Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(2)

Unflattering khaki pants and a starched, button-down shirt hadn’t been able to hide Sofie’s killer body. He’d never considered himself an ass man, but Scampi’s backside had a healthy curve, and enough cushion to give his imagination plenty of ammo.

Scampi, he thought bemusedly as he slid his lips along hers.

She’d earned the nickname on a dare.

About a month back, after cooking the dinner special for Sofie’s tables at least nine times, he’d turned to find the printer spitting out another order from her.

Shrimp Scampi. Again.

Tongs in hand, he swiped the perspiration from his upper lip with the sleeve of his chef’s coat. He’d been in the weeds all damn night, sweating over four sauté pans going at once. Pissed, he’d shouted a warning across the kitchen. “One more Scampi from you, Sofie, and I’ll brand you for life!”

At the sound of his raised voice, the bustling staff had halted for a split second, servers pausing, black books in hand or trays held high. Sofie had approached the divider, put a hand on the shelf between them, and narrowed her green eyes in challenge. Tension knotted the air. The same tension he’d felt buzzing between them like a downed power line since day one.

Typically, Sofie was fairly quiet, but right then, she hadn’t looked intimidated or tongue-tied. “Only one?” she’d asked with a rogue smirk.

He’d be damned if she didn’t march into the dining room and sell not one more Shrimp Scampi special, but three to her next table.

“Scampi,” he said now, tugging her bottom lip with his teeth.

At the party this evening, a similar look crossed her face. He’d recognized her determination instantly. Knew there’d be no stopping her from getting what she wanted. And what she wanted, apparently, was him. Ignoring the blaring sirens in his head telling him to leave her alone, he’d made a decision. Good girl or not, he’d have her tonight.

Consider it a farewell present to himself.

“Donny.” He could tell by her breathy response, she liked the bite he’d given her sweet mouth. He squeezed her lush body. A squeak left her lips. She liked that, too.

Against her mouth, he smiled.

Every damn time.

Smiling wasn’t really his thing. What did he have to smile about? Nothing, normally. But now, a cute brunette rubbing against his cock, her cheeks warm despite the winter air leaking through the gap beneath the mansion’s front door, her lips parting in a reverent sigh…

Hell yeah, he had something to smile about.

He grabbed another handful of her ass, admiring the mess he’d made of her hair.

“Library, sweetheart.” The closest room in proximity to the front door held an ugly red velvet couch and a thick white rug. He would happily lay her down on either. He’d even let her choose.

“Okay,” came her response.

Tightening his hold on her, he lifted her off the ground. Her legs were long, but not too long, her arms hooked around his neck comfortably, her tits in his face thanks to the fact she’d wrapped those not-too-long legs around his waist. He was six-four and guessed her at five and a half feet, every inch of her fitting every inch of him perfectly.

In the pale light, he saw her smile back at him. It made him want her more; a hell of a feat considering the hard-on pressed painfully against his fly.

At the threshold of the library, he paused, careful not to knock her head on the door frame. “Couch or rug?”

Her fingers stopped twirling the back of his long hair. She gave him an innocent, doe-eyed blink. Stunned speechless, he guessed. Scampi wasn’t one of the slutty girls he normally took home. And he further guessed, in spite of her best efforts to be a bad girl for a night, “making out” had been the extent of her post–Christmas party plans.

Well, he had other plans. He’d have to encourage her to embrace her inner bad girl. Which meant laying it on thick to get the yes he wanted to hear.

Softly, he spoke. “Scampi, baby.”

In response to his gentle tone, her fingers flinched against his scalp. The light from the sconces touched half her face, and in the glow, he watched her eyes grow warm.

She cared about him, he realized, swallowing thickly. Being pinned by the gaze of someone who cared made him simultaneously panicked and horny.

He ignored the pending panic and cleared his throat. Then he asked the question he had to ask if he hoped to get what he wanted tonight.

“Where do you want to make love?” He nearly gagged on the words.

Make love.

Good God.

But it worked. Sofie’s expression melted. He’d broken through the last line of her defenses. She was sober, so no worries there. He’d taken her warm, practically full beer bottle away from her at the bar.

She tightened her hold on his neck, lowered her face, and kissed him so softly, so gently, his insides recoiled.

She’s sweet. Too sweet.

As her lips moved on his, he silently argued he hadn’t had a lot of “sweet” in his life, and he deserved some. Especially after his week had graduated from bad to worse.

“Your call.” The oddest tension strained his voice. He’d never been nervous around a chick. Never.

Sofie’s tongue darted into his mouth, stroking his. The aggressive move startled and turned him on so much, he tightened his arms so he didn’t drop her.

Then her bad-girl smile made a reappearance, and that sinful mouth formed one word.