RICHARD (A BAD BOY ROMANCE) (54 page)

I cleared my throat and straightened
my blouse before addressing him again. “Is there a reason you’ve broken into my
office at the godforsaken hours of the morning?”

“Well, when I broke into your
apartment you weren’t there,” he said, his admittance of his own wrongdoing had
me boiling again already, and yet that errant bad boy, blasé attitude that he
always seemed to flout also had a more… arousing effect, as well. “I thought
that if you weren’t at home then you’d be at this posh new office of yours,
working until the break of dawn. That was always the way you did things, after
all. Valedictorian. Top of your class, and all that.”

I hated how after all of this time
he still could affect me in the most intimate ways, simply by being in my
presence. I wanted to slap him with all my strength.

“What do you want, Tristan?” I
asked, folding my arms over my chest, staring daggers at him from across the
room. He was so gorgeous I couldn’t deny how I’d want to drag him back to my
flat and tear every bit of those clothes off. It was too bad I also wanted to
put him through a blender and burn him in an incinerator. Why did we always
crave the people who had always been the worst for us?

“I need your help, otherwise I
wouldn’t be breaking in like some common criminal,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“If you’d have answered me, then I
would have opened the bloody door!”

“But that wouldn’t have been any
fun,” he sighed, shaking his head. The urge to punch him only rose higher
inside of me. He was such a damned asshole that I could hardly stand it.

“What could I possibly do to help
you,
Tristan? You’ve never needed my
help in the past. Why start now?” I set my jaw, my eyebrows furrowed in an
attempt to look stern, though every time I looked into those gorgeous eyes I
wanted to melt into the floor.

“Because I need something that only
you can help me with,
Gwennie
.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, my
cheeks filling with color. “I told you
never
to call me that!”

“Which is why I do it,” he said in a
sing-song voice. I wanted to scream.

“You’re not making a good case to
get my help, Tristan. Whether we’re family or not, I don’t like being toyed
with,” I said. “If you want to do business, then we’ll talk business. No
games.”

I watched as his perfectly groomed
eyebrows rose, and a shocking expression of...
admiration
spread across his face before his shoulders slumped ever
so slightly. If I wasn’t so determined to be the kind of hard-ass who could
stand up to him, I would have been surprised… and practically drooling at the
way he looked in that suit.

“Sorry,
Gwendolyn
,” he began, clearing his throat. “I really do need your
help.”

“With what, exactly?” I asked,
narrowing my eyes. “You’ve never needed my help before—for anything. What’s so
different?”

“I need to get married.”

My heart flipped and forgot to flop.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked, slowly lowering myself back down into my office
chair. I didn’t want him to show it, but those simple words had me shaking.
Tristan wanted to get married? But what in the world for? He’d never wanted to
be tied down—he’d even decried marriage to be archaic and backwards, an institution
that should have been left behind in the Middle Ages. “What in the world would
you need to get married for?”

“Because I actually want to claim my
inheritance, Gwendolyn,” he said, no shortage of edge to his voice. His
expression soured suddenly and he began to pace.

“I thought that you were already set
to inherit,” I said, frowning as I leaned forward, elbows on my desk. “I mean,
I know that with the new boy there’s a second heir, but you’d have priority as
your father’s eldest son, wouldn’t you? I thought that was how this all
worked.”

“It would be exactly that… if I was
my father’s legitimate son.”

I leaned back, eyes wide as Tristan
locked his gaze with mine. I’d known that Tristan’s mother had died in
childbirth, but that he was born out of wedlock was something I’d never known.
Though as I allowed that information to sink in, things began to make more and
more sense, especially Lord Wolfe’s general coldness toward Tristan for all the
years I’d known them.

“I never knew you were a…”

“_‘
Bastard’ is the common term,” he
said, shrugging in an attempt to seem nonchalant, though by the sour expression
on his face I could tell that the term bothered him. “I am my father’s by-blow
from his days as a stallion, bedding women left and right through his years in
college. My mother being one of many—though the only one that he managed to get
pregnant.”

“Surely, he took responsibility—” I
began, though Tristan’s sharp, barking laugh cut me off.

“Only because he was pressured,” he
said, his tone scornful. “My father didn’t care much for the idea of caring for
his illegitimate child any more than I liked being under his watchful gaze. I
was more than happy to see him leave for London on business while I stayed
behind.”

“And now, with the child on the way,
you need to cement your position as the heir to his legacy,” I said, turning my
gaze away from him for fear that my thoughts might again wander to more
unseemly places. “Which is why you need my help.”

“Spot on,” he replied, that smirk
returning as though it had never left. “I need to be married to a respectable
woman—an honest man with a family of his own.”

“I have a feeling that you might not
get the results that you’re expecting from this, Tristan. I don’t just try to
set up marriages, I try to encourage actual relationships. I mean, if you’re
expecting to marry this woman in a matter of weeks or months, then I don’t
think this is—”

“Let me worry about that,” he said,
waving his hand dismissively. “After all is there a woman alive who can resist
a man like me?”

I
have
, I thought, though I fought the
urge to give in to that stunning smile whenever I saw him. I could already feel
my heart fluttering, my pulse rising just from the way he moved and spoke.
Maybe this was the best thing that I could do for him—and me.

If Tristan was married off, then
he’d be gone and out of my hair. I’d be free from the constant temptation to
maul my own stepbrother, begging him to ravage me just like I’d dreamed of. I
licked my lips nervously. This might be the answer to my problem—a permanent
solution to something I’d thought solved years ago. Though part of me cursed
the thought I’d never get what I’d always desired—desired, but knew that I
could never possess.

“All right,” I said after a brief
silence. “I’ll help you, but first we have to get a few questions out of the
way.”

“And before that,” Tristan said,
coming just a little too close to me, that smarmy grin on his handsome face, “I
think your big brother could do with a hug.”

Chapter 4

“Come here,” I said as I walked
around her desk, my arms spread wide to envelop her in a hug.

I was honestly surprised she’d even
agreed to my insane plan, much less the prospect of finding me a wife in such
short order. To be truthful I was hardly sure whether my plan would work at
all, but I knew little
Gwennie
liked a challenge.
Especially when it involved matters of the heart.

“I—no! Tristan I can’t—” she tried
to say as I pulled her into a tight embrace. I could feel her body tensing as I
pulled her against me, and I distinctly hear her let out a little gasp. More
like a squeak, really—that same mousy sound she used to make whenever I got too
close, like that night in the kitchen before I left for Afghanistan. She’d been
making that sound, and so many more, and as soon as I heard it, something dark
and primal pulsed through my groin. Was Gwen still hot for me after all this
time?

Interesting
, I thought, trying to hide the
smirk on my face. Knowing my goody two-shoes stepsister still wanted me was validating,
to say the least. And intriguing…

“Have a seat, please,” she said, her
voice stiff as I pulled out of the embrace. Her face was flushed as she tried
to straighten her outfit, her hands trembling. I knew I had a mission—a goal
that all of this was for—but seeing Gwen after all of this time brought back
the thoughts I’d get when I caught her staring at me as we grew up. She’d been
so awkward, all arms and legs as a teen, but about the time she turned eighteen
something had happened. All of a sudden she had curves and an ass that I would
have killed to get my hands on. All of this, however, was stymied by the fact
that on no circumstances was I allowed to lay a land on sweet little
Gwennie
, no matter how much I would have liked to. She was
my stepsister, and the scandal alone would have gotten me disowned right before
it gave my father a coronary.

That only served to make me want it
more.

“I have a few questions I need to
ask you before we can get you matched with one of the women I have on our client
list. Just standard personality question on what you’re looking for in a
match,” she said, clicking a few times on her mouse.

“Ask away,” I said, leaning back in
the comfortable office chair opposite her. “I’m an open book.”

“Two open for his Lordship’s liking,
I would say,” Gwen whispered, though must have realized how loudly she’d said
it all too late. “I… I mean…”

“It’s all right,” I assured her,
smiling a bit as I relaxed. “I know very well what my father thinks of me.”

Gwendolyn must have gotten more than
her share of tirades about my behavior after I provided scandal after scandal
for the entertainment of the country. It was one of my favorite pastimes, to be
quite honest; often, I would wonder how much I would have to do in order to put
my father into an early grave.

My stepsister shifted in her seat
before clearing her throat.

“Are you looking for a woman who is
among the aristocracy?” she asked, trying to refocus herself back onto the task
at hand. It was almost adorable the way she tried not to think about how much
she still wanted me.

“Not necessarily, but I wouldn’t be
opposed, no,” I said, my eyes trailing over the line of her blouse, imagining
the way she looked naked. “So long as they didn’t have their head up their
ass.”

“Any interests you’d like to share
with your potential matches?”

“Well, I do love a good football
match,” I said, smirking as I watched her eyes flicking toward me every now and
then from her screen. “And I suppose a healthy enjoyment of literature is a bit
of a must-have. After that, maybe an enjoyment of classical music.”

“When have you ever liked
literature?” she asked, her eyebrows raised incredulously.

“Since always and forever, my dear
stepsister,” I said, my grin widening as her substantial shock to such news.
“It’s always been one of my secret loves.”

In
fact
I’d
gotten top marks in every literature course since primary school, a fact that
my father never once gave one lick of attention to. He’d have much rather focus
on my failings than congratulate me for my accomplishments.

She blushed deeply and cleared her
throat again, trying not to let her mind dwell too long on the fact that I was
sitting here while she was almost drunk off of her ass. I wondered just how
easily it would be to get her to take those clothes off. I knew I could if I
tried, and I knew that I’d have enjoyed it… but there was another task at hand.
As much as I wanted to claim Gwendolyn, I knew business had to come first, and
sadly, a sense of propriety along with it.

“Any preferred physical type?” she
asked, swallowing thickly as I considered.

“A redhead, preferably. A woman
who’s about my height—maybe slightly shorter—curvy rather than skinny, I
think,” I said, pondering just what I’d always fancied in the women I’d bedded
countless times.

“I see,” she said, her cheeks still
flushed a nice rosy pink with embarrassment. “I think that’s about all that I
have right now… If I need to narrow things down a little more, then I’ll
contact you.”

“Sounds like a plan, then,” I said,
smirking as I stood slowly from my chair. “I hope I’ll hear from you soon
then.”

“I’ll try to get you a match by
tomorrow evening and arrange a date for the two of you,” Gwendolyn said, rising
as I did and offering her hand awkwardly. “After that, we’ll see where everything
goes.”

“I’ll be eagerly awaiting your call,
my dearest
Gwennie
,” I said smirking as I watched her
face redden with annoyance. “Yes, I know, ‘don’t call you
Gwennie
.
’_”

“Goodnight, Tristan,” she said,
summoning some resolve after my purposeful little jab.

“Goodnight, Gwendolyn” I said as I
turned and walked out of her office and into the night. I couldn’t help but
chuckle as I walked a few blocks out alone in the early hours of the morning,
enjoying the crisp night air as I gathered my thoughts.

I thought about the days when
Gwendolyn and I were younger, teens who would have liked nothing more than to
have never known one another, yet secretly harbored an unforgivable lust for
each other—though “secret” could have been a strong term. I used to catch her
staring at me all the time, her pale cheeks made rosy by all the naughty
thoughts I was sure were running through her brain.

I happily recalled the night before
I’d left for Afghanistan, the way she felt underneath my touch as I slipped her
cami
up her body. The way she’d writhed for me, her
lashes fluttering, her fingernails dug in to the palms of her quaking hands.
Was my
Gwennie
still a virgin? Part of me—a very
southward
part of me—was desperate to
know, and had been ever since I left her dripping wet the night before my
deployment.

Oh, what a dolt I was back then. I’d
made assumptions about her character, writing Gwendolyn off as a girl who was
just the same as any other I’d seduced. But she was stronger than that, not at
all the shade of her mother I’d imagined she’d turn out to be. As punishment
for my pride, I’d spent years wondering what it would have been like to have had
her, to have consummated our forbidden affair. I wondered if I’d ever get the
chance to know.

I also wondered if she even realized
that the perfect match I’d described to her back there in her office fit her to
a “T.”