Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (11 page)

I
’m watching very
blurry security camera footage on my computer. In it, a guy wearing a hoodie fills a red canister with gasoline from a Shell station in Emerald Bay.

I can’t see his face, how tall he is, or what his hair looks like. Hell, it could be a flat-chested woman.

I sigh and rewind, going back through the thing frame by frame. I’m just hoping I’ll notice something that will help, because we’re quickly hitting dead ends.

Earlier, when I asked Heloise, our technical expert, whether she couldn’t make the video clearer, she just rolled her eyes.

“This isn’t CSI: Tortuga,” she said, obviously annoyed. “How many times do I have to tell you people that I’m not a fucking wizard?”

In fairness, she’d told me at least a thousand times before. I just keep hoping.

The phone on my desk beeps, the red light next to DISPATCH flashing. Something new, at least.

“Rivers,” I say.

“I’ve got another vandalism report,” says the guy on the other end of the phone. I think it’s Brad, the chief’s kid, who needed a summer job.

“Shoot,” I say.

He pauses.

“Tell me about the report, please,” I say, tapping my pen against the pad of paper.

“It was made by Stone Williams, who says that his property at 2313 Manzanita Avenue has been vandalized,” Brad says, clearly reading from his notes. “His garage has been defaced by one or more persons, and he believes the property damage to be in the hundreds.”

I sit upright in my half-broken chair, still tapping the pen on my desk. On my computer screen, the guy is mid-fill. Batali’s desk is empty — she’s in San Luis Obispo for the day, testifying in court.

“Did Mr. Williams give any more details?” I ask.

Brad keeps reading from his notes, and finally gets to the important part: a dollar sign, in a circle, in a triangle. He tells me more details for a few minutes, but by then, my mind’s wandering.

I knew he was involved
, I think.
He lied about it, and now they’re targeting him.

Should have let us fucking help you, Stone
.

I look at the clock. Just past six. Time for me to go home anyway, but I should go to the crime scene and throw the book at Stone. See if I can’t get him to tell me the truth.

“Brad, could you please call Mr. Williams back and tell him I’m happy to stop by the crime scene in thirty to forty-five minutes?” I ask.

“Yes, Detective Rivers,” he says, as polite as you please.

I tie up a few loose ends, clear my desk, turn off my computer, and go. On the way out I check my phone one more time, but Stone hasn’t texted me for a couple of hours, and I just haven’t gotten a chance to answer him yet.

Of course, now I’m worried that something is wrong and he knew it, that he was trying to get my help all day.

Shit
, I think, and get in my car.

* * *

2
313 Manzanita Avenue
isn’t what I was expecting. It’s a charming little adobe bungalow, painted mint green. There’s a wooden fence around a neatly tended front yard, a concrete driveway leading to the back, and lace curtains hanging in the front windows. With the sun going down behind it, the house looks positively idyllic.

It doesn’t track at all with what I thought Stone’s house would look like.

I frown and double check the address against my notes, but as I do, Stone steps out of the front door. He’s wearing jeans and a short-sleeved black t-shirt, and he waves from his front steps.

I was right about tattoos. Both his bulging forearms are
covered
in ink, hardly a blank spot anywhere. Honestly, I’m half-surprised that he isn’t wearing a jacket or a long-sleeved shirt, even though it was warm today.

“Detective,” he says as soon as I get out of the car.

“Mr. Williams,” I say, already slightly annoyed.

No one else is here. He could just call me by my name.

“You reported a vandalism?” I ask, bringing out my notepad and pen.

“It’s on the garage,” he says.

I follow him, but there’s something a little off about this. Hell, there’s something a little bit off about
everything
where Stone is concerned.

But he seems almost
pleased
. At the very least, he’s not upset.

We round the corner and then stand there, facing the side of his garage.

This wasn’t the same people who vandalized Eddie’s.

The colors are right, and the way the words and symbols are written are an approximation of what was on Eddie’s, but it’s not even a close approximation. Best of all, ROYALE is spelled ROYAL.

Either whoever did that this sent the new guy to tag Stone’s garage, or it’s a copycat.

“This was here when you arrived home?” I ask.

“Yes,” Stone says.

“And it wasn’t here when you left this morning?”

“No.”

“Meaning your garage was vandalized in broad daylight, in a well-trafficked residential area,” I go on.

He just shrugs.

“Any idea why they might target you?” I ask. I’m not even taking notes. “Any details you might have left out previously?”

As I talk, I get closer to the paint on the garage and pull gloves from my pocket, because between the texts and the obvious copycat, I’ve got a suspicion.

“Nothing,” Stone says, coming up close behind me. “No idea who would do this.”

His voice is low and rough, and he doesn’t even have to touch me for it to send a shiver down my spine. I clench my teeth, pull a glove on, and touch the graffiti in the shiniest spot.

The gloves sticks, just a little. It’s still tacky, which means it’s not more than an hour old.
Maybe
two.

I turn and face Stone.

“Am I in danger, Detective?” he asks, his voice raspy, but he’s nearly smiling, his eyebrows going up just a hint.

I step around him, and when he turns to face me, I put one hand on his shoulder. It’s hard and sinewy with muscle, but I swallow and ignore my dumb animal brain that notices things like how sexy suspects are.

“Stand still,” I command, and stand on my tiptoes, looking at his hair.

I brush my fingers along it lightly, and then, on the crown of his head, I find what I’m looking for: tiny gold droplets clinging to his dark hair.

“Any idea how gold spray paint might have gotten into your hair?” I ask.

“Probably from work,” he says.

I take my glove off with a snap and ball it up in my hand, then cross my arms in front of me, looking at Stone.

“All right, let me summarize,” I say, my eyes locked to his. He pushes his hands in his pockets, and I force myself not to look at his tattoo-covered forearms, the way his shirt stretches around his biceps, or the way I can just
barely
see his muscular chest underneath it.

“During daylight hours, possibly as early as four forty-five but likely closer to six, an unknown person or persons vandalized your garage with several of the same words and logos that appeared on Eddie’s garage, as well as the symbol that appear at both the garage and the underpass. However, the art style is notably different from the graffiti at Eddie’s, with the graffiti on your garage being decidedly more... let’s say,
amateur
.”

Realization is starting to flicker across Stone’s face.

“Also of note is the fact that ROYAL here is spelled without its final E. Furthermore, there’s paint in your hair that, at first glance, seems to match the gold paint used in the vandalism.”

Stone glances away, but it only makes me more annoyed.

“Finally, you’ve texted me several times today, even though you knew
I was at work
,” I say, and take a step toward him.

We look at each other for a moment.

“You think it’s a copycat?” he finally asks, his voice low.

“I think if I check your trash cans I’m going to find spray paint cans that match this wall,” I say, jerking my head toward the garage. “And worse, I think you
must
believe I’m stupid.”

Stone’s jaw flexes.

“I needed to see you,” he says, keeping his voice low. “You wouldn’t answer me, and like
hell
was I letting you get away without an explanation.”

I just blink at him, because I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.

“I was
at work
,” I say again, in case he didn’t hear me the first time. “And are you seriously getting upset that I didn’t contact you for a full day?”

He looks away again, his jaw flexing below his sideburns. The orange sun is starting to dip below the other houses in his neighborhood, lowering us into the blue shadows of twilight.

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he finally says, glaring off into the distance. “You had a lot of reasons.”

“So call my desk at work, or come by, or something,” I say. “Don’t vandalize your own garage, file a false police report, and assume I’m too dumb to figure it out.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“Really?” I ask. I’m getting exasperated, because I’m starting to think that I was right all along, that no matter how insanely sexy Stone is, he’s not worth the trouble.

“I didn’t think beyond you getting here,” he says, and looks at me again, his green eyes blazing even in the twilight. “I’m not good with consequences.”

“I thought you were in trouble,” I hiss. “I thought they’d started targeting you, for God knows what reason you won’t tell me, and I thought you were in
danger
.”

He cracks a smile.

“You were worried about me, Detective?” he asks.

“I’m a public servant,” I say. “I worry when anyone is in trouble.”

Stone just chuckles.

“I can be a damsel in distress if you’re the knight who comes running to my rescue,” he says. “Help, my wicked stepmother’s locked me in a tower.”

I bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from smiling.

“You gonna tell on me?” he asks, cocking his head just slightly.

I give him a long, slow look. I
want
to be annoyed with him for wasting my time, wasting department resources, and being kind of a dumbass, but I can’t quite muster it.

The man vandalized his own house, hoping I’d come investigate.

Crazy? Yeah.

Kind of sexy? Also yeah.

“I told you, I’m not a tattletale,” I say. “Even though I
could
have you fined for filing a false police report.”

Stone steps forward, and I glance at his driveway. We’re at the side of his house, and anyone who walks down the sidewalk has a clear view of an officer of the law standing
much
too close to a guy who looks like he’d be at home in a biker gang.

“Anything I can do to convince you not to have me fined?” he says, his voice low and raspy. “I don’t have a Beemer, but I bet I can make you learn to like a Ford Escort a little better.”

Heat crawls up my face and burns in my cheeks. In the past twenty-four hours I’ve come up with
several
ways Stone could make me come on the hood of a car, but I keep my composure and look him in the eye.

“Do you have a trash can where I could throw this away?” I ask, holding up my latex glove.

I
look
from Luna’s face to the glove and then back, then shrug.

“Sure, there’s one over —”

I stop mid-sentence, because Luna’s got a devilish,
wicked
look in her eyes, her lips just barely curving up at either end. I clear my throat.

“I’ve got a trash can inside the house,” I say, figuring it out. “Would you like to throw that away?”

“If you don’t mind,” she says, almost sounding nonchalant.

“Not at all,” I say, keeping up the overly-polite, sounding-like-a-church-lady charade even though my dick is close to busting through the zipper on my pants.

I hold the door for Luna because I’m a fucking gentleman, then close it behind us.

“When did you move?” she asks, looking at my living room, which consists of a futon, a TV, and piles of boxes, which I’ve been using as tables.

I walk up behind her and slide my hands around her hips. She’s dressed in a matching gray blazer and pants — does that make it a suit? I don’t fucking know — and even though she’s flawlessly professional, her ass looks
incredible
right now.

“Sleuth it out, Detective,” I say into her ear, my voice low and gravelly.

“It
looks
like you moved a week ago,” she murmurs. “But I’ve got a bad feeling that’s not the case.”

“Not quite,” I say, and pull her hips back, pressing the swell of her ass against my rock-hard dick.

I groan into her ear at the delicious pressure and Luna arches her back, moving her hips back against me like she’s just as desperate for this as I am.

“Take your hair down, Detective,” I say.

“Only if you stop calling me
detective
,” she says, but she’s already pulling pins out, shaking her mass of curls until it falls to her shoulder blades. Then she pulls off her blazer, depositing it gently on a box next to us.

I have no idea what happened to the glove she wanted to throw away.

“I like how dirty it sounds,” I say, moving my hands to her belly. She’s wearing some sleeveless thing, and she’s warm underneath it, her muscles moving and flexing as she breathes.

“It sounds like I’m at work,” she says, her head against my shoulder. “Like you’ve got paperwork you need me to fill out.”

“Like you’re the bad cop,” I tease, sliding my hands over her small, full breasts. Luna inhales sharply, and I can just barely feel her nipples harden beneath her bra. “You can cuff me and frisk me any time you want, Detective. Lock me in the interrogation room and have your way with me.”

She laughs, a deep, throaty sound that I can feel vibrate through her body. I kiss the back of her neck, her nipples still under my fingers, and this time she makes a sound like she’s trying not to moan. I pull her shirt untucked, unhook her bra, and grab both breasts in my hands, her nipples stiff against my palms.

I pinch them at the same time and this time she
does
moan softly, her hands braced against my thighs, fingers digging in. I do it again and she flexes her hips backward, rubbing herself against me, and then I pull her shirt and bra off over her head.

Luna turns around, and the room is mostly dark with no lights on but
Jesus fuck
she’s hot naked, her tits smallish but full, her nipples hard as rocks, her skin tanned light gold. I hold her away at arm’s length for a moment, just staring, because I finally
can
.

She’s got the devilish look in her eyes again.

“You like looking?” she says, her voice husky.

“You’re sexy as hell,” I say. “Of course I do.”

Luna tosses her hair back behind her, then slides both her hands up her torso, starting at the waistband of her professional work pants and stopping at her nipples, pinching them between her fingers, her eyes heavy-lidded as she looks at me.

My mouth goes dry.

Then she kicks off her shoes, unbuttons the pants, and slides them over her hips slowly, looking me dead in the eye the whole time. It’s hard to take pants off seductively, but she does.

By the time she’s just wearing black panties and nothing else, I’m nearly ready to explode, my cock throbbing in my pants. I feel like my skin has electricity crackling across it, and I’m a little afraid that if I so much as move, I’m just going to come in my pants.

I’ve never,
ever
felt this way before. Not with any of the women before prison. Not even when I got out of prison after five years of no pussy and picked up a girl in a hotel bar that night.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Luna asks, stepping forward again.

She presses herself against me, nearly naked while I’m still completely clothed, and it sparks some primal desire in me, something wild and untamable.

I want to take her and make her
mine
. I want to bury myself inside her and make her come so hard her eyes roll. I want to hear her shout my name.

I push one hand in her hair and crush my mouth against hers, and she pushes back, yielding and forceful all at once. I pinch her nipple with one hand and she grabs my cock through my jeans, sliding her hand down it. I groan into her mouth.

“See what you did?” I growl. “You got me so hard I can’t walk right.”

We kiss again, and then she pulls my shirt over my head. I toss it aside and push her backward onto the futon until she’s lying down, chest heaving, her legs around my waist again.

I can fucking
smell
how turned on she is, the scent of her musk nearly making me dizzy with the desire to tear her panties off and see what she tastes like.

“Sorry it’s not the hood of a luxury car,” I say into her ear. “You ever come on a shitty futon before?”

Luna just laughs, curling her fingers through my hair.

“Yes,” she says.

I nip at her neck and she grabs my sides, her nails digging in, sweet pinpricks verging on the edge of pain.

“Good,” I say. “I like having competition.”

I push her knees apart. She hooks one over the back of the futon, her hips rolling as she does. I take one nipple in my teeth, draw my tongue across it, and Luna makes a noise.

Then I slide my hand up the inside of her thigh and stroke her with my thumb, over the black panties.

They’re goddamn
soaking
, so wet that I can’t help but laugh with her nipple between my teeth.

“What?” she murmurs.

“You’re wet as hell,” I say.

I push my thumb under her panties and onto her slick cleft, just between her lips, then move it up until I find her clit. I trace circles around it to tease her, everything slippery with her wetness.

It’s a fucking unbelievable turn on, and I move my lips down her stomach, to her hips, and then I’m yanking the panties off, the scent of
her
hitting me full in the face, completely intoxicating.

I lap at her clit once, and her body tenses. Luna gasps, and she starts breathing even faster. I do it again and again, dragging my tongue over her nub, her honey sweet in my mouth as her breath comes faster and faster, her hips bucking under me.

“Fuck, that feels good,” I hear her whisper. Her fingers brush through my hair, like she’s forcing herself not to grab it and press my face into her pussy.

That would be fine with me, actually. I speed up, licking her harder and harder, listening to her moans get louder. I stroke her slit with my thumb as her hand in my hair gets tighter and tighter, and even though I want to fuck her with my fingers, I don’t.

It’s stupid, but I want my cock to be the first part of me inside her.

“Fuck, Stone,” Luna whispers.

Now she’s got a fistful of my hair, but I don’t mind. Not if she says things like that, in that voice.

“God, that feels so fucking good,” she says. Her breath is coming in irregular gasps. “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”

Why the fuck would I stop?
I think. I’d say it out loud, but my mouth is occupied.

I make my strokes longer and harder and listen to Luna moan.

“Don’t stop,” she barely manages to say.

There is
no
fucking chance of that. Having my face between her thighs, buried in her pussy, while she writhes and moans is
heaven
.

“Make me come,” she whispers.

Her hips buck and she half-turns onto one side, her other hand grabbing at the futon, her head turned to the side.

“Make me come, Stone,” she says. “Please,
god
, make me come.”

I keep going, pulling her toward my face with both hands on her thighs, and she makes a noise that’s almost a whimper.

“Oh God,” she whispers, almost like she’s begging.

Then her entire body jolts at once. Her hips buck and her back arches as she moans, her hand on my head pulling my hair so hard I’m worried I might go bald.

I keep licking, fast and hard, even as I watch Luna convulse in the throes of pleasure, coming so hard I can feel her muscles contracting under my tongue. It’s easily the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, my cock hard enough to cut glass.

I don’t stop until she’s gone still, her hand slack on my head.

“Better than the last time you came on a futon?” I ask.

I turn my head and bite the inside of her thigh, just because it’s there.

There’s a pause.

“What?” she says. She’s still breathing hard, and her voice sounds faraway, like she’s having trouble concentrating. I laugh, crawling back over her.

“You said you’d come on a shitty futon before,” I remind her.

She wraps her legs around my waist again, almost dreamily, and laughs.

“That was definitely better,” she says, and I kiss her hard.

I know I taste like her but I don’t care, and as she bites my lip and pushes her tongue into my mouth, exploring me, I don’t think she does either.

“You’re dirtier than I expected,” I whisper.

“What were you expecting?” she murmurs back.

“I didn’t think you’d be shouting
make me come
already,” I say. I kiss her again, and she runs a hand down my torso, setting off sparks as she touches my skin.

“
That’s
dirty?” she says, her voice low and dusky.

Holy fucking hell.

Her hand slides down my cock, over my jeans, and I growl. She strokes it once, then yanks my pants open and reaches in, taking it in her fist.

I exhale in a rush and drop my head to her shoulder, because my whole body is pounding with desire for her, and if I don’t take a minute I don’t know what’s going to happen. She strokes me slow and hard, from root to tip, and I groan into her shoulder.

Luna keeps going, arching her back underneath me as she slides her hand along my shaft, her legs going back around my hips, my jeans pushed halfway over my ass. I’ve got one hand on her hips and I’m pulling her into me as I thrust into her hand, still tight on my cock.

I want to be inside her so bad I’m almost shaking. She strokes me again, her whole body flexing and moving, and she’s naked and soaking wet and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to just enter right then.

Instead I raise myself on one elbow and kiss her hard again. She squeezes my cock and I moan into her mouth, her tongue winding around mine.

“Let me fuck you,” I say. My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

She raises her eyebrows, like she’s amused.

“
Let
you?” she whispers.

We kiss again, both gasping for breath.

“
Please
fuck me, Stone,” she says, her lips still half on mine.

Then she pauses.

“You have condoms, right?” she asks, her voice suddenly less sultry, more normal. Like she’s just realized that I might not, and the thought horrifies her.

“You sound nervous,” I say.

“Just say you do,” she murmurs.

There’s a tiny part of me that wants to tell her no, I don’t, and see if she lets me fuck her bare, but that part is an asshole and I don’t listen to it.

“Stay there,” I say, and push myself off her.

Luna lets my cock go, and I stand, shove my jeans off, and walk into my bedroom, taking one last look at her. She’s got one arm over her head, her legs apart, her whole body relaxed and sensual. Even in the near-dark she’s so fucking beautiful it almost hurts.

I fish through my nightstand. There’s a horrifying moment where I think I might be out, but then my fingers find that smooth foil packet and I’m so glad I could cry.

I roll it on, walking back into the living room. Now Luna’s sitting up, cross-legged on the futon, her head back as her eyes crawl down my body.

A quick rush of anxiety passes through me as she looks at my chest, taking in years and years of tattoos, some good, some bad, some
very
stupid. But her eyes keep moving down until she’s blatantly staring my cock, still in my fist.

I stroke it once, and I swear her eyes light up. Women have looked at me like that before, but when she does, it makes my balls tighten.

“You’re objectifying me, Detective,” I tease.

“You poor thing,” Luna purrs. “Come over here and I promise to stop.”

I put one hand on the back of the futon, the metal frame wobbling a little, and lean over to kiss her again. She hooks one hand over my shoulder, then runs it slowly down my arm to my wrist, her other hand on my waist.

Then suddenly Luna yanks on my wrist, pushes me hard, and I’m off-balance, stumbling. I land on the futon and the metal frame makes an angry creak, like something’s twisted. Luna’s on her knees next to me, laughing, my wrist still in her hand.

“You could just tell me where you want me, Detective,” I say.

She straddles me, pushing her hips against my belly, and I grab her ass with both hands, squeezing.

“I don’t think you take orders very well,” she murmurs.

“It depends on the orders,” I say.

Her breasts are right in front of my face so I suck one rock-hard nipple into my mouth, teasing it between my teeth for a moment. Luna’s eyes slide closed and her head tilts back, a quiet moan coming from somewhere deep in her chest.

“But
sit on the futon so I can ride your cock
is an order I don’t mind taking.”

I tease the other nipple, just for fairness’ sake, and her hands squeeze my shoulders. I slide my hand down her ass until it’s between her legs. Even her upper thighs are sticky with her juices, and I push my hand between them, past her slit, and rub her clit with the pads of my fingers.