Protection: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Page 8

  She steps forward until she’s nearly pressed up against me, plucking a speck of lint from my hair, thumb brushing my jaw. She stares up at me, her eyes stunningly purple.

  This close up, all I can think is how small she is, petite and fragile. She looks larger than life on stage, striding around in sky high heels and wild feathered costumes, but right this minute she seems like she’d fit in my pocket.

  Or in my arms…

  “Today was nice…” I start to say, trying to break up the tension shivering between us.

  “Shut up, Connor,” Elly says.

  Then she’s up on her tiptoes, hands clutching my shoulders, lips brushing mine. I react on pure instinct, one hand cupping her jaw and the other sliding down her waist to bring her flush against my body. I’m beyond hard for her, have been all day, and she gives the tiniest gasp when she feels my cock against her belly.

  She makes a little sound against my lips, the same kind of mmmm she made earlier at the restaurant that drives me fucking wild. Savoring, I guess you could call it.

  Fuck, she likes this.

  The second I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, she tenses up and pushes me away.

  “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she says. She presses her fingers to her lips like she’s been scalded, looking mortified. “Sorry, sorry.”

  She whirls and runs for her bedroom, leaving me standing there like a jackass.

  What the fuck did I just let happen?

  Cursing my stupidity, I storm away from the suite.

  Chapter Eight

  Elly

  I am a freaking idiot.

  The new anthem of my life. Or the past three days, at least.

  Three days ago, I kissed Connor. Three days ago, I made a huge mistake.

  I hear my mom’s voice, a flashback from age thirteen: A guy’s nice to you for like an hour, and you throw yourself at him? You really are a slut, Elianna Lee Parsons.

  I sigh and rub my forehead.

  Our flight to Chicago is delayed, so the whole entourage has taken over one of the semi-private Sky Club suites. It’s still early in the tour, so everyone is full of energy, hanging out and chatting animatedly, sipping coffee.

  I exiled myself to the furthest corner near the window, staring out at the planes and luggage trucks and orange-vest-wearing airport employees running around in the mild spring weather.

  I am a freaking idiot.

  I can’t even look at Connor. After I shamed myself by kissing him, by practically sticking my tongue down his throat, I got all overwhelmed. I freaked out, froze, and ran away.

  Story of my damn life, where men are concerned. It’s funny, because for the zillions of times my mom has called me a slut, I’ve only actually had sex a couple of times.

  The first time… well, it wasn’t exactly something I wanted. I was too young, too drunk.

  The others were all equally drunk, me getting wasted and trying desperately to feel like a normal girl. Mostly I just lay there like a dead fish and tried not to pass out drunk while some guy fucked me for a brief period of time.

  The most recent time, about a year ago, I actually burst into tears in the middle of it. The guy was off me and gone from my hotel room faster than you can say bad sex.

  Worse, I had to tell Artisan what happened and make sure the guy was paid off. No way could I let that story get out to the press.

  Elly Parsons, Sexually Frigid Pop Star. I can see it now, and it still makes me want to hurl.

  Yet just a few days ago, I apparently thought it was a good idea to basically come onto my bodyguard. Someone who’s paid to take care of me. I basically abused the help. If I was a guy and I’d come onto a female bodyguard like that… If anyone found out, I’d be fed to the wolves.

  I’d probably still get it pretty bad as a woman, but this was one of very few scenarios in which sexism worked in my favor.

  “Elly?”

  I look up and Karen’s standing over me, offering me a styrofoam cup. She’s wearing white jeans and a pale blue shirt, her long braids wrapped around her head in a no-nonsense style. Feminine, but practical.

  I’ve really come to like Karen, I realize. Just the idea of her, really. She looks like she’s never taken shit from anyone, ever. I wish I could be like that.

  “Oh… I can’t have coffee,” I lament.

  “It’s green tea,” she says.

  “Oh!” I perk up and accept the cup.

  “Can I sit?” she asks, indicating the seat across from mine.

  “Sure thing,” I say, eyeing her curiously as she sits down.

  Has Karen ever actually spoken to me before now? I wonder.

  She doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares out the window like we’re both being perfectly normal — like everyone else isn’t socializing and singing Disney songs and recounting stories from other tours they’ve worked.

  Finally, she turns her Medusa gaze on me. For a second, I think she’s about to scold me and I wonder what I did wrong.

  “Did Connor do something bad? Inappropriate, I mean,” she asks.

  My eyes go wide.

  “Jesus, no. Why would you think that?” I couldn’t be more surprised, even if she’d just backhanded me for no reason.

  “Cause you’re… no offense, but kind of sulking. And Connor is being a complete dick to anyone who meets his gaze. Add that to the fact that you two are avoiding each other…” Karen shrugs. “It seemed the most likely explanation.”

  “No, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Alright. Well, sorry to stick my nose in,” she says, leaning back in her seat, sipping from her styrofoam cup.

  And that’s it. Karen isn’t the talkative type, so she just lets the matter drop. I get the feeling that she won’t just take my word for it. But if I’m not willing to call him a bully, there’s not much she can do about it.

  “Hey,” I say to her.

  She looks up, raising a brow.

  “Thanks for asking. Seriously,” I say. “I’m glad someone’s… I don’t know, looking out for all the women like that.”

  Karen nods, shrugging one shoulder.

  “No problem.”

  Silence lapses again. Little does Karen know that there is in fact a problem, and a big one: I can’t let my stupid mistake effect the tour like this. If Karen noticed I’m being weird, it’s going to be obvious to others, too.

  It’s going to bring everyone’s energy down, and I need my whole crew to be pitch-perfect. I can’t let my sulking ruin what we’ve all worked so hard for.

  So… that means I need to make shit un-weird with Connor. I glance over at him. I don’t need to search for him amidst the dozens of people packing the Sky Club. In a weird way, ever since I kissed him, I feel hyperconscious of his presence and location at all times.

  I just… know where he is. It’s creepy as hell, I admit.

  He’s leaning against the doorway of the Sky Club, glancing back and forth between the glass-paneled door and the stewardess at her podium. I’m pretty sure she’s been trying to sneak cell phone photos of me for the last thirty minutes, but Connor’s glare has her too scared to actually do it.

  I take the briefest moment to ogle him. I can’t seem to help it. He’s wearing this red plaid button-up and these tight jeans with his black Doc Martens, and damn. He cracked a joke about looking like an underwear model, but in another life he could easily have starred in ads for Armani boxer briefs.

  Ugh, you are so weak, I scold myself. Remember your new mantra: I am a freaking idiot. I am a freaking idiot.

  “I’m going to talk to him,” I tell Karen. In a very public place, with my lips really really far from his lips, I refrain from adding.

  She just gives me that half-shrug again, although she seems vaguely satisfied with the outcome of our little talk. I shove to my feet and walk over to where he’s standing guard.

  He turns his head from the stewardess and watches me approach. I hear a click; the stewardess got her cell p
hone photo after all.

  I hope it’s blurry.

  Connor is already moving toward her, but I reach out and catch his sleeve.

  “Leave it,” I tell him. “Can we talk for a minute? Like… out there?”

  I jerk my thumb toward the glass door. Outside, people are rushing past with their suitcases and crying toddlers in strollers. Connor gives me a distrusting look, but he just nods.

  “Lawrence,” he calls, beckoning the other guard. “Can you step outside with us?”

  “I want privacy,” I whisper.

  “And I want to do my job,” Connor says. He opens the door and leads me outside. He nods to Lawrence when the other man steps out. “We won’t be far, just stay in our line of sight.”

  Always with the commands. I clench my jaw when I think about the fact that a cocky guy like Connor would never do what I’m about to do. He’d never apologize if he was the employer, the person in the position of power.

  Oh well. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.

  We walk over to stand next to one of those busy, overpriced little news stands. Connor folds his arms across his chest, looking down at me with an expression of impatient expectation.

  “So, um. I guess I need to apologize?” I start.

  A muscle ticcs in his jaw, but otherwise Connor doesn’t respond in any way.

  “I’m, um, I’m your employer. I shouldn’t have— done that. You’re just doing your job, and I crossed a line with you. It’s totally unacceptable for me to…” I pause, flailing.

  “No one should get sexually harassed doing their job. I am really, really sorry for… getting my signals crossed, or whatever. Even if I thought you wanted me to…”

  I break off and press my hand over my eyes. My face couldn’t be hotter if it was on fire. I am so fucking embarrassed right now that I wish I could sink into the floor and vanish. Or that I hadn’t ever started this conversation and just let shit be weird.

  “Elly?”

  I peel my hand from my face. Connor is looking at me with something like pity, which makes me feel even worse.

  “Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes at myself.

  “It’s fine.”

  Just like that? Three days of the silent treatment, and all I get is, ‘It’s fine’?

  “O….kay,” I say, just wanting this to be over.

  “I might have accidentally encouraged you,” Connor says, surprising me with his admission. “Sometimes I come off as being flirtatious, even when I don’t mean to be. Let’s just call a truce, huh?”

  Sometimes you what? Now I desperately want to know.

  “Um, okay,” I say instead.

  “We good?” he asks. His tone is so casual and impersonal; I feel like such an idiot for ever taking his single afternoon of being friendly as… well, more than that.

  “Yep.”

  “Okay. I think our flight’s about to board,” he says, nodding toward the gate down the hall. “Better rustle up the crew.”

  And that’s that. All settled… for Connor, at least.

  Chapter Nine

  Elly

  “Jesus,” I whine as I climb off the treadmill. “Eight cities in twelve days. Ten miles on the treadmill on off days. This is absolute murder.”

  “The indefatigable Elly Parsons is actually admitting to being tired?” Karen says. “Hey, at least you have two days in the same city right now. And the night off. Can’t beat that with a stick.”

  Here’s something I’ve found out: Karen is fucking awesome.

  She stretches, cooling herself off after the workout. I’m glad to see that she’s in the Elle Does Athletics gear I practically had to force her to accept as a gift. When I found out that Karen is as big of a workout fiend as I am, I sort of co-opted her as my gym partner. It makes sense when you look at how insanely buff she is; Karen gives Serena Williams a run for her damn money.

  “I’m human,” I say with a shrug. “I could definitely use some Vitamin C and B12. We have six more months of touring still. It’s hard to believe we’re going to do such a long tour.”

  “Well, we’re going to try,” Karen says with her trademark shrug. She sniffs her shirt and grimaces. “I need to shower.”

  “You just can’t wait to get out of the Elle gym clothes because they’re too girly for you,” I accuse.

  She gives me a blank look, her trademark reaction.

  “I mean, they fit great, but I just hate pink. Anyway, if you get any closer, you’ll find out that I am not even close to lying about how bad I smell right now.”

  “Ugh. Thanks for sharing. I’m going to do the same, and then veg until someone forces me to leave for the next city.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Who’s on tonight? Lawrence?” I ask, trying to calculate their schedule in my head. Karen, Bill, and Lawrence alternate nights standing outside the door and Bill was on last night. We hit the lobby, both stretching as we wait for the elevators.

  Connor doesn’t work those shifts anymore. He does… well, I’m not really sure. I guess he’s around during shows, mostly.

  Pulling out the big guns for the most public events, is how I reason it to myself.

  Not that I’m thinking of Connor. I’m wayyyyy too busy to be doing that.

  “Nope. Connor’s your man, for tonight anyway.”

  I give Karen serious side eye, and she laughs.

  “I thought you guys made up?” she asks.

  “We did.”

  “Well, it seems like you’re still avoiding each other—” she cuts herself off abruptly.

  I turn to see Connor striding up to us. He nods to Karen, giving me an expression of studied indifference. It’s weird, because I can kind of see that he’s working super hard to ice me out.

  Weird. I guess I’m getting to know him better, learning to read him.

  I could kick myself for that thought. Quit trying to create intimacy where there is none, I scold myself. You really need to work on your daddy issues.

  I smirk to myself. I’m funny, people just don’t know it.

  “I’m off until tomorrow,” Karen says.

  “You catching the elevator with us?” I ask, confused. “Aren’t we all going the same direction?”

  “Nope,” Karen says, turning and heading for the stairs without further explanation.

  I step into the elevator with Connor right on my heels.

  I hope I don’t smell. I mean, I definitely do. I hope he can’t smell me. You know, because I’m a high school girl again, complete with the unreciprocated crush.

  Neither of us says anything all the way upstairs. Connor lets me lead the way. When we get to my floor, a door slams at the far end of the hall.

  “Go ahead,” he says with a frown. “I just want to stick my head into the stairwell really quick.”

  He looks like something’s bothering him more than usual, but it’s hard to tell with Connor. He’s always intense and paranoid, as far as I’ve seen.

  I shrug and swipe my keycard. It gives an angry beep and flashes red.

  “Damn it,” I mutter. I try it two more times, with the same result. Then I jiggle the door handle. After a second, the lock flashes green and opens. “Stupid door.”

  When I step in, it’s dark. Like completely, totally dark.

  “Why is it dark?” comes out of my mouth, the dumbest question ever. Whatever, I’m the only one that can hear myself.

  I flip the lights on and head to change and wash off the fresh layer of post-workout grime. I make it one step into my bedroom, turn the lights on, and freeze.

  A scream escapes me, louder than I thought possible.

  “Connor! Connor!”

  My hotel bedroom is completely trashed. My eyes rove over the damage; the mattress has been slashed to pieces, feathers from the pillows are everywhere. My clothes are strewn all over the room, tattered and ripped up.

  I wish I didn’t see that my suitcase of intimates, bras and panties, is basically empty. They’re not in the r
oom, which means… God, he took them with him.

  My stomach rolls, and I wonder if I’m going to be sick. He’s been here, touching my stuff…

  The paintings have been ripped off the wall to make room for a sickening scrawl of black spray paint.

  WHORE is there in big letters, at the top.

  How could you???? is written under that.

  Between the two there’s a collage of photographs.

  I stumble forward to look at them. Behind me, I hear the front door open with a slam as Connor comes running.

  “Elly?” he shouts. “Elly, are you okay?”

  Close up, I see the photos are me and Connor. A collection of grainy black and white photos taken of us getting out of one of the rental SUVs.

  No no no… is all I can think. This can’t be happening.

  I reach out to touch the monstrous display with shaking fingers, but Connor stops me.

  “Jesus,” he says, grabbing me by the elbow, yanking me back a step.

  “He was here,” I whisper, closing my eyes against the fact.

  “Fuck,” Connor says. His arms close around me, holding me so very tightly as tears start to fall. I can barely process it. “Shhh, it’s okay. I got you.”

  He guides me out of the bedroom, one arm staying around my shoulders while he pulls out his phone. He calls Karen and asks her to bring ‘everyone’, then calls the cops.

  I think about my panties again, and fear squeezes me so tight I’m afraid I’m dying.

  “My chest,” I say, looking up at Connor. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Okay,” Connor says. “I got you, Elly. I swear. No one’s going to touch you, ever. I won’t let that happen.”

  He picks me up then, his touch so gentle that it makes me cry. He carries me out of the suite as if I weigh nothing at all, glancing down at me every few seconds. The stress and worry on his face make me feel worse, but the strength and warmth of him is nice.

  I let my head fall against his chest, unresisting, and close my eyes again.

  Take me anywhere. Anywhere but here, I think.

  In that moment, I know I don’t have to say it aloud. There’s an unquestionable kind of safety here, while Connor’s holding me; I know that he won’t let my stalker touch me unless Connor’s already dead.