Bad Boy Saint (Bad Boy 1)

"And," I said, "she’s officially off-limits."

"Crap." Greg said, resignation in his tone. "Life's not fair."

Graham and Celia were regular fixtures at the gym when she was growing up. I'd treated her as my own kid sister, never expecting that she'd grow up to become a regular participant in my fantasies.

"She used to be skinny as a rake and had these thick glasses and braces."

"She's not skinny anymore," Greg replied. "She's built. Baby's got front and back."

I glanced around and surveyed the several dozen friends who were on the beach. Of all the women at the beach party, Celia was the one I wanted. The one I would pick, given the choice. Which I usually was.

I never wanted what I could have. It was always the one just out of reach.

That was the story of my family's life. We always bit off more than we could chew. Ambition and pride pushed us to achieve, but at a cost. I didn’t want to think about any of my family's seedier connections, so I pushed it all out of my mind.

We watched as Celia ran out into the surf wearing her wetsuit and carrying her board. She caught wave after wave like a pro. Graham taught her well. He'd been a serious surfer who surfed every weekend during the summers. Until I was sixteen, I’d spent my summers boxing in the amateur MMA circuit, so I hadn't been part of Graham's life except during the school year.

I’d lost touch with Celia when she went away to boarding school, but the three of us reunited at Harvard when Celia started her freshman year and Graham and I were finishing up our last year of our MBAs. She was still Graham's kid sister and so she was untouchable.

Which was pure hell, because that was all I could think of when we were together.

When Celia finished surfing about half an hour later, Greg and I watched as she returned to the beach chairs where the party was being held and removed her wetsuit.

"She's seriously hot," Greg said once more, his voice appreciative. "Like, get her drunk and party hard hot."

My back stiffened.

Greg wasn't the kind of man I wanted to hit on Celia. Although I was also mentally fucking her—and very guiltily, I might add—I didn’t like the thought that a manslut like Greg was ogling her. Or should I say, another manslut.

I knew what I was.

I shook my head and took a sorrowful sip of my beer. “She's officially off-limits, in case you're too dull to realize it.”

“What?” Greg turned to me. “She's all grown up, and very nicely.

"She's not on the market."

Greg frowned. "Graham said she's starting her sophomore year at Harvard. Isn't she nineteen?”

“I think so," I said, remembering something Graham had said the previous week. "Just turned.”

"She spent four years at some Catholic boarding school upstate. Think of all the pent-up lust she must have."

"She's a nice kid, Greg, not some plaything. Graham wouldn't approve of you making any moves on her."

"Graham should back the fuck off, man. She’s ready to go. I might go over and buy her a drink. In fact,” Greg said, giving me a telling leer, “that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

I stood, my hand on his shoulder. “She’s off-limits.”

He glanced at my hand. At almost a foot taller than Greg, I towered over him. While he spent most of his down time in bars playing the field, I spent a lot of mine in my family's gym. I could take him easily and he knew it. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but I would if I had to.

“Oh, man,” Greg said. “Cockblocker is so not a good look on you, Hunter. You’re supposed to be my wingman. What the fuck?”

“It’s Graham’s little sister. She's not only sweet, she's brilliant and she’s not fresh meat.”

“You know, those words sound really strange coming from your lips.” Greg took a long swig from his beer. “Graham’s going to be gone tomorrow, and you're going to be gone, but I’m still at Harvard for another year, so…”

I straightened to my full height and glowered at Greg. He'd seen me in the ring before. He knew the damage I could do—and how fast I could do it. I was built and strong and he knew it.