Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(17)

Erin took the orange juice out of Connor’s hand and set it on the kitchen counter. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

His green eyes went on alert. “Bad news?”

Erin nodded and hopped up on the counter. Something hot and shivery raced over her skin when Connor’s gaze dipped between her thighs. She became all too aware of how the black material of her shorts molded to her core. Too aware of what he’d do if he got those shorts off her. I’d like to be pounding you full of me, Erin. Full. “Yes, bad news,” she forced past suddenly dry lips. “Polly won’t switch apartments. She can’t. The pigs have already hooked up the high-speed cable and started setting up central command. That’s what she’s calling it, anyway…”

Connor dragged his attention up her body, making her skin feel hypersensitive. “So what’s the good news?”

“I make a pretty decent frittata.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You want to live here? With me?”

Erin nodded slowly. “It won’t be forever, just until they start paying us and I can afford somewhere else. Your spare room doesn’t have a fire escape, but…” She gave her best smile another whirl. “We could switch bedrooms.”

Connor ran a hand down his face. “Erin, you know I want to help—”

“I know. You’re a loner. So am I.” She picked up the jug of orange juice and picked at the label. “I wouldn’t ask if I was brimming with options.”

His laughter was dark. “Being a loner has nothing to do with it.”

She shouldn’t ask the question, especially since she already knew the answer. Too bad playing with fire ran in her veins, a need so thick and heady she couldn’t deny it. Asking was reckless and inconsiderate and inexcusable of her. What else was new? “What does it have to do with?”

Connor took a step into her personal space. Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch. Not an easy feat on the receiving end of such intensity. “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.”

“Tell me,” she whispered.

He sucked his upper lip into his mouth. “I haven’t been in the same room as you, Erin, when my cock wasn’t rock hard and ready to f*ck. You know it, too. You know I want to plant it deep inside you. Watch you shift around trying to get used to being crammed so motherf*cking tight.” His pupils were dilated, chest rising and falling unevenly. Breathtaking man. Burn for me. “I’m hard right now just thinking about what you’re hiding under those shorts. I want to lick all of it. I want to bite and f*ck it. If you think I can survive this way all day, all night, you have overestimated me.”

Erin’s mind reeled. With excitement. Apprehension. Most overwhelmingly, pain that she couldn’t give him what he needed. She wanted to be the girl who could. Desperately. But she couldn’t. She’d experimented with touch before. How much she could take, how much she could give out. Giving had never been a problem for her. That, she could control. The tricky part was finding someone she could trust not to get lost in the moment and forget the ground rules. In the past, she’d sought partners who liked to take a passive role in bed, reasoning they would be less likely to touch, which proved correct. But she’d been unsatisfied. One part of her sang at the thought of being consumed, but it was overshadowed by the part of her that was terrified of it.

The second she’d met Connor, she’d sensed what he had churning inside him. He’d just confirmed her theory with his words. If she were capable of giving herself over to him, of exploring their mutual attraction without reservation, she’d be flat on her back immediately. Pinned. Unable to move. A thought struck her. Was she so drawn to him because he was the perfect mixture of what she needed? A man capable of satisfying her physically, but who had enough self-discipline to stop if things got too overwhelming for her?

It was selfish of her to ask to stay. Usually she wouldn’t bat an eyelash at her narcissistic behavior. It suited her not to give a shit how her actions affected others. But Connor inspired something…give-a-shittish inside her. In the conference room, he’d stopped touching her immediately when she asked. Last night, he’d let her take from him what she needed. This morning, he’d carved out daylight for her in that stifling basement. Much as she hated being in someone’s debt, she owed him. She should get her suitcase and find somewhere else to stay. Put them both out of their misery and only deal with this startling gravitational pull at work.

“Say something,” he demanded.

“I’ll go.”

His brows drew together. “Are you testing me?”

Erin hopped off the counter, feeling a kick in her chest when he automatically stepped back to give her space. So they wouldn’t touch. Yeah, this was the right thing to do. “No, I’m not testing you. This time. But I wouldn’t get used to such generosity.”

He paced the kitchen, but came to a halt when she started lacing up her sneakers. “What—you’re leaving now?”

“Uh, yeah. I only have a few hours before it gets dark. Doesn’t give me much time.”

“No.” Connor gripped the kitchen counter and leaned over it. “No. Just no.”

What was wrong with him? He told her he couldn’t handle her living in the same apartment, now she was doing the right thing and he looked like she’d informed him a flaming meteor was headed toward Earth. She walked toward her suitcase where she’d left it propped near the window and looped her fingers around the handle. That simple act of finality pierced her armor and she suddenly hated herself for being such a goddamn mess. “Look, I’ll meet you at the prison tomor—”