Love Her Madly

by Christie Ridgway

“I…” He forked his hand through his hair. “You know about the Velvet Lemons.”

  “Of course. One of my favorite bands.”

  “Yeah.” He looked down. “Maybe you heard from Brody. We had an…unconventional childhood.”

  “He never speaks much about it, does he?”

  Bing nodded. They rarely spoke about it with each other. “There was a lot of freedom.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Lifting his head, he met her steady gaze. “I don’t know if you happened to hear that guy in the kitchen the other night.” Bing plunged onward. “He was right. When I was young…there were drugs around all the time. I did drugs. There were women too.” Easy pussy.

  “I imagine so. Famous fathers.”

  “Infamous,” he muttered. “But my brother and I left the compound, the Lemons lifestyle…all of it…when we were eighteen.”

  Her brows rose. “You’ve been a monk since then?”

  “No! I—” He broke off when he saw she was smiling again. “But anything I do these days wouldn’t cause me to get arrested.”

  “Good to know,” she said, her voice light. “Can I tell you something now?”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “When I was twelve, my mother died. It was very painful for me and I felt very lost. My father too, and he wandered around in a fog paying scant attention to me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her head bobbed in a little nod. “I don’t remember exactly how it began, but I started shoplifting. Candy bars at first. Then make-up, which I wasn’t allowed to wear. I figured out how to walk out of a dressing room wearing clothes I never paid for.”

  Without a thought how to respond, he brought his tea to his mouth.

  “Then I began recruiting my friends. We had quite the little crime ring going. Our big mistake was starting to sell our ill-gotten goods to our classmates.” She tucked her dark hair behind her ears. “I was arrested when I was fourteen years old.”

  His eyes bugged out. “Oh.”

  “Yes. Oh. I was scared straight, let me tell you. My father too. He came out of the fog, and our family was able to heal itself, though we still felt—feel—my mother’s absence keenly.”

  “I’m glad to hear it got better.”

  “Now, these years later, I’m a wife, a small businesswoman, a mother of three healthy, grown children.”

  Bing narrowed his eyes, aware she was trying to make some point. “Right.”

  “So, Bing…” She lifted one dark eyebrow. “Do you judge me now, knowing about my law-breaking past?”

  “Of course not. No.”

  Patricia folded her arms over her chest. “Then I find it kind of insulting that you think I would judge you for what you did as a child.”

  “I didn’t mean to—” Looking down, he blew out a puff of air. The situations were not the same. He’d been much older. His sins went deeper and darker than chocolate and lipstick.

  “Let me ask you another question, Bing. Why did you want to tell me this?”

  He glanced up and was trapped by her eyes, so much like her daughter’s. Warm and alive.

  “Is what’s going on between you and Alexa that serious?”

  Of course not. That would never be. But he couldn’t force out the words. He didn’t say them because of the sham romance Alexa wanted, he told himself. She wanted her family to think he was her man to save face until and through her cousin’s wedding. “I would cut off my hand before letting anything ugly brush up against her.”

  “Oh, Bing.” Patricia’s face went soft and she put her hand on his arm, the touch gentle and kind. “I know. I’ve seen how you—”

  Then she broke off as her daughter appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  Bing’s breath caught painfully in his chest. Alexa.

  Alexa in delicate ivory lace that wrapped her from her breasts to her knees. Another kind of fabric, as flimsy as tissue, flared out from there in tiny pleats to the floor. She didn’t notice him at first because she had her arms out and her attention was focused on the skirt of the dress. “Mom, this was a terrible idea. Drea’s going to have to do her own darn fitting. Isn’t she at least a half-inch shorter than me? And what happened to the mannequin? I almost tripped on her leg.”

  Bing cleared his throat. “That was me.”

  Her head shot up.

  The tops of her breasts, exposed by the low cut of the strapless garment, flushed a delicate pink, the same color that washed over the apples of her cheeks. “I—I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Same,” he said. Last night she’d been dressed in a little black nothing of a dress, teasing him by licking lips painted red and wicked. She’d talked about tats and piercings in private places and she’d said, I want games. I want you. He’d been a breath away from dragging her home and screwing her caveman-style.

  Now she was dressed like this, like someone’s goddamn wife-to-be. Innocent and fragile and…and fine. The contrast was making his head spin.

  She always managed to fucking unsteady him.

  Her gaze jumped to her mother.

  “Bing dropped by for a little conversation,” Patricia said, as if a question had been asked. “But now maybe we can get his opinion. We always like the male point-of-view. What do you think of Alexa in a wedding dress?”

  Alexa in a wedding dress. Alexa like she’d be some day, marrying some man that wouldn’t be him. Hitching herself to a straight arrow who’d never snorted shit up his nose, a man who’d never had a woman on her knees and his dick in her mouth because of what influence she thought he might have with his father. She’d wear the ring of a guy who’d never made such terrible mistakes.

  “I don’t like it,” he said, thinking of himself, of his hands touching her. Then of his hands not touching her. Of missing the opportunity to peel off that lace to reveal all Alexa Alessio’s golden skin and perfect curves. “I don’t like anything about it at all.”

  Then he strode out of the kitchen and out of the bridal shop. His head pounded and his gut churned. She was everything he could never have and shouldn’t want. “I would cut off my hand before letting anything ugly brush up against her,” he’d said to her mother.

  What if the ugly was him?

  Chapter Eleven

  Alexa gave Bing five days. Five days during which she knew he was avoiding her because he was never home and because she’d been leaving him messages he didn’t return. The jerk. He’d been the one to decree she was given two days to think over pursuing a sexual relationship—a limited-time-only sexual relationship—with him and now he refused her a chance to give him her answer.

  So she planned her little shake-up. And when she heard a pounding on her front door Sunday morning, she smiled to herself and decided her strategy had been a good one.

  Taking her time, she sauntered to the door. She wore a pair of shorts and a halter top and there were cotton balls between her toes because she’d just painted her nails. Of course, she’d considered putting on something a bit more dazzling for this confrontation, but the casual look seemed a better choice.

  Clearly he hadn’t approved of her in white lace.

  She thrust that thought away and pulled open her door.

  His hair was wild, his feet were bare, and he wore a pair of blue flannel pajama pants hacked off at the knees. His muscled chest moved up and down with each heavy breath. There was a pillow crease on his cheek and a plastic baby doll in his hand.

  He shook it in her face. “What the hell is this?”

  She smiled at him. “Do you want to come in?”

  “No! I want an explanation. You scared the hell out of me!”

  Rounding her eyes, she did her best to look quasi-innocent. “I’m not sure what you’re speaking of.”

  He glared at her. “Lex, only you would have a dozen dolls wearing bridal dresses.”

  She tried not to laugh.

  “You could have hurt yourself hanging them from the roof so that they stare in my windows.”

&nb
sp; Her hand went to her chest. “I’m touched. You’re worried about me.” The fink wasn’t worried about her sexual frustration, though.

  “Don’t get snotty.”

  “It’s what happens when people ignore my phone messages.”

  His mouth went sulky. She wanted to bite it. “I had a busy week,” he said.

  “There’s coffee inside.” Her thumb pointed over her shoulder. “Dark and hot, just how you like things.”

  Tension stiffened his body and she saw his knuckles whiten around the baby doll.

  “Don’t tease me.”

  “Don’t hurt Justine,” she countered, turning toward the kitchen and hoping he would follow. “She was my very first baby doll.”

  “Hah! You admit it then.” The door shut firmly behind him.

  She smiled. “Certainly. Justine was my first.”

  “She’s creepy.”

  “That’s because I gave her that weird haircut when I didn’t understand that a dolly’s hair didn’t grow like mine.”

  “It’s the eyes,” he said, throwing himself onto one of the chairs around her small kitchen table. “I couldn’t take it. She was the first I cut down.” He put Justine face down on the wood surface.

  Alexa poured him a mug and set it in front of him. “That’s because Drea instant-glued them open.”

  “What the hell is this all about, Lex?” He ran a hand through his hair. “How long did it take you to dress up those damn things?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. It was no time at all.”

  “You’re telling me you have a box of creepy dolls wearing creepy wedding dresses?”

  “Well…yes.”

  At his skeptical glance, she continued. “It was a practical joke we played on my brother Enzo before he got married.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “He’s weird. He was the one who told us about these dreams he was having the weeks before he married.”

  “Let me guess, dozens of dolls dressed in white lace staring at him when he woke from sleep.”

  “Got it in one. The morning after his bachelor party he opened his eyes to find he had a mean hangover as well as malevolent stares from Justine and her sisters in white lace.”

  He shuddered, then took a sip of his coffee. “How’s your week been?” he asked, addressing the liquid in the mug. “Things okay at the salon?”

  Her brows rose. So they were going to play this like happy little neighbors? “The usual. We did have a flower girl go full meltdown over discovering her crown was a crown of flowers, not an actual tiara. A mother-in-law-to-be came in with the sweet idea of us sewing her late mother’s wedding band as a hidden good luck piece into the bride’s gown. We put it in the hem.”

  Of course she knew he didn’t give a hoot about any of these details. But she provided them anyway, worried he’d make his excuses and leave before they could have the real discussion.

  She didn’t want to suppose it meant he didn’t want her. Or even if he did that he could let this go.

  “Your mother…” He glanced up and there was new tension on his face. “I wasn’t too nice when I left the other day. She probably warned you away from me, huh?”

  Alexa stared at him. Was this it? Was he embarrassed about the way he’d reacted to her in bridal white and lace? It hadn’t been flattering, but she’d understood it to an extent. “My mom and I laughed about it.”

  His eyes narrowed, glinting blue so suspiciously. “Laughed?”

  “You’re not the first guy to come into the shop and suffer from TDS.”

  He took a slow sip from his coffee, his eyes never leaving her face. Then he set the mug aside. “Do I even want to know what TDS stands for?”

  “I don’t know. How do you feel about Tulle Derangement Syndrome?” She frowned. “In your case it might be LDS—Lace Derangement Syndrome—or possibly CDS, Chiffon Derangement Syndrome.”

  “Speak in something non-bridal.”

  “It happens every so often. Usually the man is much older than you and he’s the one expected to get out the checkbook, which I suppose exacerbates the condition.”

  “Alexa.” He drew her name out in warning.

  “I’m trying to make you understand! Every once a while a father-of-the-bride comes into the salon, sees his darling daughter in white and goes ballistic. Wants the engagement broken, the whole thing called off, and most especially big daddy wants to see his little girl out of that dress.”

  Bing stared at her, his eyes narrowing to slits. “This again? Are you implying I was acting like a daddy?”

  She cocked her head. “It’s sort of sweet when you think about it.”

  His voice rose. “You’re implying I was acting like a daddy!”

  “That’s what you said.” She took the chair opposite him, tuned her tone to very reasonable. Objective and only mildly interested. “Do you think you have issues?”

  He practically snarled. “Of course I fucking have issues. But the biggest issue I have right now is…is…” His hand scrubbed his face. “I can’t decide if it’s those nightmare dolls hanging from my roof or this bogus romance we’re supposed to be playing out in front of your family or the fact that you think I’m acting like your daddy.”

  She leaned over, patted his hand. “I kind of enjoy it,” she whispered.

  His back teeth were grinding, she just knew it. “You only say that to annoy me. I’m completely aware of that, but still, it annoys me.”

  Sitting back in her chair, Alexa reached for his coffee. Took a sip. “Yum. Dark and hot, just like I said.”

  She actually saw his ab muscles harden. It was awesome.

  “What the hell, Lex?” He stared at her. “What is it you want?”

  “Oh. My. Goodness.” She shot straight in her seat as suddenly it was all too much for her. “Really? What is it I want?”

  “Lex…”

  Her hands lifted into the air, the Italian coming out in her, despite her resolve to be the serene Alessio. “Why is it so damn difficult to get laid? Can you tell me that?”

  His expression softened. “Now, Lex—”

  “Don’t ‘Now Lex’ me.” Her temper ignited. “Nico was willing to wait for sex with me. You only wanted it one time. This isn’t good for Lex’s ego, you know.” Not to mention how Bing had recoiled at the sight of her in the wedding dress.

  She shoved up from the table, her chair legs rattling against the floor. “You know what? I’m done. I don’t want to have sex with you. I don’t want to have sex with any stupid man ever again.”

  Her phone vibrated on the countertop. She crossed to it, groaned. “I have to go.”

  “An emergency?”

  “I take Mrs. Roth’s sheets off the line every other Saturday. I forgot.” Mrs. Roth lived two doors down, loved sun-dried linens, and had arthritis. Her daughter hung them out first thing in the morning after they came out of the washer and Alexa brought them in. As payment, she had a slew of zucchinis and tomatoes all summer from said daughter’s garden. She yanked the cotton balls from between her toes and stalked to the front door.

  Bing trailed behind.

  “Go away,” she said, scowling at him over her shoulder.

  “People hang stuff on clotheslines? Didn’t that go out with dryers?”

  “Stupid man,” she muttered.

  He continued to dog her bare footsteps. Fine, she thought, stomping down the sidewalk. It was a free country. She let herself into the side yard where a line had been erected between two trees, one a grapefruit, one an avocado.

  “Alexa.”

  She glanced back at him. “I’m just watching out for you,” he said.

  Her eyes rolled to inspect the back of her brain where maybe she still had some charitable thoughts toward him harbored. Nope, they were all gone. “You know, a large part of your appeal was that smell of sin and brimstone surrounding you. Now that you’ve turned so upright and conscientious, I’ve lost interest.”

  He stepped close, drew one finger down
the back of her arm. “Is that right?” he said in her ear.

  She fought the shiver and scurried away toward the clothesline. “Honestly, I’m done.”

  With bare chest, bare feet, and low-slung flannel shorts, he watched her fold. God, she thought, it wasn’t fair. She sneaked looks, telling herself she was a fool. A self-torturing fool.

  He cleared his throat. “Alexa. It’s that I don’t want you to make a mistake. I don’t want you to get…hung up on me. Emotionally.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, back to snotty. “I don’t even like you.”

  With the plastic clothes basket in her arms, she made her way to the back door. Mrs. Roth opened it just as she reached the stoop. “Thank you so much, dear.”

  Despite her mood, Alexa mustered a smile. “You’re welcome.”

  From the pocket of her apron, the old woman pulled out a tired dollar bill, the same one she’d been offering Alexa forever. “Please take this.”

  “No, no I couldn’t.” She put her hands behind her back. “It just took a few minutes.”

  Her elderly neighbor shook her head. “Such a nice person. Such a good girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Roth looked over her shoulder, blinked. “Who is this?” she asked.

  Alexa glanced back. A rat. A fink. A beautiful man whose scruples were standing in the way of her getting rid of this obnoxious…thing she had for him. Wasn’t it only fair that he apply himself to eradicating it by having his wicked way with her body?

  She fanned herself a little, hoping they’d attribute it to the warm morning. “This is another neighbor, Mrs. Roth. Bing Maddox.”

  “Well, hello.” She looked between him and Alexa. “Are you special friends?”

  “No,” she said at the same time that Bing answered “Yes.”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. He gave her a smoldering look in return. Her hand went back to fanning. What the heck did he mean by that?

  “Well,” Mrs. Roth continued. “I hope you realize what a lovely young woman she is. Such a very good girl.”

  “Absolutely.”

  The way he said it was like another rub of his fingertip. This time down her spine. She stiffened it. “We’ll be go—”