Page 49 of Stone: The Precursor

Instantly, I remember. It was the night I stood in front of him, while he sat on his bike, my legs still shaking from the vibration of the engine, and my nipples tingling from beingpressed into his back. I invited him before I issued my invitation, not wanting him to leave. Impressed and in awe of him and his power, the way he commanded the bike as we drove on the highway. Then I asked him up, and he was a complete asshole.

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

Before you rejected me. “Was there something you wanted?”

He doesn’t respond, and the air between us feels heavy. That damn penetrating stare is back. “Riggs said you need help.”

The only thing I need from you is an orgasm, but that’s not going to happen. “Jace will give me a hand if I need it.”

“It stinks in here.”

My jaw is starting to ache. “I’m aware of the smell. It’s nothing that a good cleaning and paint won’t fix.”

He steps closer, and my body forgets what my mind cautioned me against earlier. To stay away from him. I can detect the smoke and something sweet. It’s a heady mix. He must have smoked a cigarette before he came over. It’s the same smell that lingered on his jacket that is still hanging in my closet.

I shouldn’t waste his offer, but I have my pride, and he’s making it hard for me to downplay how his closeness affects me. Yeah, the faster I get him out of here, the better.

The stack of shelves I put together last night took me hours, but doing it alone, I felt a sense of accomplishment that I had never experienced before. They were pretty light when the pieces were separated, but once they were combined, they weighed a ton.

I may break my back, but I refuse to ask for his help. I meant what I said. I’m done putting myself out there. The sooner I start keeping my distance from him, the better.

“I have a lot of work to do. See you around.” I turn back to the paint can, ignoring him while I vigorously mix the blue-black paint.

He doesn’t want you.

He’s your brother’s friend.

Each sentence becomes a chant. Cleaning off the wooden stick, I carefully pour the paint into the tray, hating how my hands shake. I can feel him behind, but I won’t turn around. I set down the can and pick up my paintbrush. When the door shuts, I drop my tense shoulders and resolutely continue working.

Chapter 27

Walking back into the shop, I feel my fingers itch. My countess is still pissed, not that I can blame her. I was the one who rejected her. More than once. I was the one who rode away in the dark that night and went home to my lonely cabin in a rage instead of taking up her offer.

Everything in me rebels against her being here, but at the same time, I love it. She’s next door to me. I can keep track of her even easier, but that means I’m even closer to her, to her pussy, to that soft skin and those desire-filled eyes. The beast inside me licks his lips. Her proximity will make it a challenge, but it gives me even more chances to indulge in my obsession. My cock hardens at the possibilities.

The music starts playing. The same stuff she played last night. She was a wall away from me last night, and I had no idea. She just bought the space next door and is turning it into an art gallery. It fucking stinks and looks more like a drug house. The walls are at least 10 feet tall and covered in graffiti. I saw the paint buckets and huge ass rollers that are taller than her. I could help her paint, but I promised just to look. Just to watch. Getting any closer will make it harder to keep that promise.

Heading to our ancient coffee maker, I’m thankful that someone has started the brew, and I pour a cup. I sip, and burn my tongue. “Fuck,” I utter, slamming down the ceramic cup. Dark coffee covers the counter, and I grab some paper towels to absorb the mess.

I need to get some drawing in, create a few sketches, and then I can control my impulses. Minutes later, I’m furiously sketching. The sound of my office door opening has me looking up to see Riggs standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. I can see the bastard is itching to say something.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why the fuck are you standing watching me? Don’t you have scouting to do?”

“Yeah, but I also came by to piss you off before I head out.”

It’s working.

“She’s twenty four.”

“I know how fucking old she is, Riggs. It was in the information you sent me, remember?”

“That I did. She’s young, beautiful, and more importantly, legal.”