STORM

(Sex and Bullets #1)

By Jo Raven

Blurb:

Raylin is on the run.

Her father’s associates will stop at nothing to claim the money he owes them—including killing her. A last ditch ticket to Florida, a temporary house to hide in and no future to look forward to.

That is, until she meets Storm, a tattooed bad boy who is housesitting down the beach and doing repairs for the summer.

A perfect place, a perfect pair of strong arms, a spot of calm in which to hide for a while—or is it?

Drop-dead gorgeous, kind, and hot in bed, Storm may not be what he seems.

Who is the real Storm, and what is he hiding?

Raylin had better find out before the bullets begin to fly.

*** This is a New Adult Romantic Suspense standalone novel ***

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STORM (Sex and Bullets, #1)

Jo Raven

Copyright Jo Raven 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover model: Craig Gierish (http://www.risetoalpha.com/)

Photographer: FuriousFotog (http://www.onefuriousfotog.com/)

Cover art: Jo Raven

PROLOGUE

The house on the beach feels like it hasn’t been visited in years. Dust has moved in, burying the furniture—you’d think the contractor coming in every month would have noticed—and the garden is a damn mess.

I spent hours cleaning the pool, and now I’ve moved to the fence, beach-side. A couple of planks are loose and I’m nailing them back on, considering a coat of paint for later on, when I get this itch between my shoulder blades.

Someone’s watching me.

Shit. Pulling my cap lower over my face, I bend to grab another nail from the toolbox, and sure enough, I see her from the corner of my eye.

I freeze for a long moment, caught in a spell. Man, she’s damn pretty with her long hair, the heart-shaped face, and that sweet, tight body. I hammer the nail into the plank, securing it, so fucking aware of her it’s crazy. Chills run over my skin. Heat pools in my gut, in my balls and dick, and just like that, from one look, I’m hard and aching.

What the fuck.

I want to grab her and press her to this goddamn fence and taste her rosy mouth, feel her tits pressed to my chest, taste her arousal as I fuck her mouth with my tongue. I’d rip that no-nonsense little blouse off her to lick her skin, lick her nipples, suck and bite until she begs me to fuck her.

And then I’d tear off her shorts, rip her panties and thrust into her hot pussy until she scratches her nails down my back and screams, until she comes so hard she can’t ever forget me.

PART I: SEX

Chapter One

RAYLIN

A day earlier

Bang.

Bang.

The stones I throw hit the coconuts I’ve lined up on the beach one after another. Haven’t lost my touch yet, and hey, not much to do around here.

Wish I had my gun.

Wish I wasn’t on the run.

But wishing never got me anywhere, so I wipe my hands on my shorts and survey my new domain. The sand is gritty between my bare toes, and the seagulls wheel overhead, their cries too loud. The sun is too bright, the air too warm and humid, the beach too open and exposed for a fugitive like me.

Still, I don’t move. Truth is, I can’t run any longer. After hitching rides with potential axe-murderers, hopping from one Greyhound to the next, walking in the sun and rain, all the way to Boca Raton, Florida, I’m done. I’ve done it all. I’ve been traveling for weeks, and I’m exhausted.

I’ve moved far enough, I figure, to make them lose my tracks and have some peace, temporary as it may be. No matter. I need a break.

Been running for years, and I’m sick and tired of looking over my shoulder day and night.

Instead I’d rather look at… a man jogging down the beach?

I squint against the setting sun, shade my eyes with my hand. Yes, most definitely a man. He’s jogging by the surf, his long, tanned legs eating up the distance, the sun glinting on his short hair. He’s also bare-chested, and even from where I’m standing I can tell it’s an impressive chest, lean and muscular, set off by a set of spectacular shoulders.

Whoa.

Okay, I’ve made up my mind. I’m staying here until I decide where to move to next. At least the view is good. Given the guy lives nearby, that is. Lots of mansions on the beach, huge and impressive, like the one right behind me.

He’s approaching, his trajectory throwing him closer to me, and I fan myself with my hand as he pounds by, his jogging shoes sinking in the wet sand, the powerful muscles in his legs rippling. His gaze is focused right ahead, and he doesn’t seem to notice me where I’m standing in my old shorts and blouse, still stained from my long journey.

I gaze after him as he moves away from me again—like everything in my life lately. Helplessly I watch as the distance swallows him.

Hm… Great ass, a great back, broad and strong. Check and check.

Now wait a minute. That’s not what you need to be checking out, Raylin, girl. You should worry more about what you’ve just done, about breaking and entering and actually contemplating living in another person’s house. About sinking deeper into the mire you’ve been trying to get out of.

As if there ever was a chance of that. When you’re born in the mud, you can’t ever get clean, no matter how hard you try.

Reluctantly I tear my gaze off the man and turn back toward said house. White, tall, imposing. It was the poorest-looking in the area, which is why I chose it. The least conspicuous. I mean, it only has four bedrooms and five bathrooms, two kitchens, a Jacuzzi and a swimming pool, and a pool bar. Its owners are practically destitute compared to their neighbors.

It’s not a big deal, living here for a while. The people who own it have cartloads of money. A few more dollars in electricity won’t make a dent in their accounts, and I won’t be stealing anything. Hell, I’m not a thief, but I’m at my wits’ end here. Can’t run forever, and my wallet is dry.

Yeah, who am I kidding? What I’m doing is illegal, and I shouldn’t linger. I know that. But considering who I’m running from, this barely counts. I could stay two-three days, eat and rest. Make a plan. My plans are what’s kept me alive for so long in the mess that is my life.

And if that hottie plans on jogging every evening down this beach, well, I sure as hell don’t mind the bonus.

***

To be honest, I didn’t choose this mansion because it was smaller than the others I saw. It just seemed kind of abandoned—with plastic-wrapped magazines in the driveway and the mailbox overflowing, leaves littering the doorstep and the hedge overgrown.

Breaking into the house wasn’t that hard, either. Not for someone trained by my dad and brother. I disabled the surveillance cameras, then used my bump key to open the back door. Why is it that people think of putting electronic keypads and security locks on their front doors, but ignore other entrances?