A Baby for the Bad Boy (A Bad Boy Romance: Dominick and Linden, book THREE) (3 page)

She hopped on the back of my bike and we headed away from the hospital. I heard her ask me where we were going, but I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t want to give her a chance to say no.

I was taking her home, to my place.

I couldn’t stomach the thought of her out of my sight, and even though I knew we were only headed down a road that could ultimately lead to her destruction, and yet I couldn’t let her go.

We zig zagged through the streets, traffic was light and thinned out the closer we got to my penthouse.

I lived in the nice part of town, the nicest part really. My family money had allowed me to purchase the penthouse of a thirty story residential tower tucked up near the mountains.

I had a three hundred and sixty degree view from those mountains to the city lights below.

I roared the Harley through the garage doors as they opened and down into my own private parking deep beneath the city streets.

I pulled into a space at the bike end of the garage, my Harley collection rivaling that of any biker’s fantasy, and killed the engine.

“This is it, darlin,” I said and pulled my helmet off.

She slid off the bike behind me and said, “Where is this?”

“My place, I can’t take you back to yours until Lee and his crew are taken care of. There’s no way you’d be safe.”

“I’ll be find, my parents will worry about me.”

“Text them and let them know you’ve got a late night at the hospital or something.”

I laughed, “My mom doesn’t text.”

“Then call, do whatever you need to do, but you’re staying with me.”

“Here?” she asked, looking around. “I didn’t bring anything.”

“I’ve got extras,” I told her. “My guest room is fully stocked. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna be that guy.”

“What guy?” she asked on our way to the elevator.

“The guy who drags you up to his place and has his way with you,” I replied as we got in. I hit the penthouse button and she laughed.

“What if I want you to be that guy?”

“Then I’d say you don’t know what you’re talking about. That guy is a pig, who would use you and abuse you and send you packing,” I said.

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t use or abuse me?” she asked hesitantly, glancing nervously up at me.

“I might use you and abuse you,” I told her, hooking my finger under her chin and bringing her face up to see me. “But you would enjoy every minute of it, darlin.”

“Would you send me packing?” she asked, her face fierce and defiant, daring me to say it.

“If we got to that point, I would never let you go.”

She tilted her face towards me, wanting a kiss.

I leaned over her, wanting to kiss her so badly my cock ached for it, for the simple touch of her lips on mine.

The elevator stopped and the door slid open, ending the moment before it began.

Thankfully.

If I went down that road with Linden, I knew it wouldn’t end well. I had too many enemies for it to end well.

We stepped through the foyer to my apartment and I heard her gasp.

Linden was so reserved and seemed so self possessed that I often forgot the place she came from, where she’d grown up.

She had class that many women from money even lacked. Education, schooling, socializing, none of it could buy you the kind of poise that Linden carried.

She’d probably never been in something like this, such a beautiful and expensive suite, and I’d forgotten that.

“You like?” I asked, shrugging out of my jacket and tossing it on a chair nearby.

“This is all yours?” she asked in a breathy tone. “Jesus, Dom, I knew you had money but this is like fucking rich bastard kind of money.”

“My family was wealthy, you must have heard of the Carters around town. You know, Carter Towers down in the financial district?”

“I never made the connection for some reason. I never thought that such rich folks would be involved in shit like running guns or strip clubs. Shouldn’t you be on a golf course somewhere making back end business deals with your father’s cronies? Or in some frat house at Harvard, stuffing hundred dollar bills in some stripper’s G-string?”

“That kind of thing bores me, darlin,” I grinned at her and took her backpack, setting it on a table in the entrance of my penthouse. “And to be honest, I’d rather be involved in the kinds of things that make fast cash off the books. Paying taxes makes me break out in hives, and my father’s cronies are as boring as shit.”

“So you don’t need to do the things you do, but you do them anyways. I can’t imagine living like that.”

“It helps me get by, day to day.”

She shook her head and looked me up and down. “It’s insane. All I ever wanted was to have a quiet life with my family. Become a nurse, maybe settle down. If it weren’t for money, I never would have come with you, but I’m desperate. It’s crazy to me that you seek that kind of thing out, that you want to do it.”

“Come on now, darlin,” I said, smiling lazily at her, “you must admit it to yourself that you got a thrill from helping me that day. That even though your little college pal was hit, being part of a drive by got you all revved up like nobody’s business.”

She frowned, bit her lower lip and actually stomped her foot. “That’s not fair, that was adrenaline.”

“Exactly,” I chuckled, “that adrenaline is what gets me going and keeps me going back. I told you, once you start doing things like this, it gets addictive.”

“I’m not exactly addicted, I just need the money and I happen to find you very–”

“Very what?” I asked with my brow raised.

She blushed and looked away. “Do you have a washroom…or two or three?”

“I have eight actually, but you can use the one down the hall there, on the right.”

I watched her ass as she sauntered down to the bathroom. My cock twitched and hardened at the sight of it, a perfect inverted heart, her short skirt swinging as she walked.

I imagined what it would be like, to drag that skirt up over her hips and fuck her senseless.

I shuddered and went to the kitchen, ran my hand under ice cold water to calm myself down, to focus my energy on protecting Linden and not dragging her into my messed up life.

“Making me dinner?” she asked as she strolled into the room.

“Maybe, what do you like?” I asked her, turning the water off and drying my hand. She looked at me quizzically as I did so, I didn’t offer an explanation, what could I say?

“Anything edible,” she replied with a grin. “I called my mom, by the way. I’m good for the night but I have to get back in the morning. It’s my turn to…”

She trailed off. “To what?” I asked.

She seemed reluctant to finish her sentence so I prodded. “What are you doing tomorrow, Linden?”

“It’s my father, I need to look after him in the morning. Every Wednesday I relieve the nurse attendant while my mother goes into work.”

“Your father is ill?” I asked. My mind was racing now, wondering if this was the source of her desperation for money.

“He is,” she said, “Listen, I don’t like to talk about this. Could we just dive into making something to eat? Maybe we can discuss it over dinner.”

“Fair enough,” I replied and walked to my fridge, opened it and started listing ingredients in a high pitched British accent.

I realized at that point that it wasn’t worth it to press her for information. Linden was the type of woman who would clam up if she felt backed into a corner.

I didn’t want that. Either way this played out, whether I fucked her senseless or cut her off for her own safety, I wanted her feeling confident and relaxed around me. I had a feeling that Linden had spent a lot of her life on the outside feeling unimportant. I wanted her to feel important.

“I didn’t realize I was cooking with Chef Ramsay,” she giggled when I handed her a few items, fresh vegetables and a brick of hard Parmesan cheese.

“Not Chef, but I do like to make my own food from time to time,” I smiled and started making her a simple pasta dish with seafood and a decent white wine.

She chatted throughout the entire time, walked around the apartment and looked at my choice of furnishings and artwork, exclaimed and then was quiet, like she was in a museum.

I felt oddly self-conscious, as though I didn’t want her to evaluate me and find me lacking.

It was a strange feeling, being vulnerable emotionally around a woman, and I wasn’t entirely sure how much I liked it.

I did like her gorgeous ass and the deer-like way she walked, carefully putting one foot in front of the other.

God she was magnificent, and the more we talked, the more wine flowed, and the more time she was in my presence, the more I leaned to the side of fucking her.

Erring on the side of caution for her safety didn’t seem half as important as overcoming the ache I had inside, the ache that would only be alleviated once I plunged myself deep inside of her and had her at last.

“Are you sure you’ve had enough?” Dom asked me before clearing away my plate. He was being the consummate gentleman, and I could finally see his wealthy upbringing shining through.

It was apparently in all his artwork, his taste in decorating, even just the location of his penthouse. I couldn’t even fathom how much his place would have cost, it was worth millions more than our shabby little place.

Even his dining table and cutlery, it all felt weighted with wealth, everything in his penthouse felt expensive.

Except for me.

Being here among his things, in his world, it made me feel ugly and out of place. I could feel at home on the back of his bike, in Fat Boys pub, even running guns with him, I felt normal when he was being a gritty, bad ass biker.

It was here that I felt out of place, among his beautiful, fancy things, next to him as a gentleman. He was all good manners and grace, kind and soft around me when he was in his element.

It was unsettling, it made me feel big and ungainly, clumsy and poor.

“I couldn’t eat another thing or I’ll explode,” I said, rubbing my belly. “That was amazing though.”

“More wine?” he asked, holding the second bottle out over my glass. I smiled and tilted it to be filled again.

It was delicious, much better than the cheap super market wine I’d had in my life so far. I’d never understood what the big deal about wine was until now.

I took a sip, swirled it around my mouth and swallowed. I looked up and noticed him watching me with a crooked smile.

“What?” I asked, my face heating up and going red again. I wondered if there was ever a time I wouldn’t feel awkward around him.

“You’re adorable,” he said, “you look like you really enjoy that. The look on your face is pure bliss.”

“It is really tasty,” I replied, looking down.

He took the dishes to the sink and started washing them. I stood up and moved to help him, but he turned around and said, “Don’t even think about it. You take yourself and that glass of wine and go run yourself a bubble bath. The guest suite is down the same hall as the washroom, but the door at the very end. There’s a private washroom with a soaker tub overlooking the city. Go, relax, darlin. You’ll feel better for it.”

“I don’t mind helping,” I said but secretly hoped he would turn me down. The bath sounded perfect, but I couldn’t help myself, I’d spent my entire life helping others and felt compelled to do so now.

“Just go before I drag you down there and throw you in the bath right now,” Dom grinned. “There are clothes in the closet too, find yourself something to sleep in and a nice robe for after the bath.”

“Fine, send me to absolute luxury,” I laughed. “I’ll do my best to enjoy it.”

I wandered down to the guest suite holding my glass of wine, admiring the paintings and photographs on the wall as I went.

I stopped in front of one showing three little boys, two identical and the third a little younger.

I could tell Dominick was one of the older boys, but I wasn’t sure which one. I hadn’t realized he was a twin though, that only served to make him seem much more appealing, I didn’t know why.

I opened the door to the guest suite and gasped. It was glorious, like some kind of high-end hotel room. I giggled and turned around, taking it all in.

I set my wineglass on a side table and jumped into the middle of the massive bed, rolled around on the soft sheets and mattress, felt myself enveloped by their incredible luxury.

I sighed and fell back, looked up at the canopy over the bed and marveled that some people could actually live like this.

I closed my eyes and without warning, the trauma of the day finally caught up with me. I felt tears stinging the back of my eyelids and heard the rat-tat-tat of gun fire in my head as if it were happening all over again.

My heart began to race and I was gasping, barely able to catch my breath.

I sat up, jumped off the bed and gulped some wine, hoping to let it relax my body again.

I went into the bathroom and Dom was right, the soaker tub was huge, enough for a party really, and was in the corner overlooking the expanse of city lights spread out below.

I stripped out of my clothes and stood in front of the window. There wasn’t a single window close enough to see me, we were that high up.

I bent and ran the water nice and hot, found a selection of exotic bath products in a cupboard nearby and poured a bunch of them in the water.

I figured I’d make a nice flowery soup of bubbles and oils, anything to help me get over the day.

I lowered myself in the water and closed my eyes, letting myself drift away and lose the tension of my day.

I felt the tears coming back again and couldn’t hold them in this time. I broke down and let them flow, streaming down my cheeks and into the hot water surrounding my body.

I had almost been killed, my new friend had been hurt, and I was still in a desperate situation needing money for my dad’s treatments.

I still hadn’t heard back from the clinic, so I needed to call them tomorrow on my day.

A million little things raced around my head as I tried to slow them down and regain control of my thoughts.

It wasn’t working so I reached for my glass of wine and realized I’d left it behind in the bedroom.

Dammit, didn’t want to get out of the tub and walk across the floor soaking wet, but I wanted that wine.

I bit my lower lip and went over my options, I could soak until I was too hot to stay in the water any longer, or I could mess up the floor and get that damned wine.

Or I could ask Dominick to get it for me.

The thought sent a little electric thrill through me, he would see me without clothes, in the tub.

I mean I was covered by bubbles, but still.

I didn’t know what came over me, but I decided to go with option three, to call Dom.

“Dominick!” I yelled, not knowing if he’d hear me or not.

He must have been listening close by, because I heard him in the bedroom immediately.

“Dom, could you please help me?” I called again.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to come in there?” he asked, right at the bathroom door.

“Um, well, I need my wine,” I said with a small chuckle.

“Your wine? I thought you were drowning!”

“Not quite, I’m just thirsty,” I replied.

“Where is it?”

“In the bedroom, do you see it?”

“I do,” he replied. “Are you covered? Do you want me to bring it in?”

“I’ll be fine,” I laughed and looked down, making sure the bubbles hid anything that would be considered exposing myself.

I heard the door open and Dom strode in, my wineglass held triumphantly in his hand.

“Your wine, darlin,” he said with a grin and handed me the glass.

“Thanks,” I replied and reached up for it. He was staring down at me with an intense gaze, suddenly very serious.

I looked down and realized the bubbles had slipped off my breast and it was fully exposed.

Dom looked at it, almost salivating, like it was a juice steak instead of a regular old breast.

I jerked my arm down and blushed, making sure my breast was covered again.

“Like the show?” I snapped and sunk under the water a little farther.

“Very much, darlin,” he replied and sat on the edge of the tub. “I liked it very, very much.”