ROMANCING THE BULLDOG

ROMANCING

THE

BULLDOG

MALLORY MONROE

c2011

All rights reserved. Any use of the materials contained in this book without the expressed written consent of the author and/or her

affiliates, is strictly prohibited.

***

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This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The

specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for

the story’s sake.

***

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THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND

ROMANCING THE MOB BOSS

ROMANCING HER PROTECTOR

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AFTER WHAT YOU DID

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PROLOGUE

Ten years earlier

He was supposed to look out for her, not sleep with her. Look out for her. That was the

order, and it came straight from her father himself. “Keep an eye on her, Jace,” he’d said.

“She’s running with the wrong crowd. Doing irresponsible things. I don’t want her messed

up before she even gets started, and especially not two days before she’s to leave for Harvard

and be out of my hair for good.”

And Jason “Bulldog” Rascone, personal attorney for nightclub owner and business mogul

Hamilton Morgan, took his charge very seriously. Hamp was on a business trip to Portland

and, as usual, appointed Jason the go-to person should unanticipated problems arise. Only this

time Hamp didn’t just leave him in charge of his business affairs, but of his eighteen year old

daughter, too. Elizabeth.
Liz,
they called her. Young, sexy, and sassy. Just like Jason liked

them. But he kept his cool with Liz. Mainly because she was Hamp’s daughter. But also

because she had that look, that steely-eyed,
you’ll bend to my will
look, that made him know

she could clean his clock, if he wasn’t careful.

And apparently he wasn’t careful because now, at almost one in the morning on the day she

was to leave for college, he was driving fast and furious through the streets of downtown

Jacksonville as if his life depended on his speed. Because, in a way, he knew that it did.

Hamp was a powerful man in J-ville, and his nightclub, the Big D, was the place to be for

every A-lister in town. If Jason blew it and allowed some thug even he knew was major bad

news to mess up the daughter, his future plans of one day seeking political office with Hamp’s

backing, had about as much chance of success as his continued relationship with Hamp.

His banana yellow Ferrari swung into the parking lot of a place called the Palace, and Jason

couldn’t help but shake his head. It was a watering hole for yahoos, a dark, dingy, hole-in-the-

wall strip joint for young upstarts who had a bunch of lip and bravado but were gutless in the

end. Why the daughter of Hamp Morgan would want to be seen anywhere near a dump like

this was a mystery to Jace. Liz Morgan had it all: beauty, brains, background and breeding,

whereas somebody like Jason, who was brought up too poor for poverty, would have killed to

have the kind of opportunities Liz had.

But she was here, according to Wilkes, the P.I. he had hired to follow her, and she’d

already hooked up, again according to Wilkes, with the biggest loser in the joint. Jason entered

that joint, ready to claim his bounty.

“Where is she?” Jason asked the P.I., his impatient blue eyes scanning the entire, smoke-

filled room. A live striptease or, as the PC crowd liked to call it,
exotic dance
, was in progress,

with virtually every man in the room glued to the small stage. The music, a loud, annoying,

Burlesque-type vibe, was deafening. Talking required near-screaming so Wilkes motioned

instead toward the back of the room, where Liz was already hugged up with her bad boy.

Jason placed his hand to his pocket, to ensure his Glock was locked and loaded, and then

exhaled. He hated being put in this position, where he often had to show muscle to get out of

sticky situations. He was a lawyer for crying out loud, not some Mafia
consigliere
. But here

he was again, showing muscle, living up to an image that never was him in the first place.

“Wait outside,” he said to Wilkes above the music and catcalls, “in case we need to get out

fast. I’ll get Miss Hothead.”

“The dude she’s with thinks he’s a badass, boss,” Wilkes said. “You know the type.”

“Yeah, I know. All mouth with his boys. Get him alone and say boo, he runs. Don’t

worry,” Jason said with a fist bump to Wilkes chest. “I got this.” Then he headed for the

back of the club.

Liz saw him when he had first entered the club. She could tell at once that he was different,

that he was a serious cut above this crowd she and her girl Amber had taken up with. And

when he began walking toward their table, his swagger evident by the way he moved in his

jeans and bomber jacket, her interest peaked. His hair, a brownish-blonde mop of hair, was a

tousled mess, as if he’d just gotten out of bed and didn’t have time to comb it right. But it

worked for him, Liz thought, as she watched him. He had that unshaven, bad boy look she

liked. It wasn’t until he was closer, however, did she realize just how familiar he really was.

And it was then that she realized he wasn’t just anybody. That was Bulldog Rascone coming

her way, her father’s Mister Fix-it. And he was coming for her. No other reason for it.

Somebody like Jason Rascone wouldn’t otherwise be caught dead in a contraption of a club

like this.

But she wasn’t about to give up her freedom that easily. Not with her father out of town

and the night just getting started good. She was at a back table with her longtime friend and

neighbor Amber Slate. Earlier in the night, at another club, they hooked up with Sean and

Fritz, two hunks who followed them around that club like lapdogs. They were cute and funny

and so why not, Liz and Amber decided, hang out with them.

This club, which Liz wouldn’t ordinarily be caught dead in herself, was Sean’s idea. Liz

went along for the change, for the fun, for the differentness she’d been craving. Now her

father’s flunky was about to try and stop her in her tracks. Since Amber was already seated

on Sean’s lap, Liz, to prove to Jason that she wasn’t going without a fight, got onto Fritz’s.

Fritz grinned, thrilled to have the sultry black beauty queen, a woman he was beginning to

peg as frigid, in closer contact with him. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he said, gladly

holding Liz.

Amber, who was blonde, petite, rich and spoiled, grinned too. “Copycat,” she said playfully

to her friend as she allowed Sean to kiss her neck. Liz wasn’t about to go that far, she wasn’t

about to allow the likes of Fritz to slobber all over her, but she was willing to give Bulldog

Rascone a fit if he tried to make her leave. She even tried to ignore him when he finally

arrived at their table.

“What can we do you for, dude?” Fritz asked Jason as he arrived.

Jason, however, kept his eyes on Liz. “Let’s go, Liz,” he said as soon as he made it to the

table.

“
Go
?” Liz asked, looking at him sidelong, as if his request was the most unreasonable thing

she’d ever heard. “Like what are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere with you. This

is my night, my last night of freedom, and I can do whatever I want. I’m not going anywhere

with you!”

Wanna bet
, Jason wanted to say, annoyed by that pouty, valley girl tone in her voice. “Get

your things and let’s go,” he said instead.

Fritz, however, found Jason’s order humorous. “Dude, who the hell are you?” he asked

and his table mates laughed. He was a long-haired surfer dude with a big, toothy grin, over-

tanned skin, and a tall, slender frame. Jason knew the type well and ignored him.

“I’m not telling you again,” he, instead, said to Liz. “Get your shit and let’s go.”

“But, dude, you didn’t answer the man’s question,” Sean said, seemingly one sip away from

being completely stoned. “He asked you a very specific question. You either answer the

question or, or,” Sean was so smashed he couldn’t finish his sentence. Amber laughed.

“Ain’t he cute?” she said to Liz.

Jason wasn’t priming for a fight, he, in fact, would have loved to avoid one altogether, but

he wasn’t leaving without Liz Morgan, either. He grabbed her by the arm and snatched her

out of Fritz’s lap, causing her to careen away from Fritz and nearly fall had Jason not placed

his hand around her waist and caught her. Fritz, now angry, attempted to stand up, but Jason,

with his freed hand, slammed him back down. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned,

but Fritz didn’t heed his warning.

He came at Jason, head first to his midsection, and Jason quickly pushed Liz back. “Get

out of the way!” he ordered her. Then he took care of Fritz. Literally. First a knee to that

head and then he stood him up and gave him a fist to the face. And that began their mano on

mano, in your face, knock-down, drag-out brawl that had them falling over tables and the

entire club egging them on.

But it was no contest. For every one punch Fritz threw that missed, Jason threw three or

four that connected. Within seconds he had the young man pinned to the wall with his arm at