Felony Romance Series: Complete Box Set (Books 1-5)

by Jeana E. Mann

  Lauren shifted in the chair again and tried to process this new information. His driver, someone from a local service, had bailed when the ambulance had arrived at the restaurant, claiming he didn’t work overtime.

  “Like I told you, I don’t really know him.” She’d tried to find someone to call for Elijah, but his cell phone was locked. In a panic, she’d broken her promise and called Tasha, but the call had gone straight to voice mail. “Maybe he knows someone he can call?”

  Dr. Elliott snorted in wry amusement. “He hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with personal information. Unless you can get it out of him, I’m afraid you’re his only chance at release.”

  She’d been hoping to spend the night with a hot guy, and it seemed fate wanted to grant her wish. Unfortunately for her, it was in a completely unexpected capacity. In spite of her reservations, she couldn’t abandon him. Her job was to care for people. What kind of nurse abandoned a person in need? A twinge of sympathy eased her reservations. Here he was, one of the most famous people in the world, stranded in an emergency room with his fate in the hands of a stranger.

  “Okay. I’ll get him home. I’m sure he has an assistant or some kind of entourage that can watch him.”

  The words had barely left her mouth when Elijah stumbled out of his room. His face was pale, lips pressed into a thin determined line. At least he was upright and mobile. That was a relief. A nurse followed him, pushing a wheelchair, and tried without success to get him into it. He backed away from her. The open back of his hospital gown flashed a glimpse of taut white buttocks beneath a suntan line on his hips.

  “I don’t give a shit about your policies,” he snapped at the poor woman. “Just point me toward the elevator.” His gaze scanned the hall and landed on Lauren.

  “You’re still here.” Elijah had assumed she’d left, the way everyone left when he didn’t live up to his image, but there she was, all legs and sexy cleavage, in a chair outside his room. His breath hitched in an unfamiliar way. The clock above the nurses’ station caught his attention. Midnight. She’d been waiting all this time? The revelation forced a crack in the armored wall protecting his fragile inner self.

  “Well, I couldn’t very well leave you here.” She stood and wrung her hands, twisting the plain gold band on her thumb around and around.

  The furrow between her brows and the lines of worry around her eyes struck him in the chest like a fist. She’d seen him break down and hadn’t abandoned him. Most of the people he knew would’ve bailed at the first sign of distress. They were more than happy to share his glory but lost interest the moment he acted like a real person.

  “You really should stay,” she said. “What if it happens again? I mean, you could’ve been seriously hurt.” The concern in her voice drew his eyes to her face and warmed him.

  “I’ll be fine as soon as I get some rest.” The need to ease her worries overrode the tightness of his chest and the shaking inside him. A face like hers should wear nothing but smiles.

  “The doctor would only release you under the condition that someone stays with you overnight,” she said, glancing at her feet and drawing her lower lip between her teeth.

  Disappointment kicked him in the gut. Now he got it. He was nothing but a liability. She had a life, and it didn’t include him. He couldn’t blame her for wishing to escape.

  “I’m good. You can split if you want. I’ll catch a cab back to the hotel.” The floor undulated beneath his feet. He flung a hand onto the wall to steady himself.

  “Isn’t there anyone I can call for you? Your manager? Or a friend? Surely there’s someone who can stay with you.”

  How could he tell her there was no one? Before, he would’ve called Gabe or Moose, but they’d only sweep him back into the chains of Seven Drift and the record label. He and his band mates barely spoke to each other under the best of circumstances. They didn’t care where he was or what he did as long as he hit his mark onstage, played his drums, and wrote the music that brought in the money. He was one of the most famous motherfuckers in the world, but when the lights went down and shit got real, he was always left standing alone.

  CHAPTER 6

  HOSPITAL SECURITY directed them to a private exit on the rear side of the building. The front entrance crawled with reporters and photographers, clamoring after Elijah like hungry wolves. The familiarity of their blood thirst sent a shiver down Lauren’s back. After a few wobbly steps, Elijah had conceded and used the proffered wheelchair to traverse the maze of hallways and elevators to the hidden exit. A nondescript taxi van with plain black lettering parked near the door.

  “Where to?” the cab driver asked once they were inside. His eyes watched them from the rearview mirror with bored indifference.

  Elijah didn’t answer. He was busy staring at his phone, vibrating nonstop.

  “Where are you staying?” she asked him.

  “With you,” Elijah replied. The phone vibrated again. He rolled down his window and tossed it through the opening. His lips twisted in a wry grin. A shadow of his normal cocky self flashed in his eyes.

  “Oh, no,” Lauren replied. “I’m happy to see you to your hotel, but no way are you going to my place.”

  “You heard what the doc said. You’re going to abandon me in my hour of need? What kind of nurse are you?” The headlights of a passing car flashed over the sexy scruff of his jaw. “Didn’t you take some kind of oath or something?”

  “Meter’s running.” Impatience dripped from the driver’s tone.

  “I’m not that kind of nurse. Besides, if I wanted to abandon you, I’d have left you at the hospital.” She drew in a steadying breath and tried to hold her temper in check. “But I’ve got to work tomorrow, and I have a roommate.” Even though Cadence was out of town, she’d flip to find Elijah Crowe in their apartment.

  “I don’t want to go back to my hotel,” he said. With a trembling hand, he shoved the hair from his eyes but avoided her gaze, choosing to stare out the window behind her instead. “There isn’t anyone there, and I’d rather not be alone.” It seemed an odd statement coming from someone sent into panic by paparazzi and adoring fans. “Can we please go to your place instead? I promise to behave.” He paused. “I’ll pay you for your time.”

  The request knocked her back in the seat. Pay for her time? Who the hell did he think she was? He couldn’t buy her like he bought everyone and everything else in his life. Money meant nothing to her. She opened her mouth to object but stopped when he placed his hand over hers. She stared at it. The ring finger of his left hand bore a circle tattoo, intricate knots of black ink. Delicate, impressive work by a skilled artist. His grip tightened around hers. She lifted her eyes to find him watching her. The naked vulnerability in his gaze changed her mind. She was judging him again, branding him with her preconceived notions.

  “Please,” he said.

  “Fine. But you’re not going to pay me. That’s ridiculous and insulting.”

  “Is it? A million other people might disagree with you. At least all the ones I know.” He settled back into the seat but kept his eyes on hers. “It’s always about money. How much, not enough, when, and where.”

  “Maybe you hang around with the wrong people,” she said. “Ever consider that?’

  “Every fucking day,” he replied with a sigh. Their conversation ended when he turned away from her, gaze locked onto the sights beyond his window.

  No way could he go back to that empty hotel room. The paparazzi pictures had probably already hit the web. It would explain the flurry of calls from Gabe. Once Gabe figured out his location, he would descend upon him like a flea on a dog. Since his escape, he’d managed to keep his whereabouts secret by avoiding public places and constantly changing locations. Overseas, he’d been able to come and go without issue. Their casual attitude toward celebrities had made him lax, and he’d dropped his guard.

  The girl next to him shifted and sighed, her gaze trained on the nightscape outside their taxi. Long legs, curvy hips,
a tiny waist, and nice rack packaged in a filmy dress. Sexy as hell. Pretty but not beautiful. Smart and confident. Two months ago, he’d never have noticed her in a crowd, his attention drawn to the flamboyant and ostentatious by force of habit. After two months in the barren desert surrounded by poverty and unrest, he saw her with new eyes. And they liked what they saw.

  Lauren handed Elijah a plate of food and the remote control then took a seat next to him, tucking one foot beneath her. Bologna sandwiches, potato chips, and baked beans from a can. It was the best she could do on short notice. She hadn’t been to the grocery store in a few weeks. Cadence did the cooking and shopping, but she’d been out of town on a business trip. Elijah didn’t seem to care. He bit into the sandwich and moaned like it was the biggest delicacy in the world. She’d be a liar if she denied the sound of his throaty appreciation made her toes curl.

  “It’s bologna,” she said, biting back a smile.

  “It’s fantastic,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I ate one. My grandmother used to fry bologna and cut an X in the middle of the slice to keep it from bubbling up.” He paused to hum in delight. “I’ve been eating room service or takeout for years. I’m starting to learn that sometimes the simplest things are the best.”

  “If you know that, you’re ahead of ninety percent of the population,” she said, unable to hide her surprise at his answer. And this from a man with a chauffeur and entourage?

  “No cable?” he asked, flicking on the television.

  “No. I don’t really watch TV. I’m too busy.”

  He raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at her. “That explains why you didn’t recognize me.”

  Under cover of her lashes, she watched him devour the sandwich as he flipped through the television channels. After an endless bout of surfing, he settled on reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air and belly laughed at the antics. The blue light of the television highlighted the angles and planes of his face. She swallowed hard and resisted the urge to pinch herself. The circumstances might be less than ideal, but it wasn’t every day she entertained someone like him.

  “Do you want another one?” she asked when he’d stuffed the last bite in his mouth.

  “Do you mind?” His eyes lit up for the first time since they’d left the hospital. She started to stand, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “No. Don’t get up. I’ll get it.”

  “Everything’s on the counter,” she replied and settled back onto the couch. She listened to the sounds of him banging through her drawers and cabinets but resisted the urge to follow him. To stem her curiosity, she flipped through the channels on the TV and came to a stop at Elijah’s face on a late-night entertainment spot.

  “After his abrupt departure from the music industry and amid rumors of a nasty lawsuit with his record label, bad boy rocker Elijah Crowe resurfaced tonight in Laurel Falls, where he was rumored to have been admitted to the emergency room after a drug overdose.” A video montage of Elijah onstage in front of thousands, on the arms of beautiful models, and various tabloid stills flashed across the screen. Lauren’s eyes widened and she leaned forward to listen. “Although the hospital was unable to comment, these pictures were taken of him earlier in the evening leaving a local restaurant.” Panic tensed her gut when a picture of Elijah outside the restaurant flashed on the screen, followed by a flood of relief. Her figure and face were obscured by Elijah, the car door, and the driver. “Two months ago, Elijah Crowe walked off the concert stage in St. Louis and hasn’t been seen until tonight—”

  “Drug overdose, my ass.” Elijah yanked the remote control from her hand and clicked off the TV. He tossed the controller onto the coffee table and frowned down at her, uneaten sandwich in one hand. “I can’t even have a breakdown without the whole world watching.”

  “What were they talking about?” she asked, reaching for the remote again. He stepped between her and the coffee table, a flicker of danger in his eyes, daring her to try it. She drew in a deep breath and relaxed into the couch, hoping he’d do the same. The last thing she needed was for him to have another panic attack. He didn’t look panicked though. He looked pissed.

  “Fuck.” He sank down on the couch beside her and scrubbed over his face with his free hand. “This is so not good.”

  The look on his chiseled face made her forget the newscast. She rested a hand on his knee. “Hey. It’s okay.”

  “No. It’s not,” he said. “Now they know where I am. They won’t leave me alone.” One of his hands scrubbed through his spiky hair. “I’ve been laying low for a while, trying to get my shit together.”

  “Did you really just walk out?” She had a hard time linking the guy on her couch with the celebrity persona in the media.

  “Pretty much. I asked for time off after…” he hesitated, “to get my head straight, but the label insisted I release another album and go back on tour. Three years non-stop. One show a day. Sometimes two. With only a few days off here and there.” He gripped his hair with both hands, worrying it into glorious disarray. “But I just couldn’t stand on that stage for one more minute and pretend to be someone I’m not anymore.” He cleared his throat and spoke with a gravity that made her heart squeeze. “I came back here thinking I could hide out, take some time to figure out my next move. Obviously, that was a stupid idea. There’s nowhere I can go. I might as well accept it.”

  The bitterness in his voice and the despondency in his eyes haunted her. She knew what it was like to be watched, scrutinized, and handled. To belong to the public more than you belonged to yourself. She didn’t want to like him so much, but little by little, he was changing her perception of him.

  “That’s not true.” She bit her lower lip to stem the desire to confess her past to him. She never talked about it with anyone. Outside of Tasha and Cadence, only her family knew the truth. “It’s possible. You just have to be smarter than them. Make your privacy a priority.”

  He turned to study her with enigmatic eyes. She flushed under the scrutiny and worried the edge of a throw pillow between her fingers, certain he’d see her secrets if she met his gaze. To break the uncomfortable silence, she stood and gave him a polite smile.

  “Go ahead and make yourself at home. I’ll get the guest room ready for you,” she said and left him.

  CHAPTER 7

  WITH ELIJAH settled into her spare room, Lauren fell into bed, exhausted. Despite the fatigue, sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, unnerved by the thought of the celebrity sleeping in the room next to hers.

  He wasn’t anything like she’d expected. This notion gave her a pang of guilt. He knew what people thought of him, but how could he not with his every movement blasted through the media? She recognized the toll fame exacted on its victims. She’d been hounded by the media, humiliated by their lies, and forced into exile. It had torn her apart. It was a price she’d never pay again.

  No wonder he needed some time to pull himself together. After, he’d said. After what? What had devastated him to the point that he’d walked away from a career paved with stars? She made a mental note to ask Tasha, but before the thought completed, she tumbled into the oblivion of sleep.

  She got up twice during the night to check on him. He sprawled across the bed on his back, covers flung to the floor. The rhythmic rise and fall of his ribs reassured her. She took his wrist in her fingers to monitor his pulse and tried not to stare at the magnificent waterfall of abs or the colorful tattoos covering his chest and arms. Asleep and relaxed, he looked young and vulnerable. She brushed the hair back from his forehead, ignoring the flutter of her heart at the feel of his warm skin, and left him to rest.

  In the morning, she awoke to the scent of bacon and coffee. It took a few seconds for her to remember the previous night. Unsure what might await her, she pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt then padded barefoot into the kitchen, where she discovered Elijah Crowe, the rock star, making pancakes. He was bare-chested and barefoot, clad only in a pair of low-slung, black boxer briefs. Th
e sight of him sent an immediate flush into her cheeks. Her sharp intake of breath caught his attention. He glanced up from the griddle to flash her an unapologetic smile.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t cooked in years, but I had a craving for pancakes.” He frowned as her eyes took in the flour-splattered counter, drops of batter on the floor, and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. “I’ll clean it up, of course.”

  “No. It’s okay. Really. I just need some coffee.” She cleared her throat and tried to look gracious while the neat freak inside her ran in panicked circles.

  “Have a seat.” He pointed the spatula at the breakfast bar. “I’ll get it for you.”

  “Where did you get the eggs and bacon?” she managed to ask after her first sip of coffee and the life-saving jolt of caffeine.

  “I borrowed them from your neighbor.” His eyes twinkled with unnerving mischief.

  “Mrs. Dougherty? Seriously?” Lauren almost spit her coffee onto the counter. She had a longstanding feud with the old married couple next door. Their dog constantly pooped in her yard.

  “Sure. And the syrup and chocolate chips, too.” He paused to lean his elbows on the counter in front of her. “Why? She seems like a nice lady.”

  “Let me get this straight. You walked across the yard in your underwear and knocked on the door? Just like that? And borrowed food from someone you’d never met before? I didn’t know people really did stuff like that.”

  “Yep, in my underwear. I have no shame,” he replied before returning to the griddle. He flipped two pancakes onto a plate and set it in front of her. “I hope they’re good. Like I said, it’s been awhile.” Before she could touch them, he cut a bite and held the fork to her mouth.