Читать книгу Standing In The Shadows - Shannon McKenna - Страница 9

The car pulled to a stop beside Erin. She jumped and cowered back against the ivy-covered stone wall until she heard Connor’s voice coming out of the dark interior of the vehicle. “It’s just me.”

Relief, anger, and excitement all mixed and fizzed in her belly. She brushed herself off and groped for her dignity. “You scared me!”

“Yeah, I noticed. Pretty spooked, aren’t you?”

She could think of no reply to such an obvious statement, so she just started walking again.

The car followed her slowly. “Come on, Erin,” he cajoled. “I’ll give you a ride home. You’re safe with me. Get in.”

She glanced down at her watch. The next bus wouldn’t pass for twenty minutes. “It makes me nervous to be followed around,” she snapped.

“That’s tough. It makes me nervous to see you alone on the street at night,” he replied. “Get in.”

She got in. The window whirred shut, the locks snapped down, and she was alone in a car with Connor McCloud. The fierce barbarian warrior who had played a starring role in her sexual fantasies for years.

“You need a full-time bodyguard until Novak’s back in custody,” he said sharply. “You can’t wander around by yourself. It’s not safe.”

“A bodyguard?” She snorted in derision. “On my budget? I can barely afford to feed my cat.”

“I’m not asking for pay.”

“You?” She stiffened. “Good God, Connor, you can’t—”

“Put your seatbelt on, Erin.”

Her stiff, chilly fingers struggled with the belt. “I don’t want a bodyguard,” she said nervously. “I particularly don’t want you for a bodyguard. Nothing personal, but I don’t want to have anything to do with the Cave. I don’t want to see Dad’s ex-colleagues ever again.”

“I’m not with the Cave anymore,” he said. “Haven’t been for months. They don’t think you need protection. I do. This is my idea, and I’ll take responsibility for it.”

“Oh. Uh…” She searched desperately for words. “I, um, really appreciate the thought, Connor, but—”

“You don’t take me seriously,” he said. His voice was sharp with frustration. He flipped on his turn signal, and turned onto her street.

“Novak is probably busy plotting to take over the world by now,” Erin said. “I’m sure he has better things to do than bother with the likes of me. And how do you know where I live, anyway?”

“Phone book.”

“That’s not possible. I’m not in the book yet.”

He slanted her a wry glance. “You’re in the database, Erin, even if you’re not in the book. Anyone could find you.” He parked in front of the decaying facade of the Kinsdale Arms and killed the engine. “This place is grim. What happened to your apartment on Queen Anne?”

Another surprise. “How did you know about—”

“Ed bragged about you when you got that hotshot job at the museum and moved into your own place,” he said. “We all knew.”

She winced at his mention of her father, and stared down at her lap. “This place is cheaper,” she said simply. “Thanks for the ride.”

His car door slammed, and he followed her into the lobby. “I’ll walk you up to your apartment.”

“That’s not necessary, thank you,” she told him.

Her words were futile. He fell into step behind her as she started up the staircase. She had no idea how to deal with him. He was so stubborn and determined, and she didn’t want to be rude to him.

Six flights took forever, with his huge, quiet presence behind her. She stopped in front of her door. “Good night,” she said pointedly.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and stared down at her with unnerving intensity. “Erin. I really didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m all right,” she whispered. It was a lie, but she couldn’t resist the impulse to comfort him. She’d always been a hopeless softie. She found herself staring at the hollows under his cheekbones. The sensual shape of his lips, bracketed by harsh lines. It had been so long since she’d seen his gorgeous, radiant grin.

The words flew out of her mouth. “Do you, um, want to come in?”

“Yeah,” he said.

Her stomach did a terrified back flip. She unlocked her door.

He followed her into her apartment. She flipped on the floor lamp she’d found at a rummage sale years ago, with a wicker laundry basket she had rigged for the lampshade. It cast a strange pattern of warm, reddish slices of light and shadow around the cramped room.

“It’s not much,” she said hesitantly. “I had to sell most of my stuff. Here, let me move this pile of books. Sit down. I can make you some coffee, or tea, if you’d like. I’m afraid I haven’t got much to offer in the way of food. A can of tuna and some toast, maybe. Or cereal.”

“I’m not hungry, thanks. Coffee would be fine.” He wandered around, studying her pictures, scanning the titles of the books piled against the wall with evident fascination. Edna jumped down from her favorite perch on the bookshelf and stalked over to investigate him.

Connor crouched down to pet her cat, and Erin hung up her jacket and put the kettle on. His eloquent silence unleashed too much dangerous speculation in her mind. She turned around.

The chitchat she’d been rehearsing froze in her throat. The raw force of his gaze sent a shock wave of feminine awareness through her. He was staring at her body, measuring her with intense interest. She felt naked in her jeans and T-shirt. “You’re thinner,” he observed.

Her instinct was to back away, but the sink was already pressed against her back. The room was terribly small with him in it. “I, uh, haven’t had much of an appetite, the past few months,” she said.

“Tell me about it,” he murmured.

Edna arched and purred beneath his hand, which was very odd. Edna was a nervous, traumatized ex-alley cat. She’d never let anyone but Erin touch her, and now look at her, flinging herself onto her back. Writhing with pleasure beneath Connor’s long, stroking fingers.

Erin wrenched her gaze away from the unsettling spectacle. “This has been the one time in my life I’ve managed to lose weight without trying,” she babbled. “And I’m too stressed out to enjoy it.”

“Why did you ever try? Your body is gorgeous.”

His tone was not flattering or flirtatious, just a flat request for information. “Well, I, uh…I’ve always been a little too—”

“Perfect.” He rose to his feet with sinuous grace, still studying her body. “You’ve always been perfect, Erin. You don’t need to lose weight. You never did. Try not to lose any more.”

She was completely flustered. “Ah…OK.”

A sweet, brief smile transformed his lean face as he sat down in the chair she’d cleared for him. Edna promptly leaped into his lap.

Erin scooped coffee into the filter with trembling hands. Busy, busy, busy—

“Erin, can I ask you something personal?”

Her skin prickled at his tone. “That depends on the question.”

“Last fall. At Crystal Mountain. That guy, Georg. Tell me the truth. Did you go to bed with him?”

She froze into agonized stillness, keeping her back to him. “Why does it matter to you?” Her voice was small and tight.

“It just does.”

His question brought all the burning shame rushing back. She turned, and lifted her chin. “If I say yes, that means you’ll lose all respect for me, right?” She flung the words at him.

“No,” he said quietly. “It means that when I hunt him down and start beating him to death, this time I’ll finish the job.”

The kettle began to warble. She couldn’t respond to it. She was paralyzed by the bleak intensity of his eyes. The warble rose to a shriek.

Connor jerked his chin toward it.

Erin grabbed the kettle with shaking hands. “I think you’d better leave,” she said. “Right now.”

Her voice sounded tight, breathless. Not authoritative at all.

Connor’s gaze did not waver. “You promised me coffee.”

His face was implacable. He would leave when it suited him, and not before. And she had no one but herself to blame for inviting him in.

Connor placed Edna gently on the ground. He got up and wandered over to her desk, studying the photos and cards pinned to the corkboard. The travel itinerary and the printed-out Mueller e-mail lay on the desk in plain view. He picked them up and examined them. “Going someplace?”

“Just a work thing.”

He frowned. “Didn’t you say you lost your job?”

“I work for myself now. I’ve started my own consulting business.”

“And you’re getting by?” His gaze swept the tiny, wretched room.

“I’m not supporting myself with my business yet,” she said stiffly. “I’m temping to make ends meet. But I have high hopes.”

He held the e-mail up to the light and read it.

“Excuse me, Connor, but those are my private papers, and I did not invite you to look at them.”

He ignored her, his gaze fixed on the page. “So Claude is delighted to meet with you at last, huh?” he said softly. “Who is this Claude?”

“None of your business. Put those down. Now.”

He glanced up, and took in the steaming mug in her hand. His eyes went right back to the e-mail. “I take it black,” he said absently.

“Put those papers down, Connor.” She tried to make her voice steely and commanding. It just sounded scared.

“So old Claude feels like he knows you already. Isn’t that sweet.” He laid the papers on her desk, and walked to the table, staring at her with narrowed eyes. “So, this Claude. You’ve never met him?”

She set his coffee down in front of him. “He’s a client of mine. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Art appraisal?”

“Authentication,” she corrected. “Mr. Mueller recently developed an interest in Iron Age Celtic artifacts, which are my specialty.”

He sipped his coffee, frowning. “How recently?”

“I’ve never discussed that with him,” she said. “It’s not—”

“What do you know about this guy, Erin?”

She bristled at the challenge in his voice. “Everything I need to know. He treats me like a professional. He pays well, and on time.”

“But you’ve never met him?” His eyes probed her, merciless.

“I’ve met members of his administrative staff,” she said. “He runs a charitable foundation called the Quicksilver Fund.”

“So why haven’t you met him yet?” he persisted.

“Because he’s always had other pressing engagements,” she retorted. “He’s a busy man.”

“Is he now,” Connor said. “Isn’t that interesting.”

Coffee sloshed over the table as she slammed down her mug. “What the hell are you insinuating, Connor?”

“Do you know anyone personally who has met this guy?”

She pressed her lips together. “I know people whose arts organizations have received grants from him. That’s enough for me.”

“No, it’s not enough. You can’t go on this trip, Erin.” She jerked onto her feet, jarring the table painfully with her thigh. “The hell I can’t! I am hanging on by my fingernails, Connor. That client is the best thing that’s happened to me in the last six months! I will not jeopardize my business just because you are paranoid!”

“Erin, Novak is out there somewhere,” Connor said. “I’ve been hunting him for years. I know his smell, and I’m smelling it now. He lives to fuck people up. You’re Ed Riggs’s daughter. You were in his sights. He won’t forget you. Count on it.”

Erin sank down into her chair. “Mueller can’t possibly have anything to do with Novak,” she said coldly. “Novak has been in a high-security prison ever since he was released from the hospital. Mueller started hiring me four months ago. We made plans to meet on two other occasions. Once in San Diego and once in Santa Fe.”

“But he never showed up?”

She lifted her chin. “He had unexpected business.”

“I just bet he did,” Connor said. “I need to check this guy out.”

“Don’t you dare!” she flared. “Don’t even think about messing with the last good thing I’ve got going. Everything else in my life has gone straight to hell. Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

Connor’s mouth tightened to a grim line. He put down his cup, stood up, and headed for the door. His limp was just a barely perceptible, hitching stiffness in his leg. And it still broke her heart.

“Connor,” she said. “Wait.”

He pushed the door open, and waited, motionless.

“I’m sorry I said that.” She got up and took a step toward him. “I know it’s not your fault. It’s been…a really awful time.”

“Yeah.” He turned and looked at her. “I know what you mean.”

It was true. He did know how bad it was. She saw it in his eyes. He’d been betrayed and set up to die. He’d lost his partner, Jesse. He’d lost months of his life in a coma, suffered the shattered leg, the burns.

Connor had lost far more than she in this awful business.

An impulse from deep inside kept her feet moving until she stood right in front of him. His scent was a mix of soap and tobacco, resiny and sweet. Pine, wood smoke, and rainstorms. She stared straight up into his face, like she’d always wanted to do, and breathed him in. She drank in all the details: the sheen of beard stubble glinting metallic gold in the light from the corridor outside. The shadows beneath his brilliant eyes, the sharp line of his jutting cheekbones. How was it possible for a mouth to be so stern, and yet so sensual?

And his piercing eyes saw right into her soul.

She lost herself in it. She wanted to touch his face, to trail her fingers over every masculine detail, to feel the warmth of his skin. She wanted to press herself against his lean, solid bulk. She wished she had something to feed him, whether he was hungry or not.

Connor reached behind himself and shoved the door shut without breaking eye contact. She needed so badly for someone to know how lonely and lost she felt. Her mother was adrift in despair. Most of her friends were avoiding her. Not out of unkindness so much as sheer embarrassment, she suspected. But that didn’t help the loneliness.

Connor saw it all, and it didn’t embarrass him. His gaze didn’t shy away. She didn’t shy away, either, when he reached for her.

His touch was so careful and delicate, she could barely believe it was happening. Her eyes welled up. He smoothed away the tears that spilled over with a brush of his thumb, and folded her into his arms.

He pressed her face against the canvas of his coat. His hands stroked the length of her spine as if she were made of blown glass. He tucked her head under his chin. His breath warmed the top of her head.

She squeezed her eyes shut. He’d hugged her before, at her graduation party, at holiday gatherings, but not like this. Quick, nonsexual, brotherly hugs, but even so her heart had almost exploded out of her chest, it beat so fast and hard. His broad frame felt harder than she remembered, his muscles like tempered steel.

He’d been concentrated into the pure, potent essence of himself.

She wondered if the way she felt about him was written all over her face. He held her so carefully, vibrating with tension. Maybe he was afraid of hurting her feelings, or that she would misunderstand his friendly gesture and demand something he didn’t want to give. All those years of romantic fantasies, all that heat, all that pent-up hunger, he had to feel it. Dad had said that he was psychic.

He’d seen everything: how lonely she felt, how needy. He stroked her hair, as if he were petting a wild animal that might bolt, or bite.

She didn’t want careful, or gentle. She wanted him to push her onto the narrow futon cot, to pin her down with his big, strong body and give her something else to think about. Something hot and scary and wonderful. She could scream, she wanted it so bad. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, pull him closer, and just gobble him up.

God, how could he not pity her?

That thought stung her. It gave her the strength to jerk away. She dug in her pocket for a Kleenex. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled.

“Any time.” His voice sounded thick. He cleared his throat.

She kept her face averted. He had to leave, and fast, before she burst into tears and covered herself with glory. “Um, I have to pack. I’ve got lots to do, so, uh…”

“Erin—”

“Don’t start.” She backed away, shaking her head. “I’m going on this trip, and I don’t want a bodyguard, thanks for the offer. Thanks for the ride, thanks for the advice, the sympathy and the…the hug. And now, I really, really need to be alone. Good night.”

He made a sharp, frustrated sound. “You need better locks. Hell, you need a new door. It’s a waste to put a good lock on a door like this. I could kick the hinges in with my bad leg.” He scanned her apartment, scowling. “I’ll call my friend Seth. He can install something that—”

“And how am I supposed to pay him?”

“I’ll pay for it myself, if you’re short on cash,” he said impatiently. “Seth’ll give me a good deal. It’s important, Erin. You’re not safe here.”

“Thanks, but I can take care of myself. Good night, Connor.”

“Does your mother have an alarm system?”

She thought of the shattered mirror and clock. An eddy of sickening fear swirled in her belly. “Yes. Dad insisted.”

“Then maybe you should go stay with her for a while.”

She bristled. “And maybe you should mind your own business.”

He frowned, and pulled a matchbook out of his jeans pocket. “Give me a pen,” he demanded.

She handed him a pen. He scribbled on the matchbook and handed it to her. “Call me. Anything happens, day or night, call me.”

“OK,” she whispered. The matchbook was warm from his pocket. Her fingers tightened over it until it crumpled in her hand. “Thanks.”

“Promise me.” His voice was hard.

She tucked it into her jeans pocket. “I promise.”

One last, searching look, and he finally walked out the door.

A sharp knock made her jump. “Use the deadbolt,” he ordered from outside. “I’m not leaving until I hear you do it.”

She pushed in the bolt. “Good night, Connor.”

He was silent for a few seconds. “Good night,” he said quietly.

She put her ear to the door, but could not hear any footsteps. She waited a moment, opened the door and checked. No one was there.

She was finally alone. She slammed the door shut. After his bullying and lecturing and intimidating her with that overwhelming macho charisma, she’d thought his departure would be a relief.

Instead, she felt bereft. Almost piqued at him, for letting her drive him away so easily. Yikes, how clingy and passive-aggressive of her. She was in worse shape than she’d thought.

But how incredibly sweet of him to care.

Connor leaned his hot face against the steering column. He couldn’t drive in this condition. He would kill himself.

His heart was thudding, his ears roaring. He was on the verge of coming in his pants. If she’d leaned just one breath closer to him, she’d have felt his hard-on, pressing against his jeans like a club. Those amazing, liquid brown eyes that a guy could get lost in, Jesus. Her eyes on his face had felt like an embrace. He’d wanted to grab her and kiss her so bad, his muscles were cramping from the effort of holding back.

Maybe she would have melted against him and kissed him back.

Yeah, and pigs had wings and hell had a skating rink. The closer he stuck to harsh reality, the less liable he was to screw up.

It was so ironic. Right before the huge fuck-up that had landed him in a coma and killed Jesse, he’d been working up the nerve to ask Erin Riggs out for dinner and a movie. Ever since she’d turned twenty-five. That had struck him as the magic number. She’d attained the status of fair game. He was nine years older than her, which wasn’t all that excessive, but when she was seventeen and he was twenty-six, he’d known damn well it would’ve been sleazy to hit on her. Once she hit her twenties, he’d been really tempted. She was so juicy and innocent—but Ed would’ve ripped his head off if Connor had gotten anywhere near his precious baby girl. There was that to consider.

But the main reason he hadn’t made a move was because she’d been gone so much, on study-abroad programs and archeological digs; six months in France, nine months in Scotland, a year in Wales, etc. He’d had some casual girlfriends in the meantime, some of them nice women, but he’d always pulled back when they started talking about the future. He’d braced himself to hear about Erin getting engaged.

Didn’t happen. She’d finished grad school, gotten her curator job, moved out of the group house with her college girlfriend and into her own apartment. Twenty-five years old, and amazingly, she didn’t have a boyfriend. It was time. All was fair in love and war, and all that crap. If Ed didn’t like it, he could shove it.

But the shit had hit the fan before he ever got a chance to follow through. When he woke up from the coma and found out that he’d been betrayed, and Jesse murdered, he had no energy to spare for romance. He’d loved his partner like he loved his own brothers. He’d thrown everything into getting back on his feet so he could hunt down Lazar and Novak, flush out the traitor and avenge Jesse.

All of which had culminated in hauling Ed Riggs into custody.

Damn, he couldn’t help but think that putting a girl’s dad in prison for murder pretty much wrecked his chances of getting a date with her on a Saturday night. Particularly considering the shape he was in these days. He glanced into the rearview mirror, and winced.

He’d always been lean, and he forced himself to work out hard to compensate for the bum leg. He’d built back all the muscle mass that he’d lost in the coma, but he had no fat left on him at all. He could see every individual muscle and tendon moving under his skin when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. A goddamn walking anatomy poster. The burn scars didn’t help much, either. Neither did the limp.

He wasn’t much of a prize. Working for his older brother, snapping pictures of unfaithful spouses. He had no future. He barely had a present. All he had was a past, and everything in it nixed his chances of getting into Erin Riggs’s bed.

What an idiot. Lusting after an ivory tower princess behind a wall of goddamn thorns. He wanted so badly to claw his way into that tower, and find out what went on behind those big, serious eyes. He wanted to make her smile. She hadn’t smiled tonight. Not even once.

With that bracing thought, he put the car in gear and headed toward his brother Davy’s lair, down on Lake Washington. Davy would be pissed at him for showing up three hours late, but he would just grumble and throw a steak on the grill. His stomach twitched with approval, one of the first signs of life he’d gotten from that quarter in a long while. Davy and Sean had taken up the practice of calling him at regular intervals and reminding him to eat. Annoying, but he guessed he was lucky that somebody cared. Otherwise he would be lost in space.

His younger brother Sean’s Jeep was parked in the driveway. He was going to get lectured from both sides. They were talking on the back porch as he opened the door. Their voices suddenly ceased.

Two pairs of green eyes almost identical to his own scrutinized him as he stepped out onto the deck.

“You’re late,” Davy said. “We ate.”

“Novak’s busted out,” Connor told them. “With two of his goons. One was that guy I roughed up last November. Georg Luksch.”

They listened to the water lapping against the pebbles under the deck for a long moment.

“You think he’s going to want to play with us?” Davy asked.

Connor sank into a chair, bone tired. “It’s what he lives for.”

Sean buried his face in his hands. “God. I’m swamped trying to get this business off the ground. I don’t have time to play with Novak.”

“I’m less worried about us than I am about Erin,” Connor said.

Davy and Sean’s gazes narrowed in on him, like a couple of laser beams. He bore it stoically.

“What about Erin?” Davy’s deep voice was low and wary.

Connor folded a scrap of paper he’d found on the table into an origami unicorn. One of his bored-out-of-his-mind-in-rehab activities that had evolved into a full-blown nervous habit. “He had Erin in his clutches once. I pulled her loose. He’s not going to forget that. Georg Luksch won’t forget it, either. She’s pretty, and young, and clueless. He goes for that. And he’s going to want to punish Riggs for failing him.”

“Erin is not your problem,” Davy said. “You did your best for her. You didn’t get much thanks for it. The most you can do is warn her.”

“I already did.”

Davy and Sean exchanged meaningful glances.

“You talked to her?” Sean demanded. “Tonight?”

Connor braced himself. “I went to her place,” he admitted. “Followed her to her mom’s house. Gave her a ride home.”

Sean winced. “Uh-oh. Here we go again.”

Davy took a swig of beer, his hard, lean face impassive. “How’s she doing?” he asked.

“Not well,” Connor said. “Like hell, actually. Since you asked.”

“Look, Con,” Sean began. “Don’t bite my head off, but—”

“How about you don’t even start?” Connor suggested.

Sean barged on, undaunted. “I know you’ve been carrying a torch for that chick for years, but your testimony put her dad’s ass in jail. You cannot be her hero, dude. You’re just going to get hurt.”

Sean’s words made him feel bleak and sad, not angry. “Thank you for sharing your opinion,” he said. He unfolded the unicorn, and scribbled Claude Mueller’s name, e-mail address, and the flight information that he’d memorized onto the paper. He pushed it across the table toward Davy. “Would you check these out for me?”

Davy picked it up and examined it. “Who is this guy?”

“This is the mysterious millionaire who has recently developed a passionate interest in Celtic artifacts. Erin’s flying down to Portland, to be met and driven to Silver Fork Resort, where she will proceed to authenticate a mess of priceless relics for him.”

“And what is it exactly that bothers you about this?” Sean asked.

“Neither she nor anybody she knows has ever actually seen the millionaire,” he said. “He’s always been too busy to meet with her since he started hiring her. Four months ago.”

“Ah.” Davy’s voice was thoughtful.

“Find out who’s paying for those flights,” Connor told him. “And find out everything you can about the Quicksilver Foundation.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“She’s leaving tomorrow. I told her she needed a bodyguard, and she spit in my eye,” Connor said. “Threw me out of her apartment.”

“I don’t blame her,” Sean said. “A guy who looks like you is not a good fashion accessory for a bodacious babe.”

“Bite me,” Connor said wearily. He pulled his tobacco and papers out of his pocket.

“Did it occur to you to shave, or brush your hair before you inflicted yourself on her?” Sean lectured. “Jesus, Con. You barbarian.”

Connor nodded toward his older brother. “Davy’s got beard stubble. Bug him for a while.”

“Davy’s another story.” Sean’s voice was elaborately patient. “Davy irons his shirts. Davy eats. Beard stubble is a very different fashion statement on Davy.”

Davy stroked his stubble and gave Connor an apologetic shrug.

Connor looked at Davy. “Speaking of food. You promised me a steak.”

Davy looked startled. “You mean, you actually want some?”

“I’m hungry,” Connor said.

Sean’s jaw sagged. “So having Erin Riggs spit in your eye stimulates your appetite, huh?” He sprang to his feet. “One rare T-bone coming right up. I’ll nuke you a baked potato, if you want.”

“Make it two,” Connor said. “Lots of butter and sour cream and chives. And don’t forget the black pepper.”

“Don’t push your luck.” Sean’s grouching was belied by his huge grin. He kicked open the screen door and bounded toward the kitchen.

“When do you need the Mueller info?” Davy asked.

“Tomorrow morning. I’m taking a road trip down to Portland.”

Davy’s face darkened. “To meet her plane? Oh, Christ. Forget the hero routine just this once. Call Nick. They’re the ones who should—”

“I already tried Nick. They think Novak’s back in Europe.”

“They probably have good reason to think so,” Davy growled.

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Connor said. “She can’t go meet this guy all alone. If Ed were around, it would be his job to look after her, but—”

“But Ed’s not around,” Davy cut in. “And that is not your fault.”

“It’s not Erin’s fault, either.” Connor avoided his brother’s gaze as he finished rolling the cigarette. “And I don’t blame myself.”

Davy slammed his beer bottle onto the table, a rare show of temper for his self-contained brother. “The hell you don’t. You can’t save the whole world, lamebrain. Get your own life back on track before you go racing off to rescue some damsel in distress.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my love life,” Connor retorted.

Davy’s lowering eyebrows shot up. “Whoa,” he said. “Back up two steps. Who said anything about your love life?”

Connor cupped the cigarette in his hand and lit it. He took a deep drag and exhaled, to calm himself down before he dared to speak.

“Leave it alone, Davy,” he said.

“Watch it, Con,” Davy said. “You’re treading on shaky ground.”

Sean burst through the screen door and passed Connor a cold beer. “Food’ll be out in a few,” he announced.

“Thanks,” Connor muttered.

Sean looked from one brother to the other. His eyes narrowed. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” Davy and Connor said, in unison.

Sean scowled. “I hate it when you guys do that,” he snapped. He slammed the screen door behind him, hard.

Connor finished his cigarette in grim silence. Davy for once had the good sense to nurse his beer and keep his mouth shut.

Sean kicked open the door a few minutes later and placed a loaded plate in front of Connor. He dug into it without hesitation.

His two brothers silently watched him consume a twelve-ounce steak, two big baked potatoes, a sliced tomato, and three big hunks of hot, toasted French bread slathered with garlic butter.

Connor finally noticed their fixed stares. “Cut it out, you guys,” he protested. “Quit watching me eat, already. You’re inhibiting me.”

Davy crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Give us a break. We haven’t seen you eat like that for sixteen months.”

“It’s awesome.” Sean’s face was unusually serious. “That’s a week’s worth of calories for you, Con. All in one meal. Check you out.”

Connor mopped up the last of his steak juice with a hunk of bread. He felt a vague stab of guilt. “You guys shouldn’t worry. I’m fine.”

Davy snorted. “We’ll see how fine you feel when you get back from Portland.”

Sean frowned. “What’s this about Portland?”

“He’s going to be Erin’s welcoming committee when she goes to meet the mysterious millionaire who may or may not be Novak,” Davy told him. “He wants to guard her luscious body. Personally.”

“Oh, Christ. You don’t say. Well, finish your dinner, then. You’re going to need your strength. What hardware you taking?” Sean asked.

“Just the SIG. And the Ruger SP-101, for backup.”

“Want some company?” Sean asked.

Connor glanced at him, startled. “I thought you were busy.”

“I’m not too busy to watch my brother’s back,” Sean said.

Connor’s mouth twitched. “Think I need a baby-sitter, huh?”

“Interpret it however the fuck you want.”

Connor finished the final swallow of beer. “I’m OK on my own,” he said. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

“You want Erin all to yourself, huh?”

Connor ignored his younger brother’s taunting with the ease of long practice. “Would you guys contact Seth and Raine about Novak?”

“I’m on it,” Sean said promptly.

“I’ll go get to work on this info,” Davy said. “Get some sleep, Connor. You look beat. Crash here, and I’ll give you the rundown over breakfast. The bed’s already made up for you on the side porch.”

“Thanks.” He got to his feet and stared at his brothers, struck by the bizarre urge to say something sentimental to them.

Sean read it in his eyes, took pity on him, and headed him off. “Get a goddamn haircut if you’re looking to get laid, Con.”

Connor winced. “You are such a pig.”

“Sure, but at least I look good,” was Sean’s parting shot.

Connor flopped onto the bed, staring out at the mass of tree branches that swayed outside the glassed-in side porch. The chair next to the bed had a towel, washcloth, and a pair of Davy’s folded sweats lying on it, presumably for him to sleep in. He was exhausted, but his mind was buzzing. He closed his eyes, and his photographic memory promptly served up the image of Erin puttering around in her kitchen, her sweet, curvy body delicious in the faded jeans and T-shirt.

Fresh fodder for his sexual imagination. He’d fantasized about sneaking into her bedroom at Ed and Barbara’s house for years. He’d imagined himself, a big, blundering bull in that feminine world of ruffles and lace, puffy pillows, perfume bottles, lingerie. And Erin, backing up toward her bed, her eyes heavy with excitement as he locked the door.

That fantasy had infinite variations, all of them red hot and X-rated, but tonight the setting changed by itself, unguided by his conscious mind. The ultra-femme bedroom of his fantasies gave way to the crowded studio apartment in the Kinsdale. Painfully neat and organized, the braided rug brightening up the scarred linoleum floor, the crazy quilt covering the narrow cot. Heaps of books piled against the wall. Alphabetized, for God’s sake. How cute. Every detail lit by the patterned glow of the basket lamp and charged with erotic heat.

The Kinsdale room didn’t make him feel clumsy and alien like the fantasy bedroom did, but it was even more alluring, because Erin was all over it. Her practicality and tidiness, her whimsical sense of humor, her refusal to give in to self-pity. Bright colors, indomitable spirit. That room was sexier than any place he could have dreamed up on his own.

He buried his face in the coarse wool army blanket and let the fantasy unfold. He kissed the salty tears off her cheeks, and she opened and clung to him as he devoured her tender mouth. He knelt down and nuzzled the warmth of that velvety strip of skin between the T-shirt and the waistband of her jeans that had so tantalized him tonight. He popped the buttons of the jeans open and tongued her navel as he dragged those jeans and panties down over her curvy hips, her round ass. Slowly, inch by precious inch, reveling in her hot female smell: baby powder and flower petal and ocean salt. He breathed it, in big, greedy gulps. He peeled every scrap of clothing away until she was naked, arms held out to him, her eyes soft with trust.

Yeah. Trust. He shoved away the derisive voices in his head. This was his fantasy, and he’d run it how he damn well pleased.

She trembled as he put his arms around her from behind and explored the exquisite, plump fullness of her breasts. Vivid details were imprinted in his mind as if they were memories, not fantasies. Her nipples puckered against his hand, tender buttons of flesh aching to be tongued and suckled. Her hair clip pulled loose, and her glossy hair tumbled and slid across her shoulders like a swath of dark satin.

He slid his hand over the rounded swell of her belly, delving into her dark thatch, searching for hidden treasure in the wet, secret heat of her cleft. She tightened around his fingers and flung her head back against his shoulder, squirming and whimpering with pleasure.

He pushed her down onto the bed and pushed her soft thighs until they sprawled apart. He cupped her rosy ass cheeks, kissed and tongued the folds and hollows between her legs, the electric fuzz of dark hair. He opened her like a dripping fruit with his tongue, sliding it along the glistening, succulent folds of her labia, wallowing in her colors and flavors. Lazy and slow, taking his time. Suckling her clit, flicking and lashing it with his tongue. He would bury his head between her thighs and thrust his tongue deep. He would make her buck and writhe and press her cunt against his face, until she jerked and sobbed and came.

And then he would do it all again.

Usually he finished himself off with the next logical step; clambering over her damp body and shoving himself into her quivering depths, sliding deeper and slicker with each thrust until his orgasm thundered through him. Tonight, he didn’t get that far. He came along with her imagined orgasm, the pillow muffling his cry as he spurted into the washcloth. He pressed his face against the pillow, breath heaving.

When he lifted his head, he was startled to find his face wet with tears. That was weird. He wiped his cheek and stared at his wet hand for over a minute, but he was too tired to be overly freaked out about it.

He cleaned up in the back bathroom, dragged the blanket over himself and sank like a stone into real, honest-to-God sleep.