Wicked & Willing: Bad Girls

by Leslie Kelly

  Though it was now only seven-thirty, she knew there was no point staying in bed. Remembering Max had said to feel free to use the pool, she decided to put on her suit and start the day with a little exercise. Though she considered exercise one of the worst words in the English language, it wasn’t as bad as another of the worst words—cellulite. She’d just sat up in bed when she heard a knock on the door. “Venus?”

  Troy.

  Great, what a way to start the day. Face-to-face with the guy who’d seen her naked, made her have an orgasm she’d dreamed about during her pitifully few hours of sleep and sent a piece of half-chewed beef flying out of her open, drooling mouth with enough force to bruise her ribs.

  “Just a sec!” She reached for the T-shirt she’d put on before going to bed last night, which, since Venus always slept naked, had been flung off within ten minutes. Unfortunately, she reached too far, and felt herself slipping right off the stupid sheets, hitting the floor with a thunk and a surprised shriek.

  The door opened before she’d even had time to lift her face off the floor and see if she’d broken anything. Like a lamp. Or her nose.

  “Are you all right?” Troy crouched next to her, touching her bare shoulder.

  “Maybe I’m looking for something under the bed,” she muttered as she glanced up at him, hoping she was still asleep and this was just another bad dream.

  He cast a leisurely look down her naked back, grinning as he frankly perused her ass. “Perhaps your underwear?”

  “I don’t wear them,” she snapped. Grabbing a sheet from the bed, she tugged it down and wrapped it around herself as she stood up. “Didn’t you get enough of seeing me naked last night?”

  He shook his head. “Is that a trick question?” Continuing to stare her up and down, he murmured, “You know, like asking a woman if she can ever own enough shoes? She might try to lie, so she doesn’t look greedy, but deep in her heart, she’s dying for one more pair of Prada’s.”

  Considering Venus was a shoe woman all the way, she found the comparison immensely flattering. “What do you want?” she asked.

  She looked him over as she waited for his reply. He wasn’t dressed for work. He wore a pair of gym shorts and a sleeveless muscle shirt, which should have looked out of place on Mr. V.P., but instead looked damned sinful. He’d either just showered or gone swimming. His body glistened with a sheen of moisture that accented the rippling muscles of his arms and chest.

  Perfect. Here she was with hair flying in twenty directions, a serious case of morning breath and probably a fat lip where her face had hit the floor.

  Femme fatales worldwide must be quivering in mortification.

  “You’re a little accident prone, aren’t you? Remind me to never let you drive my car.”

  “No. I absolutely am not,” she retorted, holding the sheet against her chest while she ran her other hand through her hair, trying to smooth it down. “And, besides, I don’t like your car.”

  His eyes widened in disbelief. “Okay, that’s going too far. You just insulted my Jag.”

  Men and cars. Who could figure? “It’s too small,” she explained. “Or I’m too tall. We just don’t fit well together.”

  Now, there was an understatement. She fit in with his car about as well as she fit in with this man or with this house.

  That’d be a big fat zero percent.

  “It’s a convertible. I can put the top down.”

  “Wouldn’t that do wonders for my hair?”

  He cast a doubtful look at her head. “Oh, yes, that would be a tragedy.”

  Venus thought about letting go of the sheet long enough to punch him in the gut, but figured the sheet would fall and he’d get yet another chance to see her stark naked and vulnerable. “Exactly what is it you want?”

  “What size are you? Ten? Twelve?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Instead of answering, he walked around her, studying her head to toe. “Probably a ten…but with those hips…”

  “I’m a perfect eight,” she snarled, wondering how her day had gone from so-so to lousy in a two-minute time span.

  He snickered. “Yeah. Right. Okay, have a good day.” Then he turned toward the door.

  She grabbed his arm, almost tripping on the sheet tangled around her feet. “Why do you want to know my size?”

  He paused, smiling gently. “You went to bed so early last night, you didn’t get a chance to hear Max’s plans. He wants to take us to some charity dinner at the country club tomorrow.”

  Though Venus hadn’t eaten much the previous night, she suddenly felt as if she had a full stomach. A full stomach on a roller-coaster ride. She raised a shaky hand to her lips. “His country club?”

  He seemed to see her nervousness immediately. “It’s all right, Venus. I’ll make sure you have something to wear.”

  “All the better to spill on, my dear?”

  He stepped closer, pushing her wildly curling hair off her face with a touch so tender she almost sighed. “You’ll be fine. We’ll talk tonight, okay? And we’ll get you ready.”

  “Ready to enjoy eating cold soup and meat with a pulse? I doubt it,” she said as she flopped on to the bed, lying on her back. She stared at the ceiling. “I want to go home.”

  “Home is better than designer clothes and country clubs?” he asked, sitting beside her on the bed, taking her hand but making no attempt to move too close.

  She somehow doubted the role of comforter came naturally to the man, but he was pretty darn good at it, anyway. “Home is beer and pizza. Laughter at Flanagan’s, my uncle’s pub. Games of darts. Betting on the Orioles.” Still lying next to him on the huge bed, she turned to stare at him. “What’s home to you?”

  “Sales circulars,” he murmured. “Meetings. New lines.” He chuckled lightly. “Battles with my grandmother about the suitability of the date I brought to the last holiday party.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  He glanced at her out the corner of his eye and admitted, “My grandmother doesn’t seem to approve of my taste in women.”

  “Oh?” she asked, trying to hide her keen interest. “You have a certain type you like?”

  He laughed softly. “The breathing type.”

  She slowly rose on the bed until she sat next to him. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a dog?”

  He narrowed his eyes, obviously thinking about it. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I suppose that’s as accurate as anything.”

  “I don’t believe it.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, careful not to dislodge the sheet, and gave him a look of pure skepticism. “Dogs don’t admit they’re dogs.”

  He shrugged. “Ex-dog? Reformed dog?”

  “Neutered dog?” she said with a wicked grin.

  He raised a brow, daring her to remember how totally bogus that claim was. She giggled, saying, “Okay, that one’s out.”

  “I should say so.”

  Though it was early in the morning, and she was in a strange house, having a conversation with a man she’d known less than a day—and, oh, yeah, almost naked—Venus wanted to know more. “So does the respectable, conservative, suit-wearing businessman by day live a double life?”

  He took a moment before answering. Then, finally, he sighed. “I guess I did, though I didn’t really see it at the time. Trent is convinced my romantic troubles came about as a result of having to be the good twin growing up.”

  She raised a dubious brow, remembering the naked man who’d made no effort to grab for the towel yesterday afternoon. “You’re the good twin? Lordy, I think I wanna meet your brother.”

  “I said growing up,” he clarified. “We switched roles somewhere along the line. He’s now settled down, happily married and soon to become a father.”

  “But it wasn’t always like that?”

  “No. Trent used to be the one in trouble for skipping school. The one who wrecked cars as a teenager. He took up every dangerous sport there is—skydiving, mountain climbing,
street racing.”

  She began to understand. While she’d always thought it would be kinda cool having a twin, she now saw the flip side. Imagine being pressured from a young age to be the opposite of a person who physically looked just like you? “And you were the good son, great student, the suck-up rich kid who was supposed to honor the family name and make dad proud, right?”

  He shifted on the bed, turning to face her. “Suck up? You’ve got the most colorful vocabulary.”

  She ignored him. “So Trent was the troubled teen, while by day you lived your dutiful, assigned role, and by night…”

  He shrugged. “I snuck women into my room.”

  Sounded like her kind of guy. Too bad she’d already decided she couldn’t have him. Now, though, sitting in her rumpled bed, still lethargic and warm from her sheets, she could hardly remember why she couldn’t have him. “I suppose your brother’s theory makes sense, and it could be part of what’s driven you….”

  “But?” he asked, looking very interested in her opinion. More interested than she’d have expected.

  “But isn’t it possible, Troy, that, uh, you also just really…like sex?”

  He started to laugh, genuinely amused. “Yeah. That’s what I always figured,” he admitted. “How funny someone I’ve known for less than a day would understand.” His laughter gradually faded and he simply looked at her face. He studied her intently and repeated, “How funny.”

  “Maybe I understand it because I’m a lot like you,” she admitted softly. “There’s plenty of stuff in the world that can stress me out or bring me down. Should I feel ashamed because sex isn’t one of them?”

  He instantly reminded her of their conversation the night before. “Then why has it been since last fall for you?”

  She answered his question with a question of her own. “Well, why are you now ‘reformed’?”

  They stared at each other, both realizing the conversation had somehow gotten more intense and personal than they’d ever intended. Certainly it had on Venus’s part. She had no problem talking to this mouthwatering man about sex. But about silly things like family and babies and a fast-approaching thirtieth birthday? He didn’t need to hear about how she’d awakened one day and decided she wanted real emotion and commitment for the first time in her life. He’d probably laugh in her face.

  “All I can say,” he replied, “is that if we’d met a year ago, we wouldn’t be sitting here just talking right now.”

  His mouth curved into a knowing smile, and all Venus could think about was the way he’d tasted when they’d kissed. She focused on a bead of sweat on his jaw, which drew her attention to the strong beat of his pulse in his neck. His skin would taste salty right there, his heart would beat hard against her if she fell back onto the bed and pulled him down on top of her.

  When he met her eyes, his expression told her he knew exactly what she was feeling, and felt the same.

  No. They wouldn’t be talking. They’d be all over each other. She wasn’t fool enough to try denying it even to herself.

  “We’d be….”

  “Yeah,” he said with complete certainty. “We would.”

  She nervously licked her lips, wincing slightly as she touched her tongue to a tender, swollen spot. He leaned closer, close enough that she could feel his breath on the side of her face. Then he gently touched his mouth to hers, delicately licking the sore spot.

  “You’re gonna have a fat lip,” he murmured as he teased her with incredibly light touches of his tongue.

  She moaned deep in her throat. “Are you kissing it to make it better?” She shifted on the bed to face him more fully.

  “Uh-huh. Is it helping?”

  No. Not helping. He might be making her mouth feel better, but other body parts were beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Needy. Hot. “I might have bumped myself in one or two other places, too.”

  He laughed softly. “I’d love to kiss all of those places and make them feel better, Venus.” Then, he reluctantly pulled away. “But I guess I should get out of here. Because if I start, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

  For the rest of the day? Or forever? He pulled away before she could ask him to clarify.

  Finally, in a shaky voice, she said, “Okay, size ten. Twelve if it’s cut narrow in the hips and bust.”

  He smiled slowly as he rose to leave the room. “I’ll see you tonight, Venus.”

  AS HE DROVE through downtown traffic on the way to the office, Troy dialed his brother’s home number on his cell phone. Trent would probably be long gone, of course. No doubt he’d been up with the sun, out digging holes in the dirt, planting trees and mucking around in fertilizer. Lovely.

  He’d often wondered where Trent got that earthy streak, Not that Troy disliked being outdoors. As a matter of fact, so far the one thing he hated about life in Atlanta was losing out on his mornings on the beach. In Florida he’d started every day with a run, watching the sunrise, enjoying those quiet, silent moments, disturbed only by the never-ending churning of the surf and the lonely calls of gulls and osprey. Here, he had to run down winding roads in the elite community where Max lived. Still beautiful scenery, if he counted mansions and BMW’s. But not the same, not at all.

  When his sister-in-law answered, he couldn’t help flirting. She’d expect nothing less. “Hey beautiful, ready to leave that dog-faced gardener you’re married to yet?”

  She sighed. “What can I say? I’ve grown rather attached to those rough, calloused hands, even if he’s not much to look at.”

  “How’s my niece or nephew?”

  “No longer making me throw up every morning, at least,” Chloe responded. “This is awfully early for a social call.”

  He quickly explained what he wanted her to do. Since Chloe now worked full-time in management at the store, having finished up her education last year shortly after she and Trent had married, she was the perfect person to ask. “And don’t say anything to anyone else, please. Just charge it to my account.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you need this stuff? Or should I use my imagination?”

  “Let’s say I’m helping a friend prepare for an elegant dinner for Max tomorrow night.”

  She snorted. “Tell me you’re not bringing a hooker to your boss’s dinner.”

  He grinned, wondering what Venus would say to being called a hooker. Considering she was one of the least judgmental people he’d ever met, he doubted she’d be too offended. “No, actually this person might be a long-lost member of the family.”

  “Oh? As in long-lost distant cousin or something?”

  “No. Possibly Max’s granddaughter.”

  Chloe whistled, then zoned in on the key issue. “Max’s granddaughter? Someone who could interfere with the merger?”

  “You’re too quick,” he said as he cut down a side street to the parking lot of his building. “I think I liked you better when you were dressing windows.”

  “Even when you starred in them?” she quipped, referring to the display windows she’d done at Langtree’s last summer, when she and Trent had met and she’d mistaken him for Troy. She’d been pretty obvious about her feelings, and the displays had reflected that.

  A lifelong habit of intentionally trying to get under his more emotional brother’s skin had made Troy intentionally pretend an interest in her, even though she’d really wanted Trent from the start. “Look, don’t worry about it, Chloe. Max is still planning on going ahead with the deal. Venus is…a distraction, that’s all. Even if she does turn out to be Max’s granddaughter, I don’t think she’d want any part of Longotti Lines.”

  He spoke the truth. He honestly didn’t picture Venus having any desire to pick up and move to Atlanta to run her grandfather’s company. She’d know better than anyone that she had no experience, no qualifications, and would be better off if Max sold out. The sale would bring a whole lot more cash into the family, which would no doubt seem beneficial to someone who might prove to be his main heir.
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br />   “Venus?” his sister-in-law asked doubtfully.

  “I’m pulling into the parking lot right now. I’ll talk to you later,” he said, cutting the connection. He did not want to try to explain Venus to his sister-in-law. He didn’t think he could do her justice, though he imagined Chloe would just love hearing about a woman who’d called him a snot to his face.

  Venus was the kind of woman who had to be met in person to be appreciated. No way could he describe the way her aggressive attitude and smart-ass personality hid a vulnerable woman underneath. He shouldn’t be so sure of that, not after such a short relationship, but he was. As much as she’d hate to admit it, Venus could be very easily hurt.

  It would also be impossible for him to talk about her to Chloe without revealing some of the crazy feelings he had for the woman. Lust, well, that was a given. He’d been hot for Venus the moment he set eyes on her.

  But he also liked her. He liked the way her brilliant green eyes glittered when she was angry. Liked the way she didn’t back down to anyone—not him, not Max, not Leo. Liked her honest ability to talk about her own shortcomings. Liked the fond way she spoke of her foster family. He liked that she didn’t moan and groan about her situation, other than worrying about not fitting in. Liked the way she tried to act more tough when she was afraid or nervous.

  Basically, he liked the way he felt when he was with her.

  “Alive,” he murmured. Alive and anticipatory, never quite knowing what she was going to do next, or how he’d react to it.

  He’d never in his life felt like that with another woman.

  Troy somehow managed to put Venus out of his thoughts for most of the work day. Still new to his job, he had a lot of reading to do, meetings with manufacturers and a union rep. Their telemarketing contract was up for renewal and he was charged with drawing up the short list of companies. And, of course, in the back of his mind during every decision was the constant thought about the potential merger.

  As he packed up to leave at the end of the day, he asked Max’s secretary if she needed him to bring anything home to the elder man. Max hadn’t come in that day—he’d been busy entertaining his house guest. After bidding the woman and some of the other office staff good-night, he paused in Leo’s doorway. The man’s office was dark and empty, as it had been all day.