3. Connor
Connor
F uck, this is a complication I do not need.
Glancing away from the road, I cut my eyes toward the beautiful woman in the passenger seat, as I drive my Mercedes through the back streets of Boston way too fast. Checking again, I make sure she’s buckled in for the second time.
My hands grip the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white. My shoulders are hard knots of tension, and that muscle on the left side of my neck twitches. The one that tells me I’m too wired for my own damn good.
I need to relax.
She’s safe.
Everything’s just moving too fast and I can’t afford to lose control here.
Ava. She’s curled up in the passenger seat, her eyes closed. She must be too on edge to sleep, but she looks more relaxed than she has all night. She practically vibrated with terror earlier, but now she’s breathing evenly and her face looks almost peaceful.
Except for the damn bruise that’s forming on her cheek.
The urge to destroy that little asshole who gave it to her surfaces again, bitter bile and the need to fight all too familiar. Deep breath, Doyle. I didn’t recognize him in the dark, being too focused on Ava. Rage kept me from registering that Brooks fucking Stacy was her assailant.
Rage. That’s all I feel when someone hurts a woman. Complete and blinding rage.
I ease back in my seat and glance over at her again.
She is safe, I repeat silently. Each word is punctuated with a tiny pause.
My mouth goes dry as my thoughts drift to another woman who isn’t safe, that I couldn’t protect. Claire.
Just the name still brings an agony I can barely crush down.
My cousin Claire, with her bright eyes and the freckles sprinkled across her nose.
A happy girl with a fast laugh and a quick temper.
My mind races on, matching my car for speed as I gun the engine.
Images flash of our childhood, and what happened to her as young woman: After she met that O’Dooley asshole.
After the first black eye. After she disappeared.
After my father and I tracked him down.
I can’t think about this now. Ava is not Claire. She’s here, she’s safe.
And the protective instincts this woman stirs up – whatever they are – are definitely not familial.
Long minutes pass, and then I can’t help but take her all in. She’s gorgeous, with big green eyes, long dark hair and curves that I shouldn’t be noticing right now.
We take another sharp corner too fast, and I growl in pure frustration. Aggravation makes my skin hot. I’m not a creep that preys on vulnerable women. Ever. But I’m definitely attracted to this woman and that’s a fact I’m going to have to deal with.
Now.
In less than five minutes, we’ll be at my place. I don’t bring women home, not even for sex. Especially not for sex – but not for any reason either.
And I’m definitely not going to sleep with Ava. I’m just going to keep her safe tonight. My muscles tense again at the imagined threat, even as resolve steels itself in my spine.
The crazy protective instinct that she’s bringing to the surface leaves me unnerved. I’m a businessman, not a goddamned bodyguard.
Brooks fucking Stacy. The little shit’s been in my club once, and we threw his ass out for getting too handsy with the bartender.
What my Dad had told me, and what I’d seen and heard around the city wasn’t good either, and from the level of fear that Ava shows, I know everything I need to about this guy.
Not just an entitled idiot, but a violent one too.
The kind of guy that finds himself paved under a parking lot, for example. Or going for a swim at night off the bow of a Gloucester fishing boat with 300 pounds of concrete encasing his feet. Our family has lots of friends at the local sand and gravel pit.
He’s a problem, and I have to take care of it. But I’ve got more pressing issues to take care of tonight.
Like the one in my passenger seat.
The timing isn’t good for complications in my life. And I need to watch myself. Keeping her safe? That’s one thing. Getting emotionally involved? That’s the kind of distraction that I just can’t afford.
A minute later, my car slides easily into its space in the garage.
Ava’s eyes snap open wide, and her posture says she’s ready to bolt.
Her eyes focus on my face and her shoulders drop, the frightened look melting away as she realizes where she is and who she’s with.
That feels good and drives that protective feeling even harder into my core.
“We’re home,” I say, adding quickly, “At my place. Come on up.”
I open her door, and then it’s a short walk through the garage and into the elevator that opens right in front of my loft.
She’s trying to stay a little bit behind me.
But I find myself standing closer than I should, putting a hand to the small of her back to guide her through the maze of my South Boston apartment building.
I just want to touch her. When we make contact for even a second, an electrical jolt runs through my entire system.
Unlocking the door, I stand back to invite her in. She steps cautiously into the loft ahead of me, and her breath catches. Her eyes sweep the place, taking in the chrome, marble, and leather. Stepping in behind her, I close the door.
She spins around as it clicks shut, a panicked look crossing her face as I throw the bolts.
“Easy, Ava.”
Quickly, I put my hands out in front of me in what I hope is a disarming gesture.
Bringing her here is crazy but she was so wild with fear I didn’t know what else to do. Just taking her to a hotel and paying for the bill felt like abandoning her. And another part of me wants her here. Wants to keep her close.
That’s where I can keep her the safest.
“Look, these are to keep the bad guys out, not you in,” I gesture at the locks. “You can leave anytime. I’ll be happy to call you a car, call a friend, or take you somewhere and pay for a hotel room at any place in the city.”
My shoulders tense as I say it, though. I really don’t want her to go, I realize, and I don’t like feeling that way. If she’s here, I can keep her safe. And if she’s here, she’ll be with me.
Her dark green eyes linger on the bolts.
“Do you deal with a lot of bad guys, Connor?” her voice is very quiet.
Hearing her say my name, even in that innocent way, is almost too much. Turning away so she doesn’t notice the effect she’s having on my body, I drop my suit coat and tie on the counter.
“In my line of work, you can’t be too careful.” I go for nonchalant and try not to give too much away, answering her question over my shoulder. Yet for some reason, I don’t want to lie to this woman.
When I turn back, she’s walked over to the center island and is tracing her fingers over the marble. My eyes linger on the point where her fingertips touch the hard stone.
“This is gorgeous,” she murmurs. My chest swells with pride as she admires work I did myself.
“Thank you. Actually, I installed that. My family bought this place a few years ago, and my dad put me in charge of rehabbing it. Picked it all out, put it together for all twenty units…” My voice trails off.
I don’t miss those construction days, but from my vantage point tonight, they seem a lot simpler than whatever mess I just stepped into. Don’t think of Claire.
She looks up at me then, our eyes locking across the room. Tension’s building in my body from sheer proximity, like she’s sending off pheromones that tell my DNA to stand up and take notice. Her eyes darken slightly. She might be feeling it too.
You could filet the damned tension in this room with a steak knife.
“So you do construction and manage a nightclub?” Her voice lilts up, like she’s curious and forcing a little lightness into it. It feels good she appreciates my work and that she’s interested in what I do.
It’s more complicated than that.
I don’t answer, suddenly feeling like I might be in danger of pouring every secret out of myself to her.
The force of that realization slams into me.
My life is held together by secrets. She’s affecting me in ways I don’t understand, and the stakes are way too high to make a misstep. For both of us, it would seem.
I move toward the stove. “You hungry?”
She immediately freezes up, her body going completely still. Her face flushes a deep red.
“Oh, no,” she says, a beat too fast. “I’m fine. I don’t want to be any trouble.”
A cold rage takes shape in my chest. I fucking hate every person that ever made her feel like she was an inconvenience, or that she had to be quiet and small. But I’ve got to play this differently. Lighten the mood.
“Look,” I say, pulling a frying pan off the copper rack and flipping on the gas. “I can’t promise it’ll be good, but I’m starving.”
My stomach growls as if to offer proof.
Flashing my best smile, I add, “Don’t make me eat alone.”
The smile seems to do it. She eases back onto the stool where she’s sitting and gives a tentative nod. My eyes are on her glossy dark hair that she’s pulling forward nervously over her shoulder and twisting around a finger.
“Actually, I am hungry.” It’s like a confession.
“Good. What’s the last thing you ate?” The stainless steel fridge door swings open, as I pull out eggs and a carton of milk.
“What? Oh, I had a sandwich before my shift.”
I grab the whisk and pour the eggs and milk into a bowl. A dash of salt, a lot of pepper, and I’m beating the eggs with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Shift? What kind of work do you do?”
The wariness comes back, a tension line forming in her forehead as she unconsciously bites her lower lip. “I’m a server at Gus’s Diner six nights a week.”
Know the place. It’s in a tough part of town, not too far from the club. My eyes scan her again; she’s tougher than she looks but I don’t like the idea of her working in a place like that.
“That where you meet that ass—that where you met Stacy? He a customer?”