Free The Wicked Bad (Crimson Romance) by Karyn Gerrard Page A

Today
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    Veronica took a sip. The beer was very cold — perfect.
    “Did you choose that song for a reason, Nick?”
    “Maybe. It has a good message. One I try to live by. I don’t worry about tomorrow. Take the most from living; and take pleasure while I can,
why not? I was never a long term planner, I never will be. I’ll never be the white picket fence, sedan in the driveway guy.” He took a long swig of his Miller MGD. “It’ll never be me. I can’t change who I am.”
    “No one is asking you to change, Nick.”
    “Most women will try, invariably.”
    “Have many tried with you?” she asked sweetly.
    “A few, I don’t give them the chance.”
    “Ah.” Veronica responded sadly. This confirmed what she surmised about him. She took another drink. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em Nick.” More loudly she said, “Don’t say a few, Nick. I’ve heard there’ve been many, many women.”
    Nick’s eyebrow arched. “Did you? Maybe there has, so what? Does that make you want to run out into the night screaming? I’ll tell you this, of all those many, many women I’ve never brought any of them here to my place, my private sanctuary. You’re the first.”
    Her insides turned to warm lava. The first? Somehow, that thrilled her more than she thought it would.
    “Then show me your sanctuary, Nick. Show me your private place,” she whispered with emotion.
    Nick picked up their bottles. He turned off the jukebox, and then reached out for her hand.
    “Then, come.”
    Veronica followed behind him as he walked through the bar. Nick stopped and hit the light switches with his elbow like he’d no doubt done many times before. She smiled at his automatic action. Up the narrow stairs, Nick let go of her hand, reached in his back pocket for his keys, and unlocked the steel door. Flicking on the light, he placed their bottles on the table near the door.
    The living room was huge, maybe two rooms converted into one. Recessed pot lighting dotted the perimeter of the ceiling. In the center of the cathedral ceiling two fans with pewter accents and frosted glass shades provided a slight breeze. Along one wall stood shelving which held hundreds of record albums, CD’s, DVD’s and other media.
    Along the other wall was stereo equipment. She walked along the wall and gazed at the receiver — Marantz, along with an Akai cassette deck. Who played cassettes anymore? A Yamaha turntable and an Akai reel-to-reel-player?
    “Nick, my grandfather had one of those. All that’s missing here is an eight-track player. My grandfather had one of those, too.”
    Nick opened the smoked glass cabinet door and showed her the eight-track. Veronica clasped her hands together and laughed.
    “That’s wonderful! Why Nick, you’re a hard-core audiophile.”
    Nick smiled that devastating, sexy smile she’d not seen since their date at the beach.
    “Guilty as charged.”
    She walked down the length of music and movies. Veronica pulled out a few albums.
    “Is it all classic rock?”
    Nick stood next to her. “Mostly, but I also like blues and classical. I own some newer rock, but not much. I have a few Miles Davis, though I’m not real big on jazz. I have Sinatra.”
    Veronica turned and glanced up at him. “I love Frank Sinatra!”
    “Good to know.”
    She put the albums back and moved further down the wall, he had a fifty-inch television on a stand. A dark burgundy leather sofa sat against the window, and a large burgundy leather recliner was angled toward the TV, no doubt his chair.
    Veronica inhaled. The room smelled as he did, quality leather mixed with his sexy, unique scent. Next to the television, there was a small bar caddy that looked like it could be from the Sixties. A few crystal decanters and matching glasses sat on the top. Below were a few bottles of liquor. She recognized a bottle of Black Bush only because her father used to like it. Somehow, that comforted her. Classic movie posters in frames hung on the walls
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The Big