A Bad Boy is Good to Find (6 page)

He grimaced as he rearranged his arms again. “You’ve had your fun.” His voice was gruff. “Can you please take the cuffs off?”

That nasty hollow laugh shook her again. “Had my fun? That’s where you’re wrong. I’m just getting started.”

Chapter 5

“O
kay, okay, you sweet-talked me. Again.” She unlocked the cuffs and oddly it was a relief to see Con stretch and flex his wrists.

She tried to ignore the ripple effect in the muscles of his back as he rolled off the bed and stretched.

“We made a fair deal. You get the car keys. I get the handcuff key.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t take the car keys and hightail it out of town, leave you here for the maid?”

“Because you’re not like that.”

“More fool me.” She jingled the car keys between her fingers. “You must really trust me—to let me go outside and get my clothes before I unlocked you.”

“I’m a good judge of character.” Con still wore nothing but the pair of blue boxers she’d given him. All tan skin and toned muscles, dusted with black hair. She averted her eyes.

“You can spot a sucker from fifty paces?”

“Something like that.” A wry look. “We need to get you some food. We passed a diner on the way here. Let’s go there and get a good breakfast. How’s your head feeling?”

“What head? I lost it over a man, remember?”

“When did you turn into such a wiseass?” He picked up his pants.

“I guess around the same time that someone made a total ass of me. Those pants are dirty. I brought you some clean ones from the car.” She picked up a pair of black pants she’d found in his luggage and threw them at him.

He caught them with one hand. “Now that’s just what I mean, about your character.” Shook them out and put his foot in. “Thoughtful. I appreciate it.” His polite smile made her want to slap him.

“Did you bring my Cheetos?”

“I did not.”

“I’m on a strict diet. Do you want me to blow up like a balloon again?”

“I want you to be strong and healthy. ‘Cheese food’ is not a balanced diet.” He zipped his pants. She tossed him the clean white shirt she’d brought, without paying any attention to his flat stomach.

She glanced down at her exercise ensemble, dark gray yoga pants with a stripe to match the short lime-green tank top. Now that she wasn’t high as a popped cork she felt more than a little self-conscious. At least neither of them was skintight. She’d cringed when she snatched down the skimpy two-piece she’d had on yesterday from the shower rail.

“Let’s go.” Con tucked his shirt into his pants, which as usual looked like they’d been custom cut to hug his… Never mind. He whipped out a comb and slicked his hair back, revealing the proud line of his cheekbones. He stroked his chin. “Mind if I shave?”

“Yes.” That’s all she needed. Chiseled perfection with smooth skin. “I’m hungry, let’s go.”

Con gathered up his stuff, loaded up the car and went to pay the motel bill. Lizzie deliberately climbed into the driver’s seat. It went against all her instincts, but she felt this display of bravado was necessary to establishing a certain balance of power.

Of course if she had any moxie at all she’d put the key in the ignition and drive away. But—as Con had pointed out—she wasn’t that kind of girl. Shame.

She rolled down the windows. No A/C from the looks of it.

When he returned, his brow darkened at the sight of her in his seat. She blinked innocently.

“I’ll drive,” he growled.

“No, actually I will. I’m sure I’m just as good at it as Frankie.” She shot him a menacing look.

Con silently walked around to the passenger seat and climbed in. Fastened his seat belt.

A stick shift? Uh, oh. She hadn’t noticed that when she got in. She turned the ignition and tried to remember which pedal was which. Left foot on the clutch, let it up slowly…

A horrible grinding sound rose from the engine as the car inched forward and then stalled.

“I’ll drive.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“No, it’s okay, I’m just a little rusty. I’ll get it this time.”

She let out the clutch, applied gas and with only minor scraping sounds the car lurched forward. Thank goodness she didn’t have to reverse out. She drove to the lot entrance and stalled hard.

“Please…”

She ignored him. Started it up again, pulled out onto the highway and made sure to stay in first as long as possible to really drive up his blood pressure. Only when the engine sounded like it was about to catch fire did she shift into second with a smile. “Nothing to it.”

When she finally shifted into third after whizzing along in second at about fifty miles per hour, she could swear she heard him exhale. They drove for miles through featureless brown desert, her hair whipping about her face. The sky was painfully blue.

“There’s the diner,” he said, audibly relieved, as a glint of metal appeared on the horizon.

She downshifted and pulled into the dusty lot of the 1960s-era diner with maximum grinding of gears. Stalled to a halt diagonally poised across two parking spaces. This was fun.

Con wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip.

Inside, Lizzie settled into an aqua booth, enjoying the air-conditioning.

“I’ll have a small fruit salad and a glass of water, please,” she said with a smile. Her stomach protested loudly, and she slammed the greasy menu shut to silence it.

Con glared at her for a moment. “I’ll have the blue-plate breakfast, with the eggs scrambled and a short stack. Whole-wheat toast.” He smiled at the waitress. “Two of those, please.”

“You have quite an appetite.” Lizzie arranged her napkin on her lap as the waitress moved away.

“How are you feeling?” He shook out his napkin.

“I’m not sure. How do you suppose a gong feels after it’s just been banged?”

“Need some aspirin?”

“No thanks. Pain can accelerate spiritual growth.”

“Is that the kind of thinking they feed you at Zen Mind?” He took a sip of his water.

“No. No pain at Zen Mind. Mostly manicures, shiatsu massage, hair ironing, that kind of thing. I’m not sure if there’s a connection between hair ironing and Zen Buddhism, but it’s very chic.”

“I don’t doubt it. Very expensive too, I bet.”

“It’s only money. When you owe two million dollars, really, what’s a few thousand more?”

A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “You’ll regret getting into debt.”

“Have some personal experience in that area, do you?”

“I learned everything the hard way. I just want to help you out so you don’t have to do the same.” His frank gaze threatened her defenses.

She steeled herself against it. “What makes you think I need help?”

“The stories I read about you on the Internet and in the papers.”

“You searched for me on the Internet?” She ignored the funny fluttery sensation that gave her. “I told you, they make up lies.”

“Do they? When I found you, you were drunk in the morning and living on Cheetos. That’s actually worse than what I read.”

“If we’re going to be blunt, let’s be blunt. No one gives a crap about me. I was just an easy pocket to pick, for my parents as well as you. It’s empty. So who cares what I do with my life?”

She expected him to protest, to say he cared. He didn’t. He just looked at her. A look so filled with pity it knocked her right off balance. She grabbed her glass and drank water and looked anywhere but at Con while the waitress put her fruit salad in front of her.

Canned, with slippery radioactive peaches and a Dayglo cherry on top.

The waitress returned with two steaming plates loaded high with eggs, bacon, sausage and pancakes. She moved the fruit salad to the side and set one of the plates right in front of Lizzie with no prompting from Con. She returned with two plates of toast, butter and jam.

“God I’m starving.” Her confession was a relief.

Con smiled. “Good. Eat up.” He buttered some toast and took a bite.

She loaded a fork with eggs and sausage and almost had an oral orgasm as she chewed it. “I’d forgotten what actual food tastes like,” she murmured through her mouthful. Con beamed and took another bite of toast. “At Zen Mind it was either tofu teriyaki with wheatgrass juice, or contraband Cheetos and champagne. Hey, why are you eating toast when there’s all this other good stuff?”

“I like toast.” He took another neat bite. Chewed it with his lips closed. Dark lashes a girl would kill for hid his eyes.

“You know, it’s a damn shame you aren’t a moneyed aristocrat. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve got everything it takes: You drive with the roof down at eighty miles an hour and don’t have a hair out of place; you hang around in custom-made Italian suits like you’re wearing sweats; and, last and most important, you’re an arrogant SOB who’s out to get his and screw everyone else. Maybe you were switched at birth or something? Where were you born, anyway?”

“Nowhere you’d know.” He popped the last of the toast triangle in his mouth and dusted his fingers over the plate.

“No, really, I want to know. You don’t have a Southern accent, now that I think about it.”

“We don’t all talk the same, you know.”

“Your accent almost does sound a little French. Maybe that’s why I cottoned onto the French aristocracy thing so easily. What’s the name of the town?”

“Like I said, you wouldn’t know it.” He picked up a jug of syrup and poured some on his pancakes.

“So what’s the harm in telling me?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Good, I could use a laugh,” she muttered through a mouthful of eggs.

He hesitated. “Mudbug Flats, Louisiana.”

A snorting laugh did escape. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.” He kept a pleasant poker face. “Heart of Cajun country.”

“It sounds…lovely.” She snorted again. “I’m guessing it’s known mostly for mud and mosquitoes.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” He picked up another toast triangle and buttered it with deliberate elegance. “
Mudbug
is another word for
crawdad
.”

“Crayfish.”

“That’s right. Best eatin’ in the state of Louisiana. Millions of the little critters right there at your feet.” He winked, a gesture to match the phony backwoods accent. Took a bite of toast.

“This gets better all the time. Let me guess, you grew up in a trailer?”

Con held her gaze. “We couldn’t afford that kind of modern luxury, I’m afraid. Just the old shack, the flat-bottomed boat and the one hog.”

She couldn’t help smiling. Didn’t believe a word he said, but she was getting curious all the same. “Do you still have family back there?”

“Hell if I know.” He finally picked up his fork, speared some pancake and put it in his mouth.

“How long have you been gone?”

“A long, long, long, long, long time. Now stop dredging up the distant past and let me enjoy my meal.”

Lizzie watched the man across the table from her eat with careful precision. The more she learned about him, the less she knew.

She’d learned a lot about herself, though. She’d never trust her instincts again. He’d stolen something precious from her: trust, faith.

Hope.

He took a sip of his freshly topped-up coffee. Met her eyes for a minute with a cautious glance that made her catch her breath and look away.

What kind of heart really beat behind that carefully polished exterior?

And how could she drive a stake through it
?

Tempted as she was to destroy Con’s most cherished possession, she let him drive the car after breakfast. She figured she’d play along with whatever he had planned, let him get relaxed, then as soon as they got to a decent-sized town she’d give him the slip and head… Where would she head?

Her head hurt
.

“Scenic overlook. Let’s go do some sightseeing.” Con beamed with goodwill. Probably thought he was a knight in shining armor rescuing her from the dragon of strong drink.

Shame he was the one who’d thrown her to the dragon in the first place. She’d gotten pretty cozy with it too. Maybe those maidens in the old days didn’t want to be rescued either.

“I’ve never been to the Southwest before,” he said cheerily, downshifting as they approached what appeared to be the rim of a vast canyon. They were in the middle of nowhere, not a single person or car in sight.

“I have. It all looks the same. Lots of flat, treeless land and a mountain in the distance. There’s always a mountain in the distance.”

“A very metaphorical landscape.”

They climbed out of the car and approached the edge of the Canyon. Lizzie got a shiver of vertigo peering down at the dry river bed a hundred feet or more below.

“If you didn’t go to college, and spent your teen years in a reform school, then how come you sound so educated?”

“Books.” Con peered over the rim too. A breeze flicked his hair. “Always been a big reader. You can learn pretty much anything from books.”

“You’re smart too. I guess that’s how you managed to trick me.”

He didn’t try to defend himself.

“So if you’re so smart and you love books, then why didn’t you just go to college and get a high-paying job?”

He looked at her as if the question was some kind of joke, then stared up at the inevitable mountain range on the horizon, toothed peaks cutting into an indigo sky. “The world doesn’t work the way you think it does.”

“I’m from New York City. I’ve hardly grown up in a bubble.”

“You were cushioned in a nice soft bubble on the Upper East Side. I’d give anything to have had the kind of upbringing you had.”

“Yeah? Look how well it’s worked out for me. Twenty-five years old, no money, no job, no family, no
real
friends and no freaking idea what to do with my life.”

“That’s why I’m here.” He extended a hand, and she flinched as if it might burn her. “I wasn’t going to run off and leave you that night.”

He took his untouched hand back.

“Yes, you were. You just wanted to marry me for my money. Without it you had no use for me. You didn’t love me.” She swallowed hard as the memories clouded her painfully clear mind.