Page 4 of Lord of Debauchery

“Let’s get back to ordering. This conversation is sinking rapidly.”

“There’s some truth. Anything else, Ms. Grouch?”

“How about a couple dozen assorted cookies. Make sure there’s chocolate involved.”

Her chuckle was deep and throaty. Everything about her was adorable and quite frankly irritating as hell. Maybe her five-foot two-inch frame and perfectly perky little nose had been the reasons she’d garnered the sexiest boyfriend turned dashing husband. No, definitely her perky tits. Now I was playing the green-eyed monster card. I’d sunk below low.

“Got it. I’ll make them extra yummy. Would you like me to throw in some very special brownies?”

“How special are we talking?”

“You know, a little green stuff in them?” She winked and I almost choked on another sip.

“Marijuana? You wouldn’t dare.” I acted horrified but secretly would love to do something so wicked.

She shrugged in her cute way, gathering up her ordering pad. “I dunno. I’m a bad girl, which is what you need to be. Now, come on, let’s go enjoy the wine before your guests arrive.”

“Thank God they’re not coming until Tuesday.”

“What about this weekend? Don’t you dare tell me you’re locking yourself in your house, reading a random romance novel that will have you in tears and eating not one but two cartons of ice cream.”

“Ouch. I’m not like that.” Guilty as charged. Ever since I’d seen my two exes together, I’d been a basket case about romance and men. Fuck them all.

“Uh-huh,” my bestie huffed, wagging her finger. “Tell me another lie.”

I grabbed the bottle and headed for the back door of the kitchen. “Fine. I’m venturing out so to speak. I’ve decided to have the place all to myself. Some time in the hot tub. Maybe a little wine. Making a fabulously delicious yet sinfully full of calories pasta meal and sleeping late every single day.”

“You bitch. You didn’t invite me?”

The look on her face was priceless. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you don’t talk about boys, or I’ll ask all kinds of private questions about your hunk of a man.”

As I threw open the door, she gave me the kind of look that could seduce a group of moose. “He is pretty hot. Sadly, I can’t make it this weekend. I was convinced to make a wedding cake at the last minute. Plus, my Danny boy has some pretty naughty plans late at night.”

“Rub it in. Will you? And you certainly know how to have a good time.”

“Girls always do. Tell me, what’s your perfect man? With that big brain of yours, I’m going to guess you prefer one of those ultra conservative types who drive a Mercedes, make more money than God, and take out the yacht on the weekend. Am I right?”

We headed for one of several pairs of Adirondack chairs right in front of the ocean, easing down just as the sun began to set. “Then you don’t know me very well at all, dear girl.”

“Then do tell.”

“I prefer bad boys. You know the kind. The ones with scruffy beards, and that look in their eyes like they could bite the head off bats and enjoy it. I want them as comfortable in faded but tight blue jeans and a muscle shirt as they are in a Gucci tuxedo. I don’t want yachting, maybe a catamaran in the Bahamas. I want a Harley-driving, truck-wheelin’ man with a rough voice like he’s had one too many cigarettes, hair that’s perpetually tousled, and completely dominating. A man who refuses to take no for an answer. All while being able to enjoy a nice glass of merlot and a section of brie cheese just prior to grilling a piece of filet to bloody rare. A killer marksman, unafraid of anything and anyone, a guy who makes danger and taking risks look delicious and sinful. And in bed, forget about it. I want a man willing to grab me around the throat, pin me against the wall, and fuck me like some primal beast. Yeah. That’s what I want.”

There was utter silence and I finally looked over at her.

“Careful. With your mouth open that way, you might catch flies.”

She sputtered and took a sip of wine, fanning her face. “Okay, girl. Sign me up. I’m getting a divorce.”

We both laughed, leaning back into the chairs.

Yeah, that was exactly what I wanted, not a pretty boy with perfect hair and a slick attitude. Now I just how to figure out where I could find one of those.

CHAPTER 3

Beckham

“What are you going to do about the studio?” Jeff asked. He was driving, tossing a look over his shoulder at me in the passenger seat.

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