Payne: A Bad Boy Romance: (With bonus book Mine)

by Kim Linwood

  Blaze Molloy, king of the blinding smile, looks about as white as his commercials promised to make your teeth. He’s not happy, but he nods.

  Hunter’s fingers squeeze, and Blaze winces.

  Still, nobody steps in.

  When we were younger, Hunter would get like this with his Dad, or anyone that he felt was manipulating him. As much as I’d love to see someone punch Blaze, I doubt he was really at fault for what happened to us. Not deliberately anyway.

  “Hunter.” I step forward, putting a hand on his arm. He tenses, muscle moving under my fingers. As a teen he was lean and strong. As a man, his strength both frightens and thrills me. “We’re cold.”

  He glances down, anger sliding darkly behind his blue eyes. He gives Blaze’s wrist another little twist. “Are. We. Clear?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Blaze spits out.

  “Good.” Hunter pushes him away, turning his back on him like he hasn’t just humiliated the shifty game host. “Daniel?” The guy from the helicopter comes over. “Take the girls to their rooms and make sure their things are there so they can get cleaned up and into dry clothes.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Friend? Butler? Butler friend? I’m not sure who Daniel is, but he seems to work for Hunter and when he says ‘Yes, Sir’, it doesn’t sound like ‘Fuck you’, unlike when Blaze said it. Daniel leads the way and we turn to follow.

  “Oh,” Hunter raises a hand, raking his fingers through his messy hair. “Make sure Sarah is in the Rose room. Amanda can be next to her.”

  Daniel cocks his head, watching Hunter curiously, but nods. “Of course.”

  My heart drops into my stomach, and then pounds its way back up until the rapid thud is all I hear.

  The Rose room.

  It was my grandmother’s favorite room, decorated in soft colors and always full of fresh roses. It overlooks the ocean, and as a child I’d play in there for hours, pretending the formerly elegant sofa by the window was my ship, and gazing out the window watching for the Royal Navy.

  Hunter missed those years—mostly—but even when I grew too old for that game, it was my favorite spot in the house to study, or just pass time where my mother wouldn’t come looking.

  This is so confusing.

  The room is important to me, but if he knew who I was, he’d put me in my old bedroom, right? That would be an obvious sign. The Rose room might just be him making sure someone who’d gone through a difficult experience got a nice place to sleep.

  I look back, but he’s turned away.

  Unlike the eight suspicious women who are glaring at me and Amanda like we asked for this to happen. Elena and a few of her crew are clearly furious, while Megan and some of the others just look curious and a little annoyed.

  I hurry up to make sure I don’t fall behind. Right now, Hunter and Amanda are the only two people on the island I think I can trust. A woman I’m in direct competition with and a man I fully intend to take my birthright back from.

  The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me.

  11

  Hunter

  I toss again, rolling over onto my side so I can look out the window. I never closed the curtains, so the full moon, looking huge in the sky, cuts a slash of light into my bedroom. It’s so bright the stars right around it are hard to see, but they’re there. Not a cloud in the sky now. Man, what a day.

  Fuck. Almost ten years. You’d think I’d have Liz worked out of my system by now. I thought I had. At least until she showed up. Now she’s the only thing on my mind.

  What does she want?

  Gone all that time, only to show up on a fucking reality show? That’s so unlikely it’s crazy. No way that’s a fucking coincidence.

  After the way she and her mother were made to leave, I’m trying to picture Liz competing to marry me, and I laugh softly. Nah, the daggers in her eyes that day were lethal. I’d forced myself to stay when Dad told them, because it’d be my last chance to see her before he shipped me off to boarding school, but I think she’d have been just as happy if I hadn’t been there.

  I turn over, trying to find a good sleeping position, but my mind won’t let go. I was sixteen, for Christ’s sake. What could I have done back then? Nothing.

  What can I do now? I can get rid of her early. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Hell, my island’s crawling with hot babes. If I wanted to, I bet I could find some private time with at least some, and probably most of them, by the time the show’s done.

  Each time I try to picture one of them under me, though, she immediately turns into a certain curvy redhead with one green and one brown eye. Obviously, that’s not even an option.

  That brings me to the alternative, which is to figure out what she’s up to. To draw her out and find a way to force her to show her hand. I entertain the idea of seducing her, and my sheet tents at the thought, but I’m probably the last guy she’s going to want to screw.

  So why is she here?

  No, it’s not the light that’s keeping me awake.

  It’s Liz.

  And my fucking father’s idiotic show.

  And my stomach, which rumbles like an earthquake.

  One of those at least I can do something about.

  Throwing the sheet aside, I get up and stretch my toes, before setting course for the kitchen. My foot bangs into something hard, and I hiss a soft “Fuck,” between my teeth. Even with the light from the moon, I still manage to trip over the cot we dragged into my room for Danny to sleep on. I try to catch my balance, but end up sprawled across his legs.

  “Bloody hell! What’s going—” He sits up, eyes blurry, looking like he’s expecting to find us under attack. “For fucks sake, there’s a house full of women who want to jump your bones but you end up in my bed? I don’t know if I should be concerned or flattered.”

  I give him a shove and a kick for good measure as I get back up. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

  The house might have a ton of rooms, but between the girls and the TV crew, he’s had to give up his usual room to the camera guys. Not exactly what you might expect from a fancy butler, but the viewers at home won’t know, and it’s not like we didn’t share closer quarters during my stint at boarding school.

  He yawns and lies back down. “Going out on a midnight search for love?”

  “Midnight search for meat, more like.”

  “Ah, then you did come to the right place.” Danny grabs his crotch suggestively and wiggles his eyebrows. “Except, I hate to disappoint, but I’m saving myself for the right girl.”

  “However will I survive?”

  “Life is full of disappointment, Sir. Better to learn the lesson young. Now get the hell out and let me sleep.”

  He buries his face in his pillow, flipping me off as I slip out the door to see what’s left in my pantry. They brought in a shitload of food with the show, but they’ve been helping themselves to whatever they can find as well. Fucking scavengers.

  I walk by Liz’s room, trailing my fingers over her door. It’s cracked open just a tiny bit, and I resist the urge to go in and shake her awake, demanding to know what she’s doing here.

  Her room and the one her mother used before they left were the first to go when my father got it in his head to start renovating. Fortunately, for the sake of the house, he got bored with it just as fast, moving on to more exciting things like tennis courts.

  We don’t even play tennis.

  Thank fucking God the trust fund from my mother’s side doesn’t pay out in one lump sum. I would’ve come home to find a life-size model steam train puffing around the island like a tropical Sodor.

  The next best thing I could give Liz was the Rose room. I have a lot of happy memories of us sitting in there together, her on the sofa and me sprawled across the floor as we worked on the assignments our tutor gave us.

  It’s for the best that I don’t go in. I’m pretty sure confronting her while she’s in bed would be both a completely brilliant and ultimately horrible idea. Whatever she’s up
to, one crook of her finger, and I’d be more concerned with fucking her into the mattress than analyzing her motives.

  I stop and remind myself again why that’s not a good idea.

  Scheming women. My drama televised across the world. Plenty of no strings attached pussy elsewhere.

  It’s still a close call.

  12

  Liz

  My stomach growls like an angry lion. I cover it with my hand and stare up at the ceiling in frustration. God, I’m hungry.

  The little alarm clock on the nightstand shines softly in the dark. 2:07 AM. I should be asleep, but I was more tired than hungry at dinner, and I didn’t eat much.

  I roll over, but my eyes refuse to stay closed. My stomach gurgles and groans. Thanks to my nap after we got back, I’m not even tired.

  It’s weird to be sleeping in my grandmother’s old room. I don’t remember her—she died before I was born—but I’ve heard so many stories and spent so much time with her things that I almost feel like I do. I’m surprised Hunter and his father didn’t burn the place to the ground and rebuild. If my room is the same, I’d love to see.

  I smile to myself.

  Hopefully whoever’s sleeping there likes purple and has a thing for the Jonas Brothers. I might have been a wild pirate princess, but I was still a teenage girl.

  I’m not going to be sleeping any time soon, so I might as well take a trip down to the kitchen. I know the way, and the moon’s so bright there’s no need for a light. Should I put in my contacts? Nah. The one person I was wearing them for already knows the green is fake.

  Hunter’s butler Daniel—who says to call him Danny—brought me one of the contestant care packages with my things earlier. Fancy soaps and shampoos, along with one of the fuzziest bathrobes I’ve ever worn. Way fancier than the old threadbare flannel one I’d packed.

  I slip it on over my sleeping t-shirt, marveling at the feel of the fabric against my skin, and cinching it tight to keep from flashing anyone. My bare feet pad silently down the hall.

  It’s like sneaking through a ghost house. In a couple hours the staff will get up, and it’ll come alive, but for now it’s just me. I bet with all his money, Hunter has more people working here than we used to. Crazy to think that this big old estate is packed to the gills with people. We used so little of it day to day.

  Right now, though, it’s all mine.

  I walk down the stairs, avoiding the creakiest boards and soaking in the feeling of being home. I’ve always loved this time. Living in a house with both family and staff—who were really more like family—you get used to there always being people around. Times like these were rare.

  Sometimes, I’d wake up in the middle of the night and go exploring. Walking the house in darkness, all alone. Or sneaking out onto the roof to watch the stars.

  I vow to do that at least once before I leave.

  God knows I’m used to being alone now, but it was a novelty back then.

  Walking into the kitchen, I stop and stare. Everything is more or less where it used to be, but it’s all fancy and new. The burnished steel appliances stand out next to the weathered old wood and tiles, but even those have been polished and repaired. It looks like a picture from an Island Living magazine. I want to hate it, but it’s gorgeous.

  Opening the fridge door takes a solid yank, but it’s worth the effort when I spy all the cold cuts. Jackpot. Used to store brand bologna and shrink-wrapped cheese, this is like gazing into the promised land of sandwich making.

  Not just cold cuts, either. The fridge is jam-packed with all sorts of goodies. It’s tempting to take advantage of the well-stocked kitchen and make something, especially if that’s actually homemade spicy chili sauce I see in the jar back there, but there’s no way I can get away with it before someone notices. I grab a few things and set to work, piling it all high on bread I bet was actually baked here on the island.

  I wolf down half, and wash it down with ginger beer. Spicy and bubbly, it tickles my tongue. A tiny burp escapes. Too much, too fast.

  Oh, what the hell.

  Opening up my airways, I let the carbonated pressure build. Hand on my stomach, I open my mouth and let ’er rip. The resulting blast impresses even me, and I raise an arm, turning to the crowd and thanking my invisible audience for their support.

  Actual clapping wasn’t part of the plan.

  “Bra-vo!”

  Hunter steps out of the shadows. He looks all rumpled and sexy standing there with his pajama pants hanging low, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of muscle. I squeeze my eyes closed and will the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

  It doesn’t happen.

  I don’t want to look, but I do. I don’t want to feel all warm and tingly, but I do that too.

  “Midnight snack, Sarah?” he asks as he saunters into the kitchen.

  Picking up my bottle, he gives it a shake to see how much is left, and tips it up, lips wrapping around the mouth and taking a few deep swallows.

  I grab it back with a huff. “Hey! That’s mine.”

  He looks around. “No. No, I’m pretty sure this is my kitchen. Which makes that my soda.” He picks up the other half of my sandwich. “And this my food.”

  “Possession is nine tenths of the law.” I grab for the sandwich but he blocks me, grabbing my arm instead.

  This close, his masculine scent teases my senses. His chest is right in front of me, a smooth, broad canvas of golden skin and inky designs. Given our history, I’d have felt something for him even if he looked like a totally normal guy, but he’s not. He’s rich and gorgeous.

  I’m broke and awkward.

  When he steps even closer, I find myself trapped against the counter. Above his chiseled jaw, his lips are twisted in a cocky smirk. When I finally bring myself to meet his eyes, I find them focused downwards. Following his gaze, I realize with a start that my robe is loose. From where he’s standing, he has a straight view down the wide V-neck of my shirt.

  I tug my robe shut. “Didn’t get your fill of looking earlier?”

  “Nope. Too much fabric. This is much better.”

  So much for trying to shock him. “Wow, that’s some powerful honesty.”

  “Thank you.” He shrugs, and the play of muscle under his skin almost distracts me from how much of an ass he’s being. “I mean, I can play the game if you want, but you’ve already pretty much signed up to fuck me, so I don’t see the point.”

  Holy shit.

  “You can’t seriously mean that,” I sputter.

  “I know I won’t sleep with everyone—that just seems unnecessary, even for me—but come on, you don’t think I could knock on any of those doors tonight and spend a few very pleasant hours?”

  “I know of at least one you’d find slammed in your face.”

  “Yours doesn’t count, obviously. You’re down here.”

  I’m not sure what’s more annoying, his attitude, or that he’s not totally wrong. Truthfully, even though I’m here to get my home back, it was never Hunter that I blamed for my situation. No, my mother and his father did that one all on their own.

  Do I resent him for having what’s mine? Absolutely. Do I still feel a twinge of humiliation at finding out he hadn’t returned my feelings after we graduated? Oh yeah.

  But do I hate him? It would be easier if I did.

  Though, if he keeps talking, he might solve that for me.

  He watches me closely, as he finishes my sandwich. “So if not to get a piece of this,” he says as he gestures to himself. “Why did you sign up?”

  To conquer your kingdom and reclaim it as my own, usurper! No, better to go with the planned cover story. “I’ve always loved these sorts of shows, I guess. Plus I’ve always liked traveling.”

  “Netflix and Greyhound are cheaper.”

  “But then I’d be missing out on all this witty banter!” I snap.

  Hunter steps back and laughs. “Oh, you’re fun. I’m keeping you.”

  Smile, nod and run away whi
le you still can! I shout to myself in vain. “I’m going to lose everything now. I’ll be the biggest losery loser you’ve ever seen and you’ll have no choice but to send me away and find some other poor girl to torment.”

  “I don’t think you mean that.” He wipes a crumb off his lip and smiles like he’s still hungry and wants dessert. “I think we’ll be spending plenty of time together, Sarah.”

  Oh, God. He’s right. I can’t lose or I’ll be sent home before I can find the deed. It hadn’t really sunk in exactly how much time I’d have to be spending with Hunter if I do well enough to stick it out.

  I tighten my robe and turn to leave. “I’m going back to bed. I wouldn’t recommend knocking on my door.”

  “That’s fine, there are nine more.” His words slice right through my gut, spilling out all sorts of feelings I don’t want to examine. “Sweet dreams.”

  Yeah, right.

  13

  Liz

  In the morning, breakfast is served on the terrace. Amanda waves when she spots me, and points at an empty chair next to her and Megan. They’ve grabbed a table along with some of the other non-Barbies. I pour myself a coffee, generously loading it with milk and sugar, before setting it down to claim my spot.

  “Try the fruit salad!” Amanda gushes. “I don’t even know what this green thing is, but it’s so good.”

  Megan nods in agreement, mouth full of eggs.

  I grin. It’s nice to see fresh fruit that isn’t an apple or a pear for a change. I pile my plate high with everything in sight, making sure to grab an extra slice of toast.

  Heather, one of Elena’s sidekicks, looks down her sculpted nose at me and plucks a yogurt cup out of a bowl of ice. “I suppose if I were you, I’d be pigging out too.”