Daring the Bad Boy Read online

  Inching down the spiral staircase, she found herself in an enormous open plan living area. At least this she recognized. Lots more natural light from the two-story metal-framed windows illuminated leather sofas, a sleek breakfast bar, gleaming kitchen appliances and a plasma TV the size of a small cinema.

  Thankfully the large room was empty. Her one-night hook-up must still be out sourcing breakfast.

  Again everything was clean and tidy and super minimalist, except for more cardboard boxes stacked beside the couch. After hunting up her other shoe, which she found under the couch, she headed towards the front door. Pausing when she found two more large framed photographs leaning against the apartment’s back wall, as if someone had been planning to put them up but hadn’t got round to it. These images were as captivating as the ones upstairs, but much starker, imbued with the grim pragmatism of war reportage. One of a young girl gripping a dolls’ house in the rubble of a ruined building had her heart squeezing at the desperation in the child’s face. The work looked familiar, if not in content certainly in tone and concept. She heard a chime and glanced towards the clock above the art deco fridge.

  Eleven o’clock. She shook her head, to free herself from the photograph’s spell. She had less than an hour to get into work. Her Saturday drawing class were doing their interim exam this morning, and the college’s administrator Mr. Abernathy was due to visit in the second hour to check on their progress.

  All of which gave her an excellent excuse not to stick around and face Cal. Her first and last one-night stand. However good the sex may or may not have been, it was nothing more now than a blur of strawberry daiquiris and penis-shaped deely boppers.

  Unlocking the heavy fire door, she slipped out of the apartment and scrambled down the metal stairs. The trickle of guilt at not waiting for Cal, or at least leaving a note to explain where she’d gone, evaporated as she reached the street and flagged down a cab.

  This was for the best. The sex can’t have been great if she couldn’t remember it. So much for her grand plans to lift her V-Day curse.

  Dopey and Co. had finally stopped mining her skull by the time the cab had made its way to Kings Cross.

  She was so never having another strawberry daiquiri again in this lifetime.

  Rosie jumped out at the University of the Arts campus, in front of the Victorian grain warehouses behind the mainline station that had been converted during the St Pancras redevelopment a few years ago. After paying the cabbie with her card, she dug through her pockets again to find her phone and call Tash – she would have to raid the stash of clean lingerie Tash kept in her office – only to discover clean panties was the least of her troubles. Her phone was MIA.

  Strong seeking fingers caressing her butt last night in the cab flashed into her memory. And awareness skittered across her bottom, in tandem with the shot of horror.

  There was only one place her mobile could be. Back at Cal the badass kisser’s love-shack in Clerkenwell. Bollocks.

  Chapter Five

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  “Just use your manikin to get a feel for the different poses we might try when the model arrives, everyone. I’m sure Mick will be here any minute.” Rosie pushed her insane hair back from her face, feeling as if her head were about to explode.

  Valentine’s Day was beginning to look like a roaring success compared to the day after. At least she’d quite possibly had sex with a really hot guy yesterday, even if she couldn’t remember it.

  Today, on the other hand, was turning into a total catastrophe.

  Mick, the life model she’d booked months ago and who was usually so reliable, hadn’t turned up for the class, and she didn’t have her phone so she couldn’t find out what had happened to him. Mr. Abernathy was due to arrive in less than an hour and her class had nothing to draw for their exam. So her walk of shame was going to turn into a march straight to the unemployment office if Mick didn’t show, very soon. And she couldn’t stop stressing about Cal and his kisses and his sad look and skipping out on him without leaving a note.

  Which had not only been shoddy behavior, even for a trainee bad girl, but also compounded today’s disasters by adding the thorny problem of how she was going to get her phone back.

  Her exhausted brain was knotting around that thought, when a tall figure appeared in the studio’s glass door and shoved it open.

  Cal? Here?

  Heat blossomed in her belly as he walked into the room. He looked even hotter in daylight, clean-shaven, his dark hair damp, still rocking the leather jacket and boots, but this time with a black T-shirt and worn blue jeans.

  What did she do now? Act nonchalant? How was she going to pull that off when her pulse had gone into hyperdrive?

  But the moment of exhilaration and expectation was quickly followed by trepidation as she took in the rigid line of his jaw, and the storm clouds swirling in his eyes.

  He did not look particularly pleased to see her.

  “Do you know how many damn Rosie Smiths there are on Facebook?” So that’s how he’d found her. But…

  “You know my surname?” she said, still reeling from the sight of him, in all his glory.

  “It’s in your cell phone settings,” he said, tugging the missing phone out of his pocket. Lifting her hand, he slapped it into her palm. “The cell you left behind at my place because you were in such a hurry to run out on me. You may think it’s cute to pick up a guy in a bar then vanish the next morning without a goddamn explanation, but I don’t. For all I knew, you could have been kidnapped by aliens.”

  The collective gasps of her class were nothing to her own escaped breath.

  “I can explain,” she said – except she couldn’t, the guilt almost as huge as the panic. What on earth had made her think it was okay to use this man and then lose him?

  “Great, then you can start by telling me who the fuck Michael Carter is?”

  The black hole of guilt combined with the supernova of unwanted arousal to give her stress amnesia – and her mind went completely blank. “I don’t know anyone called Michael Carter.”

  “Bullshit.” Another collective gasp from her students, who had now abandoned any pretense at drawing to listen to every word. “You’ve had five messages from the guy since yesterday evening. The poor bastard’s been trying to get in touch with you to tell you he’s in the hospital with a busted arm after a wipeout on his bike. When exactly were you planning to let him know you’d come home with me?”

  “Oh, my God. Michael Carter.” Enlightenment burst through the smog. “You mean Mick.”

  “Now she remembers him,” he said, dripping sarcasm. “You should have told me you had a boyfriend. I don’t like being played.”

  “Mick’s not my boyfriend,” she said as she finally made sense of why Cal was looking at her as if she’d just punched a pensioner. Obviously her bad girl act had been a lot more successful than she’d thought. “He’s the model for this class, who was supposed to be coming in today.” And she now knew why he hadn’t turned up. And wasn’t going to. Which was bad.

  But the problem of how she was going to explain his absence to Abernathy didn’t seem nearly as pressing as handling the six foot two inches of volatile male standing in front of her exuding pissed-off vibes.

  Cal’s scowl turned into a suspicious frown. “He’s not your boyfriend?”

  “No. He’s a fifty-year-old ex-punk rocker.” Which was somewhat beside the point, but seemed relevant somehow. “He models regularly for my drawing classes here. I’m an art teacher.” It felt weird having to explain her job to a guy she had slept with last night but that’s what came of letting your inner slut loose after too many strawberry daiquiris. “For what it’s worth…” She touched his arm and lowered her voice, mindful of their audience. “I wouldn’t have picked you up in the bar last night if I did have a boyfriend…” She cleared her throat. This was probably way too much information. It was only supposed to be a one-night stand, but she couldn’t bear for Cal to think she would cheat on him. Or anyone, she qualified quickly. Because she knew exactly what that was like. “And I certainly wouldn’t have slept with you,” she added for complete clarity.

  Goodness, being a bad girl, even for one night, was bloody exhausting.

  Cal’s features relaxed and she let go of his arm, a bit too aware of the solid muscle of his forearm, and the delicious scent of sandalwood soap and minty toothpaste.

  “I should get back to my class. I need to find another model,” she said a little inanely. “Thanks for bringing back my phone.”

  But as she turned to go, he slid his hand into hers and tugged her back around. “Not so fast.” To her astonishment he led her towards the door on the far side of the studio while addressing the class. “Carry on with your pictures, folks. Ms. Smith will be back in a minute.”

  “Cal, what are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Getting us some privacy.” So saying, he dragged her into the tiny windowless room which had once been a supply closet, but which now doubled as her office, after she’d crammed a desk into the space last year. “This’ll have to do.”

  Her heartbeat rabbited under her ribcage. The confined space, even more cramped than usual when he shut the door behind them.

  She dug her teeth into her lip, disconcerted when his gaze tracked down to her mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I shouldn’t have run off this morning without writing a note or something. But I had to get to this class, it’s an important one, they’re taking their exam today and I didn’t want to be late. And now Mick isn’t coming, I really don’t have time to…”

  His finger touched her lips. “Shhh, Rosie. Don’t apologize again. You’re not the one who walked in here and behaved like a jerk. We’ll figure out a solution to the M
ick situation.”

  They would. How?

  “But I wanted to clear something up first.” The slow sensual smile sent the hum of sensation left by his silencing finger hurtling down to set up shop in her clit, like a high-end vibrator. “How’s the head?”

  Her heart clutched at the memory of the pills and the glass of water he’d left beside the bed for her. “Not too bad. Thank you for leaving the painkillers this morning. I was pretty wasted last night.”

  “I know,” he said, the smile becoming strangely intimate. “You crashed out on my couch five minutes after you arrived.”

  “I… I did? But then how did we…” Make love. In your bed. Together.

  “We didn’t,” he said, answering the question she hadn’t been able to ask because of the mortification constricting around her throat. “I carried you upstairs to bed and then spent the night on the couch, nursing a serious case of blue balls.”

  Her cheeks burned. But the mocking admission felt wonderful, as well as completely mortifying. Maybe she’d taken her V-Day curse to a whole other level of catastrophe last night, but it still felt good to know she hadn’t had sex with the hottest guy on the planet and then forgotten about it.

  “You thought we did?” The amused tone only added to her mortification.

  “I wasn’t sure?” she said, squirming.

  Damn those bloody strawberry daiquiris. Never, ever again.

  “FYI… If we had,” he said, still smiling, “I like to think you would have remembered it.”

  The clambering beat of Rosie’s heart kicked up a notch.

  Was he going to suggest another hook-up tonight? Awareness charged through her system. Followed swiftly by panic. Did she want him to? Would she be able to seduce this guy sober? Given her terrible track record when it came to good-looking guys.

  Or even ugly ones for that matter.

  “I’m not very good at this,” she said.

  His eyebrow lifted. “Not good at what?”

  “At, you know, seduction…” She wheeled her hands, to indicate the two of them. “At hooking up with people… With guys.”

  His lips lifted, the smile widening, and he nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “Especially with guys I don’t know. Hot guys. When I’m sober. Or, you know, drunk. I’m no good at this drunk either. Because, last night…” She stopped babbling as he stepped towards her, backing her firmly into the desk.

  “Got it,” he said, his lips lifting into a grin.

  Just shut up now. And quit while you’re ahead.

  She bit into her lip, to stop the babbling, but her mouth overrode the directive. “I have virtually no experience, you see. I don’t usually pick guys up in bars.”

  His hands settled on her hips, the firm touch electric, the delicious scent of him sending her senses and her mouth into overdrive.

  “In fact, I’ve never picked a guy up like that before. Not ever. It’s out of character behavior for me. For which I totally blame the strawberry daiquiris.”

  He hooked a strand of hair behind her ear, the smile in her eyes turning into something more potent. “For an amateur, you did pretty good.”

  She raised her hands to his chest, flattened them against the firm muscles. Absorbing his strength, and the insistent spike of arousal. “Except for the passing out and leaving you with blue balls bit.” She qualified, mortified all over again.

  “That’s my problem, not yours,” he said. “But how about we start with the basics again, and see how we go from there?” The teasing suggestion brought with it a jolt of euphoria. She hadn’t totally blown it with this guy.

  “The basics?” she asked, her mind unable to grasp anything but the pulse of attraction powering through her body.

  “Yeah, the basics.” He angled his head, and fastened his lips on the rabbiting pulse at the base of her throat.

  Butterfly kisses worked their way up her neck, hot and firm and mind-altering as sensation fired across her collarbone and plunged into her breasts.

  Her head eased back, giving him better access, as she sank against the desk, her knees going liquid.

  He found her mouth at last as rough hands slid under her blouse. His thumbs brushed across her bra, coaxing her already hard nipples into taut, aching peaks. Her breath gushed out in a rush, her skin tightening, unbearably sensitive, as he pinched lightly at the tips.

  She jerked against the desk. A strangled cry of need wrenched from her throat.

  Hot brown eyes gleamed with unconcealed lust. “You want to head back to mine and get to the specifics?”

  “I… I can’t.” Her mind spun in circles, trying to cling on to at least one coherent thought. She had something to do, something important. Other than jumping him.

  As she was trying to kick-start her brain around the wave of lust, her gaze landed on her work calendar behind his left shoulder.

  The class. Her job. Oh crap.

  Planting shaking palms against his chest, she pushed him back and ducked under his arm. “I can’t go back to yours; I have to teach this class first or I’ll lose my job.”

  She smoothed her hair down with trembling hands, while trying not to notice the way her nipples were pressing against her bra like torpedoes ready to launch.

  “When do you finish here?” he asked, his face a mask of determination.

  Not nearly soon enough.

  She huffed out a breath, at the errant thought. “Very soon, if I don’t find another model.”

  You do not have time to get jiggy. Your job depends on it.

  She pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “I need to make some calls. See if I can get a replacement. Maybe I could get in touch with you later?” Once I’ve calmed down enough to make a sensible decision. “When I’m unemployed,” she added.

  “Hey?” He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and studied her face, the heat in his eyes turning to concern. And her heart clenched again. “Are they really gonna fire your ass if you don’t find another model?”

  “Mr. Abernathy, my department head, makes Ebenezer Scrooge look like Employer of the Year. So I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “How about I help you out?”

  “I don’t see how,” she replied, her mind beginning to knot with panic and unrequited lust.

  How could he be even more gorgeous with that concerned frown on his face?

  “Why don’t I stand in for the guy? I don’t have anything else to do today.”

  “Seriously? You’d do that?” Her gaze travelled down the length of his body. The thought of seeing him naked sent a giddy thrill hurtling through her which was completely inappropriate.

  “Sure, why not? It’s no big deal.”

  He didn’t think posing naked in front of a room full of strangers was a big deal? Her mind boggled. Goodness, being that confident made him even hotter. And a little bit intimidating.

  “How long do you need me for?” he added.

  “Two hours.” The thrill turned into something hot and fluid and even more inappropriate. But she couldn’t help it. He really would do this thing? For her? And she would get to see him naked. Her breath clogged in her lungs. “And there’s a fifty pound fee,” she added. Then felt a little ridiculous. If his flat was anything to go by, fifty quid wasn’t going to be much of an incentive.

  Her gaze flicked to the strong muscles of his chest, disguised behind the black cotton T-shirt.

  Maybe she should reconsider. Would she be able to survive seeing him naked?

  “Two hours sitting in front of your class without moving?” he asked.

  Bloody hell, he was considering it.

  “You don’t have to worry about not moving. Most models can only sit for ten to fifteen minutes tops without needing a breather. Just let me know if anything’s starting to cramp and we can re-set.”

  She blinked at the challenging smile, the dimple in his cheek making her heart smile, right alongside her clitoris.

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  He was? She couldn’t quite believe it. “That’s terrific, seriously, it’s wonderful.” And a bit too good to be true. How had she managed to hook a guy like him? What would he expect in return? Because whatever it was she was fairly sure she couldn’t deliver.

  Don’t turn a good thing into a disaster, Rosie. Stow your superpower for one day.

  She opened the door to check on her class. All their heads shot round. Oestrogen-fuelled anticipation hung in the air from the women in the class while Derek, her one gay student, had a definite twinkle in his eye. She knew how he felt.