Page 2 of The Bad Boy's Good Girl

She groaned when a knock sounded at the door and she slid off the bed, stomping to the door and looking through the peephole. Bronx. She pulled open the door and schooled her expression. “What is it?”

“Tequila,” he said with a smile and held up the bottle with a snake head for a cap.

Of course he brought some of the most expensive tequila in the world. She reached for the bottle but Bronx pulled it back at the last minute, just out of reach. “Fine,” she groaned and stepped back. “I guess you can come too.”

“Thanks for the…what in the hell are you wearing?” His voice sounded angry, strained.

She sighed and hopped on the bed, not bothering to cover up. “It’s called pajamas. If you don’t like it you’re free to leave. The tequila stays.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. It’s peach silk and it’s tempting as hell.”

“Maybe not in so many words.” She snatched the bottle from his hands and worked to remove the cork. “Thanks for this but you don’t have to stay.”

“I know.” His tone and expression were both dark. Intense. “Can you please cover up, Nola? You might not think much of me, but I’m still a man dammit.”

She froze and stared at him in stunned disbelief. “My room. My rules.” She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

“Nola, you have five seconds.”

She smiled and leaned against the headboard, feeling too buzzed and something else to heed the warning bells going off in her head.

To his credit, Bronx waited.

Ten whole seconds.

Then, he pounced.

---