2. Ava
Ava
T he huge man never even looks back.
Lights blink overhead as we move off the street and inside a building. He carries me into what looks like the back room of an upscale nightclub. Despite his size, he moves with an easy grace and speed I notice, even through the blur of pain.
After he settles me down carefully on a soft black leather couch, he squats on the floor next to me. Strong, muscled thighs strain against the dark fabric of expensive suit pants.
Startling blue eyes bore into mine.
Too intense.
I look away, then back, a magnetic draw I can’t resist pulling my eyes back to his. Every breath makes my chest crackle and one hand clutches at my collar. Almost involuntarily, my other hand moves toward him. What’s wrong with me? It’s a fight to keep from touching him.
Oxygen depletion. It’s the only excuse.
“Hey,” he finally says, a crooked grin spreading slowly across his handsome face.
Disarming, dangerous.
Who is this man?
He rescues me from the monster who almost took my life once and threatened me again tonight. But then orders someone to hurt him like it was nothing.
And now he’s here, totally at ease and focused.
All traces of anger gone. The only thing I sense is genuine concern rolling off him in waves as his eyes move over me, assessing. Not in a demanding way. His eyes linger at the fast-blooming bruise that’s forming on my wrist before moving back to my face.
My ragged breathing is loud, reminding me again how close I came tonight. I don’t know what to make of him, but I owe the fact that I’m here, safe, to this man. Whose name I don’t even know.
His smile transforms the hard lines of his ruggedly good-looking face into something that echoes boyish charm.
My stomach flips, and not just because of everything I’ve been through tonight.
There’s a dangerous edge to this man. Then that fleeting impression melts away as a dimple crinkles the skin next to his lips.
Shit.
He could wield those dimples like a weapon. Probably does.
“Tell me what I can do to help you.”
He runs a hand across the hard planes of his jaw, adding, “I’m Connor, by the way, and you’re in the private area of my club, Intrigue. You’re totally safe here. If there’s anything you need or want, just say the word.”
That deep voice has an easy and light quality to it, so different from the way he spoke back in the street. He sounds like a man who likes to laugh. And the idea of being so close to a man like that makes my throat constrict even more. Men in my life have brought me nothing but pain.
Giving my head a little shake, I wait for the fog to clear. Connor clears his throat and his face swims back into focus.
“My inhaler,” I finally manage to whisper. “He knocked it out of my hand, in the street…”
Before I can finish, he’s on his feet. Connor’s brow furrows, a lock of dark unruly hair spilling down over his forehead. Kindness touches his eyes. He gives me one sharp nod, as his hand grazes my shoulder just for a second. They’re rough and callused, but his touch seems impossibly gentle.
“I’ll find it.”
He disappears through the door and back out into the night. My eyes drift, taking in the room around me.
Intrigue. I’ve heard the name. It’s a nightclub that everyone jokes is owned by the mafia, since it’s one of the only clubs to survive the Stacy family’s overhaul of Boston’s red-light district.
I hadn’t been inside, but my classmates say it’s different now than when it opened years ago.
It’s no dive, but a modern, edgy club that attracts Boston’s wealthy elite.
Maybe the mob thing’s more than a rumor. Everything feels heavy, so I concentrate on remaining calm. I must drift off for a few minutes because I awake to another gentle touch on my shoulder. For the first time in months, I don’t jerk awake in a wave of panic.
“Miss,” the big man rumbles as his face comes into view “Is this yours?”
When I nod, his forearm slides around my back and he helps me sit up, laying the little red plastic inhaler in my open palm. If only he’d found my three hundred dollars, too. But it looks like that got pocketed by someone passing by tonight.
Not a surprise, but I have to fight a new wave of anxiety. I can probably make rent, but food?
Shaking the medicine, I take two long puffs. Tension eases as my airways open and I take a deep breath. My eyes drift shut in relief, and then open so I can focus on the lines of his face.
I flash him the most grateful smile I can manage.
“Thank you,” I say, finally sounding more like myself. “You saved my life.”
First from Brooks. Then from the asthma.
Something in my gut tells me that I can trust him, trust Connor.
That’s the one thing that I’ve always known.
One thing I can always trust – no matter how bad things get - is my instincts.
Even when I met Brooks, when he’d been a perfect gentleman and had an unfailing pedigree, something felt off. I just wish I’d listened.
This man? There’s definitely more than meets the eye. And yet, the one part of myself and the world that I still trust says he’s a good man.
That crooked grin spreads across his face again. What would kissing that dimple feel like? My cheeks immediately flame with heat. Just the idea of wanting to touch a man, let alone a stranger, seems completely foreign. But this man is disarming, even in the face of such a bad night.
Maybe that makes him even more dangerous.
“My pleasure,” he says, taking a seat next to me on the couch. We’re so close. Heat radiates from his body, even though we’re not actually touching. The flush on my cheeks creeps lower, an inexplicable rush of desire moving through me.
“Can I ask what happened? Who’s the preppy asshole?”
His voice is casual, but the weight of his stare tells me he’s paying sharp attention.
It all floods back now that I can breathe, and the weight of familiar darkness settles on my chest. Somehow, the loss of that relief I’d felt for just an instant seems worse, though.
“Did I run into you?” I ask softly, dodging the question. I don’t want to lay bare the mess and the shame of the last year of my life to this man. He’s done nothing to get dragged into this, not really. Telling him more might change that. Put him in danger.
And selfishly, it’s the first time in months I’ve felt anything approaching normal.
“I barely felt it, miss. You’re not very big.”
He pauses a beat, and then says perceptively, “But that’s not what I asked you, is it?”
Not unkind, but also not going to be distracted by diversion tactics either. He might look easygoing. But this is a man who knows what he wants and gets it.
Heat sweeps over my cheeks, taking them from pink to searing red. The familiar heavy feeling of embarrassment, of shame, drops from my chest and makes me feel nauseous.
More of my awful mistakes, my dirty laundry, bared in public.
The big man’s dark ocean eyes scan my face. He laughs, and the sound has a lightness to it, an openness, that’s drawing me in with an irresistible force. Every part of my body hurts, and yet I can’t seem to stop staring at this man.
Who, I remind myself, I know nothing about.
Whose inviting exterior could be hiding anything. Awful things. Do I trust my instincts, or not?
“We’ve had a hell of a night, haven’t we?”
“Ava,” I offer suddenly.
“Ava,” he repeats, rolling the arms of his white dress shirt up to his elbows to reveal an intricate shamrock tattoo on his forearm. Impossible muscles cord his arms and then disappear beneath the expensive fabric.
Connor.
I know absolutely nothing about him. He saved me from Brooks, but a familiar wariness settles in. Even if he’s perfectly safe, perfectly kind, he doesn’t deserve my kind of trouble landing on his doorstep.
“I’m sorry,” I begin, my eyes lingering on the tattoo. “I don’t mean to be any trouble.”
He eyes snap up to mine, assessing. “I don’t know who told you that you were trouble, Ava, or an inconvenience. You’re not. You’re my guest and I’m pleased to have you here.”
The dimples flash and I look at his face, then back down at the tattoo. Something about it nicks at the edge of my mind. Familiar somehow, although I can’t think why.
Sully flings open the door to the back office then, a loud bang sounding as it bounces off the wall, and his booming voice cuts into the room. I flinch, knocked abruptly out of whatever was flowing between Connor and me.
“Hey, boss, I got rid of the fucking prick. He’s gonna have one hell of a headache tomorrow,” Sully calls loudly, sounding delighted.
He sees me and stops abruptly, eyes going wide.
“Shit. Pardon my French, lady.”
“No, you’re right.” I ignore pain stabs as I swing my legs down to the floor. “He is a fucking prick. He’s also Mayor Stacy’s son, Brooks, and unfortunately, my ex-boyfriend.”
It’s like the air gets sucked out of the room instantly. Now everyone knows how it feels, I guess.
Both men watch me intently, the force of their combined gaze pinning me to the couch.
They look at each other, and it’s hard to read the silent communication that runs between them.
With a frustrated sigh, Connor stabs a hand through his thick black hair.
His smile turns wolfish. Every instinct I have screams danger, although the undercurrents don’t seem directed at me.
Have I traded one bad situation for another?
“Boss,” Sully’s voice is a warning.
Connor rises to his feet quickly, almost looming over me. All I can do is stare up at him with wide eyes. That familiar fear tightens around me like a vice.
“I should go,” I say rapidly. Whether I’ve walked into something or I’m just unwanted because of the baggage I’ve brought with me, it’s time to get out of here.
Find somewhere safe. Anywhere. I’m feeling around the couch for my things and trying to get to my feet.
Pain shoots through me like lightning. I press my lips together hard, fighting it back.
I’ve fought through much worse than this.
Connor’s face clears. He looks down at me, the tension of his face easing and a hint of his boyish grin returning.
“Easy, Ava.”
I falter, my hand resting on my bag. His voice is deep and decisive.
“I just have some quick business to finish up here, and then I can take you home.”
Home.
It’s not a suggestion—there’s a kind but definitive edge to his voice.
My mind races, the endless fear that engulfs my life hitting me with the word. I can’t go home. It’s not safe. My stomach feels like it’s being shredded from the inside, a thousand terrified butterflies with razorblade wings escaping. No doubt Brooks will be there, furious after being humiliated.
My whole body starts to shake. Not again.
With a very deliberate effort, I draw in a breath, ignoring the rasping in my lungs and the ache that’s melted into one full-bodied experience. I can take care of myself. I repeat it silently to myself, over and over again.
But I don’t really have anywhere I can go. If I hadn’t lost my tips, I could have gotten a cheap motel room. There’s just a few dollars in my wallet–that wouldn’t even cover a subway ride. No matter how many times I tell myself otherwise, it’s the truth.
“What’s wrong?” Connor looks intently into my eyes, his own radiating confusion and concern. Little crinkles form at the edges from his intense focus.
It’s too much. The nearness of his body, the kindness in his eyes, and that feeling of desolate emptiness.
I’ve gone to the very edge of what I can handle, but I’ve run out of options.
If only I hadn’t felt that momentary relief, hadn’t been reminded of kindness that’s seemed so far out of reach for the last year.
I might have held it together, but not tonight.
There’s nothing left. No hope, no energy, no respite. Hot tears pour down my cheeks again, as I let out a strangled sob.
Instead of moving away from me, Connor steps toward me tentatively and puts a gentle hand on my arm.
It’s so fast, instinctive, maybe a little possessive.
Those steady blue eyes never leave my face, and for an instant, they’re an oasis as I’m lost in this desert of fear.
I can’t quite make sense of it. But part of me clings to it anyways.
There are so few things I can cling to.
“He knows where I live. I don’t know what to do.” I finally manage a tight whisper between wracking, horrifying sobs.
I can’t even afford a motel room tonight. The next sob turns to a hiccup as I steel myself and try to force it down. More air. Feel the ground solid under my feet. Curl my hands into fists.
All the techniques that I use to center myself, to keep the anxiety at bay, aren’t holding it together. My endless scenario planning has brought me to the moment I fear most – the one where I’ve run out of ideas.
Sully’s eyes move between Connor and me. He shifts like he’s uncomfortable, and after exchanging a look with his boss that I can’t decipher, backs out of the room. The door shuts softly behind him.
Connor and I are alone, standing inches apart in the huge empty room. He’s miles away, but still feels like he’s my lifeline. Some distant buzzing in another part of my brain warns me that I need to be careful.
Dark hair, those unforgettable eyes, a square jaw and a scar down his cheek that’s so faint he must have gotten it as a child. I just focus on the planes of his face while he regards me for a long time.
A series of emotions cross his face at lightning speed. Then he gives one short, sharp nod.
Connor’s blue eyes widen and take on a stronger hint of brightness, of interest, of kindness. His hands gently come to rest on my shoulders. They’re so big they span them and then some.
“Don’t be afraid, Ava. I’ve got you now.”
Staring into his face, I try to read what’s there. What’s underneath. My gut says I can trust this man. My heart just hopes I’m right.