Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(24)

His heart plummeted. Is that what she’d thought? If so, she had a lot to learn about him. “It’s going to take more than damaged pride to keep me away from you.” This is where he turned around and took her in his arms, reassured her the only way knew how. But that wasn’t an option. Erin seemed to sense his inner turmoil, because she tightened her hold on him and tried to scoot them both back on the bed. After a few seconds of her struggling to move him, Connor went. He lay facing away from her, the exact opposite of what he wanted, while she held him from behind, face buried in his back.

It took him a long time to fall asleep, but when he did, he fell deep.





Chapter Eight


Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

Erin’s body felt feverish and whip-tight. Oxygen felt like it was being sucked in through a straw to her aching lungs. Was that wheezing coming from her? A dense band of steel lay across her chest, her legs, making it even harder to breath. Heavy. So heavy. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t form a rational thought. One that would get her shifting, trying to get free. Useless. It would be useless anyway. Once she allowed the trap, it ruled her. How had she gotten here? Allowed this?

You let your guard down and now you’ll pay. Next comes the dark box. Just like the closet. They’ll throw you in, laughing while you plead. Oh God, please don’t let them forget to take the handcuffs off again. Please. Tears blurred her vision before coating her temples, burning the corners of her eyes, wetting her hair. She couldn’t move her hands or turn her head to get rid of them. Locust wings started to flap. Louder. Louder. A scream rose in her throat but it wouldn’t release. No one would hear her anyway. The face in the whirlwind fed off her screams. They gave him more reasons to trap her. Call her crazy.

The smell of sanded wood and pine needles infiltrated her frenetic thoughts. Tears continued to flow, breathing was still painfully difficult, but a tiny bubble of comfort found its way home through the terrible noise. Still trapped. Trapped by Connor? No, that couldn’t be right. He wouldn’t, would he? Had he been a trap, disguised as a magnificent mirage?

“No,” she keened into the dim room. “Not him.”

The steel bands across her chest and legs twitched. Miraculously, they yanked away and she could inhale. She couldn’t move yet, but dragging in the sweet air was enough. Enough for now. She managed to turn her head and focus on the window across the room, but it was blocked by a large object. Connor. It was Connor and he was shouting at her.

“Erin. Ah f*ck, sweetheart. No.” He gripped the headboard in his right hand and she heard the wood creak. “I’m so sorry. Dammit.”

“Window,” she croaked. Understanding dawned in Connor’s eyes and he reached for her, obviously intending to scoop her up and carry her over. He jerked his hands back at the last second and cursed, low and vilely. As she watched from the pillow, he started pacing the room like a caged lion. Terrifying and awe-inspiring at the same time. She wanted to say something, do something to comfort him, but she couldn’t think past getting to the window, regaining her equilibrium. Testing her legs and arms, she was surprised to find they moved, accommodating her need to crawl across the bed and dismount on the window side. Odd, it usually took her much longer to gather the strength. The courage.

Connor met her at the glass. “You’re not going out there. Don’t you dare leave me here remembering how you looked—” He raked a hand through his hair. “Tell me how to make it better.”

“Just stand there.” She reached over and laid a hand on his heaving chest. “Right there. You needed a minute last night and I need one now. Okay?”

After a beat, he nodded. “I fell asleep.” His voice sounded far away. Hazy. “I must have…there was a minute before I woke up where I felt so relaxed. Calm. It’s been a long time since I felt like that. And the whole time, you were suffering. Jesus, I hate myself for that.”

A dark shadow obscured her view of the street, draping over her and folding inside her chest. His words bounced around her consciousness, damaging her wherever they struck. I hate myself. If this morning had proved anything, it was that she was beyond repair. Even after the kindness and understanding Connor had shown her, she still wasn’t healthy enough to withstand an embrace. She never would be. Her life had been lived too long this way, and her patterns were set.

Discreetly, she watched Connor’s reflection in the glass. He looked haunted. Ravaged by the need to fix his mistake, when there was no remedy. They’d only known each other for two days and already she’d frustrated him, hurt him. Made him hate himself. She needed to get away from him before she did any more damage. Really, it was selfish of her to have stayed in his magnetic orbit this long. But she could be merciful to them both now. Cut and run. It’s what she did best. After he got over the initial sting of failure, he would be grateful.

She almost laughed when she saw herself in the glass. Hair a rat’s nest. Leather bustier twisted above her stupid You Wish thong. Yeah, he probably did. Probably wished he had a girlfriend who didn’t have a panic attack from being in his arms. She might as well be a ghost.

“Maybe I am.”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

His sleep-roughened voice didn’t fail to heat her insides. She may have made the decision to leave, but that wouldn’t make her attraction to him any less intense. “This isn’t going to work.” She spoke to his reflection in the glass, but it still hurt. Especially when his eyes blazed open at her words. “What were we thinking? I spend my life avoiding being tied down. You need to control and fix and manage. It’s a f*cking countdown until you start to resent me. Let’s cut this short, shall we?”