A Bad Boy is Good to Find(6)

“You are not fat.” He looked her in the eye. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that. You’re perfect.”

His voice dropped as he spoke. Like he meant it. For a second she felt a prick of warmth, a surge of the loving support that transformed her from a shuffling caterpillar into the beautiful butterfly she’d become.

Or thought she’d become before her wings were rudely snapped off again. Right now she’d like to climb back into her chrysalis and hide forever.

All those warnings from her parents about being “careful” and avoiding “the wrong sort of people.” She’d scoffed at their small-minded cynicism—

And fallen headlong into the trap of a scheming con artist.

“You never did say you loved me, did you?” She stared at him through narrowed eyes. Trying to ignore the perfect features of his noble-looking face. “I said it over and over, like a freaking parrot, but you never did say it back to me.” A panicked laugh rattled her chest. “Tell me, Con, with no bullshit or beating about the bush. Did you ever, just for one moment, love me too?”

He blinked and a muscle twitched in his arm.

“Come on. The truth for once.” She held her breath. Horrible hope bloomed in her chest. Did his hesitation mean…

He hung his head and his silence deflated the last of her ego like a rapier.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She dove for the living room and slammed the bedroom door behind her. Scrabbled to find the clothes she’d torn off in her embarrassing frenzy of lust. She struggled to tug up her tangled pantyhose as the door opened and Con emerged from the bedroom, shirt half-buttoned. Him catching her there, undignified in her underwear, her unlovely body exposed in the harsh fluorescent light, made her cringe with shame.

“Lizzie.”

Her heart leapt at the sound of her name on his lips. Her fingers fumbled with the nylon waistband. “Go away!”

He didn’t love her.

He just wanted her money.

She picked her rumpled dress off the floor and pulled it on over her head. When she emerged from the fabric their eyes met and a pang of emotion rocked her.

We’re getting married today.

No, we’re not.

The whirlwind four-week courtship that felt like a fairytale come true…was over.

Fake.

A scam.

She jerked her eyes from his gaze and they fell to a half empty champagne bottle in the ice bucket on the coffee table. She seized it by the neck, spilling cold champagne down her arm.

“What the—” He slumped to the floor as the bottle thunked against his head.

Lizzie snatched up her wallet and shoved her feet into her uncomfortable high heels. Why not more pain?

Without a backward glance at the body on the floor, she slammed her apartment door and took off down the fire stairs, banging her heels on the concrete as hard as she could.

Look out, world. The wheels have come off and I’m coming full speed ahead!





Chapter 3





Con parked his car outside the adobe walls of the Zen Mind Spa in Las Gordas, Arizona, and entered the front yard through a decorative wrought-iron gate. The forbidding desert stretched for countless miles outside, but lush grasses and bubbling fountains marked his arrival in an oasis of luxury.

“I’m here to see Lizzie Hathaway.” He addressed the aerobicized receptionist. Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she picked up the phone. Plinking samisen music fell around him like drops of water and confident people in workout clothes cruised through the lobby as he waited.

“I’m afraid she’s not picking up.” She turned and glanced at the wall of keys. “Would you like me to page her? What’s your name?”

He cocked his head. “I’m here for her birthday. It’s a surprise.”

He held her gaze ruthlessly.

“Oh.” She blinked several times.

“Would it be okay if I just went up there and knocked on the door? I have a present.” He lifted the gift bag he carried and the tissue paper inside it rustled.

“Of course.” She smiled and pushed her chest out. “It’s room sixteen. At the end of the corridor.”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

Polished wood doors with brass numbers lined the Saltillo-tiled hallway. Would she try to knock him unconscious again? Probably, and he couldn’t blame her. He still woke up at night, sweating at the memory of her question.

Did you ever, just for one moment, love me too?

And his chilling silence.

He still wondered what would have happened if he’d said yes. He’d fought that urge with every cell in his body and in his heart he knew he’d done the right thing. He’d let her off the hook.

What did he know about love? Everyone he’d ever loved was gone. He was all loved out for one lifetime.

He took a deep breath. He hadn’t seen her since that fateful night over a month ago and excitement mixed with apprehension as he raised his fist to knock.

Muffled music—Katy Perry?—crept out around the door frame. He knocked louder.

“No, thanks! My inner yogi is on vacation today,” came a rude shout from the other side of the door. Lizzie. His pulse picked up.

He knocked again. The music jerked off, and he heard feet clomp over tiles. The door flung open.

Then slammed shut.

“Lizzie.” He grabbed the handle. Was that really her?

“Get lost.”

“Please, let me in for one minute.” He needed to see her and reassure himself she was okay. He ached to hold her again, but he knew better than to get his hopes up.

“Go to hell.”

“I drove all the way from New York to see you.”

“You shouldn’t have bothered.” He heard something clatter to the floor.

“Can I at least get a look at you?” From what he’d glimpsed through the crack, an appeal to her pride might work.

He was right. The lock clicked and the door opened a crack.

“Look but don’t touch, buster.”

She pulled it open.

Joy roared through him at the sight of her—alive, whole, healthy. But the hardness in her eyes made his throat tighten. “You look different.”

She let out a hollow laugh, peered at him through mascaraed lashes. “I’ve been pursuing a little self-improvement. What do you think?”

A damn shame! That’s what he thought. Knew better than to say it, though. “You look… amazing.”

“I think so. Who knew I had it in me?” She did a twirl, then teetered on her high-heeled sandals. His heart seized and he resisted the urge to grab and steady her. “Champagne?”

She seemed completely unaffected by the sight of him. Had he thought that one look into his brown eyes would make her fall at his feet?

His gut recoiled at the prospect of drinking this early. It was 10:30 in the morning and she’d apparently had a glass or two already. “Uh, sure. Champagne sounds good.”

She sashayed across the Saltillo-tiled floor and he followed her into the room. A smallish Southwest-style bedroom with stuccoed walls and rustic pine furniture. The big bed unmade, clothes and cosmetics strewn about. French doors opened onto a terrace—they’d come in handy.