Bad Boy's Baby Part 47

My chest tightened, and everything else clenched too. How could a man who was so wrong, so horrible, and so awful tempt me?

My head and heart tangled with each other. Neither could overpower the other.

Con-artist.

s.e.xiest man I ever touched.

Liar.

He smiled, baring his teeth, reminding me of his teasing bite.

Step-brother.

He was too close to me. The rugged, dusty scent of him dizzied my head worse than the drinks he bought me that night. I would have done anything if he were just a stranger, just someone I met, just someone I could have once more.

But he wasn't.

He was Zach. He was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

And he was still holding my panties.

I ripped them away from him, but my fingers brushed his. A dozen little s.h.i.+vers cracked into a thousand tiny whispers with a million different regrets. His hand warmed mine, so much bigger and stronger than my delicate palm. His skin, light and fair, contrasted mine with perfect beauty. Like we were made opposite just to be brought together. Two sides of a coin. Two polar extremes of a magnet.

My mouth dried. He stilled.

"Shay-"

His voice rumbled with a playboy's confidence, the smooth jazz of a man who knew what he liked and got it every time.

But not this time.

I couldn't let him do this to me.

Not again.

New life rule. Zach was a sin, even worse than the cardinal ones, if they made it. Blue-jay maybe. Or, since he was an American soldier, Bald Eagle Sin.

In any case, Zach Harden was completely off-limits to me. Forbidden. And I had one way to make sure he left my life forever.

It wasn't every day a girl could recover from her mistakes with grace. It was an even rarer day she could buy redemption. I had the money. I had the opportunity. I would spend as much as I could if it meant banis.h.i.+ng my greatest mistake. Enough was enough.

"I'm moving to the mansion," I said. "But once I get my trust, I'm buying your half of the estate from you. After that's done, you'll have no reason to contact me again."

"Fair is fair." Zach leaned close. "Though I think you're missing a great opportunity."

"For what?"

"To fall for me."

I met his gaze, just as hard and deliberate as the rest of him. "I would rather lose every penny to my name than fall for you."

"Say the word. You can get me for free."

I laughed. "Cherish your memories. That's all you'll ever have."

"Those are some priceless memories, baby." He grabbed a packed box from the floor, but nearly dropped it. His fingers trembled. He cracked his knuckles and tried again, lifting it without a problem. "Are these going?"

"Put it down."

He winked. "I'll take it home for you. But don't be late. I'm ordering dinner for seven."

He grabbed another box on the way out.

Great. I was barefoot, and every pair of shoes I owned was packed in the box he carried outside. My panties scattered in his wake.

I groaned.

Living with Zach would be living with pure temptation. Either I'd throttle him or I'd...

I didn't let myself finish the thought. There was no other alternative. We could tolerate each other in a semi-peaceful truce and that was it. No ordered dinners. No falling for him.

And no reason for him to have stolen my favorite pair of black panties!

I rifled through my suitcase and checked under the bed. Gone. G.o.d, he was a pervert.

I fumed.

He had it right. He deserved every part of his nickname.

Living with Zach was going to be H-a-r-d.

Chapter Seven Zach.

The mansion had a lot of perks. The gym. The pool. I even got myself a king-sized bed.

But a bed like this wasn't for sleeping. I could think of much better things to do on it.

But the one woman I wanted in the bed was the one who wanted nothing to do with me while horizontal.

Good thing I was just as proficient when vertical.

I kicked my duffle bag into the closet. This wasn't a room that deserved a mess on the floor. The bed had eight f.u.c.king pillows. Who the h.e.l.l used that many pillows? Or a quilt that looked like someone stretched and ruined a scarf then tossed it over a corner. They painted the ceiling with cherubs, and mismatched marble and granite in the fireplace.

It was all my mother's doing, as was most of the decor in the house. If Shay noticed the mansion transitioned from eighteenth century France to nineteenth century Venice, she said nothing. My mother transformed the estate into journey through history. We were lucky she hadn't require powdered wigs and c.u.mmerbunds to enjoy it.

I couldn't fault her style, even if the bleach in her hair scrambled what she thought looked cla.s.sy. At least Mom and Darnell had been happy before the end. She wanted a guy with a bottomless wallet to take care of her, and he liked them blonde and pumped full of silicon. Match made in Heaven.

I wished them well and then headed overseas. It wasn't my place to judge and, h.e.l.l, I didn't have time for family. But life had a funny way of trapping you in an ambush and splitting your flesh with two pounds of explosive shrapnel. Fate spoke to me, saying slow down or bleed out. I woke from surgery with my mother talking about diamonds, tulle veils, and destination weddings. Took her two days and one seizure before she asked which of my organs didn't make it back from Iraq.

Par for the f.u.c.king course.

My head pounded. The bed looked good, but so did the stack of weights in the bas.e.m.e.nt gym and the salt-water pool. I needed to do both.

I kicked the pillows off the bed instead.

I didn't need this luxury. I got used to lying in two inches of standing water and sucking mud in the middle of monsoons. I once laid motionless for twenty-two straight hours in the stinging desert waiting for a target to slip from the hut where the f.u.c.ker traded children for G.o.d-knows-what. And that night was comfortable compared to other a.s.signments.

And now I owned a king-sized bed with a remote that controlled the television, lights, stereo, climate settings, and security systems.

I even had a panic room.

A SEAL.

In a panic room.

Unless an intruder planned on locking me inside of it, the f.u.c.ker messing with me was in more danger-even while I blinked away headaches.

A headache that was getting worse.

"f.u.c.k it."

I yanked my s.h.i.+rt over my head and kicked off my boots. Pretty sure there was a hamper somewhere in my room, but d.a.m.n if I cared.

I collapsed on the bed, feet kicked over the side. Close enough. The migraine came on strong. I clenched my eyes shut, but that didn't do s.h.i.+t. I flopped over into the remaining pillows and buried my head. That was better. Darker at least. Comfortable.

Except for my namesake.

Christ.

I s.h.i.+fted. My c.o.c.k didn't. Hard didn't begin to describe it.

I spent entirely too much time thinking about Shay, and I wasted even more concocting a crazy excuse for a chance to see her again.

Christ she was pretty when she got mad.

Shay was the kind of beautiful you hallucinated after a blow to the head. And she was the one girl who'd make me swallow my tongue before I thought of something clever to say.

Like...I probably should have told you I was your step-brother before I f.u.c.ked you. That might have helped. Keeping it secret rubbed her the wrong way...which was ironic since our problems started when I rubbed her the right way.

I couldn't get her out of my head or the blood out of my c.o.c.k. I hoped my headache would temper my reaction, but if Shay's hatred hadn't swayed me, nothing would.

She didn't know it yet, but the SEALs trained me for intricate games of cat-and-mouse. I lived for the hunt. And after I caught Shay? I'd make sure she was both stuffed and mounted.

If she didn't kill me first.

"Get out of my bed."

f.u.c.k.

The pounding headache only just started to yield. Figured. I gritted my teeth and rolled. Didn't make it up, but I bluffed anyway. I patted the pillow beside me as my vision cleared.

"You could join me."

"Are you always such an a.s.shole?"

"Do you always burst into people's bedrooms uninvited?"

I tucked my arms behind my head. My lovely intruder fumbled with a suitcase packed with more panties than a s.e.xy woman like her ever needed to wear. She was p.i.s.sed. That only made it more fun. I got off on making everything a war with her. She wound up too easy and exploded with all the subtlety of a grenade.

Last time I checked, she didn't have that big of a stick up her a.s.s. Still, watching her squirm amused the f.u.c.k out of me, even if it ruined my chances to glimpse that perfectly delicious backside.

"This is the master bedroom," she said.

I grinned. "Didn't know you were into those types of games."

She dropped the suitcase. "How dare you take the master bedroom!"

"What's wrong with this bedroom?"

"It should be...this was my father's house!"

I tilted my head. "And my mother's."

"Don't you think I should have the master bedroom? This is my house, built with my father's money."

Was everything going to be such a f.u.c.king p.i.s.sing contest with her? She wouldn't give up until I slept in the yard.

I wouldn't stop until I had her in the bed with me.

But we wouldn't be sleeping.

"I thought you'd take the room down the hall," I said. Did she even see the monstrosity her father specifically designed for her? Like a scene from f.u.c.king Narnia. "It has a better balcony."

"I don't want a balcony. I want the master bedroom. I want you gone. I want-" She groaned, frustrated. "I don't know what to say to you! You're making this more difficult than it needs to be. Are you that much of a child?"

"I'm not the one throwing a tantrum because she doesn't want to share her things."

She not-so-silently counted to ten. "Zach, don't make this harder than it already is."

"Gotta admit. I've never heard a pretty girl say that before."

"I can't believe this." Shay paced the room. "I've been here for five minutes and already you're being a monumental a.s.shole."