Beached with the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday #3) (3 page)

O
n his way
to the living room, Trick grabbed a towel from the linen closet and wrapped up. She’d already taken a picture. If she wanted more, she knew where to find him.

On the couch.

Alone with his pillows.

All wound up, and—much to his complete fucking dismay—totally turned on.

Goddamn it.

It was one thing to go cold turkey when he was by himself, nothing but his own imagination to fuck with his head. But now there was a woman in the room down the hall. Not a name scrawled in Sharpie on his hand, but a real woman. A sweet, sexy woman who looked like she needed a good, hard—

Get over it, dickhead. She’ll be gone tomorrow morning.

Whatever. Not that she was interested, anyway. From the racket in the bedroom, it sounded like she was moving the dresser in front of the door.

Trick laughed. Nothing said “not interested” like a barricade.

Punching his pillows into submission, Trick tried to get comfortable on the lumpy couch, nothing but a towel to keep out the chill. Far as he was concerned, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Unlike his dick, which—unfortunately for all involved—wouldn’t be coming for a long time.

T
rick wasn’t
sure how coffee beans could sound so incredibly pissed off.

It felt like he’d just fallen asleep when the hot houseguest from hell started up her morning routine, slamming things around in the kitchen and grinding those damn beans like she had a score to settle.

Hell hath no fury…

“It’s okay, I think they’re dead,” he shouted over the noise.

The grinder, mercifully, stopped.

“I like it fine-ground,” she said.

“You like it
molecular
.”

Ignoring this, she slammed the grinder back on again, giving it a few extra pulses.

“Morning to you, too, Sunshine,” he grumbled.

Trick rose from the couch, re-wrapping his towel as he walked to the front of the room, stretching in front of the huge window that overlooked the beach. It must’ve been after eight; the sun had burned away the fog, and the beach was already dotted with a few paddle boarders and sun worshippers, all of them eager for an early start.

Shit. More people on the beach meant a greater chance at being recognized. Not everyone was as sheltered as his “roommate.”

Trick hadn’t meant to sleep so late, but now that he was up, people be damned—he was itching to get outside again, get another run in. He needed to get the blood flowing, open up the channel. After that, it was time to get to work on his music in earnest.

He just hoped management would get this shit straightened out by then—no way could he get any work done with that wrecking ball of a woman in the house. She needed to be a distant memory, pronto.

“So I’ve got good news, Boy Band,” she said, poking her head into the living room. She was holding a carafe full of water in one hand, the other flapping around like a bird as she talked.

Guess she finally figured out my identity…

Now that they were standing in the bright living room—awake and not arguing—he noticed how fucking cute she really was. Bright green eyes. Curly brown hair with streaks of blond, all wrapped up in a messy bun on top of her head. Big, black-framed glasses. Freckles—definitely freckles. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants and the same baggy shirt from last night—BOOKS ARE MY PEOPLE, it said—but even the loose clothing did nothing to hide those luscious curves.

Trick wanted to pull her hair out of that bun, see what it looked like falling down around her shoulders, over the tops of her soft, round breasts…

The thought made him instantly hard.

Simmer down, boy.

“Well don’t keep me in suspense,” he said, doing his best to adjust the towel before she caught sight of the morning wood she’d unknowingly inspired.

Too late. Her eyes trailed down his body, lingering. He knew it the moment she’d realized what was going on behind the thick white terrycloth; the tips of her ears turned bright red, just like they had last night.

Interesting little tell you’ve got…

“You okay there, Sunshine?” he teased.

Clearly flustered, she said, “Listen, I know you like to flaunt your junk to every woman with a pulse, but could you—I don’t know—put some clothes on it?”

“Could you—I don’t know—let me back into my room? Where all my clothes
are
? Because I unpacked them when I checked in yesterday morning, hours before you showed up?”

“You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.” The woman sighed, her mouth pulling into a frown. For some reason it made him feel bad. Which was bullshit—she was the one being a jerk.

Still, he didn’t like that he’d put those frown lines on her face…

Dude. What the serious fuck?

Trick stopped his train of thought before he turned any more sentimental. He hadn’t wanted to start off the day bickering with a ball and chain like an old married bastard. He didn’t do morning afters, especially considering they hadn’t even hooked up.

“Can I go in now?” he asked, gesturing impatiently toward the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Go ahead,” she finally said. “Just don’t snoop through my things.”

“Not interested. Believe me.”

The first thing he noticed was the floor. She’d put the dresser back in place, but now, the wood floor was gouged with four fresh grooves from the legs.

That’s coming out of
her
deposit.

From the looks of things, she hadn’t unpacked—her suitcase was at the end of the bed where she’d left it last night, and all of his clothes looked undisturbed in the closet. The bed was freshly made, not a thing out of place. Yet the room felt totally different. He was always amazed at how the presence of a woman could change everything about a place in a matter of minutes—the way it looked, the way it felt, the way it smelled.

In the few hours she’d spent in the bedroom, she’d managed to fill it completely with her scent—like honeysuckle and oranges and something else he couldn’t quite identify—something totally unique to her.

Damn.
She smelled so fucking good, so soft. Was it her shampoo? Her skin? Fuck if he didn’t want to get up close and personal, just to find out…

As if she could read his thoughts, the woman dropped something into the kitchen sink, the clatter jolting him.

Trick didn’t know if she was married or attached or what, but he figured she had to live alone. No way would any dude in his right mind put up with all that racket, not for lust
or
love.

Like you know jack shit about love.

Trick shoved a hand through his hair. This whole experience was rattling his cage, and not in a good way. Most of the women who’d entered his life were just as happy to leave the moment they’d gotten their fill. He knew what the media said about him, and yeah, he
had
been around the block a few times. But he’d never lied about his intentions, always gave as good as he got, and never,
ever
made promises he didn’t intend to keep.

At least not to the women he’d bedded.

Ignoring the familiar stab of pain, he headed for the closet, pulling out a fresh pair of running shorts and a white T-shirt. The run. He just needed to go on that run. An hour with his feet pounding the sand, the wind at his back, the roar of the ocean in his ears… That would fix him right up. By the time he got back, she’d be gone—or close to it—and he could get to work.

Back in the kitchen, the woman was pouring coffee into two mugs, her back turned to him. One of her curls had come loose from the bun, trailing down her back in a long spiral.

He resisted the urge to tug on it.

“Coffee?” she asked, turning toward him. Her smile was tentative, but sincere. It was the first pleasant thing she’d said since their meeting. At his grateful nod, she said, “How do you take it?”

“I like my coffee how I like my women.”

The woman rolled those bright green eyes. “Let me guess: Old and bitter?”

“Hot and naked, a fresh one every morning.” Ignoring her open mouth, Trick took the mug from her outstretched hand and lifted it in a cheer. “Here’s to a brand new day.”

Their eyes locked as they took their first sips. Trick tried not to wince. The coffee was so strong it was nearly chewable.

No wonder she’s so damn high-strung.

“So what’s the good news, finally?” he asked, pretending to take another sip. He’d have to water it down the moment she looked away, or else he’d be wired for days.

Now, she smiled. Big and bright, the kind that changed her whole face.

Damn, she really is pretty…

“I finally got through to management. Yep, they double-booked us—totally their fault. So, they’re going to put one of us in a hotel for the rest of the week, plus give a discount for next time. Here.” She grabbed a piece of paper from the countertop and handed it over. “It’s the number for the office. I told them you’d call back to get the info for your hotel.”

Trick narrowed his eyes over the rim of the mug. “My hotel?”

“Well,
I’m
certainly not leaving. Like I said, I booked this place weeks ago. The management knows me—I come here every year. By the way, you owe me about two hundred bucks for all the food you ate. I paid extra for them to stock it for me.”

Ignoring all this, he said, “The girl I spoke with yesterday assured me the place was free.”

“The girl. You’re talking about Missy, I presume?”

“Misty.”

“Trust me, it’s Missy. She’s the manager’s daughter. And she was obviously star-struck, and inadvertently gave you a cottage that was already rented.”

“By you.”

“You catch on pretty quick for a rock star.”

“Funny, because for a librarian, you’re pretty dense.”

“Last night I’m a prostitute, today a librarian…” She forced a cheesy grin. “Only in America!”

“I never said you were a prostitute. I simply asked if my manager had sent you. It wouldn’t be the first time—the guy’s got strange ideas about motivation.”

She swept her hand down the front of her shirt. “Do I look like an escort to you?”

This made him smile. He raked his eyes over her body, taking his sweet time. “I mean, I’m saying. You’ve got the whole dirty librarian thing going on with the glasses and the bun and—”

“Well, it’s been lovely chatting with you.” She poured another round of coffee into her mug, then squeezed past him out of the kitchen. The space was so small, her arm and shoulder brushed against his chest. He nearly shuddered at the contact. “But I need to get set up for work.”

He watched her retreat down the hall, that messy bun bobbing on her head, the perfect orbs of her ass bouncing with each step.

“No problem,” he said to her back. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I can help you pack up if you want.”

At this, she came to a full stop at the bedroom doorway. When she turned to face him, her eyes were wide with shock and annoyance.

Three, two, one, and—

“I’m not packing anything,” she said. “You need to call management now. I’m working here—I can’t have you coming and going at all hours, taking your sweet time getting out of here.”

“Oh, I’m not getting out of here. Just going for a run. So if you need help loading up, it’s now or never.”

She put her hand on her hip and furrowed her brow. Classic.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Suit yourself.” Trick shrugged. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“And then you’re leaving?”

“And then I’ll probably shower—you’re welcome to join me if you like—and after that, I’ll eat some lunch—you’re welcome to cook it for me if you like—and then I’ll get to work. But leaving? No, my sweet little bookworm. I’m afraid that’s not happening.”

She was steaming mad, her ears turning red like before, only now her whole face was in on it, too, her freckles standing out adorably against her pink skin. Trick could practically see the smoke pouring out of her ears.

He hadn’t had this much fun with a woman outside the bedroom in…well…ever.

“We need to resolve this,” she said. “Now.” She tried to stomp toward him down the hall, but instead of looking angry or intimidating, she looked like a total klutz, spilling coffee over her hand and all over the bottom of her shirt.

“Smooth,” he said. “Real smooth.”

She shook off her hand, pushing past him again to get to the kitchen sink. Setting down her mug, she lifted the hem of her shirt and ran the edge under the water, revealing a strip of creamy bare skin just above her hipbone. Her sweatpants were rolled at the waist like they were just waiting for someone to come along and unroll the rest of them, one inch at a time…

“Need some help with that?” he asked, his mouth pulling into a lopsided grin. “I could hold something for you. Or maybe you could hold something for me. I’m open to negotiations.”

“You are so cocky,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes.

“And you’ve got the pictures to prove it.”

She didn’t take the bait; just stood on her tiptoes and wrung out her shirt, letting it fall back into place. “So you’re refusing to give up the rental? Even after I let you stay here last night, and made you coffee, and contacted management myself?”

Trick nodded. “Even after all that generosity you’ve bestowed upon me, I’m still not giving up my rental.”

She was standing in front of him now, her back to the counter, blocking his water bottle.

Reaching behind her with one arm, Trick leaned in close, enjoying her sharp intake of breath. He stared at her, hard and intense, daring her to look away, registering the change in her body as he held her gaze. Her breath quickened, the vein on her neck pulsing.

He wanted to close his lips over it.

To kiss.

To suck.

I bet she tastes so fucking good…

“Well I’m… I’m not leaving,” she stammered.

“Then I guess you’d better get used to this charming face,” he said softly, finally grabbing his water bottle. “Because you and I are about to get
real
close.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes wide. Unlike last night, there was no fear there, only surprise, curiosity, and the one thing guaranteed to fuck up his plans for the rest of the week:

Desire.

Before his dick had a chance to change his mind, Trick backed away, headed out the front door, and took off down the beach, his plans completely shot.

So much for getting any work done today.

So much for getting any work done at
all
.