Bad Boy Done Wrong Read online

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  He remained quiet. Geez, make it harder for her.

  “Ask me anything you want.” She needed an opening. A question that would somehow lead to her explaining and explaining until she finally spit it out.

  He gazed into her eyes, his expression intense, his voice gruff and growly. “Tell me why the woman that came for me multiple times last night and wasn’t quiet about it either—” he paused, a sexy smirk crossing his features “—is jumpy as hell now.”

  She flushed and muttered to herself, “Such a bad-boy thing to say.”

  His lips twitched. “What can a bad boy do for you, Carrie?”

  “Okay, I have a list. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She got braver. “Seven things to make up for six years of repression. Seven years if you count the year it took me to finally get a taste of the forbidden.”

  He cocked his head. “Which part of last night was forbidden?”

  She patted his chest and then rubbed it. “Good girl-bad boy.” It was in all her favorite romance novels. Not as forbidden as, say, teacher-student, but still far out of her comfort zone.

  He released her. “Let’s see your list.”

  She turned and stared at her purse under the kitchen table, willed herself to go over there and get her phone, but she couldn’t seem to move.

  “Carrie.” His big hand cupped her jaw and turned her back to him. “Nothing on that list will shock me.”

  He brushed her cheek with his thumb before dropping his hand. She relaxed a little. He’d probably seen it all, done it all. This wouldn’t be a big deal to him. She searched his features, checking in with him one last time to be sure he was taking her seriously and not about to laugh in her face.

  His voice dropped, gruff and low. “Give me the list now.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. His eyes were direct and hot on hers. He said nothing more, yet she knew he fully intended to take her list seriously.

  With shaking legs, she crossed to where she’d left her purse, pulled out her phone, tapped in the code, and pulled up the list in her notes app. She glanced at the naughty list she had memorized, felt a belated blush over sharing it, but before she could change her mind, he snatched the phone from her hands.

  “Hey!” she exclaimed.

  He didn’t respond. Instead his brows drew down as he read for what felt like forever. Finally he lifted his head. “What the fu—”

  “Forget it!” She yanked the phone from his hands and stuffed it in her purse. “I wasn’t here.” She bolted out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the front door.

  “Carrie, wait!”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Omigod, he was chasing her! In his boxers! He was nuts!

  Her fight or flight kicked in and she flew, her legs pumping hard down the sidewalk and then suddenly she was airborne, tossed up and over one large shoulder. The primal hold told her everything she needed to know as he carried her back inside—

  She was in trouble.

  Chapter Three

  The Night Before…

  “Finally got sprung from the ivory tower!” His honorary brother Ethan Case greeted him cheerfully the moment Zach stepped into Garner’s Sports Bar & Grill for his welcome-home party. Zach hadn’t been home in two years. First because he worked in Colorado and spent holidays with his ex and, when that ended, he threw himself into his work and traveled to Indonesia for his research. He’d hoped to make it home last Christmas for Jake’s wedding (another honorary brother), but he’d been in Indonesia and contracted dengue fever right before the trip home.

  He smiled and took in the face of the brother he’d missed the most. Ethan had the same dirty blond hair with some spikes in front, and sharp blue eyes with a few more lines etched into his face. They were the same age, thirty-four, and grew up in the same foster home, looking out for each other, each in their own way. Ethan made sure Zach didn’t get his ass kicked; Zach made sure Ethan passed all of his classes.

  “Eth,” he managed over the lump in his throat.

  “Professor.” Ethan gave him a quick one-armed hug around the neck. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.”

  He made his way to the bar through the crowd, mostly the guys he’d grown up with, the Campbell brothers and the ragtag collection of guys like him with troubled childhoods that had all found each other through the Police Athletic League. Joe Campbell, his honorary dad, had been their coach, staunch advocate, and friend. Mad Campbell, his “little sister,” was also here with a large group of women friends he’d never seen before. He’d been out of the loop too long. Last time he’d been home, Mad only had guy friends.

  Ethan tapped the bar. “Let’s get this man a beer.”

  The bartender and manager of the place, Josh Campbell, grinned and served Zach a beer on tap before saying quietly, “Good to have you back home.”

  The quiet sincerity in Josh’s voice hit Zach like a thump to the chest. He meant it with deep affection. Growing up all close in age, he’d been tight with Josh, his twin Jake, Ethan, and Marcus. Why hadn’t he made time to come home to the only family he’d ever known? Why had he let his ex’s family take precedence? Or his work?

  Because you’re a lone wolf.

  His ex, Dr. Muriel Hapsburg, a respected professor in the psychology department at the University of Colorado, where they both worked, had pegged him with the label a week after they broke up. Their fallout had been one of those put-up-or-shut-up moments. She’d given him an ultimatum after a year of dating to either marry or break up. His gut said no to marriage. He’d explained it wasn’t her. He couldn’t picture spending the rest of his life with anyone. She’d returned to his apartment the following week with a box of his things and a small speech that now felt prophetic.

  “I’m not angry,” she’d said. “I’ve had some time to process and I understand. Because of your childhood wounds, chosen vocation, and particular interest in observing distant communities, it’s clear to me you’re a lone wolf. My parents agree. Just do the next woman a favor and don’t lead them on with anything long-term. You’ll only ruin it.”

  He’d given it some thought, weighing in the fact that her parents were also respected psychologists and he’d spent a lot of time with them, and realized Muriel was right. His whole life made sense in this lone-wolf framework. There was no use denying who he was at heart. But even a lone wolf sometimes returned to their pack. So here he was, back in Connecticut.

  He reached across the bar and clasped Josh’s hand warmly. “I won’t wait so long next time.” His voice came out hoarse. It wasn’t like him to be so emotional. He prided himself on his ability to detach and observe. Something he’d learned as a kid and had served him well in his work as an anthropologist. When you’re a nine-year-old repeat runaway, life can do that for you. Yup, lone-wolf behavior went way back. But something about being home again got to him.

  Josh gave Zach’s beard a tug. “Look at you with a beard. That a tribal thing?”

  He rubbed his beard. “It’s easier in the field not to worry about shaving.”

  Josh stared at him and slowly shook his head. “You wear it well.”

  “Thanks.” And then he was surrounded by his honorary brothers boisterously greeting him, pounding him on the back, joking around with him, all of them hyped up with the energy of the gang getting back together. The only one missing was Joe, their honorary dad, who was babysitting his two-year-old granddaughter, Viv, tonight. Zach would be meeting him for dinner tomorrow. He hadn’t met Viv yet, though he knew what she looked like. He kept current with everyone, filing the facts away in his head. He texted, emailed, and occasionally Skyped.

  Zach sipped his beer, the chatter of the party swirling around him. He was home on a year-long sabbatical to work on his book—the culmination of four years of fieldwork on the forest-dwelling communities on the islands off Indonesia. He’d figured his family would keep him from turning int
o a complete hermit. He probably wouldn’t spend the whole year here, though. He was expecting his application for a two-year senior research fellowship at the Asia Research Institute in Singapore to come through soon. It was a competitive position, but he was a frequent visitor to the institute and the staff knew him and his work. He could continue writing his book there, closer to professionals in a variety of disciplines that could bring broader perspective to his work. So he’d spend a handful of months here, two years there starting early January, maybe back to Colorado, maybe he’d stay in Singapore. Or somewhere else. Couldn’t tie a lone wolf down.

  He took a pull on his beer. The important thing was that he was intellectually challenged. Speaking of, he mentally reviewed possible angles he could take to shape his book into a nonfiction narrative that would get more eyes on it than just academia. He’d love for the general public to take an interest in his work, which was particularly focused on Indonesia, but also the entire Southeast Asia region.

  “Hi!” a feminine voice said loud enough to quiet his rambling thoughts.

  He looked down at a gorgeous petite blonde with big blue eyes, a cute button nose, and a beaming smile. Her fair skin was smooth, flawless, glowing with good health, and her purple dress showed off tremendously sexy curves—a perfect hourglass shape. All the classic signs that indicated attractiveness in a woman who could produce viable offspring. Not that he was looking to reproduce, but biology worked for a reason. In keeping with his primitive instincts, the blood rushed through his veins, reminding him it had been way too long. Not since last summer, damn, a year now, when things had gone to hell with his ex.

  He pushed that sour memory from his mind. Then he squared his shoulders for the prominent chest thrust and gazed directly into her bright blue eyes. His educational background gave him an advantage with women once he understood—no matter the culture or era—courtship was a dance choreographed by biology. He dropped his voice to the deep tone that signaled domination, a key indicator of a worthy protector and provider for the young he had no intention of producing. “Hello.”

  “You are the man,” she said in the most adorable pickup line ever. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  He studied her for a moment, taking in her sexy self, before giving her a slow smile as he leaned closer. “Yeah? Where’ve you been looking?”

  She lifted both hands and spread her fingers wide. “Everywhere.”

  Entertained, he kept asking questions. “Where’s everywhere?”

  She tossed her jaw-length hair, which bounced around a bit. “Singles mixers, the hospital, here at the bar.”

  “Hospital?”

  “I’m a pediatric nurse. And I know what you’re thinking, but a doctor was not what I needed.” She wrinkled her cute button nose. “Neither was the nurse or lab tech, though they were certainly male and moderately sexy.”

  He had no idea what to say to that.

  She did and spoke right up, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I know this sounds forward, but I’ve been looking for quite some time and you, wow, seriously wow, so let me get right to the point—I’d like to do a number of things with you of the naked variety, if you’re agreeable.”

  “I am,” he answered immediately. He was no dummy. He snagged her elbow and guided her to a quiet corner of the room. That was when he noticed the sexy black heels. A surge of raw lust gripped him with startling intensity. Some of the guys watched him go, giving him knowing looks that he ignored. “What’s your name?” he asked once they had a little privacy.

  “Carrie. And you’re Zach. My friends told me who you were, so welcome home!” She sang this last part. “Even though we’ve just met.”

  “Thanks. How much have you had to drink?”

  “Two glasses of wine. My friends won’t let me have more because they say I can’t hold my liquor.” She frowned, looking very put out about that.

  He grinned because she just kept getting more adorable. Also, her hand was now on his chest and she was close enough her sweet vanilla scent was urging him to taste.

  She went on. “I have a roommate, Ally. We could go to our place and play loud music to cover what I’m sure will be crazy loud whoopie—”

  “Whoopie?” Did people say that anymore?

  “But I don’t want to make her feel bad. She’s been down about her dry spell.”

  “Would you like to go to my place?”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  His hands went to her waist. “You smell like vanilla.”

  “It’s my body wash.” She went up on tiptoe and closed her eyes. “Kiss me, bad boy,” she purred.

  “Sure you’re not drunk?” He had to check because normally women did not call him bad boy.

  She responded by kissing him passionately, and long dormant parts of him responded in kind. He got her back to his new apartment one town over in record time, party forgotten. Once inside his bedroom, she went for it, hands and mouth hungry, kissing, biting, climbing his body. He lost control.

  Hot. Rough. Hard.

  Pounding, pounding, pounding.

  No holding back. Couldn’t hold back.

  Sweet cries of ecstasy ringing in his ears. Long guttural groans ripped from his throat.

  Hours and hours. He couldn’t get enough. Neither could she.

  By the time she curled up against his side and fell asleep, he was exhausted. In a good way. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep wasn’t far off, but he always slept better alone. It was one of those lone-wolf things that used to piss off his ex. Hell, if there was one thing being an anthropologist taught him, he was far better at observing relationships than participating in one. He’d accepted it and now planned his life accordingly.

  Carrie mumbled something in her sleep and rolled away from him, taking the blanket with her. He tugged the blanket, but somehow she got it wrapped under her too. He gave up, dressed quickly in undershirt and boxers, and headed to the living room sofa to sleep with the throw blanket.

  He fell asleep with the sweet taste of vanilla on his tongue.

  Chapter Four

  The Morning After Continued…

  Carrie’s morning-after glow ignited to sharp need as Zach carried her like a sexy caveman back to his apartment. She landed with a soft plop on his living room sofa. He sat next to her and her breath caught at the massive erection tenting his boxers. She met his eyes, his expression awfully serious considering he was just as turned on as she was. Was her list really that disturbing?

  “No one’s ever carried me like that,” she informed him.

  He blinked and continued staring wordlessly, seeming to be waiting for her to say something more.

  “I admit it turned me on,” she added.

  He flashed a smile. “Good to know. Your list is very curious.”

  She smoothed out her purple dress and crossed her legs like the lady she’d been raised to be. “Is it?” she asked demurely.

  “Did you do some research?” he asked, sounding oddly academic about it. “Was it based on the Kama Sutra?”

  She laughed. “No, even better. Romance novels.”

  “I’m not familiar with that context.”

  “Most men aren’t. Though it would definitely help with male-female relations. Alpha-bad-boy sex is the best.” She got a heat flash just thinking about it.

  His large hand settled high on her upper thigh, heating her through the thin fabric of her dress. “Like last night?”

  She nodded and uncrossed her legs.

  His hand slid to the inside of her thigh, where it stayed frustratingly close but not touching where she desperately wanted him. “Can I see the list again?”

  She hesitated, feeling a little squirmy about sharing the list after his WTF reaction. Part of her wished she’d never mentioned it. Maybe she could just act it out with some instructive hand signals.

  His hand left her leg and cupped her shoulder instead. “Carrie.”

  She sighed. “Can you ju
st pretend you never saw it?”

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m dying to see it again.”

  She lifted her chin, trying to appear above a shoulder squeeze even as she warmed at the spot. “Why?”

  “I’m trying to figure out what everything means.”

  This was understandable. In fact, she was a little worried she’d been so subtle with her euphemisms that no one would ever understand her list. The first list she’d written had been much more explicit. There’d been an incident. She’d meant to text it to her friend Lauren, who’d insisted she take a look at it before Carrie shared it with a guy, and accidentally sent it to her eighty-year-old neighbor Larry. They were next to each other in her contacts. (She was his in-case-of-emergency person.)

  Now Larry wouldn’t stop smiling at her.

  This embarrassing reason for her euphemisms was not something she was prepared to share with Zach despite his fine alpha qualities. She gave him a once-over from thick dark hair to the sexy beard to lean muscular body and, yup, still hard. So very male. Then he startled her with an extremely insightful observation.

  “I gave you number six, I’m pretty sure. A wallbanger.”

  Her eyes widened, impressed he’d read between the lines of her euphemisms. Translating “I’d like to meet Harvey” to “I desperately want a wallbanger” took a smart man. Harvey Wallbanger was one of those dirty-sounding cocktails ready-made for a euphemism.

  “I thought this was a onetime thing,” she said, hoping he’d say it wasn’t. He’d been amazing last night, but she knew bad boys didn’t do long-term. If it was more than a onetime thing, maybe she’d show him the list again.

  He brushed her hair back over her ear. “You’ll probably see me around sometimes. We know a lot of the same people. And didn’t you say you live not far from here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we can be friends and friends share stuff. Wouldn’t you like the guy point of view on it?”

  He was making a lot of sense. Oh, heck, what could it hurt?