Everybody’s talking about the hot new app reviewing New York’s most eligible bachelors. But why focus on prince charming when you can read the latest dirt on the lowest-ranked “Bad Bachelors”—NYC’s most notorious bad boys?
If one more person mentions Bad Bachelors to Reed McMahon, someone’s gonna get hurt. A PR whiz, Reed is known as an ‘image fixer’ but his womanizing ways have caught up with him. What he needs is a PR miracle of his own.
When Reed strolls into Darcy Greer’s workplace offering to help save the struggling library, she isn’t buying it. The prickly Brooklynite knows Reed is exactly the kind of guy she should avoid. But the library does need his help. As she reluctantly works with Reed, she realizes there’s more to a man than his reputation. Maybe, just maybe Bad Bachelor #1 is THE one for her.
Darcy immediately tuned out as Brad dug into a very detailed account of how much effort he went to get a reservation at some fancy Manhattan restaurant. As an introvert and hater of both parties and small talk, she knew exactly the right spots to nod and give an interested mmm-hmm to give the appearance of listening.
But she let her eyes wander over to Reed.
He looked so different outside work. Not that she’d assumed he wore suits on the weekend or anything, but seeing him dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, his hair mussed from sitting under a baseball cap, was scarily appealing.
This outfit couldn’t hide the rock-hard muscles in his chest nor his washboard-flat stomach. Even the clingy sweats clued you in to what was underneath.
She reached for another chicken wing and bit into it. Maybe if she stuffed her face enough, she might be able to fill the void of dissatisfaction that’d been aching all week. But food wasn’t a replacement for sex…especially when she’d been woken up to the possibilities of how good sex could be.
How intimate and personal.
It’s not personal for him, you know that. He just knows how to make it seem that way.
“Isn’t that romantic?” Cynthia sighed. “And to think I would never have met you if I hadn’t crashed my car.”
“It was more of a bump than a crash.” Brad leaned over to her and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead before kissing her.
Darcy turned to Reed and made the motion of sticking her fingers down her throat. The return smile was quickly covered up when the lovebirds broke apart and he pretended to inspect something on the menu.
Out of the corner of her eye, Darcy caught Brad’s hand sneaking under the table. A second later, Cynthia declared she had to go to the restroom, and Brad coincidentally had to make a phone call.
Which left the anti-lovebirds alone.
“Well, this is awkward, isn’t it?” Darcy said, taking a long gulp of her beer.
Reed’s laugh boomed over the din of the sports bar. “Glad it’s not just me.”
“How’d you get roped into coming along?”
He turned in his chair and shot her a cheeky look. “Apparently, someone seemed a little overprotective at the first meeting. I was brought in for reinforcements.”
“You?” She blinked incredulously.
“Why not me?” He planted an elbow on the table and leaned in closer
The catch in Darcy’s breath was swallowed by the crowd’s raucous cheer. The Yankees must have finally done something right. “You’re not exactly the poster boy for polite conversation.”
“No, I guess I’m not.”
Up close, she could see the stubble lining his jaw, making the angle look even sharper and more devastatingly sexy. He was always smoothly shaven when she saw him, but this must be one more thing that was different between Work Reed and Weekend Reed. Curiosity niggled at her—she wanted to know more about this man who played baseball with his mechanic friends and didn’t shave. Who was Reed McMahon when he wasn’t working so hard at being Reed McMahon?
“You do know I can behave like a decent human being, right?” he said.
“But you choose not to?” She cocked her head as though giving the conversation serious thought. “Or does your definition of ‘decent behavior’ vary from mine?”
“That depends. Do you think what we did Monday night was decent?”
It couldn’t have been her imagination, but she swore the question rolled through her body flipping on every damn switch to every damn part of her. Especially the southern parts. It seemed fitting that a guy who was so good with his words was also so good with his mouth…and his hands. And his—
“Cat got your tongue?” he drawled.
“It was adequate.” If she were the spiritual type, she might have been concerned about all the lying Reed encouraged her to do. There was nothing “adequate” about Reed or his skills in the bedroom. “No complaints.”
“Not exactly a rousing endorsement.” His expression said he didn’t buy her response one bit.
But she wasn’t about to give Manhattan’s most notorious womanizer the chance to reject her. She didn’t expect anything from him, so she wasn’t going to come across as some needy woman desperate for his love and affection…even if she might have been a teensy bit desperate for his body.
Maybe desperate was a bit much. During her relationship with Ben, she’d been starved for affection. So wanting a replay with Reed wasn’t exactly unexpected or unnatural.
Very logical. Good work, brain.
“You seemed to think it was more than adequate when you were screaming my name over and over.” His eyes raked over her, lingering for an extra few seconds on her mouth. “How did you put it? ‘Oh, Reed. God, that feels so good. Harder.’”
Darcy looked around them to make sure no one heard him mimicking her sex talk. The last thing she wanted was a When Harry Met Sally re-enactment.
“You’re too much,” she said, reaching for her drink and chugging the rest of her beer. It’d gone warm and didn’t have the cooling effect she’d hoped for.
“Thought I was adequate.” He looked smug as all hell.
“What’s the matter, Reed? Can’t handle it when someone isn’t falling over your feet to tell you how good you are?” She set her pint glass down with a loud clink. “You might be used to women who’ll act the way you want them to, but that’s not me. Sorry to disappoint you.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Stefanie London is the USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romances with humor, heat, and heart. Originally from Melbourne, Australia, Stefanie now lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband. She loves to read, collect lipsticks, watch zombie movies and drink coffee. Her bestselling book, Pretend It’s Love, was a 2016 Romantic Book of the Year finalist with the Romance Writers of Australia. You can visit her at www.stefanie-london.com
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