Spanked by the Bad Boy
Bad Boy Fever Series
London Saint James
Cover Art by Mina Carter
57 pgs, 49k words
Suspense, Thriller, Heat
As the personal assistant to the owner of one of the top engineering firms in Denver,
Tiffany Brooks has worked hard at maintaining a professional façade, intent on
ridding herself of terrible habits—like her attraction to bad boys. But when
the owner of DC Construction rides his chopper into her world two years after
their one-time anonymous sexual encounter, everything turns upside down.
Declan Cage is the type of guy who makes a lasting impression, especially with women, yet the gorgeous assistant at Stoub Engineering never remembers his name—or does she? Intrigued by her game, her sexier than sin body, and an infuriating prissy attitude, Ms. Brooks is begging to be taken into hand, and he’s the man to do it.
Armed with the knowledge Declan doesn’t recognize her, will Tiffany give in to her desire for him yet again, or will her past come back to haunt them both and ruin their chance at something real?
Decadent Publishing http://www.decadentpublishing.com/product_info.php?products_id=1007&osCsid=6c1232251c1e45744bd0b3ee7262f414
Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/Spanked-Bad-Boy-Fever-ebook/dp/B00P041SBG
When a commotion broke out somewhere not too far behind Declan’s table, he twisted in his chair to see what was going on. His brow crinkled.
“I’ll be back,” he said without looking at his employees.
Declan stood and made a beeline for the hallway leading to the restrooms, stopping when he came to a guy in a suit and a woman he recognized.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked.
The woman spun around to see him, shock and perhaps a little fear written all over her features. “Mr. Cage?”
“I see we’ve made progress, Ms. Brooks. You’ve remembered my name twice today.”
“There’s no problem, buddy,” the man said, puffing his chest out, reminiscent of a peacock. “You need to go back to your table and mind your own damn business.”
“The lady is my business.” He hooked his fingers around Tiffany’s elbow and maneuvered her beside him. “Are you all right? Is this guy bothering you?”
She gazed up at him with large blue eyes. “I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”
“It didn’t look that way to me.”
The guy she was with squared his shoulders. “Listen, asshole.” The distinct smell of alcohol rolled from his breath. Obviously, The Suit couldn’t hold his liquor and falsely thought he was some sort of tough guy when he drank. “The lady said everything is fine.”
“You’ve had one too many,” Declan said. “You should probably go home before you do something you’ll regret.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me what to do?” The man stupidly poked his finger into Declan’s chest. “Besides, I won’t have any regrets about beating you like a redheaded stepchild.”
The dude was a walking cliché. What a douchebag.
“I haven’t had a beating since I was nine, and I doubt you’re going to change my track record, but you’re more than
welcome to try.” He tucked Tiffany behind him in a purely protective move.
“I’ll even let you take the first swing.”
Tiffany tugged the back of his shirt and said, “There’s no need to make a scene.”
“No scene here, sugar. I’m only giving the guy what he wants.”
The man in the dark suit took a horrible roundhouse swing. Declan didn’t put any real effort behind his counter move. He ducked to the right. The guy missed, spun around, and stumbled away. He figured Mr. Fancypants had had enough, but no. It took The Suit a second, then he straightened and came toward Declan,
all wild-eyed and doing a boogedy-boo, I’m-crazy-scary motion with his arms.
Declan waited until he came close again then punched the man in the nose. Immediately, the guy’s own blood soiled his silver-white shirt and tie. He staggered back, dazed, before he cupped his hands over his nose. Blood
dripped from his fingers, dribbled down his wrist, and trickled over the expensive watch he wore.
“I think you broke my nose,” he mumbled in a nasal sound from behind his hands.
Declan’s men had flanked hi —feet spread, arms at their sides. He ignored them and nodded. “Yep. It’s broken.”
“Hey! Hey,” the manager of The Last Inning sputtered, waggling his bony finger at them as he came over. “I’m not having this kind of thing going on in my establishment.”
The Suit kept his nose covered, but aimed his pinky at Declan. “He started it by—”
“No,” the manager said. “I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t give a rat’s ass who started what.” He turned to glower at Declan. “Pay your bill then all of you, get out.”
“This ought to cover it.” Jett handed the manager a hundred.
He practically ripped the money from Jett’s hand.
“Fine. Now, go,” he said, shooing them away.
“No problem. We’re leaving,” Declan said and took Tiffany by the hand. She trailed behind him while they headed for the door then, suddenly, she resisted. He stopped and studied her, unsure what the holdup was. She held her right foot out. His gaze started at the pointed toe of her black shoe, skimmed up her shapely leg,
hip, small nipped waist, bountiful breasts, slender neck, nose, and then finally looked into her eyes. “What?”
“Shoes,” she said in an exasperated tone. “You’re pulling me too hard, and I’m walking too fast on a tile floor. I’m stumbling.”
He glanced at the spiked heels and shook his head. “I’ll slow down.”
He slowed their pace but didn’t let go of her until they made their way outside and into the cool night air.
Standing beneath the covered porch of the sports bar, he observed his workers come out, their expressions serious.
“What’s going on, DC?” Jett asked.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He motioned with his hand. “Guys, this is Tiffany Brooks, by the way. Tiffany, that’s Jett, one of my foremen, and over there is Chris. Chris is my concrete guy.”
“Hi,” she said in a small voice.
Jett and Chris nodded. “Ma’am,” they said, almost in unison.
“You guys go on home,” Declan said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Are you sure you don’t need us to stick around?” Jett asked.
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” Declan pulled his wallet from his back pocket and plucked a stack of twenties out. “Here, Jett.”
Jett waved. “You don’t need to pay me back for the bill.”
“I do,” said Declan. Jett reluctantly took the money. “Go on home, and get some rest.”
He shoved his wallet into the pocket he’d pulled it from.
Once his workers left, he gave Tiffany his undivided attention. “I want you to tell me why the man you were with was shaking you, maraca style?”
Author Bio & Links:
London Saint James has lived in many places, but never felt “at home” until she met
the real-life man of her dreams and settled down in the beautiful Smoky
Mountains of Tennessee. London lives with her husband and their fat cat who
thinks he owns them.
As an award-winning, bestselling, multi-published author, London is living her childhood dream. She knew all the scribbling she did, that big imagination of hers, and all those clamoring characters running around in her head would pay off someday.
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