Kate Hoffmann - Conor

He groaned softly. “I don’t want you,” he said. “I can’t want you.”

“But you do,” she insisted. “And I can prove it.”

Her fingers dropped to the waistband of his boxers and she slowly pushed them down, the fabric catching on the evidence of his desire. He was hard and beautiful, and as she bent to slide his boxers down to his ankles, she kissed him there. The sharp intake of his breath broke the silence and Olivia stayed where she was.

Slowly, deliberately, she tasted his sex, running her tongue along the hard ridge and taking him into her mouth. It was so intimate, this pleasure she gave him, that she was certain he’d stop her. But Conor wove his fingers through her hair and held her, watching as she made love to him with her mouth, stilling her movement when it became too much for him to bear, gently urging her forward when he wanted more.

A moan rumbled in his chest and he grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. Frantic with need, he kissed her, his mouth taking possession of hers, demanding and intense. His erection pressed against her stomach, hot and wet from her mouth and she knew she’d brought him so close that just one more touch would take him over the edge.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispered. “Tell me you want me.”

He grabbed her waist and lifted her up, then wrapped her legs around his hips. “I want you,” he said as he buried his face in the curve of her neck. The tip of his erection teased at her entrance. “So help me, I want you so bad I can’t stand it.”

Olivia tipped her head back and smiled, running her fingers through her hair. She hadn’t been wrong. And when all was said and done, when their days together were over and they’d both gone back to their lives, he’d remember this passion between them. And he’d come looking for it again.

Conor carried her to the dining room table, where he’d tossed his shirt and jeans. He set her down on the edge of the table, then fumbled to find his wallet. Olivia grabbed the condom from his fingers and tore the foil package open. But he was impatient and he grabbed it from her and quickly sheathed himself, as if her touch was more than he could take.

Then Conor stepped between her legs and gently pushed her back onto the table, his mouth coming down on one of her nipples. Olivia sighed softly as he took control, delighting in the feel of his body pressed into her. Wave after wave of delicious sensation washed over her as he made love to her in the same way she had to him.

He found every spot that made her shiver with need and when he finally tasted her damp core, ran his tongue over her swollen nub, she was already near the edge of conscious thought. This was all she ever needed in her life, he was the only lover she’d ever wanted. And these feelings coursing through her body were as close as she’d ever come to paradise. “Please,” Olivia murmured, reaching out for him, bringing his mouth back to hers. “Please.”

He drew her closer to the edge of the table, his hands skimming over her breasts, then clasping her hips. Gently, with exquisite tenderness, he entered her. Olivia murmured his name and arched against him, needing him to fill her with his heat, wanting him to take her the rest of the way.

Conor drove deep, burying himself completely, then slowly withdrew, as if to tease her, to make her shiver and ache for him. With each thrust, his rhythm increased, but he still wouldn’t give in to his own desire. He was in control now, and though Olivia felt she was near her own climax, it was Conor who would determine when it came.

Suddenly, he stopped, his body tense, his expression restrained. Olivia moaned softly. “Don’t,” she murmured, wriggling against him, trying desperately to reach him with her hands.

With a low growl, he grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms above her head, still buried deep inside her. For a moment, Olivia thought it was over, that he’d brought her this far only to leave her wanting more.

But then he dropped a kiss on her lips, lingering a long moment before drawing away. “Tell me that you want me,” he said, staring down into her eyes, his gaze intense.

“I want you,” she murmured, tipping her head back and moaning as he slowly withdrew.

“Tell me again,” he demanded, plunging into her.

“I do,” Olivia breathed. “I need you, Conor. Please.” She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. This time, his gaze was like a caress, his expression soft. He let go of her wrists and touched her cheek with his fingers. Then he drew a ragged breath. “Tell me that you love me,” he said, his words hesitant. “Just for tonight, tell me.”

Olivia felt the emotion surge inside of her at his simple request. And though he just wanted to hear the words, she knew there was much more there, in her heart and in her soul. And that there was a reason he needed to hear the words. “I love you,” she murmured, holding his handsome face in her hands and staring into his eyes. “Just for tonight, I love you.”

He smiled down at her, then kissed her ever so softly. “And I love you,” he replied. “Just for tonight.”

And when they finally both cried out their release, Olivia came to a startling realization. This man was part of her and she was part of him. They’d touched each other in a way that made them one. And no matter what happened to pull them apart, they would always have each other and this perfect time they had spent together.

THE NOISE woke him up. Conor was continually amazed how he could tell the difference between a threatening sound and background noise, even when he was sound asleep. His instincts immediately sharpened. Olivia was asleep beside him in her bed, her naked body curled against his, oblivious to the danger. He thought about waking her, then decided to investigate first.

Conor carefully crawled out of bed, then searched the floor for his gun. He found it on the bedside table, still tucked in his holster. He thought about getting dressed, just in case the intruder was one of Lila Wright’s nosy friends. He compromised by pulling on a pair of boxer shorts.

He took slow steps to the bedroom door, then peered around the corner before starting down the hall. Sunshine illuminated the living room and dining room and the noises grew louder. If this was one of Keenan’s men, he wasn’t trying very hard to conceal his presence.

The sounds came from the kitchen, clanking utensils and running water. Conor pressed back against the wall as he made his way down the hallway. Then he drew a steadying breath and rushed the kitchen, his gun aimed chest high.

He smelled the freshly brewed coffee at about the same time that he shouted “Freeze!” at a pale-haired man in a leather jacket. The man’s hands shot up and he ducked his head. It was only then that Conor recognized Danny Wright. He strung a few vivid curses together, then lowered his gun. “Damn it, I could have shot you!”

Danny slowly turned around, his hands still raised over his head. His gaze slowly took in Conor’s disheveled appearance and his eyebrows shot up. But he didn’t offer a comment. His only reaction was a slight blush of embarrassment.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Conor demanded.

“I had to talk to you,” Danny said. “I knocked, but there was no answer. So I used my extra key. I figured after what you two have been up to, you were probably sleeping in.” He paused. “I-I mean, all the excitement you’ve had. That is, the danger, not the excitement. I meant that-”

Conor raised his hand to stop the babbling that inevitably sprang from his partner’s mouth right after he stuck his foot into it. He walked over to the counter and poured himself a mug of coffee, then turned around. “Why are you here?” he repeated.