Breaking Stone: Bad Boy Romance Novel

by Raleigh Blake

  Except I didn’t even want to be fantasizing about Stone, so I’d inserted The Chan Man into Stone’s stories when they reached the sexy bits, and that had worked just fine for me.

  Really fine. Like doubling my lifelong orgasm count in one weekend fine.

  “If you wore sexy lingerie, it would make you feel sexier, and Stone would notice that. He’d sniff it out.”

  “Please, you’re making the man sound like a dog now.”

  “A dirty dog,” Carrie added. “That’s what the man is. You know what those guys are like. He’ll see your dilated pupils, pick up the scent of your pheromones, and know you’re ready to mate.”

  “I’m not ready to mate.”

  “You will be once the panty-melter gets you in his sights. Imagine having sex with someone like him. Proper sex. Hard, fast, long and dirty sex. Wow. It’ll be way better than ol’ fumbling, fast-shooting Jack.”

  “Do you have to bring that up all the time? I wish I’d never told you.”

  Jack was my one attempt at having an exclusive, going-all-the-way boyfriend. I guess he was overcome by the moment whenever we attempted to have sex, because he came over me, rather than in me. The first act was the finale. Seconds later, he’d manage a brief apology, then reach for the television remote, and while I was still cleaning myself up, he tuned into a rerun of something like Animal House.

  Jack could best be summed up as ‘economic’ in most aspects of our relationship. Dates were cheap—never a bottle of wine, just a glass. We sat in the cheap seats at the movies, and we split all costs. He seemed satisfied with some hasty fumbling and fooling around at the end of the night, and when I suggested we could take a bit more time to get warmed up, he blamed me for ‘doing it wrong’.

  Technically, I was possibly still a virgin.

  “I think I’ll send Stone an email and warn him there’s a virgin in his midst,” Carrie teased.

  I zippered up my bag before she could find anything else in there that didn’t match her idea of seductress. “How is it possible for you to make my presumed virginity sound like a malevolent spirit that needs exorcising?”

  Carrie grinned. “Easy. One, because it’s about as rare as a malevolent spirit, and two, because that damned thing does need exorcising, or exercising, or to become extinct. Your virginity is your unicorn...by which I mean, unbelievable.”

  “I’m not even a virgin,” I protested. “I think, when this job is over, I’ll look for a new apartment.”

  “Damn, I love you. This is going to be freaking amazing. I don’t care about Sarah’s stupid NDA. I expect you to share the gossip in full detail every weekend.”

  Monday morning, the half-hour trip on the Hudson Line passed way too quickly. I felt unprepared for meeting Stone again and made up my mind that I would keep things professional. I would address him as Mr. Logan, and respect him for his talent as a writer, not his prowess for seduction and, let’s face it, having a lot of sex.

  I’d made my way through three of his novels and the paperwork CJM had provided for me, and from the details, I made a short list of what I felt the main parts of this assignment would entail.

  Obviously, I had to get Stone to finish his book by the deadline. Then there was the issue of the scandal that erupted when he either deliberately or drunkenly started leaking excerpts online of the final book in his series. Everyone guessed that the female character, Tatiana, was based on Lily Clarke, Stone’s movie star, famous ex-girlfriend. That had to carry some truth, seeing as the publisher’s legal department had demanded a rewrite of the story.

  What Sarah had neglected to tell me was that I’d also have to make him obey Lily Clarke’s restraining order. Perhaps Stone was right—hiring a thug might have been the best proposition. Was I expected to manhandle him? What if he got drunk and went crazy? Why hadn’t I thought of these things instead of being blinded by his smile and ridiculously flattered at being offered a job like this?

  Another thing was that I never got around to telling Mom about this job. I just couldn’t work out how to do that without her spoiling this opportunity. She’d either put a bad slant on it or manage to take credit for this break, and I was doing a good enough job at putting a bad slant on this without any of her help.

  Getting off at the next stop and returning to the apartment felt like an excellent plan, but the next stop announced was Springston.

  As the train slowed, my heart sped up. Through the window, I could see someone waiting for me on the platform.

  4

  Katrina

  The gap between the waistband of the well-worn jeans and the hem of the soft t-shirt revealed smooth, muscled bare skin. Between that and the disarming smile he gave me, I ended up saying good morning staring at his battered Converse sneakers.

  This would never work. I had to be able to look him in the eye and take control without turning pink. I fixed my shoulders, stood straight, and tried again.

  “Good morning, Mr. Logan,” I said, channeling my mother’s confident voice.

  “Good morning to you, Ms. Poppins,” he replied, barely concealing a grin.

  “It’s Penhaligon,” I said, correcting him.

  “I haven’t had a nanny before.” He took my bag from me and began to walk. “It’s not far, but I brought the car in case you had a ton of luggage or a carpet bag. You’ll be staying in the guest cottage of friends a short distance from my house. You can walk it, or I can lend you a car. Maybe a bike. It’s up to you.”

  I struggled to match his long stride.

  “This is us,” he said, stopping by an old jeep.

  He drove us to his house, pointing out where I’d be staying on the way there. Stone’s place overlooked the Hudson and was a large, imposing Gothic-style building that probably suited his chaotic personality and was possibly haunted. Just a few miles out of town, the area was surprisingly rural and quiet.

  Inside, the house had been modernized. Open plan rooms filled with light and comfortable furnishings gave it a homey atmosphere. It wasn’t what I expected.

  “I write in the tower,” he said, pointing at a set of stairs.

  “Like Rapunzel,” I said, instantly regretting it.

  “Less hair,” he replied, leading me through to a room at the corner of the house. The view beyond the bank of windows was almost as distracting as Stone. “You can set up in here. There’s Wi-Fi, books, and a desk. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Looks perfect. There are a few things I’m going to need, like access to your social media, that sort of thing.” I pushed the words out quickly before I lost my nerve. I was sure my taking control of his social media would annoy him.

  His face showed the battle he was having to not react to what I’d said. I presumed he’d agreed to my being here and taking on the role as his temporary assistant, but if the look he gave me was anything to go by, he wasn’t happy about it.

  Finally, he spoke. “Make a list of the things you need and bring it to me. I’m going to work so that you’ll have something to report back to Sarah at the end of the day. Who knows? There might be a gold star or a cat sticker in it for me.”

  He left the room, and in an effort to brush off his displeasure, I spent the next hour setting up my office. Seated at my new desk, I decided that there would be areas of this assignment I was going to enjoy. Other parts, not so much.

  I contacted Sarah and had a lengthy back and forth via email with her about the things she wanted me to do. Her first question was: Is he writing? I told her he absolutely was, though I honestly had no idea what he was doing. For all I knew, he could have been sitting in the tower knitting a scarf.

  When I’d finished with Sarah, I spent the next hour going through her requests and making up a list for Stone. I printed it off and went to find him. Without established rules around his writing, I had no idea whether he didn’t want to be disturbed or if there were certain times I could and couldn’t enter his office.

  My heart gave two anxious beats for every
step I took up the stairs to the tower room. The door was closed, so I knocked, waited, listened, knocked again. I pressed my ear against the door, breathing in the scent of aged wood and varnish, and couldn’t hear a thing.

  Finally, I called out. “Mr. Logan, are you in there?” There was no response. Perhaps he worked while listening to music, with noise canceling headphones or something. The door was unlocked, so I cracked it open a few inches, then pushed it wide. Stone wasn’t there, and although I didn’t want to intrude on his private domain, I did take a moment to have a good look at the place where the magic of those books had come to fruition.

  The desk was a mess, not a single drawer properly closed, and papers and coffee mugs were strewn about. His laptop slept. A stack of books partially hid a photo of Lily Clarke on a sun lounger, one leg bent up, her hands rising as if to cover her laughing face. It was candid, and she looked stunning. There were what looked like x-kisses drawn in lipstick on the glass. Bookcases lined the walls, along with more photos of Stone with various celebrities he seemed to be friendly with. A large leather armchair was the only other furniture in the round tower room.

  I closed the door and decided to search the house. I called his name a few times, feeling uneasy about poking into too many rooms, wary about coming across his bedroom, but it soon became clear he wasn’t around. The jeep blocked the driveway, so even if he had another car, he hadn’t used that. I stepped out onto the back patio and set off for the small gate at the bottom of the garden. Through that, I could see a set of footprints on the river bank. Without much thought, I followed them.

  I was heading in the opposite direction of Stone’s closest neighbor. This direction, the next house seemed about a mile away. The acrid smell of smoke hit me before I could see it, and as I rounded a group of trees, a figure just ahead came into view.

  Stone was messing about with a trash can that contained a blazing fire. I quickened my pace, my phone in my hand, ready to call 911.

  “Is everything okay?” I called out.

  Stone appeared to be stoking the fire rather than trying to put it out. He didn’t respond to me, though I’m sure he’d heard. My heart sank as he took a swig from a bottle, then poured some of the contents into the fire, causing a fresh eruption of flames before he finally looked at me.

  “Poppins, you found me. How about a drink?” He brandished the whiskey bottle at me.

  I approached cautiously. Had he gone mad?

  “What are you doing, Mr. Logan? I’m sure there are some ordinance rules which say you can’t set fire to trash cans. Tell me it wasn’t you who set this fire. Do you need help putting it out?” I waved my phone at him as if it would perform magic and make whatever was going on here go away.

  Stone crouched again, and it was then I saw the stack of A4 paper. He took a handful, feeding a sheet into the fire. “What’s with the phone, Poppins? You going to film me or something? Make a hell of a cute video for Facebook: Stone Logan’s latest manuscript going up in flames.”

  Oh, shit. Day one, epic fail. “Put down the papers, please?” Even I could hear the panic in my voice.

  “Sure,” he said, and dropped the handful into the fire. He took his whiskey again, another swig, another splash into the fire. “You’d think this shit was flammable enough to burn on its own,” he muttered. “But, nope, it needs a little help from Jack to make it flame.”

  I knew this job would entail putting out fires, but this was ridiculous. “You need to stop doing that right now. Step away from the fire, please, Mr. Logan.” I sounded like a poor impersonation of a police officer.

  Stone just continued feeding in the pages.

  I took another step forward, coughing as a lift in the breeze caused the smoke to envelop me. My eyes stung and my throat burned, but seeing that manuscript go into the fire was like watching my future go up in flames.

  “For God’s sake, Mr. Logan, you’re acting like a child.”

  He stopped and considered me through the haze. I’d won. I’d stopped him. We challenged each other, neither daring to look away until I could stand the smoke no longer.

  “I guess that’s why they hired me a nanny,” he said.

  I rubbed my smarting eyes, stepping away from a fresh plume of smoke to secure the remaining papers. Stone was quicker, though, and he grabbed them up before I got there.

  “Keep your hands off my words, Poppins. I get to say what happens to these. Not you. Not Sarah Bitch-Duncan. Not the fucking publishers, but me. Say bye-bye now.”

  Together, we watched the papers singe, curl, and come to life for a short moment in the orange flame before they turned into dancing black wafers. They lifted, floating on the hot thermal air, then settled to the bottom of the trash can.

  “All gone. I think that deserves a celebration. Care to join me?” he asked, pushing the bottle at me.

  “I don’t drink at this time of the day, and I don’t think you should, either.”

  “They’re not paying you to judge me.”

  I ignored him. A man who’d been drinking and burning manuscripts clearly wasn’t in any sort of mind to be reasonable. Sarah would stroke out if she knew what we’d been doing. The best idea would be to encourage Stone back to the house before anyone caught him out here drunk, setting off a new scandal. Then I’d get hold of a copy of the manuscript for safekeeping.

  Time to take charge. “If you’ve finished cooking the book, we should get back to work.”

  “Are you going to hold my hand to make sure I don’t run off?”

  “If you insist on behaving like a child, I’ll treat you like one.”

  “Fighting words, Poppins,” he said, reaching out his hand. “Take me home. I need to be punished. Did you bring your birch?”

  For the love of God. In half a day, we’d been reduced to this. Maybe it was because the cocky guy for the moment seemed lost and vulnerable, but against my better judgment, I took his hand. Warm and dry, it completely engulfed mine, and he gave my hand a gentle squeeze as we set off back to the house.

  Along the way, he took another swig from the whiskey bottle.

  “At the risk of becoming a nag, you need to give me the bottle.”

  “I knew I could corrupt you, Poppins, but I didn’t realize it would happen so soon.” He pulled his hand out of mine. “Here, let me clean the top. We don’t want you catching boy germs.”

  I shook my head as Stone used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the mouth of the bottle. Again, the appearance of the ripple of muscle exposed on his lower torso caught my eye. He might be a drunk today, but he obviously took better care of himself at other times.

  “Hold this.”

  He handed me the bottle and lifted his shirt, displaying the total package. Rigid abs, heroic chest and broad shoulders…hell.

  “Noticed you watching the sneak preview. Thought you might enjoy the full screening.”

  “You thought wrong,” I said, turning away. “You need to understand what we have going on here. I’m your assistant. Flashing your...your stomach at me is harassment.” I flapped my hand as if trying to shoo him away. My cheeks felt like another fire had ignited. Being in the presence of Stone was like flying too close to the sun.

  Stone dropped his t-shirt and shrugged. “You’re the first to complain. Usually, women think keeping it hidden is the crime. Perhaps you’re not suited to working with me. You do know that you’re free to leave whenever you want.”

  I left him on the path and started walking. At no stage had I imagined this job would be easy, and I wasn’t giving up. Sarah would have a fit if she knew how our first few hours had gone, which simply meant there was room for improvement. Surely, the only way from here was up. Stone thought he could push me around, but I refused to stoop to the level of a fawning fangirl. This was business, and my future depended on it. Once he was sober, we would have to have the talk.

  “Hey. Wait up. If you’re not going to drink that whiskey, can I have the bottle back?”

  I spun around and
faced him, faced the handsome double-dimpled grin that he used like a freaking lawnmower, smoothing his path through life. That was the moment I decided to be the rock that chipped his sharp spinning blade. I tipped the whiskey into the grass and handed him the empty bottle. “It’s all yours.”

  His grin just broadened as he took it. “Oh, Poppins, you’re trouble, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I love trouble.”

  Wow. Victory defeated. “And you can stop calling me Poppins.” The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. My contempt for his stupid nickname only served to give him more ammunition to get under my skin.

  “You prefer Nanny?”

  “My name is Katrina, Mr. Logan, and I am your personal assistant.”

  “And my name’s Stone, Kit-Kat.”

  Kit-Kat. Even worse.

  “Katrina,” I muttered, walking off.

  He tugged on my braid, startling me. “Kit-Kat Poppins,” he whispered in my ear.

  I didn’t realize he’d caught me up, and what was worse, he’d gotten so close that his breath ruffled my hair when he spoke. My ear tingled, and a brief shiver ran a circuit around the nerves at the top of my spine.

  “I noticed that,” he said, his finger tapping right at that point at the base of my neck.

  I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

  I’d learned years ago how to pick my battles, and this was one I wasn’t going to win. Stone would call me whatever he wished, and every reaction I gave him would egg him on. I guessed that like a child, he’d tire of the game once it no longer worked for him. Within days, I was certain, he’d be calling me Katrina.

  We finished the walk in silence, and as we stepped onto the patio, I had this unnerving feeling about being alone with him in his house. A vision of Stone shirtless, pushing me against a wall, and devouring my mouth while saying all those filthy things he wrote in the books made my breathing unsteady. I’d never been kissed in the way he described in his stories, and I could only pray that the vision I’d had was fleeting and wouldn’t descend to something more erotic.