Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(3)

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 was why she was here. You could only dodge 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 have been 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.”

“Realistic.”

Erin drummed her fingers on the table before reaching one hand out, intending to tug his beard. “I’m just curious about what this feels like. In places.”

He caught her wrist in midair before it made contact. “You touch me, you’ll find out.”

Ice formed beneath her skin, so freezing cold that it burned like blue fire. Her muscles tightened to the point of pain. She focused on her breathing. In and out. In and out. Just a little tug and her hand would be free. Nothing could contain her. She’d made sure of that. He might harness a lot of power in that muscular frame, but she didn’t sense that he would use it on her. Unless she asked. Which she sure as hell would not.

Her brain commanded her to pull out of his grip, but her body wouldn’t obey. She focused back on the window, zeroed in on the patch of gray sky visible through the glass. “Please let go,” she whispered, furious when her voice shook.

He dropped her hand like it was on fire. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. Eyes seeing too much. Discarding theories, thinking of new ones. Like he knew a damn thing about what was wrong with her. Half the time, she didn’t know.

“My name is Connor.”

Erin went still. Inside and out. She felt warm all of a sudden, like someone had draped a fleece blanket over her shoulders. If she thought she’d had him at least partially pegged, she’d been wrong. He didn’t have to give in to their silly name war. He’d done it because she’d shown a chink in her armor and he wanted to give her a victory.

Connor.

“What about a tiny little kiss?” Shit. Where had that come from? “No tongue.”

“This isn’t summer camp.” Those hands clenched. Unclenched. “If you want to kiss me, you’ll get everything. I’m not going to hold back.”

His gruff tone made her shiver. That voice held promises she couldn’t begin to interpret. It had been so long since she’d let a man touch her, but she knew instinctively that Connor would be a whole new experience. One she definitely wasn’t ready for and never would be. Still. She felt…gravitated to him. She’d originally leaned across this conference table to unnerve him. It worked with most people. Invade their personal space until they back off for good. Now that she was this close to him, though, she found herself wanting to stay there. It didn’t hurt that he’d released her hand without hesitation. Maybe it was premature or bad judgment on her part, but his action had made her feel safe. She didn’t feel safe very often, if ever.

Deciding to trust the instinct that rarely failed her, she climbed onto the table and crawled on her hands and knees the remaining distance. Connor’s facade slipped just a little, lips parting on a gravelly exhale, broad chest shuddering as he watched her. “That wasn’t a challenge,” he grated.