The Perfect Con (A Bad Boy Romance Novel) (Bad Boy Confessions Book 1)

by Raleigh Blake

  “When?” I croaked.

  “Any time you want,” Leo answered, reaching out and wrapping his hands around my arms. “I’m at your mercy here. You know that.”

  “No, Leo.” I pulled from his grip and slid off the car hood, suddenly needing to put some space between us. I struggled to even gaze at him. I had been making an idiot out of myself for him in ways I hadn’t even known about, ever since the moment we met. I didn’t know if I could be with him and not think about that. “What I mean is, when did you change your mind about all this?”

  Leo looked heavenward, as if the answer might be etched up there. “Ah, I’m not sure,” he said. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I guess it was…after I went to your place. The night you danced for me. I had been saying that we could reconsider. I was trying to talk you out—”

  “THAT night? THAT night?” I shrilled. “Leo, that was only a day or two ago! Jesus Christ! And everything else…” My eyes welled with humiliated tears. “Everything else was just—” I looked back up at him and saw that his own eyes bore the same dark wall of heartache. Flat. Still. “Just—”

  “Stage setting and sound effects,” Leo whispered.

  I nodded savagely, furious that he remembered what I’d said about Anthony. Furious that he remembered, and he knew that it applied to him, too. The first night we’d met, I’d told him that.

  “I can’t believe you,” I said, glancing at my car. I considered getting back inside and pulling off. Just forgetting this place. “I came here to get away from lies,” I added. My mouth tightened with anger as I spoke. “But I still couldn’t get away from being used. Told what to do. Moved around like a little pawn on a—”

  “I know.” Most men, when they’re caught, don’t want to look at you. But Leo wouldn’t look away. “I know. And I’m sorry.” He reached up to my cheek, but I flinched from his touch. “If it means anything, I’m telling you because—because I think, if you might really love me, then it’s worth it to tell the truth. It’s worth the pain, if it means that we can start out completely clean.” He spread his hands in front of himself, then dropped them. “I didn’t ever think that you couldn’t do it. If I wasn’t such a vindictive son of a bitch, I’m sure you could have.”

  I raked my hands through my hair. “That’s a lot of if’s,” I whispered bitterly. I couldn’t bear to look at him. I wanted to get the hell OUT of here. For real this time, and not just as a gesture brought on by a wave of PMS. “And if I wasn’t so damn sick of being micromanaged my whole fucking life, maybe it would be okay that I had been a—a pawn for you, Leo. And if I didn’t want to end up just like my mother, alienated from an angry man with no options except to get away. To start over completely fresh in her thirties…just like you would have done to me.” I shook my head. “Wow.”

  His eyes flashed and he started up from the side of my car. “Sofi—”

  “And if I hadn’t genuinely been feeling something the whole time that you were planning to send me to jail! The whole time you were playing with my trust, playing a part, having your little plans! If I could believe anything you say now!” I marched toward my car door and wrenched it open. “But I can’t.”

  “Sofi.” Leo lunged forward and grabbed my arm, gently twisting me to face him again. He just stared down at me, stricken, his eyebrows low and his large gray eyes so heartbroken, as if he couldn’t fathom that I was really saying these things. He braced me in his arms, and as much as I wanted to be strong, when he pulled me close and pressed his lips to mine, I still cracked open for him as easily as an egg. His hands traveled up over my back and I let my body bow against his, let myself become immersed. It was so hard to struggle away from him. When we broke for air, he whispered into the space between us, “You can’t really think that I wasn’t feeling anything.”

  I swallowed and pulled away from him, the edge of the car door digging into my shoulder blade. Even as I put a distance between us, my hands lingered on his chest. “I think I don’t really know you after all,” I replied sadly. “When you punched out those jerk-offs at the club—was it because they were showing me disrespect, or was it because they didn’t do what you said? And what would you do if you had to see Spider again?”

  “Probably nothing,” Leo said, but his eyes flashed away from mine first.

  “Let’s really think about this,” I added sharply. “Because he’s my friend, you know. We pulled the van Buiten’s heist together, and I’m the one who gave him a safe place to stay. But if we do whatever this is—what will you do when you have to see him again? Will you kill him?”

  “Of course not,” Leo said, but I shook my head and descended into the car. I felt how his hands wanted to clamp down and grip me, but they let me slide away. His jaw clenched as he watched me take my seat.

  “You were angry enough at Uncle Ronaldo to plot to send an innocent woman to jail,” I reminded him. I pulled my seatbelt and fastened it. “Hell, you fucked me practically every time we met, and you still didn’t—You were still going to—” I couldn’t bear to finish the sentence, it was so freaking cruel. I pressed my lips together and swallowed the lump in my throat. His damn tongue had been rubbing between my legs while he’d been planning to frame me for grand larceny. He came inside me knowing that he would see me behind bars. How could I--? How could I trust someone who would do something like that? Another lump formed in my throat immediately. “I just can’t,” I finished, hoarse.

  “I didn’t know myself either,” he rushed, like the words had been crowded up in his brain for a long time. “I never met someone who could give me the clarity to see the bigger picture. I was the man you’re talking about, but you’ve changed that. You’re my—you’re my medicine, Sofi.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said. “Why would I? What have you ever told me that was true?”

  He opened his mouth, and for a moment, nothing came out, and I almost laughed. But then he blurted, “I think I’m in love with you too.”

  “I have to get out of here,” I muttered, shaking my head and reaching forward to grip the handle on the driver’s side door, still hanging open. “I can’t be having this conversation.” I looked up at Leo, standing in the way of the door closing, and implored as calmly as I could, “Excuse me.” He stared down at me, and then, he did it. He stepped out of my way and let me swing the door shut.

  I twisted the key in the ignition and pulled back out onto the deserted highway, now slick with the passing summer shower. I sighed and my eyes ticked to the rearview mirror. He was just standing there, on the side of the road, staring after me. He didn’t race into his Porsche. He just stood there and stared. He let me go.

  16

  Leo

  Blue. Blue water sprawling in every direction, as vast and glorious as the sky reflected on its rippling surface. It rose and fell around me, and I felt worse. So much worse.

  I thought coming out on the yacht would clear my head, but it had only carved out a hole in my chest. I thought I’d been lonely on Saturday night, when I couldn’t take it anymore and I packed up my gear and went to the marina.

  But it couldn’t compare to this Monday morning. The crisp sunrise. The vacant horizon. And me. Just me.

  Where was Sofi Castillo now?

  I swallowed and glared out across the Atlantic, imagining her strolling along a ribbon of wet sand at her parents’ place in Port Primavera. I bet her hair was loose on her shoulders and her skin was oily and golden—no, no, no.

  A pang of desire sang through me as I realized she was probably still asleep. Her face half-buried in askew blankets, a soft, wheezing snore peeling from her little nose. Hair wild, spilled across the pillow, legs flopped over the side of the bed. And would there be a box of tissues on the bedside table, a television still on from the night before, playing the DVD menu of a sad romance movie?

  Was she sitting by her bedroom window, toes braced on the sill, elbows on her knees, staring out at the same horizon, thinking about me, too?

  Fuck. The who
le point of coming out here was to escape the daily life, put myself back together, get over Sofi. We’d only known each other for a short time. Sure, we’d had sex a handful of times, and they were all burned into my memory now, but I could move on. I could move on, but I wasn’t going to be able to do this if I kept letting her seep into my thoughts.

  At least I’d gotten Sofi to abandon the Heart of Icarus. That was good, wasn’t it? She was safely two hundred miles north of Aurora Beach now. It was better than letting the horrible scene play out, letting Cyrus take her down. This way, I had lost her forever, but she was still free.

  I stood from the deck ledge and strode to the berth, where I kept my diving equipment. That would get her off my mind. A little skin diving in the reef. Exciting. Enchanting. Exotic.

  Just like Sofi.

  My brow furrowed as I gathered up the oxygen tank and flippers, taking them back onto the deck and outfitting myself.

  I’d always loved this particular reef, two hundred miles off the coast and technically off-limits to all but tourists in guided groups. But my yacht was small, and the reef was massive, and the likelihood of being caught there was pretty low—and, anyway, I was feeling rather reckless when I’d disembarked. To tell the truth, I’d ditched the tonic in my glasses by that point.

  I just wanted to get away from everything, because everything reminded me of what I had done.

  I couldn’t brace the steering wheel of my Porsche without remembering that Sofi had been suspended by her wrists from the visor, her lovely bare torso draped against it.

  The beach? The same beach where we had tangled in the sand for hours, where I had tugged a blanket over her and crept away before sunrise.

  My own home vibrated with loneliness now, even though she’d only been there once or twice. I was going to be trapped in that big, empty place forever.

  At least I hadn’t been seeing Cyrus around. At least there was that.

  After leading his division on a wild goose chase for an innocent woman (relatively speaking), he’d probably been forced onto sabbatical, or totally redirected. Maybe I was rid of him for good now that he had come back with nothing.

  With my air tank and flippers secure, I fell backward into the warm, crystalline waters of the reef, and began my descent. Everything was so quiet and tranquil down here. If this didn’t take my mind off her, nothing would.

  I swam beneath a stone archway, overgrown with vibrant, deep red coral.

  Perfect. Nothing like her hair.

  The dark gold sponges growing in fist-sized plumes from the sand—they didn’t remind me of the Heart of Icarus. Not one bit.

  I would just have to shut off the radio and drop anchor here. It was the only way to get away from the memories haunting Aurora Beach now. I’d already made enough to retire very comfortably. Gabe could try his hand as the mastermind for a while. The outfit would probably fail miserably without my guidance, but I didn’t owe anything to those guys. Maybe it was quitting time for me. Maybe Sofi was my sign. Max was right: I’d gone soft.

  So why not?

  Why not just quit?

  17

  Sofi

  My eyes cracked open, and immediately squeezed shut again. Bathroom tiles. Fantastic. My cheek was pressed against the damn bathroom tiles, and I felt a little seasick, even lying flat on the floor. I hadn’t even drunk anything last night. I could only chalk up my moody, bloated blues to PMS—my damn period was due in a few days, which was just peachy—and maybe a little bit to the hairline fracture running down the center of my heart.

  Blurgh.

  It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and I didn’t care. I was glad that I’d left Aurora Beach—glad that I’d left Leo. I was going to party hard for the rest of the summer right in my sweet old hometown, and forget all about this millionth disappointment.

  You would think that it wouldn’t hurt so bad after all the others. A lot of guys are liars. A lot of guys are control freaks. So what does one more matter?

  But it did matter. I felt as heavy as a bag of bricks—and I was going to puke. Yep. Definitely going to puke.

  Vaulting up from the bathroom floor, I launched myself over the open toilet bowl and let loose. Afterward, I slumped back with a groan and put my hand to my forehead. A little warm. A virus? Mm, no, probably—well, maybe—it was just all the hangovers I’d been working on, finally culminating.

  After arriving in Port Primavera, I’d made it my mission to forget Leonardo Battista. I’d gone out every night. Madeline called me from Uncle Ronnie’s estate to let me know that the staff had already requested that she kindly remove herself from the premises after one of the chaise lounges ended up in the deep end of his in-ground pool. When they demanded that she explain herself, her reason had related to the drunken invention of a new sport brewed up between herself and the twenty-five-year-old chauffeur.

  “What are you up to up there?” Madeline had asked dully. “Please tell me you’re not still mooning over What’s-his-face.”

  “His name is Leonardo Battista and you know it,” I’d snapped. “And—fuck yes, I’m mooning. I’m going to party so hard for the rest of the summer that I get amnesia. I’m going to party so hard, I’ll leave a swath of destruction in my wake. They’ll still be putting out the fires when I’m done.”

  “Ooh,” Madeline purred, “you sound like you’re in a really good place right now.”

  “Do I?”

  “A really good place for us. I think we could really grow as friends.”

  And she’d been on my doorstep within twenty-four hours. Good old Madeline. There were some nights that you couldn’t trust her to spell a single word for you, but if you wanted to completely obliterate your senses, she was the girl to call.

  Only I didn’t feel like partying.

  This was serious hell. The bathroom tiles were blurry with my early morning eyes—coffee, coffee, coffee—and thick clumps of hair clung to the back of my neck with sweat.

  Even before Madeline had arrived on my porch, I’d been feeling vomit-y for days. Vomit-y, and lethargic, and weepy. And it was probably just the strain of losing a guy like Leo, who was so messed up and wonderful at the same time. It was probably just that—except we’d had explosive sex all week long, and it had always been bare-skinned. It felt wrong to put anything between us, to waste even a second when our tongues were electrical and our fingers were on fire, but now… The week I’m supposed to be getting my period? This was the time that I had to pay for all the recklessness of passion. Sitting. Waiting. Wondering. Imagining.

  I pictured the son or daughter of Leo Battista. Would I be a single mother?

  I’d picked up a handful of pregnancy tests at the pharmacy yesterday, but I hadn’t had the balls to actually use one. They were underneath the sink right now, less than a foot away.

  I glared at the little wooden door that hid them from view.

  Shit.

  I swallowed and opened the lower cabinet, fishing out the pregnancy test and tugging my panties down around my ankles, then climbed tiredly onto the toilet. Here we go. I had to know.

  I was still mid-stream, the little white stick between my legs, when knuckles rapped at the bathroom door and I jolted, warm urine coursing over my hand. I groaned loudly and stood, sending the room for another nauseating little tumble. God, I hadn’t felt this shitty in a long time. Was definitely going to puke again soon.

  “Hey, Sofi,” Madeline called through the wood. “Where’s your cook? I need eggs and toast like whoa.”

  I twisted the faucet and let my head lull back as the water washed over my hands. I lathered up from a bar of soap beside the sink and closed my eyes.

  In just a few minutes, I would know if I was pregnant or not. Maybe after I knew, I would feel secure in partying with Madeline, but so far, going wild and forgetting about Leo was a train that had derailed as soon as it left the station.

  The night before, we’d been in the upstairs lounge of some stupid nightclub. Madeline took her top of
f and danced on the table—not a huge surprise. I’d been kind of sulking in a corner booth with my little glass of orange juice. Madeline had chummed up to a table of coke dealers. Naturally. Yet I was the one who was sick. My head between my hands. Thinking about Leo’s fingers, grainy with sand, locked between mine. Thinking about Leo’s warm smile lighting over me as I dangled from his Porsche’s visor by his knotted tie.

  And Madeline was the one who was bright and chipper in the early hours of the morning—probably hadn’t slept yet—and was ready for eggs.

  The Universe is arbitrary and hilarious.

  “Hold on,” I muttered, gripping the porcelain sink and staring at myself in the mirror. I was still in the wrinkled little black dress from the night before, barefoot now. I shuffled to the door and unlocked it, letting it fall open. The pregnancy test was still developing next to the sink.

  “Whoa, nelly.” Madeline cocked her head at me and lifted an eyebrow quizzically. She was also in a little black dress, but hers wasn’t wrinkled, and she was still wearing her damn heels. Her makeup was still pristine. I didn’t know how she could rage so hard while barely clearing one hundred pounds. It was a shame she couldn’t shrug off her deadpan voice; she actually had the kind of stamina a woman would need to be a Hollywood starlet. “What happened to you last night? James got the wet bar open and you totally vanished.”

  “I was feeling a little sick,” I grumbled, slouching against the doorframe.

  “You didn’t even have a drink,” Madeline scoffed.

  I trudged out of the bathroom and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. “This is going to kill you, Madeline,” I warned her, “but I think it might be a long time until I’m really done with Leonardo Battista. Um, eighteen years, at least.”

  “That’s awfully specific,” Madeline noted, scrunching her brow into a frown. “Listen, baby. I’m your life coach,” she said with uncharacteristic warmth. “I’m here to guide you out of this hole you’re wallowing in.” She drew me toward the staircase, but I resisted. That test would be ready within another sixty seconds. I didn’t have the strength of will to drift too far from it. I had to know.