Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(53)

He handed her two tablets and a glass of water. “You should get into bed.”

“Good idea.” She took the ice pack he offered next.

Conor and Kirra followed her into the bedroom. A king-size platform bed took center stage. Folding back the ice-blue comforter, she climbed between the hotel-white sheets with a low groan and settled the ice pack on her jaw. Kirra jumped onto the bed and curled up with her head on Louisa’s hip. “She hasn’t left my side since I got home.”

“Dogs know.”

“Know what?”

“They know when something’s wrong.”

“I’ve never had a pet.” She stroked the dog’s head. “It’s nice.”

“So I guess you’re still considering keeping her?”

“I couldn’t do that. She’s your dog.”

“Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing,” Conor said as Kirra closed her eyes and heaved a contented sigh. “Besides, she’s not safe in my apartment.”

Louisa sat up, wincing. “Jackson said he was with you tonight. What happened?”

“Someone broke in tonight and busted up the place.”

The ice pack dropped from her face. “That’s terrible! You think it’s Kirra’s former owner?”

“I’m sure. He was waiting for me.” Conor didn’t mention the gun. She had enough to worry about.

Her eyes scraped over him. “But you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” He touched her hand. “But I’d feel better if Kirra stayed with you.”

“If you’re sure, then I’d be happy to keep her.” Louisa’s smile was lopsided, but her pleasure shone through her eyes.

Conor’s chest swelled at her pleasure. “Do you mind if I sit in here with you for a while?”

“I guess not.” But Louisa’s eyes narrowed in suspicion when he stretched on top of the covers next to her.

He ignored her look and puffed the giant pillows behind his back. A flat-screen hung on the wall opposite the bed. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.” She handed him a remote control. “You pick. I don’t watch much TV.”

Looking for something relaxing, Conor flipped through the channels until he found an old movie network showing Bringing Up Baby. He tossed the remote on the bed next to him. “How’s this?”

“I love Cary Grant.” Louisa snuggled deeper into the pillows.

“Me too. My parents used to watch his old black-and-whites when I was a kid.” Conor remembered crawling into bed with them on Saturday mornings.

“Were they happy?”

“Very. I never doubted they loved each other. That’s what I always thought I’d have someday.” Conor glanced over. The soft light of the television played on her delicate features, spurring an ache deep in his chest. “What was it like before your mother died? Were your parents happy?”

“I think so.” She sniffed. “He’s never gotten over her death. After she died, he started drinking and spending most of his time in Europe.”

“Did he ever take you with him?”

“Once in a while. Most of the time he left me with his sister.”

“The one you saw tonight?” Suspicion bloomed in Conor’s chest. Louisa’s aunt had upset her tonight.

“Yes.” Her voice faltered.

Wanting a connection with her, Conor reached across the comforter and put his hand over hers, careful not to touch her bandaged palm. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“Tomorrow.” She pulled the covers up to her neck. “Tell me about your brothers and sister.”

“Jayne and Danny were a handful, that’s for sure.” He told her about some of the trouble they got into, including the time they stole a car. He talked until her eyes closed and her breaths evened out.

Conor, used to being awake until the early hours, waited fifteen minutes before he gently lifted the ice pack from her face and returned it to the freezer. He eased back onto the bed and adjusted the pillow behind his head.

Louisa sighed. Still asleep, she rolled toward him. Her temple settled against his shoulder, the intimacy of the weight of her head on his body spurring an urge to gather her closer, but he didn’t want to disturb her. How would she react when she found him in her bed tomorrow morning?

Didn’t matter.

No matter how secure her building, there was no way he was leaving her alone. Not after she could have been killed. Conor rested his temple against her hair and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. He was staying right here, all night.





21


Why hadn’t she drawn the shades? Sunlight burned Louisa’s eyeballs right through her closed lids. She tried to go back to sleep, but pain pulsed through her face. The ibuprofen had worn off. Her knees protested with stiffness and fire as she rolled away from the glare, opened her eyes, and stared at a man’s rib cage.

She jolted. Ow. Straightening her leg, she eased her left knee into a more comfortable position. Then she turned her attention back to the half-naked man in her bed.

Next to her, Conor reclined on two pillows. He was still dressed in his jeans, but he’d removed his shirt and shoes during the night. His eyes were closed, and his jaw was shadowed, as usual. Her gaze drifted down. After all, she knew what his face looked like, but she’d never seen him without a shirt. Oh my. The arm flung over his head stretched his torso taut. His body was all about understated power. A scattering of dark hair swirled across his pectorals. Firm muscle expanded his broad chest and shoulders and defined a lean abdomen. She swallowed, the sight of his body stirring a primal need inside her. Her eyes followed the line of dark hair that swirled into the waistband of his jeans and led to—