Bad Boy (An Indecent Proposal) - J.C. Reed

Chapter 1

Why is it always that the moment you’ve let a guy into your heart—or panties, for that matter—he turns into a big, ugly frog?

Or a jerk.

Or a lying bastard, who’d do anything to keep manipulating you so you fall for whatever agenda he’s going for. A hidden motive that made him want to fuck with your mind in the first place.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had married a man I knew nothing about.

A stranger.

An enigma with more layers to him than I cared to admit, because my intelligence refused to let me acknowledge the fact that I had been fooled by gray blue eyes and a hard body that belonged on a men’s health magazine; not to mention a tongue that knew how to fill me and lick me until I panted his name. Or maybe it was his deep, sexy voice, able to arouse me with sweet words of nothingness, that had made me lose my sanity.

Exactly those sweet words of nothingness and hot bundles of defined muscles, as my best friend Jude liked to call them, had pushed me into more than just his bed.

They got me married—fake married—to an even faker jerk with a fake name.

They got me completely screwed.

Those were the kind of dark thoughts running through my mind as I stepped out of the airport in Acapulco and into the blazing heat, a huge tee shirt and black shades shielding me from the afternoon sun that did nothing to improve my mood.

My two, brand-new suitcases were filled with dresses, shoes, and books—anything the shop assistant thought I would need for my trip. A “recovery trip” she’d called it when she saw my unshed tears and found out I had booked a plane to Mexico. She’d instantly assumed I was running from a bad break up. A bad breakup was theoretically correct, though the guy did not do the dumping.

I broke up in writing, like the coward I was, or used to be, right before I ran away from him, and now I was more than ready to embark on my next adventure in a quest to forget him.

Because, to be honest, I was sick of my mascara-smeared face.

I was sick of guys with blue eyes that could melt your heart.

Sick of being the pushover of a guy who thought he owned the world.

Who the hell did he think he was?


Just because he so happened to be perfect: tall, handsome, and tanned, with a smile that melted your reserve, didn’t mean he could get away with whatever the hell he wanted.

Maybe he was Loki—Thor’s evil and hot brother. He sure could lie just as well.

I pushed my glasses higher on my nose and plastered a fake smile on my face. I wouldn’t let some god-faced idiot ruin my life just because my wits left me the moment he pulled off his shirt. Or because I gave him my V-card. And most certainly not because I soaked up all his I-care-for-you bullshit, like some stray puppy, while trying to maintain my dignity by playing hard to get.

Seriously, who had invented the notion of playing hard to get?

It got me nothing but trouble.

Call it my ego, my feelings being hurt. Call it even obsessive. But I couldn’t stop checking my phone, even though it was switched off.

Holy shit.

It was hot in Mexico.

I paused to take shallow breaths and raised my head to feel the warm rays of sun on my face. I pushed the image of ocean blue eyes on a cloudy day and dark hair out of my mind, and focused on the narrow strip of blue stretching in the distance. I couldn’t wait to slip into a bikini and hit the beach with a good book, ready to forget the world around me. Suddenly I couldn’t wait to get to the hotel.

“Taxi.” I stopped a tourist cab before it could drive off. “Habla inglés?” I asked the driver, a man in his fifties with a mustache. His head was cleanly shaven. His shirt looked like it had seen better days.

He looked from me to my suitcases, then nodded. “Un poquito. Where do you want to go?”

Sweat trickled down my back as I took my time checking the license on the right window, the taxi number plate to see if it was an official cab. The last thing I needed was to get into a pirated one, or worse yet, be kidnapped and held for ransom. But the taxi looked as official as they came.

I handed