Beached with the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday #3) (6 page)

The truth was, she could light all the incense she wanted—hell, she could light the whole house on fire—and none of it would ever be enough to burn away the emptiness inside her, to warm up all the parts that had gone cold.

Like milk left out on the counter, her marriage had turned bad early, ending in a disaster she should’ve seen coming. And it completely changed her, physically altered her heart into something that could no longer trust, could no longer connect with her muse, could no longer create.

For some people, pain and loss served as inspiration, allowing them to mine their darkest shadows for the most raw, passionate writing she’d ever read. But for Layla, that pain had nearly destroyed her. It was only recently—two years after the divorce—that she’d finally managed to crawl out from the seemingly endless cave of her grief and dust herself off. But still, her heart had not escaped unscathed.

Layla closed her eyes.

Most days, she wondered if her heart had escaped at all.

“
B
ut why is
Alexander trying so hard with Lizbeth?” Trick shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, barely stopping to chew. “It’s like, dude, she’s just not into you. She’s into your brother Marco. Seriously. How can Alexander not see that?”

It was one in the damn morning, and Trick was wide awake. He’d stirred from a restless sleep sometime around midnight, the witching hour that always came when he was sleeping alone and sober, the moment when some unseen force banged on his head to make sure he never got too comfortable—the muse, guilt, anxiety, some twisted all-in-one combo-pack.

Tonight though, instead of tormenting himself about all the ways he’d fucked up his life, Trick had grabbed one of Layla’s books off the shelf. He’d meant to just read a chapter or two, maybe flip through to the naughty bits, see if he could entertain himself.

An hour later, when Layla wandered into the kitchen for a late-night snack, he hadn’t even heard her.

“Funny,” she’d said, startling him from his read. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a romance fan.”

Now they were sitting across from each other in the dining room, sharing his Shake Shack leftovers, discussing the finer points of the Royal Hearts on Fire love triangle.

Obviously, Trick could never tell a soul about this.

“That’s the whole point.” Layla reached across the table and nabbed a fry from his plate. “They’re rivals. Lizbeth was promised to Alexander by her father at birth, but secretly she’s in love with Marco. Always has been. Problem is, Alexander is now the King, and he makes the rules.”

“But she’s breaking the rules anyway. So why not take a stand? I mean, come on. One of them needs to tell the king to go fuck himself.”

Layla laughed, her pretty eyes sparkling behind her big glasses. Every few minutes, they’d slide down to the tip of her nose, and she’d push them back up.

Trick was mesmerized.

“That’s not how it works,” Layla said.

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s her duty to obey.”

“So you’re saying you’d chose duty over love?”

“No. But it’s not a simple choice, is it? I mean, would you tell your record guys to go fuck themselves?”

Trick pointed a fry at her chest. “Ouch. Touché, but ouch.”

“You see her dilemma, then.”

“Maybe. I just don’t see why Alexander has to be such a douche about the whole thing.”

Layla nodded, considering this.

Trick loved watching her think. Whenever she was deep in thought, she pressed her lips together and tapped on them, her eyes going far away. It gave him a chance to stare at her openly, to imagine what it might be like to kiss her. To taste those soft, luscious lips. To slide his thumb between them, feel her velvet tongue as she licked him…

“Well, for all his faults,” she said, breaking into Trick’s fantasies, “Alexander loves her, too. Love makes you do crazy things sometimes.”

“Nope.” Trick shook his head. “I don’t buy it. He doesn’t love her. He loves the power, the control. It’s a status thing, something he can lord over his brother. Hate to break it to you, Sunshine, but your boy only loves himself. He’s obsessed with himself, and everything he does comes back to that.”

“I don’t think—”

“It’s so obvious! It’s his fatal flaw, and it’s probably going to get him killed.”

Layla cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Just how much did you read?”

“Enough to know that I’m team Marco, all the way. I think you need to give them a way out. She’s strong, right? I know she’s got it in her, even if she doesn’t realize it.”

Layla pushed her sliding glasses back up her nose. “And?”

“And nothing. She’s been whimpering in the shadows for too long. Girl needs to woman up, get out there and take what she wants.”

“Interesting analysis.” Her eyes lit up, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And here I thought you were just a horny, bad boy rock star.”

“Pfft.
Just
a horny bad boy rock star? My talents extend
far
beyond the stage, believe me.”

“I’m sure they do.”

“Want me to prove it?”

Layla laughed again, louder this time, a sound that hurt his fucking chest. He hadn’t realized how lonely he was for a woman’s laughter—the real thing, the kind that bubbled up out of nowhere and surprised the hell out of you. The kind you wanted to hear, again and again and again. The kind you wanted to write songs about.

“Don’t try that reverse psychology on me, Trick Harper. I’ve been around the block one too many times to fall for it.”

“That a fact?”

He’d said it playfully, but Layla’s face changed again, her smile sliding into a frown, her eyes drifting to some faraway place that was full of pain—the same place, he suspected, where that Jonathan guy lived.

Trick’s gut twisted with guilt. It was one thing driving Layla crazy with his music, or making her blush with his raunchy innuendos. Yeah, he annoyed the fuck out of her—that had been one of the highlights of their arrangement.

But he’d never meant to put that look on her face, and now he’d done it twice—yesterday, when he’d asked about Jonathan. And now.

Trick looked away, unable to see the pain on her face, so plain and unguarded. Outside, the tide was rolling in, the ocean pounding against the shore, so loud he couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat.

Fucking asshole, that guy.
Whoever that Jonathan douchebag was, he was obviously a total dickhead for at least two reasons. One for letting her go. And two for breaking her heart.

“Anyway,” Trick finally said, desperate to get them back on neutral ground. “I’m just saying, I don’t think Lizbeth should waste her time trying to appeal to Alexander’s sensible side. The man doesn’t have one, and it’s just slowing down the story at this point.”

“What else can she do?” Layla asked. “She has no assets of her own. Her family is dead.”

“Run. Just pack up her shit, get on that horse with Marco, and bounce the fuck outta there. Or at least start making some kind of plan.”

“She wants to run away, but she just can’t. Not yet, anyway.” Layla was tapping her lips again, her eyes sparkling, back from that faraway place Trick had inadvertently sent her. “Emotionally, Lizbeth is not there. It’s all part of her character arc. Eventually she has to figure out how to just… to rescue
herself
, really. But for now she’s still reliant on the men in her life to—”

“Wait, what?”

Layla cocked her head.

“What did you just say?” he asked again, rising from the table so fast he nearly knocked the French fry takeout container to the ground.

“Um, that she’s reliant on men?”

“Before that.”

“She’ll learn how to rescue herself eventually?”

“Yes. Yes!” Trick bolted into the living room and grabbed his pen and notebook, flipping to the first blank page.

Rescue yourself,
he wrote, humming the melody from the song he’d been working on.
No way out but a lifeline from your soul.. Baby, I can’t follow…

The song was about a woman trapped in a life she hated, using men to try to find a way out. Then some poor dude falls in love with her, but she can’t love him back, because she can’t see that the only way out is to fix her own shit. He’d known what he was trying to say, but couldn’t nail it down. He’d been trying to encapsulate this for a month, unable to find the words, the symbolism, the feeling behind it.

Rescue yourself.

Yeah, he still had a lot to do, a lot more lyrics and layers to add, but those two little words… that was it. The missing piece. The climactic moment in the story he’d been so desperately trying to tell.

Now all he had to do was get there. An uphill climb, but a destination nevertheless. An end game.

And he owed it all to the hot-ass, freckle-faced, insightful, intelligent roommate from hell.

He tossed the notebook and pen on the coffee table and rejoined Layla in the dining room, feeling lighter than he had in months.

She’d already cleared the table, and now she leaned against the wall, arms folded casually over her chest, her baggy sweat pants hanging from her body, lips curved in a sexy smile.

“Call from the muse?” she teased.

“Call from you. Sunshine? You are a goddamn genius.” Without thinking, Trick cupped her face in his hands and pulled her close, pressing his mouth to hers.

Briefly, he registered her surprise, but after that there was no hesitation, no resistance. She melted easily into the kiss, her lips parting at the gentle slide of his tongue, welcoming him in. She tasted like salt from the French fires they’d shared, her mouth warm and wet and delicious, the feel of her velvet-soft tongue driving him wild.

Trick backed her up against the wall, pinning her with his strong body. He pulled back slightly, biting her lower lip, unleashing a soft little moan that called straight to his dick. She uncrossed her arms and slid her hands inside his T-shirt, tracing the ridges of his abs, his ribs, his chest. God, her touch was so warm and perfect.
So
fucking perfect.

He wanted her. All of her. Right there on the dining room table.

Until she pulled away.

Layla broke their kiss, turning away from him as she slid her hands out from inside his shirt.

He backed off immediately, giving her some space.

Layla closed her eyes, bringing her fingers to her swollen lips, refusing to look at him.

Smooth move, fuckface.

“Sorry, I—” Trick said, at the same time that Layla said, “We should probably just—”

“Yeah,” he said. “No, I mean, definitely. Right.”

It was killing him that she wouldn’t look at him, that he couldn’t see her eyes, couldn’t read her feelings. Was she upset? Surprised? Cautious? Pissed? Some or all of the above?

He shoved a hand through his hair, searching for the right words to fix whatever had just imploded. But before he could say anything, she was sliding toward the hallway, obviously desperate to get back to her room.

Away from that crazy kiss.

Away from him.

“Shit, Layla. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“No, it’s good. You’re good.” She was walking backward down the hallway now, her smile forced, her voice high and tight. “Thanks for the kiss—
snack
, I mean. The snack. You know, the fries. Good night!”

The bedroom door slammed, followed by her muffled apology. Then a momentary silence, quickly chased away by the deafening roar of the sea.

Jesus.

Trick turned off the lights and headed back to his couch, but the idea of sleep was ludicrous. All he could think about now was Layla. Her soft, wet mouth. Her eyes, wide with shock as he leaned in close, and then—without warning—dark with desire. The same desire that was flowing through him—still—leaving his dick throbbing, his balls aching with need.

Rescue yourself, asshole. Theme of the night.

Trick almost laughed. Yeah, maybe if he had a shred of privacy in this place, he would’ve liked to “rescue” himself…

No, better yet? He would’ve liked to slip into that bedroom at the end of the hall, climb on top of that woman, and fuck her until she was screaming his name, her moans of pleasure loud enough to drown out that incessant sea.

The idea of his name on her lips as she cried out in ecstasy…
damn
. That got him even more worked up, his dick straining against his sweatpants, begging for a release.

A
painful reminder of the damn lesson he just couldn’t seem to learn.

Women. Nothing but heartache and trouble, especially when he knew he’d have to see them again in the morning.

Especially when he
wanted
to see them again.

Fuck
.

M
oonlight streamed
in through the big bay window, casting the living room in a pale blue glow. Outside, the ocean sang its lullaby, the waves
shush
-
shushing
against the shore.

Layla crept toward the couch, bare feet scratching against the sand on the wood floor, her pulse throbbing in her ears.

Two hours had passed since he’d touched her, and she still hadn’t been able to get the taste of that kiss out of her mouth. The feel of him—the heat, the pressure, the hunger—lingered, tangled up with her memories of his voice, his laughter, all of it working its way deep inside her. Each time she tried to block him out, he came back stronger.

Harder.

She shouldn’t want him. Shouldn’t even be
thinking
about doing this. It went against every warning in her heart, every alarm bell clanging in her head, every wall she’d worked so hard to build up again after her life had nearly collapsed.

Yet here she was.

Silent as a shadow, Layla knelt down before the couch.

Stretched out in nothing but a pair of boxers, Trick was fast asleep, his bare chest rising and falling with each deep breath, his mouth parted slightly, all traces of tension gone from his face. She almost didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want to disturb the peace that always seemed to elude him when he was awake.

But she’d come this far. No turning back now.

Holding her breath, Layla touched his silky blond hair, trailing her fingers down the side of his face. She brushed her thumb over his lips—the same lips that had seared hers, left her wound up so tight she thought she’d burst.

With a soft sigh, he finally stirred.

His eyes opened slowly, widening only for a moment when he saw her before him, then narrowing again, watching her silently. His lips curved into a gentle smile at her touch. He didn’t seem all that surprised to see her.

“Hi,” Layla whispered. She slid her hand down to his bare chest, and he reached up and grabbed it, pressing her palm against him. Beneath the warmth of his skin, she felt his heartbeat, strong and steady.

“Can’t sleep?” he whispered.

Nodding, Layla braced herself for the jab that was sure to follow, but when she found his eyes again in the pale moonlight, there was no sarcasm there, no smirk, no relentless teasing. Just the same deep, inexplicable spark she’d felt when he’d caught her watching him sing this afternoon.

Like they were both in on some shared secret.

Layla didn’t have the words for what she was feeling, but something told her Trick wasn’t looking for an explanation.

He was looking for a connection, just like she was.

Layla nodded.
Yes. This. Now.

Wordlessly, Trick pulled her on top of him on the couch, shifting so that she could straddle his hips. She was dressed in her long sleep shirt and panties, no pants, nothing else, and her bare legs slid against his thighs and calves, his muscles rippling at her touch.

Between her thighs, the thick, hard length of his cock pulsed. Two layers of fabric separated them—his boxers, stretching over his huge form, and her panties, already soaked with desire.

She leaned forward until their chests touched, her lips hovering so close to his, she could already taste him again.

With his hands tangled in her hair, Trick held her in place, watching her with a gaze that burned right through to her soul.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Layla,” he whispered. “God.” Again, there was no mockery, no bullshit. Just that raw, real, inexplicable connection.

She traced the firm line of his jaw, scratchy with the perfect amount of stubble, losing herself in the pull of his ocean-blue eyes.

“Kiss me,” he breathed.

She fell into his kiss, moaning softly as he teased her with his tongue, his teeth. He was hungry for her, pulling her closer, fisting her hair as his mouth devoured hers, their tongues sliding together, exploring and tasting, colliding.

His hips rolled instinctively toward her heat, and Layla pressed herself closer, needing to feel him, delirious with pleasure at the effect she had on him—at the effect he had on
her
.

“Trick,” she breathed, breaking their kiss only long enough to gasp for air before melting against his lips once again.

She slid over his cock, stroking him as he pressed against her, their bodies finding a slow, grinding rhythm.

Sliding his hands down her back, Trick grabbed her ass, pulling her even closer, his hardness hitting her in just the right spot.

“God,” she breathed. Fire pooled low in her belly, flames licking outward, urging her to the edge. She hadn’t been with anyone in so long, and Trick’s touch was so perfect, so right, his kiss setting off a chain reaction that shot sparks of electricity down her spine…

Holy hell, she was already so close. She wasn’t ready, though. She wanted to make it last as long as possible, before either of them changed their minds.

Pulling back from their kiss, Layla sat up fully. Trick’s eyes hadn’t left hers; he watched her even as she grabbed his hands, guiding them up the front of her shirt, cupping her breasts.

His cock thickened as he touched her, his own desire growing, the heat between them threatening to explode. Her nipples were aching for his touch, and when he finally brushed his calloused fingers over the stiff, sensitive peaks, she groaned his name, her head rolling back in pure ecstasy.

“Don’t hold back,” he said, rocking against her clit. The damp fabric of her panties was cool on her flesh, but Trick’s heat radiated straight through to her core.

“Trick, wait,” she breathed. She had to get this out of the way before things went any further. Before they got to the point of no return, when neither of them would have the presence of mind to ask questions. “I’m on the pill. And I haven’t been with anyone since… I’m just… I’m clean. Are you? I mean, because if you wanted to, you know…”

He stilled beneath her, and for a minute she worried she’d said the wrong thing—revealed too much about her lack of experience, or made the wrong assumption that he’d even want her like that.

But before she could regret bringing it up, he nodded abruptly, his eyes darkening.

“Clean,” he said. His voice was thick and raspy, his breath uneven. “I get a check-up every six months, never hook up without protection.”

“Never?” she asked, fighting to keep the disappointment from her voice.

Trick groaned, shifting beneath her. Up until that moment, he’d seemed in complete control, but now his eyes were wild, his desire barely in check.

With a teasing smile, he said, “Fuck. You’ve got me breaking all kinds of rules tonight, Sunshine.”

“Good. Let’s break every last one.” Layla slid her hands down his chest, reaching for his boxers, desperate to feel him in her hand, smooth and rock-hard. But he grabbed her wrist, holding her back.

“Sorry, Sunshine. As much as I want you to touch me—and God, it’s taking some monumental restraint on my part not to just turn you over, tear off those panties, and take you right now—we’ve got all night. And I intend to take my sweet time with you, beautiful.”

Layla swallowed, her heart thumping wildly.

“I promise you this,” he said, grinding against her again, “You’re gonna come in every room in this house. And on the patio. And down on the beach. But first? First I want you to come for me right here, just like this. I want to feel you let go.”

He slid his hands up her shirt again, rolling her nipples between his thumb and fingers, pinching and pulling until she cried out, her head spinning with desire.

God, everything he did felt so, so good.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, thrusting against her. “Show me how good this feels.”

She couldn’t hold out. The pressure inside her was too great. She rode him harder, bearing down against him as her thighs clenched, her muscles trembling.

Without warning, Trick sat up, capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss as he slid his hand down the front of her panties. His fingers slipped over her clit and dove inside her wetness, thrusting in deep, deeper, so fucking deep she shuddered. With his thumb he rubbed her clit, fucking her hard with his fingers, the twin sensations working her into a hot, slippery lather.

“Come for me,” he groaned into her mouth, pumping his fingers hard and fast. “Let go, baby.”

Layla trembled, head to toe.

And then, holding her breath, she shattered completely.

The orgasm crashed into her all at once, bursting outward from her core and sending shockwaves throughout her body as she writhed against his hand, out of her mind with pleasure, her body clenching around his fingers. She’d just started coming down when he slid inside her again, faster this time, harder, deeper, bringing her to a second orgasm that was even more intense than the first.

She’d never, ever felt anything so good before. So amazing. So hot.

When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, Trick slid his fingers out of her body, patiently waiting for her to come down completely. Layla was still trembling, her heart beating inside her, her entire body buzzing.

She felt so alive, so warm. So wet.

Trick brushed the hair from her face, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You’re gorgeous when you come.”

He was throbbing beneath her, still rock hard, his breathing wild and ragged.

She was so damn turned on, so hot for him…

“I want to taste you,” she said suddenly, wriggling out of his grasp. The admission shocked her; she’d never been so blatant with a man before. But Trick was just… different. Layla felt like she could say what she felt, no shame or hiding or pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

“Layla…” Trick groaned her name, his eyes rolling back, his breath catching in his throat as she kissed and licked her way down the front of his chest, gently pushing him back onto the couch.

A forbidden thrill raced down her spine. She felt powerful and alive for the first time in months—years, even—everything inside her buzzing from his touch.

She slid the boxers down his hips, pulling them off and settling herself between his thighs, circling her fingers around his cock. He shivered at her soft touch, his hips rolling toward her once again.

Gripping him harder, Layla licked the tip, swirling her tongue over his flesh, tasting his salty skin, making him moan.

“That’s… yeah.
So
good,” he breathed, threading his fingers into her hair.

She parted her lips and took him in, slowly at first. He was so hot and thick in her mouth, his skin smooth as he slid between her lips and across her tongue. She moaned in pleasure, the vibration making him even harder, thicker.

He arched his hips off the couch, trying to go deeper, harder, but Layla was in charge, teasing and tempting him with every stroke of her tongue.

“Fuck,” he growled. “You’re so… fucking… good.” He was panting, his chest glowing with a sheen of sweat as Layla sucked him in deep, then pulled back, taking him in deeper with every stroke.

He was close; she knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. She felt his thigh muscles tighten around her body, then she cupped his balls, teasing gently as she took him all the way into her mouth.

“Jesus, Layla. I can’t… holy shit.”

At that moment, she relaxed her throat, finally giving Trick control. Fisting her hair, he fucked her mouth hard, fast, sliding in and out until he finally came, thrusting back inside her with a shudder, a white hot rush, his body arching off the couch as she swallowed his release.

Spent and panting, they both leaned backward on opposite ends of the couch, their legs tangled together, their bodies slowly coming back to reality.

When she was certain she could actually walk, Layla sat up fully, intending to get up and grab some water, but Trick stopped her, his hands firm on her thighs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he teased, sitting up to look her in the eyes.

“Water,” she said. God, she was still so wet for him, and the way he looked at her—hungry, wolfish—wasn’t helping.

“Not so fast, Sunshine.” He pushed her gently backward onto the couch, sliding his hands up the smooth, warm skin of her bare thighs until he reached the edge of her panties.

“One good turn—and God, do I mean
good
—deserves another.”

He shifted his position so that she was on the bottom now, and he knelt between her legs, slowly kissing his way up the inside of her thigh.

The soft, hot touch of his tongue would undo her completely, she was sure. And she wanted him—God, she fucking wanted his mouth on her pussy, tasting her, licking her, no fabric between them, just his lips kissing her to sweet oblivion.

But when he got close, breathing her name against her skin and looking up at her with those mischievous, hungry eyes, Layla froze.

I’m not ready for this…

Suddenly and without warning, the walls rose up again, caging her in. Everything was crashing in on her, suffocating her, threatening to pull her under…

“Layla?” Trick was on his knees now, his hands gentle on her bare thighs, his face creased with concern. “What’s—”

“I’m… I think I just need some air.” She scooted out from under him and rose from the couch, her legs shaky and unsteady.

Trick held out his hands, as if to steady her, but she backed away from his touch. It was too giving, too good.

God, so good.

Logically, she knew it was crazy. But knowing it and being able to do anything about it were two different things. She was panicking—her heart racing for all the wrong reasons, her mouth dry, her palms sweating. She had to get away.

“What happened?” he asked, rising from the couch. He touched her then, his hands warm and reassuring on her arms, but nothing could calm the wild nerves inside her.

“I need some air,” she said again, slinking out from beneath his touch. “I’ll be back. Don’t worry.”

“Layla…” Trick sighed, his eyes so full of concern and confusion, it made her heart twist. “It’s the middle of the night. At least let me—”

“No! I mean, it’s fine. I’ll be okay. Just… I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”