She looked like she was about to bolt and he caught her arms. “You didn’t know. And it’s not like you’re to blame for what he did.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes!” Shaking her a little, frustrated and scared and mad himself, he cupped her face and lifted it to his. “It matters. Damn it, Shawntelle, I’ve never had a woman turn me inside out like you. And now you’re about ready to rip me open because…what? You couldn’t control something a guy you knew as a kid did? When he was a man?”
She glared up at him, looking pissed. “It’s not as simple as that.”
“It’s not as complicated as you’re making it out to be, either.” Brushing a tear from her cheek, he tugged her in and kissed her. “He wanted to use you, tried to use you. You could have taken the easy road and let him, but you stood up. Now you’re taking the easy road and trying to run away…and he is gone.”
Some of the tension eased from her body.
But when he leaned in to kiss her, she turned her face away.
“Shawntelle…”
“Connor, I just…I don’t think this is right.”
“I do.” But he backed away. “And you’re lying. You think it’s right, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t have avoided me when you were in Bardstown and you wouldn’t be pushing me away with both hands now.”
“That makes a lot of sense.” Her voice was caustic, her eyes bold. And she kept twisting the hem of her shirt in her hands, then smoothing it out, twisting it…over and over again.
“Sure it does, if you think about it.” He caught her chin and tugged her face up. “I matter. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be fighting so hard to keep me away. But…fine. You win.”
He turned to go.
At the side exit of the courtyard, the one that led to the sidewalk, not into the bookstore, he looked back at Shawntelle. “Have you been keeping in touch with my sister?”
“How did you know?” Shawntelle sat back down on the table, looking defeated.
“Because she didn’t attempt to hide it very hard.” He pulled open the gate and stepped through, but asked one last question. “Why did you even bother letting me know you were going to be doing this tonight?”
“It’s not like I sent you a handwritten invitation,” she snapped.
“You might as well have—and you know it.” He wished he hadn’t bothered to respond.
Without saying anything else, he walked away.
* * * * *
It started to rain on his way to the airport the next morning.
It was raining when he landed in Louisville and drove home.
It was still raining when he fell facedown into his bed and crashed the minute he got home.
He hadn’t slept at all in his hotel room, nor had he slept on the plane.
Now, gritty-eyed and hollowed out, he finally succumbed to the exhaustion and the ache of emptiness. Lulled by the constant sound of water, he slid into a deep sleep.
Something jerked him awake a few hours later and he sat up, looking around.
The room was dark. He recognized the outlines of the furniture in the room, the scents. He was in his own place. It was raining even harder than before.
Everything seemed normal.
Without thinking anything else about it, he started to fall backward.
And that was when he heard the knock.
Hard and firm, it pounded against the door.
“Open the damn door!”
Somebody was banging on the door.
“Come on, Connor. Open up.”
He rolled onto his belly and shoved his head under the pillow instead, pretty certain that whatever he was hearing was the by-product of a dream.
But then he heard it again.
Another hard pound, followed by, “Damn it, Con.”
Con sat up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and gazed in the general direction of the front door, now just about one-hundred-percent certain he wasn’t dreaming.
He was tired enough, and pissed off enough, that he could have ignored just about anybody. His brother, Shame. Charli.
Ignoring her?
That wasn’t going to happen.
He shot up off his bed, started for the door, then stopped.
He’d spent the day flying, driving, sleeping. She knocked again.
“Hold on!” His shout sounded far more surly than he’d planned but he wasn’t about to open that door when he hadn’t showered in twenty-four hours or brushed in his teeth in almost the same amount of time. Stumbling into the bathroom, he splashed water on his face and grabbed a bottle of mouthwash. While he gargled, he slapped on some deodorant, then grabbed a toothbrush. Some of the rinse in his mouth spilled out, but he was in the express lane mode, so he ignored it, running water to wash away the excess. After giving his face one last rinse, he turned off the water and snagged a towel.
The chilly air pumping out of his AC dried the water on his skin. It wasn’t very pleasant now that he wasn’t wrapped up in a blanket, but he wasn’t going to waste any more time messing with it, either.
He opened the door after taking a few seconds to brace himself.
Nothing.
“Shit!”
Then a movement from the corner of his eye and Shawntelle stepped in front of him. Her hair was wet, water dripping from it to roll down her cheekbones and neck, collecting on a shirt that was even wetter, clinging to her skin.
“I’m wet,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I can see that.”
She shoved her hair back, eyes flicking to the towel in his hand. “Can I use that?”
He turned it over and stepped aside so she could come in. She did so slowly, rubbing at her hair and face and he couldn’t help but notice that she left a puddle of water in the hallway and little trails of water followed her into the loft.
“I’m soaking wet and I’ve been banging on your door for the past ten minutes.”
She shot him a look from under her lashes.
“I didn’t make it rain.”
The disgusted noise she made under her breath might have made him smile, but he was still trying to figure out why she was here.
“You…” He glanced down at her wet clothes, then immediately jerked his gaze back up. “You want a shirt? I’ve got some workout pants that would probably fit you.”
“Fine.”
The churlishness of her voice kept him from offering anything else and he turned on his heel, moving into his room as she continued to rub at her damp curls and face.
He came back out less than two minutes later and damn near had a heart attack.
She was standing all but naked in the middle of his living room. He grabbed the doorjamb, staring at her as she rubbed the towel over her arms, then her breasts and belly.
She must have felt his stare, because she turned her head and met his eyes.
He moved over to her and dropped the clothes on the chair just a few feet away. “Here.”
Then he made a quick retreat into the kitchen area. He needed a beer. No. He needed something stronger.
He went straight for the Glenfiddich he saved for special occasions and hauled it down, pouring two fingers into a glass and tossing it back. “You want a drink?”
“Yes.”
He poured her one and then refilled his own glass. “Why are you here?”
“Because you’re right.”
He’d been in the process of lifting his drink to his lips. Now he lowered it and turned to face her.
“Excuse me?”
She stood there, her attention focused on the T-shirt he’d given her, taking far more time than needed to smooth it down her thighs. From under her hair, she shot him a look, shrugging. “You’re right. I can’t let him define me.”
Yesterday, that would have been enough.
But just then, Con needed more than that. “Well, good for you. You’ll be happier for it.”
He took her the drink. “If you don’t have any place to stay, you can take m
y bed. I’ll bunk on the couch.”
“Con…”
He hadn’t ever gotten around to kicking off his shoes, so he sat down and did that, focusing on the simple, menial task with far more attention than it needed.
“What’s going on?”
She sat on the coffee table in front of him, making it harder for him to pretend his shoes were really all that complicated. They were just an ordinary pair of Nikes, no attention needed. But still, he took his time undoing the laces instead of looking at her.
“Nothing is going on, Shawntelle. You’re not going to let your step-brother define you. Good. If you’re hungry—”
“Damn it, Con! I don’t need a fucking host!” She shoved her hands into his hair and tugged his head up, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I didn’t drive out here just so you could offer me some scotch and your bed and pat me on the head.”
“You drove?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a twelve-hour drive. Made more sense than waiting until a flight opened up. Now talk to me.” The sentence ended on a plea.
“About what?” Tired, he caught her wrists and tugged them away. He wanted to do more—kiss her palm, hug her. Something. But he didn’t. “You’ve never come to me without having some sort of…motive. Some plan already laid out, something I wasn’t aware of. I’m not doing this shit, Shawntelle. I went to Virginia to tell you I had serious feelings for you and I wanted to try to make something happen. And you were too hung up on all the problems. You didn’t want to work for solutions then. It hasn’t even been two fucking days. What’s changed so drastically in two days?”
“Nothing. Everything.” Her jaw set, and she went to her knees in front of him. “I saw you…and then you just left. So I had to drive out here. I called you three or four times, then decided it would just be easier to talk to you when I saw you.”
He frowned. “When did you call?”
“This morning. This morning again. Then this afternoon.” She sighed and glanced at the clock. “Hell, it was practically yesterday it’s so late now. Then I called you again a few hours ago.”
Con glanced over at his phone where it rested on the table.
He hadn’t heard it ring once.
But he didn’t doubt her.
“So you’re here because?”
Instead of answering, she slid up and settled across his lap.
She’d never bothered to pull on the workout pants he’d given her and now she sat straddling him. He could feel her heat and warmth and it went straight to his head, almost short-circuiting everything. Before that could happen, he caught her hips.
“You’re here because?” he asked again. He had to clear his throat. It was suspiciously tight, rather like his shorts.
“Because you got to me, too.” She hitched her shoulder in a shrug, staring at him, her dark eyes nervous. “I…look, we don’t know each other as well as we should for all this heavy, couple-like talk, but…I feel things for you that I haven’t felt for any other guy. I haven’t let myself, either. And I didn’t want to feel them with you. But you pretty much overrode all my best intentions and…here I am.”
He fisted a hand in her hair, tugged her closer.
“Here you are.” The heat of her was getting to him in the worst way. “Now what?”
She hesitated, uncertainty in her eyes.
“Now what?” he asked again. “Are you going to get nervous or panic when I tell you I want to have dinner over at my brother’s place next weekend? Or maybe a cookout when Charli gets back from her trip?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I might. But I’m not going to run away just because I panic.”
“How do you know?”
She bit her lip.
He almost started to whimper as he thought about doing the very same thing and he had to force himself to concentrate.
“Because,” she said finally. “Because I panicked once…when I ran away from here and I’ve been miserable. Nothing felt good or right for me since I left here, Con. Not until you showed up in Williamsburg. I’m used to skating by and just existing. Or I was. Then I met you and everything…changed. I don’t want to go back to just existing.” She reached up and touched his mouth.
That light touch sent fire streaking down his spine.
Reaching up, he caught her wrist in his hand, tugging her away before he completely and totally lost it.
He didn’t force her to stop touching him, though. He guided her hand down to his chest and held it there as he studied her. “Are we talking a long distance-thing here then? I visit you, you visit me?”
She sucked in a breath. “No. I told my agent—I told you that I sublet my place through her—I told her I was moving out. Effective as soon as I can get my shit together. I’m moving here.”
For a second, he thought he’d misheard her.
He just stared.
Shawntelle watched him warily, eyes wide. “I was going to see if I could move back into the house I was renting before,” she said after a few seconds.
“No.” He had to clear his throat before he could speak and even then his voice was raspy and raw. “That…that won’t work.”
“Why?”
“He’s already rented it out.” He tugged her closer now, yielding up the space he’d forced himself to keep between them. She was serious. Hot damn.
“He…oh.” She huffed out a breath, her full lower lip unconsciously poking out. “I’ll find someplace else then. I don’t like long distance relationships, Con. Besides I’m ready for a change of scenery.”
“You thinking you’ll hang around here for a year or two? Then move on again?”
“It depends on whether or not I’m welcome.” The look in her eyes hit him straight in the gut.
She was serious.
Okay, so yeah, maybe they weren’t exactly ready to go pick out paint chips or anything right now.
But she was serious. She felt the same things he did.
“You know…” He rubbed his thumb up and down the soft inside of her wrist. “I’ve got a place in mind that might work for you. Low rent. The owner is a bit of a prick, though. Pretty checkered past.”
“Really.” Shawntelle dipped her head and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I can be a bit of a bitch myself. I don’t mind putting up with a prick…depending on the circumstances. What kind of checkered past are we talking about?”
“He used to be a whore,” Con said bluntly. “He can’t even list all the women he’s been with, can’t remember their names.”
“Well.” She blew out a breath. “That’s…definitely something to keep in mind.” Her eyes fell to his and she reached up, pressing a finger to his mouth. “I think what I’d want to know—is he done with that? Because if I’m looking for a…change of scenery, and am ready to try something real, I just want to make sure he feels the same.”
Con pivoted on the couch, putting her underneath him. “If I wasn’t, do you think I would have bothered hunting you down?” he whispered into her ear.
“No.” She curled her arms around his neck and stared up into his eyes. “Are we going to try this? Are we really that crazy?”
“I think we’d be crazier not to.” He rubbed his mouth over hers. “Now…be quiet, because I want to kiss you.”
And he did.
Slowly, deeply, thoroughly.
And by the time he was done, the rain outside had stopped and both he and Shawntelle were panting for air, their hearts hammering together as one.
He’d turned on the couch so that she was lying draped across his chest, her body naked, her hair still damp from the rain. She’d gone limp and loose, her body warm and lax as hot, melted wax. She was drifting to sleep. He could feel it in the way her breathing stretched out and slowed.
Turning his face into her hair, he murmured, “I think I’m falling in love with you, Shawntelle.”
She made a muttering sound low under her breath and he smiled, letting his eyes drift shut.
Bu
t just before he let himself give up the reins of control so sleep could move in, Shawntelle yawned and wiggled around, settling herself. “I kind of figured that out, baby. You came after me.”
Eyes flying wide, he lifted his head to look down at her.
She was watching him.
His face went hot and red and she smiled, a smile that was sweet and warm and lit up her beautiful face.
“What?” he asked.
“You heard me.” She snuggled in closer and sighed. “You’re a lady-killer, Con. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who could so easily charm the ladies. But I bet you ain’t never chased one, either. At least not until me.”
He couldn’t help himself.
He laughed.
Turning into her, he crushed her body between his and the wide, fat pillows that made up the back of the couch.
“You sound awful damn sure of that, Shawntelle.”
“Any reason I shouldn’t be?”
He kissed her, fast and deep.
Then, moving his lips to her ear, he answered.
“No.”
She smiled against his neck as he pulled her up close.
Then, she yawned.
He did the same a few seconds later.
Con closed his eyes and curved his arm around her waist. He had well and thoroughly been hooked. And he didn’t think he could have been more pleased with that fact.
Then she whispered something into the dark.
“I’m falling for you, too, Con.”
Okay. He could be a little more pleased.
Just a little.
That was his last thought before they both slid off into sleep.
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F*ck Club: Con Page 11
