Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(4)

“Everything we’ve said so far has been a challenge.” Erin knew he liked what he saw as his gaze ran the length of her back, snagging on her ass. She gave it a quick shake. He groaned low in his throat, and she was shocked to find herself excited by it. “Kiss me. Just…don’t touch me, okay?”

“Jesus.” He dragged both hands down his face. “You’ve got the wrong guy for that, sweetheart.”

Of course, that made her want the kiss even more. She was drawn to fire. Connor had enough inside him to burn down a major city. The fact that he kept such a tight leash on it only made her want to watch it crackle and race. “I didn’t say I couldn’t touch.” She gripped the collar of his shirt and dragged him forward, bringing their mouths an inch apart. “Just you.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’ll make you beg for my goddamn hands on you.”

Ah, Connor. You have no idea what you’re up against. “You’re welcome to try.”

As if he wanted to reassure her, but the need to do so pissed him off, he seized the table’s edge with such obvious strength, the wood groaned beneath her. After a blistering perusal of her body, he brushed their mouths together once, before running his tongue along the seam of her lips. The room blurred around them. Oh. Oh wow.

Out of the corner of her eye, a figure loomed in the doorway. “Well I guess the ‘getting to know each other’ phase is under way.”





Chapter Two


Connor shot forward to block the girl from the newcomer’s view. She’d gotten up on that table for him, and no one else got to enjoy the scenery. No one but him. His hands reached out of their own volition to drag her off the table and set her behind him.

They grasped at thin air.

Panic flared for two reasons. One, he didn’t like taking his eyes off the man framed in the doorway when his identity hadn’t been established. He’d been told to expect a roomful of convicts, after all. He needed to know who posed a threat and he wanted to know immediately. Especially now, when the threat could be directed at the girl. Two, not being able to touch her made him anxious. Ridiculous, really, since he’d only held her wrist and she’d nearly had a full-blown breakdown. It had only made him want to touch her more. Smooth out the fear with his hands. Gentle her. Tame her.

Connor whipped his head around, needing to get eyes on her. She gave him a pinkie wave from her chair. How had she moved so fast? And dammit, how could she look so serene when the barest hint of contact with her mouth had shot electricity down his spine?

He split his attention between her and the new guy. Although “guy” seemed an informal moniker for someone who held himself as if expecting to own the room’s attention. Not a con, then. Captain Derek Tyler? He’d been told back in New York to expect a man who brooked no bullshit, and the description fit. Most importantly, he wasn’t a threat to her.

Connor lowered himself back into his seat. He thrived on control. Always had. What she had inspired in him since entering the room didn’t compare to anything in his thirty years of experience. He’d watched the girl vacillate among terrified, curious, and confident so many times his head was still spinning. So many things seeming to war for precedence in her head…and he’d found himself wanting to battle them all. What would it be like to harness all that vitality?

Initially, she’d wanted him to back off. Her admission that she liked to “set things on fire” was meant to scare him away. Instead, his mental response had been, it’s a good thing I know how to put them out. He’d been doing it for the last two years. Cleaning up after his volatile cousin, who’d preferred to solve matters through violence. Guns, intimidation, fists. You name it. Connor’s life had been filled with violence. Images imprinted on his brain since childhood, then the navy. He’d fit seamlessly into the Brooklyn operation without a hiccup and he’d resented that. Resented that a place had been carved for him there all along, waiting for him to screw up and go the hell back where he belonged.

Resented how easy doling out pain had become. Feeling too easy, too…good. A numbing distraction from the direction his life had taken.

He’d found a way to get free of it, though. Finally. For that very reason, this pink-haired pyromaniac should not appeal to him. Chicago was supposed to represent a new start for him. For his ailing mother. The word “complicated” didn’t even begin to describe “she who still had not been named.” He had issues of his own to solve. He sure as hell didn’t have time for this. For her.

For Chrissake, she didn’t like to be touched. His hands were everything to him. Whether they were being used as weapons or to give a woman pleasure, they were always at the ready. Being on the receiving end of her come-ons without being able to touch would be pure torture. She tested his restraint while simultaneously demanding he exercise more than ever. No, he needed to set aside his fascination with her and focus on the job. This one would drive him straight out of his mind. It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t get what he wanted. He’d survived every time. He’d survive without having the girl beneath him. Probably.

But God help anyone else who tried to get her there.

Connor gripped the edge of the chair and reeled back the irritation produced by that thought. His attention landed on the presumed captain who’d interrupted them before he could get a satisfying taste of the girl. The man looked slightly perturbed, but the faint frown lines between his eyes gave Connor the impression he looked like that most of the time. He was splitting his attention between Connor and Fire Girl, looking more than a little fascinated.