Love Her Madly Page 3

  Damn straight, he did. He had this, and he was going to have her, because after playing the dedicated date, the woman would owe him.

  That’s the only explanation he could come up with for why he’d made the offer in the first place. He wanted her in his bed—or her bed, or on the floor, against a wall, pretzeled in the back seat of a car—and this was his chance to get close enough to make that happen.

  “Let’s go,” he said, striding toward the gate. He held it open and issued her a challenging stare until she gave a small shrug and flounced through.

  Bing admired the bounce of her breasts then stared at the length of her legs as he followed her into the yard.

  “Alexa!” a male voice boomed as they mounted steps leading to a deck weathered to near silver. At a long table shaded by fading market umbrellas, a burly man came to his feet. “My little girl!”

  Bing straightened his shoulders and forced his mind off soft tits and the naked back of her knees. Surely an Italian father could sniff out lustful thoughts aimed at his daughter. He watched the stocky man with iron-gray hair embrace his daughter as if she’d just survived a shipwreck. Then he turned toward Bing with a beaming smile and an outstretched hand. “How are you doing, Brody?”

  “Papa,” Alexa chided. “This is Brody’s twin, Bing. Remember? I told you I was bringing him to Sunday brunch yesterday.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” the man said, squeezing with a firm grip. “Old men like me forget everything.”

  Riiight, Bing thought. There was a cagey light in the old guy’s eyes. “Nice to meet you Mr. Alessio.”

  “Call me Art,” he directed, then indicated the chair across the table from his. “Sit, sit. Brunch is soon. But now my daughter will go to the kitchen, bring you out something to drink.”

  Alexa rolled her eyes. “In this backyard, it’s not the twenty-first century.”

  “Sure it is,” Art said easily. “And in this century you were raised to be polite to a guest.”

  Hesitating, her gaze darted between her dad and Bing.

  “What? You’re afraid I’ll make your friend uncomfortable?” Art demanded.

  It was exactly what she was counting on, Bing thought. She was counting on him getting so uncomfortable that he’d renege on his offer.

  “Brody is quite at ease around me,” her father continued. “And—”

  “I’m not my brother,” Bing said, taking a seat. “Not to mention that Lex and I don’t have the same kind of relationship as he has with her.”

  “Oh?” Her father leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “What does that mean?”

  “We’re not just friends.” He looked over at Alexa, taking care to keep his eyes trained on her slightly flushed face and off her body so his dick didn’t start doing the thinking for him. “Right, honey?”

  Her color heightened. “Um…”

  He smiled, trying to keep his triumph out of it. To maintain her pride, she couldn’t correct him and claim he was only another buddy like Brody. The whole point of this escort-her-to-events business was to convince her family and friends she’d moved on to another man without a dent to her heart.

  Reaching out, he snagged her hand. She did that twitch thing again, and he ignored the tiny sign of protest and brought her fingers to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles, and included a small swipe of his tongue.

  Her eyes flared wide.

  “Right, honey?” he prompted again.

  “S-sure,” she stuttered, then fled.

  He turned his attention to her father, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. Yep. Italian father, all right. “So…” the man began.

  But before he could get out more than a few innocuous sentences, both his wife and daughter joined them on the deck. Then Bing had to make nice to her mother, Patricia—a petite woman with a warm smile and laugh lines at the corners of her eyes—and test the frosty glass of lemonade Alexa put before him. Her aunt and uncle arrived after that and he made more nice until massive plates filled with brunch stuff were passed around and they all picked up knives and forks.

  Time passed as people complimented the food, shared small talk about the weather, discussed plans for the summer. It wasn’t until second helpings of the delicious strata were mostly consumed that Art made a pronouncement to the table.

  “Bing is more than friends with our Alexa,” he said, as he pulled his cloth napkin from the vee created by the open collar of his starched shirt.

  Five pairs of eyes swung Bing’s way.

  He refused to be intimidated, and instead slid an arm around Alexa—conveniently seated beside him—and leaned close to kiss her temple. “Lucky me,” he said. “And I’m looking forward to spending more time with her during all the excitement surrounding her cousin’s wedding.” In return, he’d extract sexual favors.

  “Oh.” Her mother straightened in her chair. “How wonderful.”

  Then Alexa flashed him a bright smile, which was his first clue there was trouble ahead. “Mama, Zia Jo, Bing has never been to a wedding, can you believe that?”

  Fucking Brody. He’d shared that with his little pal-next-door too?

  “This is true?” the tall woman named Zia Jo asked.

  “Yep. Just never had the opportunity.” Which was total bullshit. At past-thirty years old, he’d received a number of invitations. But a day of nuptials had never interested him—especially if some woman wanted him to be her date for the big event. No need to give anyone the wrong idea.

  So he’d sworn off weddings…until Alexa needed him.

  No reason to worry about that, though. He was doing it for the sex.

  To remind himself of it he allowed his gaze to wander to the hint of cleavage revealed when she reached across the table for the lemonade pitcher. Her breasts were a tidy handful. He’d already determined that by studying her in everything from tank tops to sports bras, but he didn’t know the size of her nipples, their color—rose? berry?—or the way they’d tighten against his tongue.

  Her father cleared his throat and Bing snapped his gaze back to his near-empty plate. Shit! His shaft was responding to his mental musings, and an erection wasn’t something to be sporting around the woman’s relatives.

  Alexa’s hand clapped against his upper thigh and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “You should get out your books, Mama.” Squeezing his leg, she gave Bing another mega-watt smile. “We have albums filled with photos of the wedding gowns we’ve created. I’m sure you’d love to look at them.”

  She was trying to kill him. He’d either die of boredom by bridal dresses or be skewered by her father for the dirty turn of his mind when she had her hand so close to his cock.

  Don’t think with your dick! He pried her fingers from his iron-hard quad muscle and brought their clasped hands to the table, where her relatives could see them. Breathing out, he tried cooling his blood.

  “If there are albums,” he said, gaining enough control to slide her an alligator smile, “surely you have some filled with baby Alexa? Now those would be a treat.”

  Let her squirm a little.

  And she did, when her mother instantly jumped to her feet. “Of course I do! Give me a minute to clear the table—”

  “Alexa and I’ll do that,” he put in. “We’ll meet back here in a few minutes, okay?”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Alexa muttered as they walked into the kitchen, arms filled with plates and platters.

  “What?”

  “You’d be better off opting for chiffon and organza. They have dozens of photo albums of me,” she said, sliding the items in her hands onto the countertop beside the sink.

  “Where’s the problem with that? I’m trying to convince them of my sincere interest in you.” In having sex with you. To confirm his goal was only that, over her shoulder Bad Twin Bing stole another look down the bodice of her dress as he divested himself of his own share of china.

  As if she felt his gaze, she whirled around.

  Whoops. He y
anked his gaze up to her eyes.

  That was his mistake. Desire, however reluctant, was in their soft, golden brown. Her lashes were so long his common sense got tangled in them. He moved closer, caging her by gripping the counter on either side of her hips.

  She licked her bottom lip and his dick flexed in reaction. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he took advantage of the relative privacy to cover his mouth with hers. This was no gentle foray like before, but a full-on, heated kiss. His lips ground against hers, tasting lemonade and cinnamon and Alexa. His tongue slid into the soft cavern of her mouth and he heard her moan. Lust poured into his bloodstream and he moved one hand to the back of her head, tilting it to taste her more deeply. His other palm cupped the full curve of one ass cheek, using it to jerk her closer to the tense muscles of his body.

  Then she did that intoxicating thing she’d done before—she submitted to his aggressiveness by melting against him. The instant compliance blew his mind, because he knew damn well she was wary of him, with walls a mile high. But his touch decimated her…just as the knowledge of that destroyed him.

  He slid his hand along the cotton of her skirt, found the hemline and then the silky skin at the back of her thigh. She made a sound deep in her throat and he pushed his knee between her legs, against her mound. Her mouth opened wider to take more of him in.

  His whole body clenched, then his head jerked up, breaking the kiss so his gaze could roam. He needed to find a flat surface. Some place where he could lay her down and rip off the dress in order to make her…

  His.

  The last word splashed over his consciousness like cold water.

  He leaped away, appalled by what almost happened in her parents’ kitchen. Turning from her, he slid his hand in his pants and adjusted the heavy, engorged organ that had taken control of his brain. Shit.

  Hauling in a deep breath, he combed his fingers through his hair and focused on thoughts to brake the damn runaway train. Icebergs. Porcupine quills. Italian papas with shotguns. That weird, possessive word that sent a decided, chilly jolt through him.

  His.

  Bing Maddox was never greedy for a woman in that particular way. He might want sex, her body, a release. But he’d never thought of…having.

  Stupid, reckless cock was leading him down the wrong path.

  In the distance, he heard Alexa’s mother calling their names. “We’d better get out there,” he said in a gruff voice, not looking at her.

  Without a word, she fell into step beside him. As he retook his seat outside, he reiterated his earlier vow. Maddox, don’t think with your dick!

  The first album was full of photos of a cherubic, brown-eyed baby in pink cotton and white lace. He made the appropriate remarks, he supposed, because Alexa’s mother beamed at him as she drew close another set of pictures.

  “Mom, no,” Alexa protested, then a strange expression crossed her face and she put a hand over her mouth.

  Bing almost laughed. For a moment she’d forgotten she wanted to put him off.

  “Oh, all right,” her mom said, clearly disappointed.

  “One more?” Bing winked at Alexa and chose an album at random from the stack.

  More than a decade of time had passed. The infant was now an adolescent with Alexa’s big eyes and her pretty mouth.

  The real live woman sitting nearby choked out a sound. “Don’t we have some pictures of me lying naked and rump-up on a rug? Something less embarrassing than those?”

  “What can you possibly mean?” her mother said, peering over Bing’s arm. “You were adorable at fourteen.”

  “I was fat,” Alexa said.

  “Your skin was gorgeous, just like now,” Patricia said. “Your hair so shiny.”

  “Fat,” her daughter repeated.

  Trying to hide, Bing noticed. In each photo she was peering from behind a crowd of others or with a prop—cat, binder, ice cream cone—held up as half-disguise.

  “Who are these two?” he asked, his finger pointing to a pair of towheads she embraced on a beach.

  “Blake and Darian Winters,” Patricia said. “They just loved Alexa. She was their favorite babysitter.”

  “Pretty much their only babysitter,” Alexa put in. “Since I was the girl with all her weekend nights free.”

  The raw note in her voice had him glancing over. She was staring at her clasped hands, her face wiped of any expression.

  “It’s true you didn’t date a lot—”

  “Face it, Mom. I didn’t date at all in high school.”

  “You were a late bloomer,” Patricia said, her tone defensive. “At that age, not every girl is into boys.”

  Art Alessio, who had been immersed in a game of dominoes with his brother-in-law, looked up at this. “Of course she was into boys. Remember that year she and Drea stayed up night after night making embroidered paper valentines?”

  “Nona taught them how and they were lovely,” Zia Jo agreed. “Drea had boys vying with each other to make sure they received one from her.”

  “Yes, I remember.” Patricia sighed a little. “They were such pretty things and took the girls hours.”

  “The only boy I gave one to handed it right back,” Alexa said, rising abruptly to her feet. Swiping the near-empty lemonade pitcher from the table, she headed off in the direction of the kitchen.

  Staring after her, Bing pressed his hand to his chest as something painful moved through it. The sun danced on the waves of her dark hair, teasing out bronze and golden strands and the brightness of them stung his eyes.

  She’d been hurt in high school. Was hurting still, at the memory. But he forced himself to stay in his seat even though a dangerous impulse inside him clamored he go after her. Touch her, pull her close, hold her against him. But he resisted, determined not to be driven by his dick.

  Shit, he thought, once more rubbing at his chest. If only the urge was all about his dick.

  Chapter Three

  Alexa stretched her arms overhead, twisted at the waist, and then touched her toes, all in preparation for her early morning run with Brody. He’d been gone since sometime last week, but he’d texted her the night before, telling her he was ready to resume their usual exercise regimen.

  She’d been so relieved to hear from him. With her best pal around and with her routine re-established, she had hopes of regaining the equilibrium that had been lost to her the day she flew off the handle over the fascinators…and flew into trouble with Bing Maddox.

  Brody’s front door opened and he stepped onto the porch. Though dawn was still minutes away, he wore a ball cap low on his forehead and pair of wraparound sunglasses. She stared, her brows rising toward her hairline. “I know you’re the progeny of a famous rock star, but have you yourself done something special to attract the attention of the paparazzi?”

  He grunted.

  “Really,” she said, refusing to drop the subject. “Is there a reason you’re trying to hide behind black lenses and that ugly Dodgers hat?”

  “Maybe I did something unspeakable while I was away.”

  She laughed. “Like what? Did you refuse to give a couple bucks to the charity of your choice at the supermarket?”

  “You’re beginning to irritate me,” Brody said. He dropped to his porch steps to put on his shoes.

  “You don’t get irritated with women. It’s one of your many charms.” She settled beside him and gave him a gentle tap with her shoulder. “I know, you’re afraid the polite police are after you because you took cuts in the line at the DMV.”

  With another caveman-like sound, he tied his second shoe. “Are you going to persist on being humorous and cheerful this morning?”

  “Of course I am,” she said, her voice as bright as polished platinum. “Those are two of my many charms.”

  “So you’re a morning person?”

  The words came from above. Both she and Brody jerked up their chins to see Bing striding their way, dressed in shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes, just like his brother.


  Alexa rose to her feet along with Brody. “Don’t you run in the evenings?” she asked Bing.

  “You’re a morning person?” he repeated, his voice registering disapproval.

  “I’m chatty,” she admitted. “The sun rises and my brain is full of many things.”

  Bing crossed his arms over his chest. “You know what you need? Someone to wear you out during the midnight hours so you wake up with nothing more on your mind than all the dirty deeds he did to you the night before.”

  Eeek. Heat wrapped around her body like a python and squeezed. Glancing over at his twin, she forced out a laugh. “Oh, you.”

  “What the hell—” Brody began, but Alexa grabbed his arm and tugged him forward.

  “Time’s awastin’,” she said. “I need to burn some calories.”

  He dutifully fell into step with her. She could feel Bing behind them, his presence hurrying her along. “How was your trip?” she asked Brody. “Some project out of town?”

  “Hmm,” he said.

  She thought she heard his twin snort from behind them, but she didn’t dare throw him a glance. Since Sunday, she’d been doing everything she could to avoid him. Not that he’d called or texted her or anything like that. And not that she’d minded in the least. He’d likely forgotten all about his offer to be her date to the upcoming nuptial events or had been scared off by the Alessio brunch (after the photo albums and before they’d left he’d been grilled by her dad and her uncle about all things construction business), just as she’d intended.

  In any case, it seemed the what-am-I-going-to-do-about-Bing crisis had passed.

  Half a block later, Brody broke into her commentary about the beautiful roses, the dog in the window across the street, the broken sprinkler head that was going to cost some neighbor a mint when the water bill came due at the end of the month.

  “What’s been going on in the wedding world?”

  She resisted another urge to glance back at his twin. “Busy busy busy. More calls for more websites. The custom gown part of the business just as crazy as usual.”