Bedded By A Bad Boy

‘You can catch a ride with me on the Harley,’ Monroe said. ‘I’ve got to go into town and pick up some groceries. I’ve got a spare helmet.’

Jessie stared at him. Surely he couldn’t be serious. ‘No, really, it’s no problem. I’ll go in another day.’

‘Don’t be silly, Jessie,’ Ali piped up. ‘If Monroe’s offering you should—’

‘I couldn’t possibly trouble him like that,’ Jessie interrupted her sister and aimed a telling look at Monroe. His lips curved slowly. Why did she suddenly feel like a mouse being stalked by a tomcat?

‘No trouble. No trouble at all.’ He stood up, smiled at Ali. ‘Thanks again for the dinner. It was delicious.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Ali beamed at him as Linc rose and offered to see him out.

Just as he got to the door, Monroe turned and gave Jessie another of those winks that made her pulse scramble.

‘See you in the morning, Red. Better put on some pants, though.’ His gaze crept down and then back up, making her face heat. ‘That little bit of a dress won’t wear too well on the Harley.’

Jessie scowled as his tall frame strolled out the door ahead of Linc. How annoying that he’d gone and got the last word in again.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE next day dawned bright and clear, the sluggish heat kept at bay by a cool breeze off the Atlantic.

Jessie got up with Emmy, made a quick breakfast of cereal and toast for them both, and then handed her over to Linc and Ali. From the flushed look on her sister’s face after the lie-in Jessie had promised the couple, it looked as if they hadn’t been doing much sleeping.

Jessie ignored the stab of envy as she went upstairs to have her shower. Her sister had a fabulous marriage to a fabulous man. When Jessie had been a bridesmaid at their wedding, she’d known that theirs was the ideal marriage—full of passion but grounded in a deep, abiding love. It was the sort of marriage Jessie wanted for herself.

So far, though, things hadn’t quite worked out that way.

It had taken her two long years and one broken engagement to realise Toby was about as far from her ideal mate as it was possible to get. She had thought he loved her, when the only person he really loved was himself.

She’d tried so hard to persuade herself that Toby was ‘the one.’ When he’d asked her to marry him, she’d been swept up in the romance of the moment. But the minute she’d said yes, a little voice in her head had started telling her to run like mad in the opposite direction. She’d been naïve and immature; she could see that now. The huge sense of relief when they had finally gone their separate ways had made Jessie determined never to make that mistake again. However glad she’d been to see the back of Toby, the relationship had left her with the depressing thought that she might never find what Ali had.

Heck, at twenty-six she’d never had halfway decent sex, let alone great sex. When Toby had accused her of being frigid, she’d had to accept that he might well be right. He’d never once stirred the passion in her that Linc so obviously stirred in Ali. She hadn’t so much as kissed a guy since she’d hurled Toby’s engagement ring at him six long months ago. Worse than that, she hadn’t even wanted to.

Determined not to let the creeping sense of despair take hold, Jessie wrapped the towel around her and walked to the closet. After careful consideration, she picked out a chic but simple shift dress with large sunflowers on it. She needed to look hip and stylish if she was going to persuade the art gallery to take her on as a Saturday assistant. Cranford might be a small seaside town, but it was no backwater. A tourist Mecca for the Hamptons’ super-rich and aspirational summer residents, the gallery and its clientele would be as sophisticated as any you’d find in Uptown Manhattan.

Jessie had promised Ali that she’d help out with Emmy until the family went back to London in September. But she hoped to get a Saturday job to earn some much-needed money in the meantime. Linc had insisted on paying all her expenses to get her over here, but Jessie didn’t want him giving her spending money as well. He’d already tried to give her a credit card, which she’d flatly refused, but in the end she’d persuaded him to help her get a temporary working visa. Also, a job in an art gallery was just up her street. She loved art, and, while she’d accepted she didn’t have the talent to be an artist herself, she had always hoped to whittle out a career in the art world. She’d spent six long months drifting since the breakup with Toby. It was time to get her life back on track. Ali handled her life calmly and competently, Jessie thought. If she wanted what Ali had, she needed to start doing the same.

At that thought, the memory of Monroe Latimer watching her in the dining room the night before, his pure blue eyes alight with amusement, blasted into her brain and wouldn’t get out again. Jessie frowned. He might have the goods in the looks department, but luckily for her she was not a shallow person. It hadn’t taken her long to see he was a long way short of her ideal mate in every other department. Flirtatious, arrogant and dangerously attractive, he could make any woman lose sight of what was really important. And for Jessie that was the long haul, not the quick flash-fire of sexual attraction.

Remembering Monroe’s parting comment about the proper bike attire with not a little irritation, Jessie slipped into the dress and then pulled on a pair of jeans. She’d just have to take them off when she got to town. After dabbing on some lipstick, Jessie slipped a pair of yellow slingback sandals into her bag and tugged on her sneakers. She tied her hair into a ruthless ponytail and checked herself in the room’s full-length cheval mirror.

Yep, she looked preposterous.

At least her daft get-up should stop Monroe staring at her in that disconcerting way. She wasn’t looking forward to riding on his bike. Despite all his shortcomings, she had the uncomfortable feeling that being pressed up against that muscular back for the ten-mile ride into town might stir feelings she didn’t want stirred. Quite why she was more sexually aware of him than she had ever been of any other man didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Damn it!’ Monroe pulled his hand out from under the car’s hood and watched the blood seep out of the shallow scrape.

‘Did you hurt yourself?’

Turning at the voice, Monroe watched Jessie walk across the garage towards him. She should have looked ridiculous with denim on under the floating, flowery dress, but she didn’t. She looked chic and summery. His eyes dipped to her cleavage, demurely displayed above the dress’s scoop neck. Sucking the blood from his knuckle, he took in every detail.

‘I certainly hope it’s not fatal?’ The sharp note in her voice suggested she hoped exactly the opposite. He grinned as his gaze lifted back up to her face.

Pulling a bandanna out of his back pocket, he leaned against the car’s hood. ‘You know, Red,’ he said as he wrapped the cloth round his hand, ‘that figure of yours would look great in just about anything.’ And even better out of anything, Monroe thought, enjoying the way her eyes narrowed in irritation.

Trying to ignore the way her pulse was racing, Jessie fingered her bag strap and glared at him. ‘While your fashion advice is certainly invaluable, I can see you’re busy. Maybe I should come back later.’ Or not at all, she added silently, already feeling unpleasantly flustered.

‘No need.’ He pushed up from the car’s hood. ‘I’ll go clean up and then we can head out.’ He walked towards her, forcing her to tilt her head back. ‘It’d be a shame not to, Red. Now that you’re all dolled up.’

She watched him mount the steps to his apartment. He made it sound as if she’d dressed up especially for him. The conceited jerk.

Monroe took less than ten minutes, but Jessie was just about to walk off, her heart rate still hitching uncomfortably, when he reappeared. He had a fresh white T-shirt on, the same worn jeans, a small plaster on his hand and a motorbike helmet slung over his arm.

‘This is for you.’ He handed her the helmet. ‘The bike’s out front.’ As she turned to walk ahead of him she felt his palm on the small of her back. The minimal contact made her jump.

‘Easy, Red.’ He lifted his hand. ‘Just being polite.’

Jessie didn’t think so, from the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, but didn’t trust herself to speak. When they reached the bike, she fumbled for a moment trying to put her helmet on, before he lifted it out of her hands.

He did a circular motion with his finger. ‘Turn around.’

She did as he asked, grabbing her hair when he deftly removed the band holding it in a ponytail. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded as his fingers combed through her hair.

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘It’ll be more comfortable like that, with the helmet on.’

He rewarded her scowl with another heart-thumping smile as he placed the helmet on her head and fastened the strap. The light brush of his fingers seemed to burn the soft skin under her chin. This was going to be a nightmare. She hadn’t even got on the bike yet and already she felt as if she were about to explode.

Unhooking his own helmet from the handlebar, he put it on and then climbed onto the enormous machine. ‘Hop on, Red.’

It took several attempts before she managed to clamber up behind him. She had to push her feet hard on the footrests and grasp the back of the seat to stop from sliding against him. She was grateful for the jeans now, because her dress had ridden right up to her waist.

‘I’m ready,’ she said, feeling like an idiot.

Instead of starting the machine, he took his hands off the handlebars, pulled off his helmet and turned round. ‘You ever ride a motorcycle before, Red?’

‘Well, no, not exactly.’ She didn’t like that smug look in his eyes.

‘First rule, hold on tight.’

‘I am holding on tight.’ Her knuckles ached, she was gripping the seat so hard.

He shook his head. ‘Not onto the bike, sweetheart—onto me.’

‘Why can’t I just hold onto the bike?’ She could hear the whine in her voice, but couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to hold onto him.

‘Because when we hit a curve, you’re going to have to lean with me.’ His lips quirked. What was so amusing? ‘Wouldn’t want you falling off.’

He was talking to her as if she were an imbecile. ‘Fine. I’ll hold onto you.’