Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

I straighten my posture, restraining my hands that want to push him out of the cab and onto the pavement.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yell at him.

He runs his hands through his hair and bites his lip with an irritable twitch. There’s this nervous energy about him like he isn’t thinking straight and is on edge. “I don’t know. You’re… annoying, frustrating, clumsy, and dress like you belong in a nunnery.”

I stare down at my navy dress. His terrible words make me want to cry, but as stupid as that sounds I won’t give him that satisfaction. I will cry behind closed doors with a tub of ice cream and be that type of girl I swear I’ll never be because of a mean boy.

“Well, you’re a conceited snob who’s probably riddled with diseases from all the hoochies hanging off you.”

“You’re just…” He curls his fist into a ball, stumbling on his words.

“What, Wesley?” I laugh out of nowhere. “You have no clue who I am. You don’t know me from a bar of soap. Whatever opinion you’re forming of me, go ahead. I honestly don’t care.”

He raises his head and opens his mouth, my heart beating like a looming thunderstorm from the anger consuming me. I know his next words will be cruel and heartless, so I prepare myself, biting my lip and scrambling for the right words to use against him.

Then I stop.

I’m staring directly into the eyes of a man who hates me.

I want to hate him back.

But his stare changes, and it’s something I can’t figure out. It is still anger, and there’s a wild flare.

He leans forward, my body pushing into the door as our lips touch. It lasts only seconds, him pulling away, leaving me shaky and confused. I’m deafened by the thumping of my heart, catching broken words as he directs the cab driver, giving him an address.

My voice wavers, scared to ask the question. “Where are you taking me?”

Silence. He says nothing, staring deeply at the front window, nostrils flaring with lips pursed so tight they’re almost stark white.

“Wesley,” I push with desperation. “Answer me!”

His head turns swiftly, angrily. “I’m taking you back to my place. Now shut up, you’ve done enough damage tonight.”

I’m blown away by his disrespectful tone, his hurtful words, and equally confused at the same time of his need to kiss me. That strong, independent woman inside of me is sobbing at this unnecessary mess.

I want to push him out the door.

Or jump out myself.

It’s now or never.

Yet, that little devil, the one sitting on my shoulder with a heated pitchfork, wants answers.

And the only way I can get that is to stay in this cab and follow his lead.

Chapter Eight

It’s just like stepping into a car museum.

In front of the garage sit four cars. Three of them sporty and shiny, and the last one on the end, a black truck with large wheels and dark windows.

There are two motorbikes on the side—some sort of racer bike with orange pinstripes parked next to a Harley Davidson. It seems excessive and unnecessary to waste so much money on these possessions, but then I remember something that Liam once said to me. “A car to a man is like shoes to a woman, you can never have enough.”

Liam would be in heaven.

I’m overwhelmed with guilt. I shouldn’t be here in another man’s home. The same man who violently kissed me in the back of a cab without an explanation then remained silent during the next twenty minutes to his house.

But I have this odd feeling.