Billionaire Bad Boys: A Collection of Contemporary and Paranormal Bad Boys Read online

  He wiped his feet off on the mat, then lifted a large bag. “I brought take-out from the city. It’s from that Italian place we like. We’ll have to pop it in the oven for a bit, but we can drink wine while we wait.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Or…”

  She laughed, setting her paintbrush on the easel. “Or, what?”

  “Or, we wait on the wine and food until I take my fill of you.”

  Her core throbbed. “Food can wait,” she agreed.

  “Come here and give me some sugar, sugar.” He held out his arms, grinning broadly, his blue eyes glinting.

  She rose to her feet, took two short steps, and wrapped her arms around him. She breathed in the heady aroma of him, the man who held her heart.

  He rocked her back and forth, nuzzling her hair with his nose. “How was your day?”

  “Oh, not bad. I met with the therapist again. She thinks I can reduce my visits to one every other week.”

  “That’s excellent news.” He leaned back slightly and brought his mouth to hers. He kissed her deeply, humming into her mouth. When he pulled back, he placed his hands on either side of her face and studied her. “Anything wrong?”

  “Not really, no.” She cast her gaze at his chest.

  “Bella. I can read you like a book. Tell you what.” He kissed the tip of her nose and stepped away from her. “I’ll pour us some wine. Then, you can sit in my lap against my hard cock and tell me what’s bothering you. That way, when you’re done talking to me, we’ll be in position for my therapy.”

  She chuckled. “We don’t need to…” she began.

  “We do. The shrink says we gotta talk about shit when it arises. So, we talk about it. Then, I fuck you adoringly, lovingly and deeply.” He pulled a couple of wine glasses off the shelf, twisted the cork from the wine they’d opened last night, and poured them each a hearty glass full. Handing her one, he said, “Cheers, my love.”

  “Cheers to you, my love.” They clinked glasses and sipped.

  He reached for her hand and urged her toward the front room.

  This room was her favorite. It boasted a huge picture window overlooking the sea. A gas fireplace sat in the corner. On the mantle seashells and knick-knacks, they’d gathered on their walks were arranged in patterned displays.

  Caine settled on the cozy sofa. He took another sip of his wine and set the glass on the side table. He patted his lap. “Sit. Talk to me.”

  She sipped her wine and set her glass next to his. Then, she curled up in his lap and put her arms around his neck.

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  She bit her lip. “I got caught by some flashbacks today. I tried all the techniques the therapist has taught me, and nothing worked to calm me down.”

  His face furrowed. “It’s going to take some time, you know that.”

  She nodded. “Do you ever miss your old life? The life and times of Liam Chartier?”

  He looked upward, appearing thoughtful. “Not really, no. I wish I didn’t have to let go of my cars but someone would track them someday and we’d be found. And, they’re only cars. Cars are things. Things can be replaced.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I miss the wealth, but we have enough to survive. I made sure of that before we agreed to WITSEC.”

  He stroked her cheek. Then he pushed aside her hair and nuzzled her neck, nibbling her with his teeth.

  She shivered, delighting in the shared passion.

  He made it his personal mission to discover all her hot spots and arousal trigger points.

  He pushed his fingers into her scalp, massaging her head. “But honestly, Liam was kind of a dick. He’s become a much nicer guy being with you.”

  “That’s because I support you in pursuing your dreams. How were your classes, by the way?” She ran her fingers through his thick hair.

  “Anatomy was fine. I enjoy that class. Immunology is kicking my butt. But let’s not get off topic. I’m not sure you told me everything you need to tell me. What kind of flashbacks did you have? What caused them?” He regarded her with tender eyes.

  She side-stepped the question. “What about your mom? Do you miss her?”

  “It comes and goes. She was a handful. God, she was manipulative. But she was my mother, you know? It’s strange that our paths can never cross again. That’s probably harder for her than for me. I’m sure you miss your mom sometimes, even though you were only a small child when she died.”

  “Yeah. I used to miss her all the time. Every day. I had a song I made up and sang to her. I called it the Keepsake Song.”

  “Sing it for me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Come on, please? I’d love to hear it.”

  She pursed her lips. “Okay, but don’t laugh.”

  “I promise.” He reached for his wine and took a sip. Then, he held the glass up to her lips and tipped it toward her mouth.

  She sipped.

  “There. We’re both ready.”

  She took a quick, deep breath. “No laughing.”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay.” In a clear, strong voice, she sang. “Where do you live, inside my heart; That's why we are never apart. When I lay my head to sleep; That's when I find my keepsake.” She stopped singing and pressed her hand over her mouth. “That’s it. I made it up when I was seven. It probably doesn’t make sense to anyone but me.”

  “Bella, it’s beautiful. I love your voice. I never knew you had such a pretty voice. But you still don’t get to avoid the elephant in the room. What caused the flashbacks?”

  “Damn elephant. Okay. I got paranoid. I was downtown shopping for art supplies, and I thought I saw someone from the past. I swore Hans Whitmore was behind me. This whole flood of memories swamped me. I dropped all the supplies I had in my hands and ran outside to get some air. Then, the guy I thought was Hans shuffled out of the store. He was only some big dumb-looking dude who barely resembled Hans. But it didn’t matter. Seeing him…thinking he was Hans sent me right back to the back of the van on July 4th. I felt so betrayed by him. Here I thought I was rescuing you and we both ended up being arrested. And I…I stood there in the parking lot and pictured losing you and life without you and…” Tears filled her eyes. “I love you so much, Caine. You’re my everything.”

  “Shhh, baby. Don’t cry. I’m here. I gave them something even more valuable—the names of the men who tried to kill you.”

  “You never did tell me how you found out who they were.” She toyed with a strand of his thick hair.

  He looked thoughtful for a moment, perhaps considering how much to tell her.

  Caine Lacroix was far more open than Liam Chartier, but he still struggled with vulnerability and openness, same as her. They each saw themselves as works in progress but figured they had the rest of their lives to sort things out. The shared heart commitment would see them through.

  He sighed. “They were wanted men in several countries. I found out who they were two days before the heist.”

  “So, you’re pretty sure they’re in jail for the rest of their lives?” She shivered. “I’d hate to think they’re looking for us, out on parole someday with bones to pick.”

  “Nah. Whitmore let me know they each got life without parole. One of them even committed suicide in prison.”

  Bella sucked in her breath. “Suicide is horrible, but weirdly, I’m sort of relieved.”

  Caine nodded. “Same here. And now, we have new identities. Hell, I’ve become such a nice guy I doubt if anyone from the club would recognize me. And, if they do, we pick up and move again. I don’t care where we live—we can move to Canada, Mexico, an island in the Caribbean—and if we’re together, we can work things out.”

  She repositioned herself so she was straddling him. She put her hands on his shoulders. “Promise me you’ll never leave me.”

  He placed his hands on her cheeks, gazing deeply into her eyes. “Sweetheart, I promise. You don’t even have to ask. I told you when we married, I’m committed to lasting love wi
th you. For the rest of my life.” His eyes filled with tears. “You gave me my independence back. I get to choose how I live. I had no life at the Diamond Club. None. I owe you. But most of all I adore you. You’re the light of my existence. Every day I wake up next to you is the happiest day of my life.”

  “Oh, Caine.” She let out a sob. “I’m so happy with you.”

  “Ditto.” One lone tear spilled down his face.

  She kissed it from his cheek. “We’re a couple of train wrecks, aren’t we?”

  She laughed.

  His cock began to harden. A wicked smile formed on his face. “Feel better?”

  She gave him a seductive look. “Much.”

  He rocked his hips into hers. “Want to kick it up a notch?”

  “Absolutely.” She slid from his lap until her knees landed on the carpeted floor. She reached out and unzipped him.

  His cock sprang free.

  “I think someone wants to come out and play.” She tugged his pants down his legs.

  “God, does he ever. I had a hard time concentrating on my medical studies today. All I could think about was you.”

  She licked his throbbing head. “Me, too. When I wasn’t in a panic.”

  “Panics happen. But they don’t last.” He pushed his fingers into her scalp, massaging her in slow, sensuous circles, exactly the way she liked it.

  “Mmm.” She inclined her head into his caress. “No, they don’t,” she said in a husky voice. “They never last.”

  She lowered her mouth over him and sucked.

  “Oh, God, Bella.”

  She withdrew her mouth and said, “Not when I have someone this amazing to love and adore for the rest of my life.”

  “Count on it,” he said.

  She took him in her mouth again, running her nails on the inside of his thighs. They’d taken a chance. They took a giant risk. And she was going to love him and celebrate the choices they’d made for the rest of her life.

  THE END

  * * *

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  The Diamond Club

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read my novella from The Diamond Club!

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  All reviews are appreciated.

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  If you would like to read more from The Diamond Club series, please click on the link below:

  The Diamond Club Website

  About the Author

  A New York Times and USA Today bestselling, award-winning author, Calinda B writes kick-ass heroines who don't know their own strength. When she's not writing, she's been known to fall off ice cliffs; fire walk with Russian fire officials; or wake up from a six weeks coma, wondering how she got there in the first place. She’s been stuck in deadly currents at Deception Pass in her kayak, and loves to swim with sharks. She greets every day with a smile and an openness to what might be around the next corner.

  * * *

  SERIES:

  * * *

  The Charming Shifter Mysteries:

  Storm Shift: Book 1

  Power Shift: Book 2

  Blood Shift: Book 3

  Soul Shift: Book 4

  * * *

  The Bloodstone Trilogy:

  Grave Stones: Book 1

  Heart Stones: Book 2

  Of Iron and Salt: Book 3

  * * *

  Bad Boys Need Love, Too:

  Looks Like Trouble to Me UNCUT

  Trouble Times Two UNCUT

  Tracked by Trouble

  * * *

  Point of Contact:

  Blurred Lines – a 3 Part Military Romance

  Sassy Aphrodite and her Sweet Dirty Mouth

  Riding the Edge of Darkness

  * * *

  Standalones:

  Night Whispers

  Red Rex: Blood Echoes

  Night Whispers

  Headspace

  Crow’s Caw at Nightmoon Creek

  Meeting with My Maker

  Fire from the Diamond Club World

  The Remingtons: Crazy Love

  The Remingtons: A Twist of Love

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  All books can be viewed on this page: http://calindab.com/books.aspx

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  With umpteen books roaming the universe and more in her head, you can find her at www.calindab.com. Or, if you want to stay connected, join the exclusive mailing list! http://www.calindab.com/newslettersignup.html

  Calinda’s CONNECTIONS

  Calinda’s CONNECTIONS

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  You can find Calinda B here:

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  www. twitter.com/calindab1

  http://www.amazon.com/author/calindab/

  The Eclectic Elf

  S.E. Babin

  1

  Being in a town where it was always night time wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For one, you tripped over stuff. Constantly. Especially if you weren’t quite as blessed in the genetics department as most of the residents of Midnight Cove were. Take me for example. I’m an elf. Willowy, beautiful, and graced with a voice of a thousand bells, right?

  Wrong.

  Short, curvy, and blessed with the unfortunate vision of a mole was more accurate. I’d been called cute a time or two, but I never quite understood the meaning of “cute”. When I thought of cute, I imagined those dolls with the enormous, guileless eyes. Those were cute but also borderline creepy if you didn’t have a personality disorder.

  But I would still take it. Cute was cute no matter what you meant by it. The word was almost universally positive so if that was the best I could do, I guess it would have to work.

  I ran a hand through my unruly blonde hair and sighed as my fingertips caught in the ragged curls. There was no product in Midnight Cove able to tame the hot mess that was my hair.

  One of the Comey sisters had been begging me for years to study it so she could put a potion together, but those chicks made me nervous. All of them were tall, gorgeous and had the magic equivalent of a nuclear power plant running through their veins. Magic poured off of them and every time I walked past their shop, it made me shiver. Simply because I knew those girls were all potentially a walking magical time bomb.

  They were nice, though, I guess. For witches.

  I still wasn’t going to let them touch my hair.

  The bell over the door to my small shop jingled, letting me know there was a customer. I sprang up from my sprawled out position in the back, slapped a smile on my face, and pushed through the beaded curtain out into the front. I stopped abruptly as I saw who was there and the smile slid off my face like an egg being poured out of a greased pan.

  “Matthias,” I greeted, my tone flat.

  He was grinning like a fox in the hen house which made me nervous. It was no secret that Matthias and I had no love lost between us. He was an elf, too. You'd think that would make us friends just by virtue of being one of the rarer species here, wouldn't it? You'd be wrong. So very wrong. The thing about elves is that we're very particular about our bloodlines. Well...I say we are very particular when what I actually mean is everyone else cares about it, and I prefer to remain oblivious. I am well aware that I'm no beauty, nor am I blessed with some of the other magical gifts my brethren have, but I also realized I don’t have the intellect of a pet rock nor the sense of humor of the school jock.

  If you hadn’t realized it yet, the jock is almost never funny. It’s just that he’s so popular everyone makes him think he is. If people only realized that not laughing if something wasn’t funny was a perfectly acceptable way to live. Alas, they didn’t, leaving us unprotected from constant bad jock jokes all throughout high school.

  Anyhow, it was pretty obvious, to me at least, someone in my family got a little randy and a little rebellious and got down and dirty with a sister or a mister of another species.
Thus, diluting the family bloodlines and putting me in bifocals at the tender age of twenty-four. And also giving me 80's rock star hair when the rest of my people rolled out of bed looking like a shampoo commercial. Unfortunately, I seemed to be the only one affected by it. My mother and father were both tall, willowy people with softer voices and perfectly coiffed hair.

  I kept telling myself it gave me personality and a sense of humor, but the older I got and the more I was subjected to constant bullshit from my own people, the less it continued to ring true.

  “Ava,” Matthias greeted, a perfect lock of blond hair falling rakishly over one eye. Most girls would think that was cute.

  I thought he needed a haircut. And a lobotomy since we were being honest here.

  "I haven't received a new shipment this week. Is there something specific you were looking for?" Matthias usually came in once a week. This meant I saw way more of him than I ever wanted to. And his requests were...odd. Sometimes he would ask for any magical remnants dropped off. It didn't matter what type of magic. He just wanted it. Kind of funny since that's what my shop dealt in a lot of. So usually once a week I'd set aside a massive pile of objects for him to go through.

  He’d roll up his sleeves, usually a collared and pristinely starched button down, and carefully dig through each piece, making idle, aggravating small talk until I’d get so annoyed I would huff off to another room with his deep chuckles following behind me.

  I wasn’t sure why I didn’t like him much. Something about him just rubbed me the wrong way. He was a contradiction I wasn’t quite comfortable with. He had enough money to swim in it ala Scrooge McDuck, yet he came in here sifting through junk every week.