Tempted: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance Page 2

  “Mmm,” I say, shaking my head.

  Nat nods. “And if that’s not bad enough, I also took out a loan to buy the house right around the corner from the bakery so I could oversee the shop. So I’m up to my eyeballs in debt.”

  The word ‘debt’ brings up my own worry. Before my stepfather died, I took out a large student loan of forty grand to cover living expenses while I get my master's. And as massive as that debt is, it doesn't even include the student loans I have from my time in undergrad. At the time, I wasn’t worried because daddy assured me he had the money to help me pay for it. Now he’s gone. My heart twists with pain. I shouldn't be worrying about money. But it's there in the back of my mind. I feel guilty even thinking about it.

  “But I’m okay,” Nat says quickly at my frown, as if afraid I’ll fall into pieces at any more bad news. “Business is brisk, and within a few years I should own the shop free and clear.”

  “That’s good,” I say absently, still munching away. Nat's right. The cookies are helping. Maybe I’ll just eat the whole fucking tray. “How’s the town been otherwise since I’ve been gone? Anything change?”

  Nat shakes her head, watching me. “Nope. Still the same ol' same ol'.”

  I’m not surprised. Everything looks the same. The town, the people. This church, the exact same one mom used to take me to for Sunday school every week until she passed away. It still looks to be in the same condition since I last saw it. I can still remember the days mom and I used to walk up the steps. When daddy would come, they'd playfully swing me back and forth, holding my hands as we entered the iron-wrought doors.

  As I gobble down cookie after cookie, tears burn my eyes and I have to push away the memory. I’m so fucking tired of crying.

  “That’s enough, Lizzie!” Nat hisses, snatching the next cookie out of my hand, breaking me out of my recollection.

  “Hey!” I object. “That was my last one.”

  “Right,” Nat growls.

  “You’re the one who told me to eat them,” I point out.

  “I told you to indulge a little, not eat the whole damn tray!”

  I open my mouth to protest, “I didn’t eat the whole--” I stop and stare in horror at the cookie tray. Of a dozen, only four are left. Eight. I’d eaten eight cookies without even realizing.

  Shaking her head, Nat stuffs the cookie she’d taken from me into her mouth. “Look Liz, I know this is a terrible time for you, and it might seem insensitive to say right now, but I am not going to let you develop any kind of bad habits in order to cope with Turner’s death, do you understand me?”

  I stare into Nat’s face. She looks so serious while chewing that cookie I burst into giggles. “Yes, Ma’am.” My laughter draws curious glances from people around the room. A few give me sympathetic looks as if they're thinking my giggles are a fit of hysterics borne from my grief, and start making their way over. I quickly morph my smile back into a frown. Oh God. Here they come.

  “Good,” Nat is barely able to say before she's swept out of the way by a throng of well-wishers.

  Before I know it, I’m overwhelmed by everybody talking at once.

  “It’s a shame about your stepfather, he was one of the best men this town’s ever had.”

  “How are you doing, Lizzie?”

  “We're so sorry for your loss.”

  “Did you know your father was dying?” Really?

  “Who's going to watch over the house while you’re at school?”

  Nat looks on with sympathy while I’m being mercilessly interrogated. She knows I can hardly tolerate some of these people, and I’m just trying to keep it together.

  Luckily for me, Nat intervenes right when it feels like I’m about to pass out. “Okay, that’s enough,” Nat says sternly to the group. “Lizzie's really tired and would like to go inside the chapel to see her father before sitting down.”

  She grabs me by the hand and begins pulling me toward the chapel doors.

  “Thank you,” I whisper with gratitude as we leave the group behind.

  Nat shakes her head. “No problem. I’m not even you, and they were about to give me a stroke.”

  I let out a dry chuckle.

  My legs are trembling like jell-o as we enter the chapel. The crowd seated inside goes silent as I enter the room. Though it’s the last thing I want, several people get up to greet me in the middle of the aisle. Some give me sad faces, and tell me everything will be alright, that God will take care of me. Others take my hand and tell me they’re sorry, while others embrace me and put on an act of crying.

  By the time I make it down the aisle with Nat, I feel like I’m being suffocated. I can only hope the service ends quickly. I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take.

  Then I see the coffin.

  Oh daddy, I cry inwardly. I’m so sorry.

  There he is, lying in front of me, devoid of color. Lifeless. My legs feel as if they’re going to buckle as I walk over to the coffin. I peer down into daddy’s face. He looks rested. Peaceful. Still, I can hardly take looking at him. He’s gone. Never coming back.

  Slowly, I touch his hand. His skin feels cold as ice.

  I can’t take it anymore. I lose it. My shoulders shake as I sob uncontrollably. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel anger. I promised myself I wouldn’t break down. But here I am, bawling like a baby.

  I hate it. I hate that the vultures can see me crying, that they can see my pain.

  All I want to do is go home, curl up in daddy’s favorite chair and take in the smell of his cigars. If I could, I’d lay there for days, talking to him, remembering all the good times. But I know I can’t.

  He's really gone.

  At some point, I don’t know when, Nat wraps her arms around me and leads me over to my seat. She's rubbing my back and quietly shushing me. I’m handed a handkerchief, which I gratefully take to blow my nose.

  The procession has begun, and people are beginning to line up near the coffin to view my stepfather.

  “Are you okay?” Nat asks, her eyes filled with concern.

  “I’m mad at myself,” I say angrily, wiping at my nose.

  Nat frowns. “What on earth for?”

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t break down.”

  “Don’t be. You’re only human.”

  “Yeah, I know I am, but some of these people aren’t. I gave them the show they’ve been waiting to see.”

  Nat glances scornfully around the room. “Look, don’t worry about them. If there’s anyone here that's happy to see you cry, then they can lick my asshole.”

  Even I have to laugh. She's ridiculous. I roll my eyes, but I have to admit, I do feel slightly better.

  After I pull myself together, I dare a glance around the room. No one seems to be visibly showing glee at my breakdown, but I know better. I catch a few tight smiles and waves as my eyes scan the room, and I’m about to turn back to Nat when my breath catches in my throat.

  Who the hell is that?

  There’s a man I don’t recognize, but he's staring at me. To say that he's handsome is an understatement given his chiseled bone structure and slender, but muscular physique. His short dark hair is a little longer on top and styled in a way that makes it seem messy, yet polished. Like he just woke up looking that fucking hot. He's dressed in a black suit I’m sure cost a couple grand; he looks like he stepped right out of GQ magazine.

  Underneath his hypnotic gaze, I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious of how I look. I’m sure with all the crying I look a hot mess. It annoys me that I even care at all. My dad is dead. Looking good is the last thing I should be worrying about. Still, I can’t help it. I wipe under my eyes and take in a steadying breath.

  “Who's that?” I’m forced to ask Nat against my will.

  Nat looks around the room until her eyes fall on the handsome gentleman and they light with recognition. “Oh,” she says casually. “That’s Liam Axton. Your dad’s neighbor.”

  A jolt of shock runs through me. Dad
dy’s neighbor? Nat has to be mistaken. “You mean he lives on the corner, right?” I clarify. “I can’t believe the Bernards would have moved from their home. They've lived there all their lives.”

  Nat shakes her head. “No, I mean he literally lives next door to your dad’s house. In twenty-two Wyoming.”

  I can’t help it, but I’m fucking floored. The house at 22 Wyoming was my dad’s rental property. It’s right next door to our family home, 20 Wyoming. Growing up, he said it was his cash cow and vowed he would never get rid of it. How could he have sold it to this... stranger?

  I’m struck silent by this revelation. I steal a glance of Liam. My heart jumps in my chest. He’s still staring at me. Hard. Boldly. His eyes seem to be assessing me, burning into me with an intensity I find unnerving.

  It suddenly feels very hot in the room, and there's only one question on my mind.

  Who the fuck is this guy, and how the hell did he know daddy?

  Chapter 2

  Liam

  I don’t know why the fuck I’m here. The law office of Allen Douglas, Esq. I’m alone in this cramped office, waiting on the lawyer to come back in here. I wanna get this formality over with as soon as fucking possible.

  My eyes dart around from his desk to the old dusty bookshelves, and I want to get the fuck out of here. I need to get away from people. The funeral was enough to make me bolt, but I owed it to Richard.

  I already said my goodbyes and laid him to rest, but I had to attend. I can’t deny that part of the reason I went was to see her. Elizabeth.

  He talked about her constantly. Day in, and day out. Everything reminded him of her in some way. I know he had regrets about not telling her everything. I told the old man he should've let her know. She's a grown woman, and she deserved to know the truth. He was a stubborn man though. He refused to let her see him as he lost more and more of himself. It's not my place to say he was wrong for doing it, but I don't know that I could've kept it from someone I loved.

  So she constantly weighed on his mind. I’ve heard more about her than anything else from the old man. I feel like I know her. When I saw her crying over his coffin, it broke my heart to see her in pain. I guess I can see why he didn't want her spending weeks crying over him. He couldn't stop the inevitable, but he tried to protect her from it until the end.

  I wanted to comfort her and tell her how much he truly loved her.

  But that’s just not who I am. And even though I know all about her, she doesn’t know shit about me.

  I almost did it though, just because I fucking wanted to. I almost walked up and took her in my arms and shielded her from all those prying eyes. She didn't need them watching her break down like that. I could tell it was bothering her. If it wasn’t for her friend being there with her, I would’ve stepped in. She needs someone. I don't know why I feel so strongly about it, but I want to be that someone.

  I make a point not to show emotion around anyone. Acting on emotion gets you killed in my line of work. But she looked so fragile and so damn torn up. Her pain called to a part of me I hardly know, one I rarely even acknowledge. I wouldn’t have been able to help myself. I don't protect people; in fact, I do the opposite. But she's different.

  I have a feeling she would’ve pushed me away, even if she wanted me to hold her.

  A humorless laugh huffs from my chest. If she did, that’d only make me want to hold her more.

  My dick stirs in my pants and I feel like a damn pervert, but imagining all the ways I could comfort her has me craving her touch. She’s gorgeous and curvy. I can just imagine how she’d feel in my arms. I’d pull her into my lap and kiss every inch of her body. I’d take away her pain and make her forget. That’s what I want.

  Fuck, my dick’s hard as steel. I groan and adjust it before anyone comes back in.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? I run my hands down my face and through my hair. I crack my neck and push down all the shit I’m feeling. I’m used to doing that, ignoring whatever bitch emotions are getting to me. I just need to get this reading of the will over with. Then I can move on and get back to the way my life used to be before Richard showed up.

  I have to concentrate on work. That’s what I need to do. I need to get back to my office and get my shit straightened out.

  Instead I’m in this tiny office, waiting on this reading that should have nothing to do with me.

  I told that old man not to leave me anything, so for the life of me I don’t know why I’m even here.

  I purse my lips and realize she should be here soon. His Elizabeth.

  I'm in a leather wingback chair, and I settle back before taking my phone out of my pocket. At least I can give his daughter her house back.

  He never should’ve given it to me in the first place. I'm not sure if she'll sell it or rent it out like he used to. Shit, she might even sell her family home that's next door for all I know. Whatever she wants to do, it's up to her.

  I wake my phone up and look at the time. Time for this shit to be over and done with. I’ve got a few emails and some texts I need to respond to.

  It’s only a few more minutes until the door behind me opens, and I’m quick to put my phone away and sit up straight. I take a look over my shoulder as the old lawyer rounds the desk and sits in his chair.

  Elizabeth closes the door behind her with a soft click. She stills for a second when she sees me, caught by surprise. But she seems to ignore me more than anything else. Her eyes are on the empty chair to my left.

  Her long hair barely moves as she walks slowly to the seat and settles in without a word. She leans down to set her purse on the floor and runs her fingers through her hair. I can just barely smell a hint of vanilla and something else, something sweet. My eyes roam her curvy body as I take her in.

  I can’t help it.

  Our eyes meet, and there’s nothing but animosity in hers.

  That sweet, sad vulnerable look that was in her eyes at the church is fucking gone. Maybe I imagined it. Or maybe she just doesn’t like the fact that I’m here at her stepfather’s will reading.

  That's not my fault though, so she can get that dirty look off her face. I push down my irritation and give her the benefit of the doubt.

  She pulls her long hair over one shoulder and nervously twists it around her fingers.

  Her pouty lips are turned down into a frown, and her eyes are a bit puffy. The sight of her still so worked up over her stepfather’s death makes my heart clench. She’s in so much pain.

  He said she used to light up his world with one look. But those baby blue eyes aren’t filled with any emotion that conveys happiness.

  “My condolences,” I offer her in a low voice so I don’t startle her. She bites down on her plump bottom lip and turns to look at me. She noticeably swallows and bites out a small thank you.

  She’s tense and unhappy--I get that. But I didn’t anticipate her being so cold to me.

  Maybe she’s pissed I’m here at all. I have to keep reminding myself that she doesn't know me. I feel like we have a connection that's just not there.

  Shit, it’s not like I want to be here. Usually I’d blow this kind of shit off; I have more important things to do. But if Richard wanted me here, then I’m here.

  Fuck, I was with him every day until he died. I could use a little sympathy, too.

  I close my eyes and clench my jaw, hating that I even had that thought just now.

  I only knew her old man for a few months. Yes, his death was like a bullet to my chest, but I knew it was coming and he wasn't my father. This isn't about me.

  If this is her way of dealing with his passing, then so be it. I’ll be her punching bag. I can do that for her, and for him. My foot taps on the ground as I wait to get this over with.

  “I know you’re dealing with a lot right now,” the lawyer says as he reaches across the desk and places a wrinkled hand on top of Elizabeth’s hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He sounds sincere, and I have to look away and down at the floor
for a second. My heart sinks a little. The old man is really dead.

  She turns her hand over and grips his like it’s her lifeline. For some reason, it pisses me off. I want to be the one giving her that comfort.

  But she doesn’t know me. I let the anger roll off of me. If he’s making her feel better, that’s all that matters.

  I grip the armrests and sit back. I must be worked up more than I thought over Richard's passing. I don't like it.

  “All right, let’s go through this as quickly as possible, shall we?” Allen raises his bushy white eyebrows and gives Elizabeth a pointed look.

  She squeezes his hand once and sits back, taking a deep breath. She lets go of his hand and lets hers fall to her lap. My eyes catch the movement and my fingers itch to reach out and take her hand in mine, but I don’t. I clasp my hands together and wait for the lawyer to get this shit over with. Whatever the old man left me, I’ll be more than happy to keep as a reminder of him.

  Maybe it’s an old watch or a trinket, I don’t know. Whatever it is, I’ll pocket it and move on. Knowing him, it could be his favorite DVD. I huff a small laugh thinking about it. It puts a smile on my face, but then I remember where I am and I feel like an asshole. Neither of them seem to notice though.

  “Let’s begin. Richard Francis Turner’s Last Will and Testament.” The lawyer shakes out the pages and starts reading down the lines, completely oblivious to the fact that Elizabeth is stiff at his words. She’s not crying or breaking down like she was at the funeral, but I know hearing those words shook her up. She’s not alright.

  Allen’s words turn to white noise as I watch her clutching her necklace and staring straight ahead with a grim look on her face.

  If Richard could see her right now it would fucking kill him.

  I usually don’t think twice about other people’s pain. That’s life. But watching her trying to hold herself together is breaking something inside of me.

  Suddenly, her composure changes into confusion and then anxiety.

  I look back to the lawyer, trying to pay attention to whatever he just said.