by Piper Shelly
Now he made me laugh. “I think I can agree to that.”
“You think?” Ryan nipped my bottom lip.
The tiny, playful sting had me surrendering completely. “Okay, you win. You’ll be the only one.”
He thrust his hand in my hair, holding me tight against him with his other placed flat on my stomach. “See, baby, that sounds a damn lot better.” He bent his head and captured my lips. My heart nearly exploded out of my chest. Soft, tender, he kissed me, but deep down the fire inside me burned hotter. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, demanding entrance. I melted and let him, savoring the game he started as we sat there for hours and hours.
Get a sneak peek into Piper Shelly’s
paranormal romance,
Her Game, His Rules
A Black Opal Books Publishing
She’s seventeen. She’s snarky. She’s trouble…
It wasn't nicking an expensive watch or diamond bracelet that landed Jona Montiniere in the clutches of the police. It was just a darn sweater. After her last spectacular misadventure, the streetwise teenager is forced to return to a mother who'd dumped her in an orphanage twelve years ago. The only good news of the day, the woman's days are numbered. Cancer. Jona can't be less concerned about her mother's suffering, but she's furious when the judge sends her off to France like a slave where she has to live with a family she didn't know about. Until she meets her mother’s young caretaker...
Trapped for seemingly endless six weeks in a manor resembling Cinderella's Castle, the budding friendship with Julian is the only thing that puts Jona off her plan to sneak away in the night. Gorgeous, provocative, and mysterious, he's everything her closed heart desires—
and he gives her no chance to deny him.
But just when she starts to trust for the first time in her lonely life, Julian awakens her mother from the dead with a simple touch.
1
WRONG TURN
I FACED A moral dilemma.
Take it…don’t take it…take it…don’t take it?
The soft cotton of the purple sweater in my hand tempted me sorely. It wasn’t covered with holes or stains, but perfectly intact, like nothing I’d worn since I was five years old. I could even rub the hoodie on my cheek, and the threads wouldn’t scratch my skin like the nasty gray hand-me-down pullover I currently wore.
Only the price tag stood between this perfect sweater and me.
I searched the Friday afternoon crowd at Camden Market. The place brimmed with people. Everyone was busy scanning clothes, jewelry, shiny little knickknacks, or small toys. The stand-owner had her back to me as she talked to a customer. If I wanted to nick the sweater, then it had to be now or never.
Take it?
“What’re you waiting for, Montiniere?” Debby purred in my ear. “Take it or leave it. But make it fast, because I’ve just had my hand in her till.” Her blonde brows waggled.
Debby Westwood was not my friend. At least, not in the sense of Hey girl, let’s have a pajama party and tell each other our weirdest secrets. I used to hang out with her. Her the-entire-world-can-kiss-my-arse attitude totally impressed me. She’d become my idol from the moment she rammed into me on Earls Court a few months ago. She’d been on the run from the fuzz for the theft of a pair of crocodile stilettos. Jeez, I should’ve known consorting with a criminal would only get me into shit.
Debby wasn’t a resident of London’s Youth center like me but spent her life on the streets. As for me, my warden, Miss Mulligan, allowed outings from the Westminster Children’s Home only on Tuesdays and Fridays. And I was lucky, because anyone under the age of seventeen wasn’t granted even that.
Praise my seventeenth birthday! I was ecstatic when I no longer had to attend group excursions. London was way more fun alone. No teachers, no rules, no nothing.
Just me. And this pretty purple sweater.
My grip tightened on the fabric. Thump-thump-thump. The sound of my heartbeat boomed in my ear, faster and faster as I got closer to taking what I wanted, though I knew it was wrong. My throat went dry. I had difficulty swallowing. The sound of my backpack being unzipped raised the hair on my arms. “What’re you doing?” I couldn’t believe Debby’s boldness. I swung around to face her.
She flashed a mischievous grin. “Helping you.” Covering me from the view of the stand-owner, she stuffed the sweater halfway into my bag. “Look at you. Your rags even scare dogs away. You’re lucky I spend time with you.”
I glanced down at my ripped jeans and tattered boots. Heat flooded my face. Even though Debby didn’t have a permanent roof over her head, she dressed like the queen of Oxford Street. If her slacks or shirts got dirty, she simply discarded them and stole new, brand name ones.
When I first met her, it didn’t take the girl long to convince me there was more than enough stuff for everyone. Debby’s Shoplifting 101 philosophy: The exaggerated prices people paid for high heels and leather jackets made good on the few pieces we palmed from time to time.
Like this sweater.
I kept my eyes on the freaky-looking stand-owner, dressed in striped tights and a straw hat, and waited another heartbeat before I shoved the sweater all the way into my backpack. She must have heard my heart pounding, because she turned around at that moment.
After staring for a second, she glanced down at my backpack. “What in the world—”
My gaze snapped to my bag, too.
Crap! A sleeve peeked out. An instant later, she pulled a whistle on a chain from underneath her collar, and her cheeks bloated like two tomatoes on a vine when she set London’s entire South End on alarm.
“Go! Go! Go!” I pushed Debby forward as I dashed away from the clothes stand.
“Thief! Stop!” The shrill voice echoed down the street followed by another alarming whistle. Heads turned our way. From the corner of my eye, I spotted two men in uniform stepping away from a kiosk and scanning the crowd. Of course, they were searching for us. My adrenaline kicked in, tensing every one of my muscles like an over-strung rubber band.
“This way!” Debby tugged on my backpack, almost tipping me sideways. She pulled me behind another stand with yellowed books and silver cutlery. There were more stands ahead, and shoppers turned annoyed eyes on us when we pushed through the crowd.
“Jona, we need to split up. They can’t catch us both.” Debby was breathing hard. “You go left, and I’ll keep straight.”
I turned to the left. A bloody dead end.
“You want me to play bait for the cops? Are you nuts? They’ll get me!”
“You’re not eighteen yet. They can’t nail you for anything.” Her hand curled around my upper arm. She shoved me forward as she scanned for the policemen. “Your teacher will save your arse. She does every time.”
“No! She threatened to let me rot in prison if I ever steal again.”
“Don’t be such a wimp.” Debby’s shoulder collided with mine, shoving me sharply to the side. My lungs stopped sucking in air. Mouth open, I pivoted to face Debby. Her evil grin was the last thing I saw as she vanished into the crowd.
“The brats have run this way,” a gravelly voice reached me.
I peeked over my shoulder. Bloody hell. They were fast on my heels. Their blue caps bobbed out from the crowd and moved steadily forward. I was perfect bait for them.
Not today.
Debby had kept straight on, so I angled to the right. Surely, there would be some chance of my getting out of this open market. The pounding in my ears shut out the murmur of the shoppers. My gaze darted over the crowd. Bobbing heads moved like waves. Dammit! Which way would get me out of here?
I stopped, trying to catch my breath, then pivoted. There was no thinning of the crowd, but the blue police caps came on, angling my way at a speed that should’ve been impossible in the packed market.
Beads of sweat dotted my face and the back of my neck. Miss Mulligan would kill me if I got involved with the police again.
I used my hand as a shield against the g
leaming afternoon sun. A dowdy overweight matron with an oversized green hat shoved me aside. I lost my balance, nearly knocked over a toddler with huge brown eyes, sucking on a lollipop. Instead, I collided with an old lady whose shrill cry not only pained my ears, but also gave me away.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I muttered, noticing her hunched back and the scarf wrapped about her gray hair. Her glasses sat askew across her nose, and one of her crutches had dropped to the ground. Quickly, I bent to pick it up for her.
“Are you all right? I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I ducked my head and adjusted the glasses with shaking fingers. My feet already bounced in the direction of escape.
“Get off, you nasty child!” The lady dropped the crutch to swat my hands away from her face. “Don’t any of you kids have eyes in your useless heads?”
That got me moving. I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled away, doing my best to dodge the oncoming pedestrians. A heavy boot with rubber treads landed on my fingers. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out in pain. Maybe crawling wasn’t the best way to move through a crowd as thick as Miss Weatherby’s vanilla pudding. I jumped to my feet.
“Move!” The same gravelly voice I’d heard earlier parted the crowd like the Red Sea.
“Riley, I got her!” said a very angry bobby.
The man leaped forward, lunging for my arm. My heart pounded. I spun on my heel, ready to dash away to safety, but instead bounced right into the solid, uniform-clad chest of my captor’s partner. He was smaller, and stout, but his grip on my shoulders was iron.
Fear had ice settling in my veins. “Let go!” I kicked his shin and wrenched free from his clammy grip.
The man yelped and hobbled on his good leg. People surrounded us like this was a stupid carnival, only they all had the same judging look in their eyes. Heck, they’d caged me in. My stomach slid to my feet. No chance of escape.
Oh dear Lord, I was in deep shit.
The tall officer ripped my raggedy backpack from my shoulders before he shoved me to the pavement. He dug his knee into my spine.
Brilliant. Just the position I always wanted to be in.
I thought my shoulders would pop out of their sockets when he wrenched my hands behind me. Cold metal closed around my wrists. The ominous click of the cuffs resonated in my ears, sending a red haze of hysteria through my head. Oh please, not again.
Debby’s first rule when caught shoplifting: deny everything.
Swallowing hard, I gathered what was left of my courage. “Leave me alone!” The words were muffled with my cheek grinding painfully against the pavement. “I did nothing wrong!”
My long hair caught in his hand as the officer yanked me up. I winced. This was going to end nastily. I needed a Plan B. Fast.
The officer named Riley rummaged through my backpack. Then he laughed harshly. “Of course you didn’t do anything, kid. Let me guess, you’re a kleptomaniac, and you’ve a medical certificate for legal pilfering in London?”
Making fun of me?
Debby had also taught me not to show fear in these moments. And she’d taught me well. I stuck out my chin. These jerks wouldn’t get the best of me. “Take off the shackles and I’ll fucking klepto your balls!”
“Watch your tongue, Missy. You’re in no position to threaten a police officer.” Riley gave me a hard stare. “Is this your backpack?”
I returned his glare with a snarl and exhaled loudly. “Nope. Never seen it before.”
“Ah, that’s funny. Because in it there is an identification card from the Westminster Children’s Home, which coincidentally holds your picture.” He held up the ID, grinning broadly. If he moved his hand an inch closer, he could’ve shoved the small yellow card up my nose.
“I lost my wallet last week. Someone obviously found it.” I fought to keep my expression neutral.
“Of course. And that person forced this bag on you then. Oh, and the sales lady stuffed this—” He pulled out the purple sweater and dangled it in front of me. “—into the backpack as you walked by her shop, right?”
I stared him straight in the eye and cocked a brow. “Shit happens.”
The tall man behind me grabbed my shoulder and shook me. “That’s enough. You’re coming with us.”
He pushed me forward. I cast a sneer over my shoulder. “How could I ever resist when you beg so nicely, Officer?”
The muscle on Riley’s jaw ticked, but he restrained from speaking. His grip on my arm tightened as he led me out of the market. Shaken, I walked alongside the officers with my gaze on the ground to avoid the curious stares of pedestrians. Their stares tormented me more than the steel cuffs cutting into my wrists.
Across the street from the patrol car, Debby-the-bitch-Westwood lurked in the doorway of a dirty gray house, with a snide gleam in her eyes. I stopped short, my anger heating my blood. “I hope you’re happy now!” I jerked my arm free from the officer and marched forward.
But Debby disappeared even before the bobby grabbed me again and pulled me back to the car. “This one’s mental,” he whispered to Riley.
Bearing down on my molars until my jaw hurt, I scowled at the two men.
The taller officer shoved me into the backseat and slammed the door shut. My body shook as the truth of my situation washed over me.
The officers climbed into the front seat. My gaze hardened once more as Riley inched the car into London’s traffic. “I always wonder what drives kids like you to steal.” The tall one curled his lips as he glowered at me through the cage partition. “Doesn’t the system provide you with all the luxury you need?”
I gathered my saliva to make a good spit at him. But that wouldn’t exactly help my situation, so I struggled to swallow my anger along with the phlegm. He wasn’t the only one in London who rated homeless children as lower than dirt.
“I get a kick out of riding in police cars,” I replied, my tone dripping saccharin sweetness. “It’s always the highlight of my week.” The steel around my wrists dug uncomfortably into my back. I shifted a few times, ending up propped against the door with my legs pulled to my chest and my dirty boots resting on the worn-out beige cushions of the backseat. The heat of early August had warmed the cabin like a sauna. In the stuffy air, tickles of sweat rolled down the valley between my breasts.
At a traffic light, my gaze drifted past a bus and skated over a black woman inside. She carried a baby, trying to cool the kid down with puffs of her breath. A sigh escaped me. She’d never let her child down and send her off to an orphanage to fend for herself. Her child would grow up in a cozy home, with a loving mother, far away from the kind of mess I was stuck in. Always falling into a pile of crap. I cleared my throat, trying hard to stop it from constricting.
Riley pulled up in front of a narrow, familiar brick building. Seconds later, he opened the car door for me. I decided my butt had grown roots as I scowled at his blotchy face. It seemed the heat troubled him even more than me.
“What? Does the Skillful Dodger need an invitation to get out of the car?”
“What? Is Mr. Donut actually referring to Dickens?” I pulled a wry face then scooted over to clumsily climb out. “You better read the book again, doofus.”
I bumped my head against the door frame. Pain exploded in my skull, followed by a shower of stars dancing behind my eyelids.
Just another bright spot in my crappy day.
“That serves you right,” Riley snorted between hiccups of giggles.
“Lord, let him choke on his laughter,” I mumbled, my gaze raised skyward. With my wrists crossed in the small of my back, I tugged up my hand-me-down jeans that always sat loosely on my hips.
The taller officer marched into the building, holding the door open like a gentleman. If only I had my hands free to open the door on my own and then slam it in his goddamn face.
Riley fought to keep up with my quick stride, but I beat him to the stairs.
“Don’t worry, I can find the way myself.” I climbed the steps to the first floor where th
e main office was located. Unfortunately, I had to wait for one of the oafs to open the door.
As Riley and his partner arrived on the first floor, my exaggerated sigh drew their attention. One flight of stairs had Riley gasping like a puppy.
The taller cop planted a hand on my shoulder. “No need to hurry, lass. You’ll face justice soon enough.”
I shrugged his hand off. “I’ve got news for you, Riley and Riley’s partner. I’m only seventeen. That means I’m not old enough to face legal punishment for a minor crime—like borrowing a sweater.” I gave them a wide grin, which didn’t come as easily as I had hoped with Miss Mulligan’s warning ringing in my ears.
“Borrow?” Riley puffed. There was amusement in his tone, but his pissed face confirmed I would be walking out of here. I turned my face away and exhaled, relieved.
Riley twisted the doorknob then walked into the office first. Shoulders squared and back straight, I followed him into the room with the high, arched ceiling. The sun shining through the narrow but tall windows blinded my eyes for a second, while the stench of sweat and police dogs bit my nose.
A handful of cops lingered behind beige desks, sipping from huge coffee mugs and chatting to each other. No one glanced at us, so I avoided the German shepherd sprawled out on the floor and strode down the aisle between two straight lines of desks directly to the reception.
Hip against the counter, I gazed down at the black-haired guy with designer stubble. His bright eyes stood out against the dark blue of his uniform.
“Hi, Quinn. How you doing? Sorry, I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid that right now—” I twisted and raised one shoulder, displaying my shackled wrists. “—I’m slightly indisposed.”
Quinn rubbed his hands over his suntanned face. The moan came through muffled and somewhat choked. “Shit, Jona, please tell me you were part of a sick party gag and now you’re here to get trick cuffs removed.” He peeked through the slits between his fingers.
