One Wild Weekend with Connor

by Lexi Hart

  I turn on my heel, panic blazing through me until I see them beside the fire, like she’s trying to dry them out. I smother a groan as she stirs in her sleep. I can’t be here when she wakes up. A shiver creeps down my spine as I try to figure out a way to leave. I can’t imagine what happened to my clothes. There’s a pile of fabric in the corner that I can only guess were once whole garments.

  Maybe she’s a nurse? Maybe helping others comes second nature to her? I convince myself that’s why she helped me as I sneak into the back of her house, passing a photo of the woman and a blonde guy with dimples, green eyes, and a tan to match hers. His arms are wrapped around her neck as they both smile at the camera.

  Rain batters against the rafters, making me uneasy. It was a stupid move taking the boat out, and I can’t help thinking that was my asshole employer’s intention all along. Out in the harbor, a body is a lot easier to misplace when the seas are rough.

  I walk as lightly as I can towards the darkened rooms, hoping I’ll find some clothes I can use. I didn’t see a ring on her finger, and at a cursory glance I’m not seeing any evidence a man lives here with her, but given the photo, the dimpled blonde must be the man in her life.

  It’s the perfect spot for a couple to get away from it all. Quiet. Romantic. Secluded. No one comes out this way once the weather turns. Maybe he’s going to turn up any minute and freak out because his woman invited a stranger into his house?

  I open the door to the first room as quietly as I can and scan the dark room. There’s a king size bed, a couple of dressers, wardrobe, but the air inside smells musty like it’s not used anymore. I close the door and check she hasn’t woken before opening the second bedroom door. Unlike the other bedroom, the bed is unmade; clothes are scattered across the floor, the air smells perfumed. I frown and step backward, fighting to keep the rising panic that someone else is going to show up as I return to the other bedroom.

  I’m still trying to figure out the puzzle when I open the wardrobe and find it filled with men’s clothing. I check out in the hallway and return my attention to finding something to wear. I don’t exactly need a tailored suit, so I close the wardrobe and ease open one of the dressers. The drawer sticks, sending a squeak resounding around the room that makes me freeze.

  When I don’t hear anything apart from the storm outside, I relax and try to locate something easy to pull on so I can get out of here. If she wakes and calls her boyfriend or anyone else and tells them I’m here, I’m pretty much back where I started. I find a couple of things I can wear and shrug them on as carefully as I can. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull on the sweatpants.

  I’m breathing hard and sweating when I see her in my peripheral vision. Before I can explain, she screams at me, “Get out of here!”

  I’m on my feet in a second, hands raising to defend myself. “I’m sorry. I just needed a set of clothes.”

  Her eyes widen in the dark as she takes in the clothes I’ve retrieved. She shakes her head, tossing her blonde hair violently. “Just get out.”

  I do as she says, pissed off I didn’t get away before she woke, knowing she’ll have dozens of questions I’m not prepared to answer. She slams the door and stalks past me back towards the living room. I stand in the hallway, leaning against the wall, trying to figure out why she’s so angry.

  When my vision starts to swim, I practice an apology and try to convince her I meant no harm. She’s sitting on the sofa, her phone in her hand and her wine glass replenished when she spies me. I catch a flash of fear, then something else as she takes a long swig from her glass. I’m about to apologize again when I notice her hands are shaking and I guess she’s not entirely sure about a random stranger in her home.

  I take a seat on the only other place to sit and gesture to the phone I hope doesn’t work. “Can I make a call?”

  She shakes her head and takes another drink. “You can try, but there’s no service out here.”

  Relief swims through me as I slump back into the sofa and try to figure her out. Her eyes aren’t able to settle in one spot. Her toes are tapping on the carpet as she stares at the fire.

  There doesn’t seem to be any real need to keep talking, so I lay my head back and listen to the rain outside.

  Her voice startles me, more because she’s moved a little closer and her eyebrows are knotted together like she’s genuinely concerned about me. “Um, I’m glad you are okay. I’m sorry about the clothes. I had to cut yours off. I was worried you’d get hypothermia. Um, can I get you something to drink? Water? Juice? Aren’t you supposed to replenish liquids when you, ah, bleed that much?”

  I almost chuckle, but she seems like a sweetheart, so I smile. “That’d be great.” She smiles back, uncertainty written on her face as she moves to get up. I reach forward and grab her forearm. Shock registers on her face as she stares at my hand as though being touched is foreign to her. “Thank you. I think you saved my life.”

  Her fingers slide to mine, and she gently pushes me away as though repulsed by my touch. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Let me get that drink.” She rises quickly like she’s in a hurry to get away from me and spins on her heels.

  I’m appreciating the way her ass looks when her cell phone chirps. I dart a look in the direction of the kitchen, but if she heard, she isn’t coming back. I snatch up the phone, pulse increasing as I read the message on her unlocked screen.

  You ok, Ev? Heard the storm is getting worse. If you want to get out before the bridge floods, you should leave soon. You can crash with me. Hope this message gets to you. Rosie.

  “Shit,” I mutter as I check the signal. One tiny bar so she can probably call any number of people, and if the storm is getting worse, I won’t be getting out of here tonight. I stare down at the phone and scowl at it. If she knows she can use her phone, there’s no telling who she’ll contact and what information she’ll give up. I delete the message and place it back on the sofa where she left it and relax back on the chair.

  She doesn’t look me in the eye when she enters the room carrying a tray. She hands me a soda like she’s a waitress. “I figured you might need the sugar. I hope that’s not the wrong thing to give you?”

  I smile at her and accept the glass. Not a nurse then. “Thanks.”

  She gives me a tiny smile before she places the tray with a plate of cookies that look homemade and two mugs of something hot on the coffee table. “Just in case you want a hot cocoa too.”

  Fuck me; she’s smoking hot, and she makes cookies?

  I try not to stare as she places a few more logs on the fire and lights some more candles like we do this every night, as if I’m the guy in the photo, but since I’m not the guy in the photo, I quit staring at her like a schoolboy with a crush and find the chill that seems to have deserted me.

  She retakes her seat and picks up her mug, looking at me through her lashes as she sips. “How did you get the hole in your chest?”

  I nearly choke on my drink but cover my surprise as I come up with an answer. “I’m not sure. Everything is a bit of a blur. One minute I was standing on the boat, the next I heard an explosion, and I was in the drink.”

  Her eyebrows rise, and I wonder if I’ve pushed it a little too far. “An explosion? The engine blew up?” I nod and take a sip so I don’t have to say anything else. The less she knows, the better. “You must have people worried about you?”

  I try to shrug, but it hurts so I just down the rest of my soda and try to reach for a cookie. I must look pathetic because she picks up the plate so she can hand me one. “Do you want me to drive to get the sheriff?”

  I pause mid-chew, heart jumping about as I try to keep my voice level. “I’ll just keep trying your phone if that’s okay? Even if I can get a text out, that’s enough till it clears enough for me to leave.”

  Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t push it, she just takes a cookie and hands me a mug. “Aren’t you going to ask how I got you inside?”

  There’s a small amount of
teasing in the question that makes my lips quirk. I glance at the rug on the floor, my clothes and boots, and grin at her. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think I should just walk into your house, but I didn’t mean to pass out on you either.”

  She laughs a throaty, careless laugh that pulls my insides out and for the stupidest reason makes me want to make her laugh again. I grin at her, and she bites on her lip like she’s amused.

  She sips on her cocoa and balances her cookie on her knee as she scoots back further on the sofa. “Do you live around here?”

  I force more of the cookie down and chase it with the cocoa. “Not really. I sort of bounce around from place to place.” She nods, but her brow is knotted, and I can see her trying to figure out things she shouldn’t, so I spin the subject back to her. “You make a habit of saving people’s lives?”

  Her smile falters a little. “No. You were my first.” When she breaks my gaze and picks up her phone, my already strained heart starts to beat too fast. From the frown on her face, she’s not seeing any new messages. “Do you want to try? The signal does come and go.” She slides across the sofa and extends her phone. “I’d hate to think of someone at home worrying over you.”

  I don’t know why, but I want to tell her there isn’t anyone important waiting. Hasn’t been for a long time, and that there’s never been a woman who made me cookies. My voice comes out too thick. “I was just going to text a friend. He can let the coast guard know I’m alive. No one’s waiting for me.”

  She swallows, the slightest of blushes caressing her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s none of my business.”

  I smile and tap out a text to a random number and hit send, hoping that will allay any fears she has. I flick a glance at the time and leave the phone on the sofa beside her.

  She smothers a yawn. “It’s late. Why don’t we go to bed?”

  I grin, the temptation too strong to resist. “Sure. But you should know, I’m not one hundred percent right now, darlin’.”

  Her eyes widen as she sucks in a breath and nearly jumps to her feet. “I meant separately. You take the sofa; I’ll sleep in my room.” She looks so flustered I laugh as she places a hand to her forehead. “It’s been a long week. I’ll get you some blankets.” She backs away looking like she’s not sure if she wants to throw her wine at me or sit on my lap.

  I’m still grinning when she returns with a pile of blankets and a pillow. “I’ll bank the fire so you’ll be warm enough.” She swallows as she hands me a toothbrush and a soap. “In case you feel up to a shower in the morning. The fire heats the water so as long as it stays in we should be fine until the electricity comes back on.” I’m about to suggest we conserve water by showering together when she sends me a thousand-watt smile that steals my breath and every single one of my jokes. “Um, and I’m Evelyn.”

  I stumble over my name, though it won’t make a difference. I’ll be gone before it can matter. “Connor. I hope I’m not putting anyone out by staying the night?”

  I tug at my clothes and gesture at the photo. All the color seems to fade from her face as she shakes her head. “Goodnight, Connor.”

  Though she doesn’t say another word, her posture as she blows out all but one candle that she takes with her says I’ve put my foot in it with her.

  I pull myself off the chair, pain searing through my torso as I catch sight of her as she pulls the bedroom door closed, but it’s not the king size she’s heading into. It’s the messy smaller bedroom. Like a punch to the gut, I realize the guy in the photo isn’t coming back any time soon. Whatever happened to him, the last thing she wants or needs is the guy’s wardrobe on display again and me to take care of.

  Her cell phone is where I left it. I grab it and check for a signal and am relieved there aren’t any messages waiting for her. If the bridge is going to wash out like her friend Rosie says, I’m not going to be able to leave anytime soon.

  I should be happier about being locked up in a cozy beach house with a beautiful woman, and a part of me is. The problem is the part that loves being here is the part that always gets me in trouble.

  I throw the pillow behind me and try to get comfortable, wishing I’d thought to ask her for something to dull the pain. I should be pleased the pain is the currently keeping my brain sharp, and it’s the only thing that’s keeping me on track and focused on why I ended up wounded in the first place.

  I stare at the photo of Evelyn and the nameless man embracing her. They obviously lived here together and shared the bedroom she’s locked up like some weird shrine to him. I’m effectively stuck here until the storm passes, so I figure I’m at the least entitled to make sure I didn’t stumble on a crazy. No normal woman would live out here unless she’s got a loaded gun, knows Kung-Fu, or has a reason to need some serious amounts of privacy.

  I shoot a look at the doorway and pick up her cell phone to check her out. Her calendar is pretty dull. A lot of meetings, the occasional doctor’s appointment. Lunch with friends. Nothing that makes me think she’s a serial killer, or a black widow or anything similar. I start reading through her messages, a good amount are from Rosie who texted earlier, most of which seem to be offers to set Evelyn up on blind dates, and she responds to all of them with polite dismissal, leaving me more baffled than before. It’s obvious the guy in the photo has done a number on her. She’s still hung up on him, but why I even care is the bigger mystery. It must have been the cookies. Either that or she laced the cocoa.

  I smother a yawn and check through her emails on the off chance she’s ordered something serial killer-ish, like ten rolls of duct tape, or lots of shovels and plastic tarp online but she’s decidedly boring. So much so, I’m getting sleepy despite the pain, so I put the phone back the way it was and leave it on the coffee table.

  The rain is battering the roof, the wind is squealing outside, but inside with the crackling fire, with cookie crumbs on my borrowed shirt, I could almost think I’m getting a little vacation from my shitty life. I close my eyes and smile as I start to think about things I probably shouldn’t be thinking about, things that even if I was up for physically can’t happen.

  I try not to dwell too long as those thoughts switch rapidly and I start imagining various scenarios that all involve her feeding me cookies, that all end in me stripping off her baggy clothes to see what she’s hiding underneath.

  My lips curl into a smile. Maybe this weekend isn’t going to be so bad after all?

  Chapter 3

  Saturday 7.22am

  Evelyn

  My head is pounding as I open my eyes to grey light pouring through the crack in my drapes. I groan as fragmented memories flitter through my hangover. I ease the covers back, trying to minimize the spinning as I take a sip from my water bottle, my entire body stiff and sore from dragging Connor into my house.

  I stagger to the bathroom, ready to douse myself in hot water when I hear music over the sound of the rain. I rub at my temples as the scent of coffee, bacon frying, and toast greets me. I’m so shocked by the unaccustomed noise and smells coming from the kitchen; my legs are rooted to the carpet in the hallway.

  Connor. He’s cooking. In my kitchen. Without my permission.

  I ready a frown and pick my feet up as I cross the living room with the fire burning brightly as though he’s kept an eye on it all night, and head into the kitchen. I open my mouth to spew a reprimand, but every last word disappears as I see him pouring a cup of coffee from the coffee percolator.

  His back is to me, and my heart jolts to my throat, and for a minute I think it’s Scott standing in my kitchen. The fact that Scott’s t-shirt fits snug against Connor’s more muscled torso so I can see every contour makes his presence here and my visceral reaction to him a billion times more confusing.

  He’s humming along to the radio on my cell phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he isn’t invading my space and throwing my carefully ordered weekend into disarray. I swallow, hangover quickly being replaced with something I
haven’t felt in a long time. Something I’m not sure I’m ready to feel again, especially not for a man who despite nearly bleeding to death looks healthy and strong enough to run with the bulls in Pamplona. My legs fold from under me, I plonk into the seat at the table that never gets used anymore and take a sip of what I think may be the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my life.

  He leans against the counter and cross his arms against his brawny chest. “Morning, gorgeous. Hope you like your coffee hot and strong.”

  I nearly snort the coffee out my nose. Gorgeous? “How did you know how I take it?”

  I regret the words the second they are out of my mouth. I know he’s going to use it as a double entendre, and sure enough, he sends me a cheeky grin. “I can figure out how most women like to take it. It’s a gift.” He chuckles so much at his own joke, and despite how flustered I’m starting to feel around him, I smile into my black coffee.

  He plonks his mug down, splashing some of the creamy liquid over the table top. “Actually, I didn’t know for sure. You strike me as an all-or-nothing kind of woman, so I made it at opposite ends of the spectrum.” My blush only grows as he grins at me. “I, for example, prefer it hot, creamy, and sweet.” He stares so boldly at me as he drinks his coffee and I think my skin is about to ignite.

  “If I’d known you were such a flirt, I may not have saved your life,” I mumble into my coffee.

  He chuckles, seemingly unperturbed as he turns back to the eggs he’s frying. “How can I not flirt with you? Have you looked in the mirror?”

  My lips twitch despite my conflicted emotions at his continued presence and seemingly limitless confidence. I don’t know if his ego is overblown, or whether he’s hamming it up, but either way, I’m not sure I want to find out.

  “Connor, I’m not really a morning person. Can you turn the radio off, please? And since I can’t charge my phone, we should be conserving the battery.”

  His eyebrows rise as he switches the gas stove off, then he hands me my phone so I can lower the volume of the local radio station. “I was listening out for weather details.” All the humor leaves his face as he dishes up eggs, bacon and buttered toast triangles on the side. He slides a plate in front of me and sits opposite me in Scott’s chair.