“I expected you to take my head off,” Olivia said as she poured a bit of the astringent on the washcloth.
“Believe me, I considered it.”
He winced as she dabbed the astringent on his cheek. Olivia leaned closer and blew on his cheek to cool the sting. “There,” she murmured. “That’s better.”
Conor slowly turned to face her. Their gazes locked and, for a long moment, Olivia couldn’t breathe. She was suddenly aware that she was dressed only in a towel…a very thin towel. And that towel could be dispensed with by a mere flick of Conor’s finger between her breasts. Another shiver skittered over her skin, raising goose bumps, and her eyes fell to his lips, hard and chiseled.
Her gaze was like a silent invitation and he accepted. He bent forward and touched his lips to hers. But this was the first time he’d kissed her merely to kiss her. Until now, their actions had been driven by impulse. This kiss was slow and measured and deliberate and Conor took his time with her, tasting and teasing until she tentatively opened for him.
As her lips parted, any attempt at resistance dissolved. Olivia knew it wasn’t right, at least not by the policeman’s handbook or her own set of relationship rules. He was a cop and she was a witness. They’d only known each other a few days. And although the kiss wouldn’t cost her any more than breathless desire, it could cost Conor Quinn his job.
But she couldn’t think of that now. Conor slowly pushed her back onto the bed, his mouth drifting down to the curve of her neck and tracing a warm path to her shoulder. Olivia closed her eyes and sighed, the sensations his mouth created sending tingles to her fingertips and toes.
It had been so long since a man had touched her that she couldn’t bear to put an end to it. Nor could she deny the attraction she felt for Conor. Maybe it was a typical reaction, the vulnerable witness and the protective cop. It was almost a cliché, but then clichés always had a basis in reality-and her need was definitely real.
Conor was unlike any man she’d ever known and, in a secret corner of her soul, she wanted to know him more intimately. He was brave and volatile, funny and vulnerable, silent and strong, all qualities that had become pieces of a fascinating puzzle. What made this man tick? What piqued his desire? What was beneath that steely exterior? A man with such passion for his job must have other passions as intense. They’d spend the next ten days together and Olivia knew it would be impossible to deny her curiosity-or her desire.
“Why are you so soft?” he murmured, his lips pressed against her collarbone.
She furrowed her fingers through his hair as he moved to a spot just above her breast. “Why are you so tough?”
He glanced up at her and she saw it in his eyes, as if the sound of her voice had triggered a realization of what they were about to do. His jaw tightened and then he cursed softly and rolled off of her. Levering up, Conor swung his legs off the side of the bed. “You should probably get dressed,” he muttered.
The regret was thick in his voice. But was it for what they’d already done or for what they couldn’t do? Olivia readjusted the towel then sat up beside him, trying to maintain her composure. The towel suddenly seemed too small and too thin. “I guess we probably shouldn’t do that again,” she said, forcing a smile.
Conor shook his head. “It wouldn’t be recommended. It’s against almost every department rule.”
“And if there weren’t any rules?” she asked.
“I’m a cop and I deal with facts, not hypotheticals,” he replied, the hard edge returning to his voice. He rose and then rubbed his hands together. “Why don’t I go find us something to eat. You can finish…whatever it is you have to finish.”
Olivia nodded, then hurried to the bathroom, anxious to escape his dark mood. She closed the door behind her, then leaned back against it. Her pulse still hadn’t slowed and, though she wore only damp terry cloth, a flush had warmed her skin until it prickled with embarrassment. She turned and stared into the mirror, then sighed.
What stroke of luck-or misfortune-was responsible for all this? Why had she chosen to go into business with Kevin Ford? And why had she walked into the office at that very moment that her partner was meeting with Red Keenan? And why did the detective assigned to protect her have to be Conor Quinn?
“You used to be a lucky girl,” Olivia said to her reflection. “Now you’re plagued with misfortune.”
She tossed aside the towel and gathered her clothes from the floor. But she was loathe to put them back on again. She’d been wearing the same clothes since they’d run out of the cottage on Cape Cod, a pair of jeans, a sweater, a camisole and silk panties. “I don’t even have a change of underwear.”
Olivia pulled on the jeans without underwear, then slipped into the camisole and the sweater. After the Tommy incident, she wasn’t sure how much credibility she had with Conor. A sob story about clean underwear probably wouldn’t go over very well.
She combed her damp hair and considered the best tactic to use, then remembered Tommy. He’d need food and litter and a litter box, maybe a few cat toys. A visit to the nearest discount store would take care of that, along with fresh clothes, underwear and a whole list of luxury items for her, like toothpaste and hand lotion and deodorant.
Olivia slowly opened the bathroom door, but the sound of Conor’s voice stopped her. At first she thought he might be talking to Tommy. Then she wondered if one of his brothers had stopped by. But as she continued to listen, she realized he was on the phone with his station house.
“She’s fine,” he said. “What the hell happened to the officer at the cottage on the Cape? He was supposed to be watching the road and then he was gone.” Conor paused. “He went for coffee and donuts? Listen, I want Carlyle or Sampson assigned to this case. In fact, send both of them. And don’t go through regular channels; I still think Keenan might have someone inside the department.” He paused again. “I can’t. No, it won’t work. It’s…difficult. She’s developed feelings for me. Yeah. You know how that goes. I just can’t deal with her. All right. A half hour. Good.”
Olivia slowly closed the door then sat down on the edge of the tub. He was leaving her to someone else? Just like that? She bit her bottom lip as a tremor of apprehension rocked her body. She trusted Conor. He was the only one who could protect her from Red Keenan. And she didn’t want him to leave!
She fought the urge to walk out of the bathroom and tell him exactly what she thought of him! But then his words ran through her mind.
She’s developed feelings…won’t work…can’t deal with her.
“He can’t deal with me?” Olivia groaned softly. She’d thought that everything that happened between them had come from a mutual desire. Had she misread him? Was he only tolerating her until he could pass her off to one of his colleagues? Oh, God, how humiliating. She glanced around the bathroom, her gaze falling on a small window above the shower.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” she murmured. “I just can’t face him.” But the window looked too small to crawl through. Maybe if she just locked herself in the bathroom until the other cops came, then she wouldn’t have to talk to him again. But she didn’t want to wait. All she could think about right now was escape!
CONOR STARED at the bathroom door, then glanced at his watch. She’d been in there for over fifteen minutes, long enough for him to run across the road to the convenience store and grab them a couple of sandwiches and a bag of cat litter. How long did it take to get dressed and fix her hair? Had he grown up with women in the house, he’d probably know the answer to that question. All he really knew now was that fifteen minutes should be enough.
He stood and crossed the room to the bathroom, then rapped his knuckles on the door. “Olivia? What’s going on in there? Are you almost finished? I’ve got us something to eat.” He listened carefully, but there were no sounds coming from inside the bathroom. Conor tried the door and found it locked. “Olivia, open the door.” He knocked again, an uneasy feeling growing in his gut. “Damn it, Olivia, open the
door or I’ll break it down.”
The threat was met with no reply. Conor cursed softly, then stepped away from the door. “If you’re in there, you’d better step back.” One swift kick right below the knob was all it took to splinter the cheap wood and to send the door crashing open. He hurried inside, expecting to find Olivia cowering in the bathtub. But instead he found a long pair of legs and a shapely backside hanging from a small window above the tub.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “You can’t get out that window-it’s too small.” He grabbed for her feet to pull her back inside, but she kicked at him, the heel of her shoe catching him in the nose.
“Leave me alone,” she shouted, her voice muffled from the other side of the window.
Conor rubbed his nose. He’d had his share of bumps and bruises on the job, but this case was killing him! “You’ll never get through there,” he said. “You’re stuck.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she called.
“Then just keep still and I’ll pull you out.” This time he grabbed her legs firmly enough so he wouldn’t get kicked again. “Raise your arms over your head.” She did as she was told, and with one good pull, she fell back into the bathroom-and into his arms.
They both tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Then she scrambled away from him, brushing her hair out of her eyes and tugging her sweater down from where it had bunched beneath her breasts. Conor sighed and leaned back against the wall. “What were you thinking?”
“Obviously, I was thinking I was a lot smaller than I really was,” she shot back. “Remind me to lay off the French fries.”
“Where did you plan to go?”
“Shopping,” she muttered.
“Shopping?”
“Yes! If you must know, I needed some clean underwear. We ran out of that cottage on Cape Cod so fast that I didn’t have time to grab my things. I’ve been wearing the same underwear for two days.”
“Someone is out to kill you and you’re worried about clean underwear?” he asked.
Olivia nodded, refusing to meet his gaze, her jaw set stubbornly, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.
Conor groaned inwardly. This was just another thing he didn’t understand about women. This obsession with underwear. All the lace and the silk and the pretty colors. Underwear was underwear. No one saw it so what was the big deal? “Why didn’t you just ask?”
“Because you don’t care what I want or what I need.”
“I don’t care? Who risked life and limb to get your damn cat?”
She turned to face him, a defiant glint in her eyes. “If you really cared, then why are you leaving me? Why did you call for another cop to come and stay with me?”
Conor paused. So she’d overheard his phone conversation, and she’d obviously overheard the lies he’d told. Suddenly her reasons for climbing out the window became much clearer. He’d hurt her feelings, embarrassed her so completely that she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him. “I’m sorry. It’s just that-”
“I know. I make it difficult for you. You can’t deal with me. You made it sound like I was throwing myself at you. I thought the attraction was mutual.”
He raked his hand through his hair, then slowly shook his head. “It was,” he murmured. “It is. That’s why I have to leave.”
She turned, kneeling on the floor beside him, her expression anxious. “But what if I promise not to kiss you anymore? Would you stay then?”
“It’s not you, Olivia,” Conor said, reaching out to touch her cheek with his fingertips. “It’s me. I can’t promise that I won’t kiss you again-or touch you. And if I can’t promise that, then I’m not a very good choice to guard you. I need to be able to keep my head on the job or we’re both at risk.”
“But I trust you,” Olivia said. “I don’t want anyone else.”
“The two guys they’re sending are good guys. I know them both and I wouldn’t let them stay with you if I wasn’t sure they’d keep you safe. But I want you to promise me that you won’t go climbing out of any windows or sending them after any more pets.”
Olivia’s gaze dropped to her lap. She studied her fingers for a long moment, then drew a ragged breath. “I don’t want you to go,” she repeated.
Conor hooked his finger beneath her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. The vulnerability had returned to her eyes and he fought the urge to kiss her again, to replace her sadness with passion. “Promise me?”
Reluctantly, she nodded. But Conor couldn’t leave it at that. He gave in to the impulse and leaned toward her to brush a soft kiss on her lips. One last kiss. What could it hurt? he mused. But if he thought it would be enough, he was sorely mistaken. The moment her lips opened beneath his, he was lost in the warmth of her mouth. A low groan rumbled in his throat as he pulled her into his arms.
The taste of her was like a drug, so addictive that he’d risk it all to experience it just once more. Women had always been a “take it or leave it” kind of thing for him. He’d never felt the kind of obsessive attraction he had for Olivia, when every thought was consumed with the question of when he might kiss her next and how far that kiss might go. His brain clouded with the fresh scent of her hair and the warm sensations of her tongue teasing his.
It took all his willpower to draw away. He stared down into her beautiful face and watched her eyes flutter open. “I want you to know that I lied on the phone. Kissing you isn’t difficult. It’s not kissing you that’s hard.”
A tremulous smile curved her lips. But her smile faded instantly as a knock sounded on the door of their room. She sent Conor a desperate look and he responded with a smile. “You’ll be all right. I promise.”
Conor stood, then reached out and helped Olivia to her feet. He moved to the door, Olivia’s hand still tucked in his. He wanted to hang on to her for as long as he could. Later tonight, when he was alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling above his bed, he’d want to remember how delicate her fingers felt and how sweet her voice sounded. He’d want to remember every second he had spent with her.
He carefully pulled back the curtain and saw Don Carlyle standing outside. Then he led Olivia to the bed where Tommy had curled up on one of the pillows. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll just be a minute.” Reluctantly, she let go of his hand and watched him walk to the door.
Conor stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He nodded a greeting to Carlyle. “What’s the plan?”
“We’ve got a place for her over in Framingham. Sampson is waiting in the car.” Carlyle cocked his head toward the door. “So what’s her problem? She have a thing for cops or is she just one of those women who’s happy with anything that wears pants?”
The anger was so instant and so intense that Conor didn’t think before he acted. In one swift movement, he brought his arm up and shoved Carlyle against the door, keeping him pinned there. Conor moved to within an inch of Carlyle’s face, then spoke in a low, even tone. “You make one move toward her, even look at her sideways, and I’ll reach down your throat and turn you inside out. Got it?”
Carlyle frowned. “Yeah. I got it. Geez, Quinn, what the hell is wrong with you? You’re the one who wanted out.”
“Just remember what I said.” Conor stepped back and Carlyle rubbed his chest. “She’s a lady. Treat her like one.”
Conor reached out and opened the door and Carlyle followed him inside. Olivia was in the same spot that he’d left her, perched on the edge of the bed, looking sad and vulnerable, hugging Tommy tightly to her chest. He crossed the room and gently took her arm. “Detective Carlyle is going to take you somewhere safe. If you need anything-” Conor smiled and leaned closer “-including underwear, you just ask. All right?”
He grabbed her coat from the bed, then held it out as she slipped into it. Then she gave Tommy a kiss and dropped him in the cardboard box. Carlyle looked at the box, then at Conor. “A cat? We can’t take a cat.”
Olivia’s eyes went wide. “But I-”
>
“I’ll take him,” Conor said. “He can stay with me and you can pick him up after the trial.” Though he hated the cat, he knew returning Tommy to his owner would give him one more chance to see Olivia, after all this was over and she was no longer a witness and he was no longer the cop assigned to protect her. A few weeks with Tommy the Terror was a small price to pay.
“You’d do that for me?” she asked.
Conor reached down and picked up the box. “Sure. By the time you come for him, we’ll be old friends.”
Olivia pushed up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured. Then she grabbed her purse and walked to the door. Conor followed her, taking one last look around before stepping outside behind her and Carlyle, the box tucked under his arm.
The next thing he knew, the wood from the door splintered next to his head. He looked out into the parking lot and saw another muzzle flash and the plate-glass window of the motel room shattered. Holding tight to the box, he shoved Olivia aside, both of them falling onto the walkway in front of Dylan’s Mustang. “Stay here,” he said, shoving the box into her arms. “And keep your head down.”
Conor pulled his gun and peered around the side of the car. Carlyle was crouched beneath a rusted Pontiac, returning fire. From another spot in the parking lot, Sampson had pulled his gun and was taking aim. Conor crawled back to Olivia, then grabbed the box. “We’re going to get in the car,” he said. “Take the cat out of the box and hold on to him. Tuck him inside your jacket. We’ve got to do this quickly. Just stay low.”
Olivia did as she was told and they both crawled around to the passenger side. He opened the door and she got in, then Conor scrambled around the front of the car. But the driver’s side was in the line of fire and he knew he’d be taking a chance. Drawing a deep breath, he checked the clip in his gun, then shouted to Carlyle for cover fire.
Conor Page 8
