Connor's Gamble (11 page)

What right did he have to be angry?  Dinner with her boss?  Really?  The situation with the death of a senior, along with the accident, needed to be handled on a level above what she felt comfortable dealing with, both financially and from a public relations perspective.  John coming all the way from Boca to meet with her, to deal with the emotional and logistical crises, had been a godsend.

Connor's reaction baffled her.  And it pissed her off.  Where did he get off spewing his hate-filled rant in front of a room full of people anyway?  Her hands fisted at her sides, just thinking about the repercussions she'd have to deal with in the morning.

What would she say to him?  What could she say?  The pleasantries of small talk paled when compared to the enormous elephant in the room, present but always ignored.  Connor's duplicity and unfaithfulness even with the passage of time still drove the sharp knife of betrayal deep into her psyche, the sharpest point of the blade lacerating her heart.

Putting hundreds of miles between them hadn't been enough to dull her feelings.  Her love hadn't faded nor diminished one iota.  Time apparently didn't heal all wounds; the one in her heart remained an open, aching hole.  The vitriol she'd spewed at him during the last days of their marriage—the anger and disbelief and ultimately the acceptance of his betrayal—those things stood between them, a chasm as deep and vast as the Grand Canyon.

The expected knock thunked on the door, its echo reverberating through the compact hotel room.  She'd deliberately taken one of the smaller rooms so she wouldn't have to share with anybody.  Privacy and a few minutes of solitude outweighed always wearing a smile and donning the cheerful disguise she'd cultivated around her charges and colleagues.  It wasn't their business her heart remained a fractured, fragmented mess.

Alyssa swung the door wide and stepped back after Connor's knock, allowing him access to her room with an exaggerated sweep of her hand.  She'd known he'd show up sooner or later, she'd just been hoping for later.

Her equilibrium was still rocky.  Facing him again alone after so much time passed should have been easier.  It wasn't.  Seeing him over the last couple of days had been her own personal hell.

After the divorce, she'd forced herself to sever every connection to him, even taking the final step of cutting all ties with his family.  That additional loss after the devastation of the divorce nearly broke her.  His family's love and acceptance had become her bedrock, a solid foundation she'd rebuilt her life on after a rocky and turbulent upbringing.  Connor's grandmother, Molly, became her shelter in times of storm and turmoil.  When their marriage ended, she'd felt adrift on a sea filled with hurricane-force gales and hidden reefs waiting to demolish her tenuous hold on the wreckage of her life.  

Her own family was less than useless.  Hell, useless gave them too much credit.  An alley cat in heat had more morals than her own mother.  She slept with any man willing to buy her a drink and show her a good time.  Some of Alyssa's earliest childhood memories were of her brother, Daniel, holding her in the middle of the night while her parents fought, their yells filling the dilapidated single-wide, rusted out excuse of a trailer. 
Mobile home
her mother liked to call it, as if fancying up the name made it sound better than the white-trash hovel everybody in town knew it was.

“We need to talk, Lyssa.”  Connor's brown-eyed gaze bored into her.  He ran a hand through his hair which was a tousled mess, looking as though he'd repeated the motion a hundred times before getting to her room.  He still had one chestnut brown piece that fell forward across his forehead exactly the way she remembered.  She inhaled a deep breath through slightly pursed lips, held it for a few seconds and exhaled slowly, a technique taught her by the therapist she'd seen after the breakup of their marriage. The smell of his aftershave, faint and with a slight hint of a woodsy tone filled her senses.  The memories spilled forth uninvited and unwelcome and she bit back a moan.

“Yeah, we do.  Have a seat.”  Alyssa motioned toward the tiny round table in front of the window.  Two tan-and-yellow-checkered chairs on opposite sides faced inward, pushed underneath to create an illusion of more space in the cramped room.

“Your behavior tonight, I . . . I'm speechless, Connor.  John is my employer, my boss.”

Connor raised both hands in front of him, stopping her words.  “I know.  I screwed up, big time.”

“He came because of the accident.  It's his job, checking on the residents of the senior living center.  It's not a social visit, or as you so charmingly put it, a 'booty call'.  What were you thinking?”

“I wasn't thinking, all right?”  Connor slumped back in the chair, resting his ankle on his opposite knee.  Casual and relaxed, at least that's what he seemed to be trying to portray, but Alyssa read the unleashed tension stiffening his spine.  His whole attitude, his posture, reminded her of the times he'd come home after a bad day at the fire station, wound tight, ready to explode.  Never once had he taken out his frustrations or anger on her though.

She'd take his hand, twine their fingers together, and with a single touch, his bunched up clenched muscles loosened, shoulders relaxed.  He'd lean forward and press his lips to hers in a soft kiss, and the moment was magical.

More often than not words weren't needed.  With his hand clasped securely in hers, she'd lead him to their bedroom.  Sometimes she'd massage his shoulders and back, ease the tension from him muscle by muscle, her fingers digging deep to release his knotted shoulders.  Other times they'd kiss and she'd lie in his arms while he held her, needing the closeness of bodies intertwined without the undercurrent of sex running beneath the surface.

Alyssa lowered herself onto the chair across from Connor.  Her fingers itched to take his hand like she had when they were married.  That was part of the problem; though their divorce was final she still felt like his wife.  She physically hadn't been with anybody else since the day she'd met him.  Divorced or not, her heart, her body, always belonged to him.

“We have to get past this, Connor.”

“I know, dammit.  Thought I'd moved on.  Then the shock of finding you in Florida with Gran.  Maybe I'd have been better prepared, handled things differently if I'd known you were there.”

“Connor, one of the reasons I left New Orleans was we needed time apart.  The thought of seeing you with—”

“You wouldn't have seen me with anybody!  I never cheated on you.  Never.  Our wedding vows, every word I spoke came from my heart.  I meant it when I vowed I'd be a faithful and loving husband for the rest of my days.”

He rose from his chair and took two steps away, his back to her.  When he turned to face her, Alyssa felt a familiar fire stir deep in her core at the emotions blazing in his eyes.

Want.

Desire.

Love?

Flames of illicit need licked at her skin.  She dropped her gaze, hoping he hadn't read the spiraling lust filling her eyes.

She craved his touch, wanted his arms around her, his lips devouring hers before sliding along her nape, his tongue licking along her skin.  The attraction between them flared to life the instant they were in a room together.

Stop it.  I'll only hurt myself if I give in.  Together we're explosive.  I'm the match to his gasoline.  Remember why you left New Orleans.  Why you left him
.

“A picture paints a thousand words, Connor.  They certainly did for me.  You remember the pictures, don't you?  The ones of you and the naked redhead in your lap?”

“I've told you a hundred times, Lyssa, they're fakes.  It never happened.”  His denial sounded sincere, just like every time before.  How she wanted to believe him, but she knew better.  Once trust is broken, there's no going back.

“I had them checked by a professional.  Verified as real undoctored photos of my husband, my loving faithful spouse with his arms wrapped another woman.  A naked woman straddling his lap.  The trust in our marriage was broken beyond repair with your betrayal.”

Connor flopped back into the chair, head tilted and scrubbed his hands across his face before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  “That's the bottom line, isn't it?  You can't trust me because of those pictures.  You think I'm lying to you.  Damn it, Lyssa, I've never broken my word to you, ever.  I never will.”

Her eyes scoured every inch of the man opposite her.  His light brown hair was longer than he'd worn it when they'd been married.  The same whiskey brown eyes, his oh-so-sexy smile that kicked up a bit higher on the right side, giving him a crooked grin, though it wasn't anywhere in evidence at the moment.  Tall and lean but well-muscled, he had a body honed from his years at the fire station.  Muscles that went on forever, not the kind developed from lifting weights or gobbling up steroids, but from working every day in a physically demanding job.  The smooth muscles flexed and rippled beneath the surface, strong and oh-my-goodness-I-want-to-lick-them-all-over appealing.  She remembered exactly what he looked like naked—and after last night the memory was burned into her brain.  She wanted him again, naked and sprawled across her bed.

One step forward, then another.  She didn't even remember moving, but within seconds she stood in front of him.  He remained seated in the ugly hotel room chair, knees spread apart, forearms resting on his thighs with his hands clasped as he leaned forward.  He stared down at the ugly carpet, not noticing her approach until she stood directly in front of him.

He raised his gaze to hers and she nearly gasped at the unbridled desire burning in his brown eyes.  Her heart raced.

He wants me!  I want him!  Last night wasn't nearly enough.  Can I risk another night in his arms and still walk away tomorrow?  Dare I?

Desire zinged through her, her nipples tightening into stiff peaks against the thin camisole she wore.  When she'd gotten back to her room, she'd removed the thick outer sweater she'd worn to dinner.  The temperature might be freezing outside but inside her room, right at this moment, heat blazed with sexual tension and lust.

Reaching out, she unclasped his fingers, taking that final step between his spread knees. She placed his hands on her hips.  With the touch of one finger under his chin she tilted his head upward, leaned in closer until her lips were a hairsbreadth away from his.  If she moved forward, breathed out, their lips would touch.  Reining in her rampant thoughts, she cupped his cheek, a gentle stroke of her fingertips along his jawline.

“This can't be more than tonight, Connor.  I want you but it's only for this one moment in time.  Can you deal with that?”  Her whispered entreaty sounded incredibly loud to her own ears.  Her breath caught when his hands tightened at her words.  He blinked once slowly, his focus solely on her mouth.

“If tonight's all I can have, I'll take it.  I'll take everything you have to give, Lyssa.”

Alyssa rested her forehead against his, inhaled a shaky breath and moved the scant inch still separating her lips from their ultimate goal.  A light brush, barely there, a tease of touch.  Her tongue slid forward in a slow sensuous dance against his lips, and he opened to her, let her inside.  Returning her kiss, gentle at first before the hunger burning inside turned ravenous.  Her lips slanted across his, eagerly searching for the magic she'd missed for so long.  No one else ever made her feel the way Connor did.  With a single kiss he drove her farther, made her needier, craving more.

Connor's hands rose from her hips to cup her face, his touch rougher, sliding into her hair, his mouth opening to deepen the kiss.  Their tongues battled, gliding against each other, an erotic, exotic mating dance between two people who weren't strangers.  Each knew what the other liked, exactly how much pressure with teeth and tongue brought the maximum pleasure for their partner.

“I need you.  So much.”  The words escaped from Alyssa as she broke free.  Connor rose from his seat, and he looked down with the same burning desire shining in his gaze that she felt burning deep within her, eager to consume them both.

“Need you, too.  Have to have you.”  Connor's voice whispered in her ear before trailing kisses down her nape, licking and sucking.  She let out a little yelp as he nipped along her shoulder blade.  A wicked smiled curled his lips.  He grasped the strap of her camisole with his teeth and tugged it down her shoulder.  He swept a series of licks and swirls of his tongue into the dips and hollows of her throat and goose bumps trailed in its wake.  Alyssa tilted her head, baring more of her neck and shoulder for his attention.

Her hands slid upward cupping his head, her fingers sliding into his hair, pulling him closer as he pressed another kiss to her collarbone.  Mindless in the grip of the desire flooding her, she loosened her hold on his head, sliding her fingers down over his shoulders, his chest.  Finally she gripped the bottom of his sweater in both hands and tugged, pulling upward until he yanked it out of her hands, ripping it up and over his head with one motion, leaving all that lovely bronzed-from-the-sun skin on display.  A light scattering of dark hair spread across his chest, accentuating the muscles she yearned to stroke.

Reaching out one hand, her fingers stroked a light and delicate path across his sculpted chest, then followed the brown trail downward, across his rock-hard stomach to where it disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.  Boldly she slid open the the hook of his belt, and watched as Connor's erection grew larger, bulged and strained beneath the zipper.  A fleeting moment of awe filled her that he responded so quickly to her touch, wanted her with the same intensity and fire burning inside her.

Making love the night before had awakened the sleeping beast within Alyssa, desires long dormant, unfulfilled since she'd left New Orleans.  With one touch Connor roused the ravenous beast, and she intended to savor every second of their lovemaking, hiding it away for those lonely nights when she was back in Florida and he'd returned home.

“I'm sorry.”  Connor's words whispered against the nape of her neck, slow wet kisses following his plea.  “I'm sorry, my love.”   He repeated his apology as his hand slid lower, cupping her breast, his thumb strumming across the peaked nipple.  Moisture pooled between her thighs.