The Perfect Con (A Bad Boy Romance Novel) (Bad Boy Confessions Book 1) (15 page)

“Of course not,” Leo said, but I shook my head and descended into the car. I felt how his hands wanted to clamp down and grip me, but they let me slide away. His jaw clenched as he watched me take my seat.

“You were angry enough at Uncle Ronaldo to plot to send an innocent woman to jail,” I reminded him. I pulled my seatbelt and fastened it. “Hell, you fucked me practically every time we met, and you still didn’t—You were still going to—” I couldn’t bear to finish the sentence, it was so freaking cruel. I pressed my lips together and swallowed the lump in my throat. His damn tongue had been rubbing between my legs while he’d been planning to frame me for grand larceny. He came inside me knowing that he would see me behind bars. How could I--? How could I trust someone who would do something like that? Another lump formed in my throat immediately. “I just can’t,” I finished, hoarse.

“I didn’t know myself either,” he rushed, like the words had been crowded up in his brain for a long time. “I never met someone who could give me the clarity to see the bigger picture. I was the man you’re talking about, but you’ve changed that. You’re my—you’re my medicine, Sofi.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said. “Why would I? What have you ever told me that was true?”

He opened his mouth, and for a moment, nothing came out, and I almost laughed. But then he blurted, “I think I’m in love with you too.”

“I have to get out of here,” I muttered, shaking my head and reaching forward to grip the handle on the driver’s side door, still hanging open. “I can’t be having this conversation.” I looked up at Leo, standing in the way of the door closing, and implored as calmly as I could, “Excuse me.” He stared down at me, and then, he did it. He stepped out of my way and let me swing the door shut.

I twisted the key in the ignition and pulled back out onto the deserted highway, now slick with the passing summer shower. I sighed and my eyes ticked to the rearview mirror. He was just standing there, on the side of the road, staring after me. He didn’t race into his Porsche. He just stood there and stared. He let me go.

B
lue
. Blue water sprawling in every direction, as vast and glorious as the sky reflected on its rippling surface. It rose and fell around me, and I felt worse. So much worse.

I thought coming out on the yacht would clear my head, but it had only carved out a hole in my chest. I thought I’d been lonely on Saturday night, when I couldn’t take it anymore and I packed up my gear and went to the marina.

But it couldn’t compare to this Monday morning. The crisp sunrise. The vacant horizon. And me. Just me.

Where was Sofi Castillo now?

I swallowed and glared out across the Atlantic, imagining her strolling along a ribbon of wet sand at her parents’ place in Port Primavera. I bet her hair was loose on her shoulders and her skin was oily and golden—no, no, no.

A pang of desire sang through me as I realized she was probably still asleep. Her face half-buried in askew blankets, a soft, wheezing snore peeling from her little nose. Hair wild, spilled across the pillow, legs flopped over the side of the bed. And would there be a box of tissues on the bedside table, a television still on from the night before, playing the DVD menu of a sad romance movie?

Was she sitting by her bedroom window, toes braced on the sill, elbows on her knees, staring out at the same horizon, thinking about me, too?

Fuck. The whole point of coming out here was to escape the daily life, put myself back together, get over Sofi. We’d only known each other for a short time. Sure, we’d had sex a handful of times, and they were all burned into my memory now, but I could move on. I could move on, but I wasn’t going to be able to do this if I kept letting her seep into my thoughts.

At least I’d gotten Sofi to abandon the Heart of Icarus. That was good, wasn’t it? She was safely two hundred miles north of Aurora Beach now. It was better than letting the horrible scene play out, letting Cyrus take her down. This way, I had lost her forever, but she was still free.

I stood from the deck ledge and strode to the berth, where I kept my diving equipment. That would get her off my mind. A little skin diving in the reef. Exciting. Enchanting. Exotic.

Just like Sofi.

My brow furrowed as I gathered up the oxygen tank and flippers, taking them back onto the deck and outfitting myself.

I’d always loved this particular reef, two hundred miles off the coast and technically off-limits to all but tourists in guided groups. But my yacht was small, and the reef was massive, and the likelihood of being caught there was pretty low—and, anyway, I was feeling rather reckless when I’d disembarked. To tell the truth, I’d ditched the tonic in my glasses by that point.

I just wanted to get away from everything, because everything reminded me of what I had done.

I couldn’t brace the steering wheel of my Porsche without remembering that Sofi had been suspended by her wrists from the visor, her lovely bare torso draped against it.

The beach? The same beach where we had tangled in the sand for hours, where I had tugged a blanket over her and crept away before sunrise.

My own home vibrated with loneliness now, even though she’d only been there once or twice. I was going to be trapped in that big, empty place forever.

At least I hadn’t been seeing Cyrus around. At least there was that.

After leading his division on a wild goose chase for an innocent woman (relatively speaking), he’d probably been forced onto sabbatical, or totally redirected. Maybe I was rid of him for good now that he had come back with nothing.

With my air tank and flippers secure, I fell backward into the warm, crystalline waters of the reef, and began my descent. Everything was so quiet and tranquil down here. If this didn’t take my mind off her, nothing would.

I swam beneath a stone archway, overgrown with vibrant, deep red coral.

Perfect. Nothing like her hair.

The dark gold sponges growing in fist-sized plumes from the sand—they didn’t remind me of the Heart of Icarus. Not one bit.

I would just have to shut off the radio and drop anchor here. It was the only way to get away from the memories haunting Aurora Beach now. I’d already made enough to retire very comfortably. Gabe could try his hand as the mastermind for a while. The outfit would probably fail miserably without my guidance, but I didn’t owe anything to those guys. Maybe it was quitting time for me. Maybe Sofi was my sign. Max was right: I’d gone soft.

So why not?

Why not just quit?

M
y eyes cracked open
, and immediately squeezed shut again. Bathroom tiles. Fantastic. My cheek was pressed against the damn bathroom tiles, and I felt a little seasick, even lying flat on the floor. I hadn’t even drunk anything last night. I could only chalk up my moody, bloated blues to PMS—my damn period was due in a few days, which was just peachy—and maybe a little bit to the hairline fracture running down the center of my heart.

Blurgh.

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and I didn’t care. I was glad that I’d left Aurora Beach—glad that I’d left Leo. I was going to party hard for the rest of the summer right in my sweet old hometown, and forget all about this millionth disappointment.

You would think that it wouldn’t hurt so bad after all the others. A lot of guys are liars. A lot of guys are control freaks. So what does one more matter?

But it did matter. I felt as heavy as a bag of bricks—and I was going to puke. Yep. Definitely going to puke.

Vaulting up from the bathroom floor, I launched myself over the open toilet bowl and let loose. Afterward, I slumped back with a groan and put my hand to my forehead. A little warm. A virus? Mm, no, probably—well, maybe—it was just all the hangovers I’d been working on, finally culminating.

After arriving in Port Primavera, I’d made it my mission to forget Leonardo Battista. I’d gone out every night. Madeline called me from Uncle Ronnie’s estate to let me know that the staff had already requested that she kindly remove herself from the premises after one of the chaise lounges ended up in the deep end of his in-ground pool. When they demanded that she explain herself, her reason had related to the drunken invention of a new sport brewed up between herself and the twenty-five-year-old chauffeur.

“What are you up to up there?” Madeline had asked dully. “Please tell me you’re not still mooning over What’s-his-face.”

“His name is Leonardo Battista and you know it,” I’d snapped. “And—fuck yes, I’m mooning. I’m going to party so hard for the rest of the summer that I get amnesia. I’m going to party so hard, I’ll leave a swath of destruction in my wake. They’ll still be putting out the fires when I’m done.”

“Ooh,” Madeline purred, “you sound like you’re in a really good place right now.”

“Do I?”

“A really good place for us. I think we could really grow as friends.”

And she’d been on my doorstep within twenty-four hours. Good old Madeline. There were some nights that you couldn’t trust her to spell a single word for you, but if you wanted to completely obliterate your senses, she was the girl to call.

Only I didn’t feel like partying.

This was serious hell. The bathroom tiles were blurry with my early morning eyes—coffee, coffee, coffee—and thick clumps of hair clung to the back of my neck with sweat.

Even before Madeline had arrived on my porch, I’d been feeling vomit-y for days. Vomit-y, and lethargic, and weepy. And it was probably just the strain of losing a guy like Leo, who was so messed up and wonderful at the same time. It was probably just that—except we’d had explosive sex all week long, and it had always been bare-skinned. It felt wrong to put anything between us, to waste even a second when our tongues were electrical and our fingers were on fire, but now… The week I’m supposed to be getting my period? This was the time that I had to pay for all the recklessness of passion. Sitting. Waiting. Wondering. Imagining.

I pictured the son or daughter of Leo Battista. Would I be a single mother?

I’d picked up a handful of pregnancy tests at the pharmacy yesterday, but I hadn’t had the balls to actually use one. They were underneath the sink right now, less than a foot away.

I glared at the little wooden door that hid them from view.

Shit.

I swallowed and opened the lower cabinet, fishing out the pregnancy test and tugging my panties down around my ankles, then climbed tiredly onto the toilet. Here we go. I had to know.

I was still mid-stream, the little white stick between my legs, when knuckles rapped at the bathroom door and I jolted, warm urine coursing over my hand. I groaned loudly and stood, sending the room for another nauseating little tumble. God, I hadn’t felt this shitty in a long time. Was definitely going to puke again soon.

“Hey, Sofi,” Madeline called through the wood. “Where’s your cook? I need eggs and toast like whoa.”

I twisted the faucet and let my head lull back as the water washed over my hands. I lathered up from a bar of soap beside the sink and closed my eyes.

In just a few minutes, I would know if I was pregnant or not. Maybe after I knew, I would feel secure in partying with Madeline, but so far, going wild and forgetting about Leo was a train that had derailed as soon as it left the station.

The night before, we’d been in the upstairs lounge of some stupid nightclub. Madeline took her top off and danced on the table—not a huge surprise. I’d been kind of sulking in a corner booth with my little glass of orange juice. Madeline had chummed up to a table of coke dealers. Naturally. Yet I was the one who was sick. My head between my hands. Thinking about Leo’s fingers, grainy with sand, locked between mine. Thinking about Leo’s warm smile lighting over me as I dangled from his Porsche’s visor by his knotted tie.

And Madeline was the one who was bright and chipper in the early hours of the morning—probably hadn’t slept yet—and was ready for eggs.

The Universe is arbitrary and hilarious.

“Hold on,” I muttered, gripping the porcelain sink and staring at myself in the mirror. I was still in the wrinkled little black dress from the night before, barefoot now. I shuffled to the door and unlocked it, letting it fall open. The pregnancy test was still developing next to the sink.

“Whoa, nelly.” Madeline cocked her head at me and lifted an eyebrow quizzically. She was also in a little black dress, but hers wasn’t wrinkled, and she was still wearing her damn heels. Her makeup was still pristine. I didn’t know how she could rage so hard while barely clearing one hundred pounds. It was a shame she couldn’t shrug off her deadpan voice; she actually had the kind of stamina a woman would need to be a Hollywood starlet. “What happened to you last night? James got the wet bar open and you totally vanished.”

“I was feeling a little sick,” I grumbled, slouching against the doorframe.

“You didn’t even have a drink,” Madeline scoffed.

I trudged out of the bathroom and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. “This is going to kill you, Madeline,” I warned her, “but I think it might be a long time until I’m really done with Leonardo Battista. Um, eighteen years, at least.”

“That’s awfully specific,” Madeline noted, scrunching her brow into a frown. “Listen, baby. I’m your life coach,” she said with uncharacteristic warmth. “I’m here to guide you out of this hole you’re wallowing in.” She drew me toward the staircase, but I resisted. That test would be ready within another sixty seconds. I didn’t have the strength of will to drift too far from it. I had to know.

My lip quirked. “I thought you were here to drive me deeper.”

“That’s how you get out,” she told me sagely. “The only way out is through.”

“Hold on a second, Maddie,” I asked, breaking away from her and traveling back to the bathroom for that pregnancy test. It had to be ready by now. “I’ve got to see something.”

“Now, you’ve got this entire estate to dismantle,” Madeline went on over my shoulder, “and so far, I’m the only one who’s been fucking shit up.”

I picked up the test.

“You need to get in there and use your resources, Sofi.”

A blue plus sign.

Not a negative.

A positive.

“Break a vase. Rip a skirt. You know what I mean?” Madeline went on—but her voice had become vague and distant to my ears.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Disheveled curls and wild eyes.

Pregnant. I was pregnant.

Pregnant with the child of Leonardo Battista.

“You’ll feel better,” Madeline said, her voice coming closer. “Trust me.” She cropped up behind me in the mirror, leaning on the bathroom door and watching me thoughtfully. “What’s that?”

My eyes met hers in the mirror and said everything for me. Knowing the way Madeline carried on, I was somehow certain she could recognize a pregnancy test without having to be told what it was.

Her eyebrows twisted. “Are you—?”

Her question was interrupted by an abrasive sound. A deep, shuddering thud emanated from the downstairs area. But Madeline ignored the interruption and didn’t break eye contact with me in the mirror.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Do you hear that?” I asked, turning from the mirror with the test still in my hand. I slid around her and toward the stairs, gripping the bannister to fix my unsteady feet. “Something’s breaking down here.”

“Don’t change the subject on me. It’s probably just James at the door,” Madeline said, flouncing after me. “I think he left his speakers. It’s positive, isn’t it? THAT’S why you’ve been such a wreck since I got here. You’re not heartbroken; you’re pregnant!”

“I’m both,” I grumbled as my feet hit the landing.

The front door splintered off its hinges and rocketed open, skittering into the foyer. Madeline and I both froze with eyes bulging out as a troop of black clad men threw aside their battering ram and marched into the room, some of them with guns at the ready. Madeline and I both screamed in unison, and one of the men advanced to me and gripped my arm—the one not holding the pregnancy test—and twisted it behind my back. I was too stunned to buck against him. “Sofia Castillo,” he barked, securing handcuffs tightly, “you are under arrest for the theft of two million dollars in rare jewels.”

“Holy shit,” Madeline muttered.

“Oh no,” I groaned, closing my eyes. I didn’t fight, because what could I say? What could I do? They were right. I had been the one. I didn’t know how they knew, exactly, but they did. And my instinctive reaction was,
Leo.

Leo will help me.

I believed it, even though he had been the one to threaten to expose me in the first place. I believed in him.

I pressed my lips together and held out the pregnancy test to Madeline. “You have to tell Leo for me,” I begged her.

Madeline crinkled her nose and took the white stick from between my pinched fingers.

The arresting officer twisted my other wrist behind my back to join the first one, both of them secured together by handcuffs. He gripped my arm and led me roughly through the foyer and down the front steps of the Castillo mansion.

The entry drive was thronged in police vehicles, sirens and lights all going. I exhaled. Was it possible that Leo had turned me in to Cyrus de Silva after all—for van Buiten, since the Heart of Icarus was off the table? But why? Why would he warn me away and then turn me in anyway? Unless his wrath was so great that even deserved heartache was cause for vengeance…

But I didn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe that the Leo who had made such tender love to me in the rain was the same Leo who would ensure that I went to jail.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Someone called in an anonymous tip last week, and it didn’t pan out for that particular crime,” Cyrus answered. “But some of the details did coincide with an earlier crime. Some physical evidence regarding a wanted criminal known as Lorenzo ‘Spider’ Iglesias surfaced at the scene, and we were then able to connect the Castillo family to him as employers. If it hadn’t been for that anonymous tip, we wouldn’t have even thought about it. The Castillos are good people—not criminals. But, after Spider was placed into holding, he was quick to trade your name for immunity.”

He wrenched open the back door of his police cruiser and I winced as Cyrus placed his hand on the back of my head to lower me in. My eyes flashed up to the house and I saw Madeline on the stoop, watching with an expression of anguish on her face. She was still holding the positive pregnancy test in her hand.

“Madeline!” I called out to her. “You have to tell him for me!”

“WHICH PART?” she cried. “WHERE ARE YOUR CAR KEYS?”

But then the squad car door was clapped shut in my face, and the conversation was over, and I didn’t have the chance to tell Madeline that nothing filled me with more dread than the thought of her behind the wheel of my car.