Standing in the Shadows (14 page)

"It's OK," she whispered. "It's not your fault."

He shot her a puzzled, ironic glance. "Whose fault is it, men?"

She shook her head and stared down at her lap.

He started up the car. "I didn't come down here to take advantage of you," he said roughly. "You need protection, Erin. I don't have any choice, and neither do you. But I promise I won't touch you again."

"There are always choices," Erin said.

"Not this time. Put on your seat belt."

The sharp authority in his voice reminded her of her father. The tone that signaled that there would be no bargaining, no back talk.

It was a mistake to think of her father. She strapped herself in, making herself small on the seat. Her mouth felt puffy. She peeked in the mirror and gasped in dismay. Her hair was falling down, her face was rosy red, and her mouth… it didn't even look like her mouth.

Connor flipped on the radio, turned the dial until he found some classic blues. "Change it if you want."

"This is fine." That was all she managed to say to him.

She just sat there, squeezing her quivering thighs tightly around the hot ache. Her panties were wet. She wanted to stop at the first hotel, drag him into it, and make him finish what he'd started. She wanted to jump out of the car and run screaming. She'd been split into pieces, and each piece wanted something different.

She peeked at his grim profile, and the images that rose up in her mind made her blush again. Herself naked against his long, hard body, limbs entwined. She thought of the unyielding bulk of his erection pressing against her panties. Imagined him penetrating her. Her breath hitched in her chest. She felt almost faint, her heart raced so hard.

She was so sick of celibacy. She was almost twenty-seven, away from home, and climbing the walls. No one would ever know if she did something so crazy as to have sex with Connor McCloud.

At least she wasn't a virgin, although Bradley hardly counted. Ironically enough, the main reason she'd been attracted to Bradley in the first place was because he bore a superficial resemblance to Connor. He was tall, lean, blond. Just graduated from Princeton, already accepted at Harvard Law. He'd been sharp and witty, had made her laugh. And he had persuaded her that he was the perfect stud to relieve her of the crushing burden of her virginity.

The memory unrolled in her mind no matter how she pushed it away. She had felt absolutely nothing when they finally did the deed. Just embarrassment, at the appraising comments he had made about her body, and in bed, an uncomfortable sense of being invaded. A powerful urge to shove him off, which she had controlled. After all, she had agreed to all that intimacy. Bradley didn't deserve to be shoved.

But she had felt so bleak and alone staring up at his face. His eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched in a grimace, lost in his own world as his hips pumped into her more or less numb body.

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," she 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.