Bedding The Bad Boy (Dalton Brothers Novels)

by Virna DePaul

  He repeatedly flicked the ball dangling from the hoop with his tongue, then moved to the next nipple, sucking it good while his thumb and forefinger played with its mate. Whenever he pinched her nipple, she gasped. Whenever he tugged lightly on her piercings, she moaned.

  He wanted her to scream.

  Wanted to nibble his way to her belly and to the moist, delicate flesh between her legs. He wanted to bury his face there. Rub her cream all over himself until all he could see and taste and smell was her. He wanted it so damn bad he was shaking.

  A half hour, he reminded himself. Not enough to do what he wanted by a long shot.

  So he forced himself to pull away.

  She reached for him, but he grabbed her, kissed her hands, then let her go. He returned to the bed, hands once again behind his head. Enormous erection on display so she couldn’t miss how aroused he was.

  “Do what you need to do, Grace. But first turn around.”

  She was flushed and breathing hard, her eyes dazed. At first, she didn’t seem to understand what he was saying.

  “Show me your tattoo, Dixie.”

  Slowly, she turned.

  He sat up to get a better look before standing once more and stepping behind her.

  Gently, he bunched her hair in his fist and lifted, giving himself an unimpeded view of her back. Running the length of her spine was the black outline of a stylized bird. Was it a swan? He wasn’t sure, but the curved lines he’d seen at the gym above her tank top made up one of its wings, stretched up toward her neck. The ones he’d seen below her tank made up the other wing. The overall design had a simplistic elegance and sensuality, giving the suggestion of flight even as the bird stood upright.

  It was gorgeous.

  She was gorgeous.

  And given what he’d said to her the night before, it seemed terribly significant that the only tattoo she had on her body was a bird.

  Don’t get on that plane, Grace. Fly with me instead.

  “Does it represent anything in particular?” he asked. She jumped slightly as he traced the length of the tattoo with the tip of his index finger. She gave a long, drawn out moan when he leaned forward and began sprinkling kisses up and down the length of the tattoo.

  “Not really,” she said.

  And he knew there was a story there. One she didn’t want to share.

  He’d give her that for now.

  With one last kiss to her back, he straightened and reclined once again on the bed. “Go ahead and take a shower.”

  With a jerky nod, she headed into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he’d told her. He heard the shower turn on.

  He blew out a breath even as he imagined her body and that freaking fabulous tattoo glistening under the spray of the water. Groaning, he cupped himself through his jeans, imagining it was her stroking him. Fuck, when she’d been on her knees in front of him in that dance studio, it had taken all he’d had not to—

  He heard her fumble a bottle and grinned. If she was half as torqued up as he was, she was probably cursing his ass about now. Best to get her mind on something else.

  “Tell me about Lucy and Jericho,” he said.

  It didn’t seem like she was going to respond, then she called back over the sound of running water. “After Lucy and her last boyfriend, Jamie, broke up, she came up with this theory.”

  “What theory?”

  “That people with different backgrounds, like a jock and a brain, or a preschool teacher and a skydivah, can totally fool around with one another, but when it comes to long term commitments like should stay with like.”

  That didn’t sound like the free spirited Lucy. Maybe he’d misheard her. “Like and like? Meaning what?”

  “Both people should be preschool teachers. Or skydivahs. You know, the same. In personality if not profession.”

  “Sounds boring,” he said.

  “Maybe. I thought Jamie and Lucy were so right for each other. They were completely different from one another, both professors, her wild and him more restrained. But they lit up like Christmas trees whenevah they were together.”

  “So you think her theory’s all wrong?”

  Only the sound of the shower came from the bathroom for a few moments. Then, Grace spoke again, her voice low. “How ‘right’ could they have been, given he broke up with her?”

  “Are you saying the reason their relationship didn’t last was because they weren’t like one another?”

  “Actually…” She hesitated, then the sound of the shower stopped.

  Max worked hard to erase visions of a naked and dripping wet Grace from his mind. No time, he reminded himself. “Lucy nevah told us why Jamie dumped her,” Grace said. “Just that he did, and that’s when she came up with the whole ‘like sticks with like’ theory.”

  “You sure she wasn’t talking about gender? Like with like, as in a woman with a woman? I mean, I know Lucy’s not a lesbian, but is she bisexual?” Max asked.

  Grace laughed. The sound was light and tinkling. “Does this go back to that male fantasy you were talkin’ about earlier?”

  “Everything goes back to that male fantasy.”

  She appeared in the doorway wearing a fuchsia top and flirty black skirt, a towel on her head turban-style.

  “Have you actually evah had that fantasy fulfilled? I mean, in real life, not on a television or computer screen?”

  The easy way she referred to porn made him wonder if she ever got off watching the stuff herself. He’d seen his fair share, but he couldn’t recall a single scene, let alone one involving two women. All he could see was Grace.

  “Max?”

  “Huh?”

  “Have you evah watched two women together? Been with two women?”

  Holy hell. This conversation had taken a right turn to Interesting. “Yes. Does that turn you on?”

  “Not at all.”

  His bullshit meter went into overdrive. What else was Grace lying to herself about? “No? Not even imagining you as one of the women?”

  “I don’t like to share,” she said.

  So if not two women, then… “So what about being with two men?” he asked.

  Instead of denying anything, her expression softened and her eyes twinkled. “Isn’t that every woman’s fantasy? One man inside, the other man tendin’ to whatevah needs tendin’ to?”

  “We’re talking about your fantasies right now.”

  “Then sure, I suppose that would feel nice. To have two men devoted to me. To my pleasure. But somehow I don’t think it happens very often. Two hetero or even bisexual guys bein’ comfortable enough to cross swords in bed? I bet you probably haven’t even done it.”

  “You’d lose that bet.”

  The flirtatious light disappeared from her eyes, which grew wide, and she swallowed convulsively. Ha. He’d shocked her yet again.

  “I’m not saying that’s my thing—being with another guy and a woman. But my lover had a fantasy, and I made sure it came true for her. Part of that meant giving in to the fantasy myself.”

  “And?”

  “And I was so turned on by the fact she was so amazingly turned on I came hard enough to strain a muscle in my neck.”

  “Are you sayin’ you’d be willin’ to do it again? Because you shouldn’t let your mouth write a check it can’t cash.”

  He thought about it. “Is that what you want?”

  “Answer my question first.”

  His chest tightened and he frowned. “I’m not certain I could do that with you.”

  Her brows raised in surprise. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. You make me feel… possessive. I wouldn’t want to share you with another man.”

  A hint of a smile formed at the side of her mouth.

  “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t ultimately do it. Or, failing that, that I wouldn’t work twice as hard to make sure you were completely satisfied.”

  Grace took off the towel on her head, shook her hair out, then stepped toward him. “
I have a confession to make…”

  When she came close enough to stand before him, he deliberately didn’t reach for her. His breathing went shallow. “And what confession might that be?”

  “I don’t want to be with two men. I—I just want to be with you. That would be fantasy enough, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Fuck, Grace.”

  As if she realized just how vulnerable her confession made her, she laughed and stepped back. He instinctively followed her, and she held up a hand to ward him off. “Make-up. Hair. I’ll be faster than a herd of turtles and then we can head to your parents’ house, okay?”

  Before he could respond, she high-tailed it back to the bathroom and he soon heard the blow dryer going. He fell back onto the bed with a groan and rubbed his palms over his face, then reached down to adjust himself inside his pants while her voice echoed inside his mind.

  I just want to be with you. That would be fantasy enough, as far as I’m concerned.

  Staring at the ceiling, he grinned.

  He was no fantasy, and soon he was going to prove it to her.

  Instead, he was hoping to be her dream come true.

  “Light a fire under your ass, Dixie,” he yelled.

  He heard her giggle.

  He’d been right before, back in the gym. Her giggle was fucking fantastic.

  Even better, she knew what he was saying.

  He wanted her to hurry because the sooner they got to his parents’ house and back, the sooner they could get back to one another.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Max’s Magic Rule #9:

  Do what it takes to make the audience clap even louder.

  Nerves danced in Grace’s belly as she stared out the car window, watching the landscape fly past. Max had kept his foot on the gas ever since they’d left Vegas.

  The farther they drove, the more nervous Grace became.

  In a way, she felt like she’d be meeting Max’s parents for the first time. Especially because Max said he’d never brought a woman to meet them before. What was up with that?

  Had he simply not wanted to introduce his parents to a woman he knew wouldn’t be in his life for long? Did that mean he’d never been in any kind of committed relationship?

  She knew he was different with his mom and dad. Sweet. More loving. It simply emphasized in her mind all those layers Max had. And how she was pretty much disregarding those layers in her quest for an orgasm.

  “So,” Max said, interrupting her thoughts. “We’ve made progress with one of your goals. Have you made any progress with the baby plan?”

  Surprised by the blunt way he brought it up, Grace searched his expression for any hint of mockery. All she saw was genuine curiosity. Relaxing back into her seat and welcoming the distraction, she said, “A little.”

  “Will you tell me about it?”

  “If you’re really interested, sure.” Anything to take her mind off whether his mom would take one look at her and know she was using her son for sex. At that wince-worthy thought, she turned back to the window.

  The desert shrubbery had switched from drab khaki green to something more verdant as they climbed into the foothills. Lovely. The elevation and vegetation reminded Grace a bit of where she’d grown up in Georgia. Different, but the same color green. For a moment, an image of her mama and daddy wrapped in each other’s arms, Mama’s head snuggled in Daddy’s shoulder, came to mind.

  Hot tears forced their way to the surface and she furiously blinked them away.

  What was she doing here with Max? She was enjoying her time with him, yes, but it was also serving to remind her what she didn’t have.

  What she’d had as a young child had been precious. Her parents’ marriage had been amazingly strong and beautiful. She hadn’t been too young to forget how very much in love they were.

  She could create her own memories with a son or daughter—she didn’t need love and romance for that. She just needed healthy sperm and a man willing to be a father.

  That man wasn’t Max.

  ***

  Max caught a glimpse of Grace out of the corner of his eye. She seemed withdrawn, lost in her own world. As much as he thought her plan to create a family was bullshit, he wanted to know more about her thought process, her plans. How else was he going to talk her out of them? “Grace?”

  “Um… what is it you want to know?”

  “I’m not even sure—this isn’t a conversation I’ve had before. How do you find a baby daddy?”

  “I’ve connected with a surrogacy agency to set me up with someone who has similar values and desires. It’s essentially like a datin’ service, only…”

  “Only instead of connecting with the intent of providing a baby and then walking away, you’re interviewing with the intent to create a fake family.”

  “It’s not fake,” she said with frown. “The baby would have a real mother. A real father. They don’t have to be married to be a family. Look at all the divorced families that still provide their children with stability and love. Sounds like you’re implyin’ anything other than a married man and woman isn’t a family.”

  Max shook his head. “No way. That’s unfair, Grace. A family is a family, no matter what the structure is.”

  “That’s my point. So long as the baby has parents who love it, what does it matter if the parents are married?”

  “And what about agreeing on how to raise the child?”

  “There are forms to fill out to ensure compatibility. Then contracts are created that specifically state major issues, such as to immunize or not to immunize, what religion the child will be raised with, private versus public schools, college savings plans, and so on.”

  He jerked the wheel, avoiding a pothole. They’d turned off the main road a few minutes ago, and here the asphalt wasn’t as well tended. “Sounds like it will look great on paper. But what if the person you choose has the same compatible values as you do and follows the letter of the contract, but treats you distantly?”

  She shook her head. “I’m still confused.”

  That was understandable, given her whole baby plan inherently involved distance between her and the baby’s daddy. “I mean, Grace, what if the guy isn’t respectful of you? What if he comes to pick up the kid and ignores you, or makes some negative comment about the mud puddle in the middle of the yard.”

  “What mud puddle?” she asked, her brow wrinkled up in confusion.

  “When we were off tour, my mom would sometimes let Rhys and I dig a big hole in the front yard. We’d fill it with water from the garden hose, and play for hours. We’d end up coated in mud, our toys too, and there’d be a mud slick from the yard to the front door. Our dad would come home and see this gigantic muddy mess. When my mom would come out to greet him, he’d wrap her in a big hug and ask her if we were having mud pies for dinner.”

  “I’m still not getting it,” she said slowly.

  He blew out a breath. “What happens if you make a mud hole and the kid’s dad comes to pick him up, then bitches you out for getting the kid muddy or for mucking up your own front yard? What if he admonishes the kid for destroying a perfectly good yard, clothes and toys?”

  Grace sat in silence, staring out the window again.

  “My point, Grace,” he said, quietly, “is you won’t know how this guy’s going to react when you build a mud puddle, and you certainly won’t have any say in how he treats you. In what kind of behavior he models for your child. Is that what you want for your kid? Is that how you see ‘family’?”

  “People get married all the time without knowin’ everthin’ about each other. There’s nothin’ to say I couldn’t be head ovah heels in love with someone who would bitch me out for gettin’ the kids muddy someday. Havin’ kids with someone is always a risk. I’m willin’ to take that risk even if you’re not.”

  “Who says I’m not? You think I don’t want to be a father some day?”

  Her whipped around to face him and she looked shocked, which pissed hi
m off. Jesus, what was it about him that made women so easily dismiss not only his potential to be a father, but his desire to want to be one in the first place?

  “You just seem okay with your life the way it is, Max. You can’t know what it’s like to feel an emptiness that can’t be filled.”

  His chest squeezed tight.

  She was wrong. He felt that emptiness. Every day.

  It seemed ever since he’d started this whole thing with Grace, he felt it more than ever. Except when he was with her.

  Wasn’t that what she wanted a baby for? To make her feel whole. Complete? No matter how true, that was a huge responsibility to put on a kid. She had to see that.

  “So you think having a baby will make you happy, but what if it can’t? What if it’s missing a man’s passion and love that makes you feel empty, Grace?”

  “There will be time for that. After,” she said. “But for havin’ a baby? My time’s limited. Every woman knows that.”

  “Usually they’re not twenty-nine year old women.”

  “You know women, but you don’t know anythin’ about bein’ a woman. So please, let’s drop the subject.”

  They drove in silence for a few minutes before Max placed a hand on Grace’s leg and squeezed. Thankfully, Grace placed her hand on his and squeezed back. He didn’t let go and neither did she. “So, what happened back at the hotel room…” he said, feeling her out.

  “What about it?”

  “I didn’t intend for it to happen, but it definitely was consistent with my plan to string things out and keep you guessing about O-time, don’t you think?”

  “O-time,” she said. “What? Is that like circle time? Nap time? Snack time?”

  He’d just learned something else about her that he liked—she didn’t hold on to annoyance very long. He’d done as she asked and switched topics, and rather than continuing to light into him, she could let it go and tease with the best of them. He waggled his brows. “Nap time? No way. Snack time?” He glanced and her and grinned evilly. “I’m definitely planning on getting my fill of you.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Go on,” she said. “What’s your point? About the—” She waved her hand, making him laugh. “—stringin’ things along, I mean.”