Sexual Deception (New Adult Interracial Romance, Bad for You Series Vol #1)

Bad for

You

Volume One

Bad for You

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events,

locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Bad for You

Copyright © 2013 by Kenya Wright

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Design by J.N.Sheats

Stock Images from canstockphoto.com

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2013

www.KenyaWright.com

Prologue

All my life I've known that death never solved any problems.

The difficulties lay in the living, the ones that still walked the earth seconds after the blood dried on battered pavement and streamed down into the sewers of the corrupt.

The ones that died were the lucky bastards.

They didn't have to run and hide, change their identities or slip out in the middle of the night, away from friends and family. Nightmares of walking corpses didn't plague their dreams. Anxiety didn't keep them up, stumbling around in a constant waking life of coffee cups, cigarettes, and rushed phone calls to lovers or family where one could stay on the line for only a few seconds.

Just a few.

Enough to hear their mom's voice or wife's words and confirm that none of their enemies murdered anyone like they'd killed in the past.

I thought all of this shit was behind me.

Every
failed person
has that one moment when they can look back in time, point to, and proclaim, “That's the moment when I fucked up. Right there. If I hadn't did that shit, then man, I would be good to go. Now look at me. See what I've become.”

I'd been avoiding instances like that all my life, at times only skimming out of trouble by the blessed luck.

Low odds crashed into me, and I survived.

However, in this moment when I wrapped my fingers tight around the gun and pointed it to her face, I knew that I had two choices, one that would keep me surviving another day and the other that would mean I failed.

“He'll know you did it,” she said as fear swam in her eyes. Pure terror. I could smell it radiating from her—the stink of her sweat and the dried urine on her jeans.

Her bottom lip quivered. “You kill me and more will come.”

“Then I'll kill them too.” I raised the tip of the gun, targeting the center of her forehead.

“Kane, I—”

I pulled the trigger.

Silently the bullet sliced through the air in a blur of motion, meeting her flesh and piercing her skull. Blood sprayed on my face. Warm dots that could incriminate me and set the crime scene for any cop that hoped to make a name off of this new murder case. I had no time to clean up the space like usual, no time to wipe away any traces that I'd been here. Parking lot video footage caught me coming.

It would catch me leaving. Everyone who mattered would know I was there. If I spent the few minutes making evidence disappear then I'd just be a target.

I had no time to say goodbye and no time for regrets.

All I had was time to run.

Chapter 1

The starting position.

Two weeks earlier. . .

~Kane

“Sorry. I would be bad for you.” She handed my number back to me, strolled off, and headed to my art gallery's front door.

Bad for me? Lucky for you my dick loves bad.

“Wait a minute,” I called after her. “What's your name?”

She continued.

That bronze dress embraced her thick body and brought out the rich chocolate-brown of her skin. She wasn't slim, but not huge either. Her frame featured abundant curves in all the right places.

Her hips and shapely behind wiggled with each click of her heels on pavement. But all of that wasn't what snared my attention in the first place.

It was that hair.

She wore a huge afro made up of lazy curls colored in various shades of dark brown. It was wild in an exotic way. My fingers itched to touch those strands, or more like fist those pretty curls as I gently pulled her head back and thrust into her from behind.

I bet she smells like strawberries everywhere.

When she was close to me earlier, her fruity fragrance caged my focus. I barely made out half of our conversation as I wondered if the scent came from a lotion that she massaged on her naked body after a hot shower, or a perfume she sprayed between her lush cleavage before stepping out of her house to taunt every man that spotted her.

“What's your name?” I caught up with this mysterious woman and got to her side.

Running after a beautiful creature wasn't rare for me, but it usually happened after I broke their heart in some stupid and inconceivable way. Females spotted my muscular frame, nice car, popular art gallery, as well as no ring on my finger, and rushed to give me their numbers, never asking themselves why such a good-looking and successful African American man over thirty was still single to begin with.

“Please, give me a few minutes of your time.”

“Don't you have a gallery showing to finish preparing for?” She pushed the front door open right before I could stop her.

“It's not until this Saturday. My men pretty much do the hard work.” Miami summer sun heated my skin and almost blinded me. I shielded my eyes with my hand. “Don't go. Give me a few minutes of your time.”

“I don't have time.”

“You did when you thought I could offer you a job.”

Pausing in the middle of the doorway, she formed her ruby painted lips into a smile. “Time is money. If your conversation isn't getting me anything, then there's no need to waste my time.”

“Time is more than money.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Call me Kane.”

“There's no need. I won't be calling you.” She left, pounding those heels to the next art gallery.

“How could I get you to call me?”

She ceased with walking, but didn't turn. “I'm only interested in a singing job for this art festival. I went to your gallery first because it's one of the top African American ones in Miami. But you just said that you don't usually have live performances during your showings.”

“There's always a first time for everything.”

She turned around and flashed me an annoyed expression. “Look. I don't have time for games.

If you're really interested in hiring me, then do it. Other than that, keep your game play to these other broads around here.”

That mouth of hers would be the first thing I would steal.
Next, everything else.
I hardened in my jeans and traced her body with my gaze. “I'm hiring you.”

“No, you're not hiring me. You're drooling over me.” She snapped her fingers twice, probably to get my attention back to her face and not those succulent breasts trapped in that dress.

I cleared my throat. “You're hired to sing at my event on Saturday night.”

She smirked. “You haven’t even heard me sing.”

“I don't need to.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Hamilton.” Just like that she ended our conversation again and headed away.

“Goodbye?” I held my hands out to the sides. “I just said I was going to hire you.”

“You don't know if I can even sing.”

I did a slow jog to her and met her pace. “When you speak, it's so soft and sweet. I bet you have a beautiful voice. Come sing for me this Saturday.”

“No, thank you.”

“Why not?”

A breeze passed by and disturbed those lazy curls all over her head. “I don't work for men who make business decisions with their dicks.”

I should've been insulted, but her mention of my member caught me off guard. “I want you.”

“That's pretty clear.” She tossed me a wicked side-glance.

“Not just for my bed, but for my event.”

She ceased with walking and faced me. “I'm not available for your bed.”

“That sucks then.” I moved in closer to her, inhaling that strawberry perfume. “The job requires both.”

She laughed. “I don't have sex for money.”

“There's a first time for everything.”

She placed her hands on her hips. Before she snapped back with another smart comment, I leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “How much would it take?”

“To what?”

“To have you in my bed tonight.”

She parted her lips, and it took everything in me to not put my tongue between them. “It would take a lot. I don't think you can afford me, but maybe if you have an offer I can't refuse, then I'll give you the pain you're asking for.”

“Pain?”

“Yes.” She licked her lips. “It will always feel so good going in, but it's the moment that you have to leave is when the pain kicks in.”

That caught me off guard. I jerked my head back a little. “I think I can handle that.”

“Then it will take a lot to get me in your bed.”

“How much?” I asked.

“Not money, but a whole lot. So much that you would lose yourself in the process.”

Those words delivered an agonizing pressure to my crotch, a sensation so delicious I almost moaned. “What's your name?”

“Melody.”

The way she said that word made me grasp my hardness over my pants and tighten my fingers around its length. She directed her attention to it. Her lips twitched as if she giggled inside. “Are you okay, Kane?”

“You know what you're doing.”

She leaned her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“The way you said your name. You had to know what that did to me.”

“Of course I did.” She closed the tiny distance between us and smoothed her soft breasts against my chest. “I already told you earlier. I'm bad for you. You didn't listen, now you'll have no one to blame but yourself.”

She sashayed away, but this time she headed back to my art gallery and with her slender finger motioned for me to come.

I expected more of a battle and even more persuading. I'd been preparing for the chase, something I loved to do with the opposite sex. Easy women bored me. Not that I didn't enjoy satisfying the easy women, but the ones that forced me to race through a complex obstacle of games kept my dick hard and my mind on them, instead of my nightmares.

This one should be fun.

Chapter 2

The first move

~Melody

In the game of life, sometimes it was hard to see the chess pieces on the board.

People didn't come with elaborate costumes that helped me differentiate whether a person was a king or a pawn, bishop or rook. It forced me to spend more time around them, gathering information from their words, analyzing their responses in the quiet of my hotel room, and then deciding what position they would play.

As Kane stood in front of me, dripping dark chocolate over chiseled muscle and donning a confidant smile on his exotic face, I couldn't determine his role. He damn sure wasn't a knight. His ego would limit his moves. He wouldn't be able to make the jumps I required.

He's just a pawn.

“This is a nice office.” I strolled around the space, taking note of how clean everything seemed.

There's no way, he does all of his business here. Not the dirty stuff.

His mahogany desk gleamed in the ceiling's light. Nothing lay on it, not even a phone or a frame with pictures of his family or lover. It was all empty. But not his book shelves. They stood against every wall in the space. Tons of books crowded them. I headed over to the closest one. Every book's spine appeared tattered and worn. These books had not only been read, they'd been devoured and mentally consumed.

“Are these all of yours?” I asked.

“Yes.” He sat on the edge of his desk and watched me travel along his book-filled walls.

My fingertips caressed the length of each book and hopefully gave Kane mental visions of my hands on him, stroking and massaging his dick to his heart's desire.

I pulled a book away and read the title, “The Theory of Psychoanalysis by Dr. C.G. Jung. Have you read this?”

“Yes.” His gaze remained on my behind, which made me skeptical that he could read at all.

I doubt you do anything, but run after women.

“So you like psychology?” I asked.

“Yes, and philosophy.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Smirking, I glanced at the book's title again. “What's something this Jung guy has said?”

Kane got off the desk and came my way. “He thought art healed and repaired people who

experienced lots of trauma and anxiety. Although he was a psychologist, he painted and created a lot of art during his own times of emotional distress.”

I considered how this Jung guy would relate to Kane. “Is that why you own a gallery and surround yourself with art? Are you using all of these painting and sculptures to get over trauma?”

“Will you work for me Melody?” He ignored my question and stepped closer to me.

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