Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection Read online

  Dirty Bad Boys Box Set

  Includes:

  The Bad Co-Worker - #JERK

  The Bad Rebound – MR. REBOUND

  The Bad Brother’s Best Friend – KICKING REALITY

  The Bad Holywood Alpha – BAD BOY RICH

  Kat T. Masen

  Copyright 2019 Kat T. Masen

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

  Book design by Swish Design & Editing

  Editing of #JERK by Michelle Josette at Mjbookeditor

  Editing and proofing of Mr. Rebound, Kicking Reality and Bad Boy Rich by Swish Design & Editing

  Cover design by Sarah from OPIUM HOUSE Creatives

  Cover Image Copyright 2019

  First Edition of Box Set 2019

  All Rights Reserved

  Blurb

  The Dirty Bad Boys box set features four full-length, stand-alone books. Escape into the world of these sexy alphas, who are not afraid to push their limits all in the name of love.

  The Bad Co-Worker - #JERK

  One day changed everything—the day her ring no longer taunted me, and the office gossip went into overdrive because Presley Malone was back to being single.

  It was precisely the challenge I needed.

  And I didn’t intend to play nice.

  There was only one way to get her attention, just one way for her to finally notice I existed—I had to make her life in the office a living hell. Push all the right buttons and leave her cursing the day I was born.

  Easy. I just didn’t expect it to backfire on me.

  And now—my life as I knew it—will forever change.

  The Bad Rebound – MR. REBOUND

  Moving across the country was supposed to be a fresh start. I’d made mistakes, but I told myself I would no longer prey on emotionally unstable women. I don’t do relationships—I’m a selfish bastard who enjoys not answering to anyone—and relationships mean being with only one woman.

  My cousin, Charlie, dared me to settle down with one woman. So, I chose Scarlett Winters, the most sought-after actress in Hollywood and also the sexiest woman on Earth.

  I simply needed to get past the roadblock—her assistant, Morgan Bentley—the wicked bitch of the west.

  Between her multiple personalities and the giant stick up her ass, I should’ve seen it coming. Morgan Bentley’s after one thing, and one thing only—a rebound.

  That’s me.

  But this time—what if I want more?

  The Bad Brother’s Best Friend – KICKING REALITY

  Nothing breaks my focus.

  I train hard, work hard, and play hard.

  Except for Emerson—my best friend’s sister. The girl next door turned Hollywood TV star.

  It started off innocent, a stupid kiss to shut her up.

  But then it turned into an obsession every Monday night.

  And I don’t know what’s harder—hiding how I feel about his sister from my best friend or watching the woman I want live a life with someone else.

  The Bad Hollywood Alpha – BAD BOY RICH

  I’m a self-proclaimed bad boy.

  The ultimate heartbreaker, and your daddy’s worst nightmare.

  The lethal mix every woman should stay away from.

  It started off as payback. Messing with my ex-fiancée by screwing her assistant. Plus, I was bored with the same old gold diggers.

  I just didn’t expect her to be my savior.

  The holy water ready to wash away my sins.

  The out-of-towner miss-goody-two shoes became my saving grace. And there’s no chance in hell I would let go of her now.

  No. She is mine.

  And I will do anything I can to keep it that way.

  Dedication

  To all the bad boys pinned up on my bedroom wall in the ‘90s.

  Thank you, for the endless nights spent fantasizing about your shirtless and smoldering poses on a motorcycle.

  But to my first bad boy crush—Dylan McKay.

  Forever, and always—the ultimate bad boy.

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  The Bad Boy Co-Worker - #JERK

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  The Bad Rebound – MR. REBOUND

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  The Bad Brother’s Best Friend - KICKING REALITY

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Bonus Scenes from the Men of Kicking Reality

  The Ba
d Hollywood Alpha - BAD BOY RICH

  A Note To The Reader

  Playlist For Bad Boy Rich

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Kat T. Masen

  Connect With Me Online

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The dictionary defines a jerk as a contemptibly foolish person.

  That’s being nice.

  And nice wasn’t something I did.

  Give me something in return and maybe, I can play nice. Like the time I sucked up to get that promotion with that made-up title, or when I befriended the local stoner and got an extra stash of weed. And we can’t forget about last night with the promise of some sweet pussy, but what a disappointment that turned out to be.

  I got what I wanted because I didn’t give a damn.

  About anyone or anything.

  I just wanted to have fun, but even then, that game was fast becoming old.

  I was bored and needed a new challenge. Something to keep me occupied. And one day, it all just fell into place (by accident of course).

  Our office was one giant playground. I dubbed myself the school bully and the ice queen was my target. It’s her own fault though; I’d never met a woman so fucking uptight you would need a whole army to pull the giant stick out of her ass.

  It was one juicy ass though. Perky, with that round bounce that you just know would make a terrific sound when you slapped it with your palm.

  But that was beside the point. Way beside the point.

  I didn’t like her stubbornness. Nor her obsessive need to have everything clean and in order. I loathed the way she would answer every question like a pompous know-it-all bitch. And that ridiculous skirt she always wore that made her look like a schoolgirl (alright, perhaps there were benefits to that skirt if you pictured her in eight-inch heels and a pair of garter belts peeking through) was not appropriate office attire.

  What irked me most was the way she would parade ‘round the office with her nose stuck up in the air. Miss I’m-Too-Good-for-All-You-Juveniles-so-I’m-Going-to-Act-Like-a-Fucking-Grandma.

  Yeah, she thought she was fucking all that. I didn’t like bitches like that, especially when they paraded that ring on their finger like some fucking accomplishment. The guy probably gave it to her ‘cause he had a small dick and couldn’t get any better. Yeah, well you’ve got a big dick and probably could teach her a lesson or two.

  Then it happened—the day that ring no longer taunted me.

  The day the office gossip went into overdrive because Presley Malone was back to being single. The ice queen didn’t even look sad. I don’t even think she shed a tear and I’m thinking Mr. Small Dick probably found some less-frigid pussy elsewhere and jumped ship. But a victory for every goddamn cock and balls in the office that went ape-shit fighting over who could get her in bed first.

  It was exactly the challenge I needed.

  And I didn’t intend to play nice.

  Nice was for chumps. I pulled pigtails and lifted skirts. No lie.

  It wasn’t payback, and it wasn’t vindictive.

  It was clean, harmless fun.

  Fuck that . . . it was dirty fun.

  There was only one way to get her attention, just one way for her to finally notice I existed; I had to make her life in the office a living hell. Push all the right fucking buttons.

  According to her, if it walks like a jerk, and talks like a jerk, then I am a jerk.

  But I understood the meaning of ‘jerk’ a little differently. To be a selfish, manipulative, insensitive asshole luring her in by playing Mr. Nice Guy, only to give her false hope and leave her cursing the day I was born.

  Chapter One

  From a very early age I knew I was different from the rest of the kids I hung around with. I may have only been seven years old, but my mother wasn’t shy of telling me that I was an old soul with the wisdom of an eighty-year-old. I didn’t consider it a bad thing; my Grammy was the most awesome lady that ever existed, next to my mother of course.

  It was the mid-eighties, and the biggest thing to rock my world was the newly released Peaches ‘n Cream Barbie. I can still remember the epic moment when the box was placed in my hands and how incredibly beautiful she was, dressed in her flowing peach gown and shimmering bodice. Her hair was golden, perfectly styled, and adorning her neck was an exquisite diamond-like necklace, fit for a princess. She deserved a special spot on my shelf, and Workout Barbie took a hit, moving out of center spot.

  My mother would often complain, “Presley, why don’t you play with your dolls like other girls?” Well, dear mother, other girls had Barbies with god-awful haircuts and missing shoes, and rings were a rare commodity.

  I had to have everything perfect.

  So you can imagine my horror when I arrived at school the next day and every girl with their new Peaches ‘n Cream doll had short-cut bobs, mismatched shoes and zero rings. I decided then and there that my Barbie deserved the best. So I planned the most epic wedding event of all time.

  Barbie was finally going to marry Ken.

  I invited all my friends, and under the big oak tree in my backyard, they tied the knot on that sunny September day. The guests oohed and aahed. I overheard my friends commenting on how pristine my Barbie looked, ‘fresh out of the box,’ and then there was the groom. Ken looked ravishing with his light grey suit and pink pocket square to accentuate his tanned skin and plastic comb-over.

  The thrill and excitement of this perfect day was forever engrained in my memory, and at the ripe old age of seven, I knew exactly what I wanted—I wanted to get married to my Mr. Right and live in our double-story dream house.

  I had a plan.

  The problem with plans is, the second they fall apart, you have absolutely no idea how to cope.

  Fast-forward twenty years, I was certain that Mr. Right just sat at my table. His name was Jason Hart, tall, handsome, with the deepest blue eyes—if you stared long enough it was like staring into the ocean.

  We met at a mutual friend’s wedding, thrown together onto the shameful singles’ table in the back corner of the ballroom. All we needed was a neon sign flashing “sad and pathetic single people looking for a good time.”

  This time, however, the party was at our table. It was a fun group—we were all in our mid-twenties, looking to get plastered on some free booze. Jason was seated directly opposite from me and it was impossible to ignore his flirtatious smile. My ovaries were having a celebration, the party was on, drinks were served and damn, we would make very cute babies together.

  Lucky for me, Jason turned out to be the sweetest guy you could possibly ask for. It was the perfect story to pass onto our grandkids. Met at a wedding, love at first sight, and who could forget the moment I caught the bouquet? Okay, so maybe I was pushing fate. You know, by stepping on another woman’s foot to dive for the bouquet. Bouquet catching should be declared a sport; it’s every woman for herself out there!

  The moment Jason grabbed my hand and asked me to dance, I thought, Yes, he is Mr. Right. He is my Ken, minus the plastic comb-ov
er of course, and together, we could live happily ever after in our dream house.

  We went through the relationship milestones, moving in together after a year, joining our bank accounts in an effort to save for our first apartment, and last year on our fifth anniversary, he popped the big question and obviously . . . I said yes!

  My parents loved him, his parents loved me. It was just one perfect moment after another, and to curb my OCD (which had intensified over the years), it was all going according to plan. Until the day I had lunch with my mother and mother-in-law.

  Hours were spent going through magazines, interviewing wedding coordinators, immersing ourselves in various fabrics, and all the while, alarm bells were ringing in my head. Miss Plan-Out-Her-Whole-Life had absolutely no clue what she wanted. Every magazine page that was thrown in front of me showed a blushing bride staring lovingly into her groom’s eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time Jason and I looked at each other with such love. We were comfortable. But comfortable wasn’t perfect. I loved him, it was impossible not to love him, but there was this tiny bug crawling within my gut telling me something wasn’t right. I prayed every night that this mysterious bug would grow into a beautiful butterfly and remind me what we were all about.

  Yeah, that butterfly never showed up, and that damn bug had sunken its teeth in even further.

  We both got stuck in this routine. Working till late, ordering take-out almost every night, sex on Fridays, and the Saturday trip to the Laundromat. The spark that had ignited that day at the wedding had died down to a dwindling fire.

  I craved more. Not sure of what that was, I tried spicing things up by cooking some nights in, a quick rendezvous to the Hamptons for Valentine’s Day—and maybe I should have fought harder for us, but we both agreed our perfect relationship had run its course.

  “I just don’t think it’s working out, Jase. It’s just . . . I can’t explain it,” I spoke solemnly.

  Sitting on our sofa dressed in a neatly pressed tux (having just returned from a wedding), he leaned back and rubbed his face vigorously with his hands. I, on the other hand, didn’t want to cry. This shouldn’t be about emotions. Rather, it should be a rational decision between two adults.