Broken Rules: A Stand Alone Romance Read online

  He simply nodded. And motioned for Ted to join them. “We would like to do a photo from this period.”

  Ted smiled. “My family has owned this booth for two generations. When I was a kid, this was my favorite time period, because the costumes made me look like my grandfather.”

  “It must have been fun growing up here,” Savannah said.

  The man smiled. “It certainly was. Now, come with me, Miss. I will show you what dresses we have.”

  Savannah twirled in front of the mirror. She wore a rose-gold shift-dress covered in layers of tassels, which shot straight out as she spun, revealing sheer burgundy thigh highs held in place with garters. Kitten heels and a feathered headband completed her outfit. She gave her chin-length blond curls a tousle.

  Then Damien walked back into the room, drawing her gaze. He wore a buttoned gray vest over a crisp white shirt and a striped tie. Black and white wing tips peaked out beneath straight-legged trousers. A grey fedora completed the look. When he tipped his hat to her, her stomach fluttered. His quiet, effortless confidence took her breath away.

  She smoothed her hand over his broad shoulder. “You’re the only man I’ve ever seen appear more dangerous in a suit.”

  He chuckled softly, drawing her close. “You look like a felony waiting to happen. He slowly ran his hand up her inner thigh. “Just checking for a hidden flask.”

  She smiled and angled her body, then drew her skirt high, showing him the outer part of her left thigh. “You just have to know where to look.”

  “Are you ready to pose?” Ted said as he entered the room. He pulled down a background photo with a black Ford model A.

  Damien laughed, the sound deep and rich.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “We’re Bonnie and Clyde. All we need are the guns.”

  “You mean like these,” Ted called out, his voice muffled as he shuffled through the contents of a jam-packed closet. An instant later, he turned, holding two plastic old-fashioned gangster machine guns.

  Savannah wrinkled her nose at them. “Not so much.”

  “Perhaps a glass of champagne as a prop for the lady and a pretend cigar for me,” Damien suggested. “You can be Daisy Buchanan and I’ll be Jay Gatsby.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Savannah beamed.

  “Wait for it,” Ted said excitedly as he began pulling down a new backdrop.

  Savannah squealed when she took in the painting of a lavish room with black and white tiled floor, gilded mirrors, and an extravagant chandelier.

  “Welcome to Long Island,” Damien said to her, his amber eyes filled with warmth. He cupped her cheek. “Your joy is always so immediate. You wear your heart on your sleeve, Savannah. That takes courage.”

  She rose up on her toes. “Call me Daisy,” she purred, pulling him in front of the backdrop.

  Ted dragged a faux leather arm chair into the frame. Damien sat down and reached for her. She perched on his lap and accepted the pretend glass of champagne from Ted.

  “Shall we smile?” Damien asked.

  She shook her head. “We have to look bored and completely tortured all at the same time.”

  A smile upturned the edges of his lips. “Bored but tortured. Got it. Ted, we’re ready when you are.”

  When they were done, it felt strange, leaving the dimly lit world of make believe and stepping back out into the bright sunshine and onto the busy boardwalk. She glanced down again at their picture. Perched on his lap, she absently fingered the long strand of plastic beads that hung down to her waist. Her head was tilted back, showing the elegance of her long neck. To her pleasure, she really looked “too cool to care” but with a secret glint in her eyes. Then her gaze shifted to Damien. The sight of him made her heart pound. Unlike her, he looked exactly like he always did. Effortlessly confident and impossible to read.

  “This is an interesting place,” he said at her side, drawing her gaze away from their picture.

  She glanced around at the vendors selling fried foods and a trio of tattoo artists working right out on the boardwalk. “I have to be in the right mood, but I love coming—” She felt him stiffen at her side and stopped talking.

  Following his gaze, she spied a small black SUV slowly moving toward them on the crowded main drive. He clasped her hand and quickly led her toward an arcade.

  “Friends of yours?”

  “No, but I know who those men are.”

  He stopped just inside the entrance, then turned. From a distance, they watched the car park.

  He looked at her pointedly. “It would appear that Joe’s post has started trending.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you, my client wouldn’t be the only interested party.”

  She strained to see through the distant tinted glass. “Well, maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe they’re here to enjoy the beach and attractions. People come up here in droves from the big cities.”

  The car doors opened, and three men clad in tailored suits stepped onto the sandy sidewalk. They were broadly built with black sunglasses and grim expressions.

  “Do you think they have speedos on under those suits or sand buckets in the trunk?” he asked quietly.

  She backed away from the sight of the dangerous looking men. “I would rather not see what’s in their trunk. Who are they?”

  “Thugs from a small operation out of New Jersey.”

  “Do you really think they’re here for the painting?”

  “No, they’re here for the millions of dollars they will be able to get for the painting.”

  Her heart started to race. She yanked on his hand. “Come on. Don’t let them see you.”

  “Savannah.”

  She looked up. His gaze held hers with firm persuasion. “No one knows who I am, what I look like, my name. You don’t have to worry.” He took her hand and crossed the street. Her heart started to pound harder as they drew closer to the well-dressed criminals. Damien didn’t falter. He walked right by the men. They were so close that Savannah could smell their cologne.

  When they reached the end of the block, Damien led her down the stone stairs onto the beach.

  He squeezed her hand as he walked with her toward the waves. “I’m nothing, Savannah, less than a shadow or a fleeting wave cresting upon the shore.”

  She wove her arm through his. “Maybe to the rest of the world—but to me you’re real.” Her gaze was suddenly drawn over his shoulder to a man walking the stretch of sandy beach, waving a metal detector back and forth. The man’s thin buttoned-down shirt and polyester pants were a dead giveaway. She shuddered as she took in the sight of Skeevy Stevie’s pants rolled up above his bony knees. His pasty white calves gleamed in the sun.

  “Someone you know,” Damien asked following the direction of her gaze.

  She grimaced. “He’s a new regular. It’s just weird to see him not clutching a whisky and soda in his fist.” She turned away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get distracted. The guy rubs me the wrong way. Anyway, I hate the idea of you being in danger.”

  He shifted his gaze and stared out to sea. In a low voice, he said, “I’m not the one who’s in danger.” He turned to face her. “Your boss is. Listen, I’m going to have to make a play for the painting...tonight.”

  She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. “No, please don’t. I was all for you taking it yesterday but that was before the cementing crew showed up.”

  “Listen, Savannah, if I steal the painting tonight, Joe will discover it’s missing and call the police. The story will go public tomorrow, and those guys will know they’re too late. Then they’ll head back to Jersey.”

  She swallowed hard. Her head was spinning. “I think I need to sit down.”

  He led her back to the boardwalk to a large monument of a woman carved from granite, her steadfast gaze watching the waves. The statue commemorated the men and women lost at sea during the second world war. She sat down on the bench and tilted her head back, inviting th
e cool rush of wind barreling off the waves.

  Damien sat beside her and took her hand in his. “Listen, I know you’re scared, but everything is going to be all right.”

  “You promise?” she asked weakly.

  He nodded. “I promise.” Then he stood up. “Let’s head back. I have to get ready for tonight.”

  She took a deep breath and stood up. “Let me come with you. I can help.”

  He started to shake his head.

  “Please,” she said, trying to quell the tremor of nerves rattling her voice. “I have to work in a few hours. Let me just stay with you until then.”

  Driving her Jeep, she followed him out to his loft in the derelict mill. There, she sat on the floor and watched his deliberate moves. The lightness in his countenance, to which she had grown accustomed, was gone. There was a deftness to each of his movements and a hard set to his jaw. Watching him open the sleek, black case, she fisted her hands to keep from gasping at the sight of his gun and an assortment of high-tech gadgets.

  She shivered as the harsh reality of who Damien really was settled over her.

  “What time does your shift start?” he asked stiffly.

  “A little over an hour from now.”

  “Will Joe be there?”

  She nodded.

  “When does he typically leave?”

  “After the dinner rush, like nine or nine-thirty.”

  He shook his head. “That’s too soon. Keep Joe at the restaurant. Can you do that?” he asked, turning hard amber eyes on her.

  She swallowed, her heart pounding with fear, but she managed to nod and say, “I can do it.”

  He stripped his T-shirt off. Her eyes scanned the shifting and taut ridges of his chest and abs as he pulled on a thin vest.

  She reached out a tentative hand and touched the strange fabric. “Is this...” her words trailed off.

  “Yeah, it’s Kevlar.”

  Nodding, she took a deep breath.

  Some women watched their men getting ready for work, knotting their ties, polishing their shoes, or pulling on heavy work boots. Meanwhile, her boyfriend was strapping on his bullet proof vest just in case...everything went wrong!

  “Oh my God,” she muttered, her pulse racing.

  He stopped loading gadgets into the slots of his black utility belt.

  When he looked at her, his hard face softened. “Listen, Savannah. Why don’t you head to work. You don’t want to be late.” He cupped her cheeks with both hands. “I told you once that I never bullshit. Do you remember that?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “I mean that.”

  Biting her lip, she looked down, but he crooked his thumb beneath her chin, demanding her gaze. Confidence upturned the corner of his lips as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers. She swallowed the plea to forget the whole idea as she clung to him and kissed him with her whole heart.

  He gently broke away, ending their kiss. “Get going,” he said softly.

  She took a deep breath and backed up, unwilling to tear her gaze away from his beautiful face. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to tell him to forget it all. They could just get in her Jeep and drive until the world fell away.

  But then an imaginary newspaper article flashed in her mind’s eye of what the future could hold...

  Local Restaurateur, Joseph Wilder, Murdered

  Joseph Wilder, owner of The Cove in Rye Beach, New Hampshire, was shot point-blank by Jersey mafia thugs...although one woman, Savannah Honey, might have been able to prevent it all...

  She took another deep breath, steeled her shoulders, and began her descent down the rickety ladder. Resisting the urge to race back to his side, she climbed into her Jeep and drove away. Fear tore through her, tightening her chest, for she knew that if something...anything went wrong, she may never see Damien again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Damien’s breath felt hot and damp against the inside of his balaclava as he moved silently through Joe’s house. His night-vision glasses painted everything in the luxury beach house green. Passing through the kitchen, he headed straight for the formal dining area where he knew Joe had hung his newest so-called heirloom. And there it was...centered on the wall above the mantle. Damien crossed to stand in front of the Dutch painter’s work. Typical Vermeer, the piece featured a lady writing a letter at her desk with her maid looking on. Even cast in green light, Damien admired the artist’s realistic figures and his use of shadow to create an atmosphere of mystery. Leaning the slim case he carried against the wall, he reached for the painting.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  Damien froze, feeling the barrel of a gun against his temple.

  “IT’S SLAMMING TONIGHT,” Roger said, crossing behind Savannah who was pouring a pint of stout.

  “Thanks again for coming in.” She set the pint down to settle before she topped off the thick brew. “I know you must have put aside a mountain of work to be here on a week day.”

  “I detected a note of desperation in your voice when you called to ask me to come in.” Roger smiled. “I think you just missed me. Anyway, look at this,” he said, holding a fifty dollar bill between his two hands. “She told me to keep the change. So, whatever is going on that you don’t want to talk about, I think your luck is changing.”

  Savannah forced a smile to her lips. “I love bartending with you—those big brown eyes and megawatt smile are going to earn me the down payment on a sailboat tonight.” She squeezed his hand. “Thanks for coming in. Just having you here makes me feel better.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

  What would she tell him? My new boyfriend is robbing our boss tonight so that scary, murderous thugs don’t rob him instead.

  “I’m just having an off day. Really,” she said when he cocked a skeptical brow at her. “Take a hint, Roger and change the subject.”

  His face softened. “So...speaking of sailboats, when is the next world cup race?”

  She smiled. “The end of next month, but I’m counting the days.” Turning, she placed the full pint of stout on the bar in front of a guy with glossy curls and a muscle-hugging T-shirt. “Can I get you anything else?”

  A deliberately slow smile lifted one side of his lips. “Yeah, I’ll take a tall glass of you.”

  “Not on the menu, asshole,” she snapped, then whirled away.

  “Less bitch, more charm,” Joe barked as he ducked beneath the bar. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

  “I was just asking her that,” Roger chimed in.

  “Nothing,” she said too quickly. Unlike Roger, Joe didn’t try to gently coax the truth out into the open. He couldn’t care less about her troubles—even though, unbeknownst to him, he was at the heart of it all.

  “Good,” Joe said dismissively. “Then get it together and start making some drinks before the girls come back here and strangle you.”

  She looked over at the far side of the bar where five servers waited, Brandi and Esme in the lead, both looking at her with unconcealed desperation.

  “Sorry!” She rushed to the service side of the bar and seized the line of paper orders from the computer that was so long it nearly hit the floor.

  “I love you, Savvy, but you’re killing me,” Brandi groaned.

  Savannah straightened her shoulders and got to work, forcing the reality of what was happening at her boss’s house out of her mind.

  “I’m going up front to help the hostesses,” Joe barked. “We still have a forty-minute wait.”

  In a panic, she remembered the one thing Damien had asked her to do. She had to make sure Joe didn’t duck out early. “Hey, Joe,” she called after him.

  He stopped and turned.

  “I have to talk to you. Don’t leave without seeing me first.”

  “Great,” he said dryly. “I can’t wait.”

  “Why do you have to meet with Joe?” Roger asked.

  “Just restaurant stuff,”
she answered, although she had no idea how she would distract her boss, and at that moment she was too busy to figure it out. She ripped the string of drink orders it half and shoved one portion at Roger. “Help me get caught up.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  When the wait was over, and their pace slowed down, Savannah glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten. She wondered what Damien was doing right then. She imagined him somehow climbing the side of Joe’s house and pulling his lean body over the balcony like he had done the first night they’d met—the first time Damien had attempted to rob Joe.

  “Oh God,” she groaned.

  “What’s up,” Roger asked from where he sat at the bar, eating his shift meal. “Do you need me to take over?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m good,” she said, grabbing a clean rag to wipe the unoccupied areas of the bar to keep busy.

  “Hey, Savvy,” Joe suddenly called.

  “It’s Savannah,” she snapped, meeting her boss’s gaze.

  The smile that played at his lips told her he had intentionally tried to antagonize her. “I’m heading upstairs to eat if you still want to talk.”

  She followed Joe to the upstairs bar where he claimed one of the back tables near the balcony. “What do you need?” he asked as he cut into a large piece of steamed Salmon.

  Savannah eyed some customers coming back into the restaurant through the balcony sliding doors while she tried to think of what to say. But at that moment, her head was spinning. She felt like a deer in headlights.

  “So, what’s up?” he asked before shoveling another bite of fish into his mouth.

  Her heart pounded in her ears. She needed to calm down so that she could think straight. “I have a few important things to discuss with you. The...er...menu really needs to be updated. There are beers still listed that were eighty-sixed months ago.”

  He raised a brow at her. “Is this the bullshit you made me hang around for? Come on, Savannah, you know we’re going to cover this at the manager’s meeting on Monday.”

  “I...ah...” Her mouth ran dry. Her palms were sweating. How hard was it to come up with a serious topic of concern.”