I felt safe now, but knew eventually, I'd have to say goodbye. There was no point in getting too attached when we'd soon head our separate ways. What would happen when he left for D.C.? He hadn't mentioned it, but I knew he had to go at some point. We hadn't had any serious conversations about our relationship. He was doing more than expected by helping me after leaving the hospital, none of which was in his job description.
I took my time bathing and washing my hair and was drying off when Connor knocked on the door. "Food's here. Do you need help?"
"No, I'll be out in a minute," I answered. I avoided looking in the mirror, instead towel dried my hair and slipped into the bedroom to look for some clean clothes. The suitcase I'd packed from my apartment was in the corner of the room and I found a clean pair of sweats. I helped myself to one of his tshirts, this one with the words FBI emblazoned across the chest.
We ate in front of the TV while surfing through movie options on TV.
"How do you feel about Dirty Dancing?" I pointed to the TV with my fork.
"Your pick." He switched the channel, just in time as the opening credits were rolling.
Surprised, I turned to Connor, where he sat next to me on the couch. "Really? No push back on one of the biggest chick flicks out there?"
Again, Connor surprised me with a light-hearted shrug. "I'll live."
Who was this easy-going man? A few days ago we were barely speaking after the New York trip, and when we did speak, conversations turned to arguments.
✽✽✽
Connor scooped up the empty soup bowls and plates and returned to the living room, dimming the lights before sprawling out on the couch. He pulled on Emma's hand, and she obliged him, stretching out on her side in front of him. Her eyes were locked on the TV. He didn't give a damn what movie they watched as long as he could lie here and touch her.
The last three days had involved more stress than he'd dealt with, ever. Preparing for the sting operation the night of Emma's showing was one thing and having Emma at the center of it added certain heart failure. This was his investigation and he was losing his mind over a witness. When Stefano Sgambati kidnapped her, it had been easier to lock into the job than evaluate the emotions that he experienced. He would never forget that fearful moment in the warehouse when she locked eyes with him and collapsed. For a scary minute he never wanted to experience again, he thought she was dead. His Emma. Somewhere along the way, he started thinking of her as his.
In the hospital he didn't leave her side. The sting had gone horribly wrong and he couldn't run the risk of anything happening again. The hollow feeling in his gut hadn't gone away. He was so damn happy she was okay.
It didn't go unnoticed how relieved he was either. Having Emma close by, touching her, was a direct factor in his stress level. He was losing it, he knew it. If she was safe and happy, he could relax.
Connor knew with Stefano Sgambati dead and his brother and partner Gianni Sgambati in custody, he had to go back to DC sooner than later to close out the investigation. Paperwork and bureaucracy would rule his life for the next few weeks. That's how it always went with investigations. He made the arrests and went back to headquarters the same day. His life on the road satisfied the need in him to find some justice in the world.
He gazed at Emma's profile lit by the TV screen. She was watching earnestly, fully, like a child engaged in cartoons. She was smiling at a dancing couple—seriously, who dances like that? It dawned on him he was stalling. He didn't want to go back to DC. He wanted to stay.
With her.
After two years, the investigation he'd led was complete. The high that came with an arrest didn't happen this time. Instead he felt a barrage of unfamiliar emotions. He felt unmoored and restless. Looking for something unfinished, something felt incomplete, but he didn't know what.
He did know what. It was Emma. This woman he couldn't stop touching was in his head. He should be focusing on getting back to DC and the endless paperwork that awaited him. He had no business getting involved with a woman like Emma. His life of stress and potential tragedy was not something she needed in her life. After a turbulent, abusive upbringing she needed stability and security. Not someone who chases criminals and runs the risk of getting shot. She deserved more than he could give her. White picket fences and all that. Someone to grow old with. He couldn't guarantee how long he would be around, and he had long since given up the notion that he would see old age. His job demanded too much and he was better off with nothing to lose. It was less heartbreak for the both of them.
Except for one person. His thoughts drifted to his sister. She had raised him from the time he was eleven. Abby would be heartbroken if something happened to him. She was always harassing him to come by more since he'd been in Charleston. His niece and nephew were terrifying, but he loved them fiercely. They were all reminders of his parents and what it was like having a family. How much there was to lose. The heartbreak of losing both parents had forced him and Abby to grow up overnight. Abby had sacrificed so much on her own while raising him. He had enrolled in the Navy the day he turned eighteen. They had no money for college, and he'd wanted to take the burden of looking out for him off his sister so she could start living her own life. The Navy had turned out to be a game changer.
He was riveted by Emma Elliott, with her shy smiles and louder paintings that seemed to say things she wouldn't. Questions burned him about her. He was filled with a fierce protective instinct when he was around her. The kidnapping had gutted him, both for the guilt in something going so profoundly wrong on his watch and the torment he'd been under when he couldn't find her. The operation was set up to capture the Sgambati brothers, but it all went to shit when she was taken.
✽✽✽
I was moving. Or yet I was being carried. Panic bubbled low, then I remembered where I was, despite the dark. I must have fallen asleep during the movie and Connor was carrying me to bed. He moved easily through the house, strong arms cradling me tight to his chest.
In that moment I felt treasured. Precious. Wanted. A first for me. He deposited me on the bed, drawing up the covers.
I caught his wrist. "Hey."
"Hey," he whispered back. "You fell asleep. I'll just be on the couch."
"Stay with me. Just until I fall asleep. Please."
I felt him hesitate, my fingers still wrapped around his wrist. "Are you remembering things?"
"Yeah." The darkness kept either one of us from seeing each other's faces, but it made it easier to admit my fear.
He pulled his arm free and I heard him leave, then the hall light switched on. He returned to the other side of the bed and shed his jeans and tshirt before settling under the covers next to me.
"Come here." He turned to me, holding out one arm for me. I obliged, nestling into his chest. He draped his arm around my waist, his large hand splayed protectively over my belly.
"I've been in dark places, too, Alabama. I understand more than you know about not wanting to be in the dark. You want to tell me what happened?"
I told him about meeting Stefano at my show, about excusing myself to go to the restroom and being forced into the car. Waking up in the warehouse. Caty showing up.
"They blackmailed her into giving me up. Her dad owed them money. She kept saying she didn't know; she didn't mean for this to happen."
"That's a load of shit. She's been interviewed already."
"Is she going to prison?"
"I don't know yet." Connor sighed. "We're just getting more information on her involvement. She could get a few years for aiding, or simply probation. Not sure."
"Stefano wanted you dead. That's what he ultimately wanted. To kill you. He used Caty to get to me, and then wanted to trade me for you. He was going to kill us all."
"I know. I've long suspected it, but they have ties with international terrorists. We found a large crate of military grade weapons, ready for shipment.”
I shuddered at the thought of those weapons getting in the wrong ha
nds. "I don't regret pulling that trigger, Connor. I know I should, but I don't."
He was quiet and I began to worry he thought I shouldn't have done it. After a long pause, he said, "I thought you were dead when I found you."
"I thought I was going to die, too."
"You're a fighter, Emma. A survivor. You protected another and did what you had to do. You saved yourself."
And he wasn't just talking about protecting myself and Caty. The same applied to T.R. and Chloe. I did what I had to do that day because if I hadn't, he would have hurt Chloe.
His fingers tangled in my hair and I shifted closer. We were silent for a long time after that. When he broke the silence, his voice was so low I almost didn't hear it.
"I don't know what I would have done if something happened to you. I'm starting to care about you more than I should."
With that admission and his heartbeat drumming a soothing beat in my ear, I started to relax my own mind. It was then I realized I loved Connor Jackson.
Thirty-Two
The pattering sounds of rain woke me. Outside it poured at a steady clip. The dreamless sleep had been restorative and restful, even the large warm naked body currently pressed against me was restorative. A lazy smile stretched over my face at the memory of the previous night and our gently lovemaking. It had been three days since I left the hospital, and my bruises were fading more and more each day.
Moving slowly, I turned to see Connor on his side, with an arm strewn across my waist. I wriggled carefully to the side and turned, so that I could get a better view of him. He was sleeping peacefully. I appreciated the moment to take him in without him knowing. His chest was muscled, with a sprinkling of hair.
Waking up together was something I could get used to, fast. It felt nice to open my eyes with someone, particularly when that someone did naughty things to me, and simply got me.
Quietly, carefully, I climbed out of bed. I picked up one of his shirts from the floor and put it on. I went to the kitchen and made coffee. While waiting for it to brew, I again got lost in thought while watching the rain. I knew this couldn't be a long-term thing between us. I knew it had to end eventually. It was just hard to admit that particular end was approaching, and I didn't want to say goodbye.
It really was all over. The Sgambatis were no longer a threat. Caty was gone. I wasn't sure about my job at the law firm. And my paintings. Everything was up in the air. What about Connor? Now that the investigation was completed, he didn't have any reason to stay. His life was in DC. His job, his real home, not the rental from the FBI.
This was new territory for me. I'd never found myself caring for a man and dreaming what happens next. I poured coffee into the mug, absently dripped cream into it before resuming my vantage point at the window.
I knew little about Connor's life in DC, but his job kept him working in city after city. He had been in Charleston for a period of time and would be moving on to another case somewhere else. There appeared to be little room for me or any serious relationship.
Rationalizing things didn't make the sinking feeling in my stomach any easier to push away. At some point soon he would be wrapping things up and leaving, and I needed to handle my own life. Maybe focusing on the logistics in my own life would make this parting more bearable? Deal with the mess in my apartment – and paying damages to my landlord. Finding another gallery to show my work. I was starting from scratch again, so it was likely I would also need to have a day job.
I ran a hand through my hair, mindlessly working out the tangles. My thoughts kept circling back to Connor and what would happen. It was just sex, right? So what was there to talk about? He had his life, I had mine. And yet the nagging feeling in the back of my head lingered. What was I supposed to do? I had little experience when it came to relationships and found it difficult to put a name to my feelings and verbalizing what I wanted felt foreign. For so long it was just me, clawing my way through life, surviving and making my own way. But now. But now it was staring me, demanding that I face my fears. How lovely it would be to share this one lovely life with someone. What if he and I made a go of this? What if?
The question reverberated loudly in my head, drumming out any other thoughts. I gripped the kitchen sink tightly…What if?I set the full coffee down and found my supplies. Painting would sort this out. I set the iPod on the counter to one of my favorite operas, Tosca, keeping the volume low so not to wake Connor.
I got lost in the familiar rhythm of putting brush and paint to canvas, letting my hand guide the way. I put the jumbled thoughts aside and let the arias wash over me.
That same childhood wish floated to the surface, envisioning myself with my own holidays and family. The dream wasn't a borrowed family or a borrowed holiday. It was all mine. The difference between what I experienced as a child and what I wished for now, was a house full of love. Love and laughter and a family of my own.
Did Connor feel the same electricity when he touched me? That magnetism I see in his eyes. I shook my head at myself. It was times like this that I wished I had a mother to tell me what to do.
"Good morning, gorgeous." The deep, morning-raspy voice pulled me from my thoughts. I sat back on my legs and turned toward him. He wore pajama bottoms but was still shirtless, chest and abs glistening. He looked just as well-rested as I had felt, with a sleepy grin and tousled hair and a slight scruff darkening his jaw. He slid down on the floor, and pulled me into him, resting my back against his chest and drawing his legs up.
"Hi," I said softly, turning to kiss him.
He nuzzled my neck, his hands running from my ankles up my legs. "I like this look," he said approvingly, tugging on the hem of his oversized shirt on me. "What's under here?"
My face warmed at his suggestion.
"I love your blush," he whispered in my ear. "It answers my question." His hands roamed under the shirt, teasing me up my legs until he found what he was looking for. He continued teasing me, eliciting small moans.
I didn't respond again, just rested my head back against his shoulder and opened my legs to give him better access. "Please."
"Please what?" he said again in my ear, although his breath was warm, I shivered.
"Please...please," I gasped, as he touched a finger to me and finding me ready.
"Say my name, Emma."
"Please, Connor."
He slipped one, then two fingers inside me as I relaxed fully into him, his body encasing mine. His shirt was barely covering me now, but I didn't care. I was with Connor, and my mind and body gave themselves over to him.
"Connor..." I arched into him as I felt the orgasm bubbling to the surface. He held me tightly with his other arm over my waist, holding me in place. The next thing I knew I was exploding in his hand. He kept his firm grip on me, continuing to kiss my neck.
In one move he picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around his bare waist, burying my face in his neck, kissing him in return. He set me on the counter in the kitchen, the cool surface chilling my heated skin. I pushed his pajama bottoms down, and pulled the length of him into my hand.
"Emma." Connor touched his fingers to my chin. Even perched on the counter I had to look up at him slightly. His eyes glowed with desire...and something else. "Look at me."
I held his gaze as he slid inside me. I closed my eyes as my head fell back.
"Look at me, baby. I want to see you." He cradled my head with both hands, kissing me and his tongue mimicking his thrusts.
We both groaned and moments later, he exploded inside me. I held onto him as we both caught our breath.
"Morning, baby," I whispered, a smile spreading across my face as I pulled back to look Connor. He grinned back at me.
"I love waking up and seeing you like this, painting, wearing my clothes. God, it's sexy." He kissed me again, before untangling himself from me. He went to the kitchen sink, returned with dampened paper towels and gently cleaned my legs.
The realization that we didn't use a condom hit me then. "Oh my God, C
onnor." I looked at him in horror. "We didn't use anything." The implications hit me in full effect. "Oh my God."
"Yeah. We didn't." He disposed of the paper towel and gently set his hands on my thighs. "We'll figure it out, okay? One step at a time, yeah?"
I nodded.
"We won't know if you're pregnant for a little while as it is..."
"Connor, that changes everything for me."
"I wouldn't leave you to figure it out on your own."
"But you are leaving soon, aren't you? You said yourself you'll be heading to DC this week..." I trailed off, the uncertainty from earlier that morning coming back in full force.
"I need to wrap the investigation with paperwork at headquarters, yes."
"And then what?" The last thing I wanted was to be a cliché needy girl, and yet here I was.
"Emma, this just happened. Let's take it one day at a time, okay?" Connor searched my eyes, and I nodded, though taking anything one day a time right now seemed impossible.
I could get lost in the depth of his gaze for days. "I should go home."
Thirty-Three
I convinced Connor I was going home to my apartment. Even it was just for a few hours and I ended up with him again tonight. It felt like the right thing to do. My safety was no longer an issue. Now there were feelings I didn't understand and when he was nearby, I couldn't think. He was everywhere, and when he wasn't close by, I was thinking about him and the way it felt when he touched me. He crowded my brain in the best way, but it was time to un-pause my life from the investigation and figure out my next steps.
When I stepped into my apartment, I was floored to see that it was pristine. No yellow tape from the police, the mess of clothing, paint and general stuff had been cleaned up. The trash and ruins of the break-in were gone and, in their place, sparse, clean floors. The furniture that had been ruined was gone. The few things worth saving were stacked neatly against the wall. I ran my fingers along the boxes, surveying this new state. This was not what I thought I would be walking in to, but whoever did this, I was extremely grateful.
The Art of Murder Page 20