Play With Me (14 page)

His breath feathered
against my neck, his muscled chest pressing against my back. “I’m sorry for what
happened, but I never meant to hurt you. And I certainly didn’t have any bad intentions.
I swear.”

“Yeah, I guess I
know that. Susan told me a few interesting things today.”

“Did she?” I
could clearly hear how this made him a little uncomfortable, but an edge of
relief filled his voice nonetheless. “So, what are we going to make of this
situation?”

“Situation?” I
swallowed to get rid of the dryness in my throat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you…me…”
Suddenly his lips were on my bare shoulder, brushing toward the crook of my
neck. “Alone…in this place…”

His tongue
trailing up my throat sent shivers along my skin. Everywhere. Down my arms, my
legs. Even the hair at the back of my neck stood on end.

“With only the
frogs to watch us…” He placed the softest kiss to the spot behind my ear.

My breath
hitched. My mind searched for an escape from this situation. But there was
none. And even if there had been, Ryan wouldn’t have let me go. His hand moved
up to my neck and shaped against my cheek, tilting my face slowly until I gazed
into his gorgeous tiger eyes.

“What do you
say, Matthews? Should we two give it a try?”

I searched his
face for a reason not to believe in his sincerity. The tiniest lie even. But
nothing. He seemed to mean what he said. A reluctant smile tugged on my lips.
“Only if you start using my first name,
Hunter.”

He laughed at
that, softly, melodiously. Beautifully. His nose skimmed across my cheekbone,
and he pressed his lips gently to mine. A volcano erupted in my stomach with thousands
of butterflies set free. But he wouldn’t kiss me just yet. Instead he drew back,
a spark lighting up his eyes. “While we’re at it,
Liza
…I have a
condition, too.”

“You do? What is
it?”

“For the time
being—” He emphasized each word. “I’ll be the only one climbing through your
window.”

Now he made me
laugh. “I think I can agree to that.”

“You
think?”
Ryan nipped my bottom lip.

The tiny,
playful sting had me surrendering completely. “Okay, you win. You’ll be the
only one.”

He thrust his
hand in my hair, holding me tight against him with his other placed flat on my
stomach. “See, baby, that sounds a damn lot better.” He bent his head and
captured my lips. My heart nearly exploded out of my chest. Soft, tender, he
kissed me, but deep down the fire inside me burned hotter. His tongue traced
the seam of my lips, demanding entrance. I melted and let him, savoring the
game he started as we sat there for hours and hours.

Get
a sneak peek into Piper Shelly’s

paranormal
romance,

Her Game, His Rules

A Black Opal Books Publishing

She’s
seventeen. She’s snarky. She’s trouble…

It
wasn't nicking an expensive watch or diamond bracelet that landed Jona
Montiniere in the clutches of the police. It was just a darn sweater. After her
last spectacular misadventure, the streetwise teenager is forced to return to a
mother who'd dumped her in an orphanage twelve years ago. The only good news of
the day, the woman's days are numbered. Cancer. Jona can't be less concerned
about her mother's suffering, but she's furious when the judge sends her off to
France like a slave where she has to live with a family she didn't know about.
Until she meets her mother’s young caretaker...

Trapped for seemingly endless six weeks in a manor resembling Cinderella's
Castle, the budding friendship with Julian is the only thing that puts Jona off
her plan to sneak away in the night. Gorgeous, provocative, and mysterious,
he's everything her closed heart desires—

and
he gives her no chance to deny him.

But
just when she starts to trust for the first time in her lonely life, Julian
awakens her mother from the dead with a simple touch.

1

WRONG
TURN

I FACED A moral
dilemma.

Take it…don’t
take it…take it…don’t take it?

The soft cotton
of the purple sweater in my hand tempted me sorely. It wasn’t covered with
holes or stains, but perfectly intact, like nothing I’d worn since I was five
years old. I could even rub the hoodie on my cheek, and the threads wouldn’t
scratch my skin like the nasty gray hand-me-down pullover I currently wore.

Only the price
tag stood between this perfect sweater and me.

I searched the
Friday afternoon crowd at Camden Market. The place brimmed with people.
Everyone was busy scanning clothes, jewelry, shiny little knickknacks, or small
toys. The stand-owner had her back to me as she talked to a customer. If I
wanted to nick the sweater, then it had to be now or never.

Take it
?

“What’re you
waiting for, Montiniere?” Debby purred in my ear. “Take it or leave it. But
make it fast, because I’ve just had my hand in her till.” Her blonde brows
waggled.

Debby Westwood
was not my friend. At least, not in the sense of
Hey girl, let’s have a
pajama party and tell each other our weirdest secrets.
I used to hang out
with her. Her
the-entire-world-can-kiss-my-arse
attitude totally impressed me. She’d become my idol from the moment
she rammed into me on Earls Court a few months ago. She’d been on the run from
the fuzz for the theft of a pair of crocodile stilettos. Jeez, I should’ve
known consorting with a criminal would only get me into shit.

Debby wasn’t a resident
of London’s Youth center like me but spent her life on the streets. As for me,
my warden, Miss Mulligan, allowed outings from the Westminster Children’s Home
only on Tuesdays and Fridays. And I was lucky, because anyone under the age of
seventeen wasn’t granted even that.

Praise my
seventeenth birthday! I was ecstatic when I no longer had to attend group
excursions. London was way more fun alone. No teachers, no rules, no nothing.

Just me. And
this pretty purple sweater.

My grip
tightened on the fabric.
Thump-thump-thump.
The sound of my heartbeat
boomed in my ear, faster and faster as I got closer to taking what I wanted,
though I knew it was wrong. My throat went dry. I had difficulty swallowing.
The sound of my backpack being unzipped raised the hair on my arms. “What’re
you doing?” I couldn’t believe Debby’s boldness. I swung around to face her.

She flashed a
mischievous grin. “Helping you.” Covering me from the view of the stand-owner,
she stuffed the sweater halfway into my bag. “Look at you. Your rags even scare
dogs away. You’re lucky I spend time with you.”

I glanced down
at my ripped jeans and tattered boots. Heat flooded my face. Even though Debby
didn’t have a permanent roof over her head, she dressed like the queen of
Oxford Street. If her slacks or shirts got dirty, she simply discarded them and
stole new, brand name ones.

When I first met
her, it didn’t take the girl long to convince me there was more than enough
stuff for everyone. Debby’s
Shoplifting 101
philosophy: The exaggerated prices people paid for high heels and
leather jackets made good on the few pieces we palmed from time to time.

Like this
sweater.

I kept my eyes
on the freaky-looking stand-owner, dressed in striped tights and a straw hat,
and waited another heartbeat before I shoved the sweater all the way into my
backpack. She must have heard my heart pounding, because she turned around at
that moment.

After staring
for a second, she glanced down at my backpack. “What in the world—”

My gaze snapped
to my bag, too.

Crap!
A sleeve peeked out. An instant later, she pulled a whistle on a
chain from underneath her collar, and her cheeks bloated like two tomatoes on a
vine when she set London’s entire South End on alarm.

“Go! Go! Go!” I
pushed Debby forward as I dashed away from the clothes stand.

“Thief! Stop!”
The shrill voice echoed down the street followed by another alarming whistle.
Heads turned our way. From the corner of my eye, I spotted two men in uniform
stepping away from a kiosk and scanning the crowd. Of course, they were
searching for us. My adrenaline kicked in, tensing every one of my muscles like
an over-strung rubber band.

“This way!”
Debby tugged on my backpack, almost tipping me sideways. She pulled me behind
another stand with yellowed books and silver cutlery. There were more stands
ahead, and shoppers turned annoyed eyes on us when we pushed through the crowd.

“Jona, we need
to split up. They can’t catch us both.” Debby was breathing hard. “You go left,
and I’ll keep straight.”

I turned to the
left. A bloody dead end.

“You want me to
play bait for the cops? Are you nuts? They’ll get me!”

“You’re not
eighteen yet. They can’t nail you for anything.” Her hand curled around my
upper arm. She shoved me forward as she scanned for the policemen. “Your teacher
will save your arse. She does every time.”

“No! She
threatened to let me rot in prison if I ever steal again.”

“Don’t be such a
wimp.” Debby’s shoulder collided with mine, shoving me sharply to the side. My
lungs stopped sucking in air. Mouth open, I pivoted to face Debby. Her evil
grin was the last thing I saw as she vanished into the crowd.

“The brats have
run this way,” a gravelly voice reached me.

I peeked over my
shoulder.
Bloody hell.
They were fast on my heels. Their blue caps
bobbed out from the crowd and moved steadily forward. I was perfect bait for
them.

Not today.

Debby had kept
straight on, so I angled to the right. Surely, there would be some chance of my
getting out of this open market. The pounding in my ears shut out the murmur of
the shoppers. My gaze darted over the crowd. Bobbing heads moved like waves.
Dammit! Which way would get me out of here?

I stopped,
trying to catch my breath, then pivoted. There was no thinning of the crowd,
but the blue police caps came on, angling my way at a speed that should’ve been
impossible in the packed market.

Beads of sweat
dotted my face and the back of my neck. Miss Mulligan would kill me if I got
involved with the police again.

I used my hand
as a shield against the gleaming afternoon sun. A dowdy overweight matron with
an oversized green hat shoved me aside. I lost my balance, nearly knocked over
a toddler with huge brown eyes, sucking on a lollipop. Instead, I collided with
an old lady whose shrill cry not only pained my ears, but also gave me away.

“Sorry, ma’am,”
I muttered, noticing her hunched back and the scarf wrapped about her gray
hair. Her glasses sat askew across her nose, and one of her crutches had
dropped to the ground. Quickly, I bent to pick it up for her.

“Are you all
right? I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I ducked my head and adjusted the glasses
with shaking fingers. My feet already bounced in the direction of escape.

“Get off, you
nasty child!” The lady dropped the crutch to swat my hands away from her face.
“Don’t any of you kids have eyes in your useless heads?”

That got me
moving. I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled away, doing my best to
dodge the oncoming pedestrians. A heavy boot with rubber treads landed on my
fingers. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out in pain. Maybe crawling wasn’t
the best way to move through a crowd as thick as Miss Weatherby’s vanilla
pudding. I jumped to my feet.

“Move!” The same
gravelly voice I’d heard earlier parted the crowd like the Red Sea.

“Riley, I got
her!” said a very angry bobby.

The man leaped
forward, lunging for my arm. My heart pounded. I spun on my heel, ready to dash
away to safety, but instead bounced right into the solid, uniform-clad chest of
my captor’s partner. He was smaller, and stout, but his grip on my shoulders
was iron.

Fear had ice
settling in my veins. “Let go!” I kicked his shin and wrenched free from his
clammy grip.

The man yelped
and hobbled on his good leg. People surrounded us like this was a stupid
carnival, only they all had the same judging look in their eyes. Heck, they’d
caged me in. My stomach slid to my feet. No chance of escape.

Oh dear Lord, I
was in deep shit.

The tall officer
ripped my raggedy backpack from my shoulders before he shoved me to the
pavement. He dug his knee into my spine.