Afterwards he'd been so pleased with himself. Don't worry, he told her. She'd get the hang of it soon, and he'd give her lots of opportunities to practice. First item on the lesson plan: fellatio. Bradley thought it was a huge joke that she'd reached the ripe old age of twenty-one without ever having given head. "It's time, babe, it's definitely time," he'd said. "Let's get some pizza. As soon as I recover you can embark on your maiden voyage. I'm a great teacher, believe me."
She had excused herself and gone home before he recovered, afflicted by lingering sadness. After all the buildup, that was all?
She knew objectively, both from Bradley's own proud assertions as well as what she had read in romance novels and erotica, that Bradley wasn't technically a bad lover. He'd done everything he could think of to give her an orgasm; he'd paid careful attention to her breasts, which just felt irritated and ticklish at his touch, though she had feigned enjoyment. He'd stimulated her between her legs. But he hadn't concealed his impatience when she was slow to respond.
Finally one night, he'd flopped over onto his back and told her that if even he couldn't get her off, then she was one hurting puppy. Sorry, babe. Face the facts. The truth will set you free. She was a lousy lay. A tab of Ecstasy might loosen her up. Did she want to give it a try?
She hadn't. He'd gone off to Harvard and never called her again, to her relief. And her mother's disappointment.
Knowing for a fact that she was bad at sex had made it hard to contemplate trying again. She cringed at the thought of risking that empty, shamed sense of failure again. It was easier to throw herself into her research. That was something she knew for sure she was good at.
She'd almost convinced herself that she was fine alone when she found out about the deadly trap that Connor had fallen into. He and Jesse had been following a lead on Novak. Connor had been boarding a boat when it blew up and flung him into the icy waters of the Sound. He'd been burned, his leg smashed. By the time help arrived and fished him out, he was in a coma. And Jesse had been murdered.
She'd faced the truth, then, in one hard, horrible blow. She loved Connor McCloud. She wanted him, and only him. It had been no hardship to go to the clinic to read to him. The hard part had been to leave him every day, so still and quiet.
When he woke up, she'd been dizzy with joy, but she'd still hesitated to declare herself. It seemed hardly fair to inflict her adolescent yearnings on a man who was dazed with shock and grief, in severe physical pain. Weeks had gone by. Her resolve had faltered. The weeks had turned to months, and then Crystal Mountain had happened. Novak, Georg, Dad, and Connor, and a violent tornado of revenge and betrayal that had blown her whole life to pieces.
She'd been trying ever since to put it behind her, but she hadn't anticipated getting a chance like this, to find out once and for all if her erotic fantasies about Connor had any basis in reality. No one would ever know unless she told them, and she would never tell. She would hug this secret close to herself, precious and painful to the same degree. The one time that busy, sensible, practical Erin Riggs gave in to folly and did something wild and crazy.
She sneaked a glance at his profile again. He caught her doing it, and she looked away, color flaring in her face.
Connor's kisses alone turned her on more than anything that Bradley had ever done.
Her life felt so cold and bleak. His heat was irresistible.
Connor checked the directions before he pulled off the highway. He didn't trust himself at all today, not even his ironclad memory. He wasn't sure what scared him more: losing control and jumping all over a woman uninvited, or her response. She'd grabbed him, kissed him. Melted against him, red-hot and willing, just like his wildest fantasies.
Guarding her, that was what he was signed up for. Seducing her was out of the question. She would end up hating him for it, and he would deserve it. Even he wasn't capable of that much self-delusion. He could see how it would look to Nick's eyes. Connor goes to a lonely, vulnerable girl's apartment at night, tells her the bad guys are out to get her. Then he kidnaps her, bullies her, sequesters her suitcase, sticks his tongue down her throat, gropes her tits, shoves up her skirt. He'd been a heartbeat away from laying her out on the hood of his car and having at her, in front of God and everyone.
What a fucking hero.
She was huddled as far away from him on the seat as she could get, her fingers hiding her rosy, reddened lips. Probably wondering if he was going to leap on her like a wild animal.
"Almost there," he said.
Her face was pale gold again, except for faint rosy stains high on her delicate cheekbones. She nodded and looked swiftly away.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Crow's Nest Inn. It was a rustic place, covered with weathered gray shingles. Each of the rooms had a deck with an ocean view. He'd stayed here a few years back on a road trip, and had liked the place. "It's not as fancy as the millionaire's resort hotel," he told her. "But at least here you're on your own turf."
She got out of the car. "I'm on your turf, Connor. Not mine."
Her uppity tone stung him. "Do you think I'm making this stuff up, Erin?" he demanded.
Somehow she looked down her nose at him even though he was a head taller than she. "It's impossible for me to believe that Claude Mueller could have anything to do with Novak. Four times I've gone out on consulting jobs for him. Every time I've been treated with courtesy and respect. Which is more than I've gotten from anyone else lately."
"Like me?" he demanded.
"Yes, you," she said haughtily. "I didn't ask for your help. The only reason I am allowing you to force it on me is because I genuinely appreciate your concern, and—"
"Gee, thanks," he growled.
"—and I believe that it is sincere, if completely unnecessary—"
"Unnecessary, my ass!"
"—and I insist that you stop yelling. It's embarrassing."
He glanced around. She was right. People were gawking.
The next challenge to his self-control proved to be the check-in clerk, a gangly, pimpled kid who was hot to do his promotional spiel.
"A double room is eighty-five, but the Crow's Nest Suite is available. It's got a king-sized bed and a Jacuzzi," he informed them. "It's ten dollars more than the double, and we offer a complimentary—"
Connor slapped down two fifties. "Give me a room with two double beds," he said curtly. "Non-smoking."
The kid's spotted forehead furrowed in perplexity. "But the Crow's Nest Suite is only ten dollars more. Don't you want the Jacuzzi?"
He pictured Erin in a Jacuzzi, her dark hair spread out like a lily pad. Then, rising out of the water in a soft-focus cloud of steam, her hair clinging to every curve and contour of her flushed body, her skin beaded with drops of water, her breasts—
"No, I do not want the goddamn Jacuzzi," he snarled.
The kid jerked away from the counter at his tone.
Erin followed him to the elevator after he filled out the forms. Her eyes were downcast, her lashes casting fanlike shadows on her cheeks. It drove him nuts that he couldn't tell what she was thinking.
It was a nice room, large and fresh smelling, with a picture window and deck overlooking the beach. He bolted the door behind them, and mounted one of the squealers Seth had given him onto the door. Erin drifted over to the window and stared down at the sea foam pulsing over the gleaming sand. Seagulls strutted on it, as big as geese, leaving delicate tracks that washed away with every wave.
He stared at her back. She had such a proud way of holding her head, her back elegantly straight. Like a princess. Gleaming locks of loosened hair dangled below her chin. His body cramped with lust.
It was hard to believe that mind-blowing kiss in the parking garage had really happened. Here, staring at her upright dark silhouette against the gray ocean, the memory had the feel of a wishful dream.
"Uh, sorry you have to share a room with me," he said gruffly. "But if I'm going to guard you, I have to—"
"Of course," s
he said, cool as a cucumber.
He floundered on. "Look. I really don't intend to take advantage of the situation. What happened at the airport, I, uh… just lost my head. But it won't happen again."
"It's all right. Please don't give it another thought." She gave him a brief, dismissive smile, the equivalent of a pat on the head to calm down an overeager dog. She turned back to the window.
The subject was definitively closed.
He gritted his teeth. This had seemed so straightforward back in Seattle. Now he felt like he was walking a tightrope over boiling lava.
He needed a smoke. He sat down on a bed and pulled out his stash. When he finished rolling the cigarette, she was watching him, her expression disapproving.
"It's a non-smoking room," she reminded him.
"Yeah, I know. I'll smoke it out on the deck," he told her.
Her dark eyebrows flicked together. "It's raining out there," she said. "And you must know those are terribly bad for you."
He grunted, and flicked open the lock on the sliding door. The wind off the ocean hit him like a slap. His coat billowed and snapped around his legs. The near impossibility of getting a cigarette lit under those conditions was a welcome challenge.
Anything to distract him from the way she had of putting him right in his place. One more of those regal, intergalactic-princess looks from her, and he would be ready to sit, lie down, roll over, and beg.
Don't give it another thought, his ass. He could almost laugh.
Like anything in life was ever that easy.
Erin hugged herself as she stared out the window. Connor cupped his hand against the wind and lit his cigarette after a few tries. He draped himself across the weathered wooden banister as he smoked it, scowling to the right and the left as if expecting attack from every side.
Oh, God, he was handsome. Everything about him was sexy. Even the way he smoked was sexy, and she deplored smoking. She wanted to snoop through the battered duffel he had flung on the bed. She wanted to see what toothpaste he used, to smell his shirts, to peek at the picture on his driver's license. She was out of her mind.
So he didn't intend to take advantage of the situation.
Well, then. Too bad for him. She would just have to take advantage of the situation herself. He was all alone with her. At her mercy. If that kiss in the car was any indication, he probably wouldn't object too strenuously to being used for sex. Her girlfriends had told her that men usually didn't.
Yes. Using him for sex. That was the only way to do this and come out of it intact. She had to use him before he could use her. She had to stay detached, keep the upper hand. Calm, cool, no big deal. Happened every day. Her girlfriends boasted about it.
Oh, God. Her head spun, and she sat down hard on the bed.
How could she be calm? She was scared to death. Bradley had told her she was as frigid as Greenland's icy mountains. But frigid meant that you didn't want sex, and that certainly wasn't her case. She wanted Connor so badly, she was frozen with fear.
But then again, wasn't that what frigid literally meant? Frozen. No matter what the cause, the end result was the same. Maybe they would both be in for a painful disappointment.
The sight of her organizer sticking out of her purse gave her an unpleasant shock. She'd gotten so carried away thinking about sex, she'd forgotten the purpose of her trip. She should take advantage of this moment alone to conduct some damage control. She flipped open her organizer, dialed the Silver Fork Resort and asked for Nigel Dobbs.
"Hello?" came Dobbs's clipped, snooty voice.
"Mr. Dobbs? This is Erin Riggs."
"Ms. Riggs! At last! We were quite worried about you."
"I appreciate your concern, and I'm so sorry I didn't have a chance to call and…" Her voice trailed off. Connor slid the glass door open with a resounding thud and stalked in, leaving it wide open. He stood inches in front of her, glaring. Cold, wet salt air swirled around him.
"Hello? Hello? Ms. Riggs, are you still there?"
"Ah, yes, I am. Excuse me. It must be a bad connection," she said hastily. "Ah, I'm so sorry. I'm, ah…"
"Are you all right? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
Oh, you have no idea. "Not at all," she assured him. "I'm fine."
"Do you need someone to come and pick you up?"
"No, thank you. That's why I called. I wanted to apologize for not notifying you in time to stop the driver from going to the airport in Portland. I had a change of plans and—"
"Tell them your boyfriend came along," Connor said.
She stared up at him, mouth working uselessly.
Dobbs's impatient sigh was audible. "Ms. Riggs? Do you intend to inform me of the nature of your change of plans at some point?"
She swallowed hard. "My… my boyfriend came along."
There was a long silence. "I see."
"He met up with me in Portland, and gave me a ride, and we've already checked into another hotel, so I—"
"Then I take it you will be unable to dine with Mr. Mueller. He will be very disappointed. Mr. Mueller's time is in extremely high demand."
"But I didn't know Mr. Mueller was going to be at the hotel this evening," she faltered. "I thought he was arriving very late tonight!"
"He changed his plans when he received your e-mail." Dobbs's voice was gelid. "He is arriving this afternoon. What a pity, hmm?"
Erin closed her eyes and mouthed a silent curse. "Well, urn… maybe I can—"
"No." Connor's voice was hard and carrying. "No way. No dinner with that guy tonight. Forget it."
Nigel Dobbs coughed. "Ahem. Perhaps it would be for the best if you resolved your personal problems at a safe distance. I will inform Mr. Mueller of your change of plans when he arrives."
"Thank you," she said miserably.
"And should Mr. Mueller risk using your professional services another time, I would consider it a tremendous favor if you would give us prior notice of these changes. Mr. Mueller took an earlier flight from Paris expressly for the purpose of dining with you. If you had called to tell us of your change of plans, I would have advised you of this."
"Oh, God," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"I will send the car for you tomorrow. What is your address?"
She groped for the notepad by the phone. "Just a moment. It's on the stationery—"
She squeaked as Connor wrenched the phone out of her hand and blocked the receiver. "Don't give him the address," he said.
"Connor!" She lunged for the phone.
He held it out of her reach. "I will drive you to the resort tomorrow. Start to give him the address, and I rip the phone out of the wall." He wrapped his fingers around the cord and narrowed his eyes. "Nod, Erin. Show me that we understand each other."
She nodded. He handed the phone back. "Mr. Dobbs? I'd rather not put your driver to the trouble—"
"It's no trouble, Ms. Riggs."
"Really, it's fine. We'll drive ourselves to the resort."
"If you insist. When shall we expect you? Would eleven be acceptable? That way Mr. Mueller can rest."
"Eleven would be fine," she said. "And please give my apologies to Mr. Mueller. I truly didn't mean to—"
"Yes, yes, of course," Dobbs snapped. "Good evening."
Erin hung up the phone. She felt sick. Her stomach was clenched up tight with dismay. She pressed her shaking hand against it.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and stood up, facing him down. "Connor," she said. "That was beyond paranoid. That was my most valuable client. Are you deliberately trying to sabotage me?"
He shrugged. "You were about to tell that guy the address. Which cancels out any advantage that coming here might have given you."
She stalked over to the window and slid it violently shut. "And what possessed you to make me say that you were my boyfriend?"
"It draws less attention than saying I'm your bodyguard. It explains why I stick to you like a burr and give dirty looks to any man who gets near you. It's t
he standard jealous boyfriend act. Most women have dumped at least one of those losers and then put out a restraining order on him."
"I never have," she snapped.
"Don't worry, Erin. I was an undercover cop for nine years. I'm a good actor. You're not required to fuck me to make it convincing."
Her jaw dropped at his crude words. "Oh! Thank you, Connor! I am so comforted and reassured by that thoughtful remark!"
"I'm not aiming to reassure you," he retorted.
"That's pretty damn obvious!" she yelled back. "Do you have any idea how bad this makes me look? Mueller took an earlier flight from Paris specifically to meet with me tonight!"
"Oh, God, no." His face was a caricature of dismay. "The disappointed billionaire, eating his caviar all alone in the flickering candlelight Poor Claude. You're breaking my heart."
She lifted her chin. "That's it." She grabbed her suitcase. "I was wrong to humor you. You have no respect for my work, and you are completely out of your mind. I am leaving—oof!"
He spun her around. "You're not going anywhere."
"Yes, I am." She backed away, but he was gripping her shoulders. "I've had enough of your—Connor!" The world tipped and spun, and she landed on the bed, bouncing. The bouncing stopped when he landed on top of her, pinning her down with his big, hard body.
"No," he said calmly, as if lying on top of her were no big deal. "You're not going anywhere, Erin."
She forced herself to close her mouth. Her heart thudded so hard, she was sure he could feel it against his chest. She struggled beneath his solid weight, and the movement felt… sensual.
She went motionless. "Connor. Don't," she whispered.
He cupped her face in his big hands. "Novak should've been taken out back when we had a chance. Same with Georg. I should've finished him off, but I let the system take care of him. Which was stupid, because the system is rotten with holes. Jesse fell through one of them and died. I fell through another one. I'm alive out of sheer, dumb luck. Novak and Georg escaped out of another hole. Are you following me?"
She gave him a tiny nod.
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