped his arm around her torso. The sleepy, spicy scent of him acted on her like lavender bath salts. Soothing.

  The warm weight of his arm drew tension from her chest.

  Oh hell. She turned her head and buried her face in his clean, soft hair.

  And the next thing she knew, it was morning.

  Chapter 7

  The phone calls didn’t go any better the next day. Lizzie and Con sat opposite each other at the table in their hotel suite, her pages of scribbled notes covering its lacquered surface. He looked smug as he browsed the want ads in the local paper and announced he’d need to use his phone soon.

  “You’re looking for a job in Phoenix?”

  “Sure, why not? Nice weather.”

  “I’m not staying here!”

  “Why not? We’ll get an apartment to share. I’ve looked at the prices. We can rent a nice place quite reasonably. Maybe even one with a pool.”

  “You are out of your cotton-picking mind.”

  “Got any better ideas? Your brilliant scheme doesn’t seem to be going over so well.”

  “They’re all interested in the idea, but they don’t think it’s big enough.”

  “Maybe you need to approach a smaller media outlet?”

  “Are you actually making a helpful suggestion?”

  “I want you to give it up so I can start using my phone to get us a real life going here. We’ve got bills to pay.”

  “We do? As I recall, I’m the one with the crushing debts. You can waltz off any time you like. I won’t come running after you.” Why did that thought make her ribcage tighten?

  Con just indicated the phone. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Not yet, Buster. She had one more phone call to make. One she’d been dreading.

  She sucked in a breath as she dialed the number.

  “Celebrity Access,” drawled a bored-sounding receptionist.

  “Maisie Dixon, please.”

  Con shot her a look and went back to his paper.

  She’d come up with her “televised wedding” idea partly because Maisie had gone to work for a cable channel that did that kind of thing. A hitherto unexpressed competitive streak made her want to get her story on a better network than Maisie’s. No such luck.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Maisie, it’s Lizzie.”

  “Lizzie, Darling! How are you? Still whooping it up?”

  “Pretty much. Listen, Con and I have decided to get married—”

  “I thought he turned out to be a scoundrel.”

  “True love can overcome all obstacles.” She ignored Con’s raised eyebrows. “I don’t care that he’s a penniless, uneducated garage mechanic—” She paused while Maisie made choking noises into the phone. “Yes, I know, I didn’t tell you that before. I was too proud, but it’s true.” She winked at Con. “Anyway, since I’m now flat broke, and of course he still is too, we’re looking for a media outlet to televise our wedding, kind of a Cinderella story in reverse. Are you okay?”

  Maisie’s squeaky reply suggested she was nearly speechless with delight. Typical. Whenever Maisie “helped” Lizzie it was with the intent of somehow belittling her, ridiculing her, getting the upper hand. Anything to pay Lizzie back for having been born to the richer branch of the family.

  “I’m the associate producer,” Maisie was practically hyperventilating with excitement. “I’ll have to talk to the boss, but this is just the kind of thing he loves.”

  I know. Small-time pseudo-celebrities making an ass of themselves. Apparently her self-destructive binge had washed up a sense of humor because now she found it funny rather than humiliating. Con pretended to read the newspaper.

  Maisie came back on the line. “He’ll be out of a meeting any minute. I’ll call you back when I have an answer.”

  “Great! Chat later.” She hung up and shot a smug smile at Con.

  “She went for it?” He looked up from his newspaper oh-so-casually.

  “She loved it. Has to talk to the boss, though. She’ll call back.”

  Con ran a hand through his hair. “I know she’s your cousin, but she may not have your best interests at heart.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s been out to get me since Christmas of 1990 when I got a life-sized Barbie specially manufactured by Mattel to look just like me, and she got only three of the regular ones and a Barbie mansion and car.”

  “I could see how a disappointment like that could break a girl’s spirit.” His eyes gleamed wickedly. “You’d better watch out.”

  “Don’t worry, I can handle her.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Your sugar mama will take care of everything. I’ll get them to fly us to an exotic locale, pamper us with luxuries and pay us into the bargain.”

  “You’re very optimistic.”

  “Maisie will make it happen. She won’t be able to resist.”

  Sure enough, by the next morning they had a deal. Con did some touch-up ironing on one of his already wrinkle-free shirts, while Lizzie sprawled on the heart-shaped bed discussing dates and contractual details with a production assistant.

  “You realize you’re going to have to pretend you love me?” he said when she hung up.

  She watched the muscles of his back move as he swept the iron back and forth.

  “I can fake it. And I know you can too. You’ve had lots of practice.”

  Con unplugged the iron. “You’ve been unable to disguise your utter hatred of me since I came to get you.”

  “Aw. Have I hurt your feelings?”

  “Don’t you worry about my feelings. But I don’t believe you’ll be able to pretend you can stand me, let alone that you love me.”

  “Oh yeah? Watch this.” She leapt off the bed and sauntered across the room while he wrapped the cord and put the iron on a table. Came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. Stood on tiptoes and put her lips to his ear. “I love you.”

  Ouch. Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me. Especially not if I’m saying them myself. His warm, tan skin burned her hands.

  “Do you?” His words shivered into her ear as he turned slowly and slid his arms about her waist.

  “Of course not, you jerk!” She jumped away, heart pounding.

  “See what I mean?”

  “Okay.” She shoved hair off her face. “This may take some practice. Let’s try it again.”

  She walked up to him, staring him right in the eye.

  “You look like you want to bite me, not kiss me.” His mouth fought a smile.

  “Let’s take it step by step, shall we, sweetheart? Put your arms around my waist again.” She braced as he circled her with them.

  “You need to relax a bit.”

  “I’ll worry about myself. You just do your part of the act.” Why did he have to smell so damn good? He never wore cologne, but he had this infuriating spicy scent anyway. Probably his shampoo. She’d have to pour it out.

  She stood on tiptoe again and puckered up. Scrunched her eyes closed. Her nipples accidentally bumped his chest, and she suppressed a curse as they instantly tighten
ed.

  Just a reflex. Nothing personal.

  She pressed her lips together as the soft heat of his breath met her skin. A memory of yesterday’s kiss in the desert flooded her brain. She pecked at him like a hen and pulled back.

  “There. See?”

  Con chuckled. “I don’t think anyone would find that too convincing. They’ll want smooches. Soul kisses.”

  “Ugh. How unhygienic.”

  “That’s not what you used to say.” He tilted his head, appealed to her with narrowed, soulful eyes.

  Faker.

  “I didn’t know where you’d been. Now I know, I’ll be more cautious, thank you.”

  “Why’d you kiss me yesterday?”

  “Just wanted to see how easy you were.” She tossed her hair. “Got my answer.”

  His eyes narrowed further. He didn’t believe her. “You made love to me.”

  “Hah. I wouldn’t call it that. I scratched an itch.” She held his gaze with every ounce of self-possession.

  What the heck had she been thinking yesterday? She really had no idea. Revenge. That’s it. Using him like he’d used her.

  How convenient that he’d had a full pack of condoms in his luggage for just such an occasion. Who’d used who?

  “Are you afraid to French-kiss me?” His eyes met hers with a challenge.

  “Of course not.” She swallowed hard.

  “Prove it. It’ll be good practice for the dog-and-pony show you’ve signed us up for.”

  “I’d rather kiss a friendly pony, but here goes.”

  She took a deep breath as if preparing to dive under water. She stepped toward him, and he to her. She flung her arms stiffly around his neck, and his circled her back.

  She could smooch him full on the mouth and not bat an eye. And she’d prove it to him.

  She parted her lips slightly, licked them to provoke him, still holding his gaze. He winked at her. Damn! Why’d he do that?

  He lowered his head, and his mouth closed over hers. His hands settled on her waist, and the pressure of his fingertips increased as he slid them up the vertebrae of her spine. His tongue played over her lips, sparking an irritating shimmer of sensation. He kissed just hard enough that she had to push back. Then his tongue parted her lips and touched hers with a tiny frisson like an electric shock..

  She wasn’t sure exactly when her eyes slid closed, or when her fingers moved up into his hair, or exactly when her nipples started to demand the touch of his fingers—and get it.

  Or when she leaned in to rub against him, deepening their kiss with her tongue. Or when she began to run her fingertips up and down his back, feeling the ridges of hard muscle under his starched shirt.

  But it was a low moan from some undiscovered range in her vocal cords that snapped her back to her senses.

  She jerked away, panting. Con stood looking at her. Narrowed eyes shining. Lips soft, still moist.

  Her hand flew to her mouth and she stepped backward, trying to gather her thoughts.

  She tugged her hands behind her back, the traitors! Wound her fingers together to hold them there. Who knew what they’d do next? How the hell had that just happened?

  She tossed her hair and took a deep breath.

  “See?” Her voice sounded odd. “I told you I could do it.” Her breasts tingled.

  The merest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Con’s mouth. He looked cool as an iced martini. Not in the slightest bit bothered or flustered or… Bastard.

  “Very nice. I think you’ll be able to fool them.” He hadn’t moved an inch. “And I admit, I’m rather looking forward to it now.”

  “Don’t get excited. Nothing’s going to happen except for the cameras.” She unknotted her hands and tugged at the hem of her skimpy top. Wished her peaked nipples didn’t show through it.

  “You’ll have to fool the crew too. And cousin Maisie.”

  “Piece of cake. With a professional con man at my side, how can I fail?”

  Con’s jaw stiffened. “Don’t you think we should try to be nice to each other?”

  “Why? We’re doing this for the money. Once we have it we’ll both be back on our feet and we can go our separate ways.” She turned away and went into the bathroom for a glass of water. His annoying spicy taste lingered on her tongue.

  She gargled noisily and spat hard. “Can’t be too careful about germs. You’d better start packing. I asked them to book me a flight to New York for tonight so we can meet and discuss details tomorrow.

  “A flight? What about my car?” Con stopped tucking his shirt in and stared at her.

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about your precious car. You can drive back while I handle the meetings. The location needs to be settled before the shooting can start, so that gives you until next week.”

  “How do I know you won’t start drinking once you leave?” He frowned at her.

  “I swear on the pieces of my broken heart.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I want this to work so I can get myself together again.”

  “Okay.” He kept his eyes on her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he believed her, then he smoothed the front of his shirt and examined his cuffs. “So where are they thinking of sending us?”

  “Let me see, they sent me a preliminary list.” She marched to the table and rifled though all the papers she’d printed out from the hotel’s guest computer. “Here we are. Hmm. There’s three in the Caribbean: some new place in Anguilla, a Sandals Resort in Negril, Jamaica, and the Atlantis hotel in the Bahamas.”

  “Cool!” Con grinned.

  “Cool? Are you kidding? It’s probably over a hundred degrees in any of those places in September. And I wouldn’t be caught dead at Atlantis.”

  “I saw an ad for it. You can swim with sharks.”

  “Been doing that all my life, thanks. At least the human kind can’t rip into your flesh with their teeth. Luckily there were some other options. A cruise to Alaska…”

  “Sweet!”

  “Stop interrupting. A golf resort in Virginia horse country, an inn on the coast of Maine, and a trendy bed-and-breakfast in the Napa Valley. I think the last one gets my vote. At least it won’t be too sweaty there at this time of year.”

  “Come on, you can go to California any time. Can’t we go abroad? I’ve never left the country and I’d love to go to the Caribbean. Alaska sounds fun too, and it wouldn’t be too hot there.” Glowing puppy-dog excitement was certainly a new look for him.

  “Thanks for your input. I’m sure the staff of Celebrity Access and I will be able to select a location that will work for all of us.”

  “Yeah. Who am I kidding? They all sound good. A five-star hotel with comfy beds, gourmet food, people waiting on us hand and foot…”

  “Just your cup of tea, isn’t it? Well, enjoy it while it lasts because this time it won’t be forever.”

  Con whistled while he packed. His boyish enthusiasm for a lousy week at a decent hotel almost affected her. But not quite.

  Her fiendish plot involved a little twist she had neglected to mention to him. And after that kiss—which demonstrated that she might be crazy enough to lose her head over him again if she didn’t keep it screwed down tight—she was more determined than ever to put it in motion.

  Chapter 8

  Maisie poked her head out into the reception area and watched her childhood rival teeter across the terrazzo floor. That phone call had been a delicious surprise and frankly things were looking way up here at Celebrity Access. “Lizzie darling! Come in.”

  Cousin Lizzie had decked herself out today in a garish red suit that showed off her thick calves. She may have lost a few pounds, but she still wasn’t skinny, poor thing. From the looks of it she’d straightened her hair herself—really, she should know better. “You look spectacular, sweetie.” She kissed both cheeks. At least she’d stopped wearing that awful rose concoction that made her smell like an old woman.

  “Come in to my parlor,” she said, annoyed to find
herself feeling a little nervous. She ushered Lizzie into her cramped, windowless office. Don had promised her a better one but she was beginning to learn a bit about his promises. She stepped over a pile of paper on the floor.

  “Excuse the mess. I inherited it. We’re so madly busy I don’t have time to go through it. Do sit down.”

  Lizzie eased herself gingerly into the chair opposite the desk.

  “We’re just waiting for Don to get out of a meeting—story of my life! But really, it’s a dream job.” She plastered on a smile. “I was so happy to get your phone call. How exciting to produce my own cousin’s love story! Do tell me more about this man of mystery. I can’t believe you were so secretive with me. Honestly, I’m a bit put out about it.”

  Downright peevish, in fact. With all the champagne she’d poured into Lizzie, she’d never dished the dirt. Just said her swain had broken up with her when he found out she wasn’t rich anymore. She never let on he wasn’t the Southern blueblood she’d mooned over.

  Lizzie tossed her hair behind her shoulder, tugged at the hem of her suit jacket and looked Maisie right in the eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I confess I was a little embarrassed about it. I mean, he didn’t even graduate from high school, and he has a gang tattoo on his butt. But I’m madly in love with him.” Her lips settled into a cool smile.

  Maisie realized she was dribbling cappuccino onto her blouse, and she snapped her mouth closed. She snatched up a tissue and dabbed at the stained silk.

  Lizzie tipped her head slightly. “Obviously Mummy and Daddy wouldn’t let me marry Con if they knew the truth, so I made up a story about him coming from Louisiana gentry.”

  She had the audacity to smile warmly and toss her crudely straightened hair over her shoulder again. “Horribly devious of me, I know, but the stakes were high, at the time. Who knew I was as poor as a church mouse myself?” She shrugged, still smiling that chilling smile.

  Maisie found herself blinking and staring. As much at Lizzie’s newfound self-possession as at her bizarre revelations. “I wondered why you never introduced me to him.”