The Connaghers Series Boxed Set

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  “I’ll give you my door code and you can let yourself in. I won’t even get out of bed.”

  “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

  “It’ll be Saturday.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” Dropping his head back against the seat, he let out a weary laugh. “I forgot what day it is.”

  “Will you have to work?”

  “Maybe, but not right away.”

  “So come over, get some sleep, and I’ll make you breakfast.”

  It sounded nice. Heavenly. But he didn’t know what she’d want from him. Some sexy, light banter had been great, but he felt like an exhausted, strung out junkie. He wasn’t sure what kind of sex he’d be able to give her, whether it’d be worth her time or not.

  “No scene or sex, at least not tonight. Just rest. You need it.”

  “You won’t mind company?”

  She hesitated a minute, and he heard the quaver in her voice. “I’d love it.”

  She needed the companionship as much as he did. Just to have someone beside him, someone to wake up and smile at. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes or so.”

  “Don’t drive home and shower first,” she yawned and the sleepy sound curled his toes. She sounded like a kitten all curled up and sweet—not the ferocious tiger on the prowl. “You can shower here.”

  He started up his truck and turned toward her place. “You sure you want me fumbling around in your bathroom? I thought that was a woman’s sacred space.”

  “Ha, not me. My sacred space is my bed and you’ve already been here.”

  Her words were sweet, but mumbled and slurred. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Now go back to sleep, ma’am.”

  “If I wasn’t so tired I’d probably beat you when you got here for trying to tell me what to do.” She yawned again and sheets rustled, as if she was burrowing back down in her pillows. “Drive safely.”

  “Will do.” He hung up and fought the urge to floor it. At least there wasn’t any traffic this early in the morning, though it felt like he crawled all the way to her house by following the speed limit. Her street was dark, but the porch light was on. Had she gotten up after all? Or did she normally leave it on? Maybe he was reading too much into this. A single woman, living alone, would probably always have a light on. It had nothing to do with the hope that her lover might come to her in the wee hours of the morning. Walking up to her door, he checked his phone, and found her text with the code to her automatic door lock.

  Habit made him pause and scan his surroundings once again, listening and feeling for any sense of anyone watching or following. Not even a dog barked in the neighborhood. His fingers trembled slightly on the keypad but he got the code entered on the first try and quietly shut and locked the door behind him. A night light gleamed in the hallway, leading him to the bathroom. Knowing that she was so close it was all he could do not to slide into bed and take her in his arms, but he wouldn’t come to her smelling of the streets. In fact, he should have taken his shoes off at the door rather than walking through her house. God only knew what he’d contaminated her wood floors with. Next time, he swore to himself. He’d take his shoes off and tiptoe through her house.

  Next time. Would this continue that far? God, I hope so.

  The water barely had time to heat up and he was out, drying off with a towel from the shelf. He looked like hell, all grizzled cheeks and dark circles beneath his eyes, but he didn’t want to rummage around in her drawers to find a razor. A basket on the shelf held a couple of brand new toothbrushes still in the wrapper. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind him using one, because he sure didn’t want to have to remember not to kiss her. He tidied up—hung the towel on a hook on the door, picked up his clothes and stacked them neatly on the floor out of the way—and then slipped on his boxers. He didn’t want to presume too much by sliding into her bed naked when she’d clearly said no scene, no sex. At least not tonight.

  Her room was pitch dark, so he moved slowly, making sure he didn’t crash into that dog kennel or her dresser. Her breathing was deep and even, so she’d been able to get back to sleep after his call. As quietly as possible, he climbed onto the mattress, carefully feeling for her position so he wouldn’t pull her hair or thump her in the head. His fingers found her warmth, the silk of her arm. She wore something too, cotton, it felt like, so he was glad he hadn’t come to her bed naked. He tucked in behind her, spooned against her and she sighed. Nestling her head back against him, she put her hand on his arm and tucked him closer.

  Lying there, listening to her breathe, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman like this. Not for sex, but just… warmth. Comfort. Company. He smoothed his hand gently up and down her arm, reveling in the silk of her skin, and the simple pleasure of touching her. He buried his nose in her hair and fell like a rock into heavy sleep.

  10

  It was nice having a man in her space again. Even asleep, Colby’s energy seemed to hum in the air around her, heightening her senses and engaging her mind in the endlessly hot things she could teach him. Sipping coffee, Mal sat down at the small round table she kept in the breakfast nook and stared out the window into her back yard. She wasn’t a master gardener, but she was proud of the small, private oasis she’d built in the middle of the city. It helped that her house was in an older part of Dallas, so the trees were big and gorgeous. Someone had done all the hard work for her decades ago and put in some beautiful roses along the back fence. She loved them, but it was the climbing roses she’d planted on her brand new arbor five years ago that she was most pleased with. In the summer, she loved to sit outside in the evening beneath a golden curtain of flowers and smell their sweet perfume. She’d spent months researching to find exactly the right rose. Fragrant, climber, golden peach and soft white hues. They’d start to bud soon.

  Waking up with him beside her had been glorious. She barely remembered him climbing in behind her, his arms coming around her. He hadn’t made advances, which she appreciated. She’d have had to teach him a lesson in humility that he might not have enjoyed at all, and she’d been too tired to even contemplate a scene. Even a light, fun scene. She’d stayed up too long reading through the information Patrick had given her about pony kink, so she could start sketching out the season.

  Even now, fully rested and wide awake, she wasn’t quite ready to tackle a new scene with Colby. She felt the need to get closer to him, to know him better. Communication. Stories from their past. Sex was good, but she yearned for connection and conversation too. If he couldn’t open up and share more about his past, his family, or his job, so she really knew him, then she’d have to send him packing, as disappointing as that would be. Another reason Andy had not been the right man for her. He’d never been able to mature beyond hanging out with his old college buddies playing poker. For all she knew, Colby was the same, only hanging out with his cop buddies. She didn’t have a problem with that on the surface—as long as he was willing to dig deeper with her. She wanted a deep, rich relationship, not a purely sexual relationship that she could satisfy with a one night stand with someone from the club.

  She refilled her cup and poured him one, though she didn’t know if he even liked coffee, let alone how he took a cup. Then she walked into her bedroom. Even dark from the light-blocking shades and curtains, she could feel him. Hot energy, simmering just beneath the ground, like a volcano that could crack open the earth and spew hot lava at any moment. She set their cups on the nightstand and pulled open the heavy curtains. The blinds still filtered the brutal Texas sun out, but the room lightened considerably. Time to see what kind of morning person he was. The first night they’d spent together, he’d woken up and left with a simple kiss goodbye, and she’d let him slip away, knowing he had to work. He might have to report in today, but he’d said not right away. They could have some time together, just the two of them.

  For a moment, she just watched him sleep. His jaws were dark with stubble, the hard, long lines of his body barely relaxed, even in sleep. He
’d kicked one leg out from beneath the blanket, so she could see his boxers. He hadn’t come to bed naked. She liked it when a man wasn’t too presumptuous. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to trail her fingertips down the long line of his thigh, but she didn’t get the chance. One second he was sound asleep, and the next, she felt the wind of movement perilously close to her face as he whipped across the bed in a flying somersault and landed crouched, facing her, hands lifted like weapons.

  Wide eyed, she could only stare at him mutely. Her mind recognized that she’d escaped a very close call. He’d no doubt meant to strike out a hard kick at whoever threatened him before he cleared the bed, but something had kept him from connecting with her head. A kick or punch from a lethally trained soldier like him would probably put a woman in the hospital.

  Her body was another story entirely. She appreciated the powerful, effortless way he moved. The threat of danger had sent a surge of adrenaline pumping through her veins, calling to her Mistress-hunter side. She loved a challenge, and the feral way he moved, still foggy with sleep, presented an near insurmountable obstacle. Everything in the tensed muscles, coiled strength, and bare-handed combat screamed untamable.

  Yet that was exactly what she most wanted to do. Tame him. Break her to her hand. While still retaining that wild, incomparable heart of the warrior.

  “Fuck!” His eyes flared wide and he scrambled across the floor frantically, slamming his back against a wall. “Fuck! Are you hurt?”

  His chest heaved, his eyes wild, and she could see him starting to shut down internally. Rapid blinks, quivering muscles forced from a relaxing sleep to all-out war to shock. Guilt darkened his eyes. He raked a hand over his face and dropped his head against his knees. Hiding, gathering himself together.

  Even commanded to stillness beneath her while she’d taken her pleasure, he hadn’t been this vulnerable. This close to crumbling into a thousand pieces.

  Accidentally hurting her was probably worst case for him. As polite and well mannered as he was, hurting a woman would genuinely be one of the worst things he could do. He wouldn’t take a near miss lightly, even though it hadn’t been his fault at all. Yet it was important for her to handle this situation correctly. Baby him, and he would remember later that he’d been weak and vulnerable before her. A man of his training would hate that. That memory would gnaw at him like a cancer, slowly destroying every bit of trust and affection she would have gained. Yet if she handled him too brusquely, not recognizing this vulnerability, he could shut down emotionally and withdraw entirely, which was exactly the opposite of what she wanted from him.

  “I’m fine,” she said, pleased her voice was steady. “Are you all right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have approached you like that while you were sleeping.”

  His voice was muffled against his knees but she understood him. “I didn’t hurt you?”

  “Not a hair on my head. Want some coffee? I brought you a cup.”

  He lifted his head, eyes narrowed as if he suspected she was lying. He scanned her face, and she didn’t try to hide from him. She let him see that she was rattled—appropriately warned not to wake him like that again—but definitely not scared out of her mind.

  She reached over and picked up her cup, tipping her head toward his. “I wasn’t sure how you like it. Sugar? Cream? I left it black for now but I have both in the kitchen.”

  He didn’t answer, but silently watched her sip for a few moments. She kept her manner calm and relaxed. Her hand trembled slightly but not enough that she spilled any of the coffee.

  “I should have realized a cop wouldn’t like anyone approaching from his blind side while he was asleep. How should I wake you up next time?”

  “The hell if I know.”

  She quirked her lips in a teasing grin. “Next time I’ll just stand in the kitchen and holler, ‘Come and get it!’ That work?”

  His mood couldn’t be lightened. Turmoil whirled in his eyes, clenching his jaws in a hard line, his hands fisted. As she watched, stone walls went up in his eyes. Brick by brick, he shut himself off. To protect her, she knew, but she couldn’t allow him to keep those walls. Not if she ever wanted him to truly submit. Sitting on her bed dressed only in a nightshirt and robe, she drew herself up like a warrior queen. Building her power, honing her will like a weapon, she snapped, “Freeze, soldier.”

  The combination of familiar cop words and his past, mixed with the harsh tone of her voice, made him hesitate. Eyes hard and grim, he met her gaze unflinchingly, closed and guarded, but not yet withdrawn completely.

  “I’m not done with you yet, Wade. So don’t go shutting down on me. Get that ass over here pronto.” His eyes flickered, hesitating, so she sharpened her voice and used it like a whip. “I gave you a command, soldier. Now!”

  It was a gamble, but it worked. Years of following orders from his commanding officers had honed in him an innate instinct to obey an order, especially in moments of crisis. He stood, stiffly, but did as she told him, this time walking around the bed instead of diving across it. Rigid, as if he might bolt toward the door any moment, he stared down at her.

  Another calculated risk, but she suspected he felt as though he needed to make amends. Holding his gaze, she kept her voice deceptively soft, even while each word thudded with power. “Go to your knees, soldier.”

  He swallowed hard and jerked down to the floor like a rusty robot with stiff joints. But he did it. And he didn’t drop his gaze with shame.

  She leaned toward him, putting herself in harm’s way, a deliberately sign of her trust in him. “This was not your fault.”

  “I could have hurt you, Mal.” His words were raw, as if his throat had turned to sandpaper and gravel. “Real bad.” He shuddered, as if he could see her broken and bloodied body before him.

  “But you didn’t. It was my mistake, not yours.” A muscle ticked in his cheek and his shoulders strained, so she knew he hadn’t accepted her explanation. “I’m from New Orleans.” She deliberately let her accent shape her words, adding to her story. “My uncle ran an alligator farm when I was little, and I was fascinated by his tales. I thought he was exaggerating, but then I finally saw him do a show once at a little county fair, and I never doubted him again. He could handle his gators like they were pets. Put his head in their gaping jaws, just like you hear about at those big gator shows. Never had an ounce of fear. I asked him about it and he said if you knew the gator, you could handle it. But you had to know it like your mama. You had to be able to read its smallest signals and know whether it was sleepy and lazy, the perfect time to handle it for a show, or if it was hungry or interested in a hunt. If you couldn’t tell, then you had no business messing with a gator.”

  Some of the tension eased from Colby’s shoulders, but his eyes were still shuttered and hard. The eyes of a soldier. The eyes of a man who’d go off to war without looking back, even knowing he’d die, because he’d given an oath to protect the people back home. But he was listening, and she could work with that.

  She lifted her hand and held down her pinkie and ring fingers. “I said, ‘But Uncle Robbie, what happened to your hand? Didn’t a gator take your fingers?’ He nodded and smiled, without an ounce of anger or fear. ‘Yep. He got me good, ‘cause I wasn’t listening. My mistake, not his.’”

  “I could have taken your head clean off, not a few fingers,” Colby grumbled, finally dropping his eyes.

  She leaned closer and pressed her forehead to his. “And it would have been my mistake, not yours. When I wrangle with a gator, I have to respect his teeth. That’s the risk that I accept.”

  “I don’t. I can’t. If I hurt you—”

  “Colby,” she interrupted gently. “I was a fool for sneaking up on you like that. I knew you’ve had some issues with PTSD. That alone should have told me to be more careful when waking you up. Plus you’re a detective, who worked most of the night probably on some murder. God only knows what violence and horror you see everyday on the streets. You need your gat
or teeth just to get through everyday unscathed. It’s my job to respect those teeth, not ignore your signals.”

  His tension bled away from his shoulders and he relaxed against her, though he made no move to put his hands on her. “I still hate that I scared you.”

  “A little excitement is good, and a healthy dose of respect for your training is definitely a good thing. I’m glad I got to see you in action, even for just a second.” She slid her arms down his back and squeezed his buttocks firmly in both hands. That brought his head up in a hurry, the grim icy quickly melting to a sultry smolder. “You’re quite something to look at, Detective Wade. Maybe I should ask to do a ride-along with you and your partner sometime.”

  He choked back a laugh. “Elias would love that.”

  She kneaded his buttocks, watching the way his nostrils flared and the lines of strain and worry slowly eased from around his eyes. So she saw the moment he realized that he’d actually gone to his knees for her. A very submissive thing to do. “If this is all I had to do to get you on your knees in front of me, then I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Even if you kicked me in the head first.”

  He didn’t answer, and she could read the questions and doubt streaming through his eyes. Was he really going to make it this easy for her? Was he really submissive? Half a man (or less) in his eyes? How far would he go if she asked? All things he was thinking about right now. Guessing he’d need some time to process everything, she released him and stood, easing around him to head back to the kitchen.

  “Let’s eat. I’m starving. So how do you take your coffee?”

  He rose up to follow her, grabbing the cup she’d set on the nightstand for him. He took a drink and let out a pleased sigh as he followed her. “That depends.”

  She tipped her head to the bar, indicating he could sit there and watch. She wasn’t much of a cook, but she could manage eggs and grits just fine. Mama would have a heart attack if she knew her daughter served somebody frozen biscuits, but anything that required special cooking utensils like pastry blenders was beyond her patience. She could do anything if she set her mind to it. She just would rather have someone else do the baking, especially if she was the one going to eat it.