Chapter One
You can take the man out of the SEALs…
Connor Bannon stared across the empty conference room at
the clock, watching the second hand tick past 3:00 p.m.
Impatience prickled the back of his neck. He hated being
late. Hated other people being late. If the navy had
taught him one thing, it was how to show up on time. Even
now, when his military career wasn’t even visible in the
rearview mirror and the consequences weren’t nearly as
severe, his ass showed up when it was supposed to. He
couldn’t be late if he tried.
Apparently he’d been banished into the midst of an
undercover squad that didn’t share the same quality.
Connor tapped his fist against his knee, breathing
through the need to look at the clock again. The blank
whiteboard and the room’s six empty chairs mocked him. He
didn’t like going into meetings blind. It went against his
nature to be unprepared, but he’d been given no choice. All
he knew was Bowen Driscol and Seraphina Newsom were on the
squad, sent from New York City to Chicago in exchange for
favors, same as him. For the first time since his
short-lived stint with the SEALs, he was going to be on the
right side of the law.
Or the wrong side, depending on who was doing the asking.
He’d be working with cons, criminals who wanted to stay
out of prison. That was where his knowledge started and
ended, truly pissing him off. If they’d been given the same
options as him, they’d decided helping the Chicago Police
Department catch criminals such as themselves was the lesser
of two evils.
Another valuable lesson he’d learned from the SEALs? If
it doesn’t look like a bomb, it’s probably a bomb.
The door of the conference room flew open, crashing
against the opposite wall. Connor’s hand flew toward the
small of his back, searching futilely for his gun—a gun the
uniforms had taken away from him upon arrival,
dammit. He shot to his feet instead, focusing on
the…threat?
“Relax, trigger. I like to make an entrance.”
A girl sauntered into the conference room, her combat
boots jingling with each step, as if there were bells
attached. She wore a shirt that said Bitch Don’t Kill My
Vibe over a pair of ripped jean shorts that ended just
below her ass. An ass that he’d noticed even before he
registered her bright pink hair. Who the fuck?
She tossed a frayed canvas bag onto the table and
sprawled into the seat across from his currently empty one,
head tilting slightly as she regarded him. Amusement
transformed her features from merely beautiful to
interesting and beautiful. From distracting to the
distraction he didn’t need. Like she fucking needed the
extra push.
Since when did he get mad at girls for being
good-looking?
Very slowly, she looked him over. Connor felt her gaze
slide over his crotch and bit back the urge to adjust
himself, to hide the wood he’d sprung in honor of a girl
who’d been in his presence for thirty seconds. He didn’t
like this. Didn’t like feeling out of control of the
situation. He let people see only what he allowed, but
somehow this girl had walked into the room, said eight
words, and thrown him off his game.
“Well.” She sat back in her chair and winked at him. “I
guess the nickname ‘trigger’ is appropriate in more ways
than one.”
Connor sat back down and dug his fingers into his knee,
forcing himself to show no outward reaction. He hated the
nickname she’d just christened him with, but he’d be damned
before he let her know. “Your name, please.”
Her lips twitched. “So formal, aren’t you, baby?” A
flicker of calculation entered her eyes before disappearing,
but it told him to expect her next move. She dragged her
full lower lip between her teeth and propped both feet up on
the table, giving him a view of her thighs that clogged the
breath in his throat. She crossed her feet at the ankles,
but not before he glimpsed where those legs led. The tiny
patch of denim covering her pussy. “Call me whatever you
want. Just don’t expect me to answer.”
Jesus Christ. If she made him any harder, he’d have to
excuse himself. “I wouldn’t say your name unless I had a
good reason.”
She swayed her feet back and forth. “Give me your best
one.”
The urge to shift in his seat was strong. “You’ve already
looked right at it.”
Her feet stilled. He caught a flash of surprise and
uncertainty, confusing the hell out of him. Had he read her
signals wrong? One minute she was challenging him, and the
next, she looked frozen in the headlights. Or maybe he’d
just called her bluff? His ability to read people had been
his saving grace more than once since being dishonorably
discharged from the SEALs two years ago. Working as a street
enforcer in Brooklyn for his cousin’s underground crime
ring, the skills he’d honed in the navy had been utilized on
a daily basis. Often in ways he didn’t like to recall, but
forced himself to, anyway. To remember what he’d been
reduced to.
But reading this girl was difficult, even for him. She’d
flashed her thighs at him as if wanting a reaction, but when
he’d given it to her, she’d clammed up. Whatever the reason,
he refused to show another ounce of interest. He
wasn’t interested. This girl couldn’t scream trouble
any louder. He was through with trouble. Done.
“So.” She finally recovered her entertained
expression. “What kind of piece were you reaching for when I
walked in?”
He simply narrowed his eyes at her.
“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir. They took my
favorite Ruger.” She pouted. “Has my initials painted in
Wite-Out on the side and everything.”
Oh, I get it now. She’s crazy. “Why are you here?”
His abrupt question didn’t faze her. “Three o’clock
meeting, same as you. Some people just don’t value
punctuality.”
The way she smirked when she said it made him think she’d
read his mind upon walking into the room. But that was
impossible. Who the fuck was this girl? A tempting
weapons enthusiast who also happened to be perceptive? He
needed to know more. Just enough to solve the formula she
presented, so he could pack up his curiosity and store it
away. “I wasn’t asking why you’re in this room. What landed
you on this squad?”
She inspected her fingernails. “Ah. The old what are
you in for conversation. I don’t want to play.” Her
boots abruptly hit the ground. “Just kidding, I’m in. But
you have to go first.”
“Nope.”
“Impasse,” she whispered, walking her fingers across the
table. “I could guess why you’re here, but you’d dislike
that more than simply telling me.”
Connor said nothing. He would dislike that.
Guesswork had always been a source of irritation for him. He
dealt only in facts. Again, he got the feeling this girl saw
more than most people. The air of mayhem she wore like a
second skin probably made people underestimate her. He
wouldn’t be one of them.
“You have a military background. But you’re not there
now, are you?” She leaned across the table and he caught a
whiff of smoke. Not cigarette smoke. Like the strike of a
match, or the lingering scent of incense. “It isn’t
difficult math, soldier.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You don’t like trigger, baby, or soldier.” Her tongue
lingered against her top lip. “If you don’t like any of my
nicknames, better tell me your real one.”
Connor almost laughed. Almost. The nicknames had been her
roundabout way of getting him to spill his name first. He’d
nearly walked right into it. Why were they waging a battle
over something so minor? When this meeting started, they
would find out each other’s names anyway.
It was time to let this girl know he didn’t play games.
At least not the kind that took place while fully clothed.
As he leaned across the table, he watched her blue eyes
widen and knew she had to be a blonde underneath that pink
hair. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were light, her coloring
fair. She’d look goddamn perfect against my black
sheets…arms stretched over her head, unable to free herself.
Not really wanting to get free at all.
“I never said I didn’t like you calling me baby.”
Dammit. Had he said that out loud? He’d decided
not to show her any more interest. Once he made a decision,
he stuck to it. Every time. He resented her for being the
one to make him deviate. If she weren’t leaning so close,
her small tits pressing against the front of her shirt,
maybe he’d have kept his resolve. He’d always liked women
with bouncy little tits, and he’d lay ten to one odds she
wasn’t wearing a bra. “Maybe I just want to hear you call me
that under different circumstances.”
When her confidence visibly wavered, Connor wanted to
curse. These contradicting sides to her were only increasing
his need to know more, and he did not want to get
involved. Couldn’t afford to. Her chin went up a notch, and
that show of fire amidst the uncertainty turned him on.
“What circumstances would those be?”
Too soon. Too insane. He’d just met this girl. They’d be
working together. He couldn’t sit here in the light of day
and detail the many activities he’d like to perform with
her. Even if he wanted to, just to see her reaction. To see
if she wanted him, too. But what would he do if she did?
Drag her onto the conference room table, tug her shirt up to
her neck, and get a look at those tits? He’d have to get her
back to his apartment if he did that, damn the meeting.
Change the subject. “Why do you smell like smoke?”
Her eyelashes shielded her eyes a second before they
flashed wide, hitting him square in the chest with the force
of their impact. “I set things on fire.”
***
Any other time, the expression on the hot, bearded
ex-soldier’s face would have made Erin O’Dea dissolve into a
fit laughter. It wasn’t the usual response men gave her when
she played the crazy card. Not at all. Maybe that was why
she wasn’t laughing. This guy wasn’t typical. Didn’t fit her
profile of what men should be like. They all wanted to get
inside her until she performed her fun little reveal.
Surprise, sweetheart. I’m a convicted arsonist. You might
be next.
Cue haunted house cackle.
They never asked why she’d done it or questioned the
circumstances, simply vanishing into a puff of smoke.
Exactly as planned. This guy wasn’t vanishing, however. He
hadn’t flinched, not once, and the trickle of relief in her
chest pissed her off. The words “proceed with caution”
flashed across her consciousness, sparking and flaming
around the edges. This man would ask why and question
the circumstances. Having only met him mere minutes ago, she
shouldn’t be so certain of that fact, but it would be
reckless to put him in the same category as other men who
scared easily. His steady green eyes were so intent on her,
she worried her mask might slip underneath the weight of
them. She didn’t want him to be the first person to ask her
why. She didn’t want anyone to ask her why. Her
secrets were all she had. After you’d lived behind bars
among hundreds of women with your privacy stripped clean
away, you held on to what you could. You didn’t let it go
for a pair of muscular biceps.
This one just needed a few more nudges and he’d lose
interest. It was possible he already had and could hide his
emotions better than most. She knew all about that. Although
some people, her stepfather mainly, wanted her to be
certifiably crazy, it was probably only half true. Yeah, she
was a little off. For good reason. The man sitting across
from her would recognize it soon enough and stop looking at
her like he wanted to devour her, bite by bite.
His gaze became too much to bear and Erin focused on the
window. Only one pane of glass between her and the outside.
She could survive anything, face anything, as long as that
was the case. Which was why she was here. You could only
dodge so many bullets before one caught you in the back.
This place, this job, was her bullet between the shoulder
blades. Woman down.
Working for cops. Hell must have been having a fucking
snowstorm. She hadn’t spit on the sidewalk on the way in for
no reason. Cops were the enemy. The men and women who took
away her freedom. Laughed as they stripped away her dignity.
They thought handcuffs and a gun made them smart, but it
only made them complacent. At age twenty-five, she’d already
proven that. Twice.
The ex-soldier’s raised eyebrow told her she was smiling.
After what she’d just said to him, he probably thought that
smile meant she was a lunatic. Mission accomplished. For the
first time since she’d sworn off men, she regretted sending
one running. But it was entirely necessary. This man—this
big, rough-hewn male—was an enforcer. More than that,
he had a brain working behind all that stoicism. Even if she
were inclined to call him baby in certain
circumstances, it would be disastrous. It didn’t take
a rocket scientist to figure out he would be dominant in
bed. The way he was clenching his fists as if fighting for
control, even with her a full two feet away, told her that.
He’d be the type to hold a woman down while he pounded out
his lust.
That image might have turned her on at one time. Now it
terrified her.
Still. She allowed her gaze to drop to his lips. Who knew
she could find a beard so appealing? It wasn’t rugged, but
close-cut. Well-maintained. He looked like a man who could
survive on his own in the wilderness with nothing but string
and a Windbreaker. Capable. Made of steel. What would that
beard feel like against her cheeks, her chin? If she leaned
a little closer across the table, he might let her find out.
If he hadn’t already decided she belonged in a straitjacket.
Take a number, pal.
“You’d better decide now if this meeting is important to
you,” he growled. “Because if you keep looking at me like
you want to kiss me, neither one of us is going to be here
for it.”
Hooo boy. Something she’d thought long gone
shimmied in her belly. “That’s pretty confident.”
“Realistic.”
Erin drummed her fingers on the table before reaching one
hand out, intending to tug his beard. “I’m just curious
about what this feels like. In places.”
He caught her wrist in midair before it made contact.
“You touch me, you’ll find out.”
Ice formed beneath her skin, so freezing cold that it
burned like blue fire. Her muscles tightened to the point of
pain. She focused on her breathing. In and out. In and
out. Just a little tug and her hand would be free.
Nothing could contain her. She’d made sure of that. He might
harness a lot of power in that muscular frame, but she
didn’t sense that he would use it on her. Unless she asked.
Which she sure as hell would not.
Her brain commanded her to pull out of his grip, but her
body wouldn’t obey. She focused back on the window, zeroed
in on the patch of gray sky visible through the glass.
“Please let go,” she whispered, furious when her voice
shook.
He dropped her hand like it was on fire. She didn’t like
the way he was looking at her. Eyes seeing too much.
Discarding theories, thinking of new ones. Like he knew a
damn thing about what was wrong with her. Half the time,
she didn’t know.
“My name is Connor.”
Erin went still. Inside and out. She felt warm all of a
sudden, like someone had draped a fleece blanket over her
shoulders. If she thought she’d had him at least partially
pegged, she’d been wrong. He didn’t have to give in to their
silly name war. He’d done it because she’d shown a chink in
her armor and he wanted to give her a victory.
Connor.
“What about a tiny little kiss?” Shit. Where had
that come from? “No tongue.”
“This isn’t summer camp.” Those hands clenched.
Unclenched. “If you want to kiss me, you’ll get everything.
I’m not going to hold back.”
His gruff tone made her shiver. That voice held promises
she couldn’t begin to interpret. It had been so long since
she’d let a man touch her, but she knew instinctively that
Connor would be a whole new experience. One she definitely
wasn’t ready for and never would be. Still. She
felt…gravitated to him. She’d originally leaned across this
conference table to unnerve him. It worked with most people.
Invade their personal space until they back off for good.
Now that she was this close to him, though, she found
herself wanting to stay there. It didn’t hurt that he’d
released her hand without hesitation. Maybe it was premature
or bad judgment on her part, but his action had made her
feel safe. She didn’t feel safe very often, if ever.
Deciding to trust the instinct that rarely failed her,
she climbed onto the table and crawled on her hands and
knees the remaining distance. Connor’s facade slipped just a
little, lips parting on a gravelly exhale, broad chest
shuddering as he watched her. “That wasn’t a challenge,” he
grated.
“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.”