A Bad Boy is Good to Find

by Jennifer Lewis

Her breasts seemed to rise under his gaze, nipples standing to attention. She stiffened her spine. Water from the ice dripped down her wrist as she drew her hand back and rubbed the cube over her collarbone, up her neck. An icy thrill. Con winked.

  Jerk. She tried to ignore the uncomfortable heat still throbbing inside her, vying with the cool trickle of water between her breasts.

  Con licked his lips slightly, almost imperceptible, and she shuddered. Damn him! She dropped the remaining fragment of ice on the floor, dragged her eyes from his muscled chest looking for any distraction. She reached for a glossy apple, then snatched her hand back when she remembered they were made of wax.

  “Where’s the food?” Con said casually. “My woman’s getting hungry.”

  More punishing heat flooded her face, and she wondered if anyone had ever died of embarrassment on camera before.

  Gia scurried forward. Gestured to Dino to stop rolling. “They’re having trouble in the kitchen. Can’t get the stove going.” She grimaced. “It was working okay earlier, but there’s something wrong with the gas range.” She came closer. “The chef is having a hissy fit.”

  “Maybe Con should look at it. He’s mechanically inclined.” Lizzie said, gathering what was left of her wits.

  “Sure, I don’t mind.” Con pushed his chair back, stood up and wandered off into the kitchen. On those bare feet he’d been tormenting her with.

  Lizzie dotted her napkin over her heavily perspiring face.

  Chapter 13

  Out in the backyard, Con rapped on the metal propane tank connected to the range in the kitchen, and it rang back a familiar reply. He tried not to laugh out loud. Clearly this was not going to be the week of all-expenses-paid luxury he’d envisioned.

  “Empty,” he called through the darkness. “You got another tank?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll have to order one from town tomorrow,” Gia replied from the doorway. No one had followed him out into the pitch-black garden. It was a relief to get away from the cameras and lights for a moment.

  The chef, a serious New York City prima donna, was fuming and stamping and smoking cigarettes in the kitchen, and Con was pretty damn hungry. Something about shrimp had been mentioned earlier and his stomach was growling for it. “Got a barbeque?”

  “Not sure. I didn’t notice one,” called Gia.

  He walked back to the brightly lit door where the crew thronged, peering anxiously into the garden. “We can build a fire back here on the patio if you’ll help me get some wood together.”

  “I bet there are all kinds of huge snakes and spiders and bats out there. I heard the insects down here are ten times the size they are back home,” said Gia. “I think I’d rather starve.”

  “Nah, just friendly creatures out here. If any zombies start coming out of the swamp I’ll let you know. Come on, I’ll get started, and you guys figure out where to build the fire.”

  The garden was pretty well manicured so he had to walk almost all the way to the bottom, where the bayou gleamed in the moonlight. Fallen branches from the gnarled old trees were stacked in a couple of neat piles. Their limbs pricked and scratched his bare chest as he walked back across the cool grass.

  Several crew members had ventured tentatively onto the patio by the time he came back. Dino videotaped as they helped him stack the wood in a circle and lit it with matches. Dry Spanish moss crackled and spat as kindling.

  “Where’s Lizzie?” he asked, as the fire started to take.

  “I think she’s in the kitchen, talking to André,” said Gia. “He’s the chef.”

  Con had a sudden nasty vision of Lizzie left unattended with all those bottles of wine. “I’ll go find her.”

  “Sure.”

  He noticed the camera’s mechanical gaze on him as he strode across the warm slate of the patio. He probably looked like some kind of backwoods bayou hick with no shoes or shirt and he felt a little clench of embarrassment.

  Just what Lizzie wanted, no doubt, and he’d played right into her hands.

  “Lizzie?” He pushed into the enormous kitchen, bright light making him blink.

  The chef leaned against a vast table in the center, drinking red wine from a large tumbler. A stained apron covered his ample belly. A cigarette, burned nearly down to the filter, dangled from his lips.

  “You seen Lizzie?”

  “She was here a minute ago.” Hints of a local accent like his gave him a start. “Went upstairs, I think.” The chef lifted a black eyebrow. “Took a bottle of champagne from the fridge.”

  Shit. Con pushed out into the dining room, picked his way past all the cables from the now-dormant spotlights and took the stairs two at a time. “Lizzie!”

  No answer.

  “Hey, Lizzie, where are you?” He strode down the dim hallway. Ancient light fixtures gave off thin yellow light. The door to their bedroom was closed.

  He knocked once, then pushed it open.

  Lizzie sat on the bed, eyes on him, hands wrapped around an open bottle of champagne. His chest tightened. In two strides he crossed the room and snatched it from her.

  “I didn’t take a sip,” she protested.

  “You were just thinking about it?” The chilled bottle sweated cool droplets into his palm.

  “I was contemplating my options.” Her makeup had run in the heat, and he resisted the urge to neaten her smudged mascara with his thumb.

  “Why? Everything’s going your way. You’ve tricked me into coming back here to the swamp I crawled out of, and it’s all being captured on camera. You should be ecstatic. What’s the problem?”

  “Where is the camera?” She glanced nervously toward the door.

  “I don’t know. I don’t really care, but I do want to know what’s making you want to drink again when I’m doing this all your way. For you.”

  “I don’t know.” She lay back on the bed. Her dress was soaked through at the waist. “I didn’t know it would be so hot.”

  “So it’s hot. Drink some water, take a bath. Big deal.” He put the champagne bottle down on a walnut sideboard, taking care to slip a magazine under it so it didn’t make a ring on the wood.

  “And it just doesn’t feel…right.”

  “What doesn’t feel right? It doesn’t feel right to tell people that beneath my expensive suit I’m just an uneducated mechanic? Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it? And tomorrow you’ll get to see the sorry place I grew up in, which, believe me, will live up to your every expectation and then some. You’ve got me right where you want me, so what gives?”

  She looked like she was about to cry. He snatched a tissue from a box on the sideboard and handed it to her. “Here.”

  She blew her nose into the Kleenex. Tears shone in those big brown eyes. He had a sudden strong urge to put his arms around her, which he resisted. “It doesn’t feel right to make me undress in front of the camera to show you have power over me?”

  She leaped off the bed and walked to the other side of the room, wet dress sticking to her skin.

  She couldn’t look at him.

  “Or it doesn’t feel right to do that stuff and then pretend like you’re all excited about marrying me? That’s it, isn’t it? It’s the embarrassment to yourself you hadn’t figured on. You were so hell-bent on showing me up as the loser you think I am that you didn’t realize it would make you look like a loser too.”

  “I hate you!” She pulled off her shoe and threw it at him. It smacked loudly into a wooden bedpost.

  “Yeah? So how come you can only sleep when you’re in my arms?”

  “You’re nothing to me. You’re nobody!” Her eyes flashed. Sticky tendrils of wet hair curled up around her face.

  “So you keep trying to prove, but apparently I’m not dropping dead because of it.” He shrugged. “I’m learning quite a bit about you, though.” He paused. “I’m the naïve one. Do you know I really thought you’d be okay with me once I told you the truth about me. I figured, hey, I make her happy, she loves me, it’ll all work
out.”

  “I didn’t love you!” she sobbed. She bent down to pull off her other shoe, but lost her balance and pitched forward, grabbing the bedpost to steady herself.

  The bed creaked loudly and shifted. “Woah.” He grabbed a thick wood post and tried to hold it steady as it tugged against him, shifted, and came loose from the bed base. It weighed a ton and he couldn’t stop the motion. “Look out, it’s coming down!”

  He dived toward her, knocking her out of the way with his body and slamming them both into the floor in the corner of the room.

  In slow motion, with a cacophony of creaks and a cloud of malodorous dust, the entire four-poster structure above the bed twisted, listed, then collapsed and crashed to the wood floor with a thunderous series of bangs and crunches.

  His body covered hers completely during the bed’s descent, so he was relieved when the noise stopped and he’d sustained no puncture wounds. “Must’ve been rotten.”

  Hot, angry and struggling to escape, Lizzie’s lush body was having an unfortunate effect on him. He eased himself off with considerable regret.

  She sat up, panting. “You practically killed me!”

  “I didn’t want you to get hurt. You’re alright.”

  “You tore my dress. Look!” He glanced down. Her plump breasts heaved against the blue fabric, one breaking free where a strap had snapped. Nice.

  “Stop staring, you beast! Help me up.”

  “Sure.” He couldn’t stop the grin ripping across his face. The sting of her hand on his cheek slowed its progress. Okay, so maybe he deserved whatever punishment she had in store for him. The delicious crush of her soft body under his had brought back way too many beautiful memories.

  He offered her a hand, and she climbed heavily to her feet, one shoe still on.

  “Let me help you with that.” He lifted the flap of blue fabric that had fallen, exposing a see-through strapless bra. His thumb brushed against her nipple, and a jolt of raw lust shot through him.

  Yes, he was a beast.

  “Get away from me!” she shrieked. Dust clung to her hair and skin. His too, no doubt.

  Footsteps clattered in the hallway. “Someone’s coming.” He snatched a tissue from the box. “Let me fix you up.” She stood still while he dabbed at her smudged mascara and brushed dust out of her rapidly curling hair.

  “What the hell’s going on in here?” Roger, the sound guy, a big redhead no older than Gia, came crashing into the room. Dino followed, camera on his shoulder.

  “Bed fell down.” Con glanced down at the remains of the posts where they lay under brocade curtains crumpled into elegant whorls on the floor.

  “Holy shit,” said Roger, with a grin. “Cool.”

  “Get out of the shot, Rog,” murmured Dino.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.” Roger pushed out of the room. “Just wanted to make sure everyone was okay.”

  “We’re fine.” Con grabbed Lizzie around the waist. “It just collapsed. Must have termites or something.”

  He could feel Lizzie trembling in her damp dress. Her chest heaved indelicately as she struggled to control her breathing. She held up the torn section of her dress with clenched fingers and teetered in her one shoe. It was pretty damn funny. He gave her a squeeze around the shoulders and a kiss on the cheek. “It’s alright, babe, no real damage done. Next time we have a lover’s tiff we’ll take it outside.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  He planted another kiss on her cheek, enjoying this far too much. She’d dragged him here to get revenge on him and try to hurt him, so he didn’t feel bad about having some fun at her expense.

  “We did not break it,” she rasped.

  “Um, yeah, right.” He winked at her. “Don’t want to get sued. Who owns this place anyway?”

  Another face appeared in the doorway, one he hadn’t seen before. An icy looking blonde in a white suit.

  Lizzie let out a tiny shriek.

  “Darling, what happened?” The blonde pushed past Dino and into the room.

  “Maisie.” Lizzie’s voice was barely a whisper.

  One arm still around Lizzie, Con held out his hand. “Hi, Maisie, I’m Conroy. Glad to meet you.”

  So this was her, huh? The family resemblance was nonexistent. Maisie was tall, pale and thin, with poker straight hair and piercing light blue eyes.

  She took a bold stride into the room and gripped his hand with force. “Conroy, it’s a pleasure. I can’t believe Lizzie’s kept you under wraps for so long.” Her eyes grazed his bare chest for a fraction of a second, then locked back on his. “I just got in and heard this terrible commotion. Lizzie, darling, are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” said Lizzie, hoisting her dress higher over her breast. “Except for my dress, which got torn when Conroy gallantly threw himself between me and the falling bedposts. Without him I don’t know what would have happened.”

  Maisie glanced down at the bed. “We’re thoroughly insured, thank goodness. Dino, get some shots of the wreckage. Lizzie dear, is that a scratch on your cheek?” She reached out and Lizzie flinched.

  Con felt a surge of protective instinct. “She’ll be okay. She just needs to catch her breath. Maybe we should all go outside and get something to eat. Just give us some privacy so Lizzie can change.”

  “What a shame we didn’t capture the collapse on camera,” mused Maisie, a finger on her chin. “I’m here now so we’ll make sure we don’t miss any more key events, won’t we, Dino?”

  Con did not miss Dino’s lowered brows. Gia had already scurried away. In fact, everyone had made themselves scarce since the appearance of the infamous Maisie.

  Maisie touched his chest with a finger. Her nail scratched his skin, causing his right pec to flinch. What the hell was she up to?

  “Dust. Powder post beetles, I expect. They can be such a scourge in an old place like this. We’ll get someone up to clean this mess up before bedtime.”

  She leaned into Lizzie, who stiffened, and gave her a swift kiss on the cheek. “In with a bang! You’re full of surprises lately. I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

  Then she turned and left the room, white pants swishing and heels clicking on the wood floor.

  They were left alone with Dino, who shrugged. “Sorry, boss’s orders. Gotta shoot the mess, then I’ll get out of your way.”

  Lizzie stepped back, pressing herself into the wall, and Con stood in front of her, shielding her from the camera. Now that Maisie was here, for some reason he didn’t want Lizzie on camera not looking her best. They waited until Dino left with a gruff nod, then Con closed the door.

  “The next time we have a lover’s tiff we’ll take it outside?” Lizzie’s voice was shimmering steel.

  “Hey, you were the one throwing shoes, not me.”

  “I never threw a shoe in my life until I met you.”

  “I can tell. You could use some practice.”

  “I’m serious. You bring out the absolute worst in me. I was a perfectly respectable person until you came into my life and turned it upside down. I was polite, calm, dignified.” She put her hands on her hips, which caused her to drop the ripped neckline of her dress and reveal her lovely breast. “Now look at me!”

  Con struggled to stop the grin sneaking across his face. “You look good to me.”

  “Shut up before I hit you.”

  “You already did, remember?”

  “And you didn’t even flinch. I guess it happens a lot.”

  He shrugged.

  “Turn me back! Turn me back into that nice, normal person who didn’t go around yelling or throwing shoes at anyone!”

  “I’m not a wizard. And if I was I wouldn’t want to change a thing. You’re a woman of fire and passion, an artist, so it’s no surprise if you need to throw a shoe from time to time.”

  “I am not! And don’t you dare bring up my art again. Next thing you know they’ll have me painting a car for the cameras.”

  “Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Maybe I could
pick up a nice—”

  “Don’t you even think about it!” Her eyes blazed. Any minute now her bra would burst too, he thought hopefully.

  “You enjoyed painting that car.”

  “I did not.” She lifted her chin.

  Don’t push it, Con. “Alright, why don’t you get changed, then we can go down and get some dinner.”

  She shot him a glare, and he tried to shrug it off. It honestly hurt that she didn’t respect him. That being smart and resourceful and well read didn’t mean anything. Without a pedigree he really was a nobody to her.

  Yes, he’d been naïve.

  He still missed their days of warm intimacy. An intimacy underpinned by his deception and destroyed by it.

  So she’d brought him here to humiliate him. Sure, it hurt. He wasn’t easy to humiliate—been through far too much already—but hurt, that was another thing. And she didn’t have any idea of the world of pain she’d jacked open by bringing him back down here.

  The prospect of visiting his childhood home made him want to run and hide. Not—as Lizzie thought—because it was pokey and run-down, which it no doubt would be, at least by her standards.

  Terrible things had happened there.

  Was his father still alive? His veins stung with sheer terror at the thought. Here he was, twenty-five years old and still scared to death of the man. How old would he be now? Less than fifty. Even with the drinking there was every likelihood he’d still be there, bloodshot eyes staring and mouth quick with a curse that cut to the bone.

  “Aren’t you getting changed?” Lizzie’s voice interrupted his dark memories.

  “No, I’m okay.” He brushed some dust off his pants.

  “You’re not going to put a shirt on?” She frowned at him, her voice rising.

  Oh, so now she didn’t want him walking around shirtless?

  “Nope. It’s hot, and I’m in the mood to keep it real.” He shot her a glance and she looked away. “You look nice.” She’d changed into a fresh pair of pale blue capris and a matching flowered shirt. Fresh as a spring flower. The lovely woman he’d hoped would help him forget the past and build a new life.

  The woman who’d slapped him down when he told her who he really was. Or wasn’t. And she didn’t even know the half of it.