ROMANCING
THE
BULLDOG
MALLORY MONROE
c2011
All rights reserved. Any use of the materials contained in this book without the expressed written consent of the author and/or her
affiliates, is strictly prohibited.
***
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This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The
specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for
the story’s sake.
***
MORE INTERRACIAL ROMANCE
FROM BESTSELLING AUTHOR
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PROLOGUE
Ten years earlier
He was supposed to look out for her, not sleep with her. Look out for her. That was the order, and it came straight from her father himself. “Keep an eye on her, Jace,” he’d said.
“She’s running with the wrong crowd. Doing irresponsible things. I don’t want her messed up before she even gets started, and especially not two days before she’s to leave for Harvard and be out of my hair for good.”
And Jason “Bulldog” Rascone, personal attorney for nightclub owner and business mogul Hamilton Morgan, took his charge very seriously. Hamp was on a business trip to Portland and, as usual, appointed Jason the go-to person should unanticipated problems arise. Only this time Hamp didn’t just leave him in charge of his business affairs, but of his eighteen year old daughter, too. Elizabeth. Liz, they called her. Young, sexy, and sassy. Just like Jason liked them. But he kept his cool with Liz. Mainly because she was Hamp’s daughter. But also because she had that look, that steely-eyed, you’ll bend to my will look, that made him know she could clean his clock, if he wasn’t careful.
And apparently he wasn’t careful because now, at almost one in the morning on the day she was to leave for college, he was driving fast and furious through the streets of downtown Jacksonville as if his life depended on his speed. Because, in a way, he knew that it did.
Hamp was a powerful man in J-ville, and his nightclub, the Big D, was the place to be for every A-lister in town. If Jason blew it and allowed some thug even he knew was major bad news to mess up the daughter, his future plans of one day seeking political office with Hamp’s backing, had about as much chance of success as his continued relationship with Hamp.
His banana yellow Ferrari swung into the parking lot of a place called the Palace, and Jason couldn’t help but shake his head. It was a watering hole for yahoos, a dark, dingy, hole-in-the-wall strip joint for young upstarts who had a bunch of lip and bravado but were gutless in the end. Why the daughter of Hamp Morgan would want to be seen anywhere near a dump like this was a mystery to Jace. Liz Morgan had it all: beauty, brains, background and breeding, whereas somebody like Jason, who was brought up too poor for poverty, would have killed to have the kind of opportunities Liz had.
But she was here, according to Wilkes, the P.I. he had hired to follow her, and she’d already hooked up, again according to Wilkes, with the biggest loser in the joint. Jason entered that joint, ready to claim his bounty.
“Where is she?” Jason asked the P.I., his impatient blue eyes scanning the entire, smoke-filled room. A live striptease or, as the PC crowd liked to call it, exotic dance, was in progress, with virtually every man in the room glued to the small stage. The music, a loud, annoying, Burlesque-type vibe, was deafening. Talking required near-screaming so Wilkes motioned instead toward the back of the room, where Liz was already hugged up with her bad boy.
Jason placed his hand to his pocket, to ensure his Glock was locked and loaded, and then exhaled. He hated being put in this position, where he often had to show muscle to get out of sticky situations. He was a lawyer for crying out loud, not some Mafia consigliere. But here he was again, showing muscle, living up to an image that never was him in the first place.
“Wait outside,” he said to Wilkes above the music and catcalls, “in case we need to get out fast. I’ll get Miss Hothead.”
“The dude she’s with thinks he’s a badass, boss,” Wilkes said. “You know the type.”
“Yeah, I know. All mouth with his boys. Get him alone and say boo, he runs. Don’t worry,” Jason said with a fist bump to Wilkes chest. “I got this.” Then he headed for the back of the club.
Liz saw him when he had first entered the club. She could tell at once that he was different, that he was a serious cut above this crowd she and her girl Amber had taken up with. And when he began walking toward their table, his swagger evident by the way he moved in his jeans and bomber jacket, her interest peaked. His hair, a brownish-blonde mop of hair, was a tousled mess, as if he’d just gotten out of bed and didn’t have time to comb it right. But it worked for him, Liz thought, as she watched him. He had that unshaven, bad boy look she liked. It wasn’t until he was closer, however, did she realize just how familiar he really was.
And it was then that she realized he wasn’t just anybody. That was Bulldog Rascone coming her way, her father’s Mister Fix-it. And he was coming for her. No other reason for it.
Somebody like Jason Rascone wouldn’t otherwise be caught dead in a contraption of a club like this.
But she wasn’t about to give up her freedom that easily. Not with her father out of town and the night just getting started good. She was at a back table with her longtime friend and neighbor Amber Slate. Earlier in the night, at another club, they hooked up with Sean and Fritz, two hunks who followed them around that club like lapdogs. They were cute and funny and so why not, Liz and Amber decided, hang out with them.
This club, which Liz wouldn’t ordinarily be caught dead in herself, was Sean’s idea. Liz went along for the change, for the fun, for the differentness she’d been craving. Now her father’s flunky was about to try and stop her in her tracks. Since Amber was already seated on Sean’s lap, Liz, to prove to Jason that she wasn’t going without a fight, got onto Fritz’s.
Fritz grinned, thrilled to have the sultry black beauty queen, a woman he was beginning to peg as frigid, in closer contact with him. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he said, gladly holding Liz.
Amber, who was blonde, petite, rich and spoiled, g
rinned too. “Copycat,” she said playfully to her friend as she allowed Sean to kiss her neck. Liz wasn’t about to go that far, she wasn’t about to allow the likes of Fritz to slobber all over her, but she was willing to give Bulldog Rascone a fit if he tried to make her leave. She even tried to ignore him when he finally arrived at their table.
“What can we do you for, dude?” Fritz asked Jason as he arrived.
Jason, however, kept his eyes on Liz. “Let’s go, Liz,” he said as soon as he made it to the table.
“Go?” Liz asked, looking at him sidelong, as if his request was the most unreasonable thing she’d ever heard. “Like what are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere with you. This is my night, my last night of freedom, and I can do whatever I want. I’m not going anywhere with you!”
Wanna bet, Jason wanted to say, annoyed by that pouty, valley girl tone in her voice. “Get your things and let’s go,” he said instead.
Fritz, however, found Jason’s order humorous. “Dude, who the hell are you?” he asked and his table mates laughed. He was a long-haired surfer dude with a big, toothy grin, over-tanned skin, and a tall, slender frame. Jason knew the type well and ignored him.
“I’m not telling you again,” he, instead, said to Liz. “Get your shit and let’s go.”
“But, dude, you didn’t answer the man’s question,” Sean said, seemingly one sip away from being completely stoned. “He asked you a very specific question. You either answer the question or, or,” Sean was so smashed he couldn’t finish his sentence. Amber laughed.
“Ain’t he cute?” she said to Liz.
Jason wasn’t priming for a fight, he, in fact, would have loved to avoid one altogether, but he wasn’t leaving without Liz Morgan, either. He grabbed her by the arm and snatched her out of Fritz’s lap, causing her to careen away from Fritz and nearly fall had Jason not placed his hand around her waist and caught her. Fritz, now angry, attempted to stand up, but Jason, with his freed hand, slammed him back down. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned, but Fritz didn’t heed his warning.
He came at Jason, head first to his midsection, and Jason quickly pushed Liz back. “Get out of the way!” he ordered her. Then he took care of Fritz. Literally. First a knee to that head and then he stood him up and gave him a fist to the face. And that began their mano on mano, in your face, knock-down, drag-out brawl that had them falling over tables and the entire club egging them on.
But it was no contest. For every one punch Fritz threw that missed, Jason threw three or four that connected. Within seconds he had the young man pinned to the wall with his arm at his throat. “I said,” Jason repeated, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Fritz heeded his warning this time and allowed him to take Liz, kicking and screaming, away with him.
“Isn’t anybody going to help her?” Amber implored to the quickly disinterested crowd, but everybody went back to their own business as if nothing had just transpired. When Amber looked to Sean for help, Sean, to his dismay, had his head lobbed backwards and was now asleep. “You are such a loser!” she yelled at him.
Liz was yelling too, only her angst was not at the disinterested crowd, or at Fritz and Sean, but at her rescuer, who was merciless in dragging her out of the club. “Let me go!” she yelled. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere with you! This is my going-away celebration and it doesn’t have anything to do with you!” Before they could clear the exit, she had managed to escape Jason’s hold.
Jason looked at her. To most observers she was nothing more than an obnoxious, spoiled brat. But Jason knew better. Hamp didn’t spoil his kids. She was an individual who did what she wanted to do and didn’t take crap from anybody, a trait Jason liked about her. But not tonight.
He grabbed her by the arm again and began dragging her once more, still kicking and screaming, out of the club. When they were outside and was standing beside his car, he slung her around to make sure she saw his face.
“You listen to me, young lady, and you listen good,” he made clear. “I’m not your Daddy, I’m not your brother, I’m not those flunky little friends of yours that bow to your every command. I will kick your natural ass if you don’t get in this car and get in it now. And if you don’t believe me, try me. Please try me.” He opened the car door. “Now get in!” he ordered.
Liz still had fight in her, still had that serious ‘tude going strong, but she’d heard about Bulldog Rascone. He was a lawyer, an officer of the court, but he had gangster written all over him. And was known to give any thug as good as he got. That was why she didn’t go too far with her umbrage. That was why she got into his car and allowed him to drive her, in silence and in blinding speed, to his place of residence, a place that was far away from where she had planned to spend her night of reckless abandon.
***
His “place” turned out to be a million dollar penthouse apartment at the Birmingham, a beautiful condominium complex on the banks of the Saint John’s River. Once inside the parking garage, he got her out of the car and once again took control of her, placing her hand firmly in his.
“You don’t have to hold my hand like I’m going to run away or something,” she insisted.
“Now why would I ever think that a sweet little innocent child such as yourself would ever dream of running away from me?” He said this sarcastically as he slung her along, into the elevator, all the way up to the penthouse apartment he called home. He was still holding her hand when he entered that home, slammed the door, and headed for the bedroom.
“Are you always this insufferable?” Liz asked as he all but dragged her along. “Well?” she asked him again as he continued to walk and said nothing. It wasn’t that she was repulsed by him. She wasn’t. He wasn’t tall, but he was compact, muscular, with a head full of brownish-blonde hair that swept to the nape of his neck, a thick, brown mustache that made him look older than his years, wide, bright eyes as blue as the ocean was deep. She’d always found Jason Rascone attractive whenever she’d see him around Big D’s or sometimes at their home for dinner. But he was her father’s attorney, his right hand man, which rendered him, in Liz’s eyes, as cuddly as a cactus.
“I know you heard me,” she said when he still wouldn’t respond. “I said, are you always this insufferable?” When Jason continued to ignore her, she demurred. “I’ll bet this is exactly why they call you Bulldog. You’re bull-headed!”
When they arrived in his bedroom, a massive master suite, he slung her away from him.
“Get out of those clothes,” he said, “and get into bed.”
Liz’s already big eyes stretched. “Excuse me?” When Jason wouldn’t, she placed her hand on her hip. “And where do you plan to sleep?”
“At the White House,” Jason replied snidely. “Where do you think? And before you mention any guest room, forget about it because I don’t have one. This is a one bedroom apartment.”
“Then I’ll sleep in the living room.”
“No, you won’t. I don’t trust you in my living room.”
This surprised Liz. She looked at him sidelong. “Like why not? Because you think I’ll steal something?”
“Yes,” Jason admitted, taking off his jacket. “I think you’ll steal away to be with your loser friends, and I’m not taking that chance. When you get on that plane for Harvard and you’re out of my hair, do whatever you please. Party hardy and steal away to the ends of the earth for all I care. But until that moment arrives, you are staying in my eye sight and at my side. I was in bed asleep when Wilkes called me, trying to get some rest after a grueling day of work.
I don’t need this shit. And I want no more surprises and no more interruptions.”
“But what about me?” Liz wanted to know. “What makes you think I can trust you? I don’t know you like that.”
“Oh, come off it, Elizabeth. Your father trusts me with his life.”
“That’s my father. I don’t know you like that. And besides, you’re still a man.” Jason grinned. “No, am I?
Really?”
Liz was amazed at how gorgeous he looked when he smiled. But he still irritated her. “Yes, really.”
“So what’s your deal? You don’t like men?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Well, whatever you’re saying, get out of those clothes and say it in bed.” Liz could not believe the nerve of this guy. “I’m not sleeping in here with you!” she decried. “Why can’t you take me home? Why can’t I sleep in my own bed?” Jason slung his t-shirt over his head, revealing tight, ribbed abs, then balled it up and tossed it in a nearby chair. “Elizabeth,” he said in a voice she could tell meant a snide remark was about to roll out, “I trust you about as far as I can spit you. And I don’t spit. I want you naked and in this bed beside me so I can keep an eye on your club hopping butt. You will not get out of my sight again until I have you on that plane for Cambridge, Mass. That’s what your father asked me to do, and that’s what I’m going to do. If you don’t like it, tough. I don’t give a damn. But you will get in this bed and you will get in it now.”
“But what if I wish to take a shower?”
“You showered before you left home tonight, didn’t you?”
“Of course I showered!”
“You haven’t done anything to need another one. Now take off those clothes or I’ll take them off for you.”
“Why I got to take off my clothes? I’m not taking off my clothes.”
“Yes, I’m afraid you are.”
“But why? I’m not going anywhere! You already spoiled the fun.” This angered Jason more. “Fun? What the hell kind of fun was that, letting some lowlife like that yahoo slobber all over you?”
“It was my last night before I have to go away and. . .”
A sadness came over her that stumped Jason. He shook his head. “I don’t get you. You make it sound like you’re going away on a tour to Iraq somewhere. You’re going to Harvard, lady. Harvard! Do you know how many kids would die to get into that school? And you’re acting like it’s a prison sentence you’ve got to serve!”
Romancing the Bulldog Page 1
