A Bad Boy is Good to Find (17 page)

“It is terribly hot,” she hissed. “And I can see you’re uncomfortable in that rather formal suit. There’s no need to get all dressed up for me, you know. We’re going to be married, so you can just relax and be yourself.”

Con’s eyes narrowed.

She faked a “natural” looking sip of her hot wine.

“I’m quite comfortable.” He wiggled his toes. Her clit throbbed.

“Really, darling, I know I’m burning up all over and I’m barely wearing anything at all.” She indicated her expansive uncovered cleavage.

Con blinked, fought a smile. It was good to feel that she still had some power over him, even while his damn toes were revving her engines without permission.

She leaned forward, pushing into him. Challenging him. “Heatstroke can be dangerous.”

“I’m used to the heat. I’m from these parts, remember?” He raised an eyebrow. She held his gaze. He picked up his warm wine and sipped it. A mistake, from the pained expression that flitted across his face.

She had the upper hand now.

“Sweetheart, give me your jacket.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and extended it. “Now.”

Her heart pumped loudly as she waited to see if he’d comply. His toes still rested against the moist satin of her crotch. He’d promised to do this her way. Was he a man of his word?

She enjoyed a flush of triumph as he pulled his foot back, regret in his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders out of the jacket. Held her gaze with a dark stare that made her stomach quiver. He handed her the jacket, lifting it high over the table.

“Your tie.” Sweet smile. “Come on, sweetie, we can all see your collar is tight.”

Without blinking or breaking eye contact, Con slid a sinewy finger into the knot of his silk tie and loosened it. Pulled it off and handed it to her.

She dropped it on the floor, right on top of his expensive jacket. She wasn’t going to look away first.

She could feel the crew’s excitement. Everyone was deathly quiet, totally still, the only sound in the room was the hum of the lights.

“Go on, unbutton your collar.”

Con obeyed, still staring her down, his eyes black and fuming. The surge of power she felt scared her a little. What could she make him do?

He undid the button below his collar. Then the one below that, and the cuffs.

Still holding her gaze he untucked his shirt and pulled it over his head in one swift movement.

Lizzie held her breath, blood pounding, as he balled it up—still without blinking—and handed it to her.

She took it, looked away, gasping for air as she dropped it on the floor and accidentally tipped her plate, spilling soup on the table cloth.

Con settled back in his chair, shirtless. Then turned to the stone faced waiter standing out of view of the camera. “Could you bring me some ice, please?”

Lizzie gulped.

At the urging of someone off screen, a uniformed waitress silently approached and removed their bowls of uneaten soup. Lizzie nodded her thanks. Con didn’t nod or move at all. Just sat there, totally relaxed, as if he ate a bare-chested banquet every day of his life.

The satin sheen on his tanned skin looked positively ornamental, unlike the sweat rolling down her back and soaking her dress. Her antiperspirant had failed miserably, and her whole face probably shone with thick droplets. Her skin hummed, still aroused, even without his touch still on it.

She’d called Con’s bluff and he’d raised her.

His perfect six-pack mocked her, along with the full curve of those gym-pumped biceps.

“Your chest is so tanned. I guess that’s from working out in the hot sun fixing all those cars.” She wanted to remind everyone that he wasn’t really the lord of the manor. Somehow removing his shirt had made him look more regal and imposing, not less.

Con tilted his head, gave her a long, sensual look with those narrowed black eyes. “I guess so, babe, but the last car I fixed up you did most of the work, remember?”

Lizzie’s mouth fell open.

“You’re a hard worker, and very talented.”

“I… I…”

His toes were on her ankle now. Sliding up her calf very lightly. Her whole body tingled with a scary mixture of rage and arousal that left her speechless.

“We’re a great team, you and me.” He reached across the table, holding his hand out for hers.

Her face heated as she realized—cameras on— she had no choice but to take it.
He’s my true love.

He squeezed her hand in a way that made her belly quiver.

“I think that once the world finds out about what you can do with a spray gun, you’ll be well on your way to getting rich again.”

He squeezed her hand again. Like he was giving her a signal. Had kind of a serious expression on his face. Was this his crude way of trying to boost her artistic career on camera?

“Painting is just a hobby,” she hissed.

“It shouldn’t be. I’ve never seen anything like the work you did on that Corvette.”

Pride shimmered through her for a split second before she realized Maisie was going to see this and laugh herself into a coma. She kicked Con under the table with the spiked toe of her shoe.

He flinched, surprised.

Just then the waitress put a glass of ice next to his wineglass.

Con picked up the glass, which looked ridiculously delicate in his big hands. In fact, all of him looked bigger now, without the civilizing veneer of clothing. He pulled a cube from the glass and rubbed it over his skin, on the back of his neck and down between his pecs. Then he held it out to her. “Here, babe.”

She blinked. She could feel the crew’s ears pricking up. She had to take it. He was her true love, right?

She cupped her palm, and Con pushed the melting ice cube in to it.

Dropped his eyes to her cleavage.

Her breasts seemed to rise under his gaze, nipples standing to attention. She stiffened her spine. Water from the ice dripped down her wrist as she drew her hand back and rubbed the cube over her collarbone, up her neck. An icy thrill. Con winked.

Jerk. She tried to ignore the uncomfortable heat still throbbing inside her, vying with the cool trickle of water between her breasts.

Con licked his lips slightly, almost imperceptible, and she shuddered. Damn him! She dropped the remaining fragment of ice on the floor, dragged her eyes from his muscled chest looking for any distraction. She reached for a glossy apple, then snatched her hand back when she remembered they were made of wax.

“Where’s the food?” Con said casually. “My woman’s getting hungry.”

More punishing heat flooded her face, and she wondered if anyone had ever died of embarrassment on camera before.

Gia scurried forward. Gestured to Dino to stop rolling. “They’re having trouble in the kitchen. Can’t get the stove going.” She grimaced. “It was working okay earlier, but there’s something wrong with the gas range.” She came closer. “The chef is having a hissy fit.”

“Maybe Con should look at it. He’s mechanically inclined.” Lizzie said, gathering what was left of her wits.

“Sure, I don’t mind.” Con pushed his chair back, stood up and wandered off into the kitchen. On those bare feet he’d been tormenting her with.

Lizzie dotted her napkin over her heavily perspiring face.

Chapter 13

O
ut in the backyard, Con rapped on the metal propane tank connected to the range in the kitchen, and it rang back a familiar reply. He tried not to laugh out loud. Clearly this was not going to be the week of all-expenses-paid luxury he’d envisioned.

“Empty,” he called through the darkness. “You got another tank?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll have to order one from town tomorrow,” Gia replied from the doorway. No one had followed him out into the pitch-black garden. It was a relief to get away from the cameras and lights for a moment.

The chef, a serious New York City prima donna, was fuming and stamping and smoking cigarettes in the kitchen, and Con was pretty damn hungry. Something about shrimp had been mentioned earlier and his stomach was growling for it. “Got a barbeque?”

“Not sure. I didn’t notice one,” called Gia.

He walked back to the brightly lit door where the crew thronged, peering anxiously into the garden. “We can build a fire back here on the patio if you’ll help me get some wood together.”

“I bet there are all kinds of huge snakes and spiders and bats out there. I heard the insects down here are ten times the size they are back home,” said Gia. “I think I’d rather starve.”

“Nah, just friendly creatures out here. If any zombies start coming out of the swamp I’ll let you know. Come on, I’ll get started, and you guys figure out where to build the fire.”

The garden was pretty well manicured so he had to walk almost all the way to the bottom, where the bayou gleamed in the moonlight. Fallen branches from the gnarled old trees were stacked in a couple of neat piles. Their limbs pricked and scratched his bare chest as he walked back across the cool grass.

Several crew members had ventured tentatively onto the patio by the time he came back. Dino videotaped as they helped him stack the wood in a circle and lit it with matches. Dry Spanish moss crackled and spat as kindling.

“Where’s Lizzie?” he asked, as the fire started to take.

“I think she’s in the kitchen, talking to André,” said Gia. “He’s the chef.”

Con had a sudden nasty vision of Lizzie left unattended with all those bottles of wine. “I’ll go find her.”

“Sure.”

He noticed the camera’s mechanical gaze on him as he strode across the warm slate of the patio. He probably looked like some kind of backwoods bayou hick with no shoes or shirt and he felt a little clench of embarrassment.

Just what Lizzie wanted, no doubt, and he’d played right into her hands.

“Lizzie?” He pushed into the enormous kitchen, bright light making him blink.

The chef leaned against a vast table in the center, drinking red wine from a large tumbler. A stained apron covered his ample belly. A cigarette, burned nearly down to the filter, dangled from his lips.

“You seen Lizzie?”

“She was here a minute ago.” Hints of a local accent like his gave him a start. “Went upstairs, I think.” The chef lifted a black eyebrow. “Took a bottle of champagne from the fridge.”

Shit. Con pushed out into the dining room, picked his way past all the cables from the now-dormant spotlights and took the stairs two at a time. “Lizzie!”

No answer.

“Hey, Lizzie, where are you?” He strode down the dim hallway. Ancient light fixtures gave off thin yellow light. The door to their bedroom was closed.

He knocked once, then pushed it open.

Lizzie sat on the bed, eyes on him, hands wrapped around an open bottle of champagne. His chest tightened. In two strides he crossed the room and snatched it from her.

“I didn’t take a sip,” she protested.

“You were just thinking about it?” The chilled bottle sweated cool droplets into his palm.

“I was contemplating my options.” Her makeup had run in the heat, and he resisted the urge to neaten her smudged mascara with his thumb.

“Why? Everything’s going your way. You’ve tricked me into coming back here to the swamp I crawled out of, and it’s all being captured on camera. You should be ecstatic. What’s the problem?”

“Where is the camera?” She glanced nervously toward the door.

“I don’t know. I don’t really care, but I do want to know what’s making you want to drink again when I’m doing this all your way. For you.”

“I don’t know.” She lay back on the bed. Her dress was soaked through at the waist. “I didn’t know it would be so hot.”

“So it’s hot. Drink some water, take a bath. Big deal.” He put the champagne bottle down on a walnut sideboard, taking care to slip a magazine under it so it didn’t make a ring on the wood.

“And it just doesn’t feel…right.”

“What doesn’t feel right? It doesn’t feel right to tell people that beneath my expensive suit I’m just an uneducated mechanic? Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it? And tomorrow you’ll get to see the sorry place I grew up in, which, believe me, will live up to your every expectation and then some. You’ve got me right where you want me, so what gives?”

She looked like she was about to cry. He snatched a tissue from a box on the sideboard and handed it to her. “Here.”

She blew her nose into the Kleenex. Tears shone in those big brown eyes. He had a sudden strong urge to put his arms around her, which he resisted. “It doesn’t feel right to make me undress in front of the camera to show you have power over me?”

She leaped off the bed and walked to the other side of the room, wet dress sticking to her skin.

She couldn’t look at him.

“Or it doesn’t feel right to do that stuff and then pretend like you’re all excited about marrying me? That’s it, isn’t it? It’s the embarrassment to yourself you hadn’t figured on. You were so hell-bent on showing me up as the loser you think I am that you didn’t realize it would make you look like a loser too.”

“I hate you!” She pulled off her shoe and threw it at him. It smacked loudly into a wooden bedpost.

“Yeah? So how come you can only sleep when you’re in my arms?”

“You’re nothing to me. You’re nobody!” Her eyes flashed. Sticky tendrils of wet hair curled up around her face.

“So you keep trying to prove, but apparently I’m not dropping dead because of it.” He shrugged. “I’m learning quite a bit about you, though.” He paused. “I’m the naïve one. Do you know I really thought you’d be okay with me once I told you the truth about me. I figured, hey, I make her happy, she loves me, it’ll all work out.”

“I didn’t love you!” she sobbed. She bent down to pull off her other shoe, but lost her balance and pitched forward, grabbing the bedpost to steady herself.

The bed creaked loudly and shifted. “Woah.” He grabbed a thick wood post and tried to hold it steady as it tugged against him, shifted, and came loose from the bed base. It weighed a ton and he couldn’t stop the motion. “Look out, it’s coming down!”

He dived toward her, knocking her out of the way with his body and slamming them both into the floor in the corner of the room.