Protection: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (15 page)

Elly uses her fingers to make air quotes, shaking her head.

“That said what, exactly?”

“Oh, that I owed my mom a bunch of money, that I was going to turn over most of what I earned to her because I needed to repay her for what she spent on me when I was a kid. That her new beau was going to be my manager, that they owned my brand. Stuff like that.” She laughs. “It was actually kind of pathetic. She was really offended when I showed up to our next meeting with my lawyer from the label I’d just signed with. After that, I got her parental rights severed. I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Jesus, Elly. I’m so sorry.”

I reach out and run my thumb over the back of her hand, wishing I could make it better. Wishing I could change the past for her, somehow.

And now I really
am
worried about my dad. How could he have married this monster?

“Listen,” Elly says, taking my hand. “That was a long time ago. There’s not a lot of love lost between me and my mom, but she’s not the same person as she was then. I think she was on drugs a lot back then, miserable about my dad leaving her and then dying. She’s apologized to me since then, sort of. I just… I don’t really want to hear it.”

“No shit.”

The waitress brings our food, six plates of food plus two neon-colored shakes.

“Holy moly,” Elly says, grinning at our waitress. “Thanks!”

There it is again, that switch she can flip between the Elly I care for and the fake pop star version of herself. The second the waitress is gone, Elly’s digging into the loaded cheese fries, picking the thread of our conversation back up.

“Nobody’s family is perfect, right?” she asks.

“No, but… that’s not…” I pause and sigh. I don’t want her to think I’m picking on her. “Look. In my family, my parents didn’t really notice me. Rose was always the shining star, all A’s and homecoming queen and shit. I was just hanging around with a bad attitude and worse grades.”

“Was that when your mom died?” Elly said gently.

“Yeah. When I was a junior and Rose was a sophomore. I got in some trouble, but Rose… Rose went off the fucking rails, man. Not two months after Mom died, I caught Rose at a house party. Naked in someone’s parents’ bedroom with a guy I’d never seen before, an older guy. Coke all over the bed, whiskey on her breath. That was the beginning of the end, except…”

Except the end hasn’t come yet
, I stop myself from saying.

“That must have been hard to watch,” Elly says, taking a bite of her burger.

“I wasn’t around for much longer. I signed myself up for the Navy the second I turned eighteen. That’s why I get so weird about people insinuating that they’re smarter than me; I never went to college like other guys my age.”

“Connor, you’re super fucking smart, you shouldn’t feel like that.”

“I mean, I know that objectively. I took the SATs my junior year, just out of curiosity. I was a hundred points off a perfect score, without studying. I guess it’s just… you know, you hear the same crap over and over about how you’re dumb, you kind of start to believe it. Or at least accept it.”

“You would have killed it in college, I’m sure. But you seem to have come up on your feet.”

“Yeah, well. Either way, I made the right choice, leaving when I did. My dad was so shell-shocked from Mom’s death, plus he had his hands full with trying not to let Rose kill herself, so he signed off. I finished my senior year of high school and went into service as soon as they would take me. Didn’t even wait for my graduation, just caught a train up to the military base and jumped in with both feet.”

“Well,” Elly says after a minute. “It sounds like we both had good reasons for getting out as soon as we could. And we’ve both turned out pretty damn well, so…”

“Cheers, then.”

She laughs when I toast her with my milkshake, and we eat quietly after that. Both soaking in each other’s past, I guess.

When we’re done eating, I drop a hundred dollar bill on the table for the waitress.

“Go get the selfies and autographs over with so we can get to the tattoo parlor. I have something else planned for us later, so we should get a move on,” I tell Elly.

“Ooh,” she says, “Mysterious.”

Flashing me that million dollar grin, she heads over to talk to her fan.

I notice she’s left her phone on the table. My fingers itch with the desire to pick it up. I glance at her and make sure she’s not watching, then pop the plastic Little Prince case off it.
So far, so good.

I pull out my wallet again and retrieve a little piece of plastic that I requisitioned from a friend in the FBI, and stick it to the inside of her case. Then I snap the case back on just as Elly’s coming back to me with a curious look.

“You coming?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “You left your phone on the table, hon.”

She gives me an odd look and laughs, then grabs my hand and tugs me toward the door.

I let her lead me outside, feeling like a fool. But I can’t help myself. Worse, I don’t
want
to.

There’s a moment of truth floating around in the ether above me somewhere, some deeper lesson I should be learning, a future mistake I could certainly help myself avoid.

But I won’t, and it’s easy to see why.

I’d follow Elly fucking Parsons to the end of the damned Earth if she’d let me. Despite my gut warning me off, despite the danger of exposure dangling over our heads, despite the fact that she’s basically the one girl in the world I absolutely should not be fucking or getting feelings for…

Even though I’m pretty sure we’ll only ruin each other in the end.

I follow her anyway, because I can’t
not
.

“
I
thought getting
a tattoo would hurt more,” I tell Connor as I follow him up a wide, steep path cut into the sandstone mountainside we’re climbing. “This hike is worse than the tattoo. I’m so much less impressed with all your ink now.”

Connor chuckles, but doesn’t engage me. He’s in serious Boy Scout mode, lugging this heavy-looking backpack and shining a bright flashlight behind him so that I can see where I’m going.

I don’t mind his seriousness. His preparation and commitment are part of what makes him sexy.

I do wish he’d talk more, though. I dropped a big bomb on him earlier about my history with my mom. When he didn’t immediately blow an internal fuse, though he looked like he was about to commit murder, I was relieved.

Now, my relief is gone. I’m worried that he may see me differently, knowing what he does. Or that he might—

Stop
. I can’t think about all the possibilities, all the things I fear.

“Hey, this is it,” Connor says.

We turn and come out onto a big open area where the rock is seamlessly smooth. The outcrop looks out over the little town we were just in, the lights shining softly in the distance.

Above, the stars are just coming out, and they’re impossibly high and bright here.

“Wow,” is all I’ve got to say.

Connor is already over by the edge of the clearing, pulling stuff out of his backpack. He spreads out a thick blanket, then pulls out a bottle of champagne, a couple plastic cups, and what looks like a carton of berries.

“Come here,” he says. “Sit down, get comfortable.”

“This is… amazing,” I say as he wraps a second blanket around my shoulders. “Thank you, Connor.”

“You want to open the bubbly?” he asks, handing it over.

“Uh, yes please.” I unwrap the cork and pop it off the side of the mountain, giggling when it fizzes everywhere.

“Fill us up,” he says, and I pour some into the two plastic cups he offers me.

“What, no champagne flutes?” I ask with a grin.

“I thought about it,” Connor says with a shrug. “Too dangerous.”

I laugh and hold my glass up.

“Sit down next to me, will you? What are we toasting to?” I ask.

“Mmmm… how about… just to being here, together.”

My lips twitch. Connor’s plain-spoken, but there is a romantic living somewhere deep down inside him.

“Cheers to that,” I say, and we both sip. The champagne is still cool despite our short hike, and the sweet fizz of it against my tongue makes me smile. “And to our tattoos, of course.”

I peek at mine, a tiny black heart outline right over the pulse point of my left hand. Almost unnoticeable, though I’m sure I’ll get asked about it. I grab Connor’s hand and examine the matching one he got; it’s hard to find amidst all his other ink, like a Where’s Waldo of tiny black lines etched into his skin.

“You’re too far away,” he tells me.

I always feel that way
, I think to myself.

Connor moves so that he’s sitting closer to me. I set my glass down and crawl onto his lap, leaning my back against him. We both sip our bubbly and stare out into the night sky in silence. I trace my fingers up his arm, following the serpentine loops of his snake tattoo, thinking how beautiful it is.

How beautiful
he
is.

There’s no need for words right now.

I feel Connor’s lips brush my neck, just under my ear. I shiver as goosebumps rise all over my body; already, my nipples are hardening and aching for his touch.

I don’t rush it, though. I roll my head to the side and sigh as he sweeps my hair back, exposing my neck to his lips and teeth and tongue. The scrape of his five o’clock shadow nearly undoes me.

Connor skims his hands up under my shirt, shoving my bra cups up and molding his hands to my breasts. He pinches and rolls my nipples just the way I like.

I moan and arch into his touch. I can feel his cock thickening and lengthening where it’s pressed against my ass. My mouth actually waters a little bit when I think about his cock, about how it would feel if Connor held me still and fucked my mouth, pushed all the way to my throat.

The thought sends a rush of warmth to my core, and suddenly my lazy hunger is turning into something different. Something needy and impatient and demanding.

When I turn and straddle Connor’s lap, when I look down at his gorgeous face and see the way he’s looking back up at me, that same something makes my heart skip a beat.

I can’t love him.

I can’t.

I kiss him, hard and deep. He’s unbuttoning my jeans, his rough hands shoving my pants and panties down, fingers finding my clit before thrusting deep inside me.

“Yes,” I cry, riding his fingers. Before Connor, I never could have been this open with anyone. But with him, I don’t care.

I see how he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking. I know he wants me, again and again. I know that I can make him scream my name when he comes inside me.

I want that now. Fuck, I want it all the damned time. If I could fuck Connor Gray for a living, just like this every single day and night, I’d sign my life away in a heartbeat.

But that’s not a choice, so I will take all of him that I can get, here in the moment.

I unzip him and pull his jeans and boxers down enough to take him in my hand. He’s so big that I can barely wrap my fingers around his cock. Thick and heavy and hot, though the skin under my fingers is silken.

“Fuck me, Connor,” I say, but I push him back onto his elbows with a little shove.

I want to be the one who fucks
him
, I want to be in control, to take what I want from him. So I finish stripping off my jeans and take him inside me, sinking down on his cock inch by hard inch until I take him all.

“Fuck, Elly.” The gravelly sound of his voice, the way he drags my shirt off over my head and fondles my breasts… I can’t get enough.

I lean back a little, going slow, taking him hard and deep, trying to hit the right spot inside my body. It’s too soon, though.

Connor hits it better anyway
, I can’t stop myself from thinking.

“Your fucking body…” Connor says. “Best pussy I’ve ever had in my fucking life. Damn, El.”

I bite my lip and cup my own breasts, pinching my nipples to tease him. I also tighten my core around him, bringing us both a little closer to the edge.

Connor makes this strangled sort of growl and pulls me down, rolling me over onto my back. He strips, then pins both my knees up against my sides and fucks me with these long, hammering thrusts. It’s not long before I shatter, screaming his name, pulsing around him as he continues to thrust into me, making it go on and on.

When Connor comes, he growls Elianna as he fills me, jetting hot and hard inside me. I gasp for breath and moan when he finally pulls out.

Connor lays down and drags me close so I’m tucked up against his body, my face pressed against his bare chest, his arm wrapped around me like a vise.

We lay there and drift, staring at the stars twinkling above. There’s something hanging in the air between us, something that needs to be said, but neither of us wants to say it.

Fuck it, I’ll do it.

“Connor?” I ask.

“Yeah, El.”

“What are your plans after the tour’s over?”

He’s quiet for a long time.

“I don’t know. Probably go back to L.A., figure out when I can get Rosie in that rehab place, then… I don’t know. Sign up for another security contract, maybe.”

“Another tour?” I ask, stunned.

Connor moves back a couple inches and rolls me over, his eyes scanning my face.

“Maybe another tour. I have to work, just like you do.” There’s a cautious edge to his words, something that makes my stomach cramp a little.

“I just thought… well, I don’t know,” I say, nibbling my lower lip.

“Elly,” Connor says, reaching out and taking my hand. Already, I don’t like the tone he’s using.

“Connor,” I say, mocking him a little.

“Honey, you know that we can’t just… like, go out in the world and
be
together, right?”

Silence.

“Right, yeah,” I say, pulling from his grip.

“Stop moving,” he warns me, cupping my face and forcing me to look up at him. “Don’t do this. You are fucking famous, Elly. That’s your job, your life. People scrutinize every move you make, everything you do. Do you really think that if we got serious, people wouldn’t figure out about our parents?”

I give him a cold glare, willing my face to remain perfectly blank.
I will not fucking cry. I will not fucking cry.

“No,” I say, and it’s true. I know what he’s saying is true.

The other thing that’s true is that I’ve let myself fall for Connor, and he doesn’t feel the same way. If he did, this would be a really, really different conversation.

My job, our parents… that stuff is just an excuse. I know it, and I wish like hell I could bring myself to say it aloud.

“That would be the end of your career, Elly. Everything you worked for, all that you’ve been though. Are you prepared for that?” he asks. Earlier I thought about how much I like his seriousness, but right now I fucking
hate
it.

I hate that he’s stoic, I hate that he’s not feeling ripped up inside like I am. I hate that I’m in this classic girl-feels-more-than-guy scenario, that I’ve let myself get into this stupid fucking position.

It’s not fucking fair,
I think. And I hear my mom’s voice, clear as day.
Life’s not fair, princess. What did you really expect?

Not this.

“No, I guess I’m not
prepared for that
,” I snap at him. “Clearly I’m not asking you to fucking get down on one knee here, Connor. I was just making conversation.”

I’m a bad liar, and I know it. My lips tremble as I get up and start to dress myself.

“El. Elly,” Connor says. When his hand lands on mine, I shove him away forcefully. Only he’s so much bigger than me that I just knock myself over, making my face turn red with embarrassment. “Honey, please don’t get upset.”

“Don’t fucking call me honey,” I snarl. “And don’t call me nicknames, either. If there’s nothing between us, fine. But I want that nothing to end, right now.”

“Elly, don’t—”

I stand up again, buttoning up my jeans, and plaster on my best
Elly Parsons, Pop Star
smile.

“Race you back to the bottom,” I say, turning and leaving him there. A knot of guilt tightens low in my belly, but I’m too weighed down with my own sadness to care.

The tears I held back start to slip free as I break into a slow jog, working my way down the mountain. The air whips up against my face, drying my tears and keeping my secrets as I go.

In the end, I only beat Connor to the bottom by a few minutes. When he strides up to me, carrying the backpack, he looks kind of pissed.

Good, you should feel something
, I think.
Even if it’s not what I want from you
.

“Elly, we need to talk about this,” Connor says.

I glance up at him, giving him an easy Elly smile.

“I’m good. Can we get going? I’m chilled to the bone. Ready to hit the hay.”

In my hotel room. Alone.

“El—”

“Connor,” I sigh, crossing my arms. I draw myself up, and do my best imitation of my mother at her coldest and most manipulative. “Did you or did you not just remind me that this can’t go anywhere?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Okay. I think I reserve the right to decide if and when I want to stop. And now, I want to stop. What part of that are you not getting?” I ask.

His expression goes black. He never says it, but he’s sensitive about people acting like he’s dumb. I just found his weak spot, and already I’m jamming my thumb right in the pressure point.

My mother would be so proud.

“So?” I ask, tossing my hair and holding the helmet. “Can we go, already?”

Ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I give him one more bright smile. Then I pull the helmet on and stand there with my arms crossed, cringing when I have to get on the bike and hold onto him the whole way back to the hotel.

Still, at least he can’t see my tears as we race through the cool desert night, heading back to Phoenix.

The thought occurs to me that I sometimes think of my life in three stages. Life Before New York. Life Before Fame.

And recently, Life Before Connor.

Now we’re thundering down the highway, headed back to a different part of my life. Pre-Connor life wasn’t bad, just… you know,
less
. Less
everything
.

I guess I thought, just privately, that I might leave that Pre-Connor life behind.

I guess I thought we’d figure out some way to make it work, even if it was in secret.

I guess I was completely, utterly, dead fucking wrong.

Now I’m paying the price.

Still. I have my career. I have my tour, my fans. I have a new album to do in a few months, a lot of new experiences lined up for myself.

That’s enough, right?

It’ll have to be.