Protection: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance

by Wood, Vivian

  Earlier in the day, I watched as Elly greased the photog’s palm with a few hundred dollar bills before the wedding even started, but something about the cameraman rubbed me the wrong way. I usually trust my gut in matters like this.

  This guy was definitely not to be fucking trusted, not for a second.

  Thus began several hours of ducking the camera and giving Elly weird hand signals to keep her out of trouble in the form of photos. It really was too bad, because Elly looked absolutely stunning in a floor-length velvet gown just the color of fresh green buds on a vine. Her hair was styled in an elaborate braided updo, her lips painted a shade of red that made my lust stir again and again.

  I couldn’t help but wish I could get a single private photo of us — Elly in her dress and her heels, me in the tux she’d picked out. My hand on her waist, Elly leaning into me. Just like we were a normal couple—

  Stop, a warning bell thunders in my head. That’s never going to happen. Don’t set yourself up for failure and disappointment.

  Still, when I saw his chance to get close to her later in the evening, I couldn’t resist.

  I sidled up behind Elly during the reception to whisper in her ear. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Do what?” she asked, jumping and giving a startled laugh.

  “All this posed smiling is killing my soul.”

  “Ah. It takes some getting used to,” Elly said, sipping her champagne.

  I shrug and sip my bourbon. “For people who want to get used to that life.”

  Her lips pull down for a second, but she doesn’t argue.

  “Rose is being really well behaved,” she says instead.

  “Yep. It’s got me fantasizing about the way she might be after she gets out of rehab,” I say with a nod.

  Elly’s brows arch. “Yeah? No offense, but that sounds like kind of a tough sell.”

  I smirk.

  “I found a place that will take people against their will, let you institutionalize them.”

  Elly’s mouth opens, but she’s too surprised to answer right away.

  “Where?” she asks after a second.

  “Mexico. You get them on the plane, you call ahead, the place shows up and picks them up from the airport in a van. It’s not pretty, but…”

  “Oh, Connor. I don’t know. That sounds… I don’t even know.”

  I swirl the ice in my glass.

  “My mom died in a drunk driving accident,” I tell her.

  “I’m sorry.” The way she frowns, I can tell that she doesn’t know the whole story.

  “She was a crazy alcoholic, just like Rose. She was in and out of rehab my whole childhood, wild and unreliable. Mean, a lot of the time. My dad caught her hitting me one day, told her to pack a suitcase, she was going to stay with her parents until she straightened herself out.”

  I pause, blowing out a breath. “She snuck out and took the car, drove to the nearest bar, and drank herself almost into a coma. Then she drove out toward the ocean on the Pacific Coast Highway. That’s where they found her, what was left of her.”

  Elly bites her lip and glances around. I can see the tears glinting in her eyes as she flings her arms around me, giving me a hug intended to comfort. But there’s no healing some wounds, not even with Elly’s unique brand of affection.

  They just have to heal on their own, with time… if only I would let them.

  “Thanks,” I say when she presses a kiss to my lips and then steps back.

  Just as she’s stepping away, the camera flashes. I turn on the photog in a heartbeat, grabbing him by the lapel of his cheap suit.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I snarl.

  “I know a juicy story when I see one,” he says with a shrug. “And I also recognize a pop star and her boyfriend.”

  “That’s it, you’re out of here.”

  I turn him and frog-march him outside the hotel, making sure to take his fancy digital camera and delete the couple of photos he got of me and Elly. They’re not even vaguely incriminating, but I’m nothing if not thorough.

  I also toss his pockets, hoping to get Elly’s cash back, but no luck.

  “If I see your face again, I’m gonna rearrange it with my fists,” I tell the guy. “Get to moving.”

  I toss his camera back to him and point toward the parking lot. He shrugs and turns to leave. I watch him get in his car, then turn to the hotel’s valet.

  “I want to know if that guy comes back,” I say, pulling out my wallet and handing him some cash and my business card with my cell number on it. “He’s not welcome back to the party. Call me if you see him, first thing.”

  “Sure, sure,” the guy says eagerly.

  I head back inside and find Elly waiting for me in the lobby, hands on her hips.

  “It’s not a good idea to aggravate people with cameras,” she chides me.

  “It’s not a good idea for him to hassle me,” I tell her mildly. “Let’s go back in and get another drink, huh?”

  She takes my elbow, linking her arm with mine, and we saunter to the bar. Rose has vanished entirely, and I can’t bring myself to worry about her. Dad and Lacy are slow dancing together at one end of the dance floor, though the band has packed up and now it’s just pop music coming out of the hotel’s sound system.

  The whole wedding party has thinned out, so now it’s mostly drunk younger guests flirting and sipping the last of the champagne. Elly and I head to the bar and get a final drink, tipping the worn out-looking bartender handsomely. We lean our backs against the bar as he cleans up the bar, watching the party’s final moments.

  “I wish we could dance together, just one dance,” Elly says wistfully.

  I knock back my whiskey and look around.

  “Here,” I say. “Come with me.”

  I lead her across the restaurant, to the back hallway where the coat check and restrooms are. Elly giggles as I lead her into the coat check room, basically a walk-in closet with one of those swinging half-doors that’s open on the top, letting the music in.

  “Don’t say I never take you anywhere special,” I tease her. She rolls her eyes but takes my hand when I offer it and sweep her into my arms, pulling her close and leading her in a slow dance.

  It’s sweet at first, but of course it’s me and Elly, so it turns heated after a couple of minutes. Pretty soon her lips are pressed against mine and she’s in my arms, I’m pulling her dress up to her hips and pushing her up against the wall, my fingers teasing her clit through her panties as I think about taking her right here amongst the coats.

  Just as I’ve got her right on the edge, as I’m trying to decide between unzipping right here and now or somehow getting Elly upstairs to her hotel room, that’s when the camera flashes.

  The fucking photog came back. I look right at him, deer in the headlights, and he sneers. Elly and I both freeze, caught red-handed. I’m ashamed to say that it takes me a few seconds to tear myself away from Elly and chase after the bastard. The valet runs up to me outside the hotel, winded.

  He’s saying something about trying to call me, but I’m watching the cameraman pull away in his cheap beater Honda, tires screeching.

  “God fucking damn it!” I say.

  The valet puts a hand on me and I turn this murderous look on him. He raises his hands and backs off, the only smart move.

  When I walk back inside, my dad and Lacy have gone up to their room. I grab Elly by the hand and hustle her upstairs, but the damage is already done.

  I fucked this up, big time, I think with a sinking heart.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Connor

  “Maybe take it easy on the caffeine there,” I tell Elly. She shoots me a glare and sips another energy drink as we ride from one press event to the next.

  The radio interview we just did is on the radio in the car, turned on low. I can hear Elly’s voice as she laughs and flirts her way through the interview, dodging questions about her love life. I’ve forbidden her from talking ab
out me, out of fear that she’s going to provoke her stalker further.

  Maybe also because I’m afraid of the photos of us sucking face at our parents’ wedding coming out, but I haven’t said that aloud. Not to Elly.

  “You’re not the one who has to be on again in twenty minutes. The last time I did Good Morning Arizona, I was super tired and the hosts basically just talked to me like a dumb bimbo,” she says. She’s cranky, which isn’t like her really.

  To be fair, since our weekend away, the tour has been fucking relentless. This is day eleven without single day off, every minute of the day crammed with press events, plus a show every night.

  And I haven’t exactly been letting her get a ton of sleep at night, either. I’m not proud of that, but I can’t seem to fucking help myself.

  The second we’re left alone, I can’t seem to do anything that doesn’t involve ripping Elly’s panties off and making her come while she rides my cock.

  Damn, though. She does it so well. Just thinking about it now, I shift in my seat.

  “You have the day off tomorrow, huh?” I ask her. “And no show tonight, just press today. That’s not so bad.”

  She nods, but she’s elsewhere. She looks a little pale, and I wonder if she’s coming down with a cold or something. She’s seriously getting run down by the pace of the tour; given how hard she’s been working lately, anyone less energetic than Elly would probably be a corpse by now.

  “You have your b12 shot today?” Karen asks from the front seat.

  Elly wrinkles her nose and nods.

  “Yeah. I think I might have had some subpar tuna last night for dinner,” she says with a shrug. “I’m fine.”

  “You oughta take the night off, go straight to bed once you’re done for the day.” Karen says it to Elly, but she’s looking right at me. I find myself thinking that Karen’s probably never been fooled by anything, ever.

  This little fake couple, real life fucking thing Elly and I have been doing? Not an exception, and Karen is pretty openly disapproving.

  Elly ignores us both, tipping up the silver energy drink to get the last drops.

  “I want real food tonight,” is her only answer. “Like… a steak.”

  Her phone beeps, and she answers it.

  “It’s Brad,” she says, covering the phone. “I guess my last interview is canceled.”

  “Nice,” I say. Inside, I’m excited; I have big plans for us tonight. “Let’s get changed for an early dinner. Dress comfortable, I think we should go somewhere off the main drag where it’s a little more private. Take a real night off.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Elly says.

  In short order she’s been to the hotel, changed, and has reappeared in the lobby per my instructions.

  Perfect, I think when I see her.

  “Come on,” I say, taking her by the elbow and leading her outside.

  “Where’s the SUV?” she asks, shading her eyes with a frown.

  “We’re taking something a little sleeker,” I tell her with a wink.

  When I hand her a leather jacket and a helmet, her eyes widen.

  “Connor, no.”

  “Yep. Get on.” I jam my own helmet on my head and walk over to the sexy black BMW motorcycle I’ve rented for the evening. I climb on and wait, not giving her much of an option.

  When she slips onto the bike and wraps her arms around my waist, I grin and gun the engine. Elly clings to me as we pull off, thundering down the main drag of Phoenix, Arizona.

  The city is built in that chunky, optimistic 70s style that’s hard to find these days. It only takes ten minutes to get to the edge of the city from our downtown hotel. Soon, the big buildings are dropping behind us, then the suburbs.

  And then we’re in the fucking mountains, the bike’s little GPS screen leading us on and on. We thunder through the most beautiful fucking desert scenery for about an hour, winding our way through on a little two-lane road that slithers from Phoenix to Gila Bend, a sleepy rural town. And our destination, as it happens.

  I slow and pull the bike into the parking lot of a very distinctive looking diner; there’s a giant UFO on top, and the sign reads SPACE AGE RESTAURANT. I tap Elly’s thigh once I’ve killed the bike’s engine, and she climbs off first.

  Yanking her head free from her helmet, she looks around with wide eyes, waiting until I’m done locking up our helmets to talk.

  “This is… something…” she says.

  I laugh.

  “They’re supposed to have really good burgers,” I say to her with a wink.

  She shrugs out of the leather jacket. I take it, holding onto it for her. It’s a little too warm for it now, in the fading sunlight, but she’ll need it as soon as the sun sets. I did my due diligence about the weather here, and the temperature will drop as soon as the sun does.

  “It’s so beautiful out here,” she says, glancing around at the scenery as she stretches her legs.

  “Let’s go in,” I urge her, holding out a hand. She takes it without thinking; out here, we can hold hands and not feel watched or pressured or guilty. There are no paparazzi here, any more than there are PR consultants or other bodyguards or parents silently weighing us down with their judgements.

  We head inside. The girl who greets us is a young redhead, dressed in what I think of as a classic diner waitress’s outfit. Boxy blue 50s style dress, white apron, white sneakers. She recognizes Elly in a flash, and she turns red as a tomato when she takes us to a booth with pink plastic seats and a glittery white formica table.

  “Nice art in here,” I say to the flustered waitress as she stands there trembling, trying so damn hard not to look at Elly. “Elly, you like that one?”

  I point to this huge painting of the Roswell landing that’s hanging at one end of the diner. Elly is looking at her phone, being kind of oblivious to the girl’s discomfort; she nods at my question, chewing her lip.

  “It’s uh… something,” Elly says. “Can I get a Coke?”

  “Yeah. Of course,” the girl blurts out.

  “Make that two. You, uh… wanna give us those menus?” I ask.

  The girl flings them at me and then makes a run for the kitchen, looking half terrified.

  “Hey,” I say, tapping Elly’s hand before I hand her a menu. “Pretty sure that girl’s like your sixth biggest fan or something.”

  “Yeah?” Elly sends her a curious glance. “Sorry, I’m kind of… out of it.”

  “Are you looking for the photos again?” I ask with a sigh.

  Elly’s lips twist. Busted.

  “Yeah. I just know they’re out there, and it’s driving me crazy,” she admits.

  “How about you give me your phone?” I ask, beckoning.

  “What? No.”

  “Yeah. This is a night for us to hang out, El. I want to take you to someplace special after this.”

  She arches a brow; I can see I’ve made her curious.

  “Oh yeah? Where?” she asks. Her lashes come down to hide her pretty eyes, masking her thoughts.

  “Guess you’ll have to give me the phone so you can find out,” I say.

  Elly gives me a hard look, but I just cross my arms and lean back. I can feel her eyes on my chest and arms as I do, feel the weight of her gaze as she examines my tattoos. Her interest in them is kind of cute.

  “All right,” she says. “On one condition.”

  I let out a low chuckle; only Elly fucking Parsons would have the nerve to bargain with me in this situation.

  “What’s that?” I ask. She slides the phone across to me, her expression intent.

  “I want to get a tattoo.”

  I cough, sputtering.

  “Excuse me?” I ask. “I think I misheard you.”

  “Just a really small one,” Elly says. “To commemorate… the tour, you know?”

  “And you don’t want to do that with your backup dancers, your makeup artists, your costume designers…?” I wave a hand.

  “If I wanted that, I would�
�ve done it already.”

  She wants to commemorate with you, dummy, I realize.

  “I don’t think that’s a great idea,” I tell her.

  “Well, there’s a place right down the road,” she says, picking up her menu and scanning it. “I want to get a little tiny tattoo. You don’t have to get one if you don’t want to, I guess.”

  “Elly…” I start, shaking my head.

  The waitress comes back with our Cokes, looking shakier than ever.

  “Hi!” Elly says to her. “Are these Out Of This World Burgers really as good as they claim?”

  Watching Elly turn on her pop star persona is always disconcerting, but man does it work on her fans. The waitress blushes and nods, looking for all the world like Elly just asked for her hand in marriage or something.

  “They really are. I like the one with bleu cheese,” she manages.

  “Oh man, bleu cheese? My favorite!” Elly says. “Tell you what? How about you bring us two of those, plus the best fries and shakes you’ve got? You pick for us, huh?”

  I try not to heave a sigh when Elly snatches the menu out of my hands and gives it to our star-struck waitress.

  “S-sure thing,” the girl says. She’s shaking like a fucking leaf.

  It’s insane how much power Elly has over people.

  Then, look at where you are right now. How much power does she have over you, Connor?

  “So?” she asks, cocking her head.

  “You mean you want a matching pair of tattoos?” I ask, dragging my thoughts up from the dark place they’ve slid down into.

  Elly gives me a thoughtful look.

  “What about a tiny heart, right here?” she asks. Taking my hand, she turns it to bare my wrist, tapping a fingertip against a spot over my pulse.

  I narrow my gaze at her, wondering what the tattoo would mean to her. If this thing between us ends tomorrow, will looking at the tattoo make her smile or make her feel sad?

  Will she get it removed the second I’m out of her life?

  Somehow, I don’t think she will. The idea of making an indelible mark on Elly fucking Parsons is almost too tempting, and I give her a slow nod of my head.

  “Is that a yes?” she asks. A dazzling smile breaks over her face, and for a second I’m reminded just how fucking gorgeous she is.