Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(30)

"Boyfriend?" She shrank back.

"Why not?" He couldn't keep his eyes from her breasts, which were straining the buttons of her blouse to their utmost. "Don't you think they'd buy it? A woman like you, and a lowlife like me?"

She shoved him away, clearing just enough space for her to stand up. "Stop acting like a lowlife, Connor McCloud, if you don't want to be taken for one!"

"You're pissed at me because I kissed you?" His voice was dangerously unsteady. "I dared to touch the princess with my rude hands. Is that what's bothering you?"

She made a break for it, trying to duck out from under his arm. He blocked her. She straightened up, adjusted her jacket, tugged her skirt into place. She wasn't up to a physical tussle with him. She couldn't win it, and dignity was more important to her.

"To be perfectly truthful, no," she said stiffly. "That's not what's bothering me at all. It's just not very flattering to have a man kiss you only because he wants to shut you up."

He pulled that statement to pieces in an instant, looking at it from every side. Then he waited until curiosity compelled her eyes to flick up again. He stroked her exquisitely soft cheek with his thumb until the pink stain deepened to wild rose. He looked around. No one to see or hear. No reason at all to shut her up.

He kissed her again.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe for her to stiffen up, shove him away. Anything but the roar of heat swelling inside him, the dazzling explosion of sparks. She clutched his upper arms; for balance, to pull him closer, he couldn't tell, he didn't care. He coaxed her mouth open. He wanted to touch that succulent pink tongue, to dance with it. He didn't mean to stick his hand inside her jacket, he just found his calluses snagging her blouse as he explored the exquisite heft of her tits, the small nipples, tightening under his palm. He had no deliberate intention of pressing the aching bulge of his crotch against her.

Jesus. What was he thinking? They were in an airport parking garage. He'd come down here to protect her.

Fucking her was not part of the plan.

He pulled away, with enormous effort. "I wasn't trying to shut you up that time," he said raggedly. "You feel flattered now?"



* * *





Chapter Six





She lifted her hand, touched her swollen mouth. She was lost in Connor's eyes. The pupils were dilated wells of deep, infinite black, bordered with pure mountain water green. She was speechless.

He wrenched the passenger side of the Cadillac open. "Get in."

Her legs weren't holding her up anyhow. She slid into the seat, boneless. The door swung shut with sharp finality. Connor got into the driver's side. He looked at her, looked away, rubbed his face. She panted, short, sharp gasps that were terribly audible in the quiet car.

"Aw, f*ck it," he muttered. He slid toward her. She grabbed him and wrapped her arms around his neck so he couldn't change his mind.

They slid down the slippery leather seat, clenched together. Her fantasies didn't even come near to the raw reality of him. He was so strong and hard and solid. His mouth coaxed, then demanded. She opened to him, tasted coffee and smoke and heat. Salty and male. His tongue flicked against hers. Probed. Then thrust.

He hauled her up onto his lap so that she straddled him, and his hands slid up her thighs, shoving her skirt up around her hips. He gripped her waist and pulled her down, so that the hot, soft glow in her crotch was pressed hard against the bulge in his pants. She whimpered with excitement before she could stop herself. She'd never felt anything like this. She was melting between her legs, becoming a pool of hot syrup. A quivering glow that ached and wept for deeper contact.

And he would give it to her, here and now. She read the silent question in his eyes. If she didn't hurry up and answer it, her body would answer for her, and she would find herself having wild, public sex in the middle of a busy airport parking garage.

And maybe even liking it. Dear God.

She pushed at his chest until she was upright, but that was a mistake, because now they could both see her splayed hips, her sensible white panties pressed against his erection. He circled the tip of his finger against her mound, staring into her eyes. "Erin?"

She slid off of him and clambered to the other side of the car. Tugging her skirt down with trembling fingers, straightening her hair.

He flung his head back against the seat, clenched his fists. "I'm sorry," he said. "I swear, I didn't mean to do that."

"It's OK," she whispered. "It's not your fault."

He shot her a puzzled, ironic glance. "Whose fault is it, men?"

She shook her head and stared down at her lap.

He started up the car. "I didn't come down here to take advantage of you," he said roughly. "You need protection, Erin. I don't have any choice, and neither do you. But I promise I won't touch you again."

"There are always choices," Erin said.

"Not this time. Put on your seat belt."

The sharp authority in his voice reminded her of her father. The tone that signaled that there would be no bargaining, no back talk.

It was a mistake to think of her father. She strapped herself in, making herself small on the seat. Her mouth felt puffy. She peeked in the mirror and gasped in dismay. Her hair was falling down, her face was rosy red, and her mouth… it didn't even look like her mouth.