Up in Smoke Page 6

  “Hey, roomie,” she said from her perch on the windowsill.

  Connor stared at her long and hard before striding into the kitchen. She saw what he was holding, though. A plastic bag of groceries, including a gallon jug of orange juice. Her smile widened, which only put a meaner scowl on his chiseled face. “Where did you go after the meeting? I turned around and you were gone. You have to stop doing that.”

  “Getting gone is kind of my thing.” She hopped off the sill. “Besides, I had to test the escape route you so thoughtfully made me. My estimation was off by two whole steps in my favor. Good work¸ baby.”

  Connor looked up at the ceiling as if he were praying for patience to drop out of the heavens. It gave Erin a chance to look him over. God, he looked good when he was angry. His wide chest seemed even broader, muscles more pronounced beneath his gray T-shirt. Like she could climb his body and he wouldn’t even notice. His jaw was rigid with tension. Ticking, ticking like a bomb ready to go off. A bomb that would start a glorious five-alarm fire. The image made her shiver. Again, she marveled over the fact that nothing about him made her nervous. She recalled the fear that had careered through her bloodstream yesterday when he grabbed her wrist. Some nerves couldn’t be remedied, but even being around another person this long was a feat for her. Twenty minutes into most acquaintances, she started to get antsy. Afraid the other person would get too close and start feeling comfortable. Comfortable enough to touch her.

  Erin took the orange juice out of Connor’s hand and set it on the kitchen counter. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

  His green eyes went on alert. “Bad news?”

  Erin nodded and hopped up on the counter. Something hot and shivery raced over her skin when Connor’s gaze dipped between her thighs. She became all too aware of how the black material of her shorts molded to her core. Too aware of what he’d do if he got those shorts off her. I’d like to be pounding you full of me, Erin. Full. “Yes, bad news,” she forced past suddenly dry lips. “Polly won’t switch apartments. She can’t. The pigs have already hooked up the high-speed cable and started setting up central command. That’s what she’s calling it, anyway…”

  Connor dragged his attention up her body, making her skin feel hypersensitive. “So what’s the good news?”

  “I make a pretty decent frittata.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You want to live here? With me?”

  Erin nodded slowly. “It won’t be forever, just until they start paying us and I can afford somewhere else. Your spare room doesn’t have a fire escape, but…” She gave her best smile another whirl. “We could switch bedrooms.”

  Connor ran a hand down his face. “Erin, you know I want to help—”

  “I know. You’re a loner. So am I.” She picked up the jug of orange juice and picked at the label. “I wouldn’t ask if I was brimming with options.”

  His laughter was dark. “Being a loner has nothing to do with it.”

  She shouldn’t ask the question, especially since she already knew the answer. Too bad playing with fire ran in her veins, a need so thick and heady she couldn’t deny it. Asking was reckless and inconsiderate and inexcusable of her. What else was new? “What does it have to do with?”

  Connor took a step into her personal space. Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch. Not an easy feat on the receiving end of such intensity. “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me,” she whispered.

  He sucked his upper lip into his mouth. “I haven’t been in the same room as you, Erin, when my cock wasn’t rock hard and ready to fuck. You know it, too. You know I want to plant it deep inside you. Watch you shift around trying to get used to being crammed so motherfucking tight.” His pupils were dilated, chest rising and falling unevenly. Breathtaking man. Burn for me. “I’m hard right now just thinking about what you’re hiding under those shorts. I want to lick all of it. I want to bite and fuck it. If you think I can survive this way all day, all night, you have overestimated me.”

  Erin’s mind reeled. With excitement. Apprehension. Most overwhelmingly, pain that she couldn’t give him what he needed. She wanted to be the girl who could. Desperately. But she couldn’t. She’d experimented with touch before. How much she could take, how much she could give out. Giving had never been a problem for her. That, she could control. The tricky part was finding someone she could trust not to get lost in the moment and forget the ground rules. In the past, she’d sought partners who liked to take a passive role in bed, reasoning they would be less likely to touch, which proved correct. But she’d been unsatisfied. One part of her sang at the thought of being consumed, but it was overshadowed by the part of her that was terrified of it.

  The second she’d met Connor, she’d sensed what he had churning inside him. He’d just confirmed her theory with his words. If she were capable of giving herself over to him, of exploring their mutual attraction without reservation, she’d be flat on her back immediately. Pinned. Unable to move. A thought struck her. Was she so drawn to him because he was the perfect mixture of what she needed? A man capable of satisfying her physically, but who had enough self-discipline to stop if things got too overwhelming for her?

  It was selfish of her to ask to stay. Usually she wouldn’t bat an eyelash at her narcissistic behavior. It suited her not to give a shit how her actions affected others. But Connor inspired something…give-a-shittish inside her. In the conference room, he’d stopped touching her immediately when she asked. Last night, he’d let her take from him what she needed. This morning, he’d carved out daylight for her in that stifling basement. Much as she hated being in someone’s debt, she owed him. She should get her suitcase and find somewhere else to stay. Put them both out of their misery and only deal with this startling gravitational pull at work.

  “Say something,” he demanded.

  “I’ll go.”

  His brows drew together. “Are you testing me?”

  Erin hopped off the counter, feeling a kick in her chest when he automatically stepped back to give her space. So they wouldn’t touch. Yeah, this was the right thing to do. “No, I’m not testing you. This time. But I wouldn’t get used to such generosity.”

  He paced the kitchen, but came to a halt when she started lacing up her sneakers. “What—you’re leaving now?”

  “Uh, yeah. I only have a few hours before it gets dark. Doesn’t give me much time.”

  “No.” Connor gripped the kitchen counter and leaned over it. “No. Just no.”

  What was wrong with him? He told her he couldn’t handle her living in the same apartment, now she was doing the right thing and he looked like she’d informed him a flaming meteor was headed toward Earth. She walked toward her suitcase where she’d left it propped near the window and looped her fingers around the handle. That simple act of finality pierced her armor and she suddenly hated herself for being such a goddamn mess. “Look, I’ll meet you at the prison tomor—”

  “Put down the suitcase.”

  Erin spun around with a gasp to find Connor standing two feet away. “Jesus H. Christ. Warn a sister.”

  His gaze was concentrated on her hand. “Why haven’t you put down the suitcase?”

  “Do you suffer from short-term memory loss? I’m out, baby. Hitting the bricks.”

  Slowly, his hands came up, palms out. Surrender. He closed the distance between them. One step, two. What the hell was he doing? The concentration etched into his handsome face started a hot burn deep in the pit of her stomach.

  She wanted to run.

  She couldn’t move.

  “We kissed last night.” His attention focused in on her mouth. “Can we do it again now?”

  “I don’t know.” Her lips burned at the thought of it. Last night, she’d been in the moment, so consumed by her climax, she couldn’t remember if it had hurt. She wanted desperately to find out. If for no other reason than to give him something that he wanted. “Y-yes.”

  Connor’s gaze w
ent smoky as he leaned in and kissed her. There was an initial smarting of her lips, the way skin feels after a slap, but it blurred and dimmed. He started out simply trading breath with her. Or maybe he just wanted to make sure she wouldn’t run Flintstones-style out the door. Only their lips were touching, eyes open to take each other’s measure.

  He sipped at her bottom lip, then the top. His eyelids drooped, then concealed his darkened green eyes completely. Something inside her twisted up tight, holding her off the ground so high she felt weightless. They had kissed last night, but it hadn’t felt like this. She’d been out of her head with pleasure. Right now, she was present. Too present.

  Connor’s breath went shallow along with hers, but his hands remained in the air where she could see them if she needed to. His taste proved too appetizing, the scrape of his beard too delicious. Erin opened her mouth to the kiss, knowing through some divine intuition that he would anticipate it, which he did, masterfully. He slanted his lips over hers, drawing on them with an anguished groan. When their tongues brushed together, she sensed his hands turning to fists but couldn’t open her eyes to confirm. His mouth demanded every ounce of her attention, its needing of hers, its perfect shape and texture. The rich scent of pine and shaved wood curled around her, drugging her, finishing off what his mouth started.

  With only their mouths touching, she shouldn’t have gotten so aroused. Liquid lightning flashed inside her, leaving smoke in its path. A squeeze between her legs released a shaky whimper. She knew she could ask him for anything in that moment and he’d give it to her. He’d let her work out her need on top of him, riding his length as she’d done last night. He’d leash his nature and let her be broken, let her take from him.

  Which was precisely why she didn’t ask.

  Connor broke away, allowing them both to suck in oxygen. “Stay. I’m sorry. Stay.” He bent his knees to bring them eye to eye. His spoke of torture, but he was trying to hide it. “Look at me. I can handle this. I want you here. Don’t leave.”

  “I don’t know if I can handle it,” she whispered.

  His heavy breaths ceased. “What do you mean?”

  She drew out a lighter from her back pocket and ignited the flame. It cleared her head a little, allowing her to search for the right words. Words that wouldn’t sound crazy. “I like touching you. It makes me feel really…good. And there isn’t a whole lot that makes me feel good, you know?” Her throat closed up. “I wish you could touch me, too. I don’t think I can stay here knowing I’m hurting you by making myself feel good…and I don’t think I can stop touching you. It feels like a must.”

  A flare of panic flashed across his face. “I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. You just caught me off guard.” He massaged his forehead with four fingers. “Did I scare you? Is that why you’re really leaving?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No.”

  “Okay. Jesus. Okay.” He was silent a moment, but gears were turning behind his eyes. “You need to touch me and I need you to stay. Let’s give each other what we need. All right?”

  Why was this so damn confusing? She’d only met this man yesterday and they were already tangled up in her web of fucked-up issues. He should want to be clear of her, shouldn’t he? No one else had ever bothered with her this long before. “Why? Why do you need me to stay? I—”

  “I won’t rest,” he growled. “I’ll think about you somewhere, scared like you were last night, and I’ll go fucking crazy.”

  Her heart lurched, dislodging her pride. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. If the only reason you want me here is to play nursemaid to the crazy girl, that’s not going to work for me.”

  “You know there’s more to it. You know.” He visibly centered himself with a deep breath, appearing to debate with himself. “I’ve got my own skeletons, Erin. They don’t rattle so much when you’re around. Your touching me…it makes me hot. But it soothes elsewhere.”

  She knew her expression was pathetically hopeful, but couldn’t find a single shit to give. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he repeated. “I’m not going to lie, Erin. Yes, I want to sleep with you like hell. But only if it’s healthy. Would you trust me enough to go slow? A little at a time?”

  Her pulse hammered out of control. “You touching me?”

  Connor watched her closely. “When you’re ready. Not before. Never before.”

  This is where she should climb down the fire escape and vamoose toward the street. A weight pressed down on her rib cage, making it difficult to draw a breath. It felt like the point of no return. But Connor’s eyes grounded her.

  Safe. He’s safe.

  “Okay, baby. Slow.”

  His body drained of tension. “Thank you.” He leaned in and brushed their lips together, gently, reverently. “First, we talk.”

  Chapter Seven

  Yes, because you’re such an accomplished talker. Asshole.

  Didn’t matter. He’d talk a blue fucking streak as long as she didn’t leave. Back in the kitchen, he hadn’t kept himself in check and she’d picked up her suitcase. Actually picked it up. Ready to leave for God knows where all because he’d felt the stupid need to enlighten her on his permanently aroused state. Until that moment, it hadn’t fully registered exactly how badly he needed her close. None of it made a bit of sense, either. Not the edginess he felt when she wasn’t in his sight line. Not the decision to sacrifice his sanity just to keep her safe. Keeping her with him was all that mattered. Keep, keep, keep.

  He hadn’t planned on asking her to trust him. To allow him to help her overcome her fears, at least where he was concerned. But he’d had to be honest with himself. His appetite wouldn’t allow him to remain in purgatory indefinitely, so he’d taken a risky leap. As the words left his mouth, he’d been only remotely aware of what he was doing, but now the dust had settled. He’d formed a relationship with her. One he could very easily fuck up. And it scared the shit out of him.

  There wouldn’t be any room to remain detached here. He relied on detachment. It had saved him in the SEALs, not only on missions, but when they’d turned their backs on him and severed all ties. Detachment had gotten him through two years delivering messages of a physical nature while working under his cousin. He should have seen this coming, really. No amount of willpower could make him disengage around Erin. She’d woken up something inside him yesterday. He didn’t have a name for it yet, but it needed to be fed. Soothed. Unfortunately, she was the one agitating it at the same time.

  Connor almost groaned out loud when Erin set her suitcase back down, awarding him with a glimpse down her shirt. Perky handfuls. He’d fucking known it. Purgatory? Nah, he’d definitely crossed the line into hell.

  Don’t go there, man. You want to keep her? You want to help? Do it the right way.

  She cocked a hip, looking suspicious. “What do you want to talk about?”

  He lowered himself onto the couch and nodded toward the other end. “Sit?”

  “Hmm.” She hopped onto the couch’s arm and crossed her legs, making her look like some kind of punk-rock fairy. The view of her thighs did exactly zero to help his situation. “Just know that if this starts to feel like a psychiatrist appointment, I’ve clocked all the available exits.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  She draped herself over the cushions. “Are you going to show me inkblots? Spoiler alert. I see fire. Lots of it.”

  “Why?”

  “It erases things. Both good and bad. It’s reliably destructive.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Like me,” she whispered.

  He knew her game. Saw right through it. The crazy girl act she performed to a T. While he knew it wasn’t entirely a game, he knew it was her way of deflecting. Sort of like his savior, detachment, only in a different form. “Erin, this is important so I need you to answer me seriously.” He felt a familiar anger settle in his gut. “You said someone is trying to trap you. I need to know who it is.”

  “Why?�
�� She fidgeted with her hair. “I told you not to ask me about it anymore.”

  “If I don’t know, I can’t keep you safe.”

  “I keep myself safe.”

  Connor held on to his patience. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Because if I tell you, it makes him real,” she burst out. “I’m just dandy pretending he’s not.”

  “He.” Connor’s hands curled into fists. “An ex-boyfriend?” God help the pitiful fucker.

  “I don’t do boyfriends.”

  He ignored the sweeping relief because it was pointless. The threat still existed, even if it wasn’t a man she’d been with romantically. “Well, you have one now and he wants to protect you.”

  Erin tilted her head. “You’re my boyfriend?” She straightened. “Can we get matching Segways?”

  God, how could she make him want to laugh and shout at the same time? Deep breath. If he wanted her to confide in him, he might have to give her a reason. It was nice knowing you, detachment. “You have to be near a window, right? You need to know how fast an escape you can make.”

  She propped her chin on a bent wrist. “Go on.”

  “Windows make me nervous. I don’t like weak spots. Don’t like people looking in at what’s mine.” He shifted on the couch. “If it’s too early to call you mine, that can’t be helped. It’s a feeling, not a mark on a timeline.” Dammit, he couldn’t read her expression. She looked almost puzzled. “I understand why you need the windows, Erin. But I’m asking for curtains. I need to know someone isn’t going to see you through the window and pull you out. Away from me.”

  “Oh.”

  Patience. “Just oh?”

  She shrugged. “We have conflicting views on windows. Get it? Views.”

  “Erin.”

  “Curtains, huh?” Her right foot started to jiggle. “You want to keep me hidden.”

  “Only until the threat goes away. If you tell me what it is, I can make that happen.”