Bad Boy (An Indecent Proposal) (2 page)

My room was situated on the fifth floor overlooking a dark
side street, but if I leaned over the balcony far enough I could almost glimpse
a stretch of the blue ocean.

The afternoon sun
seeping
through the generous windows
cast an orange glow
on the white bedspread. Opposite from the single bed was a dressing table and a
television set. The bed sheets looked plain but clean enough to sleep in. A
narrow door led into a tiny walk-in closet.

This was going to be my home for the next days, maybe even
weeks.

It was nothing special.

But it was perfect in its simplicity.

Sighing, I collapsed on the bed and crossed my arms behind
the back of my head. I knew then that I shouldn’t have.

The bed—maybe the intimacy it symbolized or the memory
of being with him the night before—instantly drew Chase’s face back into
my mind, and the mess I was in. I closed my eyes and inhaled a sharp breath,
distinctly remembering his lips on mine. They were warm and soft but
persistent. His eyes—blue with speckles of gray—reminded me of a
dark gray storm hovering over the ocean—wild and untamed.

The knowledge of having been played brought another stab
through my chest.

How did that happen?

Because you, Laurie
Hanson, have fallen in love with him.

So, his charm had worked on me.

So, I had been stupid enough to believe there could be more
between us.

So, he had made me fantasize all the dirty things I wanted
him to do to me.

And the final straw—I let him fuck me when I shouldn’t
have.

But when the vows include all that crap about respect and
the guy claims to want to date you, one would think your new, albeit fake,
husband would at least have the decency to be honest about his name.

Who was he?

The question had been haunting me since I figured out Chase
Wright wasn’t who he had claimed to be.

Past internet searches had proven he was an actor, but maybe
the sites were fake, too. I had no idea if everything was a sham. I had no idea
what to believe any more.

Why did he have so
much information about my inheritance?

I had been wondering about that ever since I found the
folder.

Should I have given him a chance to explain?

I let out a shaky breath, knowing I wasn’t ready. Even the
thought of seeing him was unbearable; the risk of believing him even when he
might continue to lie too high.

Gullible as I had been, I had to stay away, before my
obsession with him morphed into something I didn’t want it to be, and I ended
up getting even more hurt.

Deep down I had known right from the beginning that I
shouldn’t trust him. I even knew instinctively that a man as hot as Chase might
not be real. However, it should have been a marriage of convenience, a
friendship with some great benefits, which is what made me sign up in the first
place.

Setting aside the sheer absurdity of its background, I felt
used.

Because somehow I’d thought there was—could
be—more between us.

I’d thought we had something real going on.

My phone began to ring angrily. Sitting up with my legs
pressed against my chest, I leaned back against the bedpost, and peered at my
cell phone.

Twenty-three calls, and six text messages.

All from him.

Talk about creepy. Not to mention desperate.

And hot.

Most importantly, hot.

The kind of hot that made my heart race and left me in want.

To talk to him.

To confront him.

To see him—but I wouldn’t do any of those. I wasn’t a
coward, but I wasn’t a fool either. I knew that every confrontation, as small
as it might be, would be a mistake. Anything related to him would keep me from
moving on. As long as I felt something for him, I wasn’t ready.

Stupid love.

If only I could renounce it, discard and live without it.

If only I could forget him...the man whose name had been a
lie.

Someday, I promised myself, I would meet a man.

Someone with blonde or black hair, brown or green eyes, definitely
no broad shoulders, a beer belly—the direct opposite of Chase.

Someone who might not make me forget him in a heartbeat, but
who would be worthy of my trust.

My future boyfriend, I decided, would be a strong man with a
great character not great looks; someone who would be a philosopher, maybe even
with a focus on spiritualism; or maybe some boring guy with a business degree
who’d have mostly numbers in his mind rather than chasing the next trophy. Then
I’d take a few snapshots of us and post them online—just to show Chase
what he’d lost.

But that was my fantasy talking because

a) I doubted Chase was the jealous kind. He told me himself
that I was the laurel he liked to chase. He got me so the chase was over.

b) He was a goddamn liar who only cared about himself.

c) See b. All rather self explanatory.

Heck.

I really should call him Loki, I decided. Chase was definitely
the God of deceit and lies.

It felt
like barely a few minutes had passed since I closed my eyes when a few knocks
rapped at the door.

That would
be my bags.

“Coming.” I
jumped to my feet and crossed the room in a few hasty steps.

I threw the
door open, ready to motion the bellboy in, but stopped in surprise, frowning.

The man in
front of me looked nothing like a porter. He didn’t even seem to be local.
Dressed in blue jeans and a beige tee shirt that said “Property of Acapulco,”
he resembled a tourist or a student, judging from the “spring break” logo on
his wristband. Judging from his body—lean with broad shoulders—he
looked like he was in his early to mid-twenties.

He didn’t
look bad.

In fact, he
was attractive.

Not as hot
as Chase, because I was a sucker for gray blue eyes, brown hair, and all the
lying bullshit part that came with him, but attractive, nonetheless.

I regarded
the guy intently.

His eyes
were shielded by black sunglasses, like some cool rock star ready to party all
night.

There was
something about him that made him look interesting. Unique, I’d say, the way
you would look at someone and think “This guy could be the next big thing.”
Maybe it was his hair. Short, curly, dark brown—he was a less bad ass
image of James Franco.

It was the
attitude—a bit dreamy, like that of someone who’d spend the night in
front of a fire, playing the guitar, enchanting everyone. His stance was
relaxed as if nothing could bother him, making you feel you could find your
inner goddess just by listening to him.

That an
attractive guy like him would knock on my hotel door made me a little wary.

Was he some
sort of drug dealer or involved in organized crime?

My heart
lurched. For a brief moment, I had the sudden, terrifying vision of him
ambushing me, then dumping my body in trash bags, or selling my organs on the
black market, then telling his friends, with a beer in his hand, “It was easy
as pie. That’s why I love tourists who are stupid enough to open the door.”

But I could
hardly close the door now, could I?

“Yes?” I
asked, unsure if he even spoke English.

He pointed
to the two suitcases at his feet. “You forgot your bags.”

It was only
then that I noticed my luggage at his feet.

“Oh.” I
eyed them as relief streamed through me.

He wasn’t
some sort of mugger or pimp or worse.

“Where did
you find them?” I asked.

“Downstairs
where you left them.”

“Oh.” I
narrowed my eyes. “Someone was supposed to bring them up.”

“I don’t
believe they offer this kind of service,” he said, his lips twitching with
amusement.

It took me
a moment to realize he had a sense of humor.

I smiled.
“You think the receptionist pulled my leg?”

His expression
didn’t change as he inclined his head, obviously pondering over possible
explanations. “Or maybe she forgot. The lady you spoke to is the owner of this
fine establishment. She does all the work here. She does seem a bit over her
head at times.”

This fine
establishment?

He was
either being sarcastic or stepped right out of a Jane Austen novel.

“So I
gather there’s no breakfast either,” I remarked more to myself than him.

“There is.”
He smiled. “But none I would recommend unless you don’t mind a bit of
diarrhea.”

I crossed
my arms over my chest, taking him in, interested. His English was flawless,
with an undeniably Southern accent. Those damn, sexy sunglasses didn’t let me
peek behind them to help me read his face. For all I knew, he might be checking
out my boobs as he leaned against the wall, cool and composed.

“So, they
just left the bags downstairs for anyone to help themselves?” I asked again.

Our topics
of conversation were running thin.

He cocked
his head to the side. “While it’s true that some shady characters might have
eyed your luggage, I didn’t let them come near it,” he said. “I was standing
right behind you when you wanted to know when breakfast would be ready.”

“Well.” I
gave a nervous laugh and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ears, suddenly
embarrassed. “I’m starving, and yeah, in general, I’m a hungry person.”

“So am I.”
He let out a laugh, exposing teeth. White, pearly, straight teeth. “Saved me
the time to ask her.”

“Thanks for
doing this,” I said, pointing to the bags. “I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t be.
Happened to me before.”

“Really?” I
said hopeful that he’d elaborate.

He let out
a laugh.

A deep,
sexy laugh. “Nope,” he said and shrugged. “But it’s not a big deal. I thought
you needed the help and helping you is exactly what I did.” He pointed to the
bags. “May I? They’re heavy.”

He didn’t
wait for my reply. He just picked them up and walked past me, through the open
door.

For a
second, my fear that he would attack me flickered to life.

He placed
the suitcases behind me and returned to his previous position.

“Great,” I
muttered, unsure what to say.

“Have a
great day.” He turned and started walking down the corridor.

For a full
two seconds I was so stumped I didn’t even realize I hadn’t thanked him.

“Wait,” I
shouted after him.

He stopped
and turned, his black sunglasses still shielding his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Can I
repay you with dinner?” I blurted out, my own boldness shocking myself.

Silence.

What the
fuck was I doing?

Of course, he was going to decline. He had to.
He knew I didn’t mean it.

“You want
to repay me by having dinner with me?” Slowly, he walked back to me, regarding
me through those unnerving sunglasses.

“Yes,” I
whispered the word, which sounded more like a question than a statement.

He removed
the shades, revealing dark brown eyes that matched his dark hair. He really did
look a bit like James Franco.

They could
even be related for all I knew. His dark hair fell into his eyes, giving him
some kind of haunted look.

I had never
been into James Franco, but this guy seemed like someone I might want to spend
some time with.

“Yeah. Why
not?” He smiled. “There’s this tiny restaurant around the corner. See you at
seven?”

I took a
sharp breath, exhaling slowly. Chase’s face popped into my mind.

Liar.

Mr.
Fucking. Liar.

If he could
lie, why should I stick to his terms? Why should it matter if I had a date or
not? Chase might be married to me, but I was still free to do whatever I
wanted, to go wherever I longed to, and date whomever I desired.

It was a
vacation. My recovery trip.

And to be
honest, this guy—he didn’t look bad.

And then I
realized I didn’t even know his name. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Do you
need me to know yours?” he asked.

Did he need
to know mine?

What kind
of question was that? And then it hit me.

The date
wouldn’t work out. We would have nothing to talk about because he was as little
into this as was I.

Maybe he
also needed a rebound.

Maybe he
didn’t want to get too close to me, just like I wouldn’t get too close to him.

“No.” I
shook my head. “I’m all fine with calling you Bag Man.”

 
“Good, Miss Hungry.” He smiled, flipping
his shades back, and then he turned, calling over his shoulder, “It’s a date,
then.”

A date.

Crap.

My plane
had landed two hours ago, and I already had a date.

I rolled my
eyes inwardly, irritated with myself.

Oh, God.

What had I
just done? Hanging out with some random guy in some foreign country wasn’t
exactly the thing ranking high on my to-do list. Not when I had yet to find my
way around and I barely spoke more than two words of Spanish.

Why did I
have to run away from home?

From
myself.

From
whatever purpose Chase Wright’s lies had served.

But for
whatever reason, I also felt excited. Renewed. When Chase deceived me, he took
not only my faith. He broke it, and broke it hard. He destroyed every reason,
every hope, every desire to be with him. He crushed my soul with one single
piece of information.

His lips
had consumed me. His touch burned me. His eyes shattered me. Burn and tear and
destroy—that was how he broke me in a thousand pieces. Shattered me the
only way he knew how—only to rebuild me. To make me someone I didn’t
recognize. A worse me. A stronger me. A match for his dark side. Only I had no
intention to ever be his again.

I would
take what he taught me and carve my own path in life. A path that wouldn’t
cross his.

A path that
was all mine.