by Stacy Gail
“The couch.”
Yep. “Are you saying you have a magical plan to shrink yourself so you’ll fit?”
“It’ll be fine. I’ve crapped out on it plenty of times while watching TV.”
She gave the couch another look. “The polite thing to do would be for me to insist on taking the couch and thanking you for the gesture. But since you were so pushy and brought me here without giving me a choice, I’m only going to offer token resistance.” She cleared her throat and gave him a bland smile. “No, stop. Please. Don’t be silly, I’ll be perfectly comfortable on the couch.” Primly she folded her hands in front of her. “Now, which way is the bedroom? I plan on sleeping comfortably tonight.”
“I get pushy when some numb-nuts attacks you when you’re with me,” he said, perfectly serious, and his somber expression made her smile fade. “When you’re with me, you should be safe, but tonight you weren’t. That’s on me, and I’m taking it very fucking personally.”
Yikes. “Look, I don’t—”
“I know someone’s targeting you, but like some shit-for-brains idiot, I picked a table by the window because I was hoping you’d enjoy the goddamn view.” His laugh was harsh and angry in a way that hurt her to hear it. “How fucking stupid is that? Don’t answer, because the cut on your cheek is answer enough. A dumbass slip like that will never happen again.”
“Styx, what happened tonight wasn’t your fault.”
“The brick? No. That shit came from the doomed motherfucker who threw it. But not keeping you safe is on me. I won’t let my guard down again. You’re up here until they capture whoever’s behind this shit.”
That was something she’d be happy to debate with him once the horror of the evening had faded a bit. “I really do want to take the couch,” she said quietly after a moment, and even she could hear the sincerity in her voice. “It’s more than enough for me.”
He shook his head. “You’re in my bedroom, first door on the right down the hall. I’ll just grab a pillow and blanket out of there, and I’ll be out of your way.”
Chapter Ten
Styx’s musk-and-soap scent teased around the edges of Sydney’s consciousness as she slowly surfaced. With a yawn, she opened her eyes and spied a small mountain of sneakers beneath a window awash with morning sunlight. Sleepily she stared at the unfamiliar shoes, three or four pairs all jumbled together. Where on earth had they come from and why she hadn’t put them away?
Then she remembered.
The Chinese restaurant.
The brick.
Styx’s apartment.
Amazing how she could forget something like that even for a second, she thought, yawning again as she rolled onto her back.
And discovered she wasn’t alone.
In shocked silence, she stared at Styx’s sleeping face only a foot or so from her on the neighboring pillow. While she was under the blankets, he was on top of them, huddled under a throw she recognized as the one he’d started out with on the couch the night before.
A wave of guilt tried to drown her, but she did her best to fight it off. It was his decision to just use the throw last night, she reminded herself firmly. And his decision to try to sleep on the couch. Obviously that hadn’t worked.
No surprise there.
As she stared at his sleeping face, she could just imagine the dilemma he’d been in—kick her out of bed while she slept peacefully, or risk freaking her out by sharing the wide expanse of a king-sized mattress. Clearly, he’d split the difference and passed out on top of the covers.
Waking up to that face, which belonged to a surprisingly thoughtful man, all added up to one thing.
She wasn’t even mad.
She was, however, fascinated.
Even in sleep, Styx still seemed to brim over with a kind of vitality that most people didn’t possess when they were wide awake. There was an unapologetic fearlessness in him that was intoxicating to be around. He lived however he wanted, and clearly didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought.
That was beautiful.
No.
He was beautiful.
And very, very close.
Inspired by that fearlessness, Sydney slowly reached a hand toward his face, smiling in anticipation as she imagined how the dark shadow of whiskers would feel against her palm.
“About damn time.” He spoke without opening his eyes, startling her enough to make her gasp out loud. Before she could retreat in confusion—for crying out loud, was he talking in his sleep? —his hand came up to catch hers, and his eyes opened to look right at her. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for you to wake up beside me.”
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” she whispered. If she spoke any louder, she feared the moment would shatter. “I'm awake now. That's what counts, right?”
“Hell, yeah.” He leaned in to kiss her, placing her hand on the side of his neck as he did. She thrilled at that wordless encouragement and curled her arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. The warmth between their bodies suddenly threatened to go nuclear, and she reveled in how perfect he felt against her despite their size difference. Crazy as it seemed, Styx fit her like he’d been custom-made just for her.
His kiss was slow and deep, and different from the others they’d shared in the past. There was an exciting familiarity to the taste of him and she adored the pressure of his lips on hers, but this time there was also a strange sense of belonging. Like kissing him was right. Like she was doing what she had been born to do. Like this was her true place on earth.
Kissing Styx was like knowing what it was to finally be home.
That couldn't be, the rational side of her brain insisted. Even while growing up, she’d never felt like she belonged. That wasn’t the Bishop way. How was it possible this man could so easily make her feel like she belonged with him?
It was crazy.
Everything about Styx Hardwick was crazy.
But crazy or not, she couldn’t deny what he made her feel.
“Before this gets any hotter,” he murmured against her lips, his free arm and leg coming to drape over her body still lying under the covers, “there’s something important you need to know about me.”
It took her a moment to realize he was suddenly in the mood to talk. “I knew I should have printed out my questionnaire. We wouldn’t be having this conversation now if I’d taken that extra step.”
“I doubt what I’m about to say was on your questionnaire.”
That cooled her blood like nothing else. If there was a problem… “What is it?”
“You need to know I'm a big fan of morning fucks.”
A rush of relief flowed through her. “That’s it?”
“I just wanted you to know where I’m going here. We'd better keep this cool if you're not on that same page, because make no mistake, Fun-Size—I definitely want to fuck you. I have from the first moment I saw you. But at the moment, that’s a problem.”
Problem? “Why is it a problem?”
“You’re here as my guest. That means you’re in my care. I don't want to take advantage of this crazy-ass situation. The deal here is that you have to want to fuck me, too. This isn't going to happen if you're not a thousand percent onboard this ride.”
“Ride, huh? That’s a good way to put it.” Keeping her gaze locked with his, her free hand tugged at the confining bedclothes, trying to get herself free. “I'm definitely onboard. Just let me know when it's time for me to, you know…get off.”
The sizzling spark in his eyes was something she could look at all day long. “Oh, you'll know when it's time for you to get off, babe. I guarantee you won't be able to miss it.” With that, he tore the bed clothes out of the way along with the throw covering him, and rolled over her like a conqueror claiming his prize.
Yes.
His mouth again found hers as his weight settled over her much smaller frame, pushing her into the mattress. She loved it. Dressed only in her undies and a button-down shirt she’d borrowed from Styx,
her legs were left bare. He was her exact opposite, with his torso naked and his legs covered in a soft pair of sweatpants. For a moment she wanted to hit the pause button so she could examine all the fascinating tattoos he had covering his upper body—most of them seemed to have some kind of nautical or law enforcement theme to them—but then he slid a knee between hers and rubbed his hardening cock against the juncture of her thighs.
Oh…wow.
A flashfire of heat whipped through her, and all at once she hated every scrap of clothing that kept them separated. They kept all of her from touching all of him, and that was unacceptable.
She had to do something to make it right.
“You’re wearing too much,” she muttered against his mouth, sliding a hand over his well-rounded ass to hook on the waistband of his pants. “Why you came to bed wearing clothes—when I was in it—is beyond me.”
A faint laugh escaped him before he kissed her again. “Look who’s talking, all bundled up in my shirt, with miles of material keeping you from me.”
“You're the one who gave me this shirt. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I was wrapping up a present that I’d enjoy unwrapping,” he said without missing a beat, and she felt more than saw his smile as he buried his face in her neck. “And I was right. I am enjoying myself. Are you?”
“I'd enjoy myself a lot more if we weren't wearing all these clothes.” Her last word ended on a gasp as he slid a large hand between them to tackle the shirt’s buttons, even as his mouth opened on her neck. When his palm molded around her breast and the suction of his mouth on her skin made the intimate flesh between her thighs throb with need, she couldn’t stop a low moan from escaping her.
Damn, he was good at this. Seriously, seriously good.
Nothing could have delighted her more.
She ran her hands over every exposed inch of him, eager to memorize each fascinating hollow and curve. She had spent weeks secretly wondering what he might feel like, and now that she had him beneath her fingers, she couldn't get enough of the reality that was Styx.
Cool air hit her torso. Half second later, Styx’s hands were there to warm her. By no means was she a curvy girl, but he didn't seem to mind as his hands slid from the subtle ladder of her rib cage up to her breasts. She arched into his touch when he boldly teased her nipples into tight, hard peaks, and she couldn't stop a small gasp from escaping her. Wet heat bloomed with a vengeance between her legs, and she opened her thighs wider, driven by the instinct to get him inside her.
The peal of the doorbell throughout the house was like a splash of ice water.
“What the fuck.” Styx raised his head from the hungry devouring of her neck and collarbone to shoot the bedroom door a murderous glance. Then he grabbed up his phone from the bedside table, and after a few thumbstrokes he swore out loud. “It's Trey, and he's in uniform. Swear to Christ, he's a dead man if this isn't abso-fucking-lutely important.”
“Seriously, you’ve got to stop threatening cops like that,” Sydney said, trying to sound normal, when all she really wanted to do was scream in frustration.
“I've never been big on doing the socially correct thing.” With another vicious growl, Styx hit the phone screen with his thumb. “Trey, you'd better be here to tell me the world is coming to an end, because that's the only reason I will accept you being at my door this goddamn early on a Sunday morning.”
Though she could only see the back of the phone from her angle, she could just imagine Trey looking into what had to be a security camera. “I'm on the job, man, and I may have some good news for once, so let me in, yeah? I've got to talk to Syd.”
In less than five minutes, Sydney was dressed in the clothes she had worn the night before, hair brushed, face washed, and teeth cleaned. By contrast, Styx was in his jeans and nothing else, his hair messy, his feet bare, and his face stuck in a permanent scowl. Not that she blamed him. The frustration clawing at her insides was enough to make her crazy, so it was a weird kind of relief to see that he appeared to be in the same boat.
“Okay.” With his mouth a grim line, Styx led Trey into the living room where Sydney waited. He perched on the arm of the sofa where she sat and rubbed a hand down her back, and he didn't seem to care that his brother’s sharp gaze took it all in. “You're here. Say whatever it is you’ve got to say, then go away. We've got better things to do besides yap at you all day.”
A corner of Trey’s mouth twitched. “You have no idea how it's killing me not to guess what that might be, but I'm trying to keep my shit professional. I’m in enough hot water with you on that score as it is.”
If possible, Styx’s scowl worsened. “And it’s getting hotter. Get on with it.”
“Right.” Trey cleared his throat and held out what was clearly a mugshot of a frazzle-haired older man, wearing an off-kilter Dr. Who bowtie, thick glasses and a brownish sweater vest. “Do you recognize this guy, Sydney?”
Styx took the photo and handed it to her for a closer inspection, but it didn't help any. That shock of wiry Einstein hair was something else again. “No, I’ve never seen him before. Why?”
“We found the Cadillac we believe was used to ram you on I-90,” Trey said, making her breath catch. “It had been reported stolen about ten days ago, and was left in an alley south of here, near Calumet Park.”
“Ten days?” Sydney frowned. That didn’t sound quite right.
Trey nodded. “It was wiped down extremely well, except for one partial print on the gas cap. That partial belongs to the man in the photo, Grover Wilson.”
Holy cats. “Even if I had forgotten the face, I'd never forget that name. Grover was my favorite Muppet.” Styx took the photo from her to frown at while she looked to Trey. “Who is he?”
“Grover Wilson’s a small-time career crook with a rap sheet that goes back since before any of us were born. Confidence schemes, defrauding old ladies out of their pensions, boosting cars to sell the parts overseas, that sort of thing. In his very early days when my dad collared him down in The Bush, he was known for his sticky fingers at various mom-and-pop stores.”
“But no violent crimes, like assault, or murder.” Styx shook his head, still looking at the photo. “Trying to kill someone with a car would be a new trick for an old dog, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think anyone believes that old guy was the man behind the wheel when Sydney got hit, but it doesn’t matter.” Trey shrugged, looking so pleased Sydney couldn’t help but let a little ray of hope seep through. “Since Grover Wilson’s fingerprint is on the car that tagged Sydney, we’ll do everything we can to hang this on him. That’s assault with a deadly weapon, and maybe even attempted murder. Once Grover realizes he might never see the light of day again, we’re hoping he’ll be smart and give up his accomplices in exchange for some kind of deal with the DA.”
“Do you have him in custody yet?” Sydney asked, holding her breath.
Trey’s grin brought another ray of hope. “We picked him up an hour ago. Dad was there to witness the booking himself, all the while letting good ol’ Grover know just how badly he’d fucked up, and how sorry he was that he was retired now so that he couldn’t have the pleasure of sweating Grover in the interrogation room. I think Dad misses the grind,” he added wryly to Styx. “As far as I know, he’s still at the station with Grover, trash-talking his head off. He sent me to tell you the good news.”
“This isn’t good news,” Sydney said, smiling so hard it felt like her face would split in two. “This is incredible news. Whoever Grover’s associates are will be so worried about him giving them up, they’ll forget all about harassing me.”
“Exactly, though it wouldn’t be wise to let your guard down completely, yeah? Like the wise man said, it ain’t ‘til it’s over, so be ready for anything when you’re out in public. And do me a favor and try not to go anywhere by yourself. If Styx isn’t available, grab a friend or coworker, or hell, even give me or my father a call. He’s a huge fan of yours af
ter last night, so he’d drop just about anything to get to you if you called for help.”
“Your father impresses easily.” Guilt squirmed through her at the thought of disappointing Arthur once the fake-girlfriend subterfuge came to its natural conclusion. She shot Styx a covert glance, only to find he clearly wasn’t suffering the way she was. He grinned at his brother, looking like he’d won the lottery and was ready to rub his brother’s nose in it.
“What can I say, dude,” he said and handed the picture back to Trey. “I’ve got excellent taste in women. Just wait until Mom and the rest of the family get a load of Sydney.”
“Better start planning your wedding now and beat them to the punch,” Trey advised, and luckily was too busy tucking the photo back into a pocket to notice Sydney's faint gasp of horror. “You know Mom and Tina are going to start babbling about wedding bells by the time dinner wraps up.”
“Here's an idea,” Sydney interjected, and wondered if anyone else heard the desperation in her tone. “Let's get through the whole people-trying-to-kill-me problem before looking for wedding venues. I have my priorities.”
“So does our mother, and she’ll be more than happy to move full-steam ahead with getting the two of you hitched while you're not looking, so be sure to keep an eye on her,” Trey warned, looking delighted at the prospect. “In fact, I hope she does. It'll keep her nose out of Maeve’s and my wedding.”
“Great,” Styx muttered. “Throw us under the bus, why don't you?”
“That's exactly what I'm going to do.” Trey’s chuckle sounded downright evil as he headed toward the door. “Tonight is going to be a blast, now that I think about it. See you there.”
“At least he gave us a heads-up,” Styx remarked after locking the door behind his brother. He started back toward her, only to stop cold when he took in her expression. “What? What's wrong?”
“What's wrong?” she repeated, hardly able to believe her ears. Did the man not have a conscience? “Your brother just basically said he thinks we should get married, and you didn't correct him. Worse, he promised he would encourage that utterly insane idea when it comes to your own mother, and you still didn’t say a word.”
