Daring the Bad Boy Read online

  She glanced over her shoulder to beam her best smile at their new model. The man was a lifesaver; if his confidence was intimidating, she’d get over it.

  “I’ll go set up the dais for you. Just come in when you’re ready and I’ll pose you. There’s a robe in the cupboard over there you can use once you’ve stripped off.”

  She darted off to get everything prepared for him. Her whole life had suddenly been imbued with all sorts of erotic possibilities, instead of the usual erotic disasters – she was not going to make that a bad thing.

  Vince had destroyed her confidence and then kicked her ego while it was down a year ago. And it had taken her this long to recover. And obviously she still wasn’t quite there yet if the thought of getting a second chance to finally hook up with the hottest guy in London was giving her a panic attack – but she had two whole hours to get over it. While getting to see him naked. It was all good.

  Totally. All. Good.

  *

  Strip off? What the fuck?

  Cal frowned at the door, watching Rosie direct her class through the glass panel.

  Had he heard that right? Twelve sets of eager eyes turned towards him. He ducked out of view, his balls shrinking to the size of peanuts.

  Damn it. Seriously? They were going to be drawing his junk for the next two hours! He had no idea he’d been offering to pose for her butt naked.

  He rubbed damp palms on his jeans. “Shit.”

  How the hell could he refuse now without looking like a coward? Or a welcher? Or worse, taking away the gratitude in her eyes, that had made him feel like a super-hero?

  He’d have to do it. And somehow or other stop himself from getting a boner. He’d never figured he was into exhibitionism, but the pounding in his crotch wasn’t getting any less insistent at the thought of those hot green eyes on him in public.

  He shrugged off his jacket and slung it over a chair, then lifted a foot to pry off one of his boots.

  Well, he’d wanted the distraction of a hook-up with Rosie, the hot kisser, to take his mind off his old man. And the crummy week he’d just spent in West Daley. Two hours doing the bare butt boogie in front of an art class full of people he’d never met before ought to cover it. Even if it did seem kind of like using a nuclear warhead to crack a nut – his nuts in particular.

  He took off his shorts and wrapped the robe around himself.

  If at the end of it they got uninterrupted quality time to pursue what they should have pursued last night it would be worth it.

  She would be so damn grateful for his self-sacrifice – and hopefully the sight of his junk might turn her on. The way she’d blushed redder than a firetruck had sure as hell turned him on.

  He felt the hot weight settle in his abdomen. And coughed.

  Down boy. No getting a boner ahead of schedule, or this ordeal was gonna be even more excruciating than anticipated.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  “You don’t have to go the Full Monty.” Rosie eased a breath out past her constricted lungs.

  Good Lord, she didn’t know about her class, but she was ready to pass out just looking at the dark curls on his chest peeking out from behind the belted robe. The bulge of his calf muscles as he had walked into the room had nearly given her a heart attack already.

  “I haven’t got a problem with going the Full Monty, if that’s what you need,” he murmured in a confidential voice for her alone.

  What she needed right now was an iron lung, because every single thing he said was adding to her breathing difficulties.

  “No really, the class is about drawing your musculature.” Of which he had more than enough to go round from what she could see. “Not your genitals.” She took a staggered breath as heat flared across her chest.

  Did you just say genitals you nitwit? Like a district nurse.

  “A strategically draped sheet will allow you to keep your modesty, while still allowing the students to draw what they need to draw.”

  And stop me from passing out ahead of time and making an even bigger tit of myself than I have already.

  “Whatever.” The naughty lip quirk let her know what he thought of her total surrender to his magnificence.

  She needed to work on that. Or she’d never be able to follow through on last night’s promise.

  Where was her inner slut when she needed, the bitch? Oh yeah, in the bottom of a strawberry daiquiri glass.

  “Where do you want me?” His gaze slanted to the dais she’d set up on the opposite side of the room in front of the class. Really just a raised platform with a mattress on it and a sheet draped over it, it suddenly looked like a throne to Rosie. A throne where the god of hot was about to display all his assets, and she would be able to look but not fondle.

  There is no justice in the world.

  She touched his arm, struggling to absorb the erotic jolt as the muscle flexed beneath the robe. “The most important thing is that you’re comfortable.”

  And I don’t face plant in awe when you drop the sheet.

  She directed him to the throne. The hush of the class, who were usually a fairly chatty lot, told her all she needed to know about his effect on them too.

  “If you lie down, and then arrange yourself in a pose that you think you can hold for at least ten minutes. Take off the robe and I’ll… Um… I’ll…” She grabbed a sheet from the freshly laundered pile she’d retrieved from the supply closet and fanned it out. “I’ll protect your modesty while you decide how you want to do that.”

  Not that he seemed to have much modesty.

  She held up the sheet in front of her, to shield him from the class. And her.

  He stepped onto the dais and turned towards her, the confidential smile on his face suggesting he wasn’t nearly as worried about his modesty as she was. She drew in a deep breath, to stave off oxygen deprivation as the robe slipped off his shoulders.

  Oh my. Oh my. Breathe. Keep breathing.

  His shoulders were a mile wide, the smooth tanned skin stretched taught over the strong line of his shoulderblades. A tattoo of black thorns circled his upper arm. The sprinkle of dark hair started at his sternum and fanned out over the bulge of his pectoral muscles. The sheet slipped as her arms started to shake, her gaze tracking down entirely of its own accord, to take in the ripped muscles of his eight pack and the roped sinews that defined his pelvis. The thin trail of hair blossomed at his groin into a thatch of dark curls surrounding the root of his penis, thick and long and…

  “Don’t look down, Rosie, or I’ll get a boner that’s gonna be real hard to hide.”

  Her gaze shot back to his face, her skin flaming with guilty knowledge. Her arms felt as if they weighed several tons as she strained to hold the sheet in place.

  Her tongue darted out to moisten lips that had dried to parchment.

  “And don’t lick that damn mouth, or we’re both liable to get arrested.”

  “Sorry… Sorry.” She clamped her mouth shut, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.

  He was completely beautiful. Every part of him. And she was going to have to sit quietly by while her class drew each perfect line and dip and bulge of his anatomy. And all she was going to be able to do was watch. And think about how inadequate her body was in comparison. The body she would have been more than willing to show him last night, full of daiquiri courage. But which had not been shown to anyone in over a year.

  Not since that fateful last night with Vince, when they’d made love for the last time on Valentine’s Day evening and he’d rolled over, gone off to the bathroom, and then come back to say those fateful words.

  I don’t know how to say this, but our sex life has kind of become a chore. And I’m thinking we could both do with some space to get the spark back.

  A chore, she’d become a chore.

  She’d overthought sex with Vince like she did everything. Like she was doing right now with Cal. Who was only interested in a one-night hook-up, after she’d fucked up last night’s o
ne-night hook-up by getting pissed and passing out. And was only sitting naked for her class as a favor to her, to stop her getting sacked.

  But Cal was so much fitter than Vince and – from that almost glimpse of his penis – sporting a lot more heft. And she’d promised to do him. Later. But little did he know, she was advertising under false pretenses. Because she didn’t do hot sex. She did lukewarm duty sex. Sex with her was a chore. And once he found out, he’d feel cheated and pissed off with her. Even more pissed off than he had been this morning when he’d arrived.

  If this wasn’t the definition of torture, she didn’t know what was.

  “You can still back out,” she said, eager to give him a get-out clause. Because once he found out how rubbish she was in the sack, he might want to sue under the trade descriptions act.

  Stop getting so worked up. This is your insecurity talking. You don’t owe him a thing.

  He’s a stranger. A virtual stranger. Who you’ve shared a few kisses with. That’s all.

  He can’t hold you to account, if you don’t deliver later.

  Even Vince couldn’t do that – and she’d had a one-year relationship with him.

  When Vince had finally come clean about Maya, the intern who’d supplied the spark Rosie lacked, Rosie had been devastated. Not because she’d been heartbroken, but because it was becoming a depressing pattern. She fancied a guy. She got off with him. She got over-invested. And then he dumped her or she dumped him – usually after he’d come on to loads of other women first. But even Vince had never had the cojones to offer to pose buck naked for her class for two hours.

  Large hands covered hers on the sheet. “I’ve got it from here.”

  He took the sheet and folded it around his lean waist. Lying down on the makeshift bed, he untied the sheet and let it drop to cup his groin, arranging it so almost everything was visible. Everything except his actual penis.

  But the sinews in his thighs, that intimate hairless flesh that attached his hipbone to his groin, the springy curls that arrowed down and bloomed around his pelvic bone was more than enough to make Rosie giddy. She stepped back, and nearly tripped off the dais – drunker on two cups of instant coffee from the cafeteria dispenser than she had been the night before on three strawberry daiquiris.

  Hold that thought, it might work in your favor later.

  “Steady.” The slow smile spread, as he settled into a relaxed pose, resting his head on one hand, while the other lay casually across his flat belly – just above the hem of that blasted sheet. “How’s that?”

  Rosie’s heartbeat sped up again as she took in every glorious inch of exposed flesh. Firm, tanned, taut and magnificent.

  Way too magnificent frankly. I am so far out of my league I feel like the tea girl in Love Actually who gets the hots for Hugh Grant.

  “Yes, wonderful,” she whispered, before swinging round to address her class.

  “Right, remember everyone, the examiners will be looking for your ability to get the proportions correct first and foremost. So look at sketching in our model’s whole form in broad strokes before getting to the details.” She dragged in another breath, imagining sketching each intimate detail… With her tongue.

  In your dreams.

  “You have two hours.” She checked the time. “Starting now.” She fanned her face as the class began to pick up their charcoals and apply broad sweeping strokes to their sketch pads.

  This was going to be the longest two hours of her entire life.

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  “Thanks so much for doing that, you really saved my bacon.” Rosie dug her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

  “Not a problem.” Cal looked up from belting the robe. “They’re an interesting bunch.”

  Whom he’d talked to effortlessly while lying naked in front of them.

  The exam had gone smoothly. Her inspection from Mr. Abernathy had passed without a hitch, the head of department impressed with the industriousness of her students. But the truth was, after being in a panic about the visit, she’d barely paid any attention to Mr. Abernathy’s arrival and eventual departure. Because all her attention had been on Cal, for two solid hours. She’d spent the time moving from student to student as she studied their work, while trying not to study him.

  An impossible task. Because his presence had filled the room. Both captivating and confusing her. And now she had an intimate knowledge of him that had sparked so many questions.

  Was the scar to the left of his navel from an appendix operation? Why had he gotten the tattoo, the bold geometric design both timeless and edgy? Did it signify something important, or was he just into body art? And what about the smaller tattoo on the inside of his right wrist that looked rough and homemade. When had he got that one done? As a teenager? What did it mean?

  Exactly how old was he? Surely not more than late twenties, early thirties.

  All questions a lover would ask. All questions she had no right to ask.

  But most distracting of all had been the overwhelming sexual awareness that crackled between them, every time his eyes met hers. The sound of charcoal scraping paper, the sighs and sniffs and coughs of the class as they concentrated on their task in the airless room had faded away, until all she could hear was the incessant beating of her pulse in her ears. Matching time with the delicious beat in her clitoris.

  Making all the questions she knew she had no right to ask even more dangerous.

  Because after studying his body for two hours, she’d begun to see him as so much more than just an incredibly hot guy. She’d begun to wonder about his private life, his likes and dislikes. How he could be so disarming one minute and yet surly the next. What had put the hint of sadness into his eyes that she’d seen last night and on occasion today and whether she could help take it away…

  Whoa there. You are not invested in this guy. And you don’t want to be.

  “Can you take a check, or would you prefer cash?” she asked, trying to drag her thoughts back into the sensible zone.

  “What for?” he asked, those hot chocolate eyes boring into her and her composure.

  “Your fifty pound fee.”

  “Keep it.” He stepped closer, those broad shoulders looking even broader as he towered over her, even in his bare feet.

  “But you’ve earned it. It’s the least I can do.”

  He took her arm. His thumb rubbed across the inside of her elbow and energy zapped up to tighten her breasts.

  “School’s out, Rosie. And I’ve been lying buck naked in front of a group of strangers for two hours to help save your job.”

  Her breathing seized to a halt, and her eyes glazed over as she got a lungful of his scent. Sandalwood and spice.

  “Which is exactly why I should pay you for your trouble.”

  God, he smelled as delicious as he looked. Would asking to lick him all over right now be too forward? Because after two hours of staring at his assets, her inner slut was out and proud, and raring to go.

  Lifting his hand from her rapidly beating pulse, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and left his thumb in place, to skim down the side of her face. Her breath caught, the possessive touch blazing a trail across her collarbone.

  “It’s payback time, for sure,” he said. “But fifty pounds isn’t going to cover it.”

  “It’s not?” she said, all innocent, while filthy thoughts assailed her. She could see the pulse of his blood against the hollow of his clavicle, the sprinkle of dark hair playing peek-a-boo with the lapels of the robe. The sprinkle that she now knew grew in a thicket of dark springing curls around his groin.

  Her back butted against the wall of the tiny office as he stepped closer and lifted his arm above her head to cage her in. And she imagined his long cock stiffening beneath the robe.

  That he was completely naked under that robe, had her getting light-headed.

  He shook his head, his gaze intense and teasing at the same time. “Fifty pounds is not enough,
because you’ve been a very bad girl.”

  Her heart skipped several crucial beats – all sorts of inappropriate fantasies, that she never thought she was even capable of, charging through her mind. “I have?”

  “You kept looking at me, Rosie, when I told you not to. That’s pretty naughty.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not sorry at all, as he released the top button on her blouse. Her chest expanded as she dragged in one tortured breath, to stop from passing out. Her back arched, instinctively offering her breasts to him.

  “Sorry’s not gonna cut it.” That questing thumb slid beneath the skimpy lace of the push-up bra she’d borrowed from Tash’s stash of clean lingerie.

  “Not for all the times those sea-green eyes checked out my junk.” His voice deepened on the words ‘sea-green’ and she got a heady thrill at the thought he liked the color of her eyes. No one had ever described them like that before.

  The thrill collided with all the other emotions she was not supposed to be feeling.

  It’s just sex talk, Rosie. Exceptionally good sex talk. Don’t get invested.

  “You wanna know how damn excruciating it was to keep from getting hard? With your eyes on me?”

  “It must have been dreadful,” she murmured, trying for coquettish, but getting breathless and eager instead as she almost choked on the lump of need in her throat. “It was hard for me too…”

  Undoing the last three buttons with deft fingers, he slid a rough palm beneath the silk to part her blouse, exposing her breasts in Tash’s fuck-me bra – the distended nipples clearly visible through the gossamer lace.

  Thank you, Tash, and your filthy taste in lingerie.

  His thumb circled, playing with the engorged tip as a low groan issued from her lips.

  “Yeah, I can see how hard it was for you.” The sensual smile was both promise and provocation. “I’m going to have to punish you for teasing me like that, Rosie.”