Kate Hoffmann - Conor

Conor’s gaze dropped to the table and he picked up his fork and pushed the casserole around on his plate. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. We have this attraction to each other. We slept together last night. Are we supposed to just stop when this is over and go on with our lives?”

Conor closed his eyes and released a tightly held breath. “I don’t know, Olivia. I didn’t expect this to happen. It just happened.”

“And as far as you’re concerned, this is all wrong,” Olivia said.

“It’s not right,” he muttered. “And I could probably lose my job because of it. But there’s no going back, so I guess we shouldn’t worry about it.”

“There is a way to go back,” Olivia said.

“And how is that?”

“We just have to stop this right now. Pretend it never happened.” She stood up and smoothed her hands over her thighs, hating what she’d been forced to say, yet knowing in her heart it was the best thing for both of them. They couldn’t go on without one of them getting hurt. “We can do that. Before it gets out of control.”

“I think that ship has already sailed,” he said.

“No, it hasn’t,” she replied firmly. “From now on, we go back to the way it was supposed to be. I’m the witness and you’re the cop.” She clutched her hands in front of her to stop the trembling, then forced a smile. “I-I think I should probably get some sleep-in my room, alone.”

She’d slept away most of the afternoon and wasn’t at all tired. But Olivia knew if she didn’t walk away from Conor, didn’t lock herself in her bedroom, then there would be no way to keep herself from wanting him. “I-I’ll just be going,” she said, taking a step back.

Olivia waited, hoping that he’d try to stop her, try to explain all the reasons why her plan would never work. But he just stared up at her, a look of resignation set on his handsome face. She felt as if her heart had been torn in two. How could she want him so much, yet know how serious the consequences were for him? And how could he want her so little that he could let her walk away?

“Good night,” she murmured. Drawing a deep breath and gathering her resolve, she turned and walked to the bedroom. She closed the door behind her, waited for him to call her name, waited for an invitation back into his arms. But Conor remained silent and his silence told her all she needed to know.

He didn’t want her. Or if he did, he was strong enough to resist. Olivia sat on the edge of the bed and drew a long, shaky breath. Now, if only she could find the same strength, then maybe she could get through this without losing her mind.

OLIVIA STOOD in the darkened living room for a long time, watching him sleep by the moonlight that filtered through the windows. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning and she hadn’t slept a wink. But Conor wasn’t having the same trouble. He was draped across the sofa, his arm thrown over his head and one foot resting on the floor. His naked chest rose and fell in an even rhythm and the quilt was twisted around his long legs.

She wanted to touch him one last time, to run her hands over his broad chest and trace a finger along the soft line of hair that ran from his collarbone to his belly. She wanted to take his face in her hands and kiss him, just to lose herself in the taste of his mouth for a moment or two.

But they’d made a decision and she had to stick to it. To give in to her impulses now would be pure weakness. Besides, the prospect of being turned away by Conor was too humiliating to even consider. She’d see that look in his eyes, that vague indifference, and he’d draw away, as if her touch meant nothing, or worse, as if he found it repulsive. No, she wouldn’t subject herself to that.

Olivia turned to walk away, but she didn’t see the coffee table in the dark. Her shin banged up against the heavy wood and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Tears of pain pressed at the corners of her eyes and she muttered a silent string of curse words. The pain gradually subsided and she tested her leg. Though it hurt, she managed to take a few mincing steps.

“Olivia?”

She froze, holding her breath and hoping that Conor couldn’t see her in the dark. He moved, the blankets rustling, and Olivia winced, knowing that she wouldn’t get away without speaking to him. She slowly turned and forced a smile.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, brushing the sleep from his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Olivia said.

He sat up. “What is it?”

“I-I was thirsty. I needed some water.” It sounded like a good excuse, though the water was in the kitchen and not the living room.

His pushed to his feet, casting aside the quilt, and Olivia noticed that he wore only his boxers. She groaned inwardly. Why couldn’t they have sent her a cop with a big belly and bowlegs, she wondered. Why had she been cursed with a man who had an impossibly muscular chest and a perfect narrow waist and legs that were almost nicer than hers?

“There’s water in the kitchen,” he murmured. “Would you like me to get you a glass?”

She drew a ragged breath and shook her head. “I don’t want water,” Olivia said, her voice trembling. “I-I want you.” The words barely registered. What if he refused? What if she had to walk back to her bedroom all alone? “I-I can’t sleep and I want you to come to bed with me.”

Conor rubbed his forehead. “Olivia, I-”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she said, taking a step toward him. “And I understand. But I know this would just be a stolen week. And that when we went back to the real world things would change. But we’re not in the real world now.” She took another step, putting herself just an arm’s length away. “Make love to me, Conor, just once more, and I promise I won’t ask again.”

Conor moaned softly as he reached out his hand and skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. His touch sent her heart racing and, for a moment, she was certain he’d turn her away. But then he caught her in his embrace and drew her near. With trembling hands, she reached up and cupped his face in her palms. His beard was rough to her touch, but she smoothed her fingers over the planes and angles, determined to memorize every inch of the man she’d come to love.

He was capable of loving her, Olivia knew this. But with Conor it would take time. And time was in short supply for the two of them. All she could hope for was that once they were apart he’d realize the depth of his feelings for her and he’d come back. And tonight, she’d do what she could to make that happen.

Olivia stepped back, then reached for the hem of the T-shirt she wore and pulled it over her head. She stood before him, naked and unashamed. “Tell me what you want,” she said.

“Why can’t I stop this?” he whispered, closing his eyes and tipping his head back.

“Because you want me,” she said. She grabbed his face and held him until he opened his eyes. “And I want you.”

His eyes met hers and she saw the truth there. He didn’t just want her, he needed her, as much as she needed him. Olivia reached up and brushed her hair from her shoulders. His gaze fell to her breasts, then raked along the length of her body. She felt wicked, wanton, her usual restraint gone.

She held out her hand. “Come to bed with me,” she said.

He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her against him. They kissed, clumsy at first, then more desperately. Her tongue grazed his bottom lip, probing, daring him to respond. And he did, his control shattering the moment their tongues touched.

But Olivia was in control and she pulled away, tracing a line of kisses across his jawline and down his neck. “Tell me you want me,” she murmured, teasing at his nipple with her tongue.