“Parole?” I nearly sit up at that, but Ozzie’s strong arms hold me down.
“Yes, parole. She is a convicted felon.”
“Whoa.” I probably should have known that before I antagonized her so much. “What did she do?”
“She killed someone. A man.”
“I . . . errr . . .” I’m finding it hard to say what I’m thinking. “I can’t see her doing that. I mean, she’s tough and she’s hard, but she never struck me as being so cold-blooded.”
“She’s not. She was a victim of pretty severe domestic violence that started when she was fifteen. She killed her abuser during one of his attacks. It was self-defense, but she was convicted of manslaughter.”
“Why?”
“Because she . . . well . . . she did a really good job of killing him, let’s just put it that way.”
“Wow.” Of course I’m curious as hell about the details, but I’m not going to press for them. I know how much a sacrifice of her privacy this was in the first place. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I respect her for sticking up for herself. I’m glad she killed him well.
At the same time, I’m glad I didn’t kill David Doucet. Giving him a concussion is bad enough. I don’t think I could end a person’s life without being tortured over it for the rest of my life. Maybe that’s why Toni seems so angry. Maybe she’s having a tough time with that too. I renew my dedication to become her friend, now that I know I’ll definitely be staying here at Bourbon Street Boys and that she didn’t sleep with my boyfriend.
“Are you my boyfriend, Ozzie?” I feel silly saying it, but I need to know.
“Do you want me to be?”
“Yes. But it doesn’t matter just what I want. We both have to be on board.”
He chuckles. “I’m on board.”
“But I don’t want people at work knowing.”
“Fine by me. Either way.”
“Because it wouldn’t be professional.”
“What wouldn’t be professional?” he asks, rolling over on top of me.
“Us being intimate. At work.” I can’t stop smiling up at his handsome face.
He leans down and kisses me ever so gently on the lips. “I agree one hundred percent.”
I slide my hands up his back and revel in all the muscles I feel there. “So you should probably stop kissing me, then.”
He kisses me on the lips again. “This isn’t work. This is my home.”
I glance at the door. “I’m pretty sure Dev and Thibault are right outside that door.”
“They’re in the kitchen, which is thirty feet from that door. And they’re not allowed past the kitchen.”
“Is that the boundary?” I ask, joking.
“As a matter of fact, it is. No one but you ever comes past the kitchen.”
“Not even Toni?” I feel silly asking it, but I do it anyway. I’m still in high school, apparently.
“Even Toni.”
I hug him hard, pulling him against me. “I love you, Oswald.”
“What if I grow my beard back?”
My face twitches as I try to hold back the giggles. “Let’s not test my love so soon, okay?”
He growls and buries his face in my neck. “You’re in trouble now, young lady.”
I laugh as I try to get away. “No! Not the five o’clock shadow cheek burn!”
He grinds his face against me until I start screaming.
“Shhhh, people are going to think we’re being intimate at work,” he says in a whisper.
I grab him on either side of the head and try to glare at him. “You’re mocking me. Cut that out.” The glare slips and I smile instead. I love that he’s so playful, but only with me. Everyone else sees him as this big, bad, commando guy who never jokes around, but I know who he really is: a big teddy bear who’ll do anything to protect those he loves.
“Do you love me?” I ask him, staring deep into his eyes.
“What do you think?” He grins at me, leaning down to kiss me again.
I turn my head to the side so he can’t get to me. “I think you’d better tell me if you don’t want me driving home tonight.”
He laughs really loudly and flips himself over, dragging me with him. I’m now straddling him on top.
“I love you, Little Bo Peep. Hope you can handle it.”
I reach down and press on the cleft in his chin. “Stop calling me that stupid name.” I can’t be mad at him for real. He just confessed his love for me. A love I already knew was there the minute I saw him racing up my driveway to save my life.
“How about Little Red Riding Hood?” he asks. “Do you like that name instead?”
I reach down and grab one of his nipples, preparing to twist it. “What do you think?”
He holds up his hands at the sides of his head. “Mercy! I beg for mercy. I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, just don’t give me a twister.”
I loosen my hold and sit back satisfied. “I think I’d like to be called . . .”
He sits up all of a sudden and then flips me onto my back once again. Looming over me he gets that sexy look in his eye that I remember from the other night. Electricity zooms through my body as I wait for his next words.
“I’m going to call you mine. May ‘Mine’ Wexler.”
“I don’t think that’s going to go over very well with the team.”
“Tough. You’re mine and I get what I want.”
I get a sly look of my own. “And what do you want, boss man?”
He climbs off me and lies on his side, propping his head up with his hand. “I want you . . . to take off all your clothes.”
“What if I’m too sore to have sex?”
“I’ll be gentle.”
“What if I’m too scared?”
“I’ll ease your mind.”
“What if I’m worried you’ll break my heart?”
“I’ll show you that you’re crazy to think that.” He reaches over and puts his hand on my cheek. “I don’t tell just anyone I love them, you know.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Just the girls who I want to stick around. Now get up off this bed and take your clothes off before something bad happens.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling too hard. “Something bad? Like what?”
He growls and rolls on top of me. I scream out a laugh that comes from the deepest part of me and wrap my arms around him. I’m going to drown in whatever he’s offering me tonight and wake up tomorrow in his arms. I’ve made my decision. He might have come to me as a wrong number, but he is most definitely the right guy.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elle Casey, a former attorney and teacher, is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling American author who lives in Southern France with her husband, three kids, and a number of furry friends. She has written books in several genres and publishes an average of one full-length novel per month.