Stone: At Your Service (Carolina Bad Boys #1)

by Rie Warren

  Dear God. Another wig. I loved her as she was, but when she pulled out the wigs it made me think about role-playing. Naughty Nurse. Sexy Secretary in my office at Stone’s. She took me from zero to sixty in an instant.

  This wig was another black affair cascading down her back and across her shoulders. Her blouse was sapphire blue, laced together and low cut, giving a prime view of cleavage to anyone who stood over her. Like all of her fans, for instance. I needed to get over there pronto. I wanted to rip her blouse open and tear the wig off. I wanted to stare into her eyes as she climaxed while riding my fingers.

  Grand gesture as fucking her on her author table during the book fair? Probably not a smart move.

  Achingly hard, my lips almost chapped from all our kisses last night, I started toward her. I was a yard away when something tall, dark and sinister slithered up to her behind the table.

  Andrew LaForge. I couldn’t believe he had the cojones to corner her at the book fair. No one messed with my woman, not after she’d walked through fire all morning doing the meet and greet with a beautiful smile on her face. I stalked forward. When I saw Leelee swivel around and stand up, her expression undaunted, I stopped.

  Holy shit, my girl was gonna give him what-for.

  Close enough to read her lips, what came out of her mouth made my blood race. “Get the fuck away from me, you creep.”

  Sliding nearer so I could hear, I made myself stay put a little distance away. Leelee needed to do this. Leelee could do this.

  She stomped forward and LaForge backed up, hands raised. “I’ve had enough of your dirty remarks, and this latest attempt at bribery? You’re worse than slime. You have a reputation for being a prowler of new talent. Don’t think for one second all the women you’ve oh-so-innocently fondled during group pictures while giving promises of sweet deals between the sheets and on paper haven’t spread the word. Just because I’m new doesn’t make me naive.” One stabbing finger went to his chest and pointed there. “You might have your cloak of decency, your offers of contracts, your people who play off our complaints and try to make us look like ‘oh-those-silly-women-writers are at it again’, but we’re strong. We’re successful. We are not gonna put up with dickheads like you anymore.”

  Surprise melted into shock on LaFuck’s face. He bowed from the waist, taking his leave to jeers and claps scattered around from those who’d witnessed his beatdown at Leelee’s hands.

  Once he disappeared, her shoulders fell. The smile she gave her remaining fans was shaky. I wanted to kiss her softly. Hold her close. Tell her, atta girl.

  The final bell ringing, the book fair over, I started my approach.

  Leelee looked up. Her gaze hooked mine and didn’t let go. Everything I felt was reflected back at me: hope, want, need. Then her pain and distrust. She dropped her gaze, shaking her head. Because of all she’d been through, me to blame for at least part of it, I remained where I was, several feet away.

  She packed her books and materials, exchanged goodbyes with her tablemates. I wanted to be right beside her, doing the heavy work, easing her hurt. I wanted to be able to tell her I’d take care of everything. Run her a bath, massage her back, and hold her while she slept off the exhaustion of being on show.

  I didn’t say a word when she swept past me, but I damn sure tagged her heels. The midnight black wig bobbed up and down, her rolling suitcase pulled behind her. At one point the crush of people swallowed her up. I was tempted to pull a Rocky Balboa Adrian move, but she was spit out again, just a few yards away.

  Shadowing her all the way the elevators, I knew she was aware of me. The protective starch melted from her shoulders. Before she stepped into the elevator, her eyes dragged back to mine and they were teary.

  I planted a hand on the door, keeping it open. I reached inside to her, cupping her face. “You did so good, babe.”

  A single tear dripped over my fingers.

  “Not now, Josh. Please. You are everything I want and nothing I can have.” She stepped back with a gasp.

  I withdrew my hand. The door closed. With my forehead thunking against the wall, I swallowed hard. What the hell had I been thinking anyway? What could I have done during the book fair, besides screw up an important event for her? My grand gesture was an asinine idea and I was an ass, straight up.

  And it wasn’t that I wanted her to need me to look out for her. But goddammit, I wanted her to need me, full stop.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Saturday: Sex Shop and Write-Offs

  LIFTING MY HEAD FROM my head-butt move against the wall, I glanced at my watch. It was only one o’clock in the afternoon, too early to drown my sorrows in bourbon or dunk my head in a barrel of beer. In my room, I stripped off, hauled on my shorts, and yanked on a pair of sneakers. I grabbed a towel, a bottle of water, and pounded to the basement-level workout room.

  Work it out, that’s what I needed to do. Work Leelee out of my system . . . what a joke. One delusional part of me hoped I’d find her stretching out on the blue mats in the gym. No such luck and just as well.

  Pouring with sweat through the punishing CrossFit reps, I cursed myself to infinity . . . and beyond. Dumbass. Asshole. Fuckhead. Jerk off. That was me. I finished with two sets of fifty crunches, squats, and pull-ups each. Only when my mind shut down and my lungs inflated for O2 intake did I stop. I downed my water, crushed the plastic, and tossed it into the recycling bin. I wiped off in front of the mirror. The muscles on my chest flexed, giving life to the chrome pipes, the stylized heart, and my little anchor in life: JJ.

  A harsh laugh cut out of my throat. I’d already pictured a beautiful scroll of Leelee wrapping around the tattoo, maybe even going flowery and shit with small, colorful songbirds and vines until the tat spread into a sleeve over my biceps.

  Dumb shit, asshat, fuckwit—maybe I’d have those inked instead.

  Upstairs, I shoved everything off, including the boohoos, and slipped under the hot shower spray. My muscles loosened. My cock did not. We were at a standoff. Every-fucking-time I gave in to the urge to whack it, somebody interrupted, so I wasn’t even going to tempt fate. I gingerly toweled dry, avoiding my dick. It could misfire with a mere touch, and I already had enough messes to deal with. My last clean pair of jeans pulled on, I left the fly undone for breathing room. I ordered room service on Nicky’s tab, slipped a Benjamin into his shaving kit for damages done, and studiously avoided all social networking outlets.

  As soon as my cock subsided, I buttoned up. Breathing a gargantuan sigh of relief, I dialed Ma.

  “Joshy!”

  “Hey, Ma. The kid around?” Christ, I wanted to hear his little pipsqueak voice.

  She returned with a whisper, “He’s snug as a bug beside Viper. It’s naptime.”

  I looked at the clock, two-thirty on the dot. All routine, one I was used to. I swallowed past the large lump in my throat. “Okay, that’s good.” He didn’t even need me to sing him to sleep anymore.

  “He’s adjusting.” The sliders whooshed as Ma stepped out onto the deck.

  “Well, damn, Ma.” Not that I wanted the kid tied in knots about me being gone, but it would’ve been nice to know someone missed me.

  “Oh shoot, don’t be all glum like that. What’s crawled up your behind and made a nest there?” A clink of ice against glass came from over the phone—Ma was enjoying her afternoon refresher of bourbon and water.

  “It’s this girl.”

  “Speakin’ of girls, I just couldn’t wait. Now, you got me that signed book from Leelee Songchild, right?”

  Yeah, she’d autographed it all right, and I’d scrawled my name in come all over her body several times since then.

  Nicky walked in mid-conversation. He dumped his stuff on the floor, mouthing, “Gigi?”

  I nodded.

  Shoving off his boots, toeing off his socks, he padded over on bare feet. “Viper and JJ okay?”

  I gave the A-okay sign. The kid was probably snuggled side-by-side with the badass bitch in her
dog bed.

  Ma said, “I downloaded it to my Nookie thingy, and mah Lord, that girl can write! Her book’s hotter than my kitchen on a ninety-degree day.”

  “It’s called a Nook. And you can follow Leelee on Facebook, Twitter . . . everywhere.” I planned to do exactly that once I got home if she still wasn’t speaking to me.

  As I rummaged through my bag, searching for the paperback I’d gotten for Ma, I thought about the clothing explosion from Leelee’s suitcases. I imagined her napping the morning off, cuddled between all those dresses and wigs and books. The idea of her sleeping amid her mountain of stuff made me smile. The Princess and The Pea. Goddamn, she’d wreck my house, turn it inside out just as she’d flipped my heart upside-down.

  “I already Googled her, so don’t treat me like I don’t know anything about The Machine, sonny.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. And yes, I got your book right here.” I unearthed her copy of Ride from my duffel.

  Ma added more ice to her glass with a chink-chink. “Why, she’s just as pretty as a picture, could’ve been a starlet back in the day.”

  Turning the book over in my hands, I studied Leelee’s headshot. “Yeah, she’s gorgeous.”

  “Oh my. Are you blue over this Leelee?” I heard her hissing away from the receiver, “Shoo now. I said scat! I don’t have nothin’ for you vermin.”

  “Did that family of coons come back?” I held the phone out, speaker on, and Nicky heard her telling off the latest round of scavengers that came from the woods surrounding her house. We both kept our laughter quiet.

  “This time it’s that damn garden snake, Mr. Bojangles. Now I don’t care if he comes around and eats the moles and mice, but I will not have him in my rafters.” Mr. Bojangles had once been found hanging from the support beams in the garage area beneath the house. She’d named him Mr. Bojangles because she liked to tell folks she had a real live boa constrictor on the property. “I just threw my glass at him from the balcony, almost hit him too. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Nah, I’m not blue.” I was worse than blue. I was goddamn inconsolable.

  “That’s right, because Stone men don’t piss and moan about what could be. They make it happen.” She smooched into the phone and sent extras for Nicky, because, “I heard him chuckling in the background. Y’all can’t fool me.”

  She was right. Stone men didn’t sit around and mope. We took action and asked questions later.

  ****

  Unfortunately, the big Alpha Male Saves the Day moment had to wait once again. Figured. Half an hour later, I stood outside the hotel with the Hens, waiting while they boarded the bus.

  “Field trip!” Janice clapped. Today she was back in her Steampunk gear, and I still hadn’t managed to figure out what the genre entailed except maybe Gunsmoke meets Doctor Who.

  Jacqueline winked. “Road trip.”

  Head trip, more like.

  Pushing right up to me, Missy the Mistress licked her lips. “Research.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You keep trying to scare me, lady, and I’ll be forced to show you who wields the bigger stick.”

  “I sure hope so.” Her gaze flicked to my groin.

  I adjusted, just because, and she threw her head back with a raucous laugh. “Touché.”

  Damn right.

  I waited another few minutes, watching the carousel doors of the Ramada for a glimpse of high heels and red hair.

  Nicky reappeared at the top of the bus steps. “She just texted Janice, she’s not gonna make it, baby.”

  Climbing on board, I ducked down the aisle. I settled in next to Nicky and let him pull me into the lee of his shoulder. Swear to fuck, if we ended up back at The Golden Banana strip joint, I was going to lose my mind. This sitting around, stuck-on-repeat socializing wasn’t my style. I missed getting my hands dirty. I missed the kid. I missed the garage. I fucking missed Leelee and she was only staying a couple floors above me—that just wasn’t right.

  Gossip about what went down during the book fair between Leelee and LaForge started up. I dropped my head down and shut my eyes. I’d had a ringside seat, but I wasn’t going to join in and fuel the fire. Trying not to pay attention to their secondhand stories, I remembered Leelee’s fierce expression when she’d told LaForge where he could pack his fudge. She’d been so damn glorious.

  But afterward . . . the night spent with me, her shout-out with LaForge, her morning being in the limelight had taken their toll. It occurred to me her wigs weren’t sexy disguises at all. They were her shield, a way to protect herself in public, to project the persona she had to. A barrier between everyone who wanted a piece of her and the real person she was inside.

  I made a disgusted noise. I was beyond numero uno asshole ranking now. Shrugging off Nicky’s arm, I turned around to Janice. She was hacking away on her phone, muttering about skanky agents and hashtag predators.

  “Why isn’t Leelee here?”

  “Packing.” Everyone chimed in without lifting their heads from their technological lifelines.

  “She’s leaving tonight?” My voice raised several octaves higher.

  All eyes lifted to me.

  I schooled my face into an unconcerned mask.

  Jacqueline piped up. “Have you seen her room?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “That girl blew . . . it . . . up! If she didn’t start packing today, she’d have to hire a moving crew to get it done in the morning.”

  “Amen to that.” Janice high-fived Jackée.

  The shuttle stopped in front of a nondescript strip mall. Everyone hopped off. The store looked innocent enough on the outside, but one step through the door and I was thrown into a deep, dark cavern of forbidden delights.

  A sex shop.

  Of course.

  Nicky wrapped an arm around my waist. “Are you gonna be okay?”

  Like I was a virgin or something. I knew my way around cock rings, thank you very much. “Yeah, lover. I reckon I’ll find something here we can make use of in the bedroom. Or in my office. Probably with you bent over my desk.”

  Janice dashed out a quick #overheard #LitLuv tweet.

  The gaggle got over their swooning moment and scattered in different directions. Left to my own devices, I detailed the interior of The Gee Spot from corner to corner and back to front.

  Double-pronged and plain dongs in every color from flesh to fluorescent.

  Vinyl chaps: I made a note for Fawn.

  Handcuffs, collars, the aforementioned cock rings.

  Dog leashes, and pony tails . . .

  There was a wall of butt plugs and ball gags—because I’d have to be gagged to get a plug up my ass.

  A case of vibrators ranged from rabbits to butterflies, we-vibes, and sleek, silver bullets, as well as the notorious it’s really a back massager heavy-duty variety that took 9-volt batteries.

  Lube sold by econo-two-for-one bottles, by the gotta-hide-it mini bottle, or the single-use sachet: edible, flavorful, for him, for her, for us . . .

  Porn flicks arranged by: mainstream, XXX, Extra XXX, ménage, boy-boy, girl-girl, and spoofs.

  In short, nothing suitable to take home to the kid as a souvenir.

  Nicky roamed up to me, his hand falling to my ass to goose me.

  Mindful we were in public and surrounded by the social savvy Hens who could tweet, Facebook, or Instagram in an instant, I pushed him into a corner. “One more day, dude.”

  “Then you go after the girl?” The handsome motherfucker slanted a smile at me. Jesus, for a second I could even see what Stone might see in him. Too bad I knew everything about him, from how he liked his coffee, his favorite frigging USC sweats to write in, and which side he dressed to and slept on.

  “It might be too late.”

  “Don’t be so fatalistic.” His chin jerked up. “You know what Gigi would say about that.”

  “Bullshit.” We grinned at each other.

  Mistress Peachtree sidled up beside us. “Lover’s tiff?”

&nb
sp; “As if.” Beckoning out to the hazy, red-lit depths, I dared, “Why don’t you show me your piece of this playground.”

  I didn’t know a Domme from a Doberman Pinscher. Both were brutal in my mind. But when Missy stepped ahead of me, she slipped into a different persona just as surely as Leelee donned her wigs to protect herself.

  Kinks, fetishes, costumes lined the walls as Missy led me to the BDSM section.

  Taking down a crop, she slid it across her palm. I smiled and grabbed a bigger one.

  “It’s not always about size, Stone.” She plied her instrument in an arc that whistled beside me.

  I performed a Zorro move in front of her. “Oh yeah? Tell that to my last conquest.”

  The slap-slap-slap of the crop on her palm rode the fine line of my nerves. I danced back as she sauntered forward. “It’s about the exchange of trust. The power lies in the one who gives it up. The person who submits has all the control in a D/s relationship.” Plying the slim weapon, she slashed the air between us.

  On her next pass, I grabbed the crop and cracked it in two. “I don’t submit to anyone.”

  “You’ve never let yourself lose control.”

  My teeth snapped together. I bent forward until we were nose to nose. “Yes, I have.” I’d given up my control with Leelee, no one else. I looked at the broken pieces of the crop in my hand. “I’ll pay for this.”

  “Yes. You will.” Her look was intense. “Don’t miss your chance, Stone.”

  Shit. She knew about me and Nicky, me and my feelings for Leelee. She had to, to keep making comments like that. I stalked away from the whips, chains, and nipple-clamps. Just in case, I picked up a box of Magnums—ignoring the hot pink size-and-style chart above the shelves, because really? I squinted at a sleeve of pillow-packet lube and decided to purchase that too, to keep up appearances.

  At the register, I found Felicity haggling with the cashier as if this was a frigging flea market.

  “Write-offs. These are write-offs, right?” She waved a handful of—whoa—crotchless panties in front of my face.

  I batted them away. “Anything having to do with the conference—write-off. Booze, food, your registration as the assistant of an attendee. Call this research for your husband’s stories and you’re golden.”