Page 49 of You're so Bad

Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to have sex with him. He’s made it clear he wouldn’t be opposed. Besides, wouldn’t it make our chemistry more believable if we’ve touched each other?

I want—

Bean meows.

“What are you going to do with her?” I ask softly as I look at her little face pressed to the mesh door of the crate.

“I’ll take her back in the morning,” he says, his jaw flexing, and I can tell how badly he doesn’t want to do that.

Then he forces a grin that’s as fake as Bianca. “If you’ll give me a ride. Burke’s buying me a new truck for the business, but we can’t do that until all of the paperwork goes through.”

I almost smile at the way he says it, like someone who’s trusting his best friend to set everything up because he doesn’t know dick about paperwork. I’m a little like that too. My soul wants to create things, but it doesn’t know its way around a spreadsheet any more than Colter knows how to find a clitoris. That softens me toward Leonard too. Maybe that’s why I find myself saying, “I’ll walk you in.”

His eyes hood as he studies me. “You don’t need to walk me in, Tiger. I may not have a black belt in taekwondo, but I think I can handle myself.”

I’ll bet he can. I’ll bet he has no trouble handling himself. Those big, scarred hands stroking, pulling, cupping, and squeezing unmercifully. The thought of him doing that, and the possibility of him thinking of me while his hand works his hard cock, has my blood pumping faster, the bass of my pulse drowning out every other noise around us.

I lean in toward him, needing to, and smile. My wicked thoughts must show in my eyes, in the way my body is arcing toward him. “I was thinking it might make our chemistry seem a little more realistic, if…”

My words halt, because he’s not looking at me the way I thought he would. There’s something like regret on his face. Horror grips me with clawed hands, as if I’ve been enfolded into one of my monster vases. What if all the flirting and innuendo is just Leonard’s default mode? What if this man who I was convinced would sleep with anyone isn’t interested in having some fun with me?

From the expression on his face, I’m clearly the last woman he wants to sleep with. I ignore the burning shame in my chest, my hands reaching up to grip the steering wheel so they have something to do other than grab him.

“Forget it,” I blurt, shifting my gaze to the windshield. “But you should keep the cat. She should be yours.”

“Because she likes to cut me with her claws?” he asks.

“Because she’s a little terror.” My eyes are still out the windshield. “I don’t know what happened with your dog, but it’s not easy thinking you’re at fault for something terrible. Living with the guilt. Maybe you should let yourself—”

Suddenly he reaches over, his hand weaving into the back of my short hair and pulling slightly, turning my head toward him.

“You’re right about one thing. I like little terrors,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “Were you trying to tell me you want to fuck, Shauna? Because I won’t say no. Even though we both know I should. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t touch you.”

There’s a razor-sharp second of relief—cutting, because when did I become this person who needs approval like it’s air?

Leonard’s hand is still in my hair, tugging, lighting up the nerve endings, and in the dim light from the roof of the parked car, he looks like a fallen god, so delicious and damned that I want to sink my teeth into him.

He tugs me toward him, my belt digging into my chest, and I release the buckle one handed as his mouth lowers to mine with purpose. His lips are softer than they look, but they’re demanding. His tongue licks along my bottom lip, and when I open for him, it winds with mine. His hands tighten in my hair, and he moves my head to make the angle deeper so he can take more from me. I grip a hand in his hair too, because I’ve been imagining it. Wanting it and pull him in closer, swallowing the sound of amusement and need he makes.

No one’s ever kissed me like this before—like kissing me is their sole reason for existing. Like they want to suck me down and savor me. Even though I know it means nothing to him, it’s impossible not to fall into it, to want those lips to travel north and south and consume me. He tugs my bottom lip into his mouth and bites it, then pulls away with mischief gleaming in his eyes, making them more green than hazel, almost as luminescent as the cat’s.

Speaking of whom, Bean makes an aggrieved sound as if she wants to fight me for making the moves on her man.

“So, what happens next, Tiger?” Leonard says, studying me. “Are you going to take me for a test drive?”

I roll my eyes, which is significantly harder now that every nerve ending in my body is begging for his touch.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say.

He nods firmly. “It can’t.”

I don’t ask why. Like I said,troublemight as well be tattooed across his forehead. Maybebaggageshould be tattooed across mine.

“It’s not a good idea,” I say.

His eyes dancing, he reaches over and traces my lips, his finger callused from the work he does at those flip houses and God knows what else. I wonder what his hands would feel like on my chest, grazing across my bare flesh. His finger pauses on my bottom lip, which fell open for him, and he slips it inside just slightly. When I bite his finger, his smile spreads wider, filling his eyes, his face, all of him.

“Fuck no, but I can’t see myself regretting it.”

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