Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)(86)

When her confidence visibly wavered, Connor

wanted

to

curse.

These

contradicting sides to her were only increasing his need to know more, and he

did not want to get involved.

Couldn’t afford to. Her chin went up a notch, and that show of fire amid the uncertainty turned him on. “What circumstances would those be?”

Too soon. Too insane. He’d just met this girl. They’d be working together. He couldn’t sit here in the light of day and detail the many activities he’d like to perform with her. Even if he wanted to, just to see her reaction. To see if she wanted him, too. But what would he do if she did? Drag her onto the conference room table, tug her shirt up to her neck, and get a look at those tits? He’d have to get her back to his apartment if he did that, damn the meeting.

Change the subject. “Why do you smell like smoke?”

Her eyelashes shielded her eyes a second before they flashed wide, hitting him square in the chest with the force of their impact. “I set things on fire.”

Any other time, the expression on the hot, bearded former-soldier’s face would have made Erin O’Dea dissolve into a fit laughter. It wasn’t the usual response men gave her when she played the crazy card. Not at all. Maybe that was why she wasn’t laughing. This guy wasn’t typical. Didn’t fit her profile of what men should be like. They all wanted to get inside her until she performed her fun little reveal. Surprise, sweetheart. I’m a convicted arsonist.

You might be next.

Cue haunted house cackle.

They never asked why she’d done it or questioned the circumstances, simply vanishing into a puff of smoke. Exactly as planned. This guy wasn’t vanishing, however. He hadn’t flinched, not once, and the trickle of relief in her chest pissed her off. The words “proceed with caution”

flashed

across

her

consciousness, sparking and flaming around the edges. This man would ask why and question the circumstances.

Having only met him mere minutes ago, she shouldn’t be so certain of that fact, but it would be reckless to put him in the same category as other men who scared easily. His steady green eyes were so intent on her, she worried her mask might slip underneath the weight of them.

She didn’t want him to be the first person to ask her why. She didn’t want anyone to ask her why. Her secrets were all she had. After you’d lived behind bars among hundreds of women with your privacy stripped clean away, you held on to what you could. You didn’t let it go for a pair of muscular biceps.

This one just needed a few more nudges and he’d lose interest. It was possible he already had and could hide his emotions better than most. She knew all about that. Although some people, her stepfather mainly, wanted her to be certifiably crazy, it was probably only half true. Yeah, she was a little off. For good reason. The man sitting across from her would recognize it soon enough and stop looking at her like he wanted to devour her, bite by bite.

His gaze became too much to bear, and Erin focused on the window. Only one pane of glass between her and the outside. She could survive anything, face anything, as long as that was the case.

Which is why she was here. You could dodge only so many bullets before one caught you in the back. This place, this job, was her bullet between the shoulder blades. Woman down.

Working for cops. Hell must be having a f*cking snowstorm. She hadn’t spit on the sidewalk on the way in for no reason. Cops were the enemy. The men and women who took away her freedom.

Laughed as they stripped away her dignity. They thought handcuffs and a gun made them smart, but it only made them complacent. At age twenty-five, she’d already proven that. Twice.

The ex-soldier’s raised eyebrow told her she was smiling. After what she’d just said to him, he probably thought that smile meant she was a lunatic. Mission accomplished. For the first time since she’d sworn off men, she regretted sending one running. But it was entirely necessary. This man—this big, rough-hewn male—was an enforcer. More than that, he had a brain working behind all that stoicism. Even if she were inclined to

call

him

baby

in

certain

circumstances, it would be disastrous. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he would be dominant in bed. The way he was clenching his fists as if fighting for control, even with her a full two feet away, told her that. He’d be the type to hold a woman down while he pounded out his lust.

That image might have turned her on at one time. Now it terrified her.

Still. She allowed her gaze to drop to his lips. Who knew she could find a beard so appealing? It wasn’t rugged, but close-cut. Well-maintained. He looked like a man who could survive on his own in the wilderness with nothing but string and a Windbreaker. Capable.

Made of steel. What would that beard feel like against her cheeks, her chin? If she leaned a little closer across the table, he might let her find out. If he hadn’t already decided she belonged in a straitjacket. Take a number, pal.

“You’d better decide now if this meeting is important to you,” he growled. “Because if you keep looking at me like you want to kiss me, neither one of us is going to be here for it.”

Hooo boy. Something she’d thought long gone shimmied in her belly. “That’s pretty confident.”