“You were protecting me.” I don’t know why I’m arguing. He did hurt me. But I can’t bear that look on his face. “I want to forgive you.”
He stares at me with eyes so full of hope. Then he twists his fingers in my hair and wrenches my mouth to his.
The moment his tongue rubs against mine, my skin burns red-hot, an answering fever to the aggression in his grip and the hunger in his kiss. Our breaths coalesce in loud, shaky gasps, singeing the air that dares confine us.
“God, Jake.” I pant against his sinful lips. “You’ve always been such a good kisser. But now…” I let him catch and lick my tongue, moaning into his mouth. “All your practicing over the years has paid off.”
He leans back and flashes me a wolfish smile. It’s a smile that will stick with me, bandaged over the bruises on my heart, even if I spend the rest of the day scolding myself for giving it to him.
He drops a kiss on each of my breasts and flattens his grin into a line of seriousness. “We have a three-hour car ride ahead of us.”
“Three-hour…?” Comprehension zips through me. “We’re going to see Lorne?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He slams a hand against my butt. “Go take a shower.”
I swallow a gulp and shudder with delicious tingles. “Stop doing that.”
He spanks me again, harder. “If you’re not in that shower in ten seconds, I’m joining you.”
I go, off the bed and across the room, yanking my top up to cover my chest.
“Conor.”
I twist my neck and find him sitting on the edge of the bed.
Lips swollen and hair mussed, he gives me the full force of his eyes. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever kissed.”
That afternoon, Jake and I sit across the table from a man I barely recognize.
The last time I saw my brother was four years ago, and since then, he’s been moved to a unit that allows contact visitations on the weekends.
No glass partitions. No telephone receivers. Still no touching, except for a brief hello and goodbye hug.
I’ve been tongue-tied since the moment I walked into the visiting room and spotted him.
He and Jake fall into the easy camaraderie that’s always existed between them. Meanwhile, I can’t stop staring at the hardened, gruff-voiced man before me.
He sounds like he smokes two packs a day, and he looks like he spends all his time punching a heavy bag. Or other inmates. It’s not that he’s overly muscular. He just seems really strong. The mean kind of strong.
His sunken cheeks accentuate the blade-sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. Dark circles underline his dark green eyes, and an undercurrent of violence hovers around him. His demeanor threatens anyone who dares a peek in his direction.
What has this place done to him?
“Conor?” His head cocks, eyes narrowed.
“Hm?”
“I asked you a question.”
Jake shifts beside me and rests an arm along the back of my chair. “Of course, I’m taking care of her.”
“He’s helping me through some things.” I tap my fingers on the table, wondering how much Lorne knows about Jake’s attempt at psychotherapy.
Lorne glances at my nervous twitching and meets my eyes. “When did you get the ink?”
Relieved by his question, I update him on the tattoo sessions, my schooling, and Miles York. “I played your guitar.”
“Yeah.” His cheek bounces with an almost smile. “Jarret told me. Wish I could hear you play.”
He asks about my classes, and I dive into the details of my lab work. The more I talk, the more I relax. He interrupts with the kind of inquiries and responses I expect from Lorne, and I start to feel like I’m chatting with my brother and not some convicted murderer.
I’ve never labeled him as such, even though that’s exactly why he’s here.
He murdered a man.
In less than two weeks, I intend to do the same thing.
Except the man he killed was innocent.
“Do you regret it?” My whisper creeps across the table and shivers along the dull concrete walls.
“No.” He sets his forearms on the surface and leans forward. “Your life is worth more than a hundred years served in here. Ten years is nothing.”
“My life? What does that have to do with—?”
“Tell her.” Lorne glares at Jake. “Soon. She needs to understand my position on this.”
“I will.” Jake rests a hand on my thigh.
“I need to understand all of it.” I push his arm away and tick a furious glare between them. “The three of you have been plotting and scheming and riding roughshod over my life, and I’m done with it.”
“We’re trying to help you.” The heat in Lorne’s eyes is fiercer than my own.
“I don’t need help.”
“You have PTSD, Conor.”
I know he’s right and bury the thought. “Help me by telling me the truth. You guys say you’re protecting me, but I don’t know why I need protection in the first place.”