Wicked & Willing: Bad Girls

by Leslie Kelly

  “Rooms?” Venus said when she and Troy were once again alone in an office that was bigger than the apartment she’d grown up in. She walked around it, trailing her fingertips across the spines of dozens of leather-bound books lining built-in mahogany shelves. The room was furnished with exquisitely detailed antique furniture; she was almost afraid to sit down.

  “There are some nice guest suites upstairs. I’m sure Max has left instructions for you to be given one of them.”

  “Do you think he told the servants…” She lowered her head and glanced away.

  He leaned a hip against a brown leather sofa, watching her, looking as comfortable in these surroundings as anyone born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Unlike Venus, in her too-skimpy, too-tight shorts and her suggestive shirt, who probably looked like she should have come in through the service entrance.

  “Told them what?” Troy asked. “Who you are? Or, who you might be?”

  She nodded, hoping he’d say no, that she wouldn’t have to act out this charade in front of a bunch of servants who might very well have known Mr. Longotti’s long-lost son. The last thing she needed was to be watched by every person in the place, her every move evaluated, her every word analyzed.

  “I doubt it’s common knowledge,” Troy said, making her hopes rise. “But I would imagine Mrs. Harris knows. She’s worked for Max for decades.”

  She sighed and glanced at the closed door through which the housekeeper had exited. “She was awfully nice. Do you think she knows…knew…Max’s son?”

  He nodded. “I would imagine.”

  “Great,” she muttered. “No wonder she was friendly.”

  “So,” he said, raising a questioning brow, “you’re trying to tell me you’re really not anxious to be greeted as the prodigal granddaughter?”

  She snorted and shot him a look telling him just how stupid he was even to have asked. He didn’t seem offended. Instead, he walked toward her, crossing the room in a few long strides. His hard body did lovely things for the well-tailored suit.

  Though she’d more often dated men who wore jeans and leather, there was something intoxicating about seeing a thoroughly male animal—with an occasional hint of wildness in his eyes—wrapped up in an elegant, sophisticated package like Troy’s conservative gray suit. It almost challenged a woman, as if luring her into stepping closer to a beautiful but caged tiger. Until the woman found out the cage door was open and the magnificent animal ready to spring.

  She’d tried to tell herself Troy Langtree was a stuffed shirt. But she couldn’t erase what had happened on the balcony when they first met. He’d been smooth, charming, intense. Sexy as pure sin. His kiss had completely seduced her. While safe in his arms, she’d wanted to make love with him more than she’d wanted to draw another breath.

  Just because he’d repressed that part of himself ever since finding out who she was didn’t mean it no longer existed. She saw it in his eyes, in the self-assured way he carried that long, lean body. For some wicked reason, it only made her more determined to find it again. Someday, when she had her confidence back.

  “Are you curious about him?” Troy asked. “Max’s son?”

  Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, Venus forced herself to take a deep breath. She sat on the arm of a high, wing-backed chair and feigned nonchalance. “I suppose. Wouldn’t anyone be?”

  Instead of answering, he gestured toward a massive wooden desk near one of the huge arched windows overlooking the side lawn. The late-afternoon sunlight dripped in, illuminating the fine grain of the wood on the desktop, which was almost the same color as his thick hair. She noticed the back of a decorative, silver picture frame just as Troy said, “There’s a photo of him on the desk.”

  She tightened her arms, almost hugging herself. “I don’t think so. Maybe later.”

  Venus was the one who was supposed to make the drinks, but instead Troy moved to a discreet corner bar and poured two shots of whiskey. After returning with them, he handed her one. “You can impress me with your bartending skills another time. You look like you could use this.”

  Though she hated confirming how wildly unstable her emotions were, she took the crystal glass gratefully. She tossed it back, feeling the warmth of the amber liquid ooze through her body almost instantly. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

  “Good Scotch.”

  “Another?”

  She shook her head.

  When he took the empty glass from her hand, his fingers brushed against hers, sending more heat rushing through her body than the alcohol had. He seemed just as aware, standing close, holding the empty tumbler in his fingers and staring at her intently. Finally, he leaned over to place their glasses on a small, decorative table. His body was so close to hers, for a brief moment she could feel his breath on her cheek and his pant legs brushing her thigh.

  He straightened, but didn’t move away. “I would think if you were really curious you’d want to see what he looked like,” he said softly. “So do you really not care?” He narrowed his eyes. “Or is it that you’re afraid?”

  “I’m not afraid,” she insisted.

  But even as she said the words, she knew she was lying.

  She was afraid—though probably not for the reason Troy thought. She couldn’t explain it to him, though. Hell, she could barely admit it to herself.

  He might think she feared looking at the picture and seeing a stranger with not one feature like hers. Feared not having any support for Leo’s claims. In actuality, Venus dreaded the thought of her own eyes staring back at her. She didn’t want to recognize the curve of the man’s smile, or think his chin resembled hers. She couldn’t bear it if the widow’s peak on her forehead had been inherited from him.

  This whole idea—a fat paycheck for an all-expenses paid vacation—had never seemed more dangerous than right now.

  No, she was nowhere near ready to look at that man’s picture. Not when seeing it might provide more evidence of the death of a parent she’d never met. She’d remain happily in the dark for as long as she could. Hopefully long enough to fully earn the five grand and hightail it back to Baltimore, with a nice, friendly wave to an elderly gentleman who was not her grandfather!

  Stepping within inches of her body, Troy made a quiet assessment of her face, looking searchingly into her eyes, which, she suspected, were overly bright right now. Finally, he tilted his head and said in an almost wondering tone, “You’re afraid you’ll see something you recognize, aren’t you? You really don’t want it to be true.”

  He didn’t say another word, letting his words hang there between them. He didn’t expect her to answer, obviously knowing what she’d say.

  “Why, Venus?” He shook his head, still appearing surprised by his own insight. “I don’t get this.”

  She had no doubt of that. Troy wanted to figure out why a woman from the wrong side of the tracks wasn’t rubbing her hands together in glee at her current situation. Most women would probably be thrilled to discover they could be an heiress. Most would at least be happy finally to know the truth about their parentage.

  But Venus wasn’t like most. Never had been. Never would be.

  “I don’t fit in here. I belong in this world about as much as a priest belongs in a synagogue,” she said with a dry chuckle, giving him only part of the explanation. She wondered why she bothered trying to make him understand even that much, why she cared what he thought. “I don’t know the language. I don’t know the customs. I don’t have the right clothes, the right speech, the right hair or the right attitude.” She shook her head. Voicing these minor misgivings almost made her forget the major ones. “At this moment, Troy, I’m seriously wishing to God I’d never come. This was a stupid idea and I was nuts to go along with it.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued to look at her. It was unnerving, having all that intense, masculine attention focused squarely on her face. His shimmering green eyes darkened as he stared at her. Her heart sped up in
her chest, reacting to his closeness, to the warmth of his body and his spicy scent.

  Remembering the way he’d tasted on her tongue.

  Venus had never once, not in her entire life, wanted to melt into a man’s arms only to be held and taken care of. She’d been in men’s arms for passion. For possession. For desire. For need. And yes, she knew she wanted all those things from this man she’d only known a matter of hours.

  But, right now, his tender concern seemed pretty damned attractive, too. Particularly when he reached up to brush a long strand of hair off her brow, his touch innocent yet crackling with electricity.

  He leaned closer. “I understand.” Then, to her further surprise, he continued. “You’re not alone, Venus. I’m going to help you.”

  AN HOUR LATER, while taking a long shower that did nothing to cool his overheated skin, Troy still couldn’t believe he’d offered to help Venus.

  “Help her do what?” he muttered as he reached out to turn the spray from lukewarm to cool. He know what he really wanted to help her do.

  Have a whole bunch of screaming orgasms.

  But that was out. No screaming orgasms loomed in the future for either one of them. Not even here in a large, dual-headed shower where he probably should have blown off some sexual steam before he saw the beautiful redhead again.

  Troy didn’t want to blow off steam with his hand. He wanted to create some serious steam…with her.

  Why he wanted her so much, he really couldn’t say. She was amazing to look at, sure, but he interacted with attractive women all the time. And for the past three months, none of them had come close to luring him out of his unintentional celibacy. Venus had done it with a flick of her ankle as she tapped her shoe into the air on the balcony.

  His suspicions about her should have tamped down on the desire. They hadn’t. The fact that she was a mystery—a cocky, confident mystery—had only added to the instant heat he’d felt when he first laid eyes on her.

  Well, not entirely confident. Obviously the woman’s self-confidence had taken a real hit when she’d arrived here at Max’s home. In the library, when he’d attempted to look at it from her point of view, he’d felt for her. Not that Max would care—if she really were his granddaughter, he wouldn’t give a damn whether she fit into his world or not.

  Venus, however, quite obviously cared. It couldn’t have been easy for a proud woman to admit she couldn’t handle the situation in which she found herself. The confusion and hint of fear in her eyes had affected him more deeply than he’d ever have imagined possible. He saw a hint of vulnerability in her which she’d probably never admit to having.

  And, to be honest, he admired her. She didn’t seem at all bitter, despite the bits and pieces he’d managed to glean about her life. She’d been orphaned, raised in foster care and had had to fight for every single thing she got. Yet it hadn’t made her greedy or grasping, nor had it made her resentful. She had a genuine smile and an infectious laugh. Her smart mouth was buoyed by an innate sense of humor that said she didn’t take anything too seriously.

  Completely unlike him.

  Troy was well used to being around money. He, more than anyone, knew he’d been incredibly fortunate to have always been part of a wealthy lifestyle. Still, he liked to think it hadn’t ruined him. He might have a reputation as a playboy at night, but fifty-hour workweeks had been a part of his life for the past several years. He didn’t mind hard work though, since he had never aspired to be a useless rich guy with fast cars, fast women and no ambition.

  He also liked to think he could do exactly what his twin had—make it completely on his own, without a penny of Langtree money. Though until recently his paychecks had come from a family-owned business, that’s essentially what he’d done. His salary had certainly been in line with any other retail executive, and it had supported him just fine. He wore nice clothes because he liked them and got them at a discount. He drove a Jaguar because he enjoyed going fast. Otherwise, he was pretty conservative with his money.

  Not, he imagined, that Venus Messina would believe it.

  Whatever she believed, she had to know he was in a position to help her deal with her new surroundings. If Leo’s claims proved true, if she really was Max’s granddaughter, she’d have to deal with them for the rest of her life.

  Tending bar at a Baltimore pub was a long way from interacting with the elite of Atlanta. She was right—she’d be crucified the minute she attended her first social function. Not by Max, of course. If Venus really turned out to be his son’s daughter, Max wouldn’t care if the woman got up and danced the limbo on the bar at the country club.

  “She won’t, though,” he muttered as he rinsed his hair. Because Troy had said he’d help her and that’s exactly what he intended to do. At least until he found out for sure what she was up to. Until then, helping her learn to fit in would be the perfect excuse to keep her within his sight and try to make sure Max didn’t get hurt. The tricky part would be keeping her in his sight…but out of his arms and out of his bed.

  Which was exactly where he most wanted her to be.

  She was funny and beautiful. Irreverent and bawdy. But at some moments so damned vulnerable, he wanted to just take her in his arms and hold her. Pretty unbelievable for Troy Langtree, whose own twin had on occasion called him a louse when it came to women.

  Twisting the knob close to ice-cold, he let a jet of frigid water cascade down his body, then turned the shower off. After opening the glass door, he stepped out onto the mat, then reached for a towel he’d dropped on the counter earlier. Before he could take another step toward it, however, he realized he had company.

  Venus.

  Standing just a few feet away, inside the bathroom, she froze, just as he did. Their eyes met, their stares held. They both sucked in their breath and held it. Each stunned. Each unsure what would come next.

  Troy noted the shock on her face. He didn’t imagine Venus Messina was shocked by much. Now, though, her wide eyes and gaping mouth said his presence had taken her by surprise.

  “Ever hear of knocking?” he asked in a lazy drawl, making no effort to grab the towel. Hell, if she wanted to stand there staring at his naked body, instead of beating a hasty retreat, he’d accommodate her.

  She wore only a fluffy towel sarong style, that barely covered all the essentials. Her hair was piled loosely on her head, with a few long, tempting curls hanging loose. In one hand she held a small bottle of bath oil and a paperback book. Her other hand was pressed flat against her heart, the bright red tips of her long nails stark against the white terrycloth and her smooth, creamy skin.

  Her eyes remained wide and appraising. Without so much as an apology, an embarrassed explanation, and certainly not a quick exit, she moved her gaze over his body, head to toe. Even from here he could see the strong, fast pulse in her neck and the rush of color on her face. Her every deeply inhaled breath loosened the towel she wore. His heart skipped a beat, as he wondered if the loose knot would give way, revealing her body to his hungry gaze, as his was to her.

  On someone shorter, the towel might have done an adequate job of covering the critical parts of a woman’s body. On Venus, it barely concealed the tips of her lush breasts, showing deep cleavage and creamy smooth skin. The tight shirt she’d worn earlier hadn’t done justice to the curviness of the woman.

  Troy used to consider himself a leg man. Right now, though, he’d have to say full mouthwatering breasts had jumped to the top of his list.

  The bottom hem of her towel came within a whisper of reaching her upper thighs. But the fabric didn’t quite conceal a shadowy hint of the curls between her legs. He swallowed a groan as his mouth went dry with pure undiluted want. His body, already in a state of semiarousal since the moment they met, reacted predictably.

  She noticed, and finally regained her voice. “Oh. My. God.”

  Yeah. That summed it up about as well as anything else.

  For a moment, Venus couldn’t make sense of what had happen
ed. She’d come strolling into the bathroom, deciding to take advantage of its sunken tub, which the housekeeper had mentioned when showing her to her own suite. And she’d walked in on the most perfectly luscious naked male body she’d ever seen.

  Perfect. Luscious. Naked. Oh, yes. Oh, yes, indeedy.

  Troy Langtree was a woman’s centerfold fantasy in the flesh. He made her remember why she was so very glad to be a woman without even touching her.

  He had the kind of thickly muscled shoulders that made her fingers tighten at the thought of digging into them. His chest was just as strong, perfectly sinewed and rippling, with flat, male nipples puckered from his shower. Her own nipples tightened beneath the towel, sending a sharp sense of awareness ratcheting throughout her.

  Water dripped from his hair to his shoulders, then lower, riding the muscles down his body. They were like precise, tiny arrows she wanted to follow with her tongue.

  Follow the arrows to the treasure.

  The very bountiful treasure.

  Her mouth went dry. And moisture gathered between her legs. Her desire raged insistent and hot, begging for the kind of release only a man—this man—could give her.

  Somehow, though, Venus remained upright and continued examining him.

  His skin was tanned. She figured that made sense because he’d lived at the beach in Florida. But the physique was a definite surprise. Troy Langtree was toned and muscular, hot and hard. Not at all the suit-wearing businessman type she’d have expected. This guy had the kind of body that could make a grown woman sit up and beg.

  Wiry dark hair swirled over his chest, around the nipples she wanted to taste with her tongue and down the washboard stomach. Then lower, trailing in a thin line, stark against the paler skin below the edge of his tan. It took a lot of self-control to keep from sighing as she looked even farther, holding her breath as his very impressive male package swelled under her hot, appreciative stare.

  Watching him grow fully erect, until he was throbbing and ready, she dropped her book and bath oil, and clutched the counter for support.