But she had felt so bleak and alone staring up at his face. His eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched in a grimace, lost in his own world as his hips pumped into her more or less numb body.
Afterwards he'd been so pleased with himself. Don't worry, he told her. She'd get the hang of it soon, and he'd give her lots of opportunities to practice. First item on the lesson plan: fellatio. Bradley thought it was a huge joke that she'd reached the ripe old age of twenty-one without ever having given head. "It's time, babe, it's definitely time," he'd said. "Let's get some pizza. As soon as I recover you can embark on your maiden voyage. I'm a great teacher, believe me."
She had excused herself and gone home before he recovered, afflicted by lingering sadness. After all the buildup, that was all?
She knew objectively, both from Bradley's own proud assertions as well as what she had read in romance novels and erotica, that Bradley wasn't technically a bad lover. He'd done everything he could think of to give her an orgasm; he'd paid careful attention to her breasts, which just felt irritated and ticklish at his touch, though she had feigned enjoyment. He'd stimulated her between her legs. But he hadn't concealed his impatience when she was slow to respond.
Finally one night, he'd flopped over onto his back and told her that if even he couldn't get her off, then she was one hurting puppy. Sorry, babe. Face the facts. The truth will set you free. She was a lousy lay. A tab of Ecstasy might loosen her up. Did she want to give it a try?
She hadn't. He'd gone off to Harvard and never called her again, to her relief. And her mother's disappointment.
Knowing for a fact that she was bad at sex had made it hard to contemplate trying again. She cringed at the thought of risking that empty, shamed sense of failure again. It was easier to throw herself into her research. That was something she knew for sure she was good at.
She'd almost convinced herself that she was fine alone when she found out about the deadly trap that Connor had fallen into. He and Jesse had been following a lead on Novak. Connor had been boarding a boat when it blew up and flung him into the icy waters of the Sound. He'd been burned, his leg smashed. By the time help arrived and fished him out, he was in a coma. And Jesse had been murdered.
She'd faced the truth, then, in one hard, horrible blow. She loved Connor McCloud. She wanted him, and only him. It had been no hardship to go to the clinic to read to him. The hard part had been to leave him every day, so still and quiet.
When he woke up, she'd been dizzy with joy, but she'd still hesitated to declare herself. It seemed hardly fair to inflict her adolescent yearnings on a man who was dazed with shock and grief, in severe physical pain. Weeks had gone by. Her resolve had faltered. The weeks had turned to months, and then Crystal Mountain had happened. Novak, Georg, Dad, and Connor, and a violent tornado of revenge and betrayal that had blown her whole life to pieces.
She'd been trying ever since to put it behind her, but she hadn't anticipated getting a chance like this, to find out once and for all if her erotic fantasies about Connor had any basis in reality. No one would ever know unless she told them, and she would never tell. She would hug this secret close to herself, precious and painful to the same degree. The one time that busy, sensible, practical Erin Riggs gave in to folly and did something wild and crazy.
She sneaked a glance at his profile again. He caught her doing it, and she looked away, color flaring in her face.
Connor's kisses alone turned her on more than anything that Bradley had ever done.
Her life felt so cold and bleak. His heat was irresistible.
Connor checked the directions before he pulled off the highway. He didn't trust himself at all today, not even his ironclad memory. He wasn't sure what scared him more: losing control and jumping all over a woman uninvited, or her response. She'd grabbed him, kissed him. Melted against him, red-hot and willing, just like his wildest fantasies.
Guarding her, that was what he was signed up for. Seducing her was out of the question. She would end up hating him for it, and he would deserve it. Even he wasn't capable of that much self-delusion. He could see how it would look to Nick's eyes. Connor goes to a lonely, vulnerable girl's apartment at night, tells her the bad guys are out to get her. Then he kidnaps her, bullies her, sequesters her suitcase, sticks his tongue down her throat, gropes her tits, shoves up her skirt. He'd been a heartbeat away from laying her out on the hood of his car and having at her, in front of God and everyone.
What a fucking hero.
She was huddled as far away from him on the seat as she could get, her fingers hiding her rosy, reddened lips. Probably wondering if he was going to leap on her like a wild animal.
"Almost there," he said.
Her face was pale gold again, except for faint rosy stains high on her delicate cheekbones. She nodded and looked swiftly away.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Crow's Nest Inn. It was a rustic place, covered with weathered gray shingles. Each of the rooms had a deck with an ocean view. He'd stayed here a few years back on a road trip, and had liked the place. "It's not as fancy as the millionaire's resort hotel," he told her. "But at least here you're on your own turf."
She got out of the car. "I'm on your turf, Connor. Not mine."
Her uppity tone stung him. "Do you think I'm making this stuff up, Erin?" he demanded.
Somehow she looked down her nose at him even though he was a head taller than she. "It's impossible for me to believe that Claude Mueller could have anything to do with Novak. Four times I've gone out on consulting jobs for him. Every time I've been treated with courtesy and respect. Which is more than I've gotten from anyone else lately."
"Like me?" he demanded.
"Yes, you," she said haughtily. "I didn't ask for your help. The only reason I am allowing you to force it on me is because I genuinely appreciate your concern, and—"
"Gee, thanks," he growled.
"—and I believe that it is sincere, if completely unnecessary—"
"Unnecessary, my ass!"
"—and I insist that you stop yelling. It's embarrassing."
He glanced around. She was right. People were gawking.
The next challenge to his self-control proved to be the check-in clerk, a gangly, pimpled kid who was hot to do his promotional spiel.
"A double room is eighty-five, but the Crow's Nest Suite is available. It's got a king-sized bed and a Jacuzzi," he informed them. "It's ten dollars more than the double, and we offer a complimentary—"
Connor slapped down two fifties. "Give me a room with two double beds," he said curtly. "Non-smoking."
The kid's spotted forehead furrowed in perplexity. "But the Crow's Nest Suite is only ten dollars more. Don't you want the Jacuzzi?"
He pictured Erin in a Jacuzzi, her dark hair spread out like a lily pad. Then, rising out of the water in a soft-focus cloud of steam, her hair clinging to every curve and contour of her flushed body, her skin beaded with drops of water, her breasts—
"No, I do not want the goddamn Jacuzzi," he snarled.
The kid jerked away from the counter at his tone.
Erin followed him to the elevator after he filled out the forms. Her eyes were downcast, her lashes casting fanlike shadows on her cheeks. It drove him nuts that he couldn't tell what she was thinking.
It was a nice room, large and fresh smelling, with a picture window and deck overlooking the beach. He bolted the door behind them, and mounted one of the squealers Seth had given him onto the door. Erin drifted over to the window and stared down at the sea foam pulsing over the gleaming sand. Seagulls strutted on it, as big as geese, leaving delicate tracks that washed away with every wave.