Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (5 page)

“
W
ell
, the fact is, they’ve
never
found any archaeological evidence of the workers who built the pyramids,” the blond goes on. “Add that to the fact that they’re clearly too advanced for the humans of the age...”

With every word she says, trying to convince me that aliens built the pyramids, I’m less interested in fucking her. Not that I was particularly interested in the first place, but I need to do
something
.

She keeps talking. I sneak another glance at the spot where Luna and her date were standing, but they’re gone. I look through the thin crowd, still nodding at the blond, trying to spot them.

Don’t
, I tell myself.
Nothing good is gonna come of this.

Then I spot her, moving through the crowd quickly, her mane bouncing, the guy she’s with trailing her by a couple of feet.

She looks
pissed
, and for a second, my heart beats a little faster.
Maybe it’s just a date that’s not going well,
I think.
Maybe he’s not her boyfriend, just some guy she’s decided she doesn’t like
.

I look away. Then I look back as she walks by the bar, just in time to barely catch her eye as she leaves.

“—symbol that looks exactly like an UFO in one the tombs,” the girl says.

I look at my purple drink. I’ve been savoring it because I’m not in the mood to get drunk. I want to stay in control so I can get this girl into bed, get off, and then
leave.
And now that Luna’s gone, there’s zero chance of anything happening with her.

I wonder who the guy she’s with is. Whether they’re dating, whether he’s her
boyfriend
. Whether she’s angry at him, or at something else. Whether they’re going to go fight and then have makeup sex.

“And so the only — what’s wrong?” the girl says, looking down at the bar.

My hand is clenched into a fist, the knuckles white. I relax it consciously and tap my fingers on the wood.

“Nothing,” I say, even though the thought of Luna with someone else, with that skinny tie-dye wearing asshole, is still echoing through my brain and I can’t stop it.

It’s insane. It’s irrational. I’ve only had a handful of conversations with Luna but the thought of someone else touching her makes me see black, a deep, primal, growling jealousy that I can’t shake.

You’re not suited for the outside
, a voice in my head whispers.
This isn’t how you’re supposed to react
.

I think of her clinking their glasses together. I think of her laughing at something he said.

“Are you
sure
you’re okay?” the girl asks.

Now I’ve got both fists clenched on the bar.

“Just finger exercises,” I say, unclenching. She looks skeptical, but takes another drink, her glass nearly empty.

Now’s as good a time as any, I guess.

“You want to get out of here?” I ask.

She smiles in a way that’s probably supposed to be coy but just looks drunk.

“Let me powder my nose first,” she says, and walks toward the bathroom. I get off my bar stool and walk toward the door, tired of sitting.

Some couple is arguing outside, and I pull out my phone, trying not to eavesdrop. Probably some drunk guy looked at some woman and now his girlfriend is pissed, or the other way around.

The voices get louder. It gets harder not to eavesdrop.

“—don’t want you to call, I want you to not do this shit,” says the woman’s voice.

My head snaps up. It sounds like Luna.

“Tell me when you’ve invented a time machine and I’ll fix it,” a man says.

“This is the third fucking time,” Luna says. “Why do I ever trust you with anything?”

I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t stop listening.

“Yeah, because you’re so perfect,” the guy says, his voice closing in on a shout. “You’ve never fucked
anything
up.”

That’s it. I don’t give a shit what their relationship is, I can’t stand here and listen to him shout at Luna. I shove my phone back in my pocket and walk out the door.

“I don’t ruin other people’s nights by making them wait two hours in a parking lot for Triple A!” Luna shouts back.

“Of
course
having to spend a couple hours at a bar is having your night ruined,” the guy says.

He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, a sulky look on his face, and he glances at me as I walk toward him but doesn’t take much notice.

Big mistake,
I think.

“You’re completely missing the point,” Luna says, exasperated. She’s got her phone in one hand and she’s gesturing at him with it. “The point is, I want to be
somewhere else
.”

“Everything okay?” I say, and Luna’s head snaps around to look at me, surprised.

“Oh, hey,” she says, her voice suddenly less angry. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?” I say. I try to keep my voice light, but I’m watching the guy from the corner of my eye, just
waiting
for him to try something.

“Yeah,” she says. “My keys got locked in my car is all.”

She glares at the guy, who opens his mouth, makes a
what the hell do you want me to do
gesture, then crosses his arms again.

I look back at Luna. Then I look at the guy.

They look a
lot
alike. Same face shape, similar hair, same eyes. The black knot in my gut starts to unwind, just a little.

“You need help?” I ask.

“I already called Triple A,” she says. “They’re gonna take a couple hours to get out here, though.”

“I can give you a ride to your house,” the guy says. “Or, Skye can, once he gets done and everything.”

“What kind of car is it?” I ask.

“’93 Civic,” she says.

The guy shuffles a little from one foot to another, and I look over at him. He doesn’t seem to give a shit that I’m here, talking to Luna and ignoring him, so either he’s the world’s worst boyfriend or he’s not her boyfriend.

Plus, the way they’re interacting seems kind of... juvenile.

“I could take a crack at it,” I say.

“I tried,” the guy says.

“You poked at the window for five seconds,” Luna says, then looks from him to me and back. “Sorry. Raine, this is Stone. Stone, this is my brother Raine.”

We shake hands, and I do my best not to grin.

Sorry I fantasized about kicking your ass,
I think.

“If you’ve got a coat hanger, I can give it a shot,” I offer.

“I don’t have one on me,” Luna says.

Raine shrugs.

“Maybe they’ve got one inside?” Luna asks, looking pointedly at her brother.

“Probably not,” he says, shrugging again.

“You could go check,” she suggests.

“Right, sure,” he says.

“I’ll take anything thin and flexible,” I say.

He nods and heads back into the bar.

“He’s the one who locked the keys in the car?” I ask as soon as he’s out of earshot.

Luna snorts.

“How’d you guess?” she says. “Come on, my car’s over here.”

She leads me across the street, and we lean against the side of her car, looking into dark storefronts. I’m still almost high with relief that he’s her brother.

You’re just helping her
, I remind myself.
Get the lady out of her jam and leave.

“I had a feeling that wasn’t you, detective,” I say.

“Luna,” she says.

“You seem a little more responsible,
Luna
,” I say, emphasizing her name to tease her.

Then I pause.

“Your parents named you Luna and Raine?” I ask.

Luna sighs.

“You know your name is
Stone
, right?” she says.

“Stone’s a family name,” I say. “Besides, I don’t have a sister named Dirt.”

Luna pushes her hair back, off her face, and looks over at me.

“I have three brothers,” she admits. “Cedar, Skye, and Raine. Skye was the guitarist tonight.”

I just laugh.

“Damn,” I say.

“Again, your name is
Stone
,” Luna says.

“Your parents were hippies?”

“Yeah,” she says. “If I ever complained about having a weird name when I was a kid, my dad would tell me that my mom’s first choice for my name was Moonbeam.”

“Moonbeam,” I repeat, because that’s a
hell
of a name.

“I take it your parents weren’t?” she says, her eyes smiling.

“Lord, no,” I say. “I was named after my great-great-something-grandpappy because he fought in the Civil War.”

“Which side?”

I look down at Luna, because I can’t believe she has to ask.

“What?” she says.

“You
are
from California,” I tease.

Luna rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“Yankees don’t name their kids after some guy who fought a war for a bad cause a hundred and fifty years ago,” I tell her. “My namesake was a Confederate, obviously.”

She’s quiet for a long moment as she looks me up and down with a look that makes my skin prickle.

You’re just helping a nice girl with a problem,
I think.
That’s all.

“That explains a lot,” she says.

“Like what, Detective?” I ask.

“All the surfing in the world isn’t gonna make you seem like a native,” she teases. “If you want to fit in, buy some sandals and grow a topknot.”

“Is that what California girls like?” I ask. My voice lowers. “Shorts, sandals, and long hair? Maybe I should start calling everyone
bro
.”

“I would pay money to see that,” Luna says, straight-faced. “You asking me for girl advice because the blond turned you down?”

Shit
. First I told her about the time I picked up a married woman, now she’s watched me flirt with someone else, and it’s not like I can say
I had to get my mind off you somehow
.

“I thought you didn’t have me under surveillance, Detective,” I finally say. “But you sure do seem to be watching me a lot.”

Luna blushes hard enough that I can see it even in the dark, and turns her face away.

“It’s a small town,” she says. “Coincidences happen.”

“Hey, I found something,” a voice calls, and we both turn. Raine is walking across the street, waving something long, thin, and floppy in his hand.

“Is a bass string gonna work?” he shouts.

I
’ve never been more
grateful for my dumb little brother.

Stone is not flirting with you,
I tell myself.
This is probably the only mode he has for talking to women.

Jesus, I don’t even believe
myself
. My entire body is blushing, I’m having a serious case of
the tingles
down below, and I know better than to think I’m the only girl who finds Stone super hot.

Stone takes the bass string in his thick, calloused hands and runs it through his fingers from one end to the other. Raine looks from me to him and back with his eyes slightly narrowed, like a kid who’s intruded on adults doing something he doesn’t understand.

“I think I can make this work,” Stone finally says.

“Cool,” says Raine.

We both watch Stone as he twists a loop in the end of the thick bass string and secures it, pulling it tight.

“I’ve never used a guitar string before,” he says. “Let’s see if this works.”

“It’s actually a bass string,” Raine offers. Neither of us answers him.

Stone walks to the driver’s side door, and carefully threads the string into the slim crack as Raine and I stare.

“You don’t have some kind of alarm system on this, do you?” Stone asks.

I just snort.

“Thought so,” he says, leaning over the car. He’s totally concentrated on the bass string between the doors as he slides it down, narrows his eyes, and pulls up.

“Nope,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“Should we stop watching?” I ask. “Performance anxiety?”

His smiling green eyes flick to me.

“I don’t get performance anxiety,” he says,
barely
arching one eyebrow. “I’m just out of practice.”

“At breaking into cars?” I ask.

He slides the string down very carefully, concentrates for a moment, then pulls up again.

This time there’s an unmistakable
clunk
noise, and Stone grins at me.

“I worked for the repo man before I moved here,” he says. “Being able to break into cars came in handy.”

I don’t quite believe him, but I don’t know why. The part of my brain that notices suspicious things is whispering at me, though, saying
something’s not quite right, that answer is too easy.

It’s saying,
there’s something a little off about Stone and you know it
.

I push that part of my brain into a trunk and slam the lid. Sometimes it malfunctions.

“Can you break into a lot of cars?” I ask. “Should I drag you down to the station after every car theft in Tortuga?”

He stands, pulls back the bass string, and opens the car door.

“Just the ancient ones with manual locks,” he says. “Good thing you’re not driving a Beemer.”

I slide into the driver’s seat, lean over, and fish my keys out from under the passenger seat where Raine somehow left them. Then I get back out as Stone hands the bass string back to Raine.

“Dunno if you need that,” he says.

Raine looks at it like he doesn’t know either.

“I’ll see you Sunday for dinner,” I tell Raine, hoping he takes the hint.

“Yeah, we’re on for that, right?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say.

We look at each other. The bar’s across the street, so there’s not much foot traffic where we are.

“Were you gonna go help Skye load his equipment or something?” I ask, starting to get exasperated.

I feel like I’m fourteen and he’s bothering my friends at a sleepover again.

Comprehension dawns over Raine’s face as he
finally
gets the hint
.

“Yeah, he said he wanted to me to help lift some stuff or something? See you around, dude,” he says, nodding at me, then at Stone. “Nice meeting you, man.”

Stone nods back, and Raine turns and walks back toward the bar. The bass string wiggles in his hand as he walks.

I turn to Stone, and suddenly all my organs are wrapped into one big knot in the pit of my stomach.

Oh my God how do you flirt?
I think frantically.

“Thanks for breaking into my car,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face again.

“No problem, Detective,” he says.

His face is quiet and serious, just a hint of a smile around his eyes.

I swallow. I’m alone out here with one of the most ridiculously attractive men I’ve ever seen, and suddenly, my mouth goes dry, my brain goes blank, and I have
no idea
how to get him to kiss me.

“You good to drive?” I ask. “You looked like you were putting away some drinks.”

That’s probably not it, dumbass.

He gives me a long look.

“I’ll be all right,” he says.

“If you get pulled over and breathalyzed by the state police, don’t come crying to me,” I tease.

This is getting worse
, I think.
Abort! Abort!

Stone finally smiles.

“Are you threatening to call the cops on me if I drive myself home right now?” he asks, taking a step forward.

My pulse skyrockets.

“It’s not a threat, just a suggestion,” I say.

“For a second there, I thought you were blackmailing me into letting you drive me home,” he says. “Seems like a clear abuse of power, Detective.”

“I have a name,” I say.

“Thank you for the offer,
Luna
,” he says.

“I didn’t actually offer you a ride,” I point out.

He raises both eyebrows, and I can
feel
his eyes moving down my face, from my eyes to my lips and back. I’m not short, but he’s way taller than me, and I almost feel dwarfed.

“You were going to,” he says, smiling one dimple into his cheek.

“You don’t know that,” I say. “My next sentence could have been
good luck getting home
.”

What the serious fuck are you doing right now
? I think.

“Even after I got your keys back for you?” he asks.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s just about to kiss me. Our faces are inches apart. He smells like motor oil and leather and saltwater, and my heart feels like it’s exploding in my chest.

“I know better than to be alone in a car with strange men,” I murmur.

Stone looks my face up and down again, like he’s debating something with himself, like there’s some internal struggle I don’t know about.

Yes, Jesus, I want you to kiss me already even though I sound like an asshole
, I think at him.

I wish I could bring myself to say it out loud.

“Then I’ll stop being a stranger,” he says. His green eyes are boring into mine, and I feel like I can hardly breathe. “Right here, since that’s what you want.”

Stone presses his mouth against mine, hard enough to back me up against the side of my car. His hand slides around the back of my neck, his callouses rough and a little ticklish.

For a second, I’m perfectly still.

Then I open my mouth under his and his lips move against mine, his slight stubble scraping against me. I can just barely feel the hard edges of his teeth, he’s kissing me so fiercely, and there’s something desperate, something
voracious
about it.

He’s pressing my face to his with one hand, the other moving to the small of my back, his fingers warm and rough even through my thin shirt. Our bodies are pressed together. I think I might be melting.

I run my tongue along his lower lip and wind my hands through his dark hair, and then his tongue is on mine, snaking into my mouth. It’s slow but hard, needy and sensual all at once, like he can’t stop himself from doing this. Like he’s lost control.

His hand tightens on my back, and I arch my hips against him. Even through his jeans I can tell he’s half-hard. I can also tell I was
not
mistaken about what I saw him packing in that wetsuit.

I pull back for a moment, breathing hard, our lips millimeters apart. My eyes are still closed, and I fight the urge to wrap my legs around him, right here in this parking lot. Even though we’re in public, I feel like something else entirely, something primal and
animal
, has taken over my brain.

Stone bites my lower lip, and I gasp. He chuckles, and then we’re making out again and I’m running one hand down his torso, beneath his open leather jacket, feeling the ripples and ridges of his muscles. I slide my fingers under the hem of his shirt before I can stop myself and run my fingertips over his warm skin.

There’s a hand around my wrist. It’s not hard, but it’s firm, and Stone pulls my hand out from under his shirt, even though I can tell he’s getting harder by the second, his thick length pressing against me so firmly I think it might bruise.

Finally, he pulls back a few inches and looks at me, his eyes stormy, his hair wild. He slides his thumb along my jaw, just below my lower lip, his face so intense that I don’t even speak.

You can get in my car
, I think.
We can go to any shady motel you want, because my place is way too far away right now
.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs. “I can tell.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. We’re both consenting adults. I’m at least ninety percent sure I can make it out of here with my clothes on.

I snort quietly.

“I’m anything but,” I say.

He looks at me, eyes blazing with pure concentration.

“It’s not you, Detective,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “It’s me.”

Stone kisses me hard one more time, his hand on my face, his tongue in my mouth. Fire
burns
through me and I move my hips against him, his delicious hard length obvious through his jeans.

He pulls away, his forehead against mine. We’re both breathing hard, and I reach down and open my car door.

“I was kidding,” I say. “I can give you a ride.”

God, I can’t even say something sexy mid-makeout.

Stone takes a deep breath.

“I can’t,” he growls, his voice low and rough.

Can’t get a ride from me?
I think, bewildered.

“I can’t do this, Luna,” he says, one thumb sliding along my cheekbone. “Fuck.
Fuck.
I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Can’t—” I start, but Stone pushes himself away.

He looks
furious
, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing, and he turns and jams his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Then he strides away down the dark sidewalk.

I’m still standing there, mouth open. I don’t call after him. He doesn’t look back.

I have no
fucking
idea what just happened. Was I trying to push things too fast? Did I come on too strong?

He can rub his boner against me but if I make a move it’s over?

I get in my car and start the engine, but for a long time, I just stare at the the license plate of the car in front of me, both hands on the steering wheel. I can still feel his lips on mine, his hand on my back, and then just:
I can’t
.

Maybe he’s some kind of crazy religious nut
, I think. At least that would make
sense
.

I feel half used, half stood up, and half like if he came back right now I’d still drive him to a cheap motel. Yeah, it’s three halves, but I’m baffled and angry and fractions aren’t at the forefront of my mind right now.

I clear my throat and turn the keys. My car makes a scraping sound, because it’s already on, and I pull out of the spot and drive out of San Rafael. I don’t see Stone anywhere.

I drive home too fast, but I don’t get stopped.