Bad Behaviour. Kristin Hardy
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He’d recognised her the minute he’d seen her, with the same hard punch he’d felt for her all those years ago.
Back then, it had been a half-formed yearning that Dom hadn’t quite understood. Now he recognised it. Oh yeah, he recognised it – plain, old-fashioned lust, sharp and immediate. Of course, generally when he felt this kind of need, it wasn’t coupled with the shock of seeing a face, a person resurrected from his past.
And from his dreams.
Approaching Delaney hadn’t been a matter of debate. He couldn’t have stayed away if he’d tried. The fact that she hadn’t initially recognised him had only added a little spice to the game.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Came down to take a break, do some diving. I think we should find somewhere quiet and do some catching up.”
She laughed as though she knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Absolutely,” she replied with a wink.
Dear Reader,
This is a story I’ve been looking forward to writing for a long time. For those of you who scoff at such coincidence, let me just say that the meeting described here really happened to my cousin and her husband, who didn’t see each other for fifteen years after breaking up at secondary school. The rest of the story, characters and particulars are of my own invention, but the tap on the shoulder in a Mexican bar is real, as is the fact that today the two of them are happily married with two beautiful daughters. Then again, my parents married two weeks after meeting each other and still hold hands fifty-two years later. Is it any wonder I’m a romance writer?
So we’ve come to the end of SEX & THE SUPPER CLUB, which I confess gives me a pang. I’ll be sad to see the characters go – I’ve got to know them well over the years. Hopefully, you’ll agree that this is a good send-off. Drop me a line at Kristin@kristinhardy.com and let me know what you think. Stop by www.kristinhardy.com for news, recipes and contests, or to sign up for my newsletter.
Have fun,
Kristin Hardy
BAD BEHAVIOUR
BY
KRISTIN HARDY
To Dee,
for letting me borrow her story.
And to Stephen,
may our story never end.
CAST OF CHARACTERS FOR SEX & THE SUPPER CLUB
Book 1 – Turn Me On Sabrina Pantolini and Stef Costas
Book 2 – Cutting Loose Trish Dawson and Ty Ramsay
Book 3 – Nothing But the Best Cilla Danforth and Rand Mitchell
Book 4 – Bad Influence Paige Favreau and Zach Reed
Book 5 – Hot Moves Thea Mitchell and Brady McMillan
Book 6 – Bad Behaviour Delaney Phillips and ?
Prologue
Los Angeles 1995
“A SEVEN,” DELANEY Phillips decided. “How I’m ever going to market a play starring a seven is anybody’s guess.” She raked a hand through her pale hair.
“A seven? How can you call him a seven?” Kelly Vander-vere demanded, as they sat in the nearly empty balcony discussing the dark-haired actor emoting on the stage below. “Look at that ass. He gets at least an eight.”
“Yeah, but his shoulders are weak and he’s not much taller than Paige is,” Delaney pointed out.
Set designer Paige Favreau stirred nearby. “Somehow I feel I should take exception to that.”
“To him having weak shoulders?”
Paige frowned. “Never mind. I think.”
Delaney’s lips twitched. “A seven,” she confirmed, taking a drink from her bottle of Coke. “Feel free to talk him up in your article for the school paper, Kelly—in fact, I encourage it—but you’re dreaming.”
“That’s just your opinion.”
Green eyes dancing, Delaney glanced at the handful of women sprawled in the balcony as they took their dinner break together. Work on the drama department’s spring production had come to a halt—temporarily. “Okay. Show of hands. All who agree with me? Sabrina, Cilla, Paige, Thea, that’s four. Oh, and moi.” She grinned. “That’s five in favor, Kelly, and only you and Trish who disagree. You’re overruled.”
“He’s got a pretty face,” Trish Dawson objected, a flush staining her almost impossibly fair redhead’s skin.
“And the Godzilla-sized ego to go with it,” added wardrobe mistress Cilla Danforth, in designer wear even for scrub work, with her Dolce & Gabbana ripped jeans. “Pass me the pizza, Paige.”
Paige handed the box to Cilla, along with napkins, her manners as tidy as her blond bob. “Yeah, the ego thing definitely takes him back to a six.”
“From an eight to a six,” Delaney said. “He’s dropping like a rock. Trish, you’re happy about the face because he looks hot reading your script.”
“He does a good interpretation,” said Trish, always fair. “The Godzilla ego is kind of a problem, though.”
“He moves like Godzilla, too,” choreographer Thea Mitchell observed, helping herself to a slice from the box as it passed. “Not that he’d ever take any input from me. I think he thinks I look down on him.”
Delaney glanced at the dark-eyed Thea, who at six feet had a perfect ectomorph’s body. “That’s because you do.”
“Well, I was ordered to stop it.”
Kelly made a face. “What are you supposed to do, slouch?”
“Be more encouraging about his movement.” Thea looked down her nose in an uncanny imitation of their prima donna. “I have it on high authority that he’s perfect.”
“Whose authority?” Delaney asked.
Thea looked amused. “His.”
“We ought to dock him a couple of points on general principles then,” interjected Cilla, “especially since I’m going to have to put in extra time in wardrobe to make him look good. Where does that leave us?”
“Four,” supplied Trish.
“How am I supposed to market a play with a star who’s only a four?” Delaney demanded.
“Sell the sizzle, not the steak?” Trish ventured.
“A four, in case you aren’t aware of it, is more fizzle than sizzle. Sabrina, is there anything jazzy you can pull from all the footage you’ve been shooting?”
Film major Sabrina Pantolini put her feet up and tipped her watch cap rakishly over one brown eye. “I’m shooting a documentary, not a showcase. Gritty reality. You want beauty, you’ll have to do something else. Get Kelly to drag out one of the photographers from the school paper.” Sabrina’s mouth curved. “I’m trying to film art.”
“With a four? Good luck on that one,” Delaney said.
Sabrina smiled wider. “It’s an indie production. Beauty isn’t a requirement.”
“Why did I ever volunteer for this anyway?” Delaney grumbled.
“I seem to remember you saying it would be more fun than interning at a local ad agency,” Paige reminded her.
“Yeah,