Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(38)

“My mother died, too,” she mumbled into his neck. “I’ll tell you about it when I can.”

“You can’t tell me now?”

“No. But only because this was your time to tell a story. We have to let it settle.”

Unbelievable. He felt like smiling. After all the ugly shit he’d dredged up. “One more thing, then we’ll let it settle.”

She mushed her nose against his skin and inhaled. “Fire away.”

“Today was incredible, Erin. Maybe we got there because I was, am, a jealous man. And maybe it didn’t end the way we wanted.” He turned his head and kissed the corner of her lips, ordering himself not to do more. Not to sink in the way he craved. Too soon. “But you let me touch you and you’re still here. You’re fine. We’re a damn sight better than we were yesterday. We’re going to keep getting better, too. I want you to stop doubting.”

“You sound so sure,” she murmured.

“You’re damn right.” Connor released a slow breath. “Sure enough that I’m taking you to meet my mother right now.”



Joanna Bannon barely reached Connor’s shoulders without her high heels. The last time he’d seen her without them had been the day she was released from the hospital, following his father’s final beating. She’d clicked out of her bedroom the next morning in four-inch pumps, hefted her purse over her shoulder, and walked out the door without her sunglasses on. Connor had stood at the window holding a bowl of cereal, watching the neighbors turn and stare. He’d stopped her on the way out to ask if she wanted him to come along, but it had been something she needed to do by herself. To show her battle wounds and proclaim herself a survivor. He hadn’t known until that morning what it meant to be proud of someone. The feeling had been like a bowling ball sitting on his chest, but it was a good weight. A welcome weight. He’d wanted someone to feel that way about him.

When he’d been approached by the cops the previous month and asked to cooperate in bringing down his cousin, he’d told them to go f*ck themselves. His cousin might be a murderer. A thief. A liar. But in his world, a snitch ranked even lower. But they knew his weak spot. They’d offered to take his mother out of her dilapidated house in the Bronx and move her to a brand-new high-rise in Chicago. They’d offered them both the chance at a new life. Most importantly, they’d secured insurance for his mother that would cover the bulk of her radiation treatments.

He’d been overseas when the doctors diagnosed her with breast cancer. True to form, his mother continued to fight like a warrior and made progress with each treatment. His military benefits had been canceled, however, leaving them holding the bag on her medical expenses. Thus, the NYPD had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. His mother needed the best treatment available and he’d had only one way to get it for her. If his admissions regarding his cousin had saved Bowen’s life and earned him a friend—two friends including Sera—he considered that an added bonus.

Erin appeared shell-shocked as they walked into his mother’s building, but smiled at him gratefully when he automatically bypassed the elevator and went for the stairs. Since his mother lived on the twelfth floor, maybe it would burn off some of his sexual frustration. Maybe, but not f*cking likely. Not with Erin’s gorgeous ass swaying in front of him with every step she took on the way up. Or the space between her thighs. Thighs that had been splayed over his lap less than an hour ago as he’d sucked her delicious pink nipples.

She tossed a saucy look over her shoulder. “What are you thinking about, baby?”

“Fucking your insane body.”

Her steps faltered, but she kept going. On the next landing, she turned and pressed her back against the cinder-block wall. He knew he should bypass her and resist the temptation she presented, but he couldn’t. Even looking at her sent his heart rate skyrocketing, made his hands curl into fists with the need to touch. It was more, though. The simplicity of her words on the bus, her acceptance of his past, the vulnerable girl he saw underneath the punk-rock getup. God, he wanted her so bad. All of her. Needed her to be his.

When she snagged a finger into his belt loop and tugged him closer, he growled. “What are you doing?”

Mischief lit her eyes as she smoothed a hand over the growing bulge in his jeans. “I can take care of this for you.” Her voice sounded smoky and full in the silent stairwell. “Please, let me.”

“No,” he panted. “I meant what I said. No relief for me today.”

She squeezed him in a devastating rhythm, going up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “How tight do you think my * is, Connor?” Her hand gripped him lightly. “This tight?”

“Tighter,” he ground out. “I know it’s tighter, goddammit.”

He gritted his teeth as her grip closed around him hard. “Like this, baby?”

“Yes.”

Her breath heated his neck. “You just say the word. I’ll get on my knees and suck you until you can’t stand.”

“Fuck.” It would be so easy. Push her onto her knees, brace his hands against the wall and f*ck her sweet, pouty mouth. He already knew she could take it into her throat. It would round off the sharpest edges of his need, allowing him to concentrate. No, dammit. He wouldn’t do it. He gave in too much where Erin was concerned. Gave up too much of the control he craved. It was important to him that she realize that when he made a promise, he kept it. If in this case, that promise was to torture her with his own suffering, so be it. Stranger things had happened. “Not today, Erin. No matter how bad I want your mouth on me. I won’t do it. Learn to take my words seriously.”