Good To Be Bad

by Lili Valente

  I wait until the sound of the engine fades before I say, “Boo.”

  Gigi jumps and turns my way, revealing the tears shining in her eyes. Before I realize I’m moving, I’m beside her, resting a gentle hand on her back. “Hey, there, love. What’s wrong? I saw what happened with your patron. That wasn’t a nice thing to hear?”

  “No, it was, I just…” She shakes her head, her chin trembling for a moment before she says, “I love that I’m the best part of her week, but I hate it too. People should have better things than pie in their life. You know? They should have people who love them and bring them joy.”

  Brow furrowing, I nod. “Yes, they should. But we don’t always get what we deserve. For good or for ill.”

  She sniffs. “No, but she should still have someone. Ms. Milton is wonderful.” She swallows hard and lifts her chin, meeting my gaze with a look I’ve never seen in her eyes before.

  She’s so…serious.

  And even more real and honest. And in that moment, I decide to do whatever it takes for her to trust me with this look again.

  I adore funny, sexy, kinky Gigi, but this woman with her heart in her eyes is irresistible.

  “Tell me,” I say softly. “Whatever it is. You can trust me, friend.”

  “But that’s the thing. I don’t know if I can just be your friend,” she says. “And that’s…scary.”

  “Why?” I ask. “I don’t bite. Not unless you ask nicely and tell me how hard you like it.”

  She doesn’t so much as blink, let alone smile.

  I cup her face, sobering. “I know. You’re right. It is scary. People do horrible things to each other when they’re dating, things they’d never do to a friend.”

  “Right,” she says. “When it should be the other way around. You should be more kind and careful with the people who let you that close, not more awful.”

  “Agreed. But I won’t do those horrible things, Gigi. I don’t play those kinds of games. I don’t play games, period, unless they come in a box. So, would you want to come back to my place tonight and play Scrabble with me? And let me make you dinner and show you that we can be friends who care about each other and have extraordinary sex and the sky won’t come falling down?”

  She holds my gaze and everything in the background goes soft until her lovely face is the only thing in focus.

  Finally, she whispers, “Monopoly not Scrabble.” She steps closer, then turns her head toward my ear. “And the winner picks the location for the main attraction.”

  When she pulls away, her eyes look wicked, but sweet, too.

  How is that possible?

  How can Gigi be so vulnerable with her heart and so naughty with her mouth? But that’s the onion of this woman. And I happen to like onions.

  I grab her hand, tug her close, and brush my lips to hers. “See you at eight.”

  “I’ll be there.” When we break the kiss, the vixen of seconds ago has vanished. In her place is the woman who said people should be kind. That’s the woman who flashes me a nervous smile but then squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. “And if you invite me to spend the night, I’ll say yes.”

  Answering her unspoken question isn’t hard at all. “You damn well better.”

  17

  From the texts of Gigi James and West Byron

  * * *

  Gigi: Guess where I am?

  * * *

  West: Since it’s 7:55, you’d better be five minutes away. Unless you’re naked in the bath and want to send photos. I will accept tardiness in that case.

  * * *

  Gigi: You like tub photos? Noted.

  * * *

  West: I like YOU photos. Note that.

  * * *

  Gigi: Then, just imagine I’m sending you a picture of me walking out of the wine shop two blocks from your place with a fantastic chardonnay for the chicken you’re making. Because this wine pairs very well with chicken, though honestly, I bought it because I thought it would pair well with your lips.

  * * *

  West: I like your thinking, woman.

  * * *

  Gigi: I also brought a peach pie. Because…peach pie.

  * * *

  West: Peach pie needs no explanation.

  * * *

  Gigi: And I don’t have to be at work until ten tomorrow.

  * * *

  West: Brilliant.

  * * *

  Gigi: Also, West?

  * * *

  West: Yes?

  * * *

  Gigi: I never responded to your text from last night. About the chocolate.

  * * *

  West: You’re not required to respond.

  * * *

  Gigi: I know. But if I were you, I would have wanted a response. I was honestly just…a little scared.

  * * *

  West: Of what?

  * * *

  Gigi: That if I texted back, I’d confess how much I loved buying you a little gift. Picking it out and hoping you’d like it. Hoping that you’d think of me.

  * * *

  West: I loved it, Gigi, and I absolutely thought of you. I think of you often.

  * * *

  Gigi: Good. Because here I am, ringing your bell.

  * * *

  West: Oh, you are definitely ringing my bell.

  18

  Gigi

  Dreams coming true.

  I swear I can see them taunting me from just over the hill. Peeking around the corner. Poking their head out like a groundhog in February searching for spring.

  I have a wild, loop-de-loop feeling in my chest and suspect that Dreams Coming True might taste even better than the peach pie I brought for dessert.

  But first, I indulge in West’s yummy buttermilk-marinated roast chicken and sautéed broccolini and, gasp, bread.

  Homemade bread.

  It’s warm and yeasty and pillowy. I rip off a hunk and pop it into my mouth. I lick my lips, delighted that my boyf—nope, he’s my date, that’s all—can cook this well.

  “If your scones taste anything like this bread, I might have to revisit my feelings about them,” I say after I finish chewing. We’re at the counter in his kitchen, perched on wooden bar stools, surrounded by his fantastic cooking.

  Lifting his wine glass, he arches a wry brow. “If you mean that my scones are heavenly, mouth-watering and delicious, you’d be right.” He takes a drink of the wine, then sets it down. “I’m looking forward to you rescinding all those horrid things you said.”

  I give him a saucy look. “You’ll have to prove they’re as good as this bread.”

  He drops a kiss to my cheek. “That means you’ll have to come over again.”

  My breath catches. He asked me for another date.

  Though, really, tonight is basically a hookup.

  A hookup with yummy food and board games, but still… I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

  Except, those familiar play-it-cool tricks aren’t working. I can’t fool myself any longer, and I don’t really want to. Tonight feels like so much more than casual sex.

  At least, it does to me.

  So…this is a real date.

  And he just asked me on another one.

  I give him the only answer I can. “Then I say yes.”

  He cups my cheek and brushes his lips to mine, sending the world spiraling away in a dazzling wine-soaked kiss.

  But soon, he breaks it. “Time for Monopoly. Fair warning, if I don’t win in thirty minutes, I’m likely to forfeit because I don’t know how long I can wait to have you, love.”

  I tap his nose lightly with my finger. “Good things come to those who wait.”

  But I don’t want him to wait. I really don’t.

  “I’m close. So close.” I shimmy my shoulders in a near-victory dance as he places the race car on Boardwalk. “I am a hotel magnate! Pay up, mister. Pay up!”

  I rub my thumb and forefinger together.

  He grumbles but turns over several bills. “You are terribl
e,” he says from our spot on the couch in his library, the game spread out on the coffee table.

  “I know, but I’m a very benevolent hotel owner, and if you play your cards right, you might get the room service special.” I give him an over-the-top wink as I waggle the fake bills.

  I punctuate my showboating by leaning closer to give my sexy Brit a hot smooch.

  I can’t even blame the wine. I only had one glass. But I’m feeling so bubbly. So effervescent.

  I want to kiss him and touch him and talk to him. I want to play games, tell him my stories, hear all of his. And I want to go to bed with him very soon.

  “Also, don’t feel bad,” I add. “You’re a fantastic competitor. Losing doesn’t change that.”

  “I haven’t lost yet, woman,” he growls, all tough and broody.

  “But you will. Oh, mark my words, West Byron, you will.”

  “You and my sister,” he mutters.

  “Aww. Did Abby school you in Monopoly, too?”

  “She absolutely did. She was ferocious, made me play for hours.” He says it with a huff, but it’s clear he loved every second of those games.

  “And you couldn’t resist her. You always said yes to your little sister, I bet.”

  He simply shrugs and smiles. “What can I say? She had me wrapped around her little finger. I’d give her the world if I could.”

  My heart thunders.

  I remember what my gram used to say to Harrison when we were growing up. “You can tell the measure of a man by how he treats his sister. That’s how he’ll treat his partner.”

  The way West is with Abby—the things he does for her, how he prioritizes her—tugs on my heart so much. Makes me want to take my heart out of the gilded cage that I’ve kept it in lately and offer it to him, let him care for it.

  I cover my heart with my hand, my throat tightening. “I love that you love your sister so much. That you look out for her, and that you always did,” I blurt out.

  West laughs, but then it fades as he tilts his head, locking his eyes with mine. “You do?”

  “Yeah, I do. I think it’s wonderful. I’ve known men who don’t talk to their families or their sisters at all. Or who are just flat-out mean or disrespectful. But the way you are is really wonderful.”

  “It’s the only way to be.” He brushes a lock of hair from my cheek, even though I don’t think my hair is out of place. “And I love that you’re such a people person, Gigi,” he says, his rich, warm voice like honey.

  “Good. Because I can’t help it.” I laugh, casting my eyes down.

  Tucking a finger under my chin, he raises my face. “It’s wildly endearing. The way you think about others. How you care about strangers and family and friends. Even people you haven’t met, like my sister. It’s so…” It almost seems like he’s going to say sexy, but he stops himself, and takes his time with the next word. “Beautiful.”

  My heart thumps against my chest, emotions welling. “West, what you said earlier on the street? About games?”

  “Yes?”

  I steady myself to strip bare in a way that scares me so much more than actual stripping. “I don’t want to play games, either. I’m glad you don’t like that stuff.”

  “I don’t. At all. I like honesty, even when it’s hard.”

  “So do I.” My pulse spikes. I am caught in his orbit, and I don’t want to be anywhere else. “Also, I forfeit.”

  “You don’t want to finish the game?” he asks, bending closer to me on the couch, dusting his lips across my cheek.

  I swear this wasn’t supposed to happen. I met him and planned to sleep with him, and that was all. But now, just a few days later, I’m swimming in a sea of feelings.

  There’s only one solution.

  Keep going.

  I tug him up from the couch, my hand in his. “The ladder.”

  His dark eyes shine with dirty deeds. “Perfect location.”

  19

  West

  I begin my confession as I undress her. First, I slide the straps of her red and white polka-dot dress over her shoulders, down her arms. “Since the first night I met you, I’ve wanted to have you here.”

  “On your ladder?” She reaches for the hem of my navy-blue polo shirt.

  I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her flower-and-sweet-spice scent, letting it flood my senses.

  “Yes. And my tub, and my couch, and my pool table.”

  “Sounds like a game of Clue—Gigi, in the library, with your cock,” she says with a light laugh, and I love that she can be passionate and funny in the same moment.

  I return to removing every item of clothing from her gorgeous body.

  Down goes the bodice, off goes the skirt, then the shoes, until she wears only her lacy underthings—a pretty pink bra that boosts those lush breasts, and matching knickers that I bet are as soaked as I am hard.

  But arousal is not all I see on Gigi.

  That’s just the surface. A surface I adore. But I’m adoring too, what’s inside her. What’s under her skin, in her heart, percolating in that quick mind.

  She’s clever and kind, and it’s a flavor combination I never knew I wanted, but now I need to taste over and over.

  “Gigi James, you’re irresistible,” I tell her, as I reach for her wrists, lift them over her head, and tell her to hold onto the rung.

  She curls her palms around it. “Like this?”

  “Yes, that’s perfect. I’ve pictured this so many times.”

  I kiss the hollow of her throat, eliciting a gasp, then her shoulder, drawing an arch of her gorgeous back. Slowly, luxuriously, I make my way down her arm to the crook of her elbow, brushing soft, tender kisses along her skin. “Your skin is so soft,” I whisper. “I could kiss you everywhere.”

  “I won’t stop you, West.”

  I crave the way she says my name at times like this, all heated and needy, like she desperately needs me to please her body.

  But also like she needs me.

  Just me.

  As I travel back up her arm, down her chest, burying my face between the lush valley of these gorgeous globes, I feel so much need for her.

  But it’s more than sexual.

  I need this woman with me. In my house. My life.

  I didn’t set out to find a woman who captivated me. Or to meet someone I’d become consumed with. But in a shockingly short while, that’s exactly what I’ve found.

  A woman who challenges all my assumptions about myself.

  My belief in my independence.

  My certainty that I don’t want a relationship.

  My steadfast faith that timing is everything.

  The timing for us feels all wrong.

  But everything is so right with her.

  I don’t know what happens tomorrow or the next day or the day after, but I know this much—I want her with me for far longer than a week or two. And I want her as more than a friend.

  And that means tonight is not the night to fuck her on a ladder.

  It’s the night to make love to her in my bed.

  I raise my face and look into her gorgeous blue eyes, shimmering with desire and so much more.

  “Wrap your arms around my neck, darling.”

  She does. “Why?”

  “So you can come to my bed, where I can worship your body properly. So I can spread you out and lavish attention on you. And mostly, so I can show you how much I want you in my life.”

  She shivers and parts her lips.

  20

  Gigi

  I don’t know how to speak without my voice breaking, without starting to cry.

  But not tears of sadness.

  Tears of wonder.

  Wonder at how this happened so quickly, so spectacularly.

  But I don’t want to mar this moment with sniffles, so I swallow past the knot in my throat, and speak with a tremble in my voice but with all the certainty in the world. “I want you in my life too.” I loop my arms tighter around his neck. “As more
than a friend.”

  He slides his hands under my ass, scoops me up, angling me so I can wrap my legs around his waist. “You’re already more than a friend,” he says, those dark eyes intent on mine as he carries me to his bedroom, sets me on his king size bed and strips off my bra and panties.

  His hands are strong, but gentle too, as if I’m something he cherishes. As he slides his hands down my body, trailing them over my skin, I feel adored.

  He looks at me like he wants so much more than one night. Like he wants time and memories and plans for the future.

  And I want all the same things.

  Starting right now.

  I sit up and help him along, tugging at his shirt. I yank it over his head as he unzips his pants. “Eager much?” he teases.

  “So eager. It’s been forever.”

  “My God, it feels like it,” he says, kicking off the rest of his clothes, his cock standing at attention, tall and proud, announcing its intentions.

  “Hello, there,” I purr as I grasp his length, savoring the feel of it.

  The bare, wonderful feel of him.

  Which makes me take another chance.

  I stare up at him. “West, I’m on birth control. And I’ve been tested, and the coast is clear, so…”