Page 93 of Still Yours
My ears lose all sound.
My mouth stops working.
Trembles overtake my body, and my knees buckle. Rapid blinks won’t stop the sudden onslaught of fire.
“Well? Can you answer me?” the same asshole asks.“Did he pay you to stay quiet?”
My lips peel back from my teeth. “Fuckyou!”
I rear forward to push him or claw at him; I don’t care which, the moment he presses record on his phone. “I take that as a yes.”
The last thing I see is his satisfied smirk before he’s ripped out of my eyesight and tossed to the ground.
“Stay thefuckaway from her!” Stone’s roar echoes down the street.
Stone comes barreling toward me, his chest heaving and his lips twisted with vicious ire. He whirls, pressing his back against my chest and covering me from the cameras.
Behind his protection, it’s safe to sob. I tangle my hands in his coat, bury my forehead in the fabric, and let it out.
He stiffens at the sound. The muscles in his back spasm, his body vibrating with renewed fury.
“I said back thefuckoff! Move!” he shouts, wrapping one hand around me as much as he can to keep me pressed against him. He uses his other to grab a man by the collar and toss him across the road, his camera clattering. “If you want to keep those cameras and your fingers, step away.”
“Hey, we’re on public property, man!” one says.
“We’re free to film you now that we know where you’re at!”
“She’s pretty, ain’t she? You think I can sell these photos and they’ll do a side-by-side of Miss Small-Town and Ravynn? Who did Stone do better?”
Air flies into my face when Stone leaps for the hapless paparazzi.
The other paparazzi scatter, half filming, half running away in terror. Stone didn’t become successful simply by being pretty. He’s muscled, fit, and has the endurance of a professional athlete. He uses those abilities to intimidate the paps to a distance, though they don’t disappear.
Even Stone can’t do that.
Breaths heavy, eyes concerned, he strips off his coat and covers me with it, hiding my face.
He takes my hand. “You’re safe with me.”
I let him lead me down the same path I had so effortlessly taken minutes ago. Where I’d felt safe and stayed comfortable under the advantage of privacy.
Now it’s all shattered.
“How do they know me?” My ragged whisper comes through the flaps of Stone’s jacket.
“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I’ve never mentioned your name. Not once. And you and I, we’ve done nothing in public.”
“Other than going to a couple’s cooking class together.” My stomach plummets at the thought of having to give up those classes. “Were we followed?”
“I don’t know.”
“And they—he asked—they asked about my…” It’s as if my body revolts, refusing to get the words out. “When I was pregnant.”
Stone grinds to a halt. His eyes flash as they land on mine.
“They know, Stone.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Impossible.”
