The man was flat-out beautiful. And she was in flat-out trouble for how much she noticed it.
Connor replaced his helmet and bat in the rack, gathering the empty buckets and placing them beside it. She’d shouldered into the zip-front hoodie that had been in her bag along with her workout gear, and he ushered her out of the batting stall, where they both grabbed their things.
“Okay,” Harlow admitted, because as much as she’d doubted that anything would make her relax, batting had done the trick. “That worked.”
“Told ya.” Connor’s smile clung to his voice, making her laugh.
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” She followed him through the empty main lobby and out into the parking lot, jumping slightly at the much cooler temperature outside.
“When you lay it out there like that, can you blame me?” Connor asked. He walked her around to the driver’s side of her BMW, waiting for her to stow her bag and, okay, fine, work up a little dignity.
“I guess not.”
“I’m glad it worked. Your adrenaline still might twist you up a little once you lie down and have your thoughts to yourself, so still take it easy.”
“Okay.” Harlow nodded. She’d never been shy in her life, and even though Connor was standing less than arm’s length away, looking all unassuming and hot and making her want things she so couldn’t have, she said, “Thank you for tonight. You didn’t have to spend your whole evening with me just because I had a weird day, but you did, and…well, I appreciate it.”
Connor’s gaze lowered to her mouth, curving into a smile before lifting back up to her eyes. “I didn’t bring you here because I had to. I did it because I wanted to.”
A beat passed, during which Harlow forgot entirely about the forty-degree temperature around them. He leaned forward, and she looked up in reply, her heart in her throat.
“Goodnight, Harlow,” he said, stepping back to let her get into her car.
The whole way back to her condo, all she could do was wonder what else Connor Bradshaw wanted.
16
There were only a handful of things that Connor thought might actually have the power to kill him. Harlow Davenport in leggings was one of them.
Harlow Davenport airing out her emotions, then looking at him like she wanted nothing more than to repeat that insanely hot kiss they’d shared last week, again and again and (fuck yes) again was another.
Connor rolled over to stare at the ceiling in his bedroom. It wasn’t too late in the grander scheme of things, maybe eleven? But damn, he felt like ages had passed today, from the conversation he’d had with Harlow in the office about the inventory budget, to Marta unexpectedly going into labor, to the way Harlow had drummed up her grit and determination to learn to bat, then opened up about her father while she’d been at it. That she cared so much what he thought was as foreign to him as ancient Sanskrit. Yeah, the old man was her boss, but to care deeply enough to make her doubt her own abilities? To be that loyal to someone so profoundly rooted in business?
How could her father not see how smart she was?
Christ, she was smart. And brash, and beautiful, and—
He needed to stop.
Connor took a slow breath in, the back of his rib cage expanding against his mattress. The truth was, he’d wanted nothing more than to kiss Harlow tonight. But her day had been fueled by adrenaline, and even though she’d looked like she’d wanted to kiss him, she’d also told him it couldn’t happen again. Until she made a clear and decisive move otherwise, he’d honor her wishes. Unrequited hard-on and all.
His cell phone buzzed from its spot on his nightstand, the display lighting up the shadows in his room and the sound making his heartbeat accelerate. The whack of his pulse eased significantly as the name on the caller ID registered, and Connor lifted the phone to his ear as he rolled back onto his pillow.
“Dude. To what do I owe the honor?”
“Eh, feck off,” his Air Force buddy, Declan Riley, said genially, his Irish accent wrapping around the words. Or, at least, the reply was as genial as the rough, gruff pilot-turned-model was going to get, which was to say he’d taken his tone a half-step down from bar brawl status. “I know it’s been a long time. But the phone works both ways, y’know.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Connor felt a twinge of guilt at not keeping up with the guy as much as he should have lately. He might be close with his friends from Remington Mem, but he and Declan had been through shit that made them tight just by the sheer fact that they’d both survived it.
“Sorry,” he said, and meant it. “I’ve had a lot on my plate over the last few weeks. You good?”
Declan was younger than Connor by nearly four years, and even though he’d enlisted right out of high school, he’d had a little over a year left on his tour when Connor had retired. He’d landed outside of L.A. after that—God, three years ago, now. They’d kept in touch, but never had the chance to catch up face-to-face. Now that Deck was modeling full-time, the guy’s face was a whole lot more in-demand than Connor’s. Not that he liked, or had even wanted, that sort of notoriety. Declan never talked about it, but Connor had always had the sense that something nasty had gone down during that last year of Declan’s tour.
But Deck gave up his standard-issue, “Just grand,” in reply. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Guess it’s a bit late on your coast. Here in Cali it’s just shy of oh-twenty-hundred. Just…figured I should catch up.”
It was far from his usual man-of-few-words-and-even-fewer-feelings routine, and Connor’s radar blipped to life. But before he could piece together the sort of ask that wouldn’t make his buddy clam up or tell him to go screw (for real), Declan asked, “So, a lot on your plate, eh? Like what?”
Maybe if he opened up, Declan would take the hint and follow suit. So Connor said, “New job, actually.”
“No shite.” Shock filled Declan’s voice. “I thought you loved being a nurse.”
“Oh, I’m still a nurse,” Connor assured him. “No way I’m ever gonna do anything but take care of people. But this gig is different.”
He started at the beginning, outlining the events of the last couple of weeks. The fact that Declan had no clue who Duke Bradshaw was took at least a little bit of the sting out of the retelling, although having to explain what his asshole father had done to all those people still sucked. But just because it was shitty didn’t make it less true, so into the story it went, along with the press conference, Connor’s back and forth (and back and forth and back again) with Harlow, and the fact that they had a very limited time to do an absolute mountain of work.
“Damn. You weren’t kidding about having a full plate. And you nearly delivered a baby? That’s one thing we never had to do in the Air Force.” Declan’s tone punctuated the words with a double dose of thank God, but Connor just laughed.
“The patient was hours from delivering that baby. But even if she hadn’t been, the doc and I would’ve done what we needed to. I just hope Harlow and I can get the place where it needs to be in order to keep the doors open. We don’t exactly see eye to eye in terms of philosophy. And she’s…”
Declan made a noise when he didn’t continue, and Connor was certain that if a smirk had a sound, Deck had just nailed it. “Ah, hell, man. You like her.”
His accent turned the accusation into a smooth blend of ya loyke ’er, and Connor’s chest gave a hard squeeze.
“I don’t like her,” came his default, but fuck, it wasn’t true. “I mean, I don’t dislike her. She wants the clinic to succeed. She’s smart as hell, not to mention gorgeous. But it’s…”
“If you say complicated, I’m never gonna let you live down sounding like a book I’m on the cover of,” Declan said.
“Don’t be a hater,” Connor said with far more friendliness than heat. “Those romance novels are really good. And I bought the first one to support you. You ass.”
“Oh, I’m not hating. I just don’t believe in happily ever after. The sex part, I’m down with. So, w
hat’s makin’ this all so complicated? The fact that you work with her?”
Connor thought about it, but only for a second before settling on, “No. There’s no rule against us fraternizing since neither one of us reports to the other.” Harlow wasn’t even a hospital employee.
“Fraternizing. If that’s what you’re calling sex, it’s no wonder you haven’t gotten any with this woman yet,” Declan snorted, continuing before Connor could flip back two words that were not happy birthday. “If it’s not work, then what?”
Welcome to the complication. But at least he could tell Declan that he and Harlow had kissed. Connor knew his friends here in Remington wouldn’t say anything about it if he’d told them, but he’d already breached Harlow’s trust once at the press conference. He wasn’t keen on doing it again. Anyway, nothing was going to come of the kiss other than a scorching hot memory.
“I guess I should probably tell you she and I kissed a couple of days ago,” Connor said, and Declan got as close to a laugh as he ever did, which was to say he let go of a single, rough-edged chuff.
“Now you tell me. Jesus, man. Was the kiss for shite, then?”
“No.” It was the fastest Connor had ever spoken. “Not even close to bad. It was”—so fucking hot I wanted to rip off her panties with my goddamn teeth and do her right there on the desk—“good,” he managed. “But she thinks we got carried away. Heat of the moment, that kind of thing.”
“Did you?”
Ah, this was the Declan he knew. He got right to the freaking point just so he could poke you with it. “Maybe,” Connor allowed. “But it wasn’t like any kiss I’ve ever had with anyone else.”
“Christ, you do like her,” Deck said with more surprise than shit-slinging.
A week ago, Connor would have railed against the thought. Two, and he’d have called anyone making the claim bat-shit crazy. But that was before he’d looked beyond the surface to see past the all-business version of Harlow that she wore like a suit of armor. Now, he saw someone different, because he’d looked, and she’d let him. He thought of the time they’d spent together tonight, and the day that had preceded it, and he had no choice but to say, “I guess I do.”
“S’pose you’ll have to show her you’re the kind of guy worth getting carried away with, then, eh?”
Connor’s laugh lightened the mood. “Why, Declan Riley, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have been dipping into those romance novels your ugly mug is on the cover of.”
“Weren’t you just going on about haters, now?” Declan scoffed. “Anyway, most everyone’s more interested in my abs than my face. But I’m alright with that. Modeling’s good work.”
“True,” Connor said. He had been shocked when Declan had told him how much actually went into some photo shoots.
They talked for another couple of minutes about mundane stuff, whether or not either of them had heard from a couple of their former unit-mates lately, that one of the guys’ wives had just had twins. The conversation ended as it always did, with both of them promising (in the very best of faith) to hook up in person soon. Airing out his twisted-up feelings for Harlow had actually gone a long way toward easing the tension that had set up camp in Connor’s muscles despite the workout he’d put them through, and he settled in for some shuteye.
He realized, only as he began drifting off, that Declan had never told him what, if anything, was on his mind.
Sexual tension was real, and it was going to eat Harlow alive. Five days had passed since she and Connor had gone to the batting cages together. In those five days, they’d been cordial at work—which wasn’t to say they agreed on everything, or even half the things they’d had to tackle. They’d managed to at least listen to each other before launching a counter, though, and to compromise more often than not.
But that wasn’t what had her panties in a twist. She and Connor hadn’t just been cordial to each other. They’d been friends.
He’d brought her breakfast on Tuesday (made-from-scratch granola and yogurt “parfaits” from the family-owned market a few blocks over, that had tasted like a decadent treat even though there had been chia seeds involved), which prompted her to return the favor on Wednesday (apricot turnovers from Sweetie Pies, no chia seeds in sight). Connor had brought in donuts for the whole staff on Thursday, and she’d gotten caught in a meeting at Davenport Industries on Friday morning, but today, he’d brought in bagels and they’d gone over the particulars for their last staff training that was scheduled for tonight, and Harlow had to agree that retaining the staff and training them in-house had been the smartest way to go.
Their doctors, PAs, and nursing staff had taken quickly to the new system Connor had employed, and all the protocol they’d learned from the staff at the hospital with regard to time management and efficiency had made operations run much more smoothly over the past few weeks. The budgets were still proving thorny—every time Harlow thought she was making headway, something would surface to tank her, some hidden debt or mismanaged funds that ate away at the bottom line. Connor was, at least, meeting her halfway on some of it, and she had to admit, their strategy sessions were some of the most compelling she’d ever had.
And every once in a while, their gazes would linger just a beat longer than necessary, or their shoulders would accidentally touch while they waited for that first pot of coffee to brew in the staff room, and Harlow was forced to admit something far more dangerous.
She didn’t just like him. She wanted him.
“Get it together, girl,” Harlow chided herself under her breath, turning to put her laptop into her bag and call it a night. It was just shy of seven PM on a Saturday. Connor’s staff training would surely wrap up soon, and she’d put in a full day. She needed to take herself and her unrequited arousal home before her impulsive emotions got any better.
Worse! she scolded internally, scooping up her bag. God, she needed a distraction. Harlow’s gaze skated over Connor’s desk, catching on the handful of romance novels still sitting there. She didn’t have any plans for her rare day off tomorrow. Connor had said she was welcome to borrow a book. Maybe reading about someone else’s sexcapades would take her mind off the fact that she wasn’t having any of her own.
Sliding the book into her bag, she jotted a note on a Post-It to let Connor know she’d borrowed the book, then grabbed her coat from the hook by the door. She could have left through the rear exit, but the sound of laughter floated down the hallway from the clinic’s main curtain area, signaling that the staff training had indeed finished up for the night, and before Harlow could register the movement, her feet were already aimed toward the space.
The room turned out to be more crowded than she’d expected, the easy camaraderie between friends sending a pang through her chest. Connor was there, front and center in a pair of dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt that made her girly bits far too warm. Natalie and Jonah stood to one side, talking with Macie, Emmett Mallory, and intern Sofia Vasquez. Tess and Charlie and Parker stood nearby with the two paramedics from the other day, and Charlie caught sight of Harlow, waving her over.
“Hey, Harlow! I didn’t know you were still here. Have you met Quinn and Luke, from Station Seventeen?”
She nodded, smiling politely at the pair. “The other day. We had some excitement with a woman going into labor here in the clinic.”
“Excitement would’ve been if she’d been crowning,” Tess said wryly, and Quinn laughed.
“Yeah, we’ve delivered more than a few roadside babies. Parker, remember the one lady who ended up giving birth in a fitting room at the mall? That was a day.”
Harlow blinked. “Wait…how did you two deliver a baby?”
“Oh, before he was a hotshot intern, he was my partner,” Quinn said.
“You were a paramedic?” Okay, Harlow had to say she’d never seen that one coming.
“For five years,” Parker confirmed. “I loved it, but…” He slipped his arm around Charlie’s waist and grinned. “Thi
s is where I’m meant to be.”
Luke shook his head while Tess let out an exaggerated groan. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, you know,” the paramedic said, but then Quinn slipped her arm around him.
“I don’t know.” She pressed up on her toes to kiss his cheek, making his light brown skin deepen with a flush. “You look pretty good to me.”
“On that note, we’ll see you guys later,” Luke said, laughing along with everyone else in the group as they all said their goodbyes and Harlow thanked them both for their time. She watched them head out, noticing that Parker had moved over to talk to Jonah and Connor, and Natalie had joined the group of now just women.
“I had no idea they were more than just partners,” Harlow said, giving in to her curiosity even though her comment was a tiny bit nosy.
But if Tess noticed her lack of social decorum, she didn’t let it show. “Who, Quinn and Luke?”
Harlow nodded, and Tess laughed. “They’re more than partners, alright. They’re getting married later this year.”
“Shut up!” Natalie interjected, but Charlie nodded in confirmation. “I’m so out of the loop, not being able to go to The Crooked Angel and hang out with everyone. When did that happen?”
Tess took a second to think. “Last weekend. So, you’re not that out of the loop, sweetie. Plus, you were kinda busy having chemo.”
“Chemo is why I can’t have nice things,” Natalie pouted, but then erased her expression with a sigh. “But it is working, and I have all sorts of cancer ass to kick, and Luke and Quinn getting married is exciting. They’re so cute together.”
“God, they really are,” Charlie said.
Harlow felt a little like she was intruding on a conversation between close friends—the back and forth between the three women was so comfortable. But she was obviously standing right there with them. They just as obviously didn’t seem to mind, and Harlow couldn’t deny that it felt good—albeit far from her wheelhouse—to be part of a group like this.
Between Me & You: An Enemies to Lovers Workplace Romance (Remington Medical Book 3) Page 16