Entitled: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boys For Life Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

not so good at this,” the lumbering Devlin says after noticing the awkward position his body forms.
    I whisper a laugh.
    “It’s all right,” I continue in a low voice. “The point is to relax a little.”
    Mandy places her body on the floor then lifts her lower half above her head and into the air.
    My shoulders drop in defeat, and I look over at Devlin.
    We are the only two still standing.
    I try to hold a straight face, but he bursts into laughter and I join in shortly after.
    The welcome crew shoots an ugly glance in our direction.
    I tiptoe so I can whisper in his ear, though my legs are so tired that I lose my balance. I fall an inch and catch myself on his chest. God, it's solid. Strong. Perfect. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and stand back on my own two feet. “Let’s go get some tea.”
    He slips a hand around my waist, pulling me closer to the warmth of him.
    “Let’s do that.” He smirks.

Chapter 8-Devlin
 
    I’ve heard the saying that you never miss a good thing until it’s gone, but didn’t know that it could apply in reverse. I didn’t know to miss a good thing until I found it. As a businessman, I find it important that I am taken seriously, especially being the youngest in the brood, so I don’t laugh much. I know how to charm when I need to, but playing is not an option. In the last hour with Ayron, I have laughed more than I have in the last month.
    To my chagrin, after the failed class, we shower separately in our gender-appropriate locker rooms and dress in casual clothing. The tights and flowy tunic ensemble she emerges in more than demands my attention. No matter what this woman slips over her body, I want to take it off, and I know that I won’t be satisfied until I do.
    We decide to leave her car at the yoga studio and I drive us to a coffee shop.
    "Nice car." She trails a delicate finger along the door of my sleek, grey sports car. If she's impressed, she doesn't show it like most of the other women who'd gone for a ride in my car. I hold the door open and let her settle herself gracefully into the passenger seat.
    "What kind of car is this?" Ayron asks.
    "You don't know cars?"
    Ayron laughs.
    I shift into high gear as we hit the main street. Ayron squeals and presses her hand against the door. I smile at her, and she nervously smiles back.
    "It's a Porsche Panamera," my hand slides the gear shift down, the motor thrumming beneath my palm. I glance at Ayron's thighs, wishing I could slide down there, as well. Instead, I throw her a cocky smile and say, "I only drive a Porsche, and I only drive fast."
    People who buy sports cars and drive like they are taking a Sunday stroll annoy me. My time is important. Time is money, and I don’t play about my money. Many men have made the mistake of assuming that because my father is wealthy that I don’t understand the value of a dime.
    In boarding school, Kevin never washed or even had his clothes dry cleaned, he simply bought new things. He bought clothes a month at a time and had whatever he didn’t wear shipped away. When he attempted to tease me because I had worn a shirt three times in a month, I had all of his deliveries rerouted to the city children’s shelter. Shortly after that, we became friends.
    “Are you sure you’ve tried yoga before?” I question the beautiful woman by my side as we travel the distance to the place she requested. She was totally hopeless in the class.
    Ayron reveals her nearly perfect teeth with a wide smile.
    “You weren’t much better.”
    “Yeah, but you didn’t have to catch me,” I tease. She nearly toppled over performing several poses.
    “True,” she concedes. “You win.”
    “So, are you better at picking tea than you are at yoga?”
    “Let’s hope so,” she answers.
    We enter the quaint shop with a few patrons and a strong aroma of coffee beans. I think of a small café that I frequent in Seattle, the rustic wood and metal décor a naturalist’s haven.
    “That was fun,” I