Savage: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  “Mommy, I heard a noise.” He notices Leo and the sleepiness evaporates from his face. “Mr. Leo!”

  “Was just leaving,” says Leo graciously. He ruffles Roman’s hair and gives him a quick fist bump before looking at me, biting his lip. “You know where to find me.”

  43

  Leo

  There’s a knock at my door. It’s four in the afternoon, but I’m tired as hell. Tensions between the biggest families in Jersey reached a boiling point while we were gone. The Capobiancos have moved their operation from Chicago and set up shop in Jersey. They managed to get a squeeze on the entire dockyard shipping industry, and if rumors are true, they might be pulling in more cash than even the Morettis are with the shit they are selling to Mexican cartels. That leaves the Bianchis, who have basically been shafted in the whole deal. The other families just see them as mad dogs, too stupid to handle any kind of delicate operation, and it’s true. Not for the first time, I wish I could go back in time and drag Angelo away from these idiots by the scruff of his neck.

  When I’ve been working, I’ve managed to get someone to keep an eye on Julia’s apartment for me. When I’m here, I can’t seem to make myself sleep. I wake at the slightest noise or footstep in the hallway, thinking it could be a Moretti coming after Julia and her son. I think about her, and the few times I’ve been with her. I feel a little crazy when I realize how much I care about this woman I’ve probably only spent a few hours with. But fuck it. I know what I want, and I want her.

  Someone bangs on the door again, louder this time.

  I rub the sleep from my eyes, squinting against the bright sun outside as I move to open the door. Julia stands in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes unsteadily darting from me to the apartment behind me and down my bare chest.

  “You...” she starts, and then she frowns when she takes in the whole picture. “What are you doing, sleeping on the ground?”

  I glance at the bare floor behind me. I moved into the place three days ago now, but haven’t had time to get furniture. “Pretty much. If you came over here for a booty call, I could see if the landlord has a blanket we can borrow.”

  She makes no sign of even hearing me as her eyes dart down my bare chest and stomach, falling on my briefs. “You’re just walking around in your underwear in the middle of the afternoon?”

  “You complaining?” A smirk creases my face.

  She bites her lip. “I’m not doing this with you. I had to ask my friend to watch Roman for tonight because I need to know what you’re doing. What is this? Why are you here?”

  “I’m here for you,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “Well you’re about four years late for that.”

  I wince, knowing I deserve it. I still can’t help smiling a little when I see her face. “You know you do this thing with your nose when you’re pissed. Just a little wiggle. But you do it when you’re horny, too.”

  Her nose wiggles just slightly, and then her cheeks burn red.

  I laugh. “See? I can’t figure out if you want to fuck me or deck me.”

  She sighs, letting her defenses fall a little as she grins. “So I’m not the only one trying to figure that out?”

  I see the heat in her eyes, the way she takes me in. She wants to, I know she does. I’ve always been tuned in to women’s desires. I can see them so clearly they might as well appear in bright red letters on their foreheads. Right now hers would say “fuck me.” A few more words, a touch, a whisper, and she’d be mine. But would it last? That’s the real question. As much as I burn with a desire to take her again, I know she needs more than that. If I give in and take her now, I’ll just be what she thinks I am. That’s not enough. I need to show her I’m more, to show her I’m capable of being in her son’s life, of taking care of her.

  She bites her lip and takes a deep, shuddering breath. The moment hangs in the air like something tangible, something I could reach out and grab in my hands if I wanted. But I wait as it passes, diffusing into smoke. She deserves better than that. I won’t manipulate her, and I won’t take advantage of her. I’m going to treat her the way she deserves to be treated.

  “Well,” she says, snapping out of the spell.

  “Let me take you mini-golfing,” I say.

  She gives me an incredulous look. I can practically see her replaying the words over and over in her mind. “What?”

  “Mini-golf. You know, putt putt? Unless you don’t think you could beat me?”

  She crosses her arms. “Do you really think I’m going to let you bait me? You do remember I have a doctorate in the study of the human mind, right?”

  I shrug. “It’s up to you. But it would give you a chance to try and ask some of those questions you’re dying to ask.”

  44

  Julia

  Putt it in the Hole’? That was really the best name they could think of?”

  Leo gives me a serious face. “Nobody talks about my home field like that.”

  I can’t help smiling a little. “Really? Your home field?”

  He grins. “Yeah. They usually roll out the red carpet when I pull up. I’m not sure where they are. Maybe they didn’t want to intimidate you too much.”

  It’s a beautiful night out. The air is just crisp enough to mean I have no fear of sweating, but not cold enough to make me shiver. I threw on my outfit quickly, putting a tunic on over grey leggings. I have my favorite elephant earrings in. They were a gift from my mom years ago because she knows I love elephants, and wearing them now helps me remember what things were like before she was sick. I can still remember the anticipation in her face as she watched me open them. She’s always loved giving gifts more than receiving them. My vision blurs a little as the tears threaten to come.

  Leo looks at me, face growing serious. I expect him to ask if I’m okay or to force me to tell him what’s wrong, but instead he just puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder and pulls me into his side, wrapping me in his warmth and protection. I breathe in deeply, getting lost in his scent. I’ve never been good at identifying smells, but the way he smells makes me think of hiking through chilly forests and of sex beneath the stars. I blush. It’s almost impossible not to think about sex around him.

  He wears a t-shirt and jeans, but somehow looks like a million bucks. His dark hair is pushed out of his face, but a few stubborn strands dangle in front of his smoldering eyes. His powerful chest is clearly visible through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and I can even see the hint of his abs when his shirt lies against his stomach just right. It takes considerable effort not to slide my hands across his body. My thoughts still burn with the memory of how he felt beneath my fingertips, soft skin and hard muscle, perfectly sculpted.

  We step inside the building, which is built to look like an old, aged water-mill. It’s a little tacky, with Christmas lights strung haphazardly, but the trickle of water passing beneath and the winking lights of the city in the distance are peaceful. I wait while Leo pays for us and picks out a putter for me.

  A pang of guilt stabs through me. Roman would love being here, and yet I just made him stay with Lauren all night so I could figure things out with Leo. It hurts to think of it that way, but I know it’s partially true, at least. If I’ve learned one thing about parenting, it’s that doing what’s best for my child almost always means doing what’s hardest. It would be easier to write Leo off and refuse to talk to him. He’s persistant, but I know he would keep his distance if I made my intentions clear. I’ve treated plenty of stalkers and people with borderline personality disorder, and he doesn’t fit the profile.

  The strangest thing about Leo is that he defies my training. When I’m around him, the never-ending focus on ticks and word choice and body language fades into background noise. The only sense I get from him is an overwhelming impression of protectiveness and sexuality. Yet all I have to do is look at his tattoos and watch for the flickers of darkness that pass across his face to know why I should stay away. He’s trouble. He’s a criminal. He’s e
xactly the kind of man I should be keeping away from my son, so what am I doing here?

  We step outside to the practice green and Leo lets me take the first shot. It’s a flat, straight path to the hole. I sink mine in two putts. Leo lines up, squaring his hips, and breathing out a deep, slow breath. His eyebrows draw down in concentration. His eyes dart from the ball to the hole a few times before he takes a practice swing. He finally taps the neon blue ball and I watch with annoyance as it rolls straight into the hole.

  He quirks an eyebrow at me.

  “Shut up,” I say, falling in beside him as we cross through a narrow path between bushes to the next hole, which is at the top of a bridge over the winding stream that passes through the whole course. “You take this way too seriously.”

  “Shut up?” he asks. “I thought you would be trying to get me to talk.”

  “I don’t need your life story, I just want to know why. Why did you leave, and why did you come back?” I ask.

  “Because of you,” he says, kneeling to set my ball on the green.

  I watch him silently, not sure if he’s blowing off my question or answering honestly. I try to judge his body language for a clue, but he betrays nothing. He’s a single-minded man, always moving forward, never looking back, never hesitating. Normal people give away their intentions because they reflect, hesitate, or over-think. Leo just acts, unapologetically. There’s nothing to read or interpret except the words that leave his mouth.

  I look at the course as I line up my shot. It’s a snake-like set-up with a bulb at the end and an off-center hole. I can’t see how you could hit a hole-in-one, so I settle for aiming to get me as close as I can. I take my shot and drop my putter in frustration when the ball catches the first bend in the course and bounces to a standstill less than a fourth of the way to the hole. “Shit!” I purse my lips angrily, stomping toward my ball. I feel myself clenching the putter too hard, but I swing anyway, this time hitting the next bend so hard that the ball bounces backward, nearly landing right where it started.

  I suck in a deep breath through my nose, feeling myself fuming. I’ve always been competitive, and I do not want to lose to Leo. I’m about to swing again, probably too hard, when Leo’s strong hands take me by the forearms. I feel his chest against my back.

  “Relax here,” he says, running a finger along the center of my forearm.

  My tense muscles ease and relax at his touch.

  “And here,” he says, stroking my wrist. “Lower your hips.” His hands guide my hips down, brushing my ass into him. He moves his hands to my wrist and guides me through my swing, making the motion feel smooth and right. The ball clinks off my putter and perfectly sails along the hidden dips of the course, winding its way straight into the hole where it clatters home.

  “Yes!” I yell, turning to hug him and then pulling back abruptly.

  He grins. “Nice shot.”

  I frown. “It probably would have taken me five more tries if you hadn’t helped me.”

  “Yeah, well tough shit. You’re going to have to get used to me helping you. I’ll always be looking out for you.”

  My heart flutters and my stomach turns over. God, I wish I could believe him. I wish that was true. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted a strong man to be in my life, ready to help me and step in to shoulder some of the responsibility. Hearing him say it ignites an ache so deep in my chest that I feel like my breath is taken away. I wish.

  “Where were you all the times I needed help since you left?” I ask.

  He doesn’t look away. “Wishing I could be here with you.”

  “Where were you instead?” I ask.

  He looks down, eyes growing distant. “Doing whatever I could to keep you safe.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” he says, looking down and putting the ball smoothly. It winds perfectly through the course, weaving gracefully and then sinking straight into the hole.

  I glare at him. “Do you get a lot of time to practice miniature golf in your line of work, Mr. Citrione?” I ask.

  He walks to the hole and collects our balls, leading us on to the next course. “What is it you think I do for a living?”

  Something in his tone holds a warning. He tries to cover it with humor and that smirk of his, but I can see through it. This is a dangerous subject, and he may close up if I push too hard. But screw being gentle. He gave up his right to gentle treatment when he sauntered into my life four years ago, got me pregnant, and then disappeared without so much as a text. “I think you hurt people.”

  He looks thoughtful, nodding slowly. “You could say that.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  He idly checks his putter, making sure the shaft is straight. “Not everybody gets to build a life around what they enjoy. I think you know that just as well as I do.”

  His words cut through me. Yes. I wish I didn’t know that to be so true. Okay, wrong question. “Why do you do it? Why not do something else. Something legal.”

  “Why do you keep letting that asshole blackmail you into working for him?”

  His question is rhetorical. He knows the answer, but I say it anyway. “To protect my son. You still didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “So you’re saying you do what you do to protect someone. Who are you protecting?” I line up over the ball he drops for me on the green, hitting it without even thinking. My mind is still on Leo while my body just goes through the motions. I turn to him, not watching where the ball goes.

  He raises his eyebrows, looking over my shoulder. “Hole-in-one.”

  I turn, cocking my head in confusion. “I didn’t even…”

  “You’re a natural,” he says, hand grazing my back and sliding down just low enough to brush the swell of my ass. I think he’s about to take it further, but his eyes leave mine and settle on something that causes him to frown. I look where he’s looking and just see two men renting clubs at the main building.

  His touch triggers a heat in my lower belly that spreads, igniting dirty thoughts that I wish I could suppress. Who is he protecting? Is it another woman? Have I just been letting him play my emotions all this time while he really cares about some other woman?

  He takes his putt, once again scoring a hole-in-one by timing the shot just right to get it to go beneath the arms of a windmill. We walk down the green to retrieve our balls, but Leo stops beside the windmill. The arms woosh beside us, churning the cool night air so that I feel chilly for the first time. Somehow my back ends up against the windmill and he’s positioned in front of me, arm on the rough rock beside my head. His dark eyes bore into me.

  “I need you to listen to me carefully,” he says, looking past me toward the building where we rented our putters. I try to look but he moves closer, blocking my view.

  “What are you—”

  “Listen to me. I’m going to tell you as much as I can, and you’re going to have to accept that. For now. I left to keep you safe, and I came back for that same reason.”

  I narrow my eyes at him in confusion. “That doesn’t—”

  “And the people I’m trying to keep you safe from are here. Right now, so I need you to come inside the windmill with me.”

  “The windmill? Really? I thought you would have better pick-up lines than—”

  His face hardens in anger. “Look for yourself.”

  I follow his eyes to the path leading to the first green. Two men are moving through the course with putters in hand. They hold the putters like weapons, and they are dressed like dads on vacation, but they have hard eyes and hard bodies. They look like killers. I notice for the first time how deserted the course is. There’s an older couple on one of the last holes, but the place is otherwise empty. My heart races and I look to Leo. “What do they want?”

  “Come on,” he says, pulling me beneath the sweeping arms of the windmill and inside the shadowy room within. There’s a narrow door
that was barely big enough for Leo to duck inside, and a path of green where the ball passes through. Leo’s body is pressed against mine as we huddle in the few sparse feet of space that are almost entirely shrouded in darkness. The only sound is the creak of gears overhead turning and the woosh of the arms passing in front of the doorway at first. Then we hear hurried footsteps and low mutters.

  “Check over there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “...didn’t see.”

  I can feel Leo’s heart beating powerfully and slowly against me, then Leo is pushing past me. I turn just in time to see him deck one of the attackers. Leo and the man crash to the ground and Leo rips the club free from the man’s grip, back arching as he straddles the man and brings the club down on his face like a hammer on an anvil. The sound is grisly and wet. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m behind Leo, pulling his arms back and urging him to stop. He hesitates, looking at me, eyes wild for a moment before he seems to calm again.

  I’m relieved when Leo stands and the man on the ground rolls, groaning through his already swollen and bloody nose. The other man rushes Leo from behind the windmill, but Leo bends at the waist, reaching behind to grab the man by the shoulders and sling him forward like a sack of potatoes. He lands hard, bouncing on the artificial turf of the course. The attacker rolls, reaches in his pocket, and starts to pull a gun, but Leo is faster. My skin prickles when I realize both men are poised to kill. Leo’s long arm is extended, glistening chrome pistol pointed straight at the attacker’s head, but the man on the ground holds a gun toward Leo, too.

  I don’t know how he does it, but Leo holds his nerve, staring the man down, saying nothing at all for at least a minute. Finally, the man on the ground drops his gun. Leo moves to him, pulling his gun back like he’s about to hit him in the face, but I stop him with a hand on the shoulder. Leo glares at me, kicking the man hard in the stomach before kicking the gun in the nearby stream.