Dangerously Yours
By D D
A woman meets a troubled man and falls instantly. Their love is dangerous, but it’s worth the thrill.
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Open illustrated storyDANGEROUSLY YOURS
Fancy Morales knew trouble when she saw it. Usually, she crossed the street.
This time, she stared.
Stefon had been out of prison for exactly eleven days when she first saw him
standing
outside
Delgado’s
Market
on
a
humid
Friday
evening.
He
was
tall—six-foot-three at least—with broad shoulders stretching a plain black T-shirt
and muscular arms covered in dark tattoos. His skin was deep brown, his beard
trimmed close, and a thin scar cut through his left eyebrow. He had the kind of
face that looked even better when he wasn’t smiling.
And Stefon definitely wasn’t smiling.
Fancy slowed as she walked past. Her thick dark curls fell over the shoulders
of her fitted red dress, and gold hoops brushed her neck with every step. She was
five-foot-four, curvy, caramel-skinned, and fully aware that men noticed when she
entered a room.
Stefon noticed.
His eyes traveled toward her and stopped. Not rudely, but not innocently
either.
Fancy raised an eyebrow. “You always stare at women like that?”
His mouth finally curved. “Only when they stare first.”
Fancy almost laughed. Almost.
“You’re Stefon, right?”
His expression changed. “Depends who's asking.”
“Fancy.”
“I know.”
That surprised her. Stefon pushed away from the brick wall, and up close, he
was even more intimidating. There was something controlled about him, like every
movement had been carefully measured after years of living somewhere mistakes
could cost you.
Fancy folded her arms. “You know me?”
“Everybody knows Fancy.”
“Good things, I hope.”
Stefon
looked
at
her
for
a
long
moment.
“I
haven't
heard
anything
good
enough yet.”
Heat climbed her neck. She hated how much she liked that answer.
Everybody in the neighborhood knew Stefon's story. Armed robbery. Six years.
He had gone inside at twenty-four and returned at thirty with harder eyes, bigger
shoulders, and apparently no interest in explaining himself to anybody.
Fancy should've stayed away.
Instead, she asked, “So what are you doing tonight?”
His eyebrow lifted. “Trying to stay out of trouble.”
Fancy smiled. “Looks like you're doing a terrible job.”
* * *
Their first date wasn't technically a date.
Fancy was at Luna Roja with her friends when Stefon walked in. The lounge
was crowded, music vibrating through the floor while purple lights washed across
the room. Fancy wore black that night—a tight dress, bare shoulders, glossy lips.
She felt Stefon's eyes before she saw him.
He stood across the room wearing dark jeans and a fitted charcoal shirt,
talking to another man. Then he looked at her, and for a few seconds, everything
else disappeared.
Fancy excused herself from her friends and walked toward the bar. Stefon
followed a minute later.
“You following me?” she asked.
“You wish.”
“I don't have to wish.”
He leaned against the bar beside her. “You always this confident?”
“Usually.”
“And when you're not?”
Fancy looked into his eyes. “I fake it.”
That made him smile—a real smile this time. It changed his entire face.
Damn.
Fancy
turned
toward
the
bartender
before
Stefon
could
see
how
much
it
affected her.
Later,
he
walked
her
home.
They
moved
slowly
beneath
the
streetlights,
shoulders occasionally brushing. Fancy wanted him to touch her, but he didn't.
Somehow, that made her want him even more.
At her building, she turned around. “So?”
“So what?”
“You're just going to leave?”
Stefon stepped closer, and Fancy's breath caught when his hand settled lightly
against her waist.
“You want me to come upstairs?” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper.
Fancy looked at his mouth, then back at his eyes. “I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
He leaned closer. Their lips nearly touched. Fancy could feel his breath against
hers, and for one delicious second she was certain he was going to kiss her.
Then Stefon stepped backward.
“Goodnight, Fancy.”
Her mouth fell open as he walked away.
“Stefon!”
He glanced over his shoulder.
She pointed at him. “I don't like you.”
His grin widened. “Yeah, you do.”
* * *
She absolutely did.
Over the next few weeks, Stefon became an unexpected part of her life. There
were morning texts, late-night phone calls, and food appearing at her apartment
because she'd casually mentioned she hadn't eaten. He fixed the broken lock on
her back door without being asked.
Despite everything she'd heard about him, Fancy discovered that Stefon rarely
raised his voice. Prison had changed him, though. She could tell.
Sometimes she'd catch him watching entrances. Sometimes a loud sound made
his shoulders tense. Sometimes he became quiet when she asked about those six
years.
Eventually, she stopped asking.
One
evening
they
sat
on
her
fire
escape
sharing
takeout
while
the
city
hummed beneath them.
“Everybody thinks I'm stupid for talking to you,” Fancy said.
Stefon looked toward her. “They're probably right.”
She nudged his leg. “That's not what you're supposed to say.”
“What you want me to say?”
“That you're secretly a wonderful man.”
He laughed quietly. “I robbed somebody with a gun, Fancy.”
Her smile disappeared. “I know.”
“I ain't gonna lie to you about who I was.”
“Was?”
Stefon looked down at the street. For several seconds, he said nothing.
“I'm trying.”
Those two words told her more than any long speech could have.
Fancy reached over and took his hand. Stefon stared at their fingers before
slowly squeezing hers.
* * *
The trouble came two weeks later.
Fancy was leaving work after dark when she noticed a man walking behind
her. She turned twice. He turned twice. She crossed the street.
So did he.
Her stomach tightened.
Fancy reached into her purse for her phone, but before she could unlock it, the
man called out behind her.
“Hey!”
She walked faster.
“I'm talking to you.”
Then
a
familiar
black
car
pulled
sharply
toward
the
curb.
The
passenger
window lowered.
Stefon.
“Get in.”
Fancy didn't hesitate. She climbed inside and slammed the door. Stefon stared
through the windshield at the man approaching them.
The stranger slowed when he saw Stefon.
Stefon reached for his door handle.
Fancy grabbed his arm. “Don't.”
His eyes met hers. Something dangerous flickered behind them—something
she hadn't seen before.
Then it disappeared.
Stefon released the handle and remained inside. The stranger stood there
another moment before finally turning and walking away.
Fancy exhaled.
“You were about to do something stupid.”
“Probably.”
“You can't go back.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like you don't care.”
Stefon looked at her.
“I don't care about going back.”
Fancy's face hardened. “Stefon—”
“I care about what happens to you.”
Silence filled the car.
Her anger disappeared.
“Take me home,” she whispered.
* * *
Inside Fancy's apartment, neither of them spoke. She dropped her purse onto
the couch while Stefon locked the door behind them.
Fancy turned around.
He was standing there watching her.
Something had changed between them. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it
was weeks of wanting him. Maybe it was the realization that beneath all that
hardness was a man desperately trying not to become who everyone expected him
to be.
Fancy crossed the room.
She kissed him.
Stefon froze for half a second before his arms wrapped around her. The kiss
deepened, all those weeks of restraint finally breaking. Fancy pressed herself
against him as his hands settled around her waist and pulled her closer. Her
fingers slid along the back of his neck.
Stefon broke the kiss, breathing heavily.
“Fancy.”
“What?”
His forehead rested against hers. “If we keep going—”
“Stefon.”
She kissed him again.
That answered the question.
He
lifted
her
easily,
and
Fancy
wrapped
her
arms
around
his
shoulders,
laughing softly against his mouth.
“Bedroom,” she whispered.
“You sure?”
Fancy looked directly into his eyes. “Very.”
The bedroom door closed behind them.
For the rest of the night, there were no rumors about Stefon, no whispers
about his prison sentence and no neighborhood watching them. There were only
two people who had spent weeks pretending they didn't desperately want each
other, finally surrendering to everything they'd been holding back.
Hours
later,
Fancy
lay
beneath
the
sheets
with
her
head
against
Stefon's
chest, tracing one of the tattoos along his arm.
Stefon stared at the ceiling.
“What?” she asked.
“You're dangerous.”
Fancy laughed and lifted herself onto one elbow. “Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Says the convicted armed robber.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled. “Are you scared of me, Stefon?”
He finally looked at her. “Terrified.”
Fancy kissed his chest and settled against him again.
“Good.”
* * *
At 3:17 in the morning, Stefon's phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He ignored it.
Fancy was asleep beside him.
Then it buzzed again.
Stefon reached across the nightstand and grabbed it.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
Stefon's body stiffened.
It was Fancy.
The picture showed her leaving work earlier that evening, completely unaware
that someone had been standing across the street taking her photograph.
Another message appeared beneath it.
YOU SHOULD'VE STAYED GONE.
Stefon slowly sat upright.
Fancy stirred beside him. “Everything okay?”
He immediately turned the phone facedown.
“Yeah.”
She opened one sleepy eye. “You sure?”
Beautiful. Peaceful.
Safe.
For now.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”
Fancy curled closer to him. Within minutes, her breathing became slow again.
Stefon remained awake.
Watching the bedroom door.
Because whoever had sent that picture had made one serious mistake.
They thought threatening Fancy would scare him away. Instead, they'd just
given Stefon something he hadn't had in years.
Something worth protecting.
He picked up the phone again and stared at the photograph.
For six years, Stefon had dreamed about freedom. He had promised himself
that if he ever made it home, he would never become that man again.
But somebody from his past had found him.
And now they knew about Fancy.
Stefon's jaw tightened.
If his past had finally come looking for him, he intended to make damn sure it
never reached her.
Even if protecting Fancy meant becoming the man he'd sworn he left behind.
TO BE CONTINUED...