In the Bad Boy's Bed

  Noble Young Adult – Not Just Romance

  In the Bad Boy's Bed

  ISBN 978-1-60592-318-5

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright 2011 Sophia Ryan

  Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

  Edited by Ruby Green

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  Blurb

  Running from a date gone sour, prep-girl Angela Abbott finds bad boy Nick Donnelly at the river. Before the night is over, Nick unleashes the real Angela, calling her Angel, and fulfills the fantasies she's long had about being with him.

  Angela returns to her prep-school life, acting as if she and Nick are still strangers, acting as if nothing has changed in her. But everything changed at the river in Nick's arms.

  While she struggles to maintain the Angela façade, she can't stop slipping away from her boring, planned life to be Nick's Angel.

  This private prep school is Nick's last chance to escape the prison-bound track laid out for him just as clearly as the life that's laid out for Angela. His goal to get out of school and out of town is threatened when he sets his heart on Angel.

  When their secret life comes out, and Nick's dark past is exposed, Angela dumps him, breaking both their hearts. When he disappears, she doesn't dare ask questions.

  Then, at college, she sees him again and holds out hope they can get it right this time.

  Unfortunately, Nick's got other ideas in mind.

  Chapter One

  The second I settled into the buttery leather seat of the Jag, I shoved off the four-inch heels and stretched and wiggled my toes, trying to bring the blood flow back to them that the stylish shoes had strangled throughout the dance. My feet sighed in relief.

  Or maybe that was me, so glad this night was finally coming to an end.

  Sean limped around to the other side of the car, his leg brace making long work of the short trip.

  "Yo, Sean. You and Angela going to the river?" Sean's friend, Darius, called out from across the parking lot, amusement coloring his voice.

  I couldn't see Sean's face, but I heard his snickering response. "You know it."

  Ha! Not if I had anything to say about it.

  Sean opened the door and maneuvered his 6'1" frame into the low-slung seat.

  "Hey, babe," he said, leering at me with glassy eyes, "ready to go?"

  The smell of booze on his breath nauseated me, and I turned my head and fumbled with the seatbelt to avoid it.

  "Yeah, I am so ready." Irritation prickled my voice. I could feel his hot eyes boring into me, but his only comment was to slam his door.

  As I buckled in, a voice inside me screamed, Get out of the car. Before I could agree and take action, the engine purred to life, the doors locked with a soft click, and Sean pulled out onto the road. I stared out the tinted windows at the dark world flashing by me, dread filling my mind like thorns wrapped around it.

  "I had fun tonight, even though I couldn't dance because of my knee," Sean said, referring to the knee he had twisted in a water skiing accident two weeks before. "What about you, Angela, did you have fun?"

  "Yeah, sure." My arms hugged my middle tighter to still the nausea. Sean's drinking started an hour into the dance. Up until then, it had been fun.

  "You cold?" he asked.

  "No. Just tired. It's been a long night. I can't wait to get home to bed."

  He snickered, a low sound that scratched through my skin to a thin layer of agitated nerves.

  "Damn, Angela. You're 18, not 80. Our fun's just starting."

  Then he turned left instead of right, and I realized what kind of fun he was referring to. He was headed for our town's prime make-out spot.

  The blood in my veins boiled hot with anger, and the thorns began twisting into snakes inside my head.

  "Sean, you need to take me home. My parents gave me a two a.m. curfew, and it's almost that now."

  "Relax, Angie. They know you're with me, so they won't be worried."

  Unfortunately, he was right. My parents adored him. Sean's dad and mine were partners in the top law firm in our state, while our mothers were girlhood friends who had been planning our wedding since we were toddlers.

  But they didn't know Sean like I did.

  The light of the full moon didn't quite reach us where he parked his Jag under the ancient cottonwoods that skirted the river. The engine cut off but the radio played on, the singer pleading to his love to lie down beside him one last time. The windows slid down, filling the car with the sound of water lapping the shore and the smell of lush, flowering trees.

  Turning toward me, Sean rested his hand along my shoulders and began massaging my neck.

  "Why are you sitting all the way over there, babe?"

  My body clenched. "Sean, take me home."

  "I'm not ready to go home," he said, his voice harder than before. His fingers dug into my neck as he pulled me close for a kiss.

  I pulled away. "Well, I am, and I want you to—"

  "And I want you to kiss me." He smashed his lips against my mouth and squeezed my breasts. "Mmm, I need you so bad. It's been so long."

  "I said no!" I pummeled his chest with my fists until he backed off.

  He pounded the steering wheel with his fists. "Dammit, Angela! You're my girlfriend," he yelled. "I shouldn't have to beg for sex."

  "And I shouldn't have to fight you off when I've said no," I yelled back.

  "You always say no."

  "I say no whenever you've been drinking, which is almost all the time these days."

  "No, no, no. That's all I get. I'm so fucking tired of it."

  His tone had taken on a sharp coldness that had my heart hiding in my stomach and my eyes zeroing in on his. Even in the gauzy moonlight I could see the tightness to his face. My body grew cold as if the heat had rushed out in fear, and my mouth was dry.

  Get out of the car, came that little voice again. This time I heeded the advice. I pulled on the handle and pushed open the door, but Sean grabbed me and hauled me across the seat, my breasts smashing into his chest with a force that felt like my breastbone had been crushed.

  His arm was a steel band around my waist, holding me captive, while his free hand flipped up the back of my dress and yanked down on the waistband of my panties.

  I cemented my legs together to prevent the attack from behind and fought the frontal attack by twisting in his grasp and pounding on his chest.

  "I'm not having sex with you, Sean!"

  The arm at my waist released me long enough to draw back a fisted hand and let it fly.

  Pain exploded in my cheek and sent my head rocking backward. The blow knocked me back into my own seat. My eyes and nose stung, and hot tears rolled down both cheeks. My tongue darted to the corner of my mouth; it hadn't split, but I tasted blood. Nausea churned in my stomach. I fought to tamp it down.

  I sat perfectly still, in shock, trying to calm the spinning pain in my head so I could decide what had really happened. Surely he hadn't really hit me?

  The buzzing in my ears quieted enough so that I heard a noise from Sean's direction, and I realized he was speaking.

  "Oh my God, Angie, I'm—"

  In that same stunned moment, I also realized he was no longer holding me. He reached out his hand to me. I jumped out the open door, feeling my dress rip as he grabbed the hem. I didn't stop.

  My heart pounded out extra doses of energy in
to my sprinting legs as they led me deep into the dark growth of trees, bushes, and underbrush. Branches pulled at my dress and my skin like claws. Then I stopped, and dropped to the cold, moist ground. My lungs heaved for breath and black bubbles popped around my head, but I held as quiet as the critters around me, keeping my eyes and ears wide for signs that Sean was about to pounce.

  I heard the car door open. I heard Sean's uneven shuffle across the ground. I heard his shouts change from contrition to fury in a matter of seconds when I wouldn't respond to his summons. Only when I heard the engine fire to life and the car zoom away did I crawl out of my hiding place.

  As I stood in the moonlight, the reality of my situation hit me. Scratches stung my arms and legs, pain thundered in my head, my phone was in my bag in Sean's car, and I would be walking the five or so miles home. In the dark. Alone. Barefoot.

  Nauseated again, I stumbled the few feet to the water and fell to my hands and knees at the edge of the shore. My stomach threatened to heave, but nothing came out.

  Soon the feeling passed, and I sat up.

  "Smart move, Angela," I murmured on a groan as I wiped the cold sweat that dotted my forehead.

  I dipped my hands in the water to wipe my face, and felt sick again when I saw my reflection staring back at me.

  Surprisingly, my cheek showed no mark or swollen bump, but my eyes showed my pain, with streaked mascara rimming them in smudged black. I must have bit down on my lip when the blow struck, because a little cut plumped the lower lip.

  My updo, which had cost my parents nearly $100, had come undone. Dozens of unintentional tendrils flowed down from the bun than now sat askew on my head.

  I took a deep breath and stood on shaky legs.

  The new champagne silk dress I'd special ordered was ripped in several spots, both from Sean's clutches and the branches, and one of the straps hung loose over my breast.

  The matching heels and bag were in Sean's car, but I would never wear them again.

  Heat shot through me. The bastard had completely ruined the night. I wasn't scared. I wasn't sad. I was mad. My hands curl into fists.

  "Damn you, Sean!" I screamed at the top of my lungs into the night.

  And then I screamed again, a primal roar that expressed my anger and frustration at all that he'd put me through, not just tonight, but for years. All the times as a child when he'd made me eat dirt, or tripped me, or hit me, or ripped the arms off my dolls. That one summer vacation when he locked me in the closet and wouldn't let me out. The disastrous sex fumbles that somehow were my fault. The family expectations of our being a couple.

  I picked up a handful of rocks and slammed them one at a time into the water, imagining it was Sean's face receiving the stoning.

  "You're an arrogant, self-centered, mean son of bitch." Splash, right on his nose.

  "Your dick's small and ugly and too drunk to work." Kerplunk, kerplunk, kerplunk, in the eye, the cheeks, the forehead.

  "I hate everything about you, you miserable fucker." A big one in the mouth.

  In full fury, I bent down and grabbed more rocks. Bigger rocks.

  "I didn't know such a pretty mouth could say such dirty things."

  The smooth voice sliced through the thick night air, making me drop my rocks. A couple hit my big toe, ruining my pedicure. Ouch!

  I spun toward the sound and squinted into the darkness. Cold fear replaced the hot blood in my veins. For the second time that night, I doubted the intelligence of my decision to flee Sean's car.

  "Who's there?" I demanded, putting a sharp edge on my voice.

  The branches of the trees behind me rustled and a shadowy figure came into view.

  My heart raced and my throat constricted, making breathing nearly impossible. I felt my chest rising high and fast.

  The light from the full moon dusted the stranger's face, which, as he drew nearer, became more familiar. The planes and angles showed softer than in bright daylight, but I knew the face.

  The figure stopped a few feet from me, and his mouth settled into a wicked little grin.

  "Your worst nightmare."

  Well, he was half right. He was my dream, yes, but not of the horrifying variety. I had filled the pages of numerous journals with my thoughts and dreams about Nick Donnelly since I was 16, vowing that if the opportunity to "be with him" (I couldn't bring myself to write "have sex") ever materialized, nothing would stop me—not my family's uptight sense of class-based right and wrong, my friends, my fear, nor any boyfriend I might have at the time.

  A strange sensation gripped my body every time I saw or even thought about him .

  . . the same sensation overtook me now. Through the silky material of my ruined dress, my nipples puckered tightly as if being sucked by a loving mouth. I fought an aching need to press my thighs tightly against each other to relieve the tingling that had begun between them. My heart beat at twice its normal pace, making me so breathless I wasn't sure I could utter a coherent sentence to save my life.

  I was in a dark, secluded place, alone with a guy I had lusted over from afar—since he showed up sophomore year—but had never met and didn't know. The fear I felt earlier transformed into bubbling exhilaration. It took all my strength to not groan with pleasure and jump up and down and clap my hands at the happy turn of events. Thankfully, the semi-darkness must be hiding whatever telling expressions were playing out across my face and in my body.

  Finally able to take a breath, I breathed him in. He smelled fresh, like the air after a rainstorm, a perfect counterpoint to the scents of the river, damp earth, and blossoming trees. The intoxicating aroma fogged my brain.

  The sensuality surrounding us—our eyes locked together, his scent, his nearness, my journal-vow to have sex with him at my first opportunity—was doing its part to make me forget what I knew about proper behavior. I had to break the spell.

  "Actually, my worst nightmare is showing up to school naked. Do you always spend your Saturday nights hiding in the bushes, spying on people?" I heard the slight shakiness in my voice as I spoke the words. Nerves. With a dash of fear.

  The hazy moonlight hid details, but I clearly saw his eyes look me up and down.

  "What you call nightmare is called dream-come-true for more than half the people in school. And do you always spend your Saturday nights walking along the river, alone, barefoot, in a torn dress, and cussing like Chris Rock?"

  "You have your hobbies; I have mine."

  A low chuckle was his only response, but it eased my tension.

  "What are you really doing here?" I asked, lifting my arms to "fix" my hair. The flirty move serves two purposes: it juts out the breasts and knocks the conversation off balance, giving the user the upper hand. But if his eyes ever left my face to check out the rest of me, it was so quick I didn't see it. Maybe it doesn't work on him, I thought with a little pout and dropped my arms to my sides.

  But then he moved slowly toward me, stopping with only inches between our bodies. Maybe it worked after all, I thought as breath caught in my lungs. Was he going to kiss me? Should I allow it? Rebuff him? I kept my eyes on his, not wanting to make a move until he did.

  "Give me your hand."

  My heart jumped into my throat at his request. "Why?" I asked, the word struggling to get out.

  "So I can show you what I'm doing here."

  I hesitated, feeling every prick of the sliver of fear I thought had vanished. You don't know this guy, my mind warned. But I'd really like to, my heart cooed, sending a warm rush of desire through my veins and pushing my hand into his.

  Holding my hand with tender firmness, he led me through a low opening in the undergrowth.

  Beyond it was a grassy spot large enough to accommodate a spread blanket and, parked nearby, Nick's motorcycle. Lush tree branches, flowering bushes, tangling vines, and other growth acted like walls to screen the view from all sides, except for a low, narrow mouth facing the river.

  "So you are hiding," I teased.

  Nick moti
oned to the blanket so I sat down, expecting he'd do the same. Instead he walked to the beast and climbed aboard.

  "More like getting away," he said, running his hands along the smooth, cool handlebars. My mind worked overtime, wondering how it might feel to have his hands touching my curves in the same, slow way.

  "Hiding . . . getting away . . . great place to do either." Desire pounded thick and hot in my veins, and I wondered whether he heard it in my voice.

  "OK, I showed you mine. Now show me yours."

  Confusion brought my brows together and made him laugh.

  "What are you doing out here, all alone," he clarified, "other than perfecting your cussing skills?"

  His eyes searched mine while he spoke, as if looking for answers. Struck by the force of his gaze, I looked away. I raised my arms and began removing the dozens of bobby pins holding my nest of hair. This time, I know his eyes went to my breasts; I saw them. I smiled.

  "Oh, you don't want to hear about my problems." My voice was a sweet as a peach.

  "What did Sean do this time?"

  My stomach flipped and I suddenly felt cold, like I'd just stepped into a walk-in freezer. How did he know? Was my relationship with Sean a running topic of conversation for all the cliques in school? My hands left my hair and dropped into my lap.

  "Don't look so shocked. Everybody knows he keeps screwing up and you keep taking him back. What I'm wondering is why. That's the story I'd like to hear."

  Holed up in this intimate cave-like paradise with my dream-come-true, the last thing I wanted to do was talk about Sean or problems.

  "I'd rather talk about something interesting . . . like you." I leaned back on my palms, stretching my bare legs out in front of me, then slowly bent one at the knee, drawing it up so that my foot was even with the other knee. His eyes dropped to my legs.

  The rush of it made me bold. The next time he looked at me, I stared into his eyes, a smile in mine, willing him to come to me.

  As if unable to resist my silent summons, he swung his leg over the seat and came over. He looked down at me for what seemed like ages, almost seeming like he was fighting wanting to join me. But then he lowered himself to the blanket beside me and graced me with one of his sexy smiles.