Exposed: A British Bad Boy Romance Page 6

  She doesn’t pull away.

  Fucking hell, she’s leaning in, her eyes closed.

  I suck her bottom lip and trace the seam of her mouth with my tongue as my hand slides around the back of her neck, holding her there.

  There’s nothing else. This whole posh restaurant, the crowd of revelers, the whole goddamn world ceases to exist.

  Her lips part just a hair when she lets go of this sexy little sigh that drives me fucking wild and I slide my tongue into her mouth, tasting her, teasing her, making her squirm.

  My hand slides down her spine, under her shirt and then I’ve got a handful of her creamy tits and she moans into my mouth.

  Suddenly, she seems to remember that we’re in public and she breaks away from me, leaving my cock hard as granite.

  Her lips are red and swollen, her cheeks flushed with excitement, desire, embarrassment? Probably all of the above.

  She licks her lips and presses them together, unable to make eye contact with me.

  “You wanna get out of here?” I ask and her eyes go wide.

  She’s already shaking her head when I hold up my hands in supplication, “Just a walk around the block or something. I think we could both use the fresh air.”

  Her wide-eyed horror fades to relief and she nods with a sigh, “Sounds great.”

  We stand and I guide her towards the exit with a hand on her lower back. She looks like she wants to say something about it, but I’d never hear her over the din of the restaurant and I think secretly she likes the little bit of possessive contact.

  The gesture comes so instinctively that it has me worried about my mental health.

  As we walk towards the door, I find the host and press a wad of bills into his hand, “Be a good lad and settle our tab, won’t you?”

  He gives me a stiff nod, “Of course,” and we’re on our merry way.

  The city streets are really only just coming to life — streetlamps have come on and the buildings towering all around us twinkle with light from within, palm trees sway with the damp evening breeze and I catch the faintest hint of salt in the air.

  We start walking and Susie adopts a pace that pulls her out of my embrace; I can take a hint and let my hand fall.

  “You never did answer me,” she says, “did your tattoo hurt?”

  She trips over her own feet and I steady her with a hand on her arm.

  “The lion? Nah. Just a little sting. Others were a little more sensitive.”

  She turns with a question sparkling in her eyes and I lift my shirt to show her the Bon Appetit that dips low under my waistband.

  Her hand instantly goes out to trace the letters and I’m hard as steel all over again — just from that simple touch.

  What the hell is this woman doing to me?

  When her eyes lock with mine, her face flushes with color, “I guess I never paid attention to what it said.”

  “Feel free to have a taste, luv,” I say, giving her a big goofy grin.

  Susie snatches her hand away like my abs are a hot iron and then she smacks me on the arm, “You’re such a perv. My god, do you ever turn off?”

  I slip an arm around her waist, “That’s hard to say. Do you have any plans to stop turning me on?” She takes hold of my hand and drops it from her hip, replacing the distance between us once more.

  Her ankle turns in those ridiculous fucking high heels and she wobbles, catching herself on my shoulder with a curse, “Stupid shoes,” she growls, kicking the heels off right there on the sidewalk.

  “Maybe you should come sit down for a minute,” I say, picking her shoes up in one hand as I steer her toward a nearby shop with flashing neon signs.

  “‘M fine. Don’t be such a dick,” she says, stumbling her way to a chair in the little sitting area at the front of the shop.

  I’m realizing now that maybe we should’ve left Jeremy’s sooner. Maybe Suzette could’ve done without a couple of those drinks.

  Hell, I could’ve gone without some of those drinks, but I’ve never claimed I make smart decisions around attractive women.

  I’ve been so occupied making sure that she doesn’t fall flat on her face that I’m only just realizing that we’ve wandered into a tattoo parlor.

  Of course.

  The woman that emerges from the back of the shop is unlike anything I’ve ever seen: her hair is stark white, her head shaved on one side. She has holes large enough to fit my thumb through in her ear lobes and a dozen different barbs, studs and rings adorning the rest of her face. From the neck-down, she’s completely tattooed, wearing a skimpy little tank top and denim cut-off shorts.

  Though somewhat scary, the alternative look is kinda sexy on her. She somehow manages to own it and when she spots Susie clutching her head, the woman frowns.

  “Hey, is she alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m—” Susie looks up and her eyes go wide, “whoa.”

  “I think she could do with a bit of water if you don’t mind?” I ask, reaching deep down for every last scrap of roguish British charm I can muster.

  The shop girl makes a face, but then sees Susie looking at the images on the walls with her doe-eyed innocent enthusiasm and she rolls her eyes, “Yeah, just a sec.” She goes to the back and I’m sure I hear a fridge open.

  Meanwhile, Susie’s loudly whispering at me for some reason, “Jasper!” she hisses, “Jasper!” Her whisper is louder than her speaking voice and it makes me laugh.

  I make sure there’s no trace of a smirk on my face when I turn to look at her, an unamused expression greeting her, “What?”

  “D’ya think this is a tattoo parlor?”

  That fucking cracks me and I grin, “No, luv. I think it’s a dentist’s office.”

  She pouts and I’m so tempted to kiss her senseless right there.

  Shut the fuck up, I tell that voice. Romantic notions like that have no place in my perverted mind.

  “Yes, it’s a tattoo parlor, darling.”

  She gives a drunken giggle, “You know when you say ‘tattoo’ it sounds like tah-oo,” she says, elongating the ‘oo’ with her lips pushed out ludicrously.

  The shop girl comes back with a bottle of water for Susie and she opens it, sitting down next to me once more before taking tentative sips and thanking the woman.

  “You guys can’t just sit in here; it’s not a bus station.”

  Susie’s eyes go wide, “We’re customers!”

  My jaw goes slack for a moment and then I shake my head with a smirk playing on my lips, “Are we now? Thinking of getting inked, luv?”

  She clearly didn’t think this through because now she’s the one slack-jawed and gaping, struggling over her words, “Uh… um… I— That is…”

  “Not such a badass afterall, eh?” I prod, even knowing I shouldn’t.

  Hey, I’m pretty fucking tanked too and she’s so damn adorable when she turns red.

  She looks angry and then the gears are turning in her head and she says “Are you gonna get one with me?”

  I laugh, “You wanna get matching tattoos, luv? Isn’t it a bit premature to be falling in love with me?”

  There’s that angry flush that spreads all the way to the tops of her breasts — the one that makes me wonder if it spreads lower, if her nipples are hard under that low-cut blouse.

  “I didn’t say matching. I’m just… Nevermind.” She takes a long drink of water and shakes her head.

  “What?” I ask, surprising myself with the sincerity I hear.

  Apparently, I’ve surprised her as well, because she looks less angry — more open.

  “I’m kind of a huge wimp about pain. That’s why I’ve never done it because I’m terrified of how it’ll hurt.”

  “So you want me to go first so you see it’s not so bad, is that it?” I chuckle.

  She nods, “You probably think I’m ridiculous.”

  “For many reasons, I do, but not for that, luv. Right now, I think you’re a badarse,” I husk in her ear.

  She r
olls her eyes and thins her lips at me, “You don’t have to make fun of me.”

  “I’m not!” I say a smidge too loudly, drawing an impatient look from the shop girl, “Straight tequila and a tattoo? You’re totally a badass.”

  She frowns, “You didn’t say it right that time.”

  “Hm?”

  She grins, “You said badarse the first time.”

  “Now, now. I don’t go pointing out the peculiarities of your accent.”

  “I don’t have an accent!”

  “Do so.”

  The third wheel in the room clears her throat, “Are you guys getting a tattoo or…”

  “Right!” I say, steering Susie to the wall, “What shall I get, luv?”

  She turns to me with disbelief in her eyes and there’s that pesky urge to kiss her again, clawing its way to the forefront of my mind, “I get to pick?”

  “Sure,” I say, wrapping my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on top of her head. It’s so familiar and comfortable that I wonder how I’ve never noticed its absence before. “I’ve picked all the others I have.”

  “Um… okay,” she murmurs, her eyes darting back and forth across the wall. I’d be quite alright if she never picked something because then I could just stand like this with her.

  You knobhead. Never drink tequila again, it makes you sappy.

  Unfortunately, not everyone is as content with our current arrangement and there’s another coughed ‘eh hem’ from behind us.

  Susie finally points at something on the wall, “That one.”

  “That one?” I ask with a grimace.

  “Yeah,” she says, her tone turning defensive, “what’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s a bloody yin yang, luv. It’s the most generic tattoo out there. Right there with the butterfly tramp stamp.”

  She sways a little in my arms and hiccups, bringing another smile to my lips, “I like it. It’s…” Hiccup. “Symbolic.” Then, she turns to me with malevolent glee in her eyes, “Would you rather a butterfly tramp stamp?”

  “A yin yang it is!” I say, turning to the shop girl, who — now that we’re confirmed customers — introduces herself as Skye.

  Skye’s not much of a talker, but Susie doesn’t let that stop her from barraging the poor artist with a hundred and one questions:

  “How long have you been a tattoo artist?”

  “Why did you want to do this?”

  “Have you always been artistic?”

  “Was it hard to learn?”

  “Aren’t tattooers mostly male? How does that affect your career?”

  And on and on and on.

  To make things easy, I’ve decided to put the bloody thing on the inside of my wrist — probably not what I’d have chosen in times of sobriety, but there we are.

  Skye’s placed the ink-transfer paper to my skin and the faint purple outline of the design gives her the guidelines.

  The needle buzzes to life and Susie watches me with no small amount of trepidation, like she’s wondering if I’m actually going to go through with it.

  The first pinch of the needle entering my skin makes her tense and I see her knuckles are white where her hands are clasped together in her lap.

  “You didn’t even flinch,” she says, awed as the outline begins to take shape on my wrist.

  I offer a half shrug, careful not to move, “Not my first rodeo, luv.”

  She goes quiet for a long time then, only the sound of the buzzing needle and Skye’s angry girl rock playing on her phone to keep us company.

  She wipes at the tattoo, smearing ink and blood as she clears the space and I lock eyes with Susie.

  Her face has drained of all color.

  Well, that’s not entirely true — her face has this pale greenish tint to it and I notice her hairline is damp with a fine sheen of sweat.

  “Are you feeling alright, luv?” I ask, feeling my shoulders stiffen and my arms itch to embrace her. Skye holds my arm firmly, but casts a wary look over to Susie who hasn’t answered me.

  “Suzette?”

  Her eyes are glossy and unfocused and I see the muscles at the back of her throat working, swallowing.

  Skye doesn’t bat an eye, she whirls around and grabs a small rubbish bin, setting it in front of Susie only moments before she upchucks.

  “Shit,” I mutter, up from my seat before she even completes her first wretch, my hand on her back, stroking gently.

  “Uhhhh,” Susie groans and I hand her the bottle of water she’s been nursing.

  “Come on, luv, let’s get you home,” I say, not even caring that my new ink is nothing more than a half-filled circle.

  Skye starts to say something, then thinks better of it as I help Susie to her feet. I offer Skye a few bills for her trouble and she shrugs, letting us go.

  “I don’t feel very good,” Susie mutters, clinging to me for support.

  “Shh, I know luv,” I soothe, leading her out onto the street where I hail a taxi.

  It’s a bit of a comedy of errors, me trying to carefully pick through her bag and wallet without prying into her personal things to find her address and give it to the cabbie.

  Susie’s no help, she just wants to go home and keeps insisting that we take her there, without giving us any more information.

  We finally manage to get it sorted and after a brief jaunt to another part of the city, I’m helping her pour out of the cab and into the rickety lift in her building.

  “We’re almost there, sweetheart,” I say to her gently. She’s nestled against my chest, half-asleep on her feet, muttering incoherent nonsense.

  I’ve got one arm around her slender body with her stupid shoes in my hand while I try to sort through the mass of keys and keychains she’s got in order to unlock the door to her flat.

  “Susie, darling, which key is it?”

  “The key! Life is the key to happiness!” She frowns, “No, that’s not right…”

  No help there. I need to get her into bed pronto.

  Generally, that phrase would have so many illicit connotations in my mind, but I’m surprised to find that I only care about her well-being at the moment.

  If that isn’t worrisome, then I don’t know what is.

  Susie slumps against the door and knocks — a fruitless endeavor, I think, until the peephole darkens — and the door swings open to reveal a sleepy dark-skinned girl in tight little boyshorts and a high school t-shirt.

  “Suze, what are you—” she rubs the sleep from her eyes and they quadruple in size, “You’re… you’re— I mean—”

  “Yes, yes,” I say, pushing past her, “I’m sure you’re as astonished to find me here as I am to be here. I presume you’re Suzette’s flatmate?”

  “I— Uh, I mean, yeah. Is she…?”

  “Utterly pissed? Yes, could you be so kind as to lead me to her bedroom?” I say, having now scooped the nearly-unconscious Susie into my arms, carrying her as she clings to my neck.

  “Right through there,” the girl points and I nod my head and carry Susie through to her room, nudging the door closed behind me with my heel.

  With a sweeping gesture I pull back the predictably feminine duvet and lay her gently on the mattress.

  In different circumstances, I’d do anything to have Susie laid out before me, but for once, there’s nothing sexual about this moment.

  I’m pulling the blankets up around her when there’s a timid knock from behind and Susie’s door opens.

  “Hey, I just feel like I should make sure you’re not in here like…”

  “Defiling her?” I offer, with a smirk.

  Her eyes stick to the floor, “Well… You know…”

  Susie stirs and her eyes open, ensnaring me in an instant, “Jasper?” she says, blinking, “Why are you in my bedroom?”

  I come up with a hundred different taunts, but now isn’t the time to deploy them, “I just wanted to make sure you made it home alright, luv.”

  The other girl has since manag
ed to venture to the kitchen and returns now with a glass of water and a couple of headache tablets.

  “Here, Suze, you’re gonna want these.”

  Susie beams, “You’re the best, Al.”

  “Alright, we’re going to leave you to get some rest, alright?” I say, patting her on the arm when I desperately want to kiss her goodnight.

  Fucking tequila.

  “Jasper?” She calls, reaching out for me.

  “Hm?” My heart leaps, wondering if she, too, wants that kiss goodnight.

  Damn it all.

  She waves her arm in a haphazard flailing motion, “Told you there’s no lace,” she says, sounding victorious.

  I take a look around, “And only two teddy bears. Dear me, Suzette, you are a badarse.”

  She grins and curls up with a pillow, her eyes drifting closed, “And don’t you forget it.”

  Not a chance.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Susie

  The first time I try to open my eyes, I quickly shut them again, wincing at the harsh daylight streaming through my blinds.

  The second time I open my eyes, I nearly jump out of my skin when I realize I’m not alone.

  “Jesus christ, Al, you scared the shit out of me,” I mumble, throwing an arm over my eyes.

  Why the hell is she just sitting on the end of my bed like a creeper?

  I’m trying to remember the previous day and why my head feels like there’s a piano crushing it.

  Alisha hands me a steaming mug of coffee and gives me her patented ‘you know exactly what you did’ look.

  The only problem is… I don’t.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the coffee and just inhaling the strong aroma.

  After half a mug, my brain seems to be slowly waking up, coming to life, and memories of the previous night trickle in.

  “Oh god,” I groan, dropping my head into my hand.

  Alisha just laughs, “I can’t believe you. Showing up at one in the morning, totally hammered with a fucking celebrity carrying you to bed. Why was I not invited on this wild night out?”

  I shake my head and instantly regret it for the sloshing thundering pain that accompanies the motion.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be… It just got out of hand.” My eyes flick to the door and my chest tightens, “Is he… I mean, did we…” I can’t even get the fucking words out for the embarrassment burning my face.