A Bad Boy is Good to Find Read Online Free PDF Page A

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    “No, thanks! My inner yogi is on vacation today,” came a rude shout from the other side of the door. Lizzie . His pulse picked up.
    He knocked again. The music jerked off, and he heard feet clomp over tiles. The door flung open.
    Then slammed shut.
    “Lizzie.” He grabbed the handle. Was that really her?
    “Get lost.”
    “Please, let me in for one minute.” He needed to see her and reassure himself she was okay. He ached to hold her again, but he knew better than to get his hopes up.
    “Go to hell.”
    “I drove all the way from New York to see you.”
    “You shouldn’t have bothered.” He heard something clatter to the floor.
    “Can I at least get a look at you?” From what he’d glimpsed through the crack, an appeal to her pride might work.
    He was right. The lock clicked and the door opened a crack.
    “Look but don’t touch, buster.”
    She pulled it open.
    Joy roared through him at the sight of her—alive, whole, healthy. But the hardness in her eyes made his throat tighten. “You look different.”
    She let out a hollow laugh, peered at him through mascaraed lashes. “I’ve been pursuing a little self-improvement. What do you think?”
    A damn shame ! That’s what he thought. Knew better than to say it, though. “You look… amazing.”
    “I think so. Who knew I had it in me?” She did a twirl, then teetered on her high-heeled sandals. His heart seized and he resisted the urge to grab and steady her. “Champagne?”
    She seemed completely unaffected by the sight of him. Had he thought that one look into his brown eyes would make her fall at his feet?
    His gut recoiled at the prospect of drinking this early. It was 10:30 in the morning and she’d apparently had a glass or two already. “Uh, sure. Champagne sounds good.”
    She sashayed across the Saltillo-tiled floor and he followed her into the room. A smallish Southwest-style bedroom with stuccoed walls and rustic pine furniture. The big bed unmade, clothes and cosmetics strewn about. French doors opened onto a terrace—they’d come in handy.
    “You lost weight.” He couldn’t help saying it. Feeling it with a pang of sorrow. A white tank top molded to her sports-bra squashed breasts and whittled waist.
    “Yes.” She turned to him with a triumphant grin.
    Even her face was thinner, cheekbones standing out.
    “And you straightened your hair.” His heart sank at the sight of all those glorious curls pressed out of existence.
    “Yes, thank God! Who knew it was so easy?” She tossed the sleek mahogany mane over her shoulder as she turned from him. Con swallowed hard. What had he expected?
    She filled a champagne glass she’d retrieved from a carved armoire and handed it to him. The lovely soft arms he used to rest his head on were hard with muscle, tanned.
    The big brown eyes he used to lose himself in were cold. “So, what the hell are you doing here? Despite appearances to the contrary, I’m still flat broke.” She slurred a bit, but didn’t seem to notice.
    “How much are you drinking?”
    “As much as I can.” She raised her glass and plastered on a smile before taking a gulp of champagne.
    He drew in a breath. “I came because I’m worried about you.”
    “You’re worried about me? Don’t tell me you believe what you read in the gossip rags. I’m used to being the fat wallflower, so I’m enjoying my newfound celebrity. Look at this.” She snatched a newspaper off the bed. “‘Lizzie Hathaway dances the blues away. The glamorous former heiress laughed when asked about her father’s recent indictment for stock fraud. Cutting up the dance floor at L.A.’s newest club, Breakdown, she and cousin Maisie Dixon turned heads until five in the morning. Speculation about her father’s…’ blah blah blah. Who cares about Hathaway freaking industries?” She flung the paper down.
    “Is your cousin Maisie here too?”
    “She was. Left for some kind of job. In television .” She raised her eyebrows at the