Bad Boy (An Indecent Proposal) (5 page)

“You really
haven’t read them yet?” She sounded unconvinced.

“No. I
couldn’t,” I admitted. “I feel like I need to be in a different frame of mind
to read them. It’s not the right time. It’s not something I can do right now.”

“I
understand,” Jude said.

“You do?”

“Yes. And
I’m sorry, Laurie.” She paused, as though there was more she wanted to say, but
didn’t know how. “It’s all my fault. If—”

“No. Don’t,”
I cut her off. I couldn’t hear another apology, another ‘if only.’ “I’m as much
to blame as you. If I didn’t get involved with him and sign the contract, this
would never have happened.”

“I’m still
sorry. I had no idea he was after your money. If I had known, I would never
have given him your necklace.”

My heart
stopped.

I sucked in
my breath, my stomach clenching. “You gave him my mom’s necklace?”

“I’m sorry,
Laurie,” she said again. Her voice broke. Was she crying? “He said he wanted to
get you a gift and asked me about your favorite kind of jewelry. I said it was
your mother’s, and that the necklace was broken, and it was his idea to have it
repaired, so I gave it to him. I’m going to call him straight away and ask for
it.”

“No.” I
shook my head. “Don’t contact him. Please.”

“But, it’s
your mom’s necklace,” she protested.

“I know.”
My whole chest hurt. I closed my eyes and took a few shaky breaths, feeling as
though there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. “I’d rather we stayed away from
him.”

“I’ll get
it back without talking. Okay? I promise.”

I pressed
my lips into a tight line. “I don’t want you to do anything, Jude. I don’t know
who he’s involved with, but I don’t trust him. Until I have more information,
please don’t cause me more trouble. Jude, repeat after me: I won’t talk with
Chase.”

“Fine. I
won’t talk with Chase.” I could hear the defiance in her tone. “What’s your
plan, then?”

“I don’t
know,” I said and shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to do anymore. I don’t
know what I want. This thing with Chase…it threw me back in more ways than I
could ever have imagined.”

“You should
consult a lawyer.”

“I know,
and I will, just not now. I couldn’t handle it.” Least of all talk about him or
pour out all the details to a stranger. My mood plummeted at the thought. Time
to change the subject. “On the bright side, I have a date today.”

“Yeah?”
Jude said. “With whom?”

“Some guy
who helped me with my bags. He’s staying at the same hotel.”

“Is he
hot?”

“Does it
matter?” I tried to recall his face and his dark hair. Was he? I couldn’t tell
for sure because his image had already become a blur of a memory. “He’s kind.
Something Chase will never be. This time I’ll do it all differently. I want to
take it as things come. I’m going out with him and see where that might lead
us. I won’t make the mistake of hoping for more. I won’t expect anything.”

“Will you
be careful?” she asked, her worry palpable in her tone.

“Of
course,” I said. “After Chase’s betrayal, I doubt any other man could be worse.
I doubt
anything
could be worse.”

We talked
some more, then I finished the call. My own words kept circling in my head for
a while longer.

I wished I
hadn’t said that, because as bad as Chase was, at least I knew where we were
standing and how to deal with him.

By the time
I was done unpacking and had taken a shower, it was already early evening. I
locked my few valuable possessions in the safe, squeezed into a black dress,
and then gave myself a critical look.

Did I look
hot for today’s date?

Did it
matter?

It was just
a date—one of many I was going to have. Chase was a bad boy, so I’d turn
into a bad girl. If being a jerk was all that it took to get someone’s
attention and make them fall in love hard and fast, then it wouldn’t be so
difficult for me to do the same.

At least
that was what I thought as I headed out in search of the restaurant.

I found it
just around the corner. What gave away the food’s price tag were the cheap
“open” neon light in the window, the well-populated bar area in the corner and
the music playing in the background. I sat down at one of the empty tables, my
back turned to the door. After all, I didn’t want to look desperate. You know,
the kind of desperate that ended with me in Chase’s bed, moaning his name.

At least
five minutes passed.

Fifteen.

My date
didn’t show up.

From my
table, I couldn’t overlook the entrance area, so I changed to one facing the
door, my whole ‘not desperate’ resolve flying right out the window.

Another
fifteen minutes passed. I began to scan the menu, my feet tapping the floor
impatiently.

Had he
forgotten about our date? Or had he been too much of a coward to decline my
invitation? I mean, how hard could it be to say, “Sorry, but I’m not
interested.”

“Can I get
you something?” the waiter asked me again—for the umpteenth time. He
didn’t look older than twenty.

“Yeah,
scotch on the rocks, please.”

Sighing, I
scanned the menu again, which I was sure I could recite by heart.

The waiter
brought me my drink, which I nursed for all of five minutes before dawning it
in one gulp.

I had
enough—of men, of dates, of anything that involved romance and sex and
everything else that tended to mess with my life.

I ordered
the restaurant’s ‘special’ and a glass of red wine. I had just finished my
dinner and was halfway through my glass of wine when the door swung open and in
walked three guys. The moment the door closed I could feel their gaze on me,
scrutinizing the fact that I was in a bar restaurant sitting at a table alone.

“The curse
of the single woman,” I muttered under my breath and slumped deeper into my
seat in the hope I’d magically develop the ability of turning invisible.

“Hola,
señorita.”

I turned
sharply to regard the uniformed guy in his mid-thirties. He was standing so
close his naked forearm almost brushed my shoulder. Even in the dim light the
gun holster around his waist was clearly visible, drawing my attention to it,
and for a moment my heart picked up in speed and my brain struggled to make
sense as to what I might have done wrong to catch his attention.

The guy was
a cop, so I must have done
something.

“Sorry, I
don’t speak Spanish,” I said.

“You’re
lucky I speak English.” He plopped down in the seat opposite from mine and
waved at his colleagues who were busy ordering drinks at the bar.

“You can
have the table. I was about to leave.” To prove my point, I slung my handbag
over my shoulder and sat up when he leaned over the table, his hand clasping
around my wrist.

“Not so
fast.”

My pulse
started to race.

I stared at
his fingers as they remained wrapped around my skin.

“Excuse
me?” I asked.

“You’re
such a beautiful girl. Why leave so soon? The night’s young.” He pointed to my
half-finished glass. “And you’re not finished.”

I frowned
at him as I watched his tongue run over his lips.

Oh, for crying out loud.

What was it
with me and my tendency to attract all the wrong guys?

First,
Chase turned out to be more of a frog than a prince, metaphorically speaking.

Then, my
date stood me up.

Now, some
cop was trying to chat me up.

And not
just any cop.

A Mexican
cop who had probably participated in his fair share of dangerous busts and was
most certainly used to violence. Or seeing that things went his way.

Something
was wrong with the world—or me.

Under
normal circumstances I would have told him to get his dirty hands off me but I
was in a foreign country and drawing attention to myself was the last thing I
wanted.

“You’re
really pretty,” he said and leaned closer until I could feel his breath on my
skin. His fingers trailed along my arm. I flinched when he touched my hair to
brush it away from my face.

“What do
you want?” I asked warily, frozen to the spot as his hand moved from my hair to
my shoulder.

“Just a
chat?”

He made it
sound like a question. Like there’d be way more than a chat later on.

As if.

I swallowed
hard and forced a cold smile to my lips. “It’s been a long flight. I need to
get back to the hotel.”

“Where are
you staying?” someone asked behind me.

I turned
and realized that his two friends had joined him. Unlike the cop, they were wearing
jeans, but their hard faces looked threatening enough, as if they would not
hesitate to drag someone through the backdoor to beat them to a bloody pulp and
then fill out a report about how they acted in ‘self-defense.’

“Hey,
didn’t you hear him? Where are you staying?” the left guy asked, repeating his
friend’s question.

The alarm
bells in my head went off all at once, as my heart started to thump harder. I
had nothing to hide. I had done nothing wrong. And yet, here I was, being
harassed.

Maybe this
restaurant usually attracted only local clientele.

Maybe those
guys didn’t like Americans.

Maybe women
weren’t supposed to sit by themselves.

Heck, maybe
it was an offense that I didn’t finish my glass of wine.

I shifted
uncomfortably in my seat and regarded them for a split second, unsure how to
deal with the situation. Finally, I decided I was just going to walk away from
a confrontation because, damn it, I had rights.

“None of
your business,” I said through cringed teeth and tried to get up.

“Answer his
question,” the cop said. His hand slammed against the table.

I jumped
up, scared, and almost knocked over my glass of wine.

Whoa.

Did I
detect a hint of a threat in his voice?

And most
importantly, what was happening?

“Where are
you staying?” the guy asked again.

As if I was
so stupid that I’d tell them.

“I’m
staying with my fiancé and his parents, “I lied, trying to infuse some
confidence into my voice.

“You heard
the American,” the cop said to his friends as his arm draped over my shoulders.
“She’s staying with her
fiancé
.” I
could hear the sarcasm in his voice. “There. Was it so hard to answer the
question?”

I
swallowed. “Any other questions? Is this some kind of interrogation?”

“Interrogation?”
He frowned. “Who said anything about an interrogation? We’re just having a
little chat.”

“If you’ll
excuse me. I’m very tired.” I pulled away from the police guy’s grip a little
too forcefully. His eyes narrowed on me. After a short glance to his friends, a
pulse began to pound visibly in his left temple.

Someone couldn’t
cope with rejection. Too bad.

“You
gentlemen have a lovely evening.” I shot them a cold stare and headed out the
door, aware of the venomous looks piercing a hole in my back.

Only after
I was outside, I dared to exhale the breath I didn’t even know I had been
holding. This could have ended badly, so I was glad that I was out of there.
Shaking my head, I started to walk.

I couldn’t
wait to get back to the hotel.

Night had
fallen and the streets had filled with tourists. Making my way back to the
hotel, I pushed my way through the gathered crowds. The moment I walked through
the gate I felt a hard grip on my shoulder.

My heart
stopped dead in my chest. I turned sharply, a startled cry lodged deep within
my throat. But it wasn’t some random guy or a mugger.

It was the
cop from before.

Alone; his
friends nowhere in sight.

“Did you
follow me?” I asked the police guy through gritted teeth, barely able to
contain my flaring temper.

Who did he
think he was, stalking me?

“Show me
your bag,” he demanded.

“What? No
way. It’s my bag.” I clutched it tighter against my chest, instantly fearing he
might be about to rob me, even though that would make no sense. Why would a cop
rob me? Unless he thought I had lots of money, which I didn’t.

“I said
open your bag now.” His hand went to his holster, and my eyes widened at his
threatening tone.

“Okay.” I
spread out my palms. “Just relax, dude.” My fingers shook as I opened my
handbag, exposing its contents for all the world to see. “See. Nothing special.
I’m just a tourist. Not even a rich one.”

He inched
closer to me and grabbed my bag out of my hands. I watched in horror as he
began to spill its contents on the street: my calendar, my lipstick, a mirror.

“You don’t
call this nothing?” He picked up something white.

A card.

On it was a
stripper, or maybe not a stripper, but someone who was naked. And a number.

I stared at
it, unsure. Where did I get that? I couldn’t remember.

“Interesting,”
he said and flipped it over. Now I saw what he saw.

It was a
card from some sex worker or a pimp.

Even though
the text was in Spanish, I was sure that I wasn’t wrong.

“Um”—I
stared at it, taken aback—“That’s not mine.”

“Does it
matter? All that matters is that it was inside
your
bag.” A strange smile played across his lips.

My eyes
narrowed as realization dawned on me. “You son of a bitch.
You
put it there.”

“I want to
see you proving that, my little American friend.” His grin widened as he turned
me around.

His hands
on me sent my pulse racing, and not in a good way. My heart jumped into my throat.
I opened my mouth to protest, but the shock coursing through me rendered me
speechless.

“You’re
coming with me.” His left hand wandered down my arm to my wrists and he held
them in front of me as his right hand fidgeted at his back. “I’ll teach you to
be reasonable.”

“Let go of
me,” I screeched, struggling in his grip. I didn’t realize what he was doing
until cold metal snapped around my wrists, the pressure both painful and
surprisingly numbing.

I blinked
in disbelief as I peered down at the handcuffs. Was he arresting me?

“What
the—” My words died in my throat as I was pulled forward toward the
waiting police car and pushed into the backseat.

“You need
to come with us on suspicion of soliciting a client and working as a prostitute
without a valid work permit,” the police guy said and slammed the door behind
me.

Fuck!

I had heard
of situations like this. People were wrongfully incarcerated. Or kidnapped. Or
worse. Why the hell was this happening to me? My breath hitched as my throat
constricted with panic.

“I didn’t
solicit anyone. I’m a US citizen on vacation. Let me out,” I screamed and
kicked in my seat, ready to draw as much attention to myself as possible.
Onlookers had gathered around us, their cell phones suspiciously raised. The
videos were probably being uploaded to YouTube that very instant.

My only
chance.

I pressed
my palms against the window and opened my mouth to explain my situation when
the car sped off, siren blaring and all.

Crap.

Double
crap.

Remember
when I’d said earlier that I doubted any other man could be worse than Chase?
Well, I wished I hadn’t said that. Turned out that wasn’t true at all.

Shit.

Why did I
have
to go for the little black number I
was wearing?