A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,57

with a marvelous barbequed shrimp recipe. Do hurry or it’ll all be gone. They’re like ravening wolves!”

Maisie strode off and Lizzie sagged with relief.

“Hey, this wasn’t my idea,” he muttered.

“Shut up,” she snapped. Then she shoved her arm more tightly through his, and marched him down the stairs.

Chapter 14

“What time is it?” Lizzie pulled the sheet over her as the door opened.

“One.” The light from the doorway turned Con into a silhouette. Still shirtless, with his clothes under his arm. He unbuttoned his pants and slid them off, then headed for the bed.

“Floor.”

“Come on, babe, you know you won’t be able to sleep without me.”

“Wheelock Engineering. That’s all I have to say.”

She turned her back to him. Not wanting her eyes to adjust to the silvery outline of his muscled body in the moonlight. She was going to wean herself off him, starting tonight.

“Alright, babe. But if you change your mind…” Without so much as rolling some clothes into a pillow, he eased himself down on to the bare wood.

“I won’t.” She flipped over, trying to get comfortable on the soft feather mattress. If anything, the heat and humidity were more oppressive in darkness. An almost-full moon blazed through a crack in the brocade curtains, picking out the plaster moldings around the high ceilings. A billion tree frogs screeched a high-pitched symphony.

She’d been lying here in the dark for two hours, hearing the voices of the crew—and Con—laughing and talking and having fun. She’d come up early, had all she could take of sitting outside under the stars with Con’s arm around her. She couldn’t laugh and talk and have fun with the cameras on her when it was all fake. The pretense was exhausting.

Con got along with everyone. Easygoing, quick witted and charming. He already had Maisie eating out of his palm. When Lizzie announced she was off to bed, he’d jumped to his feet to follow her upstairs to the Bridal Suite like the doting fiancé he so convincingly pretended to be.

But she needed to be away from him more than any of them. “Oh, no, sweetheart, please stay up. You’re the only one who knows how to keep the fire going.” He’d looked her in the eye, read her thoughts and stayed outside.

Sensitive bastard.

She’d spent some time studying the little stack of yellowed letters. No return address, just the address of the plantation house written in neat cursive. Ballpoint pen.

She hadn’t had the guts to open one. Yet.

Con shifted on the floor. Hardwood with no carpet. He’d have a pretty rough night. Maybe she should offer him the comforter since she wasn’t using it anyway?

Stop being a wuss. He deceived you and made a fool of you and turned you into the kind of person who throws shoes.

She tossed again. A very soft mattress could be surprisingly uncomfortable. A cramp seized her calf and she grabbed her foot, pulled the toe back hard and rubbed her knotted calf muscle, cursing under her breath until the ball of tension released.

Her dad probably wasn’t sleeping too well either. The ankle bracelet stayed on even at night, and his activities were under constant surveillance, particularly since his coconspirator, her former “financial advisor,” had disappeared without a trace. Probably sunning himself on a Caribbean island. She’d picked up several weeks’ worth of mail being held at the post office in New York and discovered a long letter from her father. He’d apologized for squandering her inheritance and letting the family down. He regretted the cruel things he’d said to her that last day at the house. He’d been overwrought, almost psychotic.

Or so he said.

He’d promised to try to make it up to her and her mother. He’d written so persuasively that she almost forgave him.

Almost.

The promise of a large inheritance had warped her life in many ways, cramped her existence. Now, dear, don’t forget, people know who you are. She’d accepted the limitations, held up her end of the deal.

Daddy’s a busy man, darling.

It had been a tradeoff— money instead of love—and he’d reneged on his end of the bargain.

She heard Con shift. Maybe just a pillow? She really didn’t need all four of them…

Sucker.

She’d been a sucker for her father and a sucker for Con, and she’d never be a sucker again.

That little game of footsie earlier had left her irritatingly aroused. Simple body mechanics of course, but frustrating.

She hadn’t had sex since the showdown in the desert. During their whirlwind courtship, four heavenly weeks, they’d done it almost every