Taking Connor(49)

Vick smirks as he looks back at me. “Yeah, Demi joined me and my Uncle on a job. Though I think she got more paint on herself than the walls.”

“Looks that way,” Connor agrees though his eyes are staring at his bike. Maybe only because I know him well, it’s extremely obvious that he does not want to talk to Vick.

“Yeah, well, my walls still turned out better,” I joke.

Vick steps over the parts and approaches me. “You did a great job, hon,” he coos as he gives me a chaste kiss. Heat racks my body, embarrassment setting in. When Vick pulls away, Connor shakes his head and yanks a rag off the table next to him, wiping his hands. Suddenly, I just want to go. I just want to get as far away from Connor as possible.

“Care for a glass of wine before you go?” I offer as I move to exit the garage.

“Definitely,” Vick agrees enthusiastically.

“Don’t let her have too much,” Connor yells, causing me to turn, not understanding what he means. “Sometimes when she gets drunk she blacks out and can’t remember anything.”

Ouch.

Did my stomach just drop to the ground? Wow. Connor just took a shot at me. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged the night we kissed since I pretended to be so drunk I didn’t remember what happened. Now, he’s calling me out.

Right now?

Really?

I’m floored. I can’t even process this moment.

“She seems like she handles herself pretty well,” Vick disagrees as he throws an arm over my shoulders.

“You two have a good night.” Connor snorts, ignoring him as he turns his back to us.

Looking down at me, paint spackled all over me, Vick smiles as he takes my hand and leads me inside to my kitchen. My heart is still hammering in my chest. Connor is mad at me. Now I know, for sure, I’ve hurt him—or at least made him angry. He just made it abundantly clear. But he’s with Roxy. How can he even have the audacity to be mad at me? At the sink, Vick wets a paper towel and brushes some of my hair from my face.

“Damn, you have some beautiful eyes, woman,” he groans as he dabs the napkin on my face. I force myself to smile at his compliment and try my best to shake thoughts of Connor.

“Yours are pretty nice, too,” I retort.

He stops dabbing and stares at me, our eyes locked, heat seeping up my body and blanketing my face. But I’m not embarrassed. I’m . . . turned on. These last few weeks have been incredible. Vick has been patient, attentive, and hasn’t once crossed a line with me. And although Connor and our heated . . . night still lingers in my mind. I can’t deny I’m attracted to Vick. But there is something . . . something I can’t put my finger on that keeps me from wanting to throw myself at him. I’m excited to see him every time we meet. I love his smile, and he always makes me laugh like crazy, but that feeling of . . . zha-zha-zsu is missing. When I fell in love with Blake, I craved him. He devoured my every thought. There wasn’t a night where he wasn’t the last thought to drift through my mind or a morning I awoke where he wasn’t the first thought to enter my mind. I was smitten. Maybe you only get that one time in your life? Maybe we are all only promised one true love? Maybe I’ll never feel that again?

But deep down I know that’s not true.

My love for Blake could never be compared, but I know I can still feel those kinds of feelings for someone.

I know this because I feel them for Connor.

Add in the tortured dynamic of forbidden love and I’m your modern day Juliette.

“I’m still waiting,” Vick whispers as he softly brushes his lips against mine.

“Waiting for what?” I mumble against his mouth.

“For you to be ready. I’ll wait until you tell me you’re ready, okay?”

I kiss him quickly and pull away, turning to the sink and washing my hands. I don’t want to discuss sex right now. I don’t want to even think about it, so I don’t answer. Vick watches me for a long moment, waiting for my response, but to his credit lets it drop and starts teasing me about my painting skills. We turn on some music and share a bottle of wine in the living room before he heads home. But when I go to bed that night, I wonder if maybe I’m just scared. Is that why the thought of having sex with Vick feels so . . . foreign? Granted, I wasn’t scared with Connor the other night, but I was drunk, and alcohol can definitely take the edge off.

I roll on my side and punch my pillow a few times as if it’s the pillows fault I can’t sleep. The truth is, the Vick sex thing isn’t what’s keeping me up. It’s Connor. Of course, it is. He’s angry with me, and it bothers me so profoundly that my insides ache. I hate myself for playing dumb and acting like I was too drunk to remember what happened. After another hour, I jerk the blankets back and head downstairs to get a glass of water. Standing on my tiptoes, I peek out the kitchen window. Connor is cleaning up the garage, his shirt off, and all I can do is stare. His hands are tinted with grime and oil from working on the bike, and his face is scruffy with a few days old beard. I reach my hand up and rub my neck, feeling tension gripping my muscles. I gulp my water, my gaze never leaving him as he sweeps the floor, the muscles in his back flexing as he moves. I have no idea how long I watch him, but I can’t seem to look away, even when my hand drifts down and my thumb dances over my hardened nipple straining against the fabric of my shirt. He walks to the back of the garage, out of sight, and I close my eyes trying to remember the feel of him against me. Letting my hand drift down further, I slip it under the band of my shorts and panties until I reach my core. The moment I touch my clit a thrill so intense shoots through me it makes me lurch forward and moan. But it’s short lived as the glass in my hand slips and breaks in the sink. Cursing, I snap to and back away. Another glass lost to me fantasizing about Connor.