Dinner With a Bad Boy (7 page)

"Tell me you're not running away again." Mitch sounded equal parts pleading and resigned.

"Sorry. My boss is having a crisis." She turned to face Mitch, but the sight of his ruffled hair nearly undid her. God, she so wanted to quit her job.

"First your family, now work. I'm beginning to see a pattern here."

She sighed. "It's a corporate merger. The biggest we've ever handled. Big crisis when it starts to sink." She moved down the hallway intending to change her clothes. The feel of her breasts against the inside of her sweatshirt reminded her much too clearly of what she was giving up. Of what she could be doing with Mitch rather than spending an eternity in hell with Frank.

Mitch walked with her, his long stride easily keeping pace. "So they call you on a Saturday night to rescue them. On the biggest deal the company's ever done. Except two days ago you said no one had talked seriously about giving you a partnership."

She nodded, suddenly excruciatingly aware of Mitch entering her bedroom. Her queen-size bed loomed large in her mind as she mentally painted them both there. What would they be doing? What wouldn't they do? The very thought made her mouth go dry, and she had to turn away. Unfortunately she caught Mitch's gaze in the mirror, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Knew he wanted the same thing. On her bed. Right now. Without reservation.

"Quit." His one word came out hoarse, and she knew it must have cost him to say it because his hands were clenched, his entire body still taut and rigidly hard. "They're using you."

"I can't quit." She forced herself to look down, away from the palpable draw of his eyes. Blindly gathering blouse and pants, she rushed into her bathroom to dress. Then, just to increase the distance between them, she deliberately put the coarsest meaning possible on his actions, knowing it wasn't the whole truth but unable to face his full meaning. "I can't quit just because you're horny," she said through the door. She thought he would answer, but he remained silent until she emerged fully dressed, feeling once again encased in an armor he couldn't penetrate.

How wrong she was. Less than two seconds after opening the bathroom door, he was reaching for her, holding her arms, keeping her in front of him as he spoke. "Yeah, I'm horny," he admitted. "But I'm not ruled by my lower half."

She stiffened. "Unlike me?"

She felt his hands clench on her arms before he abruptly released her. "I didn't say that." Suddenly he spun away, running a hand through his hair. "Damn it, Sue, I have no problem understanding work emergencies. Hell, the after-school life of a teacher often feels busier than the in-class time." He turned back to her, frustration clear in his tight shoulders and clenched expression. "I'm trying to be understanding here, but it's hard when I've finally gotten you alone." He took a deep breath, then released it slowly. "You've talked about your job often enough. You suspect he's just stringing you along. So cut the cord, already. Or are you just using him as yet another excuse to get away from me?"

She lifted her hand and gently touched his broad chest, feeling the muscles ripple as she allowed her fingers to trail down his belly. "I'm not running from you," she finally admitted. "I ought to be. My mind tells me I should, but..."

He grabbed her hand, drawing it up to his lips, sensuously kissing her palm. "Then stay."

She shook her head, nearly killing herself as she firmly withdrew from his caress.

"This isn't just sex," he said. "You know that, don't you? I... It's more than that. You're funny and smart, and I think we'd be good together."

She stood there, a half step away from her car keys, her back to him while inside she felt completely raw. She didn't even have enough perspective to analyze the conflicting emotions roaring through her. All she could do was stand immobilized while she simply felt... everything... and yet nothing with any clarity.

He stepped around her, facing her directly as he made his case. "I know it's hard, but take a stand against this Frank. People will control you if they can."

She frowned slightly, hearing something deeper in his voice. Something key. And it was so much easier to focus on his inner life rather than her own. "I take it you've got personal experience with this," she said. When he hesitated, she knew she'd struck gold. So she folded her arms and gave him a level stare. "You're asking me to quit my job. I think you can give up one personal story here."

He reached for her, but she backed away, letting her posture communicate that she wouldn't be distracted. Eventually he relented. "My parents were incredibly controlling. They decided before I was born that I'd be a lawyer. Looking back now, their demands don't seem like a whole lot, but at the time I thought I'd explode."

She nodded sympathetically, remembering her own childhood. "Adolescence."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe. Except I did something about it. One day I packed my things and rode away. I've never looked back."

She frowned. "You didn't even say good-bye?"

"I left a note." Then he grimaced. "Kinda childish, huh? But the point is, I hated the situation, so I changed it. And I survived. I found a job, put myself through college, and here I am." He reached out, and this time she let him capture her hands. "Don't stick out a lousy situation hoping it'll get better. Life doesn't work that way. You've got to change it yourself. Take charge."

"It's not that simple," she hedged.

"Of course it is."

She bit her lip, considering. "So you have a good relationship with your parents now? All's well that ends well?"

His hands slipped away from her. "I see them on holidays."

From his tone, she could just guess how much he dreaded the onset of Christmas. Then she flashed on the image of him when she first saw him—shaggy hair, huge obnoxious earring, a rebel don't-mess-with-me air right down to the dragon tattoo—and suddenly she understood. "That's why you looked that way at my father's party. You'd just come back from your parents', where you dressed and acted like a jerk, didn't you?"

He stepped backward. "The situation's complicated."

"Sure it is. What are they? Good, solid Midwestern stock? The thought of having a biker boy for a son just gives them spasms, doesn't it?"

"They kept pushing. Night and day." He shifted, obviously uncomfortable. "My father's an Illinois supreme court judge."

Oh, Lord, she could just picture it now. Mom and Dad Judge and their biker-boy son. "I bet that tattoo looks great in the holiday photos."

"I wanted to teach," he said defensively.

"Spare me the excuses, bad boy. Just because you glory in irresponsible rebellion doesn't mean the rest of us are that stupid." Then she stood at the door, her keys in hand as she waited for him to leave her condo.

He echoed her stance, hands clenched by his sides as he stared at her. Just looking at him like that made her want to throw it all away—her job, her family, everything—just to run into his arms and kiss away that lost look in his eyes. But she couldn't. They were talking about her job. Still, it took all her strength to stand there without compromising, waiting for him to precede her out the door.

"Do you even like accounting?" he challenged.

The question hit her squarely between the eyes. No one had ever thought to ask before. Not even her. But she didn't have the energy to face the problem right now. Frank was waiting, and Mitch was too distracting for her to reevaluate her life right then. So she just stared at him, her lips pressed together, her mind whirling in chaos.

"Fine," he finally spit out. "Fine with me." Then he stomped out, his body rigid with anger. She'd barely finished locking her door when she heard his motorcycle roar away.

"Yeah, fine," she muttered as she made it to her car.

Two hours later she was still muttering. Except now she sat at her desk, grinding her teeth and cursing her work, her boss, and life in general. As much as Su Ling fought the realization, Mitch's words were affecting her.

Did she hate accounting? She certainly hated Frank, her rude, domineering chauvinist of a boss. And she hated that she was sitting here, working on a Saturday night when she could still smell Mitch on her skin, still thought of him whenever her hair slipped out of its knot to slide across her neck, and still wanted to jump him in the worst possible way. Good God, she suddenly realized, if Frank sauntered in right then and offered her a partnership on a silver platter, all she'd want would be to go home and make love with her new boyfriend.

How could she make a serious life decision when she was this aroused?

At that moment Frank walked into her office with another stack of figures. Su Ling looked up from her computer and gave him a steely gaze. "I expect a partnership offer on Monday morning."

He blinked, obviously startled. Then suddenly he burst out laughing. "Good one, Su Ling. Here's the next set."

Su Ling swallowed. Normally she would cave at this point. She'd join him in the pretend joke, saving herself the embarrassment of asking for something he obviously wasn't going to give her. Not this time. "I'm serious, Frank. I've been going the extra mile for seven years now. I thought if I worked hard, the rewards would come naturally. But they haven't. So either I get a partnership offer Monday morning or I'm gone."

"Partnership politics are dicey," he hedged. "But I'm pulling for you, Susie. Really, I am. But it's just not possible right now."

Su Ling sighed, kicking herself for her own stupidity. Mitch was right. Frank had been using her just as she'd suspected for months but had been too afraid to face. Squaring her shoulders, she mentally pulled forward an image of Mitch. Then she went one step farther, actually adopting his personality just to get her through this moment. She was mentally wearing his motorcycle jacket when she closed her laptop.

"What are you doing?" Frank demanded, his voice suddenly shrill with panic.

She imagined slipping on Mitch's gold hoop earring as she reached for her purse.

"This is important!"

She not only mentally put on his tattoo but added another one all her own: a tiny, grinning dragon along her inner thigh. Then she felt strong enough to speak. "You're an asshole, Frank. I quit."

Chapter 4

No one was worth this. Not even the sexiest, funniest, smartest, most intriguing woman he'd ever come across. No matter what mysterious hold she had over him, whatever secrets his soul seemed to want to ferret out of her, Sue was not worth it.

Mitch kept repeating that mantra as he streamed down the highway. Contentment required only the open road, a powerful engine, and much warmer gloves. Damn, it was cold. Even his throat felt raw from the icy wind. He'd even started coughing.

Odd how he never noticed those little discomforts before. Night or day, January or June, he'd go riding, wandering where the whim took him. But not tonight. Instead of merrily anticipating the possibilities ahead, he spent the ride obsessing about Sue. She'd called him irresponsible. Him! As if
he
were the one who kissed like hot licorice, getting them both all revved up—again—before bailing—again. And this time she bailed to go to her dead-end, frustrating job.

Just how many times would she pick her family, her job, or some other excuse over him? And how many times would he keep coming back, begging for more abuse?

No more. He was through with her. Time to get on his motorcycle and ride away just like he'd done as a kid.

He eased off the throttle and leaned into a Chicago suburb exit. He hadn't gone north on purpose. Simply hopped on his bike and rode. But lately whenever he hit the open road he'd head north, back to his old stomping grounds. Back home. Here to relive bad memories, he guessed. To remind himself of what he'd left behind: stifling demands, loud arguments, and parents who could see only what looked good on a resume, not what their only son wanted.

Well, he sure showed them, Mitch thought to himself. He had his own life now. A career he loved, lived his way, and had created with his own sweat. Not a dime borrowed from the old man, despite his father's dire predictions.

Mitch felt his motorcycle slow to a stop. Again, apparently by habit, he had pulled into his favorite of the old stomping grounds—a risky, low-life bar. One with loud music, fast women, and just about any recreational drug a teen could try. Except looking at it now, he felt a chill of horror. Same name, same location, but now he saw a tacky bar where rich teens hung out to pretend at being bad. His years teaching teenagers, even in a sleepy college town like Champaign, had shown him true rebellion, real parental abuse. His childhood didn't come close.