DIrty Dark Deceit: A Criminal Bad Boy Standalone Read online

  “Oh yeah? Coming from you. The guy who's probably broken more hearts than you care to remember.”

  A crease forms between his eyes. “I'm always honest about what I'm offering a girl. If she wants more than that then-” He sits up, shrugging “- I can't be held responsible.”

  I let out a humourless laugh.”That's exactly it. Guys like you take absolutely no responsibility for hurting women. You act like they're the one, swooning all over them, telling them they're the most beautiful woman in the world and the next morning you're gone like a bat out of hell.”

  “Hey, I respect women, alright? Just because I fuck a lot, doesn't mean I don't like women.”

  “Oh so what are you, a feminist?” I say dryly, scowling at him. “You know you're good looking and you use that to manipulate women into falling for you, just so you can get into their knickers. And I can guarantee when they ask for more from you, you cut them off, never to be seen again.”

  He stands and I'm reminded of just how huge a guy he is.

  Wonky dick. Wonky dick. Wonky dick.

  I take a wary step back, folding my arms. “You know I'm right.”

  “Do you wanna know how many of the women I've fucked have asked to see me outside of the bedroom?” He takes a step closer and I stand my ground this time.

  “How many?” I humour him.

  “Zero. Fuck all. Because I told them straight up I wasn't interested in dating them. You think all women are so desperate to find a guy to settle down with? Well wake up, sweetheart, this is 2017. Women want sex as much as men do. And they are perfectly capable of having no strings attached relationships like I am.”

  My mouth parts. I feel a little like I've been slapped in the face.

  ”Oh,” I breathe, unsure what else to say.

  “Yeah. Oh.” He shakes his head at me. “Stop hiding from men, Darcy. Who gives a fuck if they look at you?”

  I drop my eyes, shaking my head, totally exposed. “I don't trust myself.”

  His hand slides under my chin, tilting my head back so I have to look at him. “Well start, sweetheart. Because you can't keep living life like men don't exist.”

  “You don't get it.” I jerk away, reaching for my bag and taking out my hair serum. I don't need this shit. The last person I want to discuss my past with is him.

  “I do get it,” he insists. “You got hurt. You don't want to let anyone close again in case you lose them.”

  I shrug at his words, making a fuss of rubbing the serum through my hair before pulling it up into a ponytail. “It's more than that. I despise who I was back then, back when I was in a relationship. I can't ever become that again.”

  His hand slides onto my shoulder and my body responds on cue, tingles exploding across my skin. “You've changed, Darcy. You left the guy, that means you chose a different life. A different you. Do you really think you'd let any guy walk all over you now? Look at you, you put me in my place every single time I even step a toe out of line.”

  His tone makes me laugh and I turn to him, giving him a shy smile, forgetting for a moment the sort of guy that he is. “I guess I do.”

  “Yeah, and if you keep whipping my ass into shape, you're gonna make a new man out of me.” He grins his boyish grin and I relax.

  Figuring he's probably hating spending time with me as much as I am him, I decide to try and build bridges.“I suppose you're alright as you are...sometimes.”

  His grin grows. “No way. Was that a compliment from Darcy tight-ass Jenkins?”

  “I'm not a tight ass,” I snap, irritated again. God, he's infuriating. Just because I have standards, that does not make me a tight ass.

  “Come on then, prove it.” He snatches my wrist, tugging me toward the door.

  “What? Where are we going?”

  “Out,” he says simply. “I wanna see what you look like with your hair down.” As if to make his point, he tugs my ponytail free.

  “Hey,” I rebuke and he lifts a brow, his expression heart-meltingly hot.

  “I thought you weren't a tight ass?”

  I take a breath, slowly letting it go.

  “I'm not,” I say airily, grabbing the hair tie from him and putting it on my wrist. He wants relaxed? I'll show him relaxed. I stuff my feet into my pumps by the door and follow him outside.

  “My hair's wet,” I say doubtfully and he glances at me.

  “Leave it. You look hot.”

  “Oh,” I breathe, trying not to let the compliment effect me. It doesn't work, a rush of heat sliding down my spine. He's a pro at this with his beautiful face and slanted smile. It's like he's designed to lure women in – vampire alert. My body is as susceptible to him as any other woman's. Luckily for me, though, I have my head screwed on right (and the 'wonky dick' image is definitely helping).

  We walk down the road, finding a bar and a few shops in a ring around a car park. Logan leads me to the bar, his hand clamped firmly around my wrist. I'm determined to show him I can be chilled out. I'm not going to give him any reason to ridicule me tonight.

  We enter the bar which is dingy with dirty red carpet and the stale smell of spilt beer in the air. Three old men are dotted around the room, all looking about as jolly as a lump of rock.

  Logan strides up to the bar, apparently not fazed by our surroundings.

  “Four shots of tequila,” he orders and the barman glances up, seeming surprised that anyone's here. Logan shoots me a challenging stare. “Unless you have a problem with that?”

  I set my jaw, fighting the knot in my chest that would normally stop me from acting so recklessly.

  “Nope,” I say lightly, taking a seat at the bar.

  “Coming up,” the barman says in a French accent, his English evidently good enough for 'four shots' as he pours us the tequila, lays wedges of lemon on top of them and passes us a salt shaker.

  My stomach hardens into a ball.

  Oh god, we're really doing this.

  I lick my hand, reminded of my university days. I haven't done shots since then. And that was, what, four years ago now?

  I shake the salt onto my wet hand and Logan mimics me, his tongue on his hand a heady distraction.

  “Sure you wanna do this, tight ass?” he asks, lifting up his shot and taking the lemon wedge in his free hand.

  “Stop calling me that,” I say as lightly as I can, picking up a shot and lemon slice.

  I raise my glass to his, clinking it, keeping my eyes trained on him as I knock it back and stuff the lemon in my mouth. Bitter juices explodes over my taste buds but it's miles better than the burn of the tequila.

  “Urgh.” I wrinkle my nose and Logan grins at me.

  “Another?” He holds the second out to me, looking amused as hell.

  “Please,” I say through my teeth, pretending to smile.

  I knock the tequila back, not waiting for him this time and sucking on the lemon to dull the fiery sensation in my throat.

  He tips his shot down his throat, leaving the lemon on the side and waving to the barman. “Four more.”

  “Logan,” I hiss, my pulse rising. Is he kidding me with this?

  “Yes?” He raises a brow, giving me a look that dares me to object and prove I'm a tight ass.

  I fight the urge to rebuke him, my chest constricting.

  I can do this.

  “I'd like a beer, too. Coroner,” I order, flashing him a fake smile. The tequila swims in my tummy, sending heat through my body in waves.

  “Make that two,” Logan tells the barman who looks like he's enjoying being busy for the first time in days.

  I swirl the lime around in the top of my Coroner before pushing it into the bottle, taking a sip. Logan eyes my mouth as I swallow, making my cheeks grow hot. I tear my gaze away from his penetrating expression, saving myself.

  As the barman places the shots down, Logan wordlessly slides mine toward me.

  “To letting your hair down.” He gives me a challenging look, raising his glass.

  “To wipin
g that smirk off your face.” I lift my glass, giving him an equally daring look.

  After the fourth shot, my head spins and I nearly slip off my stool as I reach for my Coroner.

  Logan places a hand on my back. “You alright there, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, thanks.” I give him a bright smile and it's not forced for once. Probably because it's tequila-induced.

  “You have a beautiful smile.” His voice lowers and I'm very almost sucked in by his tone.

  I spit air through my teeth. “How often has that line worked for you?”

  He swigs his beer, grinning. “Nearly every time.”

  I jab my finger into his chest and it bends like a paper-clip on a rock. “You are a pig.”

  “So you keep telling me.” He takes my wrist, standing and pulling me across the room toward a dusty-looking duke box.

  “Music...” He takes some change from his pocket, pushing it into the slot. “Pick a song.”

  I move closer, choosing 'You're so vane' and giving him a pointed look. He laughs, taking my hand and twirling me. I let go of him as I twist, nearly spinning into a table where one of the old men is sitting. He eyes me keenly, placing his newspaper down like a statue brought to life.

  I giggle, running back to Logan and pressing my forehead to his chest. His hand skims down my spine in a slow movement, sending a shiver through my entire body. I'm sure he feels it, drawing me closer so I'm flush against him.

  I glance up, getting lost in his deep blue eyes. Oh no...alcohol and a beautiful man...

  “I think you've forgotten how wild you are, Darcy,” he says in a low voice, cupping my cheek. “And I'm eager to remind you.”

  I shut my eyes, frowning, his words scraping at my soul. I know I've become hard-hearted, but he doesn't know me. And he certainly doesn't know what I was like before.

  “Not wild...weak,” I correct, sliding a hand around his waist. Every inch my fingers touch meets hard muscle.

  He shakes his head. “You can be who you are and still be strong too.”

  I lift a hand, pressing my fingers to his lips. “Stop. I don't want to talk about it.”

  He nods then kisses my fingers, grazing his mouth over the tips. He might as well be kissing my inner thighs for the effect it has on me, sending waves of heat through my body. He's so very good at this.

  I extract my hand, dropping it limply to my side. “Stop,” I repeat.

  “I don't want to stop.” He dips his head, his mouth millimetres from mine.

  The door opens and a couple of guys walk in, talking loudly. I snap out of Logan's hypnotic hold on me and turn toward the noise.

  “Oi oi!” one of them shouts, his bald head tattooed with a large spiderweb. “Get a room,” he hollers at us in an east London accent.

  Great. The yobs of England have followed us all the way to France. I step out of Logan's hold, moving back to where our beers are sitting on the bar.

  “Where you from, darlin'?” the other guy asks me, his big gut pressing against the barstool next to mine. He's tall and bulky, more meat than muscle with a thick neck and shock of red hair.

  “London,” I say vaguely, turning to face Logan.

  His shoulders are rigid as he approaches me, resting a hand down on the bar and grabbing his beer with the other.

  “London, she says,” he mutters to his friend, mimicking me. “Posh, ain't she?”

  Logan glares at them over my head and I rest a hand on his forearm. “Maybe we should go?”

  “We're not going anywhere,” he growls and tension crackles through the air.

  Trust Logan to be the alpha male type. There's no way he's going to back down here.

  “You hear him, Jim? They ain't goin' anywhere.”

  I swivel around, glaring at the men to back off.

  Logan's hand presses down on my shoulder. “Do we have a problem here?” he asks in a calm tone. Much calmer than I would be addressing them.

  Spider-web cracks his neck, flicking his eyes up and down Logan. “Not unless you want one, mate.”

  I sip my beer, jabbing Logan in the side. “Just ignore them.”

  He sinks down onto his stool, his chest puffed out, his arm muscles tense. I push his beer toward him, hoping to ease the tension.

  “Chill out,” I tease and he meets my eyes at last, his shoulders dropping an inch.

  “Alright,” he concedes, sipping his beer.

  We slip into a conversation about my old job, working at the bank under Lidia. Logan's surprisingly content to listen to me, asking questions and probing for details like he genuinely cares.

  After a few pints, the men get even louder, making it difficult for us to ignore them any longer.

  “Hey mate,” Jim addresses Logan. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi your girlfriend?”

  Irritation flashes through me and I snap around. “That doesn't even make any sense.”

  Jim pumps his arms, thrusting his hips at me. “It means I want to shag you silly.”

  Before I can do so much as take a breath, Logan launches at him. His fist connects with Jim's jaw before I've barely registered what's happened.

  Jim falls to the floor and his friend dives at Logan, shoving him, knotting his shirt in his meaty fists.

  “Sors! No fighting in my bar! Get out! Sors!” the barman roars.

  I jump down from my seat, hurrying to Logan's side and grabbing his arm. Jim flies to his feet, taking a swing at Logan's ribs whilst he's distracted. He grunts as Jim's fist connects, then grabs him by the collar, forcing him back against a table.

  “Sors!” the barman repeats, pointing to the door.

  “Logan, please. Leave it,” I beg, adrenaline spiking through me. This is madness!

  Logan shoves Jim down into a booth, straightening and brushing the creases out of his shirt. Taking my arm, he drags me outside, his brow heavily furrowed.

  “Sorry,” he grunts and I link my arm through his. A feminine blush heats my cheeks, the type I think cave women would have had when they watched men fight over them.

  “It's fine. Are you okay?”

  He glances down at me, his eyes softening to eggshell blue. “Perfect, sweetheart.”

  We walk back to the motel and Logan takes my hand, winding his fingers into mine. Sparks fly over my skin as I gaze down at our knotted fingers. I feel incredibly aware of sharing a room with this man tonight. And I don't know if I can control myself around him. My head is swimmy, my willpower at an all time low. The wonky dick image is no longer working. Right now, I'd take wonky with pleasure.

  We walk toward our room and Logan breaks contact with me, heading toward a fancy-looking car parked a few lots down from his SUV.

  He releases a low whistle as I join his side.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Aston Martin DB9.”

  “Like in James Bond?”

  He gives me a surprised look. “Exactly like that. But what's this car doing at a shitty motel like this?”

  “Even rich people gotta sleep.” I shrug.

  He grabs my hips, lifting me suddenly and planting me on the bonnet. He steps between my legs, grinning at me mischievously.

  I gasp, my pulse rising. “Logan, this car is probably worth a fortune.”

  “About 200 grand to be exact.” He rests his palms either side of me, leaning in close to my mouth. “But I've got a feeling you're worth more, sweetheart.”

  I don't know if it's the alcohol or the adrenaline or the way he calls me sweetheart, but I come undone.

  I press my lips to his, just a hesitant brush, tasting the line between good and bad. And he's bad, very, very bad.

  Logan grabs my waist, dragging me closer. He groans, biting my lower lip before invading my mouth with his tongue.

  “Darcy,” he sighs, kissing me again and again, taking control.

  I don't let myself think about what I'm doing, getting lost in how good his tongue feels against mine, stroking, exploring.

  He holds my hips, his fingers d
igging in, sliding down my skirt to my thighs, painting circles on my skin.

  “Logan,” I warn, breathless as he dips his head to my neck, kissing and sucking, sending electricity racing through my body.

  It feels so good. It's so long since I've been touched like this. But doubt crawls into the corners of my mind. I should stop this.

  As he reaches my collar bone, I moan. A whole year without having sex has left me so tightly wound I feel like a spool of twine, desperate to be unravelled. Logan responds to my moans by slipping his hand under my skirt, the simple touch making me throb with heat.

  I just want to forget everything for tonight. I long to be taken by another man, to shake Daniel from my body for good. Locking my legs around Logan's waist, I claw my hands into his hair and force his mouth against mine again, giving him permission to continue.

  His hand slides willing up my thigh, taking hold of my knickers, hooking his finger under the lace.

  “Are you sure you want this?” he pants, his body tense as he fights his urges. I'm surprised he took a moment to check. Maybe he's not all bad. Maybe some angry sex would ease the tension between us. Maybe, right now, I don't care either way.

  I nod and he drags my knickers down my legs – not boxer briefs - his eyes dark and scorching as he surveys me.

  There's one street light at the edge of the car park illuminating him in a halo, making him appear as a dark shadow before me.

  He forces against me, pushing my skirt under my bum so the cold bonnet bites my skin.

  As I cling to Logan's neck, forgetting the world, I kiss him with languid strokes of my tongue. His belt clinks as he opens it and adrenaline sparks through me, my tummy flipping over. Despite the alcohol, I'm nervous as hell. This guy has had a lot of women and I've not had sex in a long time. What if I've forgotten how to do this?

  He takes hold of my waist, tilting me back. I lock my ankles behind his back, drawing him closer. As he takes out his cock, I'm basically confronted with a masterpiece. And it's not just huge, it's straight as a ruler and pointing right at me. Oh holy hell.

  Holding me with one hand, he skilfully removes a condom from his wallet with the other, ripping it open with his teeth.

  Oh fuck.

  My body trembles as he leans down, readying himself for me. I feel him press the head of his erection against my entrance and my thighs quake.