Heidi Rice - Bedded By A Bad Boy

It wasn’t the truth. He’d worked like a dog the last six months so he could afford to spend a few clear months painting. He had stacks of sketches stuffed in his duffel bag that he wanted to get on canvas. He’d had a vague offer to tend bar that came with a room in Brooklyn where he’d been hoping to settle while he got it done.

Painting was Monroe Latimer’s secret passion. Ever since he’d taken one of the art classes they’d offered during his second stretch inside, painting had been his lifeline. In those early days, it had been an escape from the ugliness and the sheer boredom of life in a cage. After he’d got out, it was the thing that had kept him centred, kept him sane. He always gave the pictures away or simply burned them when he had to move on. The process was the only thing that mattered to him. Making the oils work for him and putting the visions in his head onto canvas. He didn’t need family and possessions. He could put up with the drudgery of dead-end jobs and enjoy his rootless existence, if every six months or so he got the chance to stop and create.

He wasn’t about to tell his brother any of that, though. After all, he didn’t know the guy.

‘Monroe, if you’re short right now, surely it’d be good to crash here for a while.’

Monroe stiffened. Pride was the one thing he never compromised.

The irony of the situation, though, didn’t escape him.

When he’d been sixteen and desperate, after his first stretch in juvie, he’d been prepared to do anything to survive. Mooching off his rich brother back then wouldn’t have bothered him; in fact, he would probably have enjoyed screwing the guy over. But in all of the years since, Monroe Latimer had learned a lot about self-control and a whole lot more about self-respect. He’d sworn to himself after that second stretch that he would never go back to that horror again. To do that, he’d stayed clean, and he’d learned to rely on nobody but himself.

‘I’m not a freeloader.’ Monroe forced the words out, trying to quell his annoyance.

Linc sighed, his voice weary. ‘I know that, but you are family.’

‘I’m not family.’ Monroe watched his brother frown at the words. Tough. He needed to get this straight once and for all. ‘We weren’t that close as kids, but even if we had been, that was a million years ago. You’re not obligated to me any more than I am to you. We’re strangers.’

‘All right, stop.’ Linc held up his hand. ‘I understand what you’re saying, Roe,’ he said slowly. ‘Like you say, we’re strangers. Don’t you think I don’t know that?’

‘Then why the hell did you invite me?’

‘Why did you come?’

The quick rejoinder had Monroe stumbling to a halt. Why the hell had he come? ‘I don’t know. Just curious, I guess.’

‘Well, maybe that’s enough for now.’ Linc walked across the living area. ‘Let me at least show you the rest of the place, before you run out on us.’

Monroe was thinking he should do just that when Linc flung open the door to the apartment’s bedroom and his mind went blank.

The wall of glass at the far side of the room flooded it with mid-afternoon light. He could see the pool patio across the gardens, and the ocean beyond. Surf tumbled onto shore on an empty beach of white sand. The view was stunning, but it wasn’t that which made his blood slow, his heart thud against his chest. With its walls painted pristine white and only a bed and a small chest for furniture, the room was so bright and airy, he’d never seen a better place to paint. Always before, he’d had to be satisfied with dingy rented rooms or, one memorable summer, a broken-down trailer next to a car dump in Virginia. He’d never had a studio before, had never thought he wanted one, but, seeing the play of sunlight across one wall, he wanted this one.

‘You like it?’ Linc’s question interrupted his thoughts.

‘Yeah, I do.’ Monroe couldn’t disguise the leap of joy in his voice. He refused to let his doubts surface. Couldn’t he have this one thing, just for a little while? He’d pay his way; he’d make sure of it. ‘Looks like you’ve got a house guest for a while.’

‘Great.’ Linc smiled back at him.

‘But what I said about being a freeloader still goes.’ Monroe walked to the glass and peered down at the garden below. ‘You got anyone to do your yard work?’

Linc frowned as he stood beside him, looked down, too. ‘No, the old guy who used to do it’s having trouble with his arthritis. I figured I’d hire a local kid to keep it under control till Dan gets back on his feet.’

‘No need.’ Monroe took his eyes away from the window. ‘While I’m here, I’ll handle it. Looks like the lawn could use a cut. You got a mower in the garage?’

‘Yes, but…’ Linc’s eyes narrowed. ‘Monroe, I don’t want you doing the yard work. It isn’t necessary.’

‘It is to me.’

Linc didn’t look pleased. ‘Fine. I guess I don’t have a problem with you cutting the grass every once in a while.’

Monroe figured there were probably a lot of jobs needed doing about the place. From what he’d seen so far, the house and gardens were huge and, oddly for rich folks, they didn’t seem to have much hired help. He reckoned if he devoted his mornings to helping out around the place, it’d go some way to paying his brother back for the opportunity to paint in this glorious room.

Jessie replayed her humiliating encounter with Monroe in her head for the thousandth time as she strolled over to the garage apartment, her arms loaded down with fresh linens.

By organising an outing to the local ice cream parlour with Emmy, she’d managed to delay her next encounter with That Man for a good three hours. Unfortunately, out of sight had not meant out of her mind. Of course, Emmy’s endless chatter about her ‘cool new uncle’ over the hot fudge sundaes hadn’t helped. But it was the memory of his naked chest pressed against her back that kept slamming back into her thoughts every ten seconds or so. Not to mention all the daft things she’d said and done before that.

Her palms dampened on the white cotton sheets as she mounted the steps to his door. Oh, this was ridiculous. He was just a guy, and a supremely irritating one at that, if their first meeting was anything to go by. She’d promised Ali that she would apologise and that was going to be hard enough, but she absolutely was not going to dissolve in a puddle at his feet as she had almost done by the pool.

Telling the butterflies in her stomach to go away, Jessie tapped on the door. No answer. She raised her fist to knock again when it swung open.

‘Oh!’ The sight of the tanned naked chest in front of her, glistening with sweat, had her gaping in shock.

‘Hey, it’s the bad cop. Jessie, right?’

Jessie’s eyes shot up to his face. His hair, she noticed, was a dark, burnished blond when it was dry, streaked with gold. With a red and white bandanna tied round his forehead, his tanned, angular face and that thin scar across his brow, he looked like some beautiful Apache sun god, she thought in amazement. Then she spotted the glint of amusement in his riveting blue eyes.

‘Don’t you ever wear a shirt?’ she snapped.

He grinned, sending some really annoying dimples into his cheeks. ‘Not when it’s hot and I’m doing manual labour.’

‘Or when you’re pinching a swim in someone else’s pool.’ The snide remark was out before she could stop it. There was something about the sight of those perfect pectoral muscles, or maybe it was the tantalising sprinkling of chest hair across them, that just seemed to bring out her inner bitch.

‘Well…’ The cool amusement in his voice made her bristle ‘…I figure swimming in your clothes is kind of dumb.’