The Bad Boys of Eden

by Avery Aster

  Well, her physical presence had disappeared.

  Unfortunately, her face was plastered on billboards all around the damned world as the face of Corruption, a limited edition best selling scent that only the über rich could afford. For the world-wide advertising campaign the woman he loved had been photographed in Greece leaning back against ancient ruins bleached by the sun. Gabriella had been cast for the Pour Femme version of the scent, along with male supermodel Noah Blake for the Pour Homme version.

  Jacob would never forget the time he’d nearly crashed his car right in the middle of central London when he'd first seen her, so much larger than life, plastered on the side of a red London bus. She wore a black bustier, which pushed her small breasts together elevating them above her tiny ribcage. Diamond earrings dangled from her ears and a matching single diamond glittered between her breasts. Breasts he’d kissed, caressed and adored. Her long strawberry-blonde hair was tousled, windswept, as her hazel eyes, smudged with kohl, stared into the distance. Slashing eyebrows, fabulous cheekbones and a full mouth blessed with lips that were made for kissing tortured him as he’d simply sat and stared at her. Stared, unable to move, at everything he'd lost. Every time he picked up a glossy magazine or turned on the television it was like another hard bump to the livid bruise on his heart.

  He simply could never escape her.

  And he’d spent money, serious money, in a vain attempt to track her down.

  The company who handled her public relations, run by his brother Lucas, had no idea where she was either. All she’d told them was that life was too short to waste time doing something that didn’t feed her soul. She was taking a sabbatical, had given up modelling to follow her dreams and couldn’t be contacted.

  Jacob had flown to New York to meet with Tobin Gillespie, Lucas’s partner and Gabriella’s agent, to get to the truth. But it was obvious Tobin was just as stunned, just as worried, and ultimately just as confused as Jacob.

  While he was in New York he’d met with Noah Blake in case the passion, lust and chemistry between him and Gabriella had transferred off screen. But the guy had made it crystal clear that their relationship had been nothing but professional. It was obvious to Jacob that Noah was astonished, too, because according to him she’d been super-excited about her forthcoming wedding and couldn’t wait to embrace her future with Jacob.

  Then he’d tried Gabriella’s twin sister, Sophie.

  He’d always had a good relationship with Sophie, at least he thought he'd had. But after telling him that her sister was fine she’d refused to take his calls. And since Sophie was now in the middle of the Kenyan bush studying mosquito larvae for the World Health Organisation, Jacob Del Garda was stuck, trapped in anger and despair, trapped in the unknown with no answers.

  If there was one thing Jacob took pride in it was that he was a man who faced things head on. He was a problem solver who took action, who found solutions, who fixed things.

  But he couldn’t fix this.

  And it was fucking killing him.

  * * *

  The nights were the worst.

  When he’d found himself reaching for the Cognac too often, he’d retreated to the gym to pound for miles on the treadmill, to beat the shit out of the punch bag, and to bench press his own body weight. And the results were clear to see. He was a lean fighting machine, and as mean as hell. His temper these days was a live and vicious thing and he kept it on a closely controlled leash.

  The people who loved him, his father Don Norberto and his brother Lucas, had been worried sick about him. Jacob was sorry for it. They’d tried to talk to him, but he kept a tight lid on his emotions. The last thing he wanted to do was to break down and cry like a baby because once he started he was terrified he’d never stop. So he’d kept away from his family and buried himself in work. However, it was his sister-in-law Rebecca who’d managed to reach out and to connect with him. Rebecca recognised another person struggling to cope with loss. She’d had been through her own personal version of hell on earth when her first husband had dropped dead of a brain aneurysm at the age of thirty-four, and then she’d lost the baby daughter she’d been carrying.

  The way his brother Lucas had battled to capture Rebecca’s heart had been a salutary lesson in the truth that true love conquered all. And now Lucas and Rebecca had been blessed with twin boys. Jacob adored his nephews. Without them, without his family, he’d no idea what he’d have done.

  He had good days, and he had bad days.

  Still, he couldn’t seem to lose the feelings of anger, of utter helplessness, and of a bone deep abiding pain that was so relentless it unnerved him.

  He hadn’t had another woman. Hadn’t looked at another woman because he wanted, needed, only one. In his darkest hours he sometimes wished Gabriella had died because at least it meant a person knew there was a certain kind of closure. And right on the heels of that diabolical thought came guilt. But the way she’d walked right out of the door, the way she’d trembled, the look in those spectacular eyes of deep gold haunted him still. Because he’d read regret, pain and something that he was absolutely certain had been terror.

  What on earth had she been so scared of?

  Him?

  Hell, he’d treated her like porcelain.

  She had that fine fair skin that marked, bruised, too easily.

  Christ, if he closed his eyes he could smell her, taste her, and hear those clipped vowels in precise English as she called him, darling. Jacob, darling, as she took him into her tight, slick heat. As she stroked, tasted his...

  Stop.

  Bitter experience had taught him that kind of thinking got him nowhere.

  Taking a shaky breath, he fought to gain control over his thoughts, his raging libido.

  The tension that corded his neck, his spine, his thighs and all the bits in between, made his hand clench into a tight fist. He took deep, cleansing breaths. What was it Rebecca said, "No negative thoughts, Del Garda. Stamp ‘em dead. One day you’ll receive the answers you need to move forward. Until then live your life the best way you can and try to find it in your heart to forgive her."

  Rebecca was right.

  As for forgiveness?

  Jacob Del Garda was a Spaniard, a Catalan, descended from warriors.

  No forgiveness.

  Not in this lifetime.

  A brisk knock snapped Jacob right back to reality.

  His P.A. popped her blonde head around the door.

  She opened her mouth to speak then narrowed grey eyes at the look on his face.

  "You okay?"

  It cost him, but he managed a smile. "Si, Julie. What can I do for you?"

  Her brow rose in a way that told him the smile hadn’t fooled her.

  "I’ve Tobin Gillespie on line one. He says it’s urgent."

  He’d been so busy living in the past the flashing light on his direct line had gone unnoticed. And because he’d held a meeting and a conference call earlier, he hadn’t switched on the ringtone of his cell phone. He checked the missed calls, the voicemail and the texts for him to call Tobin ASAP.

  "Put him through."

  Jacob picked up the receiver, and winced when Tobin’s roar came on the line.

  "Dontcha ever pick up your fucking messages, Del Garda?"

  ‘Disculpas, Tobin, I...’

  But his friend interrupted his apology, "No problemo, my son. Listen, I’ve got news."

  Jacob usually had a lot of time for his brother’s business partner and best friend. But today he wasn’t in the best frame of mind for games.

  "Today is not a good day to yank my..."

  "Just shut the hell up and listen," Tobin yelled.

  With his temper bubbling on a nice steady simmer, Jacob drummed his fingers on his desk.

  "I am listening," he said in a silky voice.

  "Jesus H. Right, you’ve got the big Monroe engagement party on Friday night?"

  "Si."

  Now Tobin gave a truly diabolical laugh. "Well, I�
��ve just negotiated the contract for the photographer for the event."

  Silence.

  Clinging to patience with his fingernails, Jacob said, "I still do not..."

  "It’s Gabriella."

  Jacob shot upright in his chair and rubbed the spot where his heart was battering against his ribs.

  "When did she..."

  "All in good time, my son. All in good time. And you’ll never guess who’s coming with her and who’s booked one of the fancy, swanky cottages at Ludlow Hall for a two week break?"

  Jacob’s throat went as dry as dust.

  Her boyfriend?

  Her fiancé?

  God help him... her husband?

  He shook his head and realised Tobin couldn’t see him.

  "Who?"

  "Sophie. I’m on my way to the airport now. I’ll be with you tomorrow morning. Get ready, pal. Karma is gonna be a bitch."

  # # #

  Yours Truly, Taddy

  Avery Aster

  A New Adult erotic adventure of self-discovery on an island where things aren't always what they seem..

  Jetting to Martinique for a modeling assignment with three of Europe’s hottest magazine photographers—Gustave, Fabian, and Leon—should’ve been easy, breezy beautiful. Never did I expect to look up and see a hole in the ceiling of our plane that was bigger in size than my Birkin bag.

  Shit! We’re nose-diving toward Eden Island. I pictured how my New York Times obituary might read when I’m gone, “Taddy Brill, Manhattanite, dethroned descendant of the Austrian House of Brillford royalty, dies at age eighteen, penniless, unloved, and a virgin.” I swear this crap only happens to me. Suddenly, Leon pulls me with Fabian and Gustave. Adrenaline racing through me, our bodies clung as one. We prepared to…crash.

  Copyright 2015 Avery Aster

  Table of Contents

  Part 1

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Part 2

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Part 3

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About The Author

  Go to next book

  Go to previous book

  Go to Table of Contents

  Dedication

  To Julie, who…

  This book is for the student who I met in the back of a police car during my freshman year of high school. The girl who during my sophomore year served me my first lemon drop, telling me, “You’re gonna love this!” The best friend who during my junior year set me up with a guy that changed my life—in ways I’d never imagined. The woman who gave birth to my god-daughter after we’d graduated, and the reader who, two decades later, roots for the Taddy Brill in all of us. I double-heart you Julie K! Thank you for everything. I’ll see you in St. Tropez.

  Love,

  Avery

  Author’s Note:

  My novels are escapism in the purest form. They are romantic, snarky, hot, and a li’l cray-cray. Events in this story take place in 2002 and are a figment of my imagination. Have fun!

  Cast of Characters: Major Players

  Tabitha Adelaide “Taddy Brill” Brillford (18): Broke but determined, Taddy accepts a job as a fashion model to pay for her college tuition.

  Alexandra “Lex” Easton (18): Daughter to famed rockers Eddie & Birdie Easton, Lex and Taddy have known one another their entire lives.

  Blake Morgan (18): Prada fanatic and out of the closet since the day puberty struck, Blake is the clique’s gay bestie.

  Viveca “Vive” Farnworth (18): Lhaso Apso lover and heiress to Farnworth Firewater Liquor Company, Vive is a party girl who met Lex, Taddy, and Blake while in boarding school.

  Gustave Le Cartier (21): France’s leading fashion photographer. He’s a dominant alpha in bed. His famed celebrity photographs are praised by the world.

  Fabian Henri: (20) Flirtatious and alluring he works as Taddy’s stylist helping her get dressed.

  Leon Lartique (19): Set and lighting designer Leon works with Gustave and Fabian trying to get Taddy to loosen up a bit for the camera.

  Part One

  I blame it on Lex’s Xanax

  “My bestie Taddy Brill should’ve taken the handout we’d offered her. But nooo, she had to let her pride get in the way, accepting a modeling gig in the Caribbean to pay for her college tuition. Lex, Blake, and I jetted along for moral support. If we knew then, what we know now, we should’ve stayed home on the Upper East Side, where we belonged.” —Vive Farnworth, wealthiest teenager in New York, socialite and aspiring gossip columnist.

  Prologue

  From the Desk of Avon Porter Academy

  January 4, 1999

  Dear Countess Irma & Joseph Graf Brillford,

  We enjoy having your daughter, Tabitha Adelaide, in our school. She is an exemplary student who goes out of her way to help others and is a role model among her peers.

  It’s unfortunate that you didn’t send for her during the Christmas break. Our Avon Porter staff can board the students only with advanced noticed. She stayed with our gym teacher Mrs. Pringle who stated that Tabitha Adelaide is under the impression she will never see you again. At only fourteen, I wonder where she’s getting these outrageous thoughts. Please call us at your earliest convenience so we may help set your only daughter’s mind at ease.

  Yours fondly,

  Emily Garrett, Headmistress

  March, 5, 2000

  Dear Countess Irma & Joseph Graf Brillford,

  Our infirmary has diagnosed Tabitha Adelaide with mononucleosis. Her recovery may take up to two months. We have tried to contact your Manhattan and Frankfurt residences and have been unsuccessful. You have not seen your daughter since you dropped her off last year. The doctor mentioned quality time with you may expedite her recovery. She is very sick. Please call us.

  Take Care,

  Emily Garrett, Headmistress

  February 18, 2001

  Dear Countess Irma & Joseph Graf Brillford,

  Our accounting office reported that you haven’t paid Tabitha Adelaide’s tuition for the last two years. We asked fellow Avon Porter parent, Birdie Easton, to check-in on your whereabouts. Mrs. Easton lives in your building and mentioned you have extended your African safari and are unavailable.

  Mrs. Easton has offered to pay the outstanding balance under the condition that we do not discuss this with your daughter. I understand Tabitha Adelaide has filed for emancipation in the family courts. This letter will also serve as notice we will be a witness for the prosecution in this case, speaking on your daughter’s behalf. The Avon Porter staff is appalled at your behavior.

  Goodbye,

  Emily Garrett, Headmistress

  Chapter One

  Three Men and a Virgin

  Bermuda Triangle, August 2002

  Up to this point, the only thing that had kept my mind off this horrific flight was staring at the cute little ears, broad shoulders, and wavy-haired heads of the three hottest men I’d ever worked with in my entire life.

  That’s right. I, Taddy Brill, sat behind un, deux, trois of Europe’s finest. They were hunky, lean yet muscular, and just about the sexiest specimens of male, ever.

  Good Lord. I wanted to rip my sundress off and scream, “Take me!”

  But I didn’t.

  Not once this week had the boys given me the time of day, let alone a flirtatious glance, leading me to believe that I didn’t have a chance.

  If I thought about them too much I’d get depressed. Instead I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how we were going to get through this one-way flight to hell.

  I hate airplanes, especially tiny ones that I can’t stand up in without hitting my head. You wouldn’t believe the problems that come with being six-feet tall. My friends call me a glamizon. Trust me, there’s nothing glamorous about freakishly towering over people.

  Before anyone asks, no, I didn’t play women’s basketball at the Avon Porter Academy. And y
es, my date to prom my senior year was much shorter than me. The poor bastard had such a Napoleon complex that I’d even worn flats.

  It’s not like I can wear my Manolo stilettos when flying. Knowing this, I’d picked up these tacky-ass, bedazzled flip-flops from some overpriced gift shop on Collins Avenue before we left for Martinique. I had to watch every penny until I got paid by my agent. Buying these overpriced flip-flops had made me rather angry. Surely I didn’t sport footwear like this back home in New York City. Not unless I wanted to have the dirtiest feet on the planet, even if they did have a gazillion Swarovski crystals glued to the top of them. Recently I’d been riding the subway to get around town. No limos for moi. Not anymore.

  I sat in 12B next to my gay best friend (GBF) Blake Morgan. His legs are longer than mine. We must look like two giraffes crowding under a tree.

  Blake resembles a younger version of Jude Law meets Matt Damon. When we went to the premiere of The Talented Mr. Ripley a few years ago, I couldn’t decide who Blake looked more like.

  Next to us in 12C was my best friend forever (BFF) Lex Easton. Famed daughter to rockers Eddie and Birdie Easton, she’d recently discovered her submissive side with a dominant she’d referred to fondly as Master Ford. Right now, Lex was zonked out on anti-anxiety medication. Let’s pray she doesn’t end up like her pill-popping mother. But I don’t think that’ll happen. She just hates the idea of being cramped on this flying tin can as much as I do. Her curvy caboose barely fits in the seat.

  To top it all off like a vodka floater shot, my very best friend (VBF) Vive Farnworth sitting in 12D is buzzed. Ever since our recent incarceration over an accidental explosion at Lex’s penthouse, Vive’s been tossing ‘em back, more than usual.

  We’d only been locked up for a day or so. Not six months, like the time before when we’d all been accused of murder and spent a semester in juvie. I’ll get into that, much later.

  In addition to my flip-flops wanna know what else I hate? The Caribbean! For reasons I’ll elaborate on in just a second. However, I’ll give ‘ya a clue. It starts with the letter “c” and sounds like “trash.”

  Now, if someone, anyone, maybe even you, had told me that by the time I turned eighteen my parents, Countess Irma and Joseph Graf Brillford, would’ve disowned me as their only daughter—leaving me unable to pay for the Ivy League education I’d busted my boarding school ass to get into—I’d roll my green eyes, chug a can of Redbull, and offer, “May you never drown in a vat of dog semen, thank you and buh-bye.” And by never, I mean forever and always.