Read Never Kiss a Bad Boy Online
Authors: Nora Flite
“I’m sure.” She pushes me, both hands right in the middle of my chest. “I really do need to go. This has been nice—more than nice—but I don’t want Pop getting any ideas about removing all your intestines and making some kind of macramé basket out of them.”
I wince at the image. She doesn’t mince words a bit, does she? “Yeah, I can’t imagine that would be pleasant.”
“So...we can’t do this again, all right?”
It’s not all right. Usually I’m the one gently pushing away the girl, giving her some goddamn excuse why I can’t see her again. “Give me your number.”
“Nope.” Stepping away from me, she starts scanning the room for her shirt. Finds it, slips it back on, and sorts out the buttons. “I’m going home.” She pauses then, giving me a cursory look. “You might want to slap a couple Band-Aids on.”
The smile I give her this time is wry. I could use a few Band-Aids, that’s for sure. “All right.”
With one more smile, she blows me a kiss then heads out the door.
#
I
have a real problem with the sun when it comes pounding in through the curtains in my bedroom. Another seventeen hours of sleep would be helpful, but I’m not going to get it. Not even another two hours. I sit up and stare at the opposite wall.
The events of yesterday roll through my head. The fight, the fuck-up, Jessica Spada with her legs splayed open on my kitchen counter. Frowning, I rub my arm. I’m sore. My dick is trying to convince me I shortchanged it last night by not giving it enough of a release. I tell it to shut up and head for the shower. I have a bad feeling about today. It’s one of those feelings you have when you’re damn sure your luck has just taken a drastic turn for the worse.
Sure enough, when I get out of the shower there’s a message in the voice mail on my cell. “McAllister, you’re in deep shit. I want you here today at ten to talk about why you fucked up yesterday.”
Spada doesn’t even bother to identify himself. No niceties, no, “Hi, Cain, how’s the body holding up?” Because he doesn’t care. As long as I’m flinging myself out there, making him money, he doesn’t give a shit what kind of condition I’m in. That’s just a straight-up fact.
So I make sure the buttons on my shirt are straight, comb my hair back so it’s not sticking out anywhere, and head for the Spada residence.
It’s not far, but in reality it’s a world away. Gated neighborhood, multimillion-dollar homes with big, manicured lawns that offer a middle finger to the current California drought conditions. Standing in front of the mansion’s wide front doors, I wonder if I’ll walk back out again. It’s a legitimate question.
One of Spada’s lickspittles—Nick, I think it is—meets me at the door and gives me one of those grand half-bowing gestures to welcome me inside. I don’t like the look he’s giving me. It’s got too much smirk in it, and I kind of want to slap it off his face. That’s not going to get me anywhere though.
“Mr. Spada is expecting you,” Nick says, waving toward the hallway that I know leads to Spada’s office.
“So I assumed.” My tone is dry. Nick’s responding look is disapproving. Too bad. I might only have a couple hours left on Earth, so I might as well enjoy them. And if that involves giving Nick shit, then so be it. He’ll have to deal.
I freeze in the doorway to the office. Phil Spada’s there, but he’s not alone. Jessica is bent over next to his desk, pointing to something in a ledger. The curves of her ass are all too visible under the soft cotton of the dress she’s wearing. My dick springs to immediate attention, remembering what that ass looks like. What it feels like.
I clench my teeth and school my expression, determined not to do or say anything that could give Spada any idea what I did to his daughter last night. So much for rubbing his nose in it, which is what part of me wants to do. Hell, that’s the main reason I took her home in the first place. Another other part of me, though—a part that wasn’t making itself known last night—wants to protect Jess. And that’s the part that’s winning.
I must make some kind of a noise, or move just the right way, because suddenly both Spadas look right at me. The father’s face clicks immediately into an emotionless mask. Jessica maintains a careful, disinterested coolness. Perfect. “Well,” she says to her father, “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thanks, honey.” He reaches up to her, and she takes his hand, lets her fingers trace across his palm as she moves away. It’s a loving gesture, and she gives him a gentle smile. He returns the smile, fatherly. I fight to keep from grimacing at the saccharine nature of it. But as Jess turns toward the door where I’m standing, her eyes catch mine for a split second, and I see in them what she really feels for her father. It’s not pretty.
When she’s gone, and the door has clicked shut behind her, Phil Spada makes a wide gesture toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Cain.”
I swing a leg over the back of the chair and settle into it, nonchalant. Like I don’t give a shit what he says to me. I just look Spada right in the eye and let him think whatever he thinks about me.
Spada’s eyes narrow slightly. I don’t think he’s happy that I’m not cowering in front of him, begging for my life. Fuck that. I don’t beg anybody for anything.
Besides,
I think, my mouth twisting a bit,
I fucked your daughter. And she loved it.
That thought keeps me centered. Just that knowledge that I took something he thinks is his. I cross my arms over my chest and just keep staring him down.
“I think you know why I asked you to come talk to me this morning,” he says finally.
I nod. “I’ve got a fair guess.”
“Then why don’t you explain to me what happened last night?”
“I won the fight.”
Spada leans forward in a sharp movement. For a second I think he might actually slap me from across the desk, but that’s not in the cards. Mostly because his arms are too short. Otherwise...
“You,” he bites out, “were supposed to
lose
.”
“Yeah. Well. That was the plan. Unfortunately nobody told the other guy.”
Spada leans back again, his expression shifting from anger to a questioning annoyance. “Okay. What happened, Cain?”
I decide to back off a little. No point giving him still more excuses to hurt me. “It was an accident. I was trying to make it look real—that’s the way you want it, right? It has to look real, or people might start looking too close.”
He gives a terse nod. We’re on the same page on that one. Nobody wants anybody looking too close, because that path leads nowhere good.
“Well,” I go on, and at this point I manage to look a little contrite. Just a little. “I was making it real—but not too real, you have to understand me on that one—and he couldn’t take it. When he went down, it was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”
The tension in Spada’s shoulders eases a little, and he breaks eye contact, looking down at the surface of his desk. “All right.” He looks back at me again. “I can believe that. You swear to me it wasn’t on purpose?”
I shake my head. “No. It was a fluke. Or maybe your scouts overestimated the guy.” I shrug. “Either way, it wasn’t my plan to take him out.”
“All right,” he says again. “All right. But you understand I’ve got to answer to people, too.”
“Sure. We all do.” I resist the temptation to take a relieved breath. He’s not going to kill me, after all. Not this time, anyway. I’ve been too reliable, too much of a cash cow. Although that thought twists my stomach, too.
“So you’ll have to pay.”
“Fine.” The word is clipped. What’s he going to do to me? I expect a beating, maybe out back. He can do that—he hasn’t given me a new fight schedule yet, so I’ll have time to recover.
“That was a pretty big purse you won last night. You’ll give me half of it.” Again, he leans forward, the movement sharp, like a snake striking. “And, Cain—this happens again? You’re a dead man. You got me?”
Well. There we go. He’s not even going to rough me up.
Got off easy this time, didn’t you, Cain?
“I got you. And it won’t happen again.” Unless Spada’s scouts fuck up again, but now that I know they can, I’ll keep an eye out for the signs. Last night I was just blindsided at how bad the guy was. It was like fighting a twelve-year-old.
“Good.” He pushes to his feet, and I do the same, shoulders wide, facing him squarely. He wants to intimidate me, but I’ve never let him. I don’t think he likes that about me.
There are a lot of things he probably doesn’t like about me. And one of them he doesn’t even know about. I smile a little—just a little, since I don’t want to piss off Spada now that I’ve dodged that bullet. But it’s hard not to. Because Jessica’s mine. She’s got my smell on her now, all over her skin, all up inside her. I own her. And he doesn’t. Not anymore. Never again.
And I don’t care what Jessica says—she and I aren’t through. I’ll have her again. She’s just going to have to deal with that. And so is Phil Spada.
“Thank you, sir,” I say to him with a brief, subservient nod, and I turn and walk out of his office.
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Want the rest of this book? Coming out 12/27/15
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A
USA Today Bestselling Author, Nora Flite loves to write dark romance (especially the dramatic, gritty kind!) Her favorite bad boys are the ones with tattoos, the intense alpha types that make you sweat and beg for more!
Inspired by the complicated events and wild experiences of her own life, she wants to share those stories with her audience. Born in the tiniest state, coming from what was essentially dirt, she's learned to embrace and appreciate every opportunity the world gives her.
She's also, possibly, addicted to coffee and sushi.
Not at the same time, of course.
Check out her website,
NoraFlite.com
and also email her at [email protected] if you want to say hello! Hearing from fans is the best!
-Nora Flite
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All I've ever been good at is fighting and fucking.
Pure violence and wet sex. For years, it's been my life. If you think I'd get bored, you'd be very wrong. I'll never get enough.
Nothing can sate the ache that wants to bend any and every woman over, just to see how she tastes. I'm a man who aims to please, but no one holds my attention.
No one but Zoe.
My cock throbs at the very IDEA of her... I want to suffocate with my tongue inside her thighs.
When my phone rang, I didn't expect her pretty voice to beg me for help.
She thought I'd save her and that'd be it. Well.
Too bad.
I'm hooked on this girl—I want her more than water or air.
I wasn't her first.
But I planned to be her last.
Author's Note—Standalone full-length novel. Contains explicit and erotic scenes, a dirty bad boy with a filthy mouth, as well as themes of violence/mature situations.
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She thought she was stepping into fame:
Meeting Drezden Halifax should have been a dream. But dreams are supposed to be sweet, fragile things that whisk you away. Not monsters crafted from hard fingers, gritty vocal cords and a voice so powerful it could tear my guts right out.
Maybe my heart, too.
Becoming the guitarist for Four and a Half Headstones was everything I needed.
Too bad the band's lead singer is doing his best to ruin everything I am.
He thought she would solve his troubles:
Lola Cooper, god damn Lola Cooper. She was the perfect guitarist, fingers that could summon a sweet song or punch a chord. She's supposed to save my band, make us come out of this tour in one piece...
But I just want to tear HER to pieces.
No one should make me feel this way. One look at her, one smell, and I knew I'd have to have her. She does things to me that scare the shit out of me. Make me want to slam her on a wall and listen to her cries: eager or fearful, it doesn't matter.
I'm a monster...
And I don't even care.
Genre: New Adult Rockstar Romance
This is the first installment of the Body Rock Series
25,000 words
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S
low Body Rock
He knew he was addicted:
I thought it'd be smoking that killed me. Lola is more addictive than tobacco could hope to be.
After feeling her warm body, touching her skin... even if it was an accident, I've given up.
The monster inside of me is going to consume her.
I'm too tired to fight it.
And I honestly don't want to.
She knew it was risking everything:
Why is he trying to mess up my ONE opportunity at success?
My very god damn existence?
I can't handle this pull between us... a gravity that wants to knot our bodies together and leave me merged.
Ruined.
I thought Drezden cared about his band, that he wouldn't dare do anything that might break them— and me— apart.
When did I become the one thing worth losing it all over?
Genre: New Adult Rockstar Romance
This is the second installment of the Body Rock Series
25,000 words
She wanted to be a rockstar:
I finally have everything.