Beached with the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday #3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Now that the shock had totally worn off, she was feeling more herself.
    And he needed to know who he was dealing with here. She was Layla freaking Hart. International bestselling author. Creator of worlds. Weaver of tales. Maker of spreadsheets. A woman not to be trifled with.
    Trick had just come back from his run, and now he stood in the living room, eyeing up the pile of his clothing and the duffle bag she’d taken the liberty of relocating. He was half naked, as usual, his chest gleaming with sweat, a T-shirt tossed over his shoulder, his running shorts slung low on his hips.
    Layla forced herself not to follow the trail of hair from his bellybutton down to… the place she wasn’t allowed to think about. She’d seen enough last night.
    And dreamed about it enough, too…
    “Is this…” Trick lowered his hand and took in the scene, his eyes finally landing on hers as she tossed aside the empty tape gun and got up off her knees. “Are you… are you serious right now?”
    “Not like I had a choice,” she explained, dusting the sand from her hands. “You’re refusing to vacate my rental, thereby making this a shared living arrangement. We need clear boundaries and a fair system, so I came up with one. Problem solved. Enjoy your run?”
    She’d meant for it to come out dripping with sarcasm, but it sounded more like curiosity. She couldn’t help it—despite the circumstances, everything about him made her want to know more. His presence intimidated her as much as it enraged her.
    As much as it turned her on.
    Ugh, the whole thing was so damn distracting. She’d managed to avoid men for two years. What was it about this jerk that had her suddenly boy-crazy?
    Trick closed the distance between them in two long strides, stopping just inches away from her. Heat radiated from his body, and it was all she could do not to reach her hands out and touch him, run her fingers down his slick, muscled chest, the ridges of his abs, that line of soft, blond hair…
    “Explain,” he said, nostrils flaring. “Now.”
    Layla took a step backward, the backs of her thighs connecting with the couch. He closed the gap again, his eyes boring into her.
    They were gray, she could see now. Bluish-gray, actually, with a ring of darker blue around the outside.
    The color reminded her of the ocean.
    “It’s simple,” she said, forcing her eyes away from his hypnotic stare. She gestured at the perimeter she’d marked off in the living room, a square around the couch and coffee table that she was willing to sacrifice. “This part in here is your bedroom, so I’ll steer clear.”
    She stepped out of the taped perimeter, putting some much-needed distance between them.
    “My bedroom is obvious,” she continued, “the door being the logical boundary, and that door will remain closed and locked at all times while I’m inside. I’m on a very tight deadline and I can’t be disturbed.”
    “That makes two of us,” he said.
    “Great. All the other areas in the house are shared, meaning we each get half—I’ve marked off those boundaries as well, and I expect you to respect them without argument.”
    Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he said, “Which one of us gets the shower? Or are we sharing that?”
    Layla felt her cheeks flame.
    “The kitchen and bathroom have schedules,” she plowed on, “since you can’t really divide those. So you’ll see on the chart here…” She scurried over to the dining room table and grabbed the chart she’d written up, along with a list of house rules for him to sign. “You’ll see what time slots you’ve got for bathroom time and meal preparation. Oh, that reminds me. You’ll need to pick up your own groceries, do your own dishes, laundry, et cetera. We also have quiet hours. It’s all here in the rules.”
    He took the papers from her hands, scanning her notes, scrutinizing them line by line. The muscles of his shoulders were tight, his forearms flexing as he flipped the pages.
    With