Dangerously Bad

by Eden Bradley

“Well, I’m no Southern belle who will melt in the rain, either. I’m a Creole woman, and we’re a whole different kind of South. And does this really have to be a competition?”

  Duff arched one dark eyebrow. “Apparently it does. But again, marks on the ledger, missy.”

  She shook her head to hide her pinking cheeks. “Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

  Before he had a chance to realize what she was doing, she clicked out of her seat belt and bolted from the car, her keys grasped in her hand. The rain was a hard pelt against her skin as she ran, laughing—then laughing even harder when Duff caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet and hauling her to the covered patio of the café before setting her down.

  “Oh my God—you’re such a damn caveman.”

  Duff was wiping the rain from his eyes with the back of his hand. “I like to think of myself more as a noble knight responding to a damsel in distress.”

  “Is that why you call me ‘princess’?”

  “Nope.”

  She shook the rain from her hair. “Why, then?”

  He moved in close, then closer, until he had his hands around her waist and was whispering in her ear. “Because I plan to treat you like a princess. To play you like a princess, the way you need to be played. And then I plan to fuck you like a princess. Like the dirtiest princess ever born. Like it was a fucking royal proclamation. Because in my mind, it is.”

  “Jesus, Duff.”

  She didn’t know if she was mad or madly turned on. But when he leaned in and kissed her, all question was erased from her mind. All she knew was their lips cool with rain, warming up so fast her mouth tingled with the heat. Then her body followed suit as he pulled her in, his arms tight around her. And nothing had ever seemed this sexy—no memory. No moment. No man.

  He kept one hand on her waist—that was all he needed to span her lower back—and with the other he smoothed his palm over her shoulder, sliding it into her hair and clasping the back of her neck. And all the while his mouth was working magic on her—lips and tongue and even his teeth as he nibbled here and there.

  Sighing, she let her body sort of fall against his. And sighed again as her breasts came into contact with a wall of solid muscle, as her hips pressed against the growing erection under his rough jeans—then moaned when he yanked her in hard, growling into her mouth. She swore she could feel it in her throat, that primal growl. Knew the animal hunger that was him. Feeding her hunger. Feeding her—something inside her she hadn’t known was there. And she didn’t care how foolish it was to think these things. She shut her brain down and simply felt, fell into the moment while the cool rain fell all around them.

  He groaned and pushed her back, one step at a time, until she was up against one of the pale brick pillars. And then he started to pinch her. One small pinch on the outside of her thigh. Another at the curve of her waist. Another on the inside of her forearm. It didn’t even hurt much, but it made her understand on some nearly cellular level his authority over her, that this was exactly who he was. No put-on. No grandstanding. The man who was kissing her like a demon was truly the most dominant human being she’d ever met. And every inch of flesh, everything in her, wanted him. Craved him. Was nearly screaming for him.

  Her thighs shook as need washed over her, stinging in her sex, her nipples.

  Fucking want him. Now. Now, now, now.

  The doors to the café swung open and a young couple walked out.

  “Oh, pardon us.”

  Duff pulled his mouth from hers, flashing them a grin over his shoulder. His hard-on was still pressed tightly against her. “Sure, no problem, friends.”

  The couple hurried away, and despite the sharp arousal rattling her system—or maybe because of it—Layla had to laugh.

  “I like how you assured them you weren’t bothered by them walking out of the café, like they’d done something wrong.”

  He grunted. “They interrupted us, lovely.”

  Reaching up, she patted his cheek. “Poor Duff.”

  He smacked her ass. “Poor you, if you keep up with the smart mouth, princess.”

  “I’m sure I can handle whatever you dish out.”

  He pulled back and arched one dark brow, his hazel eyes glinting in the light from the café. “Are you, now? We’ll have to see about that. Your stamina and tolerance as a bottom have yet to be tested. Not by me, at any rate. Come to mind, we’ve yet to discuss when our first playdate will be.”

  “Given the last few minutes I sort of thought it had already started.”

  “Mere warm-up. Why don’t we have that talk inside? I smell beignets and my belly wants some.”

  She had to shake her head again. Duff could certainly amuse her. Amuse her, confuse her, make her body rage with desire. If only he would stay right there and go back to kissing her and pinching her and making her feel like a bottom.

  “I suppose I’d better feed you. I imagine a man of your size needs plenty of fuel.”

  “That’s right. I eat bears for breakfast and pretty girls like you for supper.”

  She reached up and gave his shoulder a small, playful shove. “You going to start beating your chest now?”

  “I just might.” He stepped back and grabbed her hand. “Better not risk it,” he said with a wink, pulling her inside.

  They stepped through the inner glass-paned double doors and into the café, the scents of sugar and chicory coffee wafting on the warm air.

  “I love that this place never changes,” she said.

  “That seems to be true of many places in this city.”

  “It is. We try to preserve the old architecture and the feel of the city wherever we can. Our history is important. Maybe even more so since Katrina, in some ways.”

  “You’re proud of New Orleans,” he commented.

  “Yes. I think that’s true of anyone from New Orleans, but being Creole, being part of a group of people that’s so specific to this city, maybe I feel it even more deeply. I don’t know—perhaps that’s not true. I just know how fully I feel it. Pride, and a sense of connection. It’s a very special place. I’ve been to Paris and Venice and Madrid, but there’s nothing like this city anywhere on earth.”

  “’Tis true. Although I do like Paris. But I wouldn’t live there—not for more than a month or two at most.”

  “So you’re in New Orleans to stay?” she asked, wondering at the hope blossoming in her chest.

  “I am. I’m opening a business here and I don’t plan to abandon it. Jamie and I will make a good go of it. I’m aiming for success. I’m good at what I do—restoring vintage bikes and building Harleys. Between that and Jamie’s head for business, we’ll do well. Why would I want to leave?”

  She pushed her damp hair from her suddenly hot cheeks. Whatever was wrong with her? “Oh, you know . . . People like change sometimes.”

  “Is that what you’ve found with men in general, or only with the men you’ve dated?”

  “I . . . What?”

  “Forgive my bluntness. But it seems to me there was more beneath that observation than mere observation.”

  She glanced down at the floor, took a breath, then looked back up to find his concerned gaze on her. “Um, both? And can we change the subject?”

  He looked into her eyes, his going a little dark for a moment. “Of course. Shall we order?”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  He took her hand and led her to the order window, where he asked the white-uniformed attendant, who was wearing the traditional black bowtie and white cap with “Morning Call” printed in red script on the side, for two coffees and three orders of beignets. Then they found an empty table, and Duff pulled out one of the bentwood chairs and held it for her, then seated himself.

  “You said the place never changes. I take that to mean you’ve been coming here for a long while,” he said.

&nb
sp; She nodded. “I used to come as a kid with my family after church sometimes. We’d have our beignets out on the patio. Then we’d walk through the park. There’s a beautiful carousel down the road from here. My father used to take me . . . He’d let me ride it over and over when I was little. That seems like a million years ago now. But I’ve always loved this park. I love the bridges and the huge weeping trees, and I’m totally in love with the Peristyle.”

  “The what?”

  “Did you see that long, sort of Greek-style open pavilion with all the columns when we drove in? Look out the window—it’s right there on the edge of the water. Can you see it?”

  He turned around for a moment. “It’s a bit dark out there, but I can see the outline of it.”

  “It was built in 1907, specifically for parties. The architect Paul Andry designed it so it would be large enough to dance there. Sometimes we’d come to the park, my family and I, and there would be a wedding going on, the whole place decked out in flowers . . . Anyway, it was a fairy-tale place for a little girl. My brother and I used to play on the stone lions next to the stairs, imagining they were real. He’d challenge me to roaring contests, which he always won, of course. Sort of like he did everything else. He was a top athlete, ran track in high school, won awards. And he was a straight-A student. He used to help me with my math homework.”

  “But you and he aren’t close anymore?”

  She shook her head. “We went in such different directions. Charles always knew he would be a preacher, like my dad, and I always wanted to be an artist. I really never wanted anything else. He’s always been so straitlaced, and frankly a little uptight. Well, more than a little. And I got a bit wild in high school, which was pretty much the last straw for our relationship.”

  Duff laid a hand over his heart, recoiling in mock horror. “No! You? I’d have never imagined.”

  She grinned at him as a waiter slid their coffees and the steaming, fragrant pastries onto the table. “Thank you,” she said to the waiter before turning back to Duff. “No more wild than you, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Oh, I had my days, no doubt about it. Sometimes being the biggest kid in school can be a problem. Everyone wants to pick a fight. All that early testosterone running through a boy’s veins and they think they have to challenge everything and everyone in their path. Problem was, I was just a teenage boy, too, so I let them get to me. Hurt a few of ’em. Didn’t know my own size and strength in those days. Didn’t learn until I’d been in a few pub brawls and went to jail twice.”

  “Are you waiting for me to fall over in shock?”

  He shrugged, but she could see he was ready for it.

  “Perhaps a bit. Some people do.”

  “I’ve known other guys your size. Well, almost your size. I’ve seen them go through the same issues. Did you hurt anyone badly?”

  He paused to sip the hot coffee, set the cup down carefully. It looked tiny in his enormous hand. “Yeah, unfortunately, I did.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. That was an intrusive question.”

  “Eh, it’s all right, and a fair enough question, given that you’re spending time with me, turning over a certain amount of trust to me. Too much drink and too many of ’em getting in my face were a bad combination, and I was young and foolish, as young people tend to be, and me more than most, perhaps. Both times I ended up in jail it was a few blokes at once ganging up on me, and I was defending myself. But I still wasn’t happy I’d allowed them to push me that far. There’s no excuse for it. Which is why I don’t drink anymore. A man my size, as you said, can’t afford to take the risk. Haven’t had a drink since the last time I was locked up.”

  “How long ago has it been?”

  “Shortly before I turned twenty. I had a very short legal drinking career.”

  She added cream to her coffee, stirring it thoughtfully for a few moments. “It hasn’t been so easy being you, has it?” she asked.

  “What? I suppose not. But is it easy being anyone? Has it been easy being you?”

  She glanced down at her cup, at the dark liquid swirling there. “In some ways, no. In other ways I count myself very lucky.”

  “Tell me about the lucky part,” he suggested.

  When she looked up, he was watching her closely—watching as if he were really interested in what she had to say. And in doing a quick review of the conversations they’d had, she realized either he was doing a very good job of faking it so he could get in her pants, or he actually was interested, which was a novel idea. Her experience with men hadn’t led her to believe that any man who wanted in her pants had any other interest in her. Which, she realized in that moment for the first time, was a pretty fucked-up scenario, and it was past time that things changed. But she felt pretty certain his interest was sincere. Not that he didn’t want to get in her pants, but she was damn happy about that part.

  “Hmm . . . okay. Well, I have some pretty amazing friends, especially my best friend, Kitty.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Really? You want to know about my friend?”

  “Yeah, I do. And no, I don’t want to have a three-way, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not my thing—too damn much to keep track of. I much prefer to give one woman my undivided attention.”

  Shivering, she silently filed that remark away for future reference. “Kitty is sassy as hell. Really smart—smart enough to have started one of the best hair salons in town and make a great success of it. She’s funny. Kind. I can tell her anything, and I know she’ll never judge me. And she’s always there, no matter what. She’s one of those friends who would help you hide a dead body.”

  “Good qualities to have in a friend. My cousin Jamie is the same for me. Well, he calls me an asshole on a regular basis, but you know, he’s probably right about that.”

  Layla laughed. “Men have such . . . interesting friendships.”

  Duff grinned, dimples creasing his cheeks, and she went breathless at the sight of them. That and the glittering hazel of his eyes fringed in thick, dark lashes. She had to bite her lip to keep from sighing. She loved that they could sit here having a meaningful conversation, yet at the same time, the chemistry never stopped sizzling. She squeezed her thighs together to ease the pressure suddenly building there.

  Clearing her throat, she took a sip of her coffee and tried to clear her head. “What about you? What are your ‘lucky parts’?”

  “Getting to do what I love for a living, which I know you understand, maybe even better than I do. Getting to come to the U.S.—to be able to stay, to work here.”

  “That’s right—you have dual citizenship, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, Jamie’s mother, my aunt Carrie, is my father’s sister—the American side of the family. Good luck for us, since we both love it here. I always have, and Jamie and I have always been close. It was his idea to open the motorcycle division of SGR Motors—he’s been at me about it for a while now. I suppose I just needed reason enough to come. To leave Scotland.”

  “So, you came for the business?”

  He ran a hand over his head, looking out the window for several long, silent moments.

  “Duff? Did I just step in something here? If there’s some part of this you’d rather not talk about . . .”

  “It’s old news anyway. But, yeah, I did feel as if I needed a fresh start. And I’d been wanting to come—that’s every bit as true. I finally saved enough money to contribute enough to the business, and the space next to SGR Motors became available. So, here I am, and glad I made the decision. Sitting here with you isn’t hurting any, either.”

  She smiled, felt the smile spread like blossoming heat. And God, she was as besotted as a girl with her first crush! But the truth was, this was her first crush in a very long time. It was something she hadn’t allowed herself. Not until Duff came along and she simply couldn’t help
herself.

  Trouble.

  Oh, she was in major trouble—the big economy size. Why did it surprise her that it only made him more appealing, knowing how perilous he could be for her? How he made her lose control, whether he was trying or not?

  “These beignets smell good enough to eat,” Duff said, stuffing one into his mouth, the powdered sugar falling onto his square chin, onto the table. He wiped his chin and picked up another.

  “Hey! Leave one for me.”

  He winked at her. “One if you’re quick enough, princess.”

  They made fast work of the beignets, washing them down with the lovely chicory coffee. Duff laid a tip on the table and stood, taking her hand and helping her to her feet.

  “Shall we? It’s stopped raining and I want to see this Peristyle of yours.”

  “Right now?”

  “Why not?”

  She led the way out of the café and they wandered the winding pathway through the park. The cicadas were singing, and although the rain had stopped, the air smelled of it, clean and fresh and touched with the ever-present scent of flowers that was so common in New Orleans. The Peristyle was a hulking silhouette, lit by the nearly full moon and the lights from the café reflecting on the water of the Bayou Metairie. They moved up the shallow steps and into the beautiful structure, where tall Grecian columns supported the vaulted ceiling.

  He led her by the hand to the very center, where he stopped to lean his head back and looked up. “This place is impressive. Enough to make me feel small, which is no simple task. And every bit as beautiful as you said it was.” He leaned down and took her earlobe between his teeth as he slid his big arms around her waist. His voice was a low, purring growl. “This is the perfect place. That combination of dangerous openness, yet we’re still half-hidden by the dark. The perfect place to let a bit of our darkness out, yes, lovely?”

  She took in a gasping breath, but before she could answer, he continued.

  “Shh. Don’t say a word. This is where I take over. This is where you let me. Just as I said you would.”

  He bit down hard on the shell of her ear, and she gasped once more. His arms tightened around her, crushing her to him, lifting her onto her toes. She wanted to struggle, felt on some level that she should.