by Amelia Wilde
Heavy
A Bad Boy Next Door Romance
Amelia Wilde
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Epilogue
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About Amelia Wilde
Prologue
Sawyer
“I shouldn’t—” Zelda’s face is only inches away from mine. Her green eyes are wide, the lightning bolt ring around her pupils appearing as a brilliant shade of gold in the fading light that’s streaming in through the storage room window.
“The more you argue,” I murmur into her ear, “the more likely it is that somebody is going to come in here and find us out.”
“I don’t want that,” she whispers.
“What do you want?”
She bites her bottom lip, her eyebrows rising, and then the gap between us closes and her mouth slams onto mine, hot and sweet and everything I thought it would be. My hardened cock pulses painfully, straining against the fabric of my jeans. She must be able to feel it, considering how snugly her hips are pressed up against mine, the demure sundress she wore to work today forming less of a barrier than the denim.
I tighten my grip on her hips, sliding my hands down toward the perfectly shaped globes of her firm, perky ass, and the lower they slide, the more her breath quickens.
When she lets out a little moan into my mouth, I almost lose it right fucking there. It takes all my strength to lift one hand from her ass and curve it up and around to the back of her neck, pulling her in closer to me. Her lips part, letting my tongue in to her mouth to dance with hers. For all her shouldn’ts, she’s sure giving the impression that she can’t help herself.
I don’t want her to help herself.
The kiss gets deeper, more savage, and it’s like something breaks inside of her, almost like the first crack in a thick layer of winter ice. I work my other hand over the curve of her hips, edging it between our bodies, and toward the sweetness that I know is begging to be devoured between her legs. She’s got both of her feet planted on the floor, one on either side of my knee, and I don’t think she realizes that her hot core has been pressed up against me almost since we entered the fucking room. I want my fingers sliding over her wetness, and that’s just to start.
She breaks away from my hold with a gasp. “God, Sawyer.” Her fingertips go to her lips, which are slightly puffy from the ferocity of our kisses, but she doesn’t pull her body completely away from me. I’m not quite holding her in place, so she could move away if she wanted, but she doesn’t. She stays close. So close that it’s pushing me ever closer to the edge.
“You don’t have to stop.” I haven’t felt a grin on my face like this in months.
An answering smile slides across her face, and when she opens her mouth to say that she does have to stop because she has to get back to work, and this is too dangerous and too much of a risk to take, I steal her words with another kiss.
She’d be right, too. It’s a big fucking risk. For her more than it is for me. I know it, but yet I can’t stop myself. Maybe in a day or two, when I get a damn grip, I’ll be able to stop myself. Maybe…
A knock at the door freezes us both in place.
Chapter 1
Zelda
“Seven days just seems like such a short amount of time.” The old woman’s wrinkled face seems permanently stuck in a frown, but her tone is an odd combination of slightly wondering, slightly accusing.
I slide the book across the scanner with a pleasant smile locked onto my face. “I completely understand, Mrs. Hopkins. We have that policy in place so that as many readers as possible can enjoy new releases.” I pull the last of her three books over the scanner, and then stack it neatly on top of the others. I lean across the counter, lowering my voice a little. “I’m sure you know how it is—people are always getting huffy if they have to wait too long to read those new books!”
She cracks a conspiratorial smile then and rolls her eyes knowingly. “Some people can be so rude.”
I give her a knowing nod and place the books into the navy blue canvas bag she carries hooked to her walker. Every week, Mrs. Hopkins registers a complaint about the new book checkout rules, and every week, I turn it into a commentary on all the rude people who don’t want to wait their turn. Never mind that she never takes a full week to read a book—she’s got lots of hours to fill at Brookside, the senior living facility in town. In the end, she leaves happy and I keep peace at the circulation desk.
“Enjoy,” I tell her as I pass the bag over the counter. “See you next week!”
“Have a wonderful day, Zelda.” She hooks the bag to her walker and shuffles toward the exit.
Once she’s out of sight, I scan up and down the long main hallway. We have an absolutely gorgeous library in Greenville. It was converted from a building that had previously been an elementary school and a middle school for hundreds of students in our town’s history. Town— I shake my head at the word – most people would call it a suburb, and they would be right. We’re just far enough from the city to be different, but close enough to be…well, a suburb.
Nobody’s in the hallway, which means I can let my straight-backed librarian persona slip a little bit. I drop into one of the chairs along the lower stretch of the counter in front of one of the computers, and then reach for and shake the mouse to bring it out of hibernation.
Now I do straighten my back, just to make it look like I’m doing something work-related, when in reality I’m stealing a few minutes for one of the only guilty pleasures I allow myself: checking up on celebrity gossip blogs.
I glance behind me, toward the offices, even though I’m almost certain that nobody’s in them right now. It’s almost six o’clock. The library closes at eight, and most of my coworkers will be up on the second floor, eating dinner and sipping tea, while they avoid the evening crowd. Those people are an equal mix of folks with online jobs that can be done from anywhere or else dedicated, almost-elderly people who inevitably get angry when it comes time for the automated computer shutdown ten minutes before close.
I’m usually the one tasked with going around the big first floor and checking the computer labs and the desks located along the outer perimeter of the main collection area. This area is really huge—it used
to be the school’s gym, so if there are enough people clinging to every last minute before the library closes, it can mean several laps. Several.
But not now. I don’t have to begin those final countdown warnings for another hour and a half. For now, it’s time to take a quick tour of my favorite gossip blogs and look for updates on who’s probably filing for a divorce this week, who got caught cheating with the nanny, and who did something inappropriate at a club last night.
It’s Wednesday, so there’s not much breaking news, although one starlet made quite the exit from a club in Miami.
On a Tuesday night.
I put my chin in my hand. Out that late on a Tuesday night, wearing something skintight and short and red…the closest I ever got to that kind of scene was in college, and that was three years ago. Also, it wasn’t some hot club in Miami, it was the basement floor of a college town bar made up to look like a dance club for New Year’s Eve. I definitely didn’t leave that night with my legs wrapped around the waist of some other celebrity’s husband, my tongue lodged halfway down his throat.
I bite my lip and scroll through the write-up more slowly. What would it be like to be kissing somebody that fiercely, the flash going off in your face, and not caring at all?
“Highly inappropriate, Ms. Montgomery.” The voice comes cutting across the desk, and I jump, my heart in my throat. If it’s Mrs. Sanders, I’m screwed.
I fumble at the keyboard, fingers finding the keystrokes to close the browser window and clear the history, and I look straight up into the eyes of—
My best friend, Carly Miller.
“Jesus,” I whisper in a hiss, my hand going to my chest. “You just about gave me a heart attack.”
She laughs, her dark curls shaking, and leans on the counter, hands cupping her face. “Anything good today?”
“Not really.” I’m not willing to get caught fantasizing about being some Hollywood starlet getting drunk and wild at a club and…and what? Making out with someone at least as hot as she is?
“Bummer,” she says. “Well, it’s Wednesday. I bet even the celebs stayed home last night.”
“Most of them, I guess.”
Her eyes sparkle. “You know what, though? We shouldn’t stay home. In fact, we should go out.”
I smile at her, narrowing my eyes. “Let me guess—you already have a whole set of plans that you haven’t bothered to tell me about.”
“But these ones are good,” she says, looking over her shoulder like she’s about to impart a state secret. “I’ve got an invite to a gallery opening in the city. It’s like—” She lowers her voice. “It’s like, erotic art.” Her eyes are wide, excited. It’s not like Carly lacks for…erotic encounters, but she likes anything that’s out of the ordinary. And in Greenville, an erotic art gallery would not be found on Main Street.
“What’s the catch?” Aside from the fact that I don’t think I could look at erotic art with a straight face, free of blushing, there must be something that she’s not telling me.
“We have to leave right now if we’re going to make it on time.”
My heart sinks. “I can’t, Carly. I have two hours left in my shift.”
Just then, from a short distance down the hall, someone clears her throat. Loudly.
It’s Mrs. Sanders passing through with a stack of folders tucked up heavily in her arms. She disappears into an office down the hall, casting me first with a look that tells me she’ll be back out shortly and would prefer not to see me chatting with friends while I’m on the clock.
“God. What a bitch.” Carly shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Think she’d let you skip out early?”
“No,” I say, stifling my inner sigh. “Not a chance. But have fun without me.”
Carly shakes her head. “When are you going to get some balls?”
“Don’t be gross.”
“Fine. But you’re missing out.”
“I know.”
“I’ll tell you all about it!” She straightens up from the counter and tugs her purse up and over her shoulder again, turning on her heel to head for the door. “No regrets, Zel!”
Her words ring in my ears as I stand up from the chair and go back to the checkout station. Add this one to the list.
Chapter 2
Sawyer
“Look,” the guy says, holding up both of his hands, palms facing me. “It’s not that I wasn’t going to pay Domino. My car broke down, man. I had to—”
“It’s a little late for your bullshit.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You’ve owed him his money for a month. How much longer did you think he was going to wait?”
His jaw slides from side to side, teeth showing, eyes wide. This asshole—a kid, really—should be able to get through college without buying drugs from a notorious drug dealer with a street name designed to make people think he’s a warm and fuzzy guy.
“I just had to get through finals,” he says, his voice almost a whine. He’s skinny, tall—not quite tall enough to be awarded a basketball scholarship, but almost. He might have six inches on me, but I could level him. There’s no doubt in my mind.
That’s why I’m here.
“And you got through finals. You got through finals with help from all the oxy generously provided for you by our mutual acquaintance.” I smile at him now, showing all my teeth, flexing just in the slightest so that my coat bulges over my muscular arms. Those are what people’s eyes go to first when they’re in this situation, and it’s a situation in which Domino’s customers too often find themselves. I try not to overdo it at the gym and look like a fucking out-of-proportion idiot, but Domino pays me a lot of money to look intimidating as hell. I have to keep up appearances.
“I did.” The kid takes in a deep breath, and somewhere on the lower story of this house, a door opens and then slams shut. It’s too damn hot in this room, but I’m guessing that Paul here doesn’t have any extra money to pay for an air conditioning unit.
Not when he owes Domino.
“We both know it’s not free.” I step a little closer to him in the small room, and he backs up, knees hitting the edge of his bed. There’s nowhere else to go, and he knows it.
I’ll rough him up if I have to. One solid hit to the face, even if I half-ass it, will be more than enough for ol’ Paul. I’m a little surprised he hasn’t caved already. I’ve been here for fifteen minutes, which must seem like a fucking eternity, and most people who have to deal with me don’t last ten. So either Paul doesn’t have the money, in which case I’ll have to dirty my hands, or he’s holding out to see if I’ll offer him a lower price.
Which I’m not going to do.
I’ve been with Domino almost since I got to this part of the city, which is an hour by train and a lifetime away from where I grew up. I don’t know what the hell he was doing lurking around the bare-bones martial arts studio I’d found to work out all my angsty aggression when I was done with whatever shitty job I’d find for the day. I did whatever was available—dishwashing, shoveling snow, assembling furniture for one shady company after another—and then I’d come to the studio so a guy named Manuel, who was missing one of his front teeth, could teach me how to throw a vicious punch.
Other shit, too, like how not to take someone apart if they threatened you, but it was the violence that did something for my shriveled soul. I’d had enough years of my dad beating the shit out of me. I needed a chance to turn it on somebody else.
Domino was probably looking for his next talented heavy.
Well, he found me.
It’s been five years since I left Greenville, and three since I started working for him. I’ve got my own place now—small, but not a shithole—and I’ve been putting money away. For what, I don’t fucking know. Maybe someday I’ll pick up and go somewhere across the damn country, where nobody knows my name, and I’ll get a job that doesn’t involve breaking noses.
But that would require me to be less of a worthless asshole, and that’s probably not going to happ
en any time soon.
“Listen, Paul.” He shivers at the sound of his name. “I don’t have all fucking day to play around. Give me Domino’s money, and I’ll be on my way.” I give a little shrug. “Or we could do this the hard way.” It’s a clichéd as shit thing to say, but it gets through to people. They know that when someone says that in the movies, it’s not going to be a pretty scene afterward.
“I don’t have the money.”
I move quickly then, taking two steps toward him, fisting his shirt, and then shoving him to the side and back against the wall. Hard.
He’s looking down at me, chest expanding rapidly under my hand, but he doesn’t seem to realize he’s taller. He knows he doesn’t have a chance, and his pupils expand, swallowing up the gray of his eyes. “You don’t have the money, Paul?” I say it through gritted teeth, right into his face. “Are you sure about that?”
Right then, my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket.
Fuck.
I forgot to silence it, and now the moment has been broken. Paul’s eyes flick downward, toward my pocket, and he gasps in a breath. “Are you—are you going to get that?”
I let go of his shirt and dig in my pocket.
One glance at the screen, and my heart sinks. It’s my aunt’s phone number. It’s my favorite aunt, and I haven’t seen her in five years. My stomach turns over. I’m not ashamed of this job. It’s perfect for a scumbag like me. But the thought of answering in the middle of this situation makes me ill.
So does the thought of not answering. She only calls when it’s important.
“Get the money,” I hiss at Paul. “Get it out of wherever the fuck you hid it. Get it right now.”
Then I raise the phone to my face, swipe the screen to connect the call.
“Hello?”
“Sawyer?” Aunt Linda’s voice is tense, tight with emotion. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I haven’t changed my number.”