Spanked by the Bad Boy

by London Saint James

  “My parents are having a dinner Tuesday night, nothing formal, and I want you to accompany me.”

  He waited. Two heartbeats passed.

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Eight. I’ll pick you up around seven-thirty.”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Is fine a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  He wanted to pump a victory fist in the air.

  “Excellent,” he said. “I have to run an errand tonight, but I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  He heard her take a breath, then another. “Was there anything else?”

  “Nope. I think we’ve covered everything.”

  “Okay, then. Good-bye, Mr. Cage.”

  He smirked. He did so love her prissy side. “Good-bye, Ms. Brooks.”

  Declan dialed another number with immediacy. The phone rang once before Leddy, his parents’ live-in housekeeper, answered, “Cage residence.”

  “Hey, Leddy,” he replied.

  “Declan,” she said in a sweet voice. He pictured her graying hair pulled up in a bun atop her head. “I haven’t seen you in so long, honey. You need to come by and visit your parents more often.”

  “Actually, I’m calling to fix the visiting situation. Is my mother home?”

  “It’s Monday. You know she gets ready to host her bridge club on Mondays.”

  “Well, interrupt her and tell her I need to speak with her.”

  “She’s going to give me the what for about the interruption.”

  “I’ve got your back.”

  Leddy chortled, and the phone clacked in his ear when she put it down.

  His mother’s squawking sounded in the background before she answered the phone. “What’s wrong, Declan? You never call during the day.”

  “Nice to speak with you, too, Mom.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to speak with you, son. The call concerned me. The last time you called me during the day was to tell me you weren’t going to finish your degree in finance and decided to start a construction company.”

  “Mom,” he said. The woman was never going to let up. “What you are referring to was five years ago. I’m fairly sure I’ve called you during the day at some point within the last five years.”

  “Well, of course, you know I have my bridge club this evening, and I’m in the midst of preparations.”

  He tried not to sound haughty when he mimicked her, “Of course.”

  “Declan Zekial Cage,” she snapped. “Don’t mock your mother.”

  “I’m not mocking you.”

  “Fine.” A breath. “What do you need, dear?”

  “I can’t tell you why, but you and Dad are having dinner at your house tomorrow evening at eight.”

  “Oh?” He imagined her eyebrows flying up to her hairline. “I wasn’t aware of such a thing.”

  “Trust me. You’re going to be surprised as to the why of it, so please plan a dinner, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “I don’t enjoy surprises.” There was a pregnant pause. “How many people am I planning for?”

  He knew she couldn’t pass up the chance to plan and host a dinner party.

  “Counting you and Dad, five,” he said.

  “What an odd number of guests for dinner.”

  “I know, but you’ll have fun planning the menu anyway.”

  “I suppose,” she said. “What about duck à l’orange? Your father is dying to try a new vintage of wine I think would be a wonderful combination with the dish.”

  “Whatever you want to do. Love you, Mom. I’ve got to go. Have fun at bridge tonight, and don’t fuss at Leddy.”

  “I don’t fuss.”

  “Okay,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Dearest. We can disagree later when we both have more time. I love you, too.”

  Declan smiled and disconnected the call.

  Don’t try. Do.

  He was well on his way to doing. He’d surprise his parents with Ryker’s arrival, which would put his mother over the moon, then pick up Tiffany and take her to meet his parents and his brother, which he was ecstatic about, and the whole thing would come off without a hitch. He’d have his family together, and Tiffany would see how much he really wanted her in his life by the family dinner gesture.

  Pleased with his brilliant stroke of doing, he put his cell phone away and headed out to the Cherry Hills site with the thought his day was indeed improving.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tiffany had been more than a bit distracted, preoccupied with deconstructing the call she’d received a few hours earlier from Declan, and didn’t notice when Matthew Stoub laid a file folder on top of her desk.

  “Will you archive this for me, Ms. Brooks?”

  She blinked and looked up to see him staring at the new bauble she’d placed on the corner of her desk. “Um. Sure.”

  He picked up the snow globe and gave it a shake. Whitish-silver bits of glitter floated about wildly. Relieved he hadn’t noticed her I’m-out-to-lunch-and-no-one’s-home look when she glanced up, she hit the rewind button in her head in order to hear what he’d asked.

  “After all these years with such a sparse desk, not even a piece of dust to inhabit the space, why add the shark?”

  She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to tell him where the globe came from either. She imagined he wouldn’t look too kindly at her fraternizing with someone associated with the firm. In fact, when his own divorced brother had shown interest in the secretary at Patterson Construction Company, they’d shared words, and none too friendly ones, which left them snapping at each other for months until Dale Stoub retired.

  “A friend gave it to me,” she said.

  “Mm. Do you collect snow globes?”

  “No.” She bit the inside of her cheek.

  “Have an affinity for sharks?”

  She chuckled. “Not particularly. I think it was given to me in hopes of cheering me up after the accident.”

  “Ah.” He placed the globe in the spot he’d taken it from. “Did you like the flowers I sent? I wasn’t sure if you would. Most women are fond of flowers, but…well….” He cleared his throat. “Not that I think of you as most women.” He frowned, slipped his hand into the front pocket of his tan trousers, and started jingling what she thought was loose change. “That doesn’t sound right either.”

  She smiled at the interminable bachelor, believing his bachelorism must be his choice. She was sure he was attracted to women and knew he’d dated at least once or twice during her time at the firm. His lone-wolf style had to be due to his total entanglement with the engineering firm. Then there was the other obsession in his life, golf. She figured he’d never really bothered to find a nice woman to settle down with.

  “The flowers were lovely,” she said, putting a stop to the unease radiating from him. “Thank you for sending the daisy bouquet. It was thoughtful.”

  He waved a hand as if to dismiss the thanks. “You’re welcome.” He paused. “I forgot to mention this morning, I made an offer to a nice young man for the apprenticeship, so make him feel welcome when he comes next week. He’ll be here bright and early on the seventeenth. His name is Patrick Harvey.”

  Tiffany nodded and picked up her pen, scribbling Patrick Harvey on a sticky note followed by the scrawl of Monday and slapped the little yellow square on the desk beside her laptop.

  “I’ll be sure not to scare him off, Mr. Stoub.”

  He guffawed. “My dear, I very seriously doubt you will scare the young man off.”

  Matthew gave her his eye-crinkling smile. He was a handsome man in a fatherly kind of way, she supposed, and standing there looking down on her with true amusement, he was what she imagined a real father should look like. Of course, her employer didn’t have any children, but if he’d taken the plunge into a relationship and kids, she knew he would have been a good husband and a kind dad.

  “I’m going to head on over to get in a round on the greens while the getting
is still good. You have a nice rest of your day, Ms. Brooks.”

  “Thank you. You, too, Mr. Stoub.”

  He turned to go then flipped around on his heel. “Oh. And I’m happy you’re back and feeling better. This place can’t function without you.”

  A sense of pride washed over her at the compliment. “I’m happy to be back, too.”

  ***

  Tiffany fumbled as she typed, and the stumbles didn’t have anything to do with the brace on her right wrist. She’d had to go over the accounts receivables ledger twice before realizing she forgot to enter the deposit she’d made during the lunch hour. When she changed over to doing some of the more menial parts of her job, her mind wandered, half on the filing and half attempting to envision Declan’s parents. She didn’t know why, but she pictured his mom as a Carol Brady homemaker type and his dad as a burly, retired WWF wrestler.

  To say she’d been surprised when Declan invited her to his parents’ home was an understatement. Yet she was even more amazed at her acceptance of the invitation. However, she couldn’t have refused him. And the truth was, she didn’t want to, so the word yes naturally fell from her lips. Then the aftermath of saying something as simple as yes to him hit her. She’d never been to visit the parents of any man. Wondering what they would think of her became the next thing for her to hold onto and obsess about while the clock tick, tick, ticked the day away with an agonizing slowness.

  At ten ’til five, she quickly locked up the office then spent her Monday evening tootling around Denver in the midsized, poop-brown sedan her auto insurance company rented for her, on a desperate mission to find a new outfit, preferably in blue, Declan’s favorite color. She was glad when she found what she’d been looking for in one of the downtown clothing boutiques only moments before they closed up shop for the night.

  After toting her purchases from the car to her apartment, she was once again reminded how irritating the brace on her wrist was, but she tried to forget about the irksome thing as she finally sat down and ate some pasta and a garden salad for dinner.

  Standing in her room with her good hand pressed into her side, she looked at the bags from the boutique. She’d left them in the fancy containers while she put a stop to the hunger grumbles emanating from her stomach, and now she was full and well satisfied. Therefore, it was time to tidy up her room. Clutter of any type couldn’t be tolerated—a conditioned state from her youth.

  Royce had despised mess around his house, a lesson she’d learned well after being hit with his belt over a couple of dirty dishes left in the sink and smacked across the face for not making her bed. Once, she’d been locked in the basement laundry room for hours. Her crime: not folding his laundry the way he preferred. And even though she sometimes had the urge to intentionally keep something out of place, or leave a cup in her kitchen sink, or never fold a dang piece of laundry again for the rest of her life, she’d never mustered up the strength to break the conditioning. She was a human version of Pavlov’s dog. She grimaced at the thought.

  Seeing the garment bag lying across her mattress and the four bags sitting on the floor by the foot of her bed, she came to the conclusion she would be upset with herself for going overboard when the credit card bill outlining all her expenditures arrived in the mail.

  Forgoing the slick, golden tote bags on the floor for the moment, she brushed her fingertips over the black garment bag, and then unzipped it to look at the lovely dark-blue material peeking out at her. She ran her forefinger over the soft neckline of the dress, recalling how it had looked on her body when she’d tried it on. Those shoes and the frilly undergarments in the other bags were pretty darn terrific in their own right. She smiled and knew the cost was worth it. Clothing and shoes were her only weakness in an existence otherwise barren of tangible possessions.

  As she tugged the clip out of her hair, the strands swooshed past her face and neck. They tumbled down her back in a heavy cascade, and then she rolled her tense shoulders up by her ears. Perhaps the thing to do first would be to take a long, hot shower. Thinking about the heat and the tickling sensation as the scattered, tapping water rained down on the base of her neck and her shoulder blades, spiraling along the curve of her spine, Tiffany could almost feel the tension slip away.

  Yeah. The hot water would be just the ticket. She’d put her purchases away first thing after the much-needed personal time, somewhat happy to tempt her conditioned state. A flash of movement outside the open blind hanging over her double-paned window caught her attention. Her eyes narrowed. Her apartment was on the ground floor, but no one should be walking by, simply because it was a very narrow space, overtaken with shrubs and vine-ivy that grew on the wall dividing her building from the next.

  With her gaze locked on the window, she didn’t see any more motion. Maybe she hadn’t seen anything, and the light from her room hitting the slick glass between the slats had played a trick on her.

  She considered her apartment her little sanctuary away from the world, and her room with its own bathroom, more secluded than the rest of her semi-open floor plan, had always been the one place in her apartment she liked best.

  She tilted her head, considering. There were security bars on all the windows, something she’d requested the landlord install before moving in since she was a single woman. Although the area she lived in wasn’t a high-crime locale, and she’d never had any trouble from anyone residing in her building, the idea of someone actually going through the trouble of standing out there in the tight, almost inaccessible space bothered her. Was there a peeping perv in her neighborhood?

  Chills traveled along her arms with the thought of some sicko watching her. Her mind, doing what it did best, went mad. She pictured some unwashed miscreant with a dark hoodie and a ski mask covering the deep scar running down the side of his face staring at her, cock-in-fist.

  The spooked chill turned into a shiver, and she made quick work of crossing her room to the windows, closing the wooden slats of the blinds as tight as they would go.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Declan waited at the terminal where his brother would be deplaning. It had been six months since he’d last seen Ryker, and he was looking forward to spending a little quality time with him. While Ryker was listed on his house deed as being a co-owner, his brother and housemate was more akin to a drop-in guest due to all his traveling.

  When he saw Ryker round the bend with nothing more than a dull-green knapsack hanging over his shoulder, he smiled.

  “Hey!” Ryker said, coming to him in two large strides. They did the two-tap back pat. “God, it’s good to be home, Deck.”

  “It’s good to see you,” Declan said. “It’s been too long between layovers here.”

  “Denver’s home, not a layover, but I know what you mean.” Ryker rubbed the top of Declan’s head like a crystal ball. “Nice. Mom must really love this current rebel-without-a-cause look you have going on.”

  Declan flipped his brother a not so elegant bird. “I don’t think the shaggy bangs in your eyes look will make her all warm and fuzzy inside either.”

  He chortled. “I’ll get my hair cut in the morning before I see her.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Maybe I’ll get your barber to give me your style.”

  “Hey, go for it, man. The chicks dig this look.”

  Ryker snorted. “Have you been watching That ’70s Show on late night TV again?”

  “Possibly.”

  The two of them walked side by side, Ryker with his right hand tucked into the front pocket of his cargo pants, Declan with his left tucked in the front pocket of his jeans.

  “Speaking of ‘chicks,’ how are things with the sex-on-legs secretary you’ve been eyeing?” Ryker asked. “Is she still driving you crazy because she can’t remember your name?”

  “She’s not a secretary. She’s the personal assistant of one of the top engineers in Denver.”

  “Well, excuse me, Mr. Hoity-Toity. I’ll rephrase the question. How’re t
hings with the sex-on-legs personal assistant you’ve been eyeing?”

  “Ha, ha,” Declan said. “Her name is Tiffany Brooks, and you’ll get to meet her. Mom and Dad are having a dinner tomorrow evening—”

  “I told you not to tell them I’m coming,” Ryker interrupted.

  “Shit, Ryke. I didn’t tell them you were coming. Give me some credit. I told Mom to have dinner ready for five people and be waiting for a surprise. She doesn’t have a clue you’re here.”

  “Okay. Sorry, bro.” Ryker smiled, and it was like looking into a mirror. “You’ve invited Ms. Brooks to a family dinner? This must be love.”

  Declan pondered the word love. He did have strong feelings for her. “It might be too soon to say,” he said.

  Ryker gave him a droll look. “But not to bring her home to meet our parental units?”

  “Nope. I want her to know I’m serious about her.”

  “Have you met our mom and dad? They will probably scare her off with their highbrow talk and all-around snooty behavior.”

  “I seriously doubt it. She likes highbrow,” said Declan.

  “Really?”

  Declan nodded. “Yep.”

  “Has Ms. Brooks met you?” Ryker asked in a teasing tone.

  Declan thumped his chest and grunted. “She said she’s fine with all the rough edges.”

  “Jesus,” Ryker muttered. “I never thought I’d see the day my brother had more than a stiffy for a beautiful woman.”

  Declan punched his brother’s arm. “Do we need to go to baggage claim?”

  “Shit.” Ryker rubbed the top of his bicep. “You’re still a sissy weakling.” Declan gave him the “eat shit” look. His brother laughed. “No. I’ve got my trusty army-issue knapsack,” he said, hefting the canvas strap off his shoulder as they made their way out of the airport. “What more do I need?”

  ***

  Ryker leaned back on the couch at home, nursing a Budweiser, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his bare feet crossed.

  “Damn, Deck. I forgot what a good cook you are. Those steaks were fucking great,” he said.