Taking Connor (24 page)

“Are you okay?” he asks, genuine concern in his tone.

I turn and lean my back against the car so that I’m facing him, but pull my heels off. My feet are killing me. Inhaling deeply, I say bluntly, “Your wife stopped by for a visit today.”

His face goes slack, and he blinks a few times as if processing my words. “My wife?” he asks before swallowing hard.

“Yeah. Pretty blonde, mother of your child with one on the way.”

He closes his eyes and takes a step back, letting out a growl. “Demi—”

“Look,” I cut in, holding my hand up. “You obviously have some unfinished business back home that you need to deal with. I’ve enjoyed our time together, but this isn’t going to work.”

“Demi, I don’t think the baby is mine.”

“Vick,” I snort. “It doesn’t matter. You lied to me about being married and hid that you have a kid. That’s . . . not okay.”

“You don’t understand. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but look at it from my perspective.”

Shaking my head, I move to walk toward my house, but he steps in front of me. “You’re this gorgeous widow that for some reason, picked me to be the first guy she dated in a long time . . . I was afraid my baggage would freak you out.”

“So you lied?” I ask, calmly, refusing to let myself get upset.

“More like . . . omitted.”

“You can’t omit a wife and child, Vick.” The disgust in my tone is obvious and causes him to frown and shake his head. Again, I move to walk past him, but he grabs my arm stopping me.

“I’m crazy about you,” he admits. “I know this seems bad, but I swear it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Please let me go,” I ask, again, calmly.

“Please don’t do this, Demi,” he begs.

“Let go of her fucking arm,” Connor booms as he appears beside us, his fierce stare fixed on Vick blaring a thousand warnings. Vick releases my arm, and I scurry to the bottom step. He wasn’t hurting me at all, but I’m still glad for Connor’s intervention.

“Tonight was the night, wasn’t it?” he yells out to me. I whip around and see him looking at me over Connor’s shoulder as Connor more or less forces him to retreat. He’s not touching Vick, just using his massive physical presence to herd him away. “That’s why you’re dressed like that, right? You wanted me. Please don’t let this ruin what we have.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Connor snaps and pushes Vick, who stumbles back but manages to catch himself before he falls to the ground.

Vick straightens himself and looks back to me. “Please, Demi.”

“I don’t want to see you ever again,” I tell him. “Please go. And don’t contact me again.”

“You heard her,” Connor growls. “Go.”

Vick glares at him before turning and heading to his truck. A minute later he’s squealing out of my driveway. I sit on the bottom step, feeling a little unsteady. I wasn’t prepared for that when I got home. I knew I’d have to face Vick at some point, but I didn’t think it would be tonight. Connor walks toward me, rubbing his head with both hands like he always does.

“You okay?” he asks timidly.

Why do I want to cry right now? I can’t quite place my finger on it, but suddenly the tears start falling. Connor scoops me up and as ridiculous as I feel having him carry me, I can’t deny it feels good to be in his arms. Once we’re in the kitchen, he sits me on my feet and pulls out a kitchen chair for me to sit on.

“I think we need another drink,” he grumbles. Clearly, he’s still a little riled up too. He’s angry, but I can’t help thinking that some of that anger is directed at me.

I take a seat as he grabs the bottle of Jack from the freezer and joins me at the table. He doesn’t speak, just twists the top off and takes a long swig. Then he slides the bottle to me. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand before taking my swig. When I start coughing from the burn, he drags the bottle back toward him.

“I’m sorry you had to . . . get involved with that,” I whimper.

Connor takes a deep breath as if to calm himself, before taking another sip.

“Are you okay?” I ask, hesitantly.

“I’m an asshole is what I am,” he answers. He stands and grabs the dishtowel from the counter, handing it to me before he sits again.

“Why are you an asshole?” I ask as I wipe my face.

He runs a wide palm down his face. “Because I wanted to kick that guy’s ass.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I admit. “Even though he kind of deserves it.”

“Is it true?” Connor asks.

“That he deserves to get his ass kicked?”

“No,” he answers sternly, his tone telling me he means business, that whatever he’s asking is important to him. “You guys haven’t . . .”

It takes me a moment to figure out what he means. Sex. He’s asking if Vick and I have had sex. “Yes,” I answer, my voice hoarse. “We haven’t done more than kiss.”

“But you were going to . . . tonight?”

Shame floods me. I was. I was going to sleep with Vick tonight. That was the plan until blondie showed up and derailed everything. But what makes it worse, is I pretty much told Connor I wanted
him
tonight. What in the hell is wrong with me? How could I go from planning to sleep with Vick to fantasizing about Connor? What kind of harlot am I? “Yes,” I reply honestly. “Guess it’s good his ex showed up and saved me from a huge mistake.” I’m crying again, holding my face in my hands. Connor pulls me from my chair and seats me on his lap, holding me.

“I’m sorry he hurt you, Demi.”

I meet his gaze and shake my head. “That’s just it,” I weep. “I’m not crying because he hurt me or broke my heart, I’m crying because I almost slept with a man that I didn’t love. I was just going to do it to . . . feel something,” I sob. “I just wanted to feel . . . good.”

Connor doesn’t respond, and I wonder if he’s trying to think of the best thing to say.

Now that the floodgates of my emotions are open, there’s no stopping it. “I’m so tired of feeling so . . . alone. I want to be touched, I want to be loved, I want to ache for someone so I can feel that moment when they ease it from me.”

I don’t care how wrong or slutty it is. I know I will tomorrow. I know I’ll regret it tomorrow. But right now, I want to feel. Right now, I want to feel Connor. I stand and face him, shimmying my dress up a bit, before seating myself in his lap again, straddling him. His breath hitches, his hands timidly resting on my hips.

“Demi,” he growls my name.

I press my forehead to his as both of us breathe heavily. The moment is . . . intense. I’m straddling him. He’s just as shocked as I am.

“I don’t know what’s happening here,” I admit. “Between us, but . . . I lied to you.”

“I know,” he says, simply.

“I was there that night. I remember everything.”

“I know you do.”

“How?”

“You asked why Roxy didn’t join us for breakfast the next day. You remembered someone showed up, so I knew you were lying. She never showed up.”

The thought of Roxy reminds me that Connor isn’t a single man. He’s taken. I move to stand, but his hands pull my hips back down. “What’s wrong?”

“We can’t . . . I mean, you’re involved with Roxy.”

“No, I’m not.”

“But she . . .” I pause. Am I really about to admit that I know Roxy stays over at his apartment often.

“She?” he questions.

“She spends the night with you. You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. We’re friends.”

“With benefits?”

“Just friends, Demi,” he states, adamantly. “I haven’t slept with anyone since the day I got out and the only reason I did that . . .” he pauses and shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“Tell me,” I demand. I know he’s talking about the red head that served us at the restaurant we ate at the night I picked him up.

Meeting my eyes, he says, “There was no fucking way I could ride all the way back to Colorado next to you without . . . fuck,” he groans. “This sounds so shitty.”

“Say it.”

He swallows hard. “I don’t know how to explain what it was like to walk out of that fucking prison and see you standing there. It almost felt like a cruel joke, ya know? I go from being surrounded by stinky-ass men, to find this goddamn bombshell waiting for me to take me home. And no matter what I thought of you or how I wanted you, it wasn’t an option. You were Blake’s wife. And even telling myself all these things, I wanted you. I’d just met you, but I wanted you so fucking bad. And it wasn’t because I’ve been locked up for eight years, and you were the first woman I’d been close to in a long ass time. It was you Demi. You . . . feel like home. I knew it the moment I saw you. You’re a pillar, a rock. And it’s all I’ve ever wanted. So I hooked up with the waitress because I needed to take the edge off, try to clear those thoughts from my mind.” He lets out something between a snort and a laugh. “But it didn’t work.”

I cup his face with my hands and press my mouth to his. What starts off soft erupts into a hard, passionate kiss, with both of us clawing at one another. I rock my hips, rubbing against his erection. His hands move up, lifting my dress, before finding my ass cheeks and squeezing. I reach down and pull at the hem of my dress, intending to pull it off, but he stops me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask breathlessly.

“I need . . . this to happen when we’re both sober. I need to know this is really what you want.”

I stare down at him, still rocking against him, unable to stop myself. “I want you. I’m not drunk . . . well not that drunk. I swear.”

Taking my hand, he kisses it softly. “Then let’s take our time with this. Eight years in prison taught me a thing or two about patience. Sometimes when you wait for something, it only makes it that much sweeter when you get it. Something tells me I’m going to want to see and feel every single minute of you, Demi. And it’s going to be so fucking sweet.”

And my heart flutters.

He pulls me down and kisses me softly. “Can I sleep with you tonight? No sex, I just want to feel you against me.”

“I’d like that,” I whisper. I climb off his lap, and we hold hands as we walk upstairs together. He leads me into the master bedroom, and I want to say no. I don’t want to sleep in this room with him, but oddly enough, a sense of calm washes over me. I can’t explain it, but somehow, it feels right. Maybe it’s morbid, but something deep inside of me tells me Blake would be okay with this; that he would want this for us. Connor strips down to his boxers while I change into a nightshirt in the bathroom. He’s already in bed when I come out, so I crawl in next to him and curl into him. We’re spooning and since having him half-naked in my bed is the purest form of torture, I have to punish him a little too. We’re spooning, and as my body fits his, I wiggle my ass against him.

“Demi,” he growls, low and throaty, his erection pressing against me.

“I was just getting comfortable,” I lie, a smile in my voice.

He inhales deeply and mumbles something under his breath about me being the death of him.

I chuckle, enjoying the thought that even if we are both riddled with want for each other, basking in desire that won’t be sated tonight, at least we’re in it together.

“Goodnight, Connor,” I whisper.

“Goodnight, babe,” he mumbles against my shoulder before giving it a chaste kiss.

And then, for the first time since Blake passed away, I find immense peace and sleep better than I have in years.

In Connor Stevens arms.

I wake up just before dawn, the morning light leaking into the room. Connor is passed out cold. We’re in the same position we were when we fell asleep; big spoon, little spoon, and I know his arm must be asleep. I gently move away from him and climb out of bed, needing to use the bathroom. Stopping, I stare at him for a moment. All of those tattoos. He’s like a walking canvas. I close my eyes and suck in a steady breath. I don’t know what’s happening between us or where it will go, but I do know sleeping in his arms last night was everything. I tiptoe to the bathroom, and when I’m done, I head downstairs to make us a pot of coffee. It’s funny how the idea of drinking a cup of coffee in bed with him excites me so much. I guess sometimes it’s the simple things in life.

The pot is brewing, and I’ve just pulled down two mugs when I hear a knock at my back door. Through the glass pane, Wendy gives me a sheepish smile. I frown, sad that even with our disagreement she felt she had to knock. Opening the door, I give a halfway friendly smile.

“You didn’t have to knock,” I tell her.

She nods once, her eyes dropping to the floor before rising to meet mine again. “I wasn’t sure. I thought you might . . . I don’t know. Hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” I clarify. We’ve never been in this place before; the place where family/best friends have a problem that has affected their relationship negatively.

“Can we talk?” she asks.

“Have a seat,” I motion to the table before walking back to the pot. “Cup of Joe?”

“Please,” she answers.

Once I’m seated across from her, she sips her coffee hesitantly, careful not to burn herself. I say nothing. I just wait and let her take the lead. Finally, her gaze meets mine, her eyes riddled with tears. “I’m sorry, Demi.”

I nod once, reaching across the table and taking her hand in mine. “I’m sorry too. I just . . . wanted to help. I should have been more delicate about it.”