A Bad Boy is Good to Find(10)

“Car keys?”

“No way.”

“I just want to get my bag.”

“Nope.”

“I need some clothes.”

“You’ve got some.” He flicked a glance down at the shirt.

She made a show of wiping at a rusty smear of dirt on the front. “This shirt is filthy. You really should take more care with your appearance.”

He met her challenging stare with a twinkle of humor. No one took more care with his appearance than Con. Of course now she knew why. Appearances were pretty much the full show. He’d combed his hair. Even after sleep it still lay neatly, one straight lock dipping to his eyebrows.

A hand crept up to her own fright wig of disordered curls. That infuriating grin crept back across his insolent mouth.

“You didn’t get it permanently straightened.”

“Of course not. That would fry it. I had it ironed.”

“Do they use a real iron for that?” Innocent curiosity.

She picked up the other sandal.

“Just asking.” He shrugged. Shifted his bound arms, which bunched the well-exercised muscles of his chest and stomach.

She tore her gaze from his torso and settled it on his face with as much hostility as she could summon. Which was quite a lot.

“I hate you. Now why don’t you tell me where the car keys are, and I’ll drive away and you can forget you ever met me.”

“How do I know you won’t drive straight to the nearest bar and start slamming Fuzzy Navels?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead drinking a Fuzzy Navel.”

“Well, whatever you ladies drink when there’s no man around to laugh at you. Baileys.” He smiled. “Didn’t you drink chocolate milk the first time I took you out?”

Heat rushed her face and she was glad of hair to hide behind. “That was a lifetime ago.” Her voice sounded thin.

His apologetic silence deepened her embarrassment.

“Why did you ask me out that day?” she asked after a long pause.

“Because I wanted to get to know you.”

“Because I was driving a Mercedes and you thought I might be rich? Well, I’ll be honest too. I thought you were rich. Nice suit, Range Rover. You didn’t earn those on a mechanic’s salary, did you?”

“No.” Con shifted. A pained expression flitted across his face.

“Did the Range Rover belong to her?”

“Who?” His brow furrowed.

“Your sugar mama, of course. The one you traded in for me.” She kept her voice steady. Steeled herself against the answer. “Don’t lie to me. It’s all over now, and I’d just as soon know the truth. The real truth.”

Con looked away. “Yes, the Range Rover belonged to a female friend.”

I knew it. “What’s her name?”

He hesitated, then shifted his shoulders. “Frankie… Frances Allen.” He blinked twice as he said the name. “She knows you.”

“She does?” She racked her brain. “Wait a second, is she the one who just married the Greek shipping tycoon?” A thin, pretty woman she’d met a few times at parties with her parents. Not as old as them but not young either. Maybe mid-forties.

“That’s her.” He didn’t meet her eye.

“So what did Frankie Allen think of you pulling moves on me when you were out driving her car?”

“We were just friends by then. I was doing her a favor by taking her car into the shop that day. When I told her I’d met a girl called Lizzie Hathaway, she was happy. She figured you and I might be a good match.”

Lizzie stared at him. “How considerate of her to approve your new lover. She must care deeply about you.” Acid in her voice.

She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed.

“Do you have any idea how sick that is?” Her head shook as she spat the words at him.

He looked sad. Aw, poor baby.

“How did you get mixed up with Frankie Allen in the first place? I’d hardly imagine you run in her circle.”

“Do you really want to know?” He dipped his head slightly.

“Sure, why the hell not?” She crossed her arms over her chest in a protective gesture.

“You know my car?”

“The gold Mercedes? Is that actually yours?”

“It’s mine now. It belonged to Frankie back then, and it had a problem with the distributor…” He paused, looked at her cautiously. “I was working at a garage uptown, and she arranged to have me drive it to her house in Greenwich when it was fixed. Once I got there she offered a big tip if I’d come take a look at the broken motor on her Jacuzzi.” He hesitated.

“And soon you were coming over to service a totally different kind of body.”

He nodded.

“She gave you her car?”

“It’s from the late sixties. Takes a lot of TLC to keep it running smooth. She knew I was the only person who could keep it purring like a kitten.” His look of satisfaction irritated her.

“So when exactly did you stop sleeping with her?” She braced herself.

“More than a year ago. She was getting over an ugly divorce when I met her. Once she was ready to start seriously dating again, I didn’t fit the bill.” He shrugged, but his expression didn’t quite match the casual gesture.

“So she gave you your walking papers. How romantic. Did she give you money?”

He met her gaze. “She helped me out. Taught me how to act, how to dress, bought me some clothes.” His face was grim.

“How sweet. So you were a charity project for her? Her little Pygmalion. And the final triumph would be seeing you married off to a plump heiress?”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You wanted to marry me for my money, then dump me and keep half and you didn’t want to hurt me?” Her voice rose to a screech.

“I didn’t plan to divorce you.” He spoke quietly.

“Oh, so let me get this straight, you wanted to marry me, live high on the hog with me and keep me fat and happy for the rest of my days?”

He licked his lips again. Shifted his shoulders.

The idea sank in and gave her a strange queasy feeling. “You really planned to stay married to me?”

“Yes. I think we’d have been a good team.” The wistful look in his brown eyes worsened the sensation in the pit of her stomach. She ignored it.

“And, er, how did you plan to conceal from me that you spend your days under a car rather than in an office? That kind of illusion must take a lot of work to sustain. You wanted to keep it a secret until we were legally married, and then you’d spring it on me?”

“Pretty much.”

His quiet acknowledgement sent a flash of raw pain shooting high.

She stood there, panting, staring at him. She could picture him discussing her over cocktails with Frankie Allen. They must have schemed to string her along and keep quiet about his true identity until it was too late.

All the while, she’d thought she’d found a man who truly loved her.