Cherry Bomb: Forbidden Bad Boys

  Table of Contents

  CHERRY BOMB

  Copyright

  -about the book-

  -the league of ungentlemanly gentlemen-

  -1-

  -2-

  -3-

  -4-

  -5-

  -6-

  -7-

  -8-

  -9-

  -10-

  -11-

  -12-

  -13-

  -14-

  -15-

  -16-

  -17-

  -18-

  -19-

  -20-

  -21-

  -22-

  -23-

  -24-

  -25-

  -26-

  -27-

  -28-

  -29-

  -30-

  -31-

  -32-

  -33-

  -34-

  -35-

  -36-

  -37-

  -epilogue-

  -author’s notes-

  -also by clara leigh-

  -about the author-

  Cherry Bomb

  Forbidden Bad Boys

  Clara Leigh

  Website | Facebook | Newsletter | VIP Lounge

  Copyright © Clara Leigh 2016. All Rights Reserved. Violators will be hunted down by the League of Ungentlemanly Gentleman and forced into eternal servitude. It might involve whips and chains, but the pleasure quotient is likely to be extremely low.

  Edited by Sandra Barkevich of WriteType Editorial Services

  Cover Art by Yocla Designs

  http://www.claraleigh.com/

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or to events or places is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  -about the book-

  Cherry Bomb: Forbidden Bad Boys

  Bad Boy checklist: English accent, dirty imagination, and an even dirtier mouth. Sex whenever and wherever I can get it. V-card carrying co-stars beware!

  Felicity Caine

  I know what I’m doing when I invite A-list actor Dare Wilde to step into my life.

  He’s the badass villain to my sweet ingénue.

  I know how to play this role, even if it’s my first time.

  The problem is he knows too, and he’s not sticking to the script.

  Dare Wilde

  Flicka Caine lands in my lap like a cherry bomb—fuse already lit.

  She might taste like spun sugar, but there’s nothing sweet about the ache she causes.

  The child star is all grown up.

  I refuse to be her mistake, but I think she could well be mine.

  -the league of ungentlemanly gentlemen-

  aka the Sunsetters

  Dare Wilde

  Chase Woodrow

  Lorne Everett

  Jason J Jones

  Alfie Jones

  Emilia Grace

  Veronica (Ronnie) Gilchrist

  Dylan Drake

  -1-

  Felicity Caine

  “Flicka, this isn’t the place for us.”

  She’s right, as my big sister so often is. We shouldn’t be here. A back alley in the seedy part of the city, trying a find the entrance to an exclusive, and by all accounts iffy, club is not somewhere the wholesome queens of bubble-gum pop ought to be. This, of course, is precisely the reason we are here, because here is where I’ll find him: Dare Wilde, quintessential English bad boy, and the man who is going to provide me with a one-way ticket into adulthood.

  “I should never have allowed you to talk me into this. It’s all kinds of stupid.”

  Wanting to be free to live as I choose and not have my life managed down to the colour of my underwear is not a stupid desire. At the ripe age of nineteen, it’s a healthy one. Although, I suppose Flo is referring to my planned means of achieving this end, rather than the desire itself, which I know she damned well shares. We’re both heartily sick of being micro-managed. The difference is that I’m prepared to put plan D for Dare into action in order to do something about it, whereas Flo still believes plan A for Attorney is going to magically release us.

  “We ought to have kept Kurt with us.” She turns her head and peers into the insalubrious gloom surrounding us, her gait slowing almost to a halt.

  “Kurt wouldn’t have let us within five hundred metres of this place. Also, our minder answers to our manager, in case you forgot. He’d have reported everything back.” This piece of corporate espionage requires stealth and secrecy if it’s going to work, because if Mr. West gets wind of my plan, he’s going to squash it and me with a metric ton of shitty legalese.

  “Flick, are you sure this is where the club is?”

  “Certain.” I flash her a grin as I point out a brass plaque on the wall beside a small, green door with peeling paint that looks as if it hasn’t been loved in half a century.

  “I kind of thought it would be less shady.”

  “It’s an underground, private members club.” I’m rather relieved it’s not draped in neon, and that all we’re facing is an unassuming, dirt-streaked door. If there’d been a queue or, god help us, bouncers working the entrance, then the social media results would have pressed the big old mission abort button before we’d even got near Dare Wilde. The rumour is that he owns this place.

  “How do we get in? Do we knock? Do we have to become members?”

  “There’s a bell.”

  I press the button long and hard to ensure we get attention. There’s nothing more infuriating than a prolonged buzz in your ear. I know because I once got an insect stuck in mine. As to the question about membership, I’m really hoping we can negotiate a way around that. It’s not like I plan to come back. This is a strictly one time only visit.

  I don’t know what I expect, when the door opens –a hulking brute maybe who demands ID, or some obsequious three-piece-suit-wearing lackey. Instead, the door slams back against the brickwork and a leggy blonde in “fuck me dirty” heels shoves her way between us, then totters away over the cobblestones and into the night. My twin and I exchange nonplussed glances. Then I take a step forward, while Flo remains stock still. Another blond appears. This one’s male and still shoving his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. He pushes past and follows the girl. Well, for two paces at any rate. Then he swings around and stares at us. “What are you out here for?”

  That’s the sort of question I never answer. It’d be pointless to state the obvious, and it’s not as if there are alternatives. There’s no bus stop around, so it’s not as if we’re likely to be waiting for one.

  As the doors open, and there’s nothing to stop us entering its gaping maw, I do just that.

  “Hey,” he catches a hold of my arm. “Are you members?”

  “Do we need to be?” Flo asks.

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Motive for entering, and whether there’s a member willing to vouch for you.”

  “Are you willing to vouch for us?” I flash him a red-lipped smile, then flick my gaze downwards, then back up.

  He laughs, and his smile
crinkles the skin around his eyes, warming them. There’s something very familiar about him. Something I can’t quite place, but that in itself isn’t such a surprise considering where we are. He’s someone. Pretty much everyone who comes here is somebody. This is the Ungentlemanly Refuge after all.

  The guy positions himself between me and Flo, and flings his arms around our shoulders. “Are you ladies seeking something in particular?”

  “More like someone.”

  “Dare Wilde,” Flo blurts, even though she pinkie promised she’d hold her tongue. I instantly want to throttle her. Seriously, I love my sister, but as my stomach flops down towards my toes, I’m ready to shove her into the darkness of the doorway before us and listen to her scream as she plummets to her doom. “Is he here?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Isn’t that just the truth of everything? Either you take that bold step forward into the limelight, or you scuttle back into the shadows and never get your moment to shine.

  Our new friend gives us a friendly push towards the black hole. The gravitational pull of which instantly sucks us deeper once the threshold is crossed. My ears strain, compensating for the temporary lack of vision. There’s a low, thumping heartbeat coming from below. I can feel the vibrations of it through the soles of my shoes.

  “Watch your footing.”

  The stairs are worn and steep. I’d hate to traverse them in stilettos. I’m wearing trusty boots. The only lighting is in the form of red cables that edge each step. I’m right in the bowels of the place, eighty steps down. I counted them, wading through a land comprised of ancient brickwork, well-worn leather, heat, and red-lighting before I realise that Flo is no longer with me.

  Shit! A hundred things that could have happened to her form an instant montage in my brain. I’m all ready to about turn and backtrack through this pit of depravity when my phone starts to vibrate.

  Flo: Bailing. Sorry. Hope you find him. Won’t spill, but not getting mixed up in this. Not my circus. Will keep Kurt busy.

  It is her circus; she’s just engaging different monkeys. As for the reassurance, I know Flo is no snitch. She’s been my secret keeper from birth, just as I’ve been hers.

  Okay, it looks as if I’m going it alone. I about turn, heart fluttering like it does the first day on a new set. I can do this, even without my shadow. Matter of fact, maybe it’s better that she isn’t here.

  My eyes are finally adjusting to the light. Around me, the long, low-ceilinged brick cellar is comprised of secluded booths, divided by wrought iron grills. There’s a small central dance floor packed with gyrating, semi-naked bodies, and a bar off to one side that’s nestled between a pair of caged dancers and a tankful of octopi. Weird choice, but the same goes for most of the décor, which is a mismatch of occult artefacts and the brutally mundane. I mean, who looks at a cutlery drawer, and thinks, that’ll make a fantastic piece of art if I photograph it, enlarge it by a few thousand per cent, and then draw eyes and moustaches on the topmost pieces of silverware?

  “Feel free to add to it,” the barman offers me a marker when I approach.

  “No, I’m good.” I raise my hands. “Is Dare Wilde here?”

  “Right there.” He nods towards the cutlery picture again, causing me to take a second look. This time, I can see that the leftmost graffitied fork is riding Wilde’s signature.

  “I meant is he physically present?”

  “You drinking?” the barman asks, forcing me to sweep the rows of bottles behind him in contemplation. I don’t really want a drink, just to do what I’m here to do and be gone. The longer I stay here, the higher the likelihood everything will get messed up, but I suspect the only way I’m going to get an answer out of the barman is if I agree to pour nectar down my throat.

  “She’ll take a bottle of Talisker.” A guy behind me says.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to make a remark about having a mouth and being plenty able to use it, but the guy turns out to be the same one who escorted me in here. When the bartender slides the whisky across the counter, my blond friend passes it straight to me.

  “If you want to want to snag his attention, you’d better come bearing gifts.”

  I swipe my credit card, and pay the extortionate price for the bottle of fermented malt.

  “Who are you?” I ask. He’s a handsome brute now that there’s light enough due to the glow from the behind counter fridges to get a decent look at him. I wish I could place him. Shaggy blond hair, eyes like twin gas-lights, and biceps that are thicker than my thighs. It’s his laugh that really stirs memories though. It’s an intoxicatingly warm sound that rumbles up from deep in his chest. “Honey, if you don’t know, then maybe I’d better take that bottle of smoky goodness off you.”

  I squint. I should know him. I know I should know him, but who the hell is he?

  Dammit, the longer I stand there, cogs inside my head whirring but still failing to spit out a name, the wider his crazy-ass smile gets. In the end, he takes pity. “Lorne Everett.” He offers me his hand and kisses the back of my knuckles when I accept.

  Lorne… Lorne Everett. Oh, for heaven’s sake, I really am subpar tonight. He’s only Dare Wilde’s BFF. They’ve been man-pals since before their breakout roles in the coming of age masterpiece, Sunsetters. Well, Wilde’s breakout role. I’m honestly not sure what Lorne’s done since. No matter, the point is I’ve failed a basic observation test. I really need to brush up on my industry knowledge. On the positive side, with Lorne as my guide to Mr. Wilde, the odds of achieving this mission goal just got a lot more promising.

  “It’s the clothes. I know. It throws everyone for a loop when they stumble across me wearing any,” he says.

  I suppose when your breakout role involves you stumbling about for the whole film in a pair of budgie smugglers and a hand towel, that’s a genuine outcome.

  “Flicka,” I reply.

  A light dances in the depths of his pupils as he absorbs the introduction. “Flicka?” He rolls the name on his tongue as if by doing so he can get the lay of me. “Not Felicity?” He recognises me. I suppose it was too much to ask to suppose he wouldn’t, especially given I arrived with my duplicate.

  I shake my head, as he holds my gaze in challenge. Not here. Not ever if I can help it. Felicity is bright and jovial and full of wholesome fun. Flicka is someone else entirely. She’s more like a grenade on which the pin’s already been popped. I’ve been holding back the urge to explode for a long time now.

  “What do you want with Dare?”

  “A piece of him.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Is he here?”

  God, that grin. It’s infuriating.

  “I don’t know how available he is to talk right now.”

  But he’s here. That’s the important point. “What makes you think I want to speak to him?”

  Lorne gives me a head to toe once over. “You’re way overdressed for someone looking for a fuck.”

  I guess maybe that’s true, though I’m hardly here in a nice floral dress and a cardigan. I am, however, wearing skin-tight pants. It’s just a hunch, but I’m betting super short skirts and a lack of panties is the norm around here for those looking to bang Mr. Wilde.

  “So, what is it you need to say?”

  Seems Lorne is Wilde’s one-man vetting squad.

  “That’s between him and me.”

  He gives me a curiously penetrating stare, and for heart-thumping moment, I swear he can read my entire plan as if it’s written in the Queen’s English right on my face.

  “You realise, I suppose, that he’s never going to play by your rules.”

  “Surely that depends what the rules are?”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t know what your game is, but you’re about to get yourself fucked. This isn’t Sweetsville you’re standing in, and he isn’t just Wilde by name…”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard all the slogans: ‘Wilde by name, wild by nature’, ‘Dare you walk on the Wilde side?’ etceter
a, etcetera…” They’re just words. Credit me with some clue about marketing. Dare Wilde isn’t just a man, he’s a brand, which is exactly why I’m here, and not out on an illicit date with any one of a thousand other rock gods or movie stars. “If you could just show me to the man-beast’s lair.”

  He shakes his head, but there’s a smirk on his lips and an amused twinkle in his eyes. Maybe he’s just thinking he’s going to enjoy watching me get torn apart. Either way, he steers me in the direction I want to go.

  I expect to find Dare Wilde festooned in half-naked women, maybe with his cock out, or else busy snorting coke off someone’s naked arse, so it’s a shock when Lorne leads me to a secluded cubbyhole right at the back of this dive to find Mr. Wilde sprawled against the comfort of a cracked leather sofa, chin tilted towards the ceiling, seemingly asleep.

  At least, I assume he’s asleep and not high on something.

  The two men sitting either side of him up and leave as soon as Lorne ushers me into view. “Later, Dare.”

  “Yeah, later,” the second man echoes.

  I don’t know if they’re friends, associates, or security. Either way, they dissolve into the shadows. There are an abundance of deep shadows in this club. I guess that makes sense; its official title is the Shadow Garden, even if everyone refers to it as the Ungentlemanly Refuge.

  Mr. Wilde doesn’t acknowledge their departure. Not verbally, and definitely not physically.

  “Looks as if you’ll have to kiss sleeping beauty if you want to wake him, princess,” Lorne says, giving me a nudge towards Dare.

  I stumble forward a pace, but pause still a good two feet from his knees, as reality slaps me across both cheeks. I’m here. I’m exactly where my feet were supposed to take me this evening. All I need to do now is win his support, except my voice has disappeared.

  He’s… He’s…

  Fuck, he’s good looking.

  I mean, I’ve seen the publicity shots, the talk show interviews, the box-office smashes, but none of them prepared me for the reality of Dare Wilde in the flesh. The man is… Well, let’s be honest, I’m not sure he’s real. At least I wasn’t until this moment. I know what sort of magic Hollywood can weave. I know all about Photoshop, make-up, and airbrushing. Dare Wilde in the flesh comes without the benefit of any of those tricks, and heaven help me, he’s all the more gorgeous for it.