I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances

by Sophie Brooks

  “Smells great, but you get the first taste.”

  “I’m not tasting plain vinegar.”

  “May I, then?” I asked. He leaned forward, curious. “Go ahead, I dare you, Eve.”

  I smelled the pungent, sweet liquid as its viscous body oozed over the stainless steel spoon. I dipped my tongue in; a complex bouquet of dried fruit and florals assaulted my senses and I sipped a bit off, letting it invade my mouth and bloom into a complex, sweet-and-sour bouquet. My eyes widened in surprised delight.

  “It’s amazing. Here, you try.”

  He did, not to be outdone, but his expression was a puzzled frown. “This is totally different.”

  “Isn’t it? Wow. Not at all like the big-bottle balsamic I know. Now drizzle a spoonful over your food and taste it again.”

  He did, and I did, and the only sound audible was that of eating, and of silverware clicking against his stoneware plates.

  “That Claire is a strange duck,” Raf commented. “But she sure can cook.”

  WITH PLATES put away, I thought I’d pull out my laptop and do a search on our mysterious doorman, but between the day’s adventures and the excellent meal, I was bushed. I yawned again.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” Raf said, escorting me to my room so he could restore the dressing on my butt cheek. Then he squeezed my shoulder and lingered, as though he wanted to say something, or maybe do something, and I sat there, motionless, not daring to chase him off.

  “Good night, Evelyn,” he finally sighed, walking away from me. The sight of his alluring physique on his way out only added insult to injury.

  IT WAS DARK and I was tired, yet I couldn’t fall asleep. Why didn’t he have any interest in me? Obviously he cared. He was protective. Nurturing, even. He had reminded me to submit my invoice so I could get paid. He turned his junky guest room into a peaceful haven, customized to my taste. He’d been jealous.

  Jealous.

  And hurt.

  It was close to midnight and he’d probably be asleep – but we didn’t need to get very far. I craved a bit of closeness, a caress, anything. Even a good fight would have been better than the polite reserve of the last four days – the cool, courteous manner one displayed to clients and distant acquaintances.

  I slipped out of my bed and limped through the darkened apartment. I had broken into it enough times to navigate it blindfolded. Here was my hallway, and the living room and the television and his hallway and his bathroom with a closet next to it, and his bedroom window, still lit up by an ethereal glow of street lamps and neon signs.

  I loved that window.

  Then there was Rafael’s king-size bed, and he was in it, sprawled right down the middle. He slept in the nude and was covered with a cotton sheet, and he looked as gorgeous as the first time I ever set my eyes upon him.

  He was left-handed, so if he wanted to reach for me, he’d want me to be on his right side. I shuffled to the right side of his bed and eased myself down, settling my head upon his shoulder. I could tell he hadn’t showered after work; his warm scent carried to my nostrils.

  Just a bit of closeness.

  My choice of position left me lying on my hurt side, and it ached, but I didn’t care. I was in bed with Rafael, feeling his warmth, smelling his musk and his aftershave.

  “EVELYN.” His whisper carried through the darkness as his large, warm left hand ran over my shoulder, pulling me closer.

  I hissed in pain.

  “Turn the other way.”

  Carefully, I did. I turned my back to him, letting him drape his arm across my chest as he spooned me from behind. Dry lips nuzzled my neck, tasting their way up to my shoulder.

  I sighed in happy contentment.

  Tender lips gave way to sharp teeth; I hissed again as he nipped my trapezius from behind. Soft tongue worried the distended flesh.

  “Rafael!”

  “Yeah…”

  “Don’t start what you can’t finish. I still have some technical difficulties on my end.”

  His right hand slid under me, wrapped around my neck in a tight, possessive hold as his talented left trailed down my ticklish ribs, my tired abs, easing its way under the elastic of those erotic silk boxer shorts.

  I gasped.

  “There’s more than one way to skin a cat, Goldilocks,” he whispered.

  The evidence of his excitement pressed into my rear, against the small of my back and I pushed into it, eager to feel more. He eased the boxers off my middle and down to my knees. I felt his blunt tip tease my behind as he ground into me. I wanted more, even though having more was a very, very bad idea.

  A few more days…Arrgh!

  He sensed my frustration at being unable to lie on my back. “Shhh…” he said, moving further down my legs and pulling my hips further back. “Can you lift your leg a little?”

  I did, surprised to find him aim his swollen length between my thighs, stroking in and out right under my tender parts, and I could feel the delicate, gentle brushes against me and the occasional, blunt hit against a target that made me moan. I reached between my legs, my hand caressing his length from the other side.

  “Just let go, Rafael,” I whispered. “I want to feel you… right in my hand.”

  The words loosened something inside him as I gasped, him moving against my hand for a few thrusts that left me writhing with pleasure; then I felt his coiled, wet heat explode.

  “Grrraaaahwwrrr!”

  My wound persisted in aching as I forced the distended muscles to work for me, move for me. I knew I’d pay later, but I didn’t care.

  He caught his slick seed in his hand and slid it between my legs, wet and smooth.

  “How’s your wound?” He asked, breathless.

  “I can’t tell…Just…whatever you’re doing...” My breathing quickened and my eyes grew heavy, and soon, I felt no pain at all.

  “Here, tissues.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I cleaned the stickiness off my hand, I raised it to my lips with a measure of curiosity. My tongue darted out as I smelled him, tasting his essence. Bitter and briny and musky, same as before.

  I’d get used to it.

  My eyes slid up to his face as I settled on my back, taking advantage of natural anesthesia. I saw his eyes bright in the dim light of his bedroom, watching me. He didn’t say anything. I finished tasting him and he turned my chin toward his face, kissing my lips, letting his tongue plunge in for a secondary sampling of his own flavor.

  We broke for air.

  “I don’t want you stalking Kirby around,” he said, his voice hoarse and tight.

  “I’m being careful.”

  “No. I lost Celia already. I’m not losing you, too.”

  I didn’t respond. Of course I’d stick my nose into Kirby’s business. I’d find all I could about Rafael’s sister’s climbing partner. I’d be careful, though.

  I nuzzled his neck in a tender kiss.

  “You won’t lose me.”

  Strong, warm arms embraced me and held me tight.

  As I drifted off to sleep, it occurred to me that Raf had just said something significant, something having to do with the two of us. Fatigue fuzzed the edges of my conscious mind and for the life of me I couldn’t make the right connections. All I knew was, it was something good.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE RADIO roused me before the crack of dawn. I stirred, alarmed at the sudden voices invading my fragile consciousness. An arm let go of my waist and hit something, making the voices shut up.

  I turned around, faced with a broad back and well-muscled shoulders. My hand ran up and down Rafael’s back, mindless in its exploration of the bumps, the dips, the muscled ridges. “Mmmm. Harder…” I smiled, digging my fist into that tight little triangle right between the shoulder blade and his spine.

  “Ahhh… is it really tight?”

  “Yeah. Have you been sitting a lot?”

  “At the damn computer,” he grumbled.

  I nestled my chin on his
shoulder, comfortable and warm, poking and stroking and rubbing and kneading, making his morning a bit nicer.

  “Your cheek is so smooth,” he purred, and I moved my jaw up and down his shoulder with a sigh.

  “This is Nina Totenberg, reporting from Washington, DC…”

  The radio alarm went off again and this time Raf only turned the volume down to an acceptable level. He turned toward me.

  “Arrrrgh. Rise and shine! I’m taking you to work with me today for at least a little while.”

  I stifled a groan, sliding off his mattress. “I’ll go shower. How much time do we have?”

  “We need to leave by seven-thirty,” Raf said. “I usually walk, takes me twenty minutes. Can you handle that or do you want to take the subway?”

  Driving was out of the question; the car was parked a subway ride away, far enough where the garage fees didn’t cost an arm and a leg. Raf used it only for specific errands and out-of-town trips.

  “It may take me a bit longer than that, but I’d like to walk.”

  “Okay.” He disappeared into his bathroom, leaving me to the sounds of the National Public Radio and the shower running. I walked back to my bedroom, ready to follow his example.

  Breakfast was a toasted frozen bagel with a bit of cream cheese and scrambled eggs, water, and coffee. We sat there, he in his suit and tie and me in a blue skirt and a white ruffled blouse with a small scarf tied around my neck. We both leaned forward as we ate, careful not to land the sticky bits of food on our work clothes, anxious not to spill coffee on the white, ironed shirts.

  WE WALKED out of the elevator, our pace sedate so I didn’t have to limp. My ripstop nylon briefcase was slung over my shoulder with a few printouts and some home-made business cards, and, of course, my laptop.

  Blaine Kirby sat behind his marble castle wall. We both nodded to him and he nodded back. I caught a smirk on his face – a rather ugly face, actually - realizing that, to him, I was sauntering down the proverbial “walk of shame”.

  Raf glanced at me and our eyes met. “I don’t care what that asshole thinks,” he muttered. “I slept like a log last night.”

  I didn’t reply, orienting myself in the neighborhood. Our walk took almost an hour, but Raf didn’t seem to mind. The offices of RW&B, LLC were located in a building dating back to 1920’s; it had modern elevators, but the lobby was still decorated with carved marble and lacy brass trim, and there was a mosaic in the middle of the floor. I loved its quaint, film noir look and said so.

  Raf jerked his head up, uprooted from his thoughts. He looked around as though for the first time, taking in the urns of indoor landscaping and the antique, Art Deco lighting fixtures.

  WE WALKED past the reception desk, which was manned by a large, black man with a curious, angular hairdo.

  “Mr. Buddy Love, meet Ms. Evelyn Pearson,” Raf introduced us. “Buddy, Evelyn’s likely to be in and out of the office. She’s an independent contractor – be helpful, alright?”

  Buddy Love shook my hand with his enormous paw as his phone rang. He answered it and forwarded the call where it needed to go. “Hi, Evelyn. Let me know if you need anything.” He turned to Rafael. “You have some mail on your desk, plus messages. These two people called right after eight, wanting to talk to you. They’re in Europe so they’ll be gone in three hours.”

  “Thanks, Buddy.” Raf took the messages and motioned me to follow. We walked through a room of regular, gray cubicles like the people at Wilson’s agency used to have. The offices with doors were on the other side.

  “Come in,” he said. His workspace was overflowing with unfiled papers, all piled in discrete groups. He glanced at his watch. “We have a bit of time. Let me get you situated in the conference room while I return these phone calls.”

  That’s how I ended up sitting by the projection screen, my presentation already up there, several paper copies in front of me in a tidy pile along with my invoice.

  AN HOUR later, I was elbow deep in spirited conversation with Rafael’s business partners.

  “So, you suggest we focus on clients in the same area of business as our current customers?” Louis Shiffer, one of Rafael’s two business partners, reiterated in his monotone voice as he peered at me over the rim of his metallic glasses. “And finding them will cost how much, exactly?”

  I launched into a detailed explanation of my prospective client search process. The meeting continued like that for two and a half hours. Rick Blanchard was as thorough as Shiffer, poking and prodding, looking for problems to come up. My heart leapt at their interest – a thorough client was more likely to succeed.

  He also looked at my invoice. “Hundred and seventy-five an hour? I thought you charged eighty.”

  “That rate is for small, distressed businesses and for non-profit organizations,” I replied with a straight face. Wilson had given me a run-down on rates and billing two days prior.

  “The more they invest in you, the more cooperation you’ll get, Ms. Pearson,” he said. “It is impossible to deliver good results without their cooperation. Charging them more is, actually, for their own good.”

  “I have some worksheets for you to fill out,” I told them, handing out questionnaires all around. “The more information you can provide, the faster I can get your marketing plan off the ground.”

  All three of them scowled, not having expected to have to work on this personally.

  “Of course, I can delve into your old files and retrieve the information myself; it will take me two weeks of full-time effort. It will take your secretaries less than three days.” I gave them my winning, 100-watt smile.

  Let them do the math.

  RAF WANTED to escort me home right afterward; I was so tired, I didn’t even want to be taken out to lunch.

  “There’s leftovers,” I mumbled. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take the subway.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. Just ride with me down to the lobby.”

  He stepped into the elevator and pushed a white button with a star. After we descended a few floors, I reached out and pressed the red “STOP” button. The cabin ground to a halt.

  “Evelyn?” He had mischief in his eyes.

  “I just wanted some privacy, is all.” I sank against him, molding my body against his. Warm hands ran up my back and I looked up, only to have my lips possessed in a slow, languorous kiss. I sighed, rising against him as our tongues met in gentle exploration. There was sweetness and lust, along with the thrill of forbidden fruit in a forbidden place.

  We broke for air, panting. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was unruly and his tie was askew. I fixed the tie and mentioned the hair.

  His scintillating, blue eyes took my measure.

  “You look like a cat in heat, Eve. You’re hardly the one to talk.” Then he smirked. “Better get going before they send the janitor after us.” He pressed the button with the star again and we descended, parting with a chaste peck on the lips.

  THE SUBWAY ride felt like it would never end. Never had I been so glad to be home. I shut and locked the door behind me and stumbled to that friendly, leather sofa. It beckoned to me. Disregarding my skirt and blouse, I kicked off my flats and sprawled on my right side, letting the tired, sore muscles scream obscenities at me. They were still healing, knitting themselves back together, and here I’d just taken them onto the subway.

  My eyes opened half an hour later. Somewhat restored, I resolved to make lunch, eat it and then think about something constructive to do. After changing into sweats and a t-shirt, I had a leftover meatloaf sandwich and an apple, drank my glass of milk, and proceeded to just think.

  Think of what to do next.

  Think…

  Think…

  I felt like Winnie the Pooh, the Bear of Very Little Brain at that moment. Stuffing was coming out of me, but no good ideas. In cases such as these, my favorite solution involves drawing a spider diagram.

  I took a piece of paper from Rafael’s printer and found a fine-point
mechanical pencil. Between sips of cold, refreshing milk, I drew a circle. Inside it, I wrote “me”. I drew a line going outside of this circle. I labeled it “Novack”, and suddenly a number of mental leaps connecting to the Novack Bakery came to my mind. I wrote them down as branches off that first line. Next line: “BW&B”. Again, a number of branches.

  Next line: “My apartment”. I sat there and thought, and thought. The question was, what to do with an apartment I didn’t live in? It was a small, one-bedroom place, and I still had a good bit of stuff in it. I made a branch, labeling it “dejunk apartment”. First I’d clean it up, then I’d see.

  Next line: “Celia”. Now this line was like a full-grown tree when I was done with it, and questions were hanging off the main branches like leaves. I saw a need for a timeline of events, a list of friends and coworkers, a list of fellow climbers… Later, I’d make a spider diagram all about Celia. For now, though, one thing caught my eye.

  “Her climbing gear.”

  Raf had not mentioned coming across his sister’s harness, carabiners and self-belaying devices while remodeling the room for me. Presumably, it was still in the pile of boxes only fifteen feet away from me.

  I measured it with a baleful eye.

  There was no help for it.

  If I was going to figure out what happened to Celia, I’d have to delve into the innumerable boxes she and her two aunties left behind. Besides, it would be faster if I did that all by myself. Rafael’s extra set of hands came along with a set of eyes and a lifetime of memories. He’d slow down for every other thing and ponder upon its significance. I didn’t have enough time to do that. I had to find that gear, and I had to find it today.