Good Girl Gone Bad Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  If you love erotica, one-click these hot Scorched releases… Improper Proposal

  Burned

  His for the Week

  Brazilian Fantasy

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Carmen Falcone. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 105, PMB 159

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  [email protected]

  Scorched is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Alethea Spiridon

  Cover design by Bree Archer

  Cover art from Deposit Photos

  ISBN 978-1-64063-546-3

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition April 2018

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  To my besties Kristina Redmon and Marci Protsman. I love our girl dates!

  Chapter One

  Go screw yourself.

  Marco Giordano read the text he’d received from Elizabeth. Of course, she’d already told him that an hour earlier when he’d proposed she sign a contract to become his temporary fiancée.

  Sighing, he slid his Lamborghini into the parking lot of a strip mall.

  What else could he do? In two weeks, his grandmother would turn ninety years old. He hadn’t planned on attending her birthday—hadn’t in several years—but a phone call from his cousin changed his resolve. Nonna wasn’t just celebrating a milestone. Due to illness, she’d most likely be celebrating her last year of life. Maybe even her last month.

  He parked his car and sat for a moment. His gut clenched like someone had punched him. What a joke. Due to his size and martial art skills, a man would be an idiot to raise his voice to him, let alone hit him. Marco ran his fingers through his hair. He would take any beating, anything to buy his precious Nonna more time from her congestive heart failure. I should have visited more often. I should have been there for her.

  He hadn’t been, and she could never find out the reason why he’d avoided her for years—that alone could kill her.

  Shaking his head, he slid out of the car and shut the door behind him. His brother Nico had told him about this place, a small, rundown strip mall. It was strategically located in an area they planned on revitalizing into a cool shopping and restaurant oasis. A hip district. Their representative had been able to convince the owners to sell their retail spaces to them… Well, all but one.

  Now he had to talk to Lily Jenkins, the owner of a hair salon. She’d also been stirring up controversy, telling the other owners not to sell and trying to stall negotiations.

  Why did this matter?

  He could simply send a lawyer to tell her that her chances of winning this battle were nonexistent. He’d looked into her situation. At one point, her family had owned the entire mall, but over the past several years they’d sold each office space to an investing company or direct buyer. This was the last piece of property she possessed. With the amount of debt she owed, most likely she couldn’t even afford an attorney. Yet, a part of him preferred to speak to her in person because he didn’t want bad PR. As much as he knew he was right, only one bad tweet in the world of social media could make people second-guess their opinion about an entire company. He didn’t want any dark clouds hanging over him before Nonna’s birthday. That meant avoiding negative headlines.

  He’d been absent. Now, he’d make it up to his grandmother even if was that last thing he did for her—he’d show up with a good-looking lady he’d claim as a fiancée, too. Show his grandmother he’d marry someday. His nonna had always bugged him about settling down, and even if it were a false pretense, he’d fake it for her. Hell, he’d hire a struggling, unknown actress to play the part.

  Marco strode by the boutiques and massage parlors until he reached the last shop in the strip. A sheer leopard-print curtain adorned the window. The space was small compared to others in the area—certainly minuscule compared to the place on Madison Avenue where he’d gotten his last haircut.

  Still, there was a kitschy charm about the salon. He knocked on the glass door, but a petite woman with a colorful apron simply gestured for him to come inside. The woman. His heart skipped a beat.

  She had to be Lily Jenkins. Due the size of the place, he doubted she could afford employees.

  “Welcome,” she said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Her green eyes twinkled, and he wondered if he’d ever seen a pair with such beauty. Specks of gold flickered around the irises, where a ring of avocado green encircled a brighter emerald color.

  For the first time in his life, words failed him. He parted his lips to speak, but a huge lump in his throat prevented him from saying anything. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. A sound finally traveled from the depths of his lungs, his voice coarse. “Hi.”

  “Please sit down,” she said, gesturing at the chair in front of the large mirror. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  She had? Maybe Nico had mentioned his issues with her standoff, though he’d texted his brother and told him he’d take care of her personally. Patience had never been his brother’s forte, though, so maybe he had called Lily to warn her Marco would drop by.

  “I have to say, I didn’t expect such a tall guy. What are you? Six two?” she asked, and before he responded, a black smock swooshed over him.

  “Six four,” he said, straightening his shoulders.

  “Whoa. That’s amazing.”

  When she closed the smock’s snaps, her fingers brushed the hairs on the back of his neck. The simple, accidental touch ignited a fiery response. His internal temperature raised to scary levels, and his groin stirred. God. She even smelled amazing—a mix of floral and spicy notes.

  “So, what are we going to do today?” She played with his hair. “I like your current cut… How about we wash it, then figure it out? Maybe just a trim?”

  “Sounds good,” he said, his brain fogged by the sultry way her fingers worked his head. Maybe she wanted to give him a haircut first to show him how talented she was and how she needed to keep her business.

  With a gesture, she told him to head to the only washing station. For the second time since their brief meeting, he followed her lead, somewhat entranced by her.

  He tried to adjust to the chair in front of the sink.

  “Sorry. These were not made for a big man like you, right?” she said, then chuckled nervously.

/>   Did she feel it, too? This animalistic attraction expanding between them? He placed his head back, and soon warm water deluged his hair. In an attempt to regain his typical control, he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. She applied shampoo and lathered his hair. Then…

  She began slow, languid strokes on his scalp. His cock strained against his pants, and blood boiled in his temples. She continued the motion, massaging his head, her rubs firm and deep. His scalp sizzled with awareness, the sensation shooting down his body and searing every cell in its path. When heat coiled low in the pit of his stomach, his hard-on reached a painful level.

  He suppressed a groan. Dio. He should stop this game, surge to his feet, and tell her who he was and what he’d do to her—but he knew when he told her, she’d hate him. Selfishly, he needed her hands on him for a bit longer. Never had a woman evoked such erotic reactions from him so quickly, with his clothes still on and without any intimate touch.

  Though, her hands washing his hair then reapplying a creamy conditioner were living proof intimacy didn’t need nakedness. He opened his eyes for a moment, stealing a glance at her. He’d expected her to engage in small talk, but he found her alluring eyes riveted on his. Her lips parted as if she yearned for a lover’s kiss.

  His kiss.

  She removed the conditioner, her actions robotic and calculated as if she were in some kind of a trance. Damn it.

  Pre-cum coated the tip of his cock, and he had never been so grateful for a stylist’s smock. Not that she wouldn’t be able to see his hard-on if she glanced down. She grabbed a towel from a shelf behind her and started to dry his hair. Again, her hands on him did a number to his usually remarkable self-control.

  “Now I need you back at my station,” she said.

  He didn’t miss the note of apprehension in her voice. “My pleasure,” he said, following her lead. At first, the salon hadn’t seemed so minuscule, and now the walls seemed to close in on him as he sat down.

  She stood behind him, smoothing her apron more than once. “What do you want?” she asked.

  Smiling inwardly, he doubted she was talking about the cut. “I want you.”

  …

  Lily stood motionless, her feet pinned to the spot like the roots of a decades-old tree. She didn’t dare yank her gaze from the mirror where the reflection of that marvelous specimen of a man stared at her, challenging her with every passing nanosecond.

  What the hell was going on? She’d been on a dry spell for months, not interested in dating. Not that her busy schedule left much time for anything else but work—after she’d returned to the salon, she’d tried finding new clients. She’d gone to trade shows, taking workshops. All had gone well until a big salon franchise had opened across the street, and just like that, her hard work had turned into dust.

  And now her body was a hot mess. Strands of heat charged within her, bolting down until it reached the wet place between her legs. Yep. Her clit throbbed in anticipation, as it had from the first moment she laid her eyes on this man. The man…who certainly wasn’t the guy her friend Tony referred to her as a potential client. Tony had told her he’d given her business card to a guy he met at a club. A guy whose name he didn’t remember. She hadn’t asked this hottie’s name, afraid she’d make it awkward for Tony if she admitted he hadn’t remembered the name. What if the two had hooked up? Instead, she’d hoped he would pay with a credit card so she’d discover his name in a more discreet way, without throwing her friend under the bus.

  “You’re not gay, are you?” she asked for the sake of asking. She had her share of gay friends and loved every one of them. She could bet there was nothing but dangerous maleness about the object of her desire.

  He’d dwarfed her when he’d stood, but now, even sitting, he had the commanding vibe of royalty, of someone who could snap his fingers and fulfill his wishes. Besides needing a trim, his cut was perfect, the chestnut hair falling down on his ear, textured and sexy. She had indulged herself when she washed his hair, and wondered how nice it would be to do the same thing with his body, smoothing lather over his ridiculously broad shoulders and muscly chest just as she’d done with his thick, gorgeous hair.

  He gave a hearty laugh. “No.”

  Shit. If he’d been gay, her stomach wouldn’t be in knots. He wasn’t the one Tony had said would stop by for a cut. Which meant today she was clientless, another day without making any money. Concern squeezed her heart. The last couple of weeks, her one worry had been how to keep her head above water.

  The compliments she’d given him about his height and hot maleness stabbed at her. What if he judged her to be some hairdresser who flirted with every guy just to get a good tip? No. “Oh. I’m sorry… Listen, I was joking around. I thought you were someone who was supposed to come over for a cut. And he’s gay.”

  “Are you disappointed I’m not gay, cara?” he said in that deep, exciting, dreamy accent.

  She sucked in her breath, bottling her reply and buying some time. Then she shifted her weight from one foot to another, unsure, feeling ten years younger. “No,” she confessed, her throat dry.

  A powerful energy passed between them as they stared at each other. Fire brewed at the pit of her belly. God. She was going to die soon if he didn’t kiss her. What was happening? She usually had a five-date rule before she’d even go to second base, and now she stood in front of this stranger, her nipples tightening and her pussy wet.

  He swiveled on the chair until he faced her, then pulled her to his lap, and she didn’t resist. She didn’t have it in her to fight this incredible attraction that sent electrifying ripples through her. He positioned her so she straddled him, and when she adjusted, a large rod poked against her. For once, she was thankful for her lack of clients and her empty shop. Heat seeped through the flimsy material of her undewear, and she gasped. When he’d been on the washing station, she made an effort not to look directly at his erection.

  Now she couldn’t ignore it.

  “Good. I want you nothing but satisfied,” he said, then lifted a finger to her face. The moment his thumb stroked her cheek, a part of her melted like ice cream on the pavement on a torrid summer day.

  Blood pounded in her veins. She leaned into his caress, reveling in the warmth of his flesh and the goose bumps it provoked in her own. I deserve this. She’d spent her free time during the past three years taking care of her sick father. She’d seen their assets evaporate to pay for his treatment, then for her mother’s surgery and retirement home costs.

  His finger slid down the corner of her mouth, and she smiled. He traced her lips with his fingertip, his gaze transfixed on hers. She didn’t manage to escape the undeniable appeal of his rich chocolate eyes.

  His hand slid down, touching her neck, teasing the side of her breast, then he settled at the small of her back. A gentle but firm pressure pulled her closer to him, and soon he shifted on the chair and brought them to a sinful mold.

  Her heart throbbed at the base of her throat, and she shut off everything around them. He captured her lips with his, and her world as she knew it collapsed beneath her. She opened her mouth to allow him full access, and he took every single bit of it. His tongue stroked hers with passion and urgency, the kiss growing hungrier than a ten-day fasting diet.

  He placed his hand on the back of her neck, his fingers kneading her skin. Any kinks she might have had from moving stuff around her apartment dissolved under the power of his hand. Between kisses, a moan flew from her lips. Her hot stranger and possible potential client took it as encouragement, crushing his mouth on hers again, intensifying the kiss as if breathing became a luxury neither of them could afford.

  She squirmed in his lap, and even though she was on top, he had complete control of the situation. It felt damn good not to worry about a thing. Constant insecurities of career, income, and worse, the bullying real estate company that wanted to buy her space, disappeared. She needed this, needed him.

  “Bellissima.”

  She open
ed her mouth to reply, but again he disarmed her with the intensity of his eyes. Nothing that she’d say, no snarky remark could ever be a match to his enticing accent. He looked at her like she was a big deal. Hell, she felt like one.

  He kissed her again, their tongues caressing each other with the intimacy of old lovers reunited. Nonsense. If she had met a man as arresting as this one before, she’d damn well remember. In one swift movement, he stood up and took her with him. She wrapped her legs around him, giggling, as he carried her to her tiny bathroom/supply room. If she’d cursed the area for the lack of space before, now she welcomed it.

  He positioned her on the top of the sink without slowing down the kiss. If anything, it grew stronger, greedier, more urgent. When he reached to her back to undo her apron, she realized his fingers trembled. Desire renewed at her core, and she reached for his hands, giving them a small squeeze. God. Was this really happening? After no sex for almost three years, she was fucking a complete stranger in her place of work?

  He lowered the apron until it bunched at her waist, then cupped her breasts over the buttoned white shirt she’d chosen. She arched her back, bucking into him so he’d end her agony.

  “Dio mio… You’re so fucking sexy. What am I going to do with you?”

  “Nothing too virtuous I hope.”

  He chuckled.

  “I’m just saying it’d be a hell of a disappointment if you brought me all the way here to hand me your business card or tell me you’re married.” She straightened her shoulders. “You’re not, are you? Married?”

  He shook his head, lifting up her skirt. God. Goose bumps rose wherever he playfully touched her. Blood boiled at a pulse behind her knee she’d never even noticed she had. All of her roared in a silent plea for this man, this man who thankfully wasn’t married, to take her.

  He continued to make his way up her thigh until his finger slid beneath her underwear. She wished she wore something sexier than the faded blue hipster pair, but he didn’t seem to mind. She moaned when he found her engorged clit, her nub vibrating at his touch.