LAD: A British Bad Boy Romance Novel (Bad Boys of London Book 1) by Emilia Holland
Authors: Emilia Holland
Ads: Link
scare you.” He stared straight ahead.
“You don’t.” I’d die before ever admitting him being right.
“I’m not who you think I am, I assure you.”
“And who do you think that is?”
“Probably some sort of female predator who lacks a conscience. See, I have my vices, as everyone does— Women, obviously, among others. But I assure you that you have nothing to fear about me, Miss Frost. At least, until I get you out of that dress…Then I can’t promise what I might be capable of.”
The words, creepy coming from any other lips but his, made me wet. Hell, even being in his presence had my libido whining about why it had been woken up so abruptly. I readjusted my skirt and leaned onto the bar to give him a good show of what he’d be missing out on this evening. Time to give him some back.
“I’m not scared of you. I don't know you.”
“Your palm would say otherwise.”
Too busy recalling sentences from my femme fatale lexicon, I hadn’t realized him take my hand in his. I snatched it back, examining my clammy hands for myself. Yep— They had nerves written all over them.
“Look, I’m here on vacation with my friends and hanging out with them is my priority. So, excuse me for not wanting to hang out with a complete stranger over them.” I told the truth, I think. Kristen had been intent on me having a fling with this guy, but honestly, I wanted to enjoy my London vacation with my two best friends at my side. I didn’t want to be experiencing things without them— It felt wrong.
“I never said otherwise.”
Damn, you’re right, I thought. I’d assumed he’d said something he didn’t and wracked my brains for an explanation. “Your tone suggested it.”
“Ah, my tone. Damn, that tone of mine.” We attempted to hide smiles from each other.
“I’m a good reader like that. I can tell you’re silently begging for me to stay here with you. I’ll put money on the fact that you’ll be pissed off when I leave in two minutes.”
He swiveled the chair to rest his elbows back on the bar. Then completely ignored my perfect, get-em-girl comment. “You off sight-seeing tomorrow then?”
Bastard! Bastard! Bastard! “Um, yeah.”
“You packed your bum-bag and disposable camera like a proper tourist?” he teased then gestured to the bartender for a fresh pint.
I defended my right to be as cliche a tourist as I desire. “Yeah. We’re getting the double-decker hop-on/hop-off bus, going to the Globe, on the Eye, up The Shard— Seeing all of it. I mean, it seemed the most logical thing to do when you go on vacation to a city you’ve never been before, a trip that you’ve been saving for for eight years, in a famous city that you may never return to. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You have the bum-bag?”
“Yes, I have the fanny-pack but no camera— Just my phone.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned.”
“Yep.”
“So, no way you might be in service of a more…hands-on…tour guide while you’re here?” He lifted his brows to me with a grin softening his whole expression. Fuck, I wanted those full, rosy lips of his against mine.
“Do those lines genuinely work for you a lot of the time?”
“Every time, sweetheart.” He made a breathy laugh at me.
“Okay. Noted that British girls are far more gullible than I thought.”
“No, they just happen to be a little less highly strung.” The conversation became unhinged by our mutual defenses.
“Excuse me?”
“I implied you were highly strung. You American’s can seem that way.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“It was a joke.”
“A joke you meant. I’m not every American, okay? I’m breezy as it gets, buddy, so screw you.”
“Relax, doll. I’m only playin’.” But he wasn’t. He pointed out something in me I knew to be true but hated being called out for because of it. What he referred to as highly strung, I referred to as not putting up with crap—
“You don’t.” I’d die before ever admitting him being right.
“I’m not who you think I am, I assure you.”
“And who do you think that is?”
“Probably some sort of female predator who lacks a conscience. See, I have my vices, as everyone does— Women, obviously, among others. But I assure you that you have nothing to fear about me, Miss Frost. At least, until I get you out of that dress…Then I can’t promise what I might be capable of.”
The words, creepy coming from any other lips but his, made me wet. Hell, even being in his presence had my libido whining about why it had been woken up so abruptly. I readjusted my skirt and leaned onto the bar to give him a good show of what he’d be missing out on this evening. Time to give him some back.
“I’m not scared of you. I don't know you.”
“Your palm would say otherwise.”
Too busy recalling sentences from my femme fatale lexicon, I hadn’t realized him take my hand in his. I snatched it back, examining my clammy hands for myself. Yep— They had nerves written all over them.
“Look, I’m here on vacation with my friends and hanging out with them is my priority. So, excuse me for not wanting to hang out with a complete stranger over them.” I told the truth, I think. Kristen had been intent on me having a fling with this guy, but honestly, I wanted to enjoy my London vacation with my two best friends at my side. I didn’t want to be experiencing things without them— It felt wrong.
“I never said otherwise.”
Damn, you’re right, I thought. I’d assumed he’d said something he didn’t and wracked my brains for an explanation. “Your tone suggested it.”
“Ah, my tone. Damn, that tone of mine.” We attempted to hide smiles from each other.
“I’m a good reader like that. I can tell you’re silently begging for me to stay here with you. I’ll put money on the fact that you’ll be pissed off when I leave in two minutes.”
He swiveled the chair to rest his elbows back on the bar. Then completely ignored my perfect, get-em-girl comment. “You off sight-seeing tomorrow then?”
Bastard! Bastard! Bastard! “Um, yeah.”
“You packed your bum-bag and disposable camera like a proper tourist?” he teased then gestured to the bartender for a fresh pint.
I defended my right to be as cliche a tourist as I desire. “Yeah. We’re getting the double-decker hop-on/hop-off bus, going to the Globe, on the Eye, up The Shard— Seeing all of it. I mean, it seemed the most logical thing to do when you go on vacation to a city you’ve never been before, a trip that you’ve been saving for for eight years, in a famous city that you may never return to. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You have the bum-bag?”
“Yes, I have the fanny-pack but no camera— Just my phone.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned.”
“Yep.”
“So, no way you might be in service of a more…hands-on…tour guide while you’re here?” He lifted his brows to me with a grin softening his whole expression. Fuck, I wanted those full, rosy lips of his against mine.
“Do those lines genuinely work for you a lot of the time?”
“Every time, sweetheart.” He made a breathy laugh at me.
“Okay. Noted that British girls are far more gullible than I thought.”
“No, they just happen to be a little less highly strung.” The conversation became unhinged by our mutual defenses.
“Excuse me?”
“I implied you were highly strung. You American’s can seem that way.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“It was a joke.”
“A joke you meant. I’m not every American, okay? I’m breezy as it gets, buddy, so screw you.”
“Relax, doll. I’m only playin’.” But he wasn’t. He pointed out something in me I knew to be true but hated being called out for because of it. What he referred to as highly strung, I referred to as not putting up with crap—
Similar Books
