“Do you have a minute?” he asked as he began unbuttoning his black shirt. All I could do was nod as he shrugged it off. “Can I go take a shower first?”
“S-sure,” I stuttered when my eyes snapped back to his.
His hand trailed down my arm to squeeze my hand before he grabbed the shirt, coat, and tie with one hand and turned away. Before he was out of my line of sight, his other hand caught the back of his undershirt’s collar and he pulled it over his head, revealing his lean, muscled back and arms. And I had no doubt he did that on purpose.
Connor was back five or so minutes later, hair dark and messy from the shower, a gray fitted shirt and another pair of faded jeans on that I would bet were made just for him. “You want coffee?” When I shook my head, he leaned against a side wall smiling at me. “So what’s brought you here?”
I twisted my dad’s ring nervously and bit my lip to try to hide my grin but failed. “I want to show you something.” I’d straightened my hair and thrown it up in a high ponytail so you could see the exposed part of my back easily, and with the loose, thin material of the shirt, it wouldn’t be hard to move it out of the way to show the entire thing. With another smile toward Connor, I turned so my back was facing him, then looked over my shoulder at him to see his reaction.
The day after coffee with Connor, I’d gone to get a tattoo of a phoenix starting at the top of my right shoulder, covering part of my shoulder blade, and going toward the center of my back and ending at my waist. It had taken forever, but it was colorful and beautiful. I loved it; it wasn’t just to honor my dad, it was a way to always remind me of my mom’s sacrifice. She may have been thirteen years too late, and it may have been something I would have tried so hard to stop her from doing, but it’s what she needed to do for herself and for me. It was the only gift she thought she could give me, and in some sick, twisted way, I understood.
“A phoenix?” His lips twitched up at the corners and he took the few steps up to me to move the piece of material going down the middle of my back. “Damn, this is really good,” he said softly, and trailed a finger down my shoulder blade.
Goose bumps and a shiver spread over my body and I watched as his pale blue eyes darkened as they locked with mine. “You’re going to have to forgive me, Cassidy.”
In a move so fast I could hardly comprehend it, he turned my body so I was facing him, lifted me so my legs were around his waist, and had my back against the entryway wall, his mouth on mine and moving aggressively. The tip of his tongue lightly traced my bottom lip and I shivered again.
My mouth opened for him, and we both moaned when our tongues touched. My body was at war with itself. I was hating myself and craving Gage but enjoying this strange connection with Connor.
“Connor, stop,” I said breathlessly. One hand was grabbing a fistful of his wet hair, the other had his shirt clenched in it. Forcing both of them to relax their hold, I repeated myself even though he had stopped and currently had his forehead against my collarbone. “Stop.”
Connor was just as breathless from the quick but aggressive kiss. “If this guy doesn’t realize what he has, promise me you’ll come back, Cassidy.”
“What makes you so sure I’d want you too?”
He looked up and grinned mischievously. “One, you think I’m annoyingly attractive and admitted to dreaming about me. Two, you got goose bumps the second I touched you”—his eyes shifted down for a second to look at my arm, then came back to meet mine—“and still have them. And three, even though you fight it when we kiss because of your boyfriend, those high-pitched noises that come out of your throat when our lips meet and the way your body instantly reacts to mine says it all.”
My chest was heaving up and down quickly; I knew he was right and was thoroughly embarrassed and feeling guilty about it. “I think you should put me down.”
“You’re about to walk out of my life, so when you promise that you’ll come back to me if you and Gage don’t work out, I will.”
“I’m nineteen,” I blurted out.
He chuckled. “And I just turned twenty-five. Your point?”
“You’re only twenty-five? But you’re—you’re a detective. I thought you were close to thirty.”
“Do I look thirty?”
“Well, no.” I felt my cheeks redden and I looked to the side. “I just figured you had to be older to be a detective.”
“God, I like that too,” he said softly as he looked at my cheeks.
“Connor.”
His eyes snapped back to mine. “I’ve always known I wanted to be a homicide detective, so right away I started working hard for it. Only been in homicide for six months, and the youngest guy next to me is thirty-four. But regardless, I’ve seen your driver’s license; I know you’re almost twenty. Not that it matters either way; you don’t act your age. You’re mature because of what you had to live through, and if I had to guess, I’d say Gage is a bit older than you too.”
“Twenty-two,” I responded immediately.
“Have you talked to him at all since you left?”
I didn’t respond, because I hadn’t.
“Has Gage tried to call you?”
My head and eyes lifted slightly to look into his. “No.”
He nodded and leaned in so his lips were at my ear. “Cassidy, you’re in love with someone who isn’t here. He hasn’t called, and he hasn’t come looking for you. Not only that, you haven’t tried to call him either, and we’ve been talking nonstop for three days, and first thing this morning you’re in my apartment to show me something extremely important to you. Not Gage’s . . . mine. We have—whatever this is between us, I know you feel it too. So what has to happen and what can I do to convince you to stay here with me, to be with me?”
“S-sure,” I stuttered when my eyes snapped back to his.
His hand trailed down my arm to squeeze my hand before he grabbed the shirt, coat, and tie with one hand and turned away. Before he was out of my line of sight, his other hand caught the back of his undershirt’s collar and he pulled it over his head, revealing his lean, muscled back and arms. And I had no doubt he did that on purpose.
Connor was back five or so minutes later, hair dark and messy from the shower, a gray fitted shirt and another pair of faded jeans on that I would bet were made just for him. “You want coffee?” When I shook my head, he leaned against a side wall smiling at me. “So what’s brought you here?”
I twisted my dad’s ring nervously and bit my lip to try to hide my grin but failed. “I want to show you something.” I’d straightened my hair and thrown it up in a high ponytail so you could see the exposed part of my back easily, and with the loose, thin material of the shirt, it wouldn’t be hard to move it out of the way to show the entire thing. With another smile toward Connor, I turned so my back was facing him, then looked over my shoulder at him to see his reaction.
The day after coffee with Connor, I’d gone to get a tattoo of a phoenix starting at the top of my right shoulder, covering part of my shoulder blade, and going toward the center of my back and ending at my waist. It had taken forever, but it was colorful and beautiful. I loved it; it wasn’t just to honor my dad, it was a way to always remind me of my mom’s sacrifice. She may have been thirteen years too late, and it may have been something I would have tried so hard to stop her from doing, but it’s what she needed to do for herself and for me. It was the only gift she thought she could give me, and in some sick, twisted way, I understood.
“A phoenix?” His lips twitched up at the corners and he took the few steps up to me to move the piece of material going down the middle of my back. “Damn, this is really good,” he said softly, and trailed a finger down my shoulder blade.
Goose bumps and a shiver spread over my body and I watched as his pale blue eyes darkened as they locked with mine. “You’re going to have to forgive me, Cassidy.”
In a move so fast I could hardly comprehend it, he turned my body so I was facing him, lifted me so my legs were around his waist, and had my back against the entryway wall, his mouth on mine and moving aggressively. The tip of his tongue lightly traced my bottom lip and I shivered again.
My mouth opened for him, and we both moaned when our tongues touched. My body was at war with itself. I was hating myself and craving Gage but enjoying this strange connection with Connor.
“Connor, stop,” I said breathlessly. One hand was grabbing a fistful of his wet hair, the other had his shirt clenched in it. Forcing both of them to relax their hold, I repeated myself even though he had stopped and currently had his forehead against my collarbone. “Stop.”
Connor was just as breathless from the quick but aggressive kiss. “If this guy doesn’t realize what he has, promise me you’ll come back, Cassidy.”
“What makes you so sure I’d want you too?”
He looked up and grinned mischievously. “One, you think I’m annoyingly attractive and admitted to dreaming about me. Two, you got goose bumps the second I touched you”—his eyes shifted down for a second to look at my arm, then came back to meet mine—“and still have them. And three, even though you fight it when we kiss because of your boyfriend, those high-pitched noises that come out of your throat when our lips meet and the way your body instantly reacts to mine says it all.”
My chest was heaving up and down quickly; I knew he was right and was thoroughly embarrassed and feeling guilty about it. “I think you should put me down.”
“You’re about to walk out of my life, so when you promise that you’ll come back to me if you and Gage don’t work out, I will.”
“I’m nineteen,” I blurted out.
He chuckled. “And I just turned twenty-five. Your point?”
“You’re only twenty-five? But you’re—you’re a detective. I thought you were close to thirty.”
“Do I look thirty?”
“Well, no.” I felt my cheeks redden and I looked to the side. “I just figured you had to be older to be a detective.”
“God, I like that too,” he said softly as he looked at my cheeks.
“Connor.”
His eyes snapped back to mine. “I’ve always known I wanted to be a homicide detective, so right away I started working hard for it. Only been in homicide for six months, and the youngest guy next to me is thirty-four. But regardless, I’ve seen your driver’s license; I know you’re almost twenty. Not that it matters either way; you don’t act your age. You’re mature because of what you had to live through, and if I had to guess, I’d say Gage is a bit older than you too.”
“Twenty-two,” I responded immediately.
“Have you talked to him at all since you left?”
I didn’t respond, because I hadn’t.
“Has Gage tried to call you?”
My head and eyes lifted slightly to look into his. “No.”
He nodded and leaned in so his lips were at my ear. “Cassidy, you’re in love with someone who isn’t here. He hasn’t called, and he hasn’t come looking for you. Not only that, you haven’t tried to call him either, and we’ve been talking nonstop for three days, and first thing this morning you’re in my apartment to show me something extremely important to you. Not Gage’s . . . mine. We have—whatever this is between us, I know you feel it too. So what has to happen and what can I do to convince you to stay here with me, to be with me?”
