Dangerously Bad Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE DANGEROUS ROMANCES

  “With kink, sensuality, emotional depth, and passion that flies off the page, Eden Bradley has a winner in Dangerously Broken. Loved it!”

  —New York Times bestselling author J. Kenner

  “Dark and sexy, romantic and edgy—this book will keep you up all night.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Lexi Blake

  “Eden Bradley has created a delicious tale of second chances and dark yearning, of people exploring love’s shadowed edges. . . . I enjoyed every luscious word!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Angela Knight

  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF EDEN BRADLEY

  “Intelligent, haunting, and sexy as hell. . . . For you people who like story and heart with your erotica, I’d definitely recommend any of Eden’s books.”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Maya Banks

  “Honest, tender, and totally sexy—a feast for the senses and the heart.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Shayla Black

  “Brilliant, seductive, and dangerous. All of my favorite things.”

  —R. G. Alexander, New York Times bestselling author of Possess Me

  “[A] hot and steamy ride to the climactic end. . . . This story will steam up your glasses.”

  —Library Journal

  “Bradley delivers the goods. There are intense intimacy and heart-wrenching emotions . . . delicious and delightful from the first page until the conclusion.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Titles by Eden Bradley

  DANGEROUSLY BOUND

  DANGEROUSLY BROKEN

  DANGEROUSLY BAD

  Writing as Eve Berlin

  PLEASURE’S EDGE

  DESIRE’S EDGE

  TEMPTATION’S EDGE

  BERKLEY SENSATION

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by Eden Bradley

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and BERKLEY SENSATION are registered trademarks and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Bradley, Eden, author.

  Title: Dangerously bad/Eden Bradley.

  Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley Sensation, 2017. |

  Series: A dangerous romance; 3

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016053668 (print) | LCCN 2017000764 (ebook) |

  ISBN 9780425269985 (softcover) | ISBN 9781101638200 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Sexual dominance and submission—Fiction. | Bondage (Sexual

  behavior)—Fiction. | Sex—Societies and clubs—Fiction. |

  Sadomasochism—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION/Romance/Contemporary. |

  FICTION/Contemporary Women. | FICTION/Romance/General. |

  GSAFD: Erotic fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3602.R34266 D33 2017 (print) | LCC PS3602.R34266 (ebook) |

  DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016053668

  First Edition: May 2017

  Cover art: wrought iron grille by Purestock/Getty Images; dog collar by marietjieopp/iStockphotos

  Cover design by Judith Lagerman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  To my very dear friend, author Felice Fox.

  I needed you to crack that whip, and you do it so well!

  But more than that,

  thank you for the rambling nights of worry and doubt,

  the dirty pictures and the laughter,

  the shared insanity that is being single and dating.

  Sometimes no one gets me like you do.

  I also must thank the adorable Emily McGuire

  for being my beta reader on this one, and simply for being her wonderful self.

  And, as always, I have to thank my readers.

  You are why I do this.

  Contents

  Praise For the Novels of Eden Bradley

  Titles by Eden Bradley

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  CHAPTER

  One

  “BE CAREFUL THERE, Frankie—that’s my baby you’re lubing,” Duff called out.

  The short, stocky mechanic he was considering hiring for the new motorcycle branch of SGR Motors looked up, a retort on his lips, but he seemed to think better of it. “I’ll take good care of her. Hey, you from Ireland?”

  Duff laid a hand over his heart, as if he were mightily offended. He was—a bit. “Irish? I’m a good Scotsman. Well, maybe not so good. But I arrived here from Edinburgh a couple o’ months ago to go into business with my cousin Jamie next door—they rebuild vintage muscle cars over there. He owns the auto shop and has half a hand in this place, too. And don’t say ‘Irish’ to him, neither—he was born in Scotland, same as I was.”

  “Ah. Sorry ’bout the mistake. Couldn’t place your accent.” Frankie ran a hand over the sleek black fender of the ’48 Harley WL Bobber. “Did you bring the bike over with you? She’s a real beauty. They sure don’t make ’em like this anymore.”

  “Yep. That’s why we’re opening SGR Motorcycles—we’ll be working exclusively on vintage bikes, so your skills had better be up to it if you want to work here. My cousin and I both appreciate the way they used to build machines. We’ll expect our mechanics to have the same respect. And the knowledge.” He leaned against the counter at the edge of the work bay. “How’s that chain look?”

  “Good, good. No runout. Tight as a teenager. Looks almost new.”

  “It is. Nothing but the best for my baby. Be sure you take her off the jacks like she’s made of china. And be sure you treat all our customers’ bikes the same way—and mind the crude remarks. This place won’t be just another bike shop.”

  Frankie looked up, one blond brow raised. “That mean I have the job?”

  “Yeah, it does, at that. Go talk to my cousin Jamie next door and he’ll have you fill out your paperwork. After the bike is off the jacks, of course.”

  “Of course. Boss.” Frankie cracked a gap-toothed smile.

  Duff stroked his chin. “I like the sound of that. ‘Boss.’”

  “I’ll bet you do.”

  He whirled around at the unexpected feminine voice—and was stunned into sputtering silence when he saw Layla Chouset standing in the doorway of his half-built shop.

  Oh, yeah, he knew exactly who she was. The wom
an he’d seen on his first trip to The Bastille, New Orleans’s most exclusive and notorious BDSM club. The woman he’d seen there twice more, locking gazes with her each time. The woman who’d starred in his darkest, hottest fantasies as he’d wanked off to her image nearly every night since he’d first laid eyes on her.

  He went hard, took in a breath and willed his treasonous cock down.

  She was all creamy chocolate skin and burning spitfire. Green eyes and sass. Gorgeous curves and breasts he wanted to fill his hands with. And she was a Domme. Which only made him want to bury his fists in those twining curls that spilled around her shoulders like dark silk and pull until he had her on her knees.

  Not happening.

  Maybe . . .

  He cleared his throat and moved toward her, but his six-foot-seven frame did nothing to intimidate the delicate beauty—she stood her ground, her chin lifting.

  “Can I help you, Layla?”

  “You seem to think so. I’m here to tell you to back the fuck off.”

  He cracked a smile—he couldn’t help it—and enjoyed watching the fire in her eyes flare. She took a step toward him.

  “You think I’m funny?” she demanded.

  “It wasn’t a smile of amusement, darlin’. I was simply pleased.”

  “Darlin’? Seriously?”

  She took another step toward him, and he realized up close how tiny she was, no more than five foot three or four. He could have picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder easily enough. Or over his lap. His cock wanted to growl.

  He felt Frankie’s attention to the conversation from behind him.

  “Let’s move this into my office,” he said, gesturing with one hand.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, but it only made the tops of her breasts spill from the lacy edge of her black tank top. After a moment she huffed and dropped her arms. “Okay. Fine.”

  He led the way into the unfinished office at the front of the shop. A wide window looked out onto the quiet street outside, and he distracted himself—and his damn hardening dick—a moment by letting his gaze rest on the coffee place across the way before settling onto the enormous metal desk he and Jamie had moved in the day before. The room still smelled faintly of paint and was piled with boxes of office supplies and the new computer he hadn’t set up yet, but there were two chairs in front of the desk.

  “Sit down if you like,” he offered.

  Layla’s shoulders squared. “I don’t need to sit—this won’t be a lengthy visit. I’m just here to tell you—”

  “To ‘fuck off’?” He moved closer, until he could smell her perfume—or maybe it was simply her skin that smelled of fresh flowers and the night. Like something he wanted to lap up, savor, swallow. “You can tell me again, if you like, but I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t be here if that was your only purpose.”

  “Oh, really? And what do you assume is my other purpose?”

  He took one more step closer, then another, until he was almost on top of her. He had to give the woman credit—she didn’t even flinch. “I think . . .” He kept his voice low. “I know I saw you watching me at The Bastille. More than once. Which is all right by me, since I was watching you.”

  From the corner of his eye he saw her hands ball into fists, then release. Oh, yes, she was a little shaken up, which was exactly where he wanted her. Well, fuck if that wasn’t a lie—he wanted her naked and bent over his desk, but this would do for a start.

  “Did it ever occur to you,” she fumed, “that I felt your eyes on me and felt the need to see who the hell was stalking me?”

  “Sure, it did. But I saw the way you looked at me, darlin’.” He lowered his tone even more, his gaze flicking to her throat, where her pulse beat a strong, unsteady cadence. “I saw the question in your eyes. The desire. The same as I see it now.” He lifted a hand to one of the satiny spirals resting on her shoulder and took the end between his fingertips.

  She went to slap his hand away but he caught her slender wrist.

  “Who do you think you are?” she demanded, her pupils going wide.

  He answered without hesitation. “I think I’m the one Dominant man you burn for, Layla. I think I’m the one who makes you wonder what the other side is like. The bottom side.” Her nostrils flared the tiniest bit, but she hadn’t moved. And her pulse beneath his fingertips was running hot and wild. “I think you feel the same undeniable chemistry I do. All you have to do is give in.”

  She bit her lip, took in a long breath. He’d have bet good money she wasn’t even aware of what she was doing.

  “You’re wrong about me—you and your ego. All you male Doms think no woman can top as well as you can, that we have no place.”

  “Not true. I’ve met many a good Domme in my time. I don’t doubt you’re a good Domme. But you feel it. I know you do. But there can be only one Top here, and I sure as hell am never bowing down for anyone.”

  A small smile teased at the corners of her gorgeously full lips. “No, I don’t imagine you ever would. But I don’t bottom for anyone. Not since . . .” She trailed off, glancing away for a moment.

  “Not since what?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Look, it’s not happening. Not with you. Not with anyone.”

  “Would you like to know what I think, Layla? No, what I know. It’ll only be a matter of time. Meanwhile, you’re going to be mulling over this conversation—it’ll be impossible to forget. And just to make sure you don’t forget . . .”

  He bent and crushed his mouth to hers, one hand going behind her head and diving into that silky hair. And Christ, but her lips were soft and sweet as she moaned quietly, just the tiniest sigh issuing from her throat. Her mouth began to open under his, but he let her go and stood back, trying not to gloat.

  “I’ll see you then, shall I, when that time has come?” he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Goddamn it, Duff! What the hell was that?”

  “That was what I’ll leave you with, darlin’. Think about me, will you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest once more, accentuating her cleavage. Her face had hardened into tight lines—all but her mouth, her lips looking soft and well kissed. “Fuck you, Duff,” she muttered before turning and stalking from his office.

  He leaned against the edge of the desk, a grin on his face and a raging throbber in his jeans. “Let’s hope so,” he said loud enough for her to hear. Her retreating shoulders stiffened.

  He watched her cross the street and get into a red convertible Mustang—a late 1960s model if he wasn’t mistaken. The black top was down and he could see the curve of her shoulders, her lovely skin shining in the sun.

  “Hey, Duff.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at his cousin, who’d just walked into the office through the door connecting SGR Motors and SGR Motorcycles.

  “Not now, Jamie. I can’t talk to you while I have a hard-on.”

  “Jesus. Sometimes you’re an oversharer—you know that, cousin?” Jamie asked.

  “One of my many charms,” Duff muttered, his gaze still on Layla as she sat in the car. Why wasn’t she starting it, driving away in a huff? Made a man think. Made a man think that perhaps she really was more interested than she let on. “Lord, the way the sun hits her skin. I’d pay to have that skin under my hands.”

  Jamie chuckled. “I seriously doubt you’ve ever had to pay for it in your life.”

  Duff grinned. “You’re right enough there. And I don’t intend to pay for this one, either.”

  “Have you forgotten—”

  “That she’s a Domme?” Duff interrupted. “Not for a single moment. But that only makes her more of a challenge. I like a good challenge. I like her fire. Her stubbornness. She sort of hinted that she’s been a bottom before, but even if she hadn’t, I feel it in her. Still, she’s
damn brave, that one. And courage is fucking sexy. Now I just have to capture that fire. Contain it. Contain her.”

  “I’ll sit back and pop some popcorn. You contain away—or try to.”

  Duff turned to him. “Do you doubt my abilities, Jamie? And here I thought we were family.”

  “We are. But that fire you’re talking about? It’s there, all right—in spades. And someone could get burned.”

  “Nah. I’m not the burnable type. And look at her, man. She’s too fucking delectable to resist. Might be worth a little singeing.”

  Jamie laughed, shook his head. “Just don’t come running to me for Band-Aids, cousin.”

  “I’m not the running type, either, cousin.”

  Jamie stepped closer and gave him a good slap on the back. “True enough. Now, are you done ogling the girl so we can get back to work?”

  Duff waved him off, turning back to the red convertible that still sat parked across the street. “In a minute. Don’t mind feeding my hard-on for later.”

  “Jesus. I did not need to hear that. Come find me when you’ve recovered. I really don’t want to talk business with a man sporting an erection, anyway.”

  “Smart boy.”

  “Watch it,” Jamie tossed over his retreating shoulder. “I have my toy bag in my truck and I just acquired a new set of canes.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Duff muttered. “Keep the Domly-Dom stuff for your girl.”

  “I would anyway. I have no desire to touch your hulking, hairy ass.”

  “I’ll have you know my ass is as smooth as a baby’s bot-tom.”

  “Again with the TMI.”

  “You asked for it, cousin.”

  Duff grinned to himself as Jamie left his office. He kept his gaze on Layla in her hot red Mustang as she slammed both hands onto the steering wheel, and he didn’t mind if it was out of frustration with him or pure anger. She was responding to him like crazy one way or the other. And if he could make her feel something—didn’t really matter what it was at this point—then he knew he had her. She’d shown up at the shop, hadn’t she? If she’d simply been irritated with him, he had no doubt a strong woman like her would have marched up to him at the club to confront him. No, this was an excuse to see him, he was certain. What he wasn’t as certain about was the odd melting sensation swarming his belly as he simply watched her through the window. The raging heat that had gone through him when he’d held her delicate wrist in his hand. The way he’d been almost unable to pull away after kissing her.