Return of the Bad Girl (9 page)

“The senator’s son?” Shelby said.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what happened,” Shelby said, and as Caroline told her everything she could remember, Shelby’s silence was deafening.

When she finally finished, Caroline asked, “What should I do? I was going to tell my dad, but he stayed behind to talk to the senator and isn’t home yet.”

“You can’t tell your dad,” Shelby said quickly, surprising Caroline.

“Why not?”

“Because . . . I mean, what are you going to say? You were flirting with Kyle before it happened, right?” Shelby said.

“Yeah, but . . . but that doesn’t give him the right to . . . and he must have slipped me something, because I don’t remember most of it—”

“So, how do you know you didn’t say yes?” Shelby asked.

Caroline lost it. “Because I wouldn’t have!”

“But if you press charges, everyone is going to know what happened,” Shelby said, fueling Caroline’s hurt when she added, “I just don’t think I could do that. It would be so embarrassing.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Caroline said, nearly sobbing.

“Okay, but what if he didn’t realize he was doing anything wrong, and then you accuse him—”

“Shelby, he laughed at me! He threatened me and my sisters! Does that sound like an innocent man to you?” Caroline’s throat began to close, raw emotions choking her as a vortex swirled inside. Uncertainty, guilt, anger, helplessness, embarrassment . . . she had been fighting them all day, and now, she could add another one to the list.

Shame.

“I thought you would be on my side,” Caroline said softly.

“I am. I just want you to be sure that you know what you’re doing before you potentially ruin your reputation.”

Caroline scoffed. “Why, Shelby? Because Little Miss Perfect can’t hang out with a girl who cries rape?” The silence on the line made Caroline’s hand shake with rage, and she screamed, “Fuck you, Shelby! You are a selfish, arrogant snob who can’t pull her head out of Marcus Boatman’s ass long enough to realize that he’s not interested.”

After that night, Caroline started avoiding Shelby, who had become one of those perky, giggling simpletons they’d once made fun of together. She avoided everyone, in fact. But the more Caroline isolated herself, the more she resented Shelby’s perfect life with her two healthy, caring parents. It even seemed like Marcus had started to notice Shelby more.

One day before Christmas break of their sophomore year, Caroline had seen Marcus lean over and give Shelby a sweet kiss after walking her to class. The whole scene was so sweet, so innocent. Two people sharing something good and pure and right.

Witnessing that, something had snapped inside Caroline. Everything she’d been told about love and guys and the best years of her life had been bullshit. She had no one to turn to, and she was utterly alone.

Until New Year’s Eve. Caroline had gone to a party that one of the football players was having. She’d started drinking shots of whatever was handy and when she was totally shit-faced, she’d bumped into Marcus, who had offered to get her some water, to take care of her. But it hadn’t taken much to flirt Marcus Boatman out of his tighty-whities and into one of the empty bedrooms.

It had been mean and spiteful.

Caroline hadn’t been drunk enough to ignore the fact that there would be serious consequences to her actions, but at the time, she hadn’t cared. All she’d wanted was to hurt Shelby the way she was hurting. Shelby had everything, and Caroline had nothing.

The next morning, when she woke up next to Marcus, the self-loathing sank in. She hadn’t even liked him, but she had screwed him to get at Shelby. To try to make herself feel better by hurting someone else.

After that, her reputation preceded her. She flirted with whomever she wanted and didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. Looking back, she could hardly remember all the “fun” she’d had, but maybe that was for the best. She’d traded self-loathing, frustration, and anger for a void of emotionless hook-ups and numb oblivion.

That was a long time ago. Move forward.

“I need to get going. I’m looking at stuff for my new apartment.”

“Oh, where are you living?” Marcus asked, ignoring Shelby’s glare.

“Up there,” she said, pointing above Chloe’s Book Nook.

Marcus’s clear blue eyes looked into hers earnestly. “Maybe we can get together and
catch up
.”

“We’ll see,” Caroline said, avoiding Shelby’s murderous gaze. “Nice seeing you.”

She passed Marcus and could hear Shelby behind her, hissing angrily. “Why would you say that?”

As she headed down the street to Hank’s Bar, she wondered for the hundredth time if she had made a massive mistake in coming back here. There were so many people she had hurt and betrayed in one way or another. She had taken her pain and anger out on everyone else and made a lot of enemies.

You are a different person now. Leave the past in the past.

That had been her plan, but the whole turn-the-other-cheek thing might be too much for her. Edward Willis hadn’t raised his daughters to back down from a fight.

Chapter Eight

“I’ve been told, ‘To assume is to make an ass out of you and me,’ to which I reply, ‘I don’t have to assume. I know you’re an ass.’ ”

—Miss Know It All

G
ABE WASN’T SURPRISED
that Caroline was parked in the lone parking spot when he got home; he’d been counting on it. It gave him the perfect opening to discuss a few roommate conditions.

However, when he walked into the apartment and found it fully furnished and decorated, he stopped dead in his tracks. The living room had a gray sectional against one wall, separating the carpeted area from the tile of the dining room. Across from it was a cherry wood entertainment center, with his flat screen smack in the middle of it. He had brought his belongings over from his storage unit yesterday, but now, there was no sign that he even lived here. The walls held several gray paintings with splashes of red and yellow. Finally, a modern silver clock was hung above the end table.

The dining room was complete with a dark wood table and six chairs surrounding it. A gray table runner with black and red birds printed on it ran up the middle, the look finished by a black ceramic bowl filled with red apples. From there, the decorations spread into the kitchen.

The words “woman’s touch” flashed through his mind, and he clenched his fists. This was supposed to be
their
apartment, at least for now, and it looked like Martha Stewart had waved her magic wand and sprinkled the place with décor dust. There wasn’t one item, besides his TV, that said a man lived here.

Gabe marched down the hall, fully intent on giving Caroline hell for not consulting him, until he heard the shower going.

Don’t do it.

Against his better judgment, he pushed the bathroom door open, his fury boiling over at the flower-covered shower curtain and the shaggy pink rug in front of the tub.

“What the hell is this shit?”

His angry shout got the result he was looking for. Caroline grabbed the curtain and pulled it back just enough so that she could look at him with outrage.

“Get out of here, asshole!”

“I’m not going anywhere until you explain where you get off putting your shit everywhere without asking.”

“You are fucking insane! This
is
my apartment, was my apartment
first
, and it’s not like you had anything but a TV, your bed, and a funky old chair.”

“That doesn’t mean you can come in here and froufrou up the place without talking to me first.”

“Like I said, it was my apartment first, and since this is only temporary, you won’t have to go out and buy anything until you find somewhere else to live.”

He should have tried counting to ten or taking a walk, but the way she stood there, hiding behind the curtain, with only her smug little face visible . . . well, he lost his temper.

“You. Out,” Gabe said, pointing his finger at her.

He heard her loud sigh as she ducked back behind the curtain and shut the water off. Tough shit if she was annoyed. They were going to have it out—now. He wasn’t going to be her whipping boy, taking whatever she dished out. If she wanted to stay, she was going to have to learn to share.

The pink towel that had been hanging over the shower bar disappeared, and Gabe couldn’t stop his brain from imagining all the lush curves she was probably drying with it.

Little droplets of water clinging to her nipples . . .

What was it about this infuriating woman that reduced him to a twelve-year-old at the pool?

If certain parts of his body realized what a pain in the ass she was, he wouldn’t be having issues with the hard-on currently pressing against the front of his jeans.

When the curtain pushed back again, it revealed Caroline wrapped in the pink towel, her legs smooth and tan as she stepped out of the tub. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders, drops of water falling from the ends as she stood on the rug.

The pink, frilly chick rug.

Before he could say anything, she stepped up to him and pushed against his chest with one hand. “You cannot kick me out, and if you don’t hightail it out of this bathroom, I’ll show you how fast I can castrate a man with just some dental floss and a Bic razor.”

“Don’t threaten me, princess,” Gabe said, catching her hand against his chest.

“Oh, it’s not a threat. Believe me,” she said, her voice hushed and raw. “Barge in on me uninvited, and you’ll be peeing out of a straw.”

He had to give her credit. He was at least twice her height and weight, but she stood toe-to-toe with him without even a tremble.

“Maybe you should lock the door next time.”

“I tried, but the lock is busted. I thought you’d hear the shower and show some respect.”

Damn, she was trying to school him. And the worst of it was, he could picture her all respectable with a suit and glasses, that dark mass of hair in a tight bun as she slapped a ruler against her hand . . .

When had he started having bad-teacher fantasies?

Still, despite her point, he had his own to make. “And you should have asked before turning the place into a fucking tearoom. This place is so female-centric, I feel like I’m living in a sorority. If I bring a woman back here, she’s going to think I’m married.”

Caroline tossed her hair back with a snort. “Like any woman with taste would marry you.”

Well, that hurt a bit. “You can think anything you want, princess, but I’ve never had a problem with women. But the minute they see this place, they’ll head for the door.”

“Oh, you never know. Some women are into married men.”

The implication brought his anger back up to simmering. He had made a lot of bad decisions, but he would never get involved with a woman who would chase a married man. “Well, I’m not into those women.”

She seemed to be considering him seriously for the first time, with her head tilted to the side and her gaze thoughtful. Sighing finally, she asked, “What do you suggest then? A video-game chair and naked women posters all over the walls, held up by thumbtacks?”

The suggestion was exactly what most of his friends had had in their apartments when he’d gotten out of prison, but he wasn’t a horny twenty-three-year-old anymore.

Okay, he wasn’t twenty-three, but apparently he was still horny as hell. His gaze drifted down to the top of the towel, which gave him a tiny glimpse of the valley between her breasts. She was so damn sexy, and he had been an idiot to think he could resist her when she was going to be right here, under his nose. Within reach.

Unable to resist, he reached up and brushed a strand of wet hair off her shoulder, trailing his fingers over the coolness of her skin. “I’m way classier than that. The posters would be framed.”

C
AROLINE WOULD HAVE
jerked back if his gesture hadn’t been so fast. Before she could do much more than catch her breath, his hand was gone.

No, she wasn’t going to smile at his joke. He wasn’t charming or funny. He was rude and condescending and—

“You’re right. I should have asked your opinion, since we both have to live here.”

Wait
. . .
What? Did you just apologize to him?

His dark, pierced eyebrow lifted, as if he couldn’t believe it either. “Somehow, I didn’t expect that from you.”

“You don’t know me, so quit acting like you do,” she snapped.

He crossed his arms and had the audacity to look casual. “I don’t have to know you personally. I can read people pretty well.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, mimicking his stance. “Please, tell me exactly what you think you know.”

He moved closer, and her heart quickened as she smelled his cologne; light and male, it didn’t overwhelm like some. Her nipples hardened against the roughness of the towel, and she hated that he could do this without touching her. He was wrong for her. Trouble. She could read people too, and this guy probably had
bad news
tattooed on his ass.

“I’d say you have issues with authority and men in general. You like to be in control, and you do not like to be told when you’re wrong. You have never been in a relationship that lasted longer than a few months, and not one of those guys ever knew you, not really,” he said, his tone dropping to a harsh whisper. “How close am I, princess?”

Too close for comfort; that was for damn sure. She squeezed past him, her body brushing against his as she scoffed, “Whatever.”

But before she made it to the door, he reached out and took her arm gently. “Are you saying I’m wrong?”

His hand was hot against her chilled skin, and she imagined the rest of him was just as heated. The image of them pressed together, his hands leaving trails of fire across her skin, reminded her it had been a while since she’d pulled out her battery-operated buddy for a little alone time. She was going to have to schedule that in some time soon.

For now, she needed to get away from Gabe’s dark, penetrating eyes before she forgot herself and took him for a test drive . . . an idea that spelled all kinds of bad.

“I’m saying that you probably shouldn’t start offering psychic readings,” she said, pulling her arm out of his grip and stalking to her room.