Chapter 12 #2
Connor leans back in the chair and squeezes his eyes closed, spreading his legs wide, and he looks so exhausted. Mentally and physically. “Not now. Not tonight.”
That effectively closes the door on that conversation, and I know better than to push at this moment.
“Okay…”
But the other question rattles around in the back of my mind.
I’ve spent the entire day wondering about it, agonizing over it when I should have been one hundred percent concentrating on my story.
“Why have you been avoiding me all day?”
He lifts his head and his dark eyes somehow burn with a heat far more intense than the one coming from the old stove, one that sears across my skin and makes my pussy clench with the memory of how he took me last night. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t want to see you, Raven.”
“Then why were you?”
The corner of his lips twitches again. “Because I knew if I was within five fucking feet of you again, you wouldn’t be getting any work done.”
CONNOR
With the soft glow from the fire in the stove and the screen in front of me lighting up the cabin, it’s impossible to miss the way that Raven’s eyes flare wider, the heat in them sparking to life with my admission.
It was one I wasn’t sure I would make, or that I should.
But I’m too tired—physically and emotionally—to keep lying to her. To keep pretending like everything’s okay. To keep trying to act like everything isn’t fucked up in a way that I might not ever recover from.
Last night, with her, was the first time I truly let go of anything in months.
But there’s still so much that remains trapped, deep down inside of me, that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully face myself, let alone reveal to anyone.
I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to talk about those dark things that haunt me, and those are precisely the things she needs me to do for this story.
Not just face my demons but fight them.
I see it now, what she’s doing, and why it’s so goddamn important.
The information she already has in this story—the background, the people she was able to get as sources to confirm and validate stories and rumors and innuendos, the details of all the crimes—it’s beyond impressive.
Raven has put together a truly intimidating hit piece against the Lorells, and if any of these people will agree to talk to the FBI, too, they’ll be in a position to potentially take them down. They’ll have the evidence they need to close the case they’ve been building for decades.
But it isn’t without huge risk.
While she doesn’t give her sources names, what she is doing by writing this story is simultaneously putting them in mortal danger and protecting them, in a way.
Once it’s all made public, it does give them a veil of security. The FBI will offer them witness protection, and if anything should happen to them, everyone will know who did it. There would be no question about motive, which would only make the case against the Lorells stronger.
It also means that the target I knew would be on Raven is far bigger than I could have imagined.
Because I had no idea how much she had uncovered.
How detailed and specific her story would be.
How directly and intensely she would call out one of the most dangerous crime families in the United States with all the horrible things they’ve done.
I have no doubt in my mind now that another hit squad will come to McBride Mountain. They will come looking for her, which is why I have to keep her up here as long as possible, no matter how frustrating it might be for me, no matter how complicated it might get.
And by God, has it gotten complicated.
So.
Fucking.
Complicated.
No matter how far away I hiked from the cabin today, no matter how long I spent trying to distract my mind with other things that needed to be done while I’m up here, it kept drifting back to her, to our conversation last night, and especially what happened after.
And now, cooped up in this tiny cabin with her, with her goddamn scent permeating the space, and with her looking sleep-rumpled and sexy as fucking hell in my shirt, I know I was right to stay away.
It was nearly impossible to leave her after I brought her back last night. She was exhausted as I removed her soaked shirt and got her into mine, then tucked her into bed.
I sat here for far too long watching her sleep, wondering what all of it meant—what we said to each other and what we did. None of those questions went away when I forced myself to leave her before dawn, long before I thought she would stir.
Because what I said to her was true.
If I had stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off her.
She tilts her head to the side slightly, watching me, but I don’t know if she’s trying to figure out how to respond to my confession about how much I want her or if she’s waiting for me to say something else.
Eventually, she grips the edge of the wool blanket that’s draped over her legs and pulls it back, revealing the fact that she has nothing on besides my shirt.
The tails barely cover her pussy, and as she slides off the bed and stands, they dangle at her mid-thigh, giving me a view of her soft, peachy flesh that I had my fingers digging into last night as I plowed into her.
They itch to touch her now, to feel that smooth skin beneath my rough hands…
But I sit stock still.
Too afraid to move.
Too afraid I’ll scare her or myself by doing something I shouldn’t.