A Bad Boy is Good to Find

chapter 17

Up in the room, Lizzie stripped down to her black underwear, grateful to have fewer layers between her and the muggy night air. She didn’t bother to suck anything in. He’d hardly care what her body looked like after the day they’d had.

Con undressed while she sat on the bed, scratching at the mosquito bite on her ankle.

He washed his face and underarms at the basin. Filled a glass and drank it. Gargled and spat, rinsed it, then held it up. “Want some water?”

She shook her head and drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. “You scare me. How can you act so calm after today?”

“What do you want me to do? Break down sobbing?” He tossed his towel over a chair and strode toward the bed. “Move over.”

She moved, making room on the bed for him. She couldn’t make him sleep on the floor after what she’d dragged him into today. Didn’t even want to.

“Would you like a hug?” she asked shyly.

“Why? You think that’s going to make me feel better?” He stretched out on the bed, muscles cracking. His onyx stare made hair rise on the back of her neck.

“No, of course not. I don’t know.” She turned on her side and faced away from him. Her emotions had been pretty much stretched to the limit today, and there was a real danger she might cry. She bit the inside of her mouth hard and dug her fingernails into her palm.

“Hey.” He rested his hand on her hip. Her skin tingled under his fingers. “I know you just wanted to have a little fun with me. You didn’t know what you were getting into.”

“That’s for sure.” Her words emerged on a sob. She gritted her teeth as a tear crept from behind her squeezed eyelids.

“Don’t cry over me. I’m fine. In fact, I’m glad we’re here. I’ve been shit scared of this place for years. Now I’m back, it’s just another place. And the old man is dead. It sounds a terrible thing to say, but that’s a weight off my mind.”

Lizzie turned to face him. He let his hand slide over her hip, soft and reassuring.

“But it’s all on camera,” she said, her lip quivering. “Surely you don’t want the whole world to know…?” She swiped at a tear on her cheek.

“I don’t mind.” Con looked calm. He smudged her tear away with his thumb. “In a way I’m glad the camera’s here, so I can set the story straight. I have a feeling I’m going to be a different person after this whole experience.”

“You are? How?”

“Because I’m not pretending any more. I’ve been pretending since the day I left that patch of ground you saw today. Pretended I was older to get a job, pretended I was someone else so I could get arrested in Mississippi and they wouldn’t send me back here. Pretended—”

“You got arrested on purpose?” she cut in.

“Sure.” He picked up a curly strand of her hair and toyed with it. “Free food, school classes, you know? I used another guy’s name so they wouldn’t send me home.”

“Oh.” Another tear fell. Con leaned in and kissed it away. His lips soft and warm on her skin.

“I lied about my experience to get work as a mechanic. I’d finally found something I was good at, that I had a real knack for, but I didn’t have any qualifications. I got used to working the angles, being whoever I needed to be to get by.”

His face was inches from hers and she could smell his skin, musky and soothing. He leaned in and kissed her again, this time on the nose.

A strange crumpled sensation pulled at her stomach. Why wasn’t she mad?

“I’ve always lied about my age. I honestly think you are the only person I’ve ever told my real age to.”

“The same as mine,” she murmured.

“Exactly. I’m even born in March, like you.”

“Pisces?”

A smile crossed his lips. “Yup.” He kissed her other cheek “Just like you.”

“But we’re not alike at all,” she whispered, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

“Why not?” He tipped his head back and looked at her, dark eyes narrowed. “Maybe we’re more alike that you think.”

“Because you’ve been through all this…” She waved her hand in the air to compensate for words that wouldn’t come to her.

“Hard times? Lies? Bullshit? Don’t be so sure we’re not alike. You’re going through all that right now.”

“Not like you.”

“Sure it is. The circumstances are different, but the hurt is the same. You’re all alone, making up crazy stories to hustle up some cash. Do you think they really believe you want to marry me?”

“You don’t think they do?”

“I don’t know. I think Raoul does. He’s a true romantic.” His mouth tilted into that familiar crooked smile.

Lizzie squeezed her eyes against the tears but they trickled over her cheeks anyway. Her throat was tight. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, I just can’t seem to—”

“Hey, that’s okay.” He stroked her hair. Leaned in and kissed her cheek in a way that made her skin buzz. “It’s good to let your emotions out. Don’t want to keep them all bottled up inside where they can drive you crazy.”

“How come you don’t?” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Don’t what?” He stroked her shoulder.

“Show emotion? Cry?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t feel that much anymore. Kept everything battened down so long the bolts are rusted. Don’t let that happen to you.”

He cupped her cheek, wiped a tear away, then leaned in to kiss her. “I’m glad of our lie,” he whispered. “Because I like being with you. I like you, Lizzie.”

The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, hot and forceful, his tongue in her mouth. She shuddered as he gripped her round the waist and pulled her right into him, her belly pressed against his flat stomach.

Hot relief flooded through her as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. She kissed him back even harder as her hands groped into his hair and her breath came in loud gasps. Too much emotion, too much feeling, all with nowhere to go, and it hurt.

Suddenly they were tugging at each others’ underwear and he climbed over her, panting and rolling on a condom he’d rustled up from somewhere. She couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, didn’t know how to do anything but try to press her body against his.

He gave her a rough kiss as he entered her. Something ragged inside her tore a little further, splitting her open and making her cling to him tighter. He pressed against her, grinding, sending shivers of dangerous arousal rippling through her and crashing against the swells of raw emotion. She gripped his neck, gasped and moaned as he increased the tempo, thrusting her deeper and deeper into a frenzy of tortured excitement.

She clawed at his back with her fingertips, wanting him even closer as her teeth grazed his cheekbone and her lips sought his. Oh, Con. Why do things have to be so complicated?

He moved inside her more slowly now, rocking her hot, wet and slow. Their hips rolled together, and she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him so tight, not wanting to ever let go.

I love you.

The words danced on her lips for a split second before she bit them back.

Those days were over.

But as Con showered her face with tender kisses she couldn’t help thinking that they might be at the start of a new day.

A series of hard thrusts and deep tongue kisses pushed her over the edge into an explosive climax. She heard her startled cry followed by Con’s groan as he followed her into a post orgasmic realm of breathless silence.

Afterward they lay there, her fingers in his hair as his head rested between her breasts. His hands, one on either side of her torso, held her as if she might try to wriggle away.

“I’ve missed you, Lizzie,” he said, after a long, peaceful silence.

“Missed me? We’ve been together every minute.”

He looked up, hair dipping to his shiny dark eyes. “I’ve missed being close, being intimate. Affectionate.”

She tousled his hair. “Me too.”

Something inside her pulled sharply. A tug of warning.

“Con, why did you come after me? I mean, if you really never loved me. Why didn’t you write the whole thing off as a deal gone south?”

How could she have been so sure he loved her if all the time he was just acting? No one was that good an actor.

A funny fluttering in her stomach accompanied the thought.

Con hesitated. Licked his lips. He slid sideways off her chest and moved up the bed until his head was level with hers.

He ran his thumb lightly over her lips, then pulled his hand back and shifted up onto his elbow. She heard him inhale.

“My father got my mom started drinking. She didn’t drink at all until she met him. He used to brag about it. How she used to be such a prim and perfect little lady until he…” His expression darkened and he looked away.

When he looked back at her, the fierce expression in his eyes made her flinch. “I’ve always prided myself on being nothing like my father. Anything he’d have done, I’ll do the exact opposite. You’ll not see me gambling, drinking myself under a table, starting fights. Never. I’ve never laid a hand on a woman and never will.”

He combed his fingertips through her hair, gentle. “But I did give you those first sips of champagne.”

Lizzie bristled. She wasn’t the naïve innocent he assumed. “You think I never tried alcohol before? I’ve been dragged along to cocktail parties since I was eight. I probably had my first spiked Shirley Temple before I turned ten. My mother started cocktail hour at four p.m. every day.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t want to be like her. You were quite happy with a tall cool glass of chocolate milk—” he hesitated, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.

She stiffened, gritted her teeth.

“And I loved that about you. A woman who knows her own mind! You didn’t try and impress me with pomegranate martinis and champagne with gold bits floating in it. I’d never met anyone like you, Lizzie. You far exceeded my wildest expectations.”

Lizzie’s mind raced, trying to process all this information, most specifically the exact usage of the word loved in this context. “Loved” as in “I loved her like no other woman” or as in “I loved her Mary-Jane shoes.” Her graduate-level classes in English Literature had not provided her with adequate interpretive skills.

“But,” he looked sheepish. “You were hard to get close to. Suspicious.” He raised an eyebrow. “Wary as a tiger someone’s just thrown a fresh, thick juicy steak at. Like, where’s the catch?”

“Little did I know,” she said coolly.

“Well, exactly.” Con shrugged and smiled. “You’re a smart cookie.”

“Not smart enough, apparently.”

“Hey, I had more tricks up my sleeve. Champagne being one of them. A glass here, a glass there, and soon you were bubbling over into my affectionate arms.”

His smile threatened to break into a grin.

“You know, you really piss me off, Conroy Beale.”

“I’m just being honest. I guess that’s new for both of us, but I think it’s the best way to go, don’t you?”

His wary glance, suddenly shy and boyish, snuck under her skin.

“I guess I do. So you felt guilty about getting me started drinking when your father did exactly the same to your mother.”

The whole concept gave her a chill. She was nothing like Con’s mother! Some poor downtrodden woman getting beaten senseless by a brutish husband. Goose bumps pricked her arms at the comparison.

“I didn’t want to see you going down the wrong road, making poor choices—”

“I hardly think I’d have ended up like her.”

“I don’t expect she did either. But there was nothing I could do to help her. I could help you.”

“You know, you make yourself sound almost heroic,” she said, trying to squelch the weird warm sensation growing inside her.

Con’s eyes looked distant for a moment. “She always used to say she came from a nice house, a nice family. Said she was rich even. None of us ever believed it, of course, since she was usually pretty buzzed when she came out with that stuff. But looking back, who knows?”

“Where did she come from?”

“I don’t know. She was from Louisiana, for sure, but she never talked about where exactly she came from. It was like her whole past just got left behind somewhere. Forgotten. Anyway, if she started talking about the past or anything like that when my dad was around…” he trailed off.

“He’d hit her.” Lizzie was surprised by how calmly she said it.

“Yes.” Con looked down. “It’s sad, I hardly know anything about her at all. Just that she tried to be a good mother to us, and she prayed a lot. Didn’t do her a damn bit of good to pray, that’s for sure.”

“What about your father, where was he from?”

“Right there. Rose up out of the swamp for all I know. His parents died when I was a kid. I don’t really remember them. Heavy drinkers too, though. The whole family was pretty much notorious as a bunch of total a*sholes. Lived on the same patch of swamp by the bayou forever. No stores would lend us credit, and they didn’t have any friends. If my parents had other relatives they were all long gone. I guess disappearing without a trace is kind of a family tradition. I don’t know how my mom got mixed up with the Beales, but she said my dad was very handsome and charming when he was young.”

“Like you.”

Con’s eyes met hers with a look that ate right into her. “Yeah.” He paused, then seemed to see through her into another world. “Like me.”

“Well, then I guess I can see how that would happen.” She stretched, trying to look casual, as tension crept through her muscles.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m beat. You should get some sleep. You look tired. I know you had a rough night last night, even if you deny it.” He stroked the end of her nose with his thumb. “You’ll sleep just fine with my arms around you, though.”

She tried to brush off the sensation that rushed through her. “I’m not really sleepy. I think I’ll read for a while.”

“Alright. I’ll be right here if you need me.” He gave her a quick, soft kiss on the cheek, then settled his head on his folded arms. “Night night, Lizzie.”

“Night, Con.”

She eased off the bed and pulled on a satin wrap. Despite the heat, she still had goose bumps. Unease. Too much sensation, too much emotion, too much everything.

She unzipped her suitcase of personal items to rifle around in there for a good engrossing read. In its search for a thick paperback, her hand settled on the little pile of letters she’d found inside the bedpost.

Her heart started beating faster. Why did she feel like she shouldn’t read them? She closed her hand around the small stack of envelopes. Her fingertips stung with anticipation, with anxiety. Why? For all she knew they were a bunch of unopened bills.

She glanced back at Con on the bed. He’d rolled over and now lay with his back to her and the light. For some reason she didn’t want him to see her reading them. Maybe because it felt like prying?

It wasn’t prying. It was…research?

Yes, research into the history of the house. The letters were addressed to a Mr. Thomas Milford at the address of the house. Still, she felt like a spy as she stuck the edge of her nail file into the corner of the envelope and ripped a neat slit along the top.

The thin, yellowed paper tore easily. It was one of those privacy envelopes with the printed interior, and Lizzie inhaled a shaky breath as she drew out the piece of paper inside.

A single sheet of pale blue paper. Just a few lines of careful script, written in blue ballpoint pen.