Bad Boy Confessions - 3 Book Bundle

by Amber Burns

  This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.

  All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  Chapter 1

  Some things would never change.

  My New Jersey hometown looks as if the years hadn’t passed. A little more than sixteen years later, I wish I could say it’s the same for me.

  Tense Finger had changed that for me, for my bandmates, my friends. It had altered everything. Funny, a rock band could do that.

  Far from Hollywood’s easy fun, fast money and even faster living is Orange Compass, the antithesis to the fortune and fame after our band kicked off its multi-million debut.

  It’s like déjà vu central.

  There are the same neat row houses, the snowy lawns and driveways, and the welcome sign toting seven thousand some. I cross in through Main Street – unavoidable if you want to get from the end of the town off the Garden State Parkway to the other end, to my destination.

  Finding parking isn’t hard. Slamming the driver’s side, I look up at the hulking front of the school building and face the memories showering over me no differently than the flurries pouring from the heavens.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I’m mumbling, slamming the rental car close and trekking forward, seeking cover in the unlikeliest of places. Stamping my boots clean of fresh snowfall, I make for the office, the directions coming to me as naturally as breathing.

  For anyone who hadn’t studied at St. Bernard & Justice, the private school’s main campus could be a maze. Nestled in the outskirts of town, it allowed the school to expand its many features for its student body.

  Boasting two large football fields that together could give Fenway Park a run for its size, St. B & J also has two swimming pools, a state-of-the-art music auxiliary campus and a cafeteria that could feed the population of one thousand three times over if normal families could afford the ridiculous annual student fees.

  God knows what else they added since I kissed this halls goodbye two decades ago. Once, long ago, I had planned never to see the glass-and-dark wood, creepily sterile office again; having spent my fair share in the cushiony seats waiting to be disciplined by the vice-principal.

  My hand clenches a little longer than necessary on the handle of the office’s entrance. I inhale through my nose, and exhale hard and fast tugging open and stepping into the office.

  Greeted by warmth that banished all thought of the dismal weather outside, I ignore the teasing lull of falling for the spell pulsing in the room from the optimal central heating to the brilliant smile from the office administrator.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  There’s a glint in her eye and she’s slowly rising out of her chair, hands consciously moving down her front. I peg her to be about another decade off me, but that doesn’t stop her from holding that wide smile, probably her idea of putting me at ease. Too bad it’s got the opposite effect.

  “Yes.” I approach cautiously, stiffly.

  I’m hoping I’ve imagined the whole thing. Yes. She isn’t staring at me and she’s definitely nowhere near close to wiping off the drool from her mouth. No if she’s looking it’s for another reason.

  I chalk it off to being underdressed.

  On my way to LAX, it hadn’t occurred to me to stop by a store and pick up a hat and some mitts, maybe trade my leather jacket for an actual coat. I know my dark, floppy hair is wet and curling about my ears from the snow. I shaved before I left home, but all I have to do is brush a hand over my jaw to confirm the shadowy bristles. And considering I didn’t get any shut-eye on the connected flights into town, my eyes have to be bloodshot. That and my contacts feel grimy in my sockets and I’m blinking too much for my own good.

  Fuck.

  I’m a walking mess.

  That I blame on the nerves. One call and two days later I’m standing in Orange Compass, clearing out my schedule of movie premieres, press conferences and a live V-Day performance. No one, especially me, had been happy about it.

  And why the hell would I be happy about it?

  I had nothing and no one left in this place. Well, almost nothing and no one.

  “I’m here to pick up Lolinda Lopez. She’s supposed to be here after school.”

  The office marm nods and takes her sweet time sitting back and consulting her computer. It takes her that much longer as she divides screen time with occasional glances up at me.

  “Ah yes, Lola’s here. She’s got a meeting with her counsellor. They’re done at five – that should be soon.” She’s smiling at me freely once more, palm tucked under her chin, bright red nails drumming a beat over her cheek. “You look familiar… How are you related to Miss Lopez?”

  I bet I do. All you need to do is type my name in that computer of yours…

  Out loud I say, “I’m a family friend and her godfather, ma’am. Mr. Lopez asked me to stop by.” I don’t add Lola’s father gave me no choice, calling me nearly three thousand miles away to do that job…and more. I have yet to find out what the more is. “I’ll wait outside for her then.” I thank her and peel out of there.

  I am not sure what’s got me weirded out more, her failed attempt at seduction or the attention she’d given me. Of all five years the school, I hadn’t once been given that sort of care, dedication.

  The last office administrator I recall had abhorred me. My office visits were so frequent she once called ahead when I hadn’t done anything, pulling me into the vice-principal’s to sort it out.

  Guess some things have changed.

  I scowl at both thought and memory, chasing them back into the recesses of my mind as I pause in front of the counsellors’ offices. For a student body this large, I never understood the reasoning behind only two counsellors alphabetizing the students by their last names and splitting the group into half amongst them.

  I’m shaking my head at the logic.

  Some of the spoilt brats that attended St. B&J needed more than two counsellors; they needed a whole team of mental health specialists.

  Maybe they could add a ward somewhere between all the campus’ expansions.

  My lips lift up at the absurd thought as I raise my hand.

  I knock out of decency. Fame hadn’t inflated my ego. Besides, I am trying to go incognito. Not too hard when there’s little staff and students around at the time, lowering my odds for recognition and whatever that would follow after that.

  Very few people know I’m in OC, and I’d like for it to stay that way.

  No one answers, leaving me to check it out. The waiting room is dead still. The receptionist that would have answered is away from her desk, likely for the rest of the day, and as I peek into the sliver of a window of the first of the two inner rooms, I realize that the other counsellor – excuse me, Counsellor N-Z, is out for the day too.

  It’s a no-brainer. Lola Lopez would be assigned to Counsellor A-M as per her last name. Sure enough I hear soft voices coming from the other side of the closed door and glimpse the back of my target’s long black hair.

  My first knock gets an answer.

  The door swings open and, call Sports Illustrated, the sexiest woman is standing in front of me.

  I’m picking up my jaw to answer her question. My goddaughter helps me out.

  “Uncle Ry!”

  Stumbling clear of the teen barreling into me, the redhead pulls her spectacles from her face and blinks at us.

  I’m gawking over the top of Lola’s head; meanwhile my body reacting to the hug and giving the kid like for like, my mind is elsewhere. Specifically a good foot away behind Lola’s smiling face and tentacle-like grip.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here! I didn’t believe Dad at all,” she’s gushing out the words, packing everything in on a breath and then hugging me some more. It takes time to pry her off. I wouldn’t have cared as much, only we had audience.

  Sexy audience…who looked pissed?

  Our gazes lock, her frown plain.

  “I’m s
orry, but who are you?” she’s got a deeper voice than I thought. Even with the consistency of smooth extra-old cognac. Maybe that’s her perfume. I resist the instinct to close my eyes and soak up the spice of whatever label she’s wearing.

  “Ryker McBride,” my tongue unsticks from the roof of my mouth and I hold out a hand. There’s just enough time between her picking me up on my offer and a cross of curiosity and annoyance in her narrowing eyes that has me wondering who the hell this woman is – and why is she crossing my path now?

  “Don’t be fooled, I’m too young to be her uncle,” when that doesn’t crack a smile, I add, perhaps a little more awkwardly, “I’m Lola’s godfather. Her father asked that I fill in as her chauffeur today.”

  “Well, we’re not done yet.” She’s blunt and forward, her tone brooking no argument. “It’s a quarter till. But feel free to wait in the waiting room, Mr. McBride?”

  I’m speechless, and Lola is rigid.

  Taken aback, I watch Lopez’s daughter react to the redhead’s brush-off of me. She’s glaring at this beautiful woman I’m realizing is her counsellor considering only the two of them were in the room in the first place.

  My gaze drops to Miss Redhead’s name tag.

  Doctor Astra Olsen. Pretty name, but ‘pretty’ doesn’t define this woman.

  Curvy as sin, both her large breasts and wide hips are exaggerated by the tightening of her blouse and the high-waist black skirt and simple, silver chain accentuating her natural waistline.

  A gold heart-shaped pendant is sitting in the V of her freed top buttons, the promising shadowy valley of her breasts leading my mind to what she looked without her shirt.

  Her hair, more ginger than brunette, is flowing over her shoulders, the ends curling to about the level of her tits. Smokey, hazel eyes grow larger as my gaze wanders back, a hint of the remaining freckles she’d had to have in abundance as a child dotting her nose and pale, coloring cheeks.

  Oh, Dr. Olsen, did you notice I was checking you out?

  My smile is lazy, slow, like a flickering warning before the lights go out on a storm’s account. My cock responds quicker, jerking at the sight of Astra’s parted mouth. Well, I’ll be damned. I think I have a crush on Lola’s counsellor.

  Either she doesn’t share my sentiments of this wondrous first impression or Astra is purposefully shuttering me out and thus a fucking good cock tease if I’ve ever cared for one.

  “I’m sorry, but we’ll only be another,” she drops her attention to regard her wrist watch. Even her wrist, pale and plump with the cutest dimple in the side, is pure rapture for me. “Thirteen minutes now.” There’s a sigh in her tone.

  Lola jumps on it. “I’m leaving with my uncle right now! I’m not staying here.”

  She rushes to grab her back pack, a cute little plaid affair that doubles more as a purse than a school bag. Where does she put her books in there? And why am I not surprised?

  “Lolinda,” Astra starts, cut off when my charming goddaughter raises her hand.

  “Lo-la. Lola! My name is Lola, not Lolinda. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  The red tinging her cheeks darken. Had I not been disturbed by the scene, I would have admired her blush and the teeth working her fuller bottom lip. Dr. Olsen pops the lip free.

  “Lola. I’m sorry. However I really do advise your staying and finishing your session. You’re not scheduled again for almost another week as we have Monday off, remember?”

  “Duh,” Lola snaps. “That’s the point, doc. See you.” She waggled her fingertips and skipped to my side, particularly singing, “I’m ready.”

  “No you aren’t. It looks like you forgot something very important.” I meet Astra’s side profile. She’s turned away after Lola’s appalling idea of a goodbye. I recognize the slight quake in her shoulders, follow her folded arms and imagine the fists that she’s hiding against her sides.

  Man, don’t I sympathize. St. B&J brought out the worst in me all those years ago, even when it was a case of biting the hand that feeds you.

  “I didn’t forget anything. I only brought my bag here,” Lola’s saying. She stops at my scowl. I nudge my head at Astra.

  Lola blinks those dark eyes pronounced by a ring of black mascara and long lashes that just have to be fakes, and her too-pink mouth pooches out her next words, “I don’t get it.”

  “It seems like you forgot your manners and they’re a requirement if you plan to bum a ride with me, kiddo.”

  “But Uncle Ry,” Lola bristles. She’s near to stamping those lethal heels of hers. I control the eye roll, wondering what the hell her parents had to be thinking to let her walk out in those deathtraps given the weather.

  I stand my ground, pulling from the one drama class I took at St. B&J when I cross my arms and tap my boot impatiently.

  “O-Okay,” Lola’s fighting spirit crumples fast, and turning back to Astra she stammers through the shortest apology. She looks to me and waits for my nod of approval.

  “Here.” I hold the keys out to her. “Your dad told me you passed his own version of a driving test. Means I can trust you with this. Go ahead to the car, I’ll catch up.”

  Lola swivels slowly, glancing back at Astra on passing. I note the farewell glare and shake my head when we’re alone.

  “Sorry about that. I don’t remember when the cute kid blew enough candles to become that teen brat.”

  Astra moves to her desk, freeing her hands and gathering the papers on her end. I meet her on the other side, thighs brushing the cherry oak furniture. “I apologize on her behalf. I didn’t know Lola was seeing a counsellor though.”

  She pushes papers into a folder and then starts on the second folder. “I can’t share background of my students with you, Mr. McBride. Unless you have explicit proof that Lolinda’s guardians have signed you off for such matters.”

  “Of course,” I’m all drawl.

  Spreading my hands on her desk, I lean closer, hearing her sharp intake of breath. I grin. Little Miss Unaffected is slipping. “Still I would like to apologize for Lola, nevertheless. That was uncalled for. Mind, I’ll be having a word with her.”

  She’s stubbornly sticking to keeping her head down. I’ll have her looking at me soon enough…

  “I’m only glad she has such a responsible, capable woman in her life. I know how much role models can quietly assert their impression...”

  My stab at a different angle leads her to look at me, finally, but the scalding heat in her gaze suggests I overstepped some invisible boundary.

  “Excuse me, Mr. McBride, I have some work to catch up on before I call it a day and you have the task of seeing your goddaughter home. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She tacks on the end after a substantial pause in which she turns to shuffling folders into the metal drawers behind.

  I watch the back of her head for several heartbeats and getting the message loud and clear, stalk towards the door. Pausing at the threshold, I toss a parting glance over my shoulder. “The pleasure really is all mine, Dr. Olsen.”

  Any sign she heard me comes from the raising of her shoulders, a clear defensive method.

  But she couldn’t possibly be afraid of me?

  I leave before I say something stupid. I have zero desire to scare her away, just as I have no desire to leave Astra Olsen without charming her into giving me a chance to wow her.

  As I mull over why I care about Astra, I start from her appearance and cross that out pretty quickly. I’ve always been attracted to curvier woman and L.A. has its fair share of everything-for-everyone; that and I got up-close and personal with some fleshier strippers as part of my last birthday’s surprise siesta.

  Then what was it?

  I couldn’t think with Lola talking my ear off in the car. I give up trying to pinpoint my finger-snap obsession with her counsellor and concentrate on driving through the thickening snow.

  “Maybe it’ll snow so much there won’t be school tomorrow.” Lola slams her door and follows me up t
o her front porch. I hold out my hands for her keys, noting the pink teddy bear keychain.

  “Cute.”

  “Thanks,” Lola spins into the foyer, leaving me wondering where the brat disappeared to, and then indulging the third hug she’s giving me suddenly. “I’m so happy you’re here though.”

  I smooth a hand over the top of her silky crown, smiling for her sake.

  What I can’t do is fake telling her the same. Although I’m happy to see her, teen brat side or not, I’m far from feeling remotely that or anything more than a clenching fiery reaction for the man coming down the wide staircase, front and center.