Taming Her Bad Boy Read online

  “Cohen,” I try again. “I'm trying to fix this.”

  “Funny,” he retorts. “Fixing this seems to be the furthest thing from what your little speech seems to be doing to this situation.”

  “You know what?” I toss my hands up and turn away, slipping my fingers through my coffee mug’s handle and plucking it up into my hands. “If you're that upset with me for defending myself against your ex-wife, defending our engagement party and all that it was supposed to be against a woman who should have never been there in the first place, and if you’re frustrated enough that you would rather just let our wedding turn into everyone else's wedding, then I guess there's no more to say in this conversation.”

  “So what, then?” Cohen's eyebrows shoot up and he shrugs at me. “That's it? We’re just going to forget about this and pretend you didn't just say you’d rather not marry me than have to deal with my overbearing mother and the baggage that I happen to come with?”

  “Be careful, Cohen,” I warn him, narrowing my eyes. “I can deal with the fact that you have an ex-wife, and I can deal with your mother. Neither of those people are news to me. I never said I couldn’t deal. What I am saying is, I won't put up with said ex-wife showing up and staking claim. I won't stand by and let your mother turn our wedding into whatever the heck she wants it to be.” My eyes are steely as I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Now, we're going to take a break from this conversation because we’re going in circles and not getting anywhere. And the very fragile, very thin line of communication between us seems to be very, very broken.”

  I walk toward him, but don't bother to go to him. Instead, I pass by. “I'm going to have a shower,” I add. “If you're at all interested when I come back out, then maybe we can try this again. But you're going to have to listen, Cohen, instead of just getting defensive and thinking I'm trying to end the best thing that's in my life.” I turn, making sure my eyes are locked on his. “And, in case you didn't realize, I'm meaning you, and the relationship we have with each other. Just in case that part wasn't clear, either.”

  I don't hesitate to disappear back up the stairs without looking back at him. There's too much fire smoldering between us right now for anything good to come of continuing to try to talk. And as I grab a change of clothes from my dresser and head back downstairs to the bathroom where I keep my makeup and personal belongings, I wonder if we will get anywhere by even trying again.

  The truth of what is happening between us hangs in the air like the steam that begins to billow from the faucet as I turn the shower on. Cohen has no desire to listen to anything I might have to say regarding a change in wedding plans or my stance on his ex-wife's motives, and I have no intention of backing down and letting this fiasco continue on the road it's taken.

  Even above the sound of the water beating against the tub, I hear the doorbell sound through the house.

  That's when I realize the door hadn't latched when I trudged into the bathroom.

  I toss my pile of clean clothes onto the vanity and cross the small room, intent on closing the door. With my hand on the handle, however, a voice manages to meet my ears, and it immediately sets me on high alert.

  Instead of letting the door click shut, I open it another few inches, tilting my head to press my ear against the open space.

  “You shouldn't be here,” I hear Cohen state flatly.

  Liz.

  Liz is standing at the front door, the morning after crashing our engagement party.

  It takes every ounce of determination I have to keep my feet planted in place and not go barreling out into the entryway and clawing that woman's eyes out.

  Let him handle it, I think to myself. Give him the chance.

  “Co, I really think we need to talk.” Liz's voice is high and thick with sweetness that even I can recognize as fake. She’s also nervous as hell.

  “I just told you, Liz. This is no place for you. You need to go.” Cohen, however, doesn't sound strained or unsure. On the contrary, his voice is that of a man who knows exactly what he wants, and he is stating it with more conviction than I've heard from him all morning.

  I don't hear Liz's response, and I'm pretty sure I probably don't want to.

  Cohen's voice can be heard again. “You had no right coming to Vienna’s and my party last night, Liz. I don't know what you were trying to accomplish, but doing that to Vi was completely uncalled for. And frankly, I'm a little disgusted you would feel the need to pull a stunt like that in the first place.”

  Again, I can’t hear Liz’s response. But I can just imagine her expression.

  “Do you have any idea how hard it was not to rip a strip off you the way Vienna did? And, Liz, she was just getting started. I have spent my entire morning defending your actions last night, and defending mine, when the truth is I should have damn well followed Vienna’s lead and kicked you out on your ass when I turned around and saw you standing there.”

  “And you know exactly why you didn't,” she replies quickly. “Cohen, I think you're making a big mistake now, just like I think you made a huge mistake years ago when we ended things the way we did.”

  My heart drops heavily into my stomach, and I feel sick. I was right, but for the first time I wish that wasn't the case. Here she is, Liz, Cohen's ex-wife, standing on his front step telling him that marrying me is a big mistake and that leaving her was just as much of a mistake, too. I have to bite down hard on my bottom lip to suppress the string of curse words I want to scream.

  There's a silence from the kitchen, and I strain to hear what, if anything, is being said over the running shower behind me. When Cohen does reply, his tone has completely transformed.

  In a matter of seconds, his voice has become almost a growl, low and intimidating. “You have honestly got to be kidding me.” There's another pause, then, “Jesus Christ, she was right. She was absolutely right about you.”

  “I'm not sure exactly what that means,” Liz admits, but the sudden shakiness that I hear tells me that she knows very well she’s on dangerous ground. “Co, I don't think you realize yet that sometimes a dream isn't something that can become reality. Sometimes, the true reality is that the dream we’re chasing isn't at all what we wanted once we've got it.”

  There's no hesitation in Cohen's answer this time. “So help me God, Liz, you'd better be talking about the life that you have been living since you left me. Because, I swear to God, if you’re referring to the fact that I am finally with Vienna, and you’re telling me she and I are a dream that can never truly become a reality, I will slam this door right now and you can be damn sure that this will be the last conversation you and I ever have.”

  My heart is pounding feverishly as I listen to the conversation between them. I know I should close the door and stop eavesdropping, but it's too late. If I let the door click shut now, they will know that I was listening in. Not to mention, I can't bring myself to walk away. The desire to know what Cohen is really thinking is too strong, and if this is the only way for me to find out his thoughts and get past my insecurities about where this woman stands when it comes to Cohen's heart, then I'm going to stand here and take my answers as they come.

  “I just think there's still a chance, Cohen—”

  “Trust me when I tell you this: There is no chance of me giving up Vienna ever again. I know that's not what you want to hear, and I know it’s blunt and maybe even harsh, but there is no other way for me to say it. What you and I had is the past. What Vienna and I had, and what Vienna and I are now—that's my future. She is my future. I adore her, Liz. You've always known that, even when I was unable to admit it to myself. But I love Vienna just as much as I did a decade ago. Hell, I love her more, and I didn't even think that was possible. So, this—” I can only assume that he's motioning between them as they stand in the doorway. “—This cannot happen again. Because, believe me when I say this, Liz, I will not give up Vienna for anything. And I won't apologize for that.”

  Whatever Liz has to say about Cohe
n's declaration, I don't hear it. The hot tears are streaking down my face and wetting my cheeks. I can't hear anything beyond the loud pounding of my pulse in my ears and the muffled sobs that I'm trying desperately to contain by clapping my hand over my mouth and turning away from the door. I don't bother to try to close it.

  Mere minutes ago, all I wanted to do was put a little bit of distance between us, and give us time to cool down and sort things out.

  Now, all I want to do is close the gap between us and wrap my arms around the man that I love so much. The man who adores me and won't apologize for that level of adoration.

  I sit in the bathroom and let the liquid emotion spill from my eyelids. Because that's all it is, my emotions bursting from within me, turning me into a mess and causing me to take out my frustrations on the wrong people, Cohen being the one on the frontlines.

  Sometimes, we can take out our frustrations in a negative way, causing waves in the relationships that mean more to us than we know how to communicate. Which is exactly what Cohen and I did to each other this morning in the kitchen.

  But sometimes, there are other outlets to take out our frustrations, and those can also include the people we adore so much—other sexy, secret, and downright dirty ways to rid ourselves of the tension we hold within us. Utilizing those ways are much, much more beneficial, and much more enjoyable for all parties involved.

  And I won't apologize for that, either.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cohen

  I would like to say that the last thing I expected was that my ex-wife would show up here, dressed in the same calf-high boots and similar tight-fitting outfit she'd wore the day before, but that would be a lie. Not because I ever actually expected Liz to be on my doorstep this morning, but because the very last thing I ever expected to happen was that Vienna would be right about Liz and her misguided attempt at getting back together with me.

  That's just something I didn't see coming at all.

  Vienna, however, saw right through her attempt yesterday at our party, and called her out on it the only way she knew how without saying it outright. She must have channeled every ounce of attitude and sassiness she could muster in order to put on that spectacle, and she did it, not only because Liz should have never been there in the first place, but because the threat of her presence was very much real.

  The deluded woman from my past wanted one last chance to make us work, despite being long since divorced and knowing that Vienna and I had made it back into each other's arms and stayed that way for the past year.

  And Vienna saw that. She knew that, the way a woman just knows without needing proof.

  And I reprimanded her for it, told her that her reaction was exaggerated and unwarranted.

  I'm a total asshole.

  I watch Liz retreat dazedly back down my front steps. She turns back and looks at me through clouded eyes. The expression that greets me isn't one of anger or confusion.

  It's one of understanding. Yes, there's a rigidness in her features that shows the defeat she's succumbing to, but Liz left me all those years ago for one main reason—she accused me of still being in love with the memory of Vienna Anderson.

  And there's only one part of that realization she got wrong.

  I'm not in love with Vienna’s memory—I'm in love with Vienna, period.

  The real Vienna. The Vienna who stood up to Liz in an attempt to protect what she loved most—me. The Vienna who loves so hard and so completely that she is willing to create waves with other people in order for us to enjoy the day that is supposed to be ours, to celebrate our love.

  And I'm the jerk who gave her a hard time about it.

  I step back from the doorway and close the door firmly. Then, I lock it.

  I turn back into the kitchen with the intent of picking my coffee mug up again and pouring myself a warm refill. But when I turn, Vienna's eyes stare back at me from the middle of the kitchen. She's still in her tank top and pajama shorts, her hair still tousled from sleep.

  But, my God, she looks gorgeous to me.

  She holds my gaze steadily, not blinking. I can see it in an instant that she's just witnessed my interaction with Liz, and I can feel the tension that's built up between us. There's a long moment of silence stretching through the seconds that follow, and in the silence a mutual agreement is found without so much as a word spoken.

  “I'm so sorry Vienna,” I say to her, at the exact same time “I'm sorry, Cohen,” tumbles from her lips.

  Suddenly, she's running into my arms and I'm enveloping her within them, holding her to me and relishing in the warmth and firmness of her body against mine. My mouth crashes down onto hers, our tongues colliding with each other and dancing feverishly together. The desperate groan that she makes as my hands roughly maul her abdomen, raking higher up her body to squeeze the soft mounds of her breasts—it unleashes something inside me.

  Moments ago, I’d been content to leave her be, let her take the time she needed to calm down and maybe try to have a rational conversation later.

  But now, to hell with words. And to hell with letting her get even an inch away from me. My control is gone, replaced by a primal, hungry need I can’t ignore. I need her, and I need her now.

  Vienna’s hands are tugging at the hem of my t-shirt, then fumbling desperately at the drawstring of my jogging pants—she’s just as overcome with the need for me, too.

  “Let me help you,” I mumble against her lips, pulling away only long enough to reach behind my back and pull the t-shirt off with one hand. It’s one fluid movement; me tugging it off and tossing it to my floor before my hands find her hips again and press her back against the cupboard. I pull her tank top from her body without needing to ask Vienna to raise her arms—she’s racing to remove all the barriers that separate our tense bodies as well.

  The desire that burns through our veins is threatening to ignite, and the rushed feverishness of our movements only fuels the fiery compulsion that drives and consumes us both.

  “Cohen...” she breathes. Her head tilts back as I push down her shorts and begin to leave a damp trail of kisses along the swell of her breast, bending at the knees to graze my teeth further down her side to her hips, where I bite down hungrily and find satisfaction in the breath she sucks in sharply.

  “Shh, Vi, I know.” And I do. I know exactly what she’s feeling, exactly what she’s pleading for. Because the tightness of every muscle within me and the stiff erection protruding from my jogging pants is proof that every fiber of my being is begging for her, too.

  Her pajama shorts fall to the floor, and Vienna kicks them away. I keep her held in place by pushing myself against her, only letting up enough to slip my pants over my hips and discard them as well.

  Her eyes flutter open, and for the fleeting moment that she looks down between us to my rigid cock, pushed against the bare skin of her abdomen, there’s a void of comprehension in her eyes, like she’s so lost, so completely consumed by the electricity in my touch and the fire in her bloodstream that she can’t fathom how she’s going to survive one more second without me inside her, filling her, taking her as my own.

  Her gaze snaps back up to mine, eyes wide. Her breath comes out in long pants. “Cohen, please...”

  A ferocious gasp falls from my own lips, overwhelmed by the desolation in her voice. One more second without giving this woman what she wants—what she needs—is more than I can bear.

  I grip her bare hips tightly and lift her up onto the edge of the countertop, holding her there. My mouth devours hers again as her hands slip around my neck and her fingertips graze up the back of it into my hair.

  I loosen my grip on one hip only long enough to spread Vienna’s legs wider and position the engorged tip of my cock at her entrance. I’ve barely touched her there, but one roaming finger that slowly spreads her apart confirms just how wet and ready for me she is.

  “Oh, Jesus, Vi...”

  She whimpers as I press against her sensitive clit, and her head f
alls back, revealing the base of her throat. I lean forward and kiss the hollow there, then let my tongue dip into it just so I can hear that delicious sound from her throat again.

  “You...are...mine.” On the last word, I thrust my hips forward, burying my rigid cock inside her to the hilt.

  She cries out, followed by the faintest, “Oh God, yes.”

  I pull almost the entire way out, loving how fucking tight she is, then slam back into her again. My hands grip her hips, holding her there on the countertop, preventing the force of my thrusts from driving her backward, preventing her from any chance of going anywhere but right where she is—and where she’ll stay until I coax my name from her lips in desperate cries.

  Again and again, I drive my cock into Vienna’s pussy, encouraged and spurred on by how tightly her walls clench around me and by the sexy gasps and whimpers that are the only sounds audible between us.

  I’m relentless, but so is she. Hooking her legs around my hips, leaning into me and spreading her thighs apart farther as she attempts to inch forward and meet my hips with each forceful thrust. Her mouth muffles the low grunts I make with the exertion, and each hiss that comes from me each time her fingernails dig into my shoulder blades.

  It’s fast, and carnal, and completely mind-blowing. I can’t get close enough, can’t get deep enough.

  Vienna may think that I’m taking her, owning her as I use the warm, wet tightness of her core to force the tension and release from within me, but she would be mistaken.

  Vienna takes up every inch of my mind, body, and soul, and owns me to the point of begging for one more second inside her, one more thrust into the body that was made to fit perfectly with mine. I’m holding her in place, but she holds me, too, without even having to lay a finger on me.

  But, right now, those fingers are digging into my back with such strength I hiss out a breath at the sharp sting.

  She’s close, so close. Her core is clenching around my pulsing erection.