So Wrong It's Right

by Julie Johnson

  I’ve never felt more alive than this moment, I think, staring up at him in awe as he sends me spiraling into sweet oblivion. I’ve never truly been alive at all, until right now.

  Right here.

  With him.

  I’m lying in the circle of his arms, half sprawled on his chest. His fingers are tracing lazy patterns on my back. It feels amazing. In fact, every part of me feels amazing, from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.

  Behold, the restorative powers of four mind-blowing orgasms…

  My neck arches back so I can meet his eyes. “Conor?”

  “Shelby.”

  “Will you tell me something?”

  His fingers go still. “Depends what that something is.”

  “Earlier… you said you pulled Sykes in on this case to interview me because you were worried you couldn’t be impartial.”

  He tenses at the mention of Sykes name, but gives an affirmative nod.

  “I guess… I’m just wondering why.”

  “She’s a proficient profiler, I thought she’d do a good job—”

  “No. Not why you picked her.” My voice wavers. “Why you felt you needed to.”

  A fissure of confusion appears between his eyes. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”

  “Why did you think you couldn’t be impartial with me? What made you think that your feelings would get in the way of doing your job?” I shake my head, undeniably confused. “You barely knew me, then.”

  “Ah.” Understanding creeps across his expression. His fingers begin to move again, sliding up every indentation of my spine. It feels so good, I have to fight off shivers of pleasure.

  Then again, I don’t know why I’m fighting them… Rround five doesn’t sound so bad to me…

  He clears his throat lightly, drawing my attention back to the question. “I think you’re forgetting… I did know you. You just didn’t know me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I spent six months watching your life from a distance. I saw you teaching yoga classes and wandering the Farmers Market on Saturday mornings. I saw you volunteering at the dog shelter on Christmas and Easter, days no one else wanted to work. I saw you taking long runs to fill your afternoons, so many miles along the Charles River I knew you were trying to tire out your muscles to the point of exhaustion, to outrun something deep within yourself.” His expression softens. “I saw you signing up for classes to keep your weeknights busy — still-life sketching and French cooking and wood sign painting. Workshops for DIY wind-vanes and make-your-own bird feeders. And most of all, I saw the sadness on your face when you’d walk out of those classes clutching whatever new project you’d made and go back home, to that huge, empty house. Alone.” He pauses. His voice goes low, rough like I’ve never heard it before. “I saw you, Shelby. I still see you. I think, even if I go blind, I’ll see you in my dreams for the rest of my life.”

  Oh, boy.

  My eyes are watering dangerously and my voice, when I can summon the courage to speak, is wavering. “So you mean to tell me… all those times I got tingles on the back of my neck and told myself I was being crazy paranoid, that no one was following me…”

  He grins darkly and pinches my sensitive nape in a playful move. “You should really learn to trust your instincts, Hunt.”

  I smack him on the arm. “Whatever. I may be oblivious to danger, but at least I’m not a creepy stalker.”

  “For the record, it’s not stalking if you’re in the FBI.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” I snort. “I think you need to look up the definition of stalker in the dictionary.”

  Smirking softly, he pulls me closer to his chest and lets his eyes drift shut. “We can argue about it in the morning.”

  “There won’t be any argument. You have no argument. I’m right.”

  “You’re stubborn.”

  “Said the man who makes mules look reasonable.”

  “Said the woman who makes me look reasonable.”

  I huff.

  “Hunt.”

  “What?”

  His lips find mine in the dark, delivering a long lingering kiss that steals my breath and makes my heart pound twice its normal speed.

  “What was that for?” I ask dizzily.

  “I need a reason for kissing you goodnight?”

  “No.” I pause. “But if you think you can just kiss me from now on to solve all our arguments—”

  “Shelby.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Happy to spend all day tomorrow fighting with you… so long as we can have hot make-up sex after. But right now, I’m dead tired from not sleeping for three straight days and nearly getting my ass blown up. So unless you want me unable to deliver on said promise of hot makeup sex… go the hell to sleep.”

  My eyes close so fast, I think I set a new Guinness World Record.

  Chapter Twelve

  STEPFORD WIFE

  I try my damndest to fall asleep. I really do.

  But no matter how many times I toss and turn, I can’t seem to shut my mind off. Can’t seem to stop replaying all the things Conor told me tonight.

  I saw you, Shelby. I still see you. I think, even if I go blind, I’ll see you in my dreams for the rest of my life.

  Who the hell would be able to sleep, after hearing a speech like that? Not me, that’s for damn sure. Which is why, approximately fifteen minutes after Conor has ordered me under penalty of celibacy to stop talking… I sigh dramatically into the dark.

  “Hey,” I whisper softly. “Are you asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  I elbow him. “You are not.”

  “But I aspire to be.”

  Rolling my eyes, I manage to stay silent for another few minutes, holding in the words until I feel like I might actually explode from the strain of trying to keep them contained. “You know, you could’ve said hello to me.”

  He cracks open an eye. “What?”

  “At Phoebe and Nate’s wedding last month. You could’ve said hello instead of ignoring me.”

  The eye shuts. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

  “You barely looked my way!”

  “Oh, trust me. I saw you doing the electric slide, Hunt. Not a pretty sight.”

  “Jackass.”

  His lips twitch.

  I glower. “It’s just rude, that’s all.”

  “Guess we aren’t sleeping,” he mutters tiredly.

  “I’m just saying, you could’ve at least acknowledged my existence.”

  “Couldn’t very well do that without blowing my cover.”

  “It wasn’t like you were on duty,” I point out. “You can’t help it we have friends in common. It was a coincidence.”

  He’s silent.

  “Wait… it was a coincidence, right?”

  He grunts noncommittally.

  “Conor Gallagher!” I exclaim, aghast. “Did you crash that wedding just to spy on me?”

  His eyes open fully to look into mine. “No.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Maybe because you enjoy being ornery and questioning every damn thing I ever tell you?”

  I stare at him, waiting for the truth.

  He sighs. “Nate’s a friend. He invited me. But I will admit, I wasn’t planning on attending until I found out you were a bridesmaid. Accepting that invitation was a chance to keep a closer eye on you. I took it.”

  “Ugh! I freaking knew it!”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

  “I’m not wearing panties. You took them off, remember? With your teeth.”

  “Not likely to forget that. Not ever.” His eyes glitter with lazy heat.

  “Don’t try to distract me with that sexy look. We’re having a serious conversation.”

  “Thought we were trying to sleep.”

  “No, you were trying to sleep. I was contemplating the depths of your stalker-like behavior.”

  “You know, you should actually be thank
ing me for attending that wedding — seeing as it ended up getting crashed by those loan sharks who were after your friend Lila.” His brows go up. “Who do you think arrested them and kept the whole reception from descending into chaos?”

  I blanch. “I… but… you… wait, that’s…”

  “Cat got your tongue, Hunt?”

  Yes, actually. I’m quite speechless.

  Somehow, in the craziness of the past few days, I never put it together that Conor was the one who stepped in to save Phoebe and Nate’s wedding day. It makes sense, now that I think about it… but the knowledge is still hard to wrap my mind around. Perhaps because it stirs scary feelings to life inside my chest. Feelings that terrify me down to my soul.

  Conor Gallagher has been saving your ass since before you ever met him.

  That particular realization is too complicated to unpack right now, so I push it to the back of my mind and force a light tone.

  “Well. Unless you have a death wish, may I suggest not sharing this information with the bride — Phoebe will kill you if she learns you crashed her special day just to spy on her friend.”

  “Relax. I was an exemplary guest. RSVP’d promptly, ordered the steak, even bought them a damn gift off their registry. A blender. Five-speeds. Very impressive.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, because that’s what marriage is about. Small household appliances.”

  “Suppose I wouldn’t know, seeing as I’ve never been married.”

  “Consider yourself lucky,” I mutter, thinking of Paul.

  He’s silent for a long time. So long, I think maybe he actually did fall asleep. But then, from the darkness, I hear a quiet, “I used to.”

  I scrunch up my nose, confused. “Huh?”

  “I used to consider myself lucky. Thought I’d dodged a bullet by not settling down. You have to understand… in my line of work, the things I see…” His voice is so soft I can barely make out the words. “It’s hard to imagine ever being able to come home at the end of the day and act like a husband. I always figured it was easier just to stay unattached.”

  “And now?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  His eyes find mine. “I’m thirty-two years old. I live alone. My parents are out in California, still in the same house where I grew up. No siblings. No pets. No social life to speak of, not counting the occasional after-work function. This career is all I have. I’ve built my entire life around it.” He blows out a sharp breath. “It used to be enough. But maybe it’s not anymore. Maybe I want… something more than just the job.”

  I bite my tongue to prevent myself from asking what changed his mind.

  Who changed his mind.

  When I speak, I do my damndest to keep my voice steady. “Not that I pretend to be an expert on living the perfect life…”

  Eyes closed, he snorts.

  “But I have to believe it’s about balance.”

  “Look, Hunt, I’m not doing yoga with you no matter how much you beg.”

  “Not that kind of balance, asshole. I’m talking about a work-life balance. You should work in order to live, rather than live only to work.”

  “You get that off a greeting card?”

  I throw a pillow at his head. It his him square in the face. Sitting up, he growls as he squishes it in his grip. His eyes are shining with the promise of retaliation. “You sure you want to start a pillow fight with me, Hunt? Guarantee you won’t win.”

  My pulse is thready and my mouth is strangely dry at the prospect of Conor being playful with me. Letting loose, laughing. Things I never in a million years thought the two of us would ever do, based on the way we butt heads. But as he sits there looking at me like that… so gorgeous in the dim light…

  He really and truly takes my breath away.

  “Well?” he prompts, the pillow held aloft.

  “No,” I breathe. “I surrender.”

  “Chickenshit.”

  “Didn’t you say something about wanting to sleep?”

  “Oh, you want to sleep now? After waking me up to ask me about a wedding?”

  I blush. “It’s not really about the wedding. I was just… curious, I guess. About you. About this job. About…”

  “What, Shelby?”

  “Why… Why me?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I just… I’m finding it hard to believe. Of all the cases you’ve ever worked… I’m the one that made you question your ability to do your job properly.”

  His teasing smile falls away, replaced by a serious look. “You may find it hard to believe, but it’s the truth. I didn’t lie to you. I won’t ever lie to you.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant at all—”

  He cuts me off. “I’ve been doing this job for a long time, first in New York, now here in Boston. It’s all I’ve ever been good at. And, like I told you before, it’s all I have. My parents weren’t exactly thrilled when I walked away from their plans for me back in California. They cut me off when I told them I was applying for the FBI Academy after my college graduation, instead of helping manage the chain of car washes my father owns.”

  I blink. “I cannot picture you running a car wash empire.”

  “Yeah, well, neither could I. That’s why I left.” His eyes get distant. “I thought New York would feel like home, but it never quite fit. That’s why I took the transfer up here. It wasn’t about wanting a fresh start in a new city. I simply had nothing tying me there. No unbreakable relationships, no permanent roots. I figured one zip code was as good as another. Simple as filling out a change-of-address card. Because for me, home is just a place to crash. That’s it. And when I’m there, I’m usually wishing I could be out in the field instead.”

  “Your job is your life,” I murmur.

  He nods. “You talk about a work-life balance… but for the past decade, since I was a twenty-two-year-old kid, this job has been all I’ve thought about. It’s come before everything — before family, before relationships, before friendships or holidays or vacations. I’ve put my career first and never blinked an eye about it. Never even come close to questioning the decision.” He sucks in a breath. “Until your case came across my desk.”

  My eyes widen.

  “You are the only thing that has ever made me second-guess myself. The only case I’ve ever gotten so invested in… I couldn’t do my job. Couldn’t trust myself to make the right call, when it came down to it.”

  I don’t even know what to say. Whether I should apologize for making him doubt his own abilities or do cartwheels around the room because, holy freaking shit, if he’s saying what I think he’s saying…

  “You’re more than a case, Shelby Hunt. You’re more than the job,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the hair at my temple. “You are the exception to every rule I’ve ever written for myself. And it scares the ever-living shit out of me.”

  I turn my face into his shoulder to hide the fact that I’m crying.

  He’s the bravest man I’ve ever known.

  He’s not scared of anything.

  But he’s scared of the way he feels about me.

  He doesn’t say anything else. He just holds me close as my tears drip onto his skin and strokes my hair until I finally fall asleep.

  When I wake up the next morning, Conor is no longer in bed with me.

  I sit up, looking around for him, but he’s nowhere to be found. Throwing off the sheets, I grab the first article of clothing I come across — a large black FBI sweatshirt resting on the armchair — and tug it over my head. My hair feels twice its normal size, bushy and mussed from a night of lovemaking, but I barely care. A smile stretches across my lips as I barrel out into the living room.

  “Hey, sexy, where’d you g— OH!”

  I let out an embarrassed yelp as my eyes catch up to my mouth and I see Conor sitting on the sofa… beside Kaufman and Evelson. My cheeks turn fire-engine red as three male sets of eyes cut to me at once.

  I instantly regret my choice of nicknames,
though not as much as I regret the fact that I didn’t put on pants before rushing out of the bedroom. With as much decorum as I can muster, I reach down and tug the hem of my sweatshirt more firmly over my thighs as I walk toward the sofa.

  “Gentleman,” I say in a haughty voice.

  Kaufman nearly snorts coffee out his nose.

  Evelson forces a cough to cover his laugh.

  “Hunt. You’re awake.” Conor’s mouth is twitching with amusement. “Tell us… which one of us were you referring to, exactly?”

  “Me, obviously.” Kaufman smirks. “I’m the sexiest by a landslide. Have you seen these baby blue eyes?”

  “Now, now, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Evelson chimes in, rubbing his buzzed head. “Some chicks dig the bald look.”

  I will myself to sink into the floorboards and disappear. Unfortunately, my powers of invisibility don’t seem to be cooperating at the moment.

  “I’ll just… grab some coffee…” I mutter weakly, darting into the kitchen and away from their laughter.

  Smooth, Shelby. So smooth.

  I’m pouring myself a steaming cup when two arms brace against the counter on either side of me. A firm chest hits my back.

  “Good morning,” Conor rumbles in my ear.

  “Is it?”

  “Oh, come on. We’re required to tease you a little.”

  I turn around inside the cage of his arms and I kid you not, my knees go weak when I see the amount of warmth in his eyes.

  “Hi,” I whisper, arching into him.

  “Hi,” he rasps, leaning down to kiss me.

  We lose ourselves for a minute, mouths moving together as unchecked passion blossoms bright between us. It’s dangerous — how addicted I’ve already become to his touch. I crave it like a drug, seek it out with a relentless, limitless drive. After a minute or two, I’ve forgotten all about my coffee growing cold on the countertop, about the two men sitting in the other room, about the very real danger I’m in…