Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (20 page)

I
’m finally
, finally dozing off when the sound of a police loudspeaker jerks me awake.

“—on your head,” is all I hear, but I’m already out of bed, pulling on a t-shirt and boxers, my hair in a braid down my back, pushing my feet into flip flops. I can see the red and blue strobing lights against the curtains of my bedroom and living room.

My pulse is racing, and I put my back flat against the wall before I peek outside, through the curtains.

Stone was right
, I think.
Holy shit, someone’s here and they’re after me.

I glance at my bedside table, wondering if I should grab my gun and load it, but I peek outside first, staying as hidden as I can.

In front of Mrs. DuFresne’s house is a cop car, two cops, a motorcycle, and a guy in a leather jacket holding his hands on his head, squinting into a spotlight.

“Goddamn motherfucking shithead,” I mutter to myself.

Not only is the idiot in the leather jacket Stone, the cop on the right is Chad.

Go back to bed and let him handle this himself
, I think.
He made this problem, he can deal with it
.

As I watch, Chad steps forward, jabbing one finger into the air toward Stone, and irrational fury washes over me. I know
exactly
what a dick he can be, and even from here, I can tell he’s in full because-I’m-a-cop-and-I-said-so mode.

Some people should never be put into positions of power, and he’s one of them. I’m amazed the department hasn’t gotten any formal complaints about Chad yet.

I’m out the door and walking toward the scene in my flip-flops before it can escalate much further, but as I get close, I can already hear them.

“I
said
, you need to move on, buddy,” says Chad.

“Tell me what law I’m breaking,” says Stone, his arms by his sides now.

“Did I say take your hands off your head?” Chad asks.

“You gonna shoot me for this?” Stone says, a sneer in his voice.

“
Hey
,” I call, heading toward them. All three heads turn toward me, and the dick-swinging stops, at least for a moment.

Chad smirks. Stone has the grace to look slightly guilty. Chad’s partner, Wilson, doesn’t react at all.

“This man was just about to leave,” Chad says, puffing up his chest just slightly.

That does it. That fucking does it. I know it’s not the best way to knock Chad down a peg, but I do it anyway.

“Sorry, my phone was in the other room and I fell asleep,” I say, turning to Stone.

In the corner of my eye, Chad’s face suddenly goes flat, his mouth forming a thin line.

“I was starting to worry I had the wrong address,” Stone says, his voice low and slow.

“I shouldn’t have texted so late,” I say. “I might have told you the wrong house number.”

Chad is slowly turning red, a single vein bulging from his forehead. It takes all my self-control not to laugh out loud at him.

“You almost got me arrested, Detective,” Stone says, raising one eyebrow.

I lean in and kiss him on the cheek, his sideburn just barely tickling my face, his skin warm under my lips. He puts one hand on my lower back and keeps it there.

“Forgive me?” I ask.

“Maybe,” Stone says.

I look at Chad and Wilson. Chad’s furious, both thumbs tucked into his belt, his jaw working like mad. Wilson looks kind of bored.

“Sorry, guys,” I say. “It’s my fault. We good?”

Wilson just shrugs.

“Glad we solved that,” he says. “I’m good if you’re good.”

“He was
clearly
loitering with intent,” Chad says, his voice flat and hard.

“Intent to what?” I ask.

“I think we should take him in and at least ID him,” Chad says to Wilson, not answering my question.

Wilson just gives him an are-you-fucking-serious look.

“Because I didn’t hear my phone go off?” I ask, trying my best to sound incredulous.

“Come on,” Wilson says, and heads for the car.

I swear Chad
snorts
, like he’s a bull getting ready to charge or something. Then he glares from me to Stone and back before finally getting in the car.

The spotlight goes out. The lights go off. Wilson lifts one hand off the wheel as he drives away, and I wave back. I watch the cop car until it stops at the end of my block, then makes a left and disappears.

Then I turn the Stone.

“Is this your idea of protecting me?” I ask. “Sitting outside my house like a creeper?”

“You’re in danger because of
me
,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I’m not just going home and going to bed. Anyone who comes for you is gonna have to get through me first.”

I take a deep breath. A cool breeze blows, reminding me that I’m just wearing a t-shirt and boxers. Also, it’s one in the morning, and the neighbors are
clearly
already awake, because someone called the cops on Stone.

“Come on,” I say. “We can argue inside.”

* * *

F
ive minutes later
, I’m standing in the doorway to my bedroom and Stone is standing in my living room, jacket slung across a chair, boots by the front door.

“I’ll sleep on your front steps if you want,” he’s saying.

“That’ll go over great,” I say sarcastically. “I was just thinking that you lurking across the street wasn’t suspicious enough. Stone, sleep
at your house
.”

He crosses his arms in front of himself.

“I’m not here because I think you’re helpless,” he says quietly.

“Good, because I’m not,” I say.

“I’m here because it’s my fault the Syndicate is after you,” he goes on. “And if something happened, I couldn’t live with myself.”

It’s sweet and responsible, in a fucked up way. Even if I don’t think for a second that they’re after me. I hesitate.

“Let me work off my guilt by sleeping on your couch,” he says, his voice almost a whisper.

I swallow hard. It’s dark. It’s late. As much as I fucking
hate
to admit it, Stone’s he-man let-me-protect-you thing is kind of sexy in a caveman sort of way. I don’t need him to protect me, but God help me, I kind of like that he
wants
to.

And I extra special can’t kick him back out
now
. He’s made it perfectly clear that he’s not leaving, my batty old neighbor will just call the cops again, and I’ll be lucky if
all
Chad does to Stone is arrest him.

“Fine,” I say.

“You won’t even know I’m here,” Stone says, and sits on the couch.

Unlikely,
I think.

“I’ll get you a blanket,” I say, and head into my bedroom.

When I come back, fleece blanket and pillow in my hands, Stone is stretched out on the couch. Or, he’s sort of stretched out. It’s really a two-person couch, and he’s significantly too tall for it.

I give him the blanket and pillow without saying anything.

“Thanks, Detective,” he says, and smiles at me. One dimple.

“Bathroom’s down there,” I say, pointing at a door. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Then I walk back into my room before I can suggest that the
most
comfortable place to be is my bed. I strip down to my underwear — I can’t sleep in clothes — and lie there, trying not to think about Stone on the couch in the next room.

Stone, who smiles with one dimple and calls me
Detective
in a voice that makes my insides slosh around.

Stone, who made me come so hard I felt like I’d been hit by the orgasm train.

Great, now I’m all tingly.

I looked up everything I could when I got home: Andrew Valdez, car thefts in Atlanta five to ten years ago, even his real name, Ellwood. He didn’t tell me his last name, but there aren’t exactly a lot of Ellwood Samuels around, so he wasn’t hard to find.

It tracks. It all tracks, and even though I’m suspicious by nature, I basically have no choice but to believe him. Which means that I’m lying here, in bed, thinking
super dirty
thoughts about an ex-con who’s in witness protection and has a dangerous criminal organization after him, and therefore after
me
.

How the hell did I get myself into this situation
?
I wonder.
Up until last week the most excitement I ever got was when the llamas up at Overland Farm escaped their pens.

I count sheep. I count escaped llamas. I take deep breaths and let them out slowly, clearing my mind. I imagine that a cool blue glow is starting in my feet and slowly working its way up my body, relaxing me completely as it goes.

In the next room, I hear Stone shift on the tiny, terrible couch, and I’m awake again.

There’s no reason you can’t just sleep in the same bed
, I tell myself. Then I nearly laugh out loud.

Sure, no reason at all.

I get out of bed, pad to the bedroom door, and hesitate for a moment. For some reason I grab a t-shirt and put it on. As if wearing that, underwear, and no pants is so much better than nothing.

When I open the door Stone looks over at me, his feet propped on one armrest of the couch, his head on the other.

I swallow hard and lean against the door frame.

“C’mon,” I say, tilting my head toward my bedroom. “You’re a foot too tall for that couch.”

He takes a long time to answer, because he’s blatantly staring at me, his eyes starting at my feet and working their way up. I feel like I’m slowly being set on fire, until my whole body is hot and burning with desire.

For just a moment, I think
why couldn’t I want someone else?

“Bed’s more comfortable,” I say, then turn and walk back into my bedroom.

Behind me, there’s a rustle as Stone gets off the couch, and his footsteps move across the floor and into my bedroom. The door shuts.

“I’ve slept worse places,” he says.

I sit on my bed and look up at him.

“You can sleep on the couch if you want,” I say.

“You know what I want,” he says, and walks over to stand in front of me. He leans down until he’s got one hand on the bed and our faces are an inch apart. My heartbeat throbs in my veins, and I swear I can feel his body heat radiating off of him in waves, nearly making me dizzy.

“But ten minutes ago you were telling me to sleep at my own house, Detective, so I’m gonna need you to be
real
clear on what your expectations are right now. Because if this is
just
sleeping, I’d rather stay on the couch than have to be next to you in bed all night.”

“Am I that bad?” I ask.

I grab the front of his shirt in my hand and pull him toward me. His hips are between my knees, and I squeeze gently. Stone growls, somewhere deep in his chest.

“It’s not because you snore, Detective,” he says. I pull harder but he resists me and takes my chin in his other hand, running one thumb along my jaw.

“Then why?” I ask, like I don’t know the answer.

I
need
him to say it, that he wants me too, because when I’m this close to him I feel like I might lose my mind with lust. Somewhere, buried deep inside me is a sex dial that Stone turns all the way to ten, almost instantly. I don’t think anyone else has ever gotten it past five.

Secretly, I’m afraid that I’m turning into a puddle of horny, sexed-up goo, but I’m barely a blip on Stone’s radar.

He laughs.

“I’m not a masochist is why,” he says. “Because being next to you, warm and half-naked and not being allowed to touch you would be torture.”

I pull on his shirt even harder but he keeps resisting me, even though I’ve got my legs around his hips, our faces nearly touching.

“Tell me you want to fuck again,” he says, and slides his thumb over my lower lip.

I flick my tongue out and lick the pad of his thumb, rough and slightly salty.

“Say it,” he whispers. “I
need
you to say it, Luna, because the last time we did this I was lying to you. I’m not a good person. You don’t have to forgive me. I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t.”

Stone swallows hard.

“I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone in my life, but I need to hear you say yes.”

I lean back on one elbow, breathing hard, one hand around the back of Stone’s neck, and look him dead in the eyes.

“Yes,” I say. “I want you to fuck me.”

The words are barely out and Stone crushes his mouth against mine, pushing me backward onto the bed. I part my lips under his and find his tongue with mine, my hands tangled in his hair, my legs wrapped around his hips, his erection rubbing against me deliciously.

I arch my back and move my hips against his, trying to make the deep ache in my core go away, even for a moment, but it doesn’t. It gets worse, and Stone grabs one hip, squeezing it, holding me against him as we grind our hips together.

I feel like a damn teenager, too horny to stop long enough to take my clothes off.

I break the kiss and tug on Stone’s shirt. He pulls it off in one motion and throws it across the room, and the whole mural of his tattoos is suddenly visible, deep colors and hard lines etched into his skin.

“They’re not
all
prison tattoos, you know,” he says. “Most of them are professionally done, just stupid.”