“What did I do to him? Look what he did to me!”
With a slow chuckle, Brendan patted Conor on the back. “First a beautiful woman and then a cat. I knew when you finally fell, Con, you’d fall hard. Good luck to you. I expect you’ll need it.”
Conor stood in the rain for a long moment as he watched Brendan stride off into the darkness. Then he drew a deep breath and fished the room key out of his pocket. “Hold your temper, boyo,” he muttered. “And watch your tongue. You have another ten days with this woman and you’d best make it easy on yourself.”
When he entered the room, he found it empty. Fear stabbed at his gut, sapping the breath from his lungs. He tossed the box on the bed, ignoring the protests from inside. Had Keenan somehow gotten past Brendan? Or had Olivia slipped out without being noticed? He checked the window, but then heard the sound of the shower running.
With a soft oath, Conor crossed to the bathroom door and pressed his ear against the scarred paint. At first, he was tempted to open the door and make sure she was all right. But then he heard Olivia singing and he decided to bide his time until she emerged on her own.
He sat down on the bed next to the box to wait. Inside the cardboard cage he heard a low growl and then silence. Conor patted the top of the box. “Let’s you and me get something straight,” he murmured. “I’m the one in charge here. Either you listen to me or you’ll be eating fish guts out of a Dumpster down by the waterfront.” He paused. “Are we clear?” He turned and looked through a small seam in the cardboard. An orange nose appeared and he was tempted to give it a poke. But he’d learned to be wary of both Tommy the cat and his mistress.
A few minutes later, Olivia emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped over her head, covering her eyes. Another towel was wrapped around her slender body and tucked between her breasts. Conor held his breath, not sure what to do. Propriety would dictate that he announce his presence, before she accidentally tossed aside both towels. Or maybe he should just make a quick exit and come in all over again. Or he could just turn and face the wall and-
The time to make a decision passed as soon as she wrapped the second towel around her damp hair and threw her head back. When she saw him sitting on the end of the bed, her eyes went wide. He waited, wondering just how offended she’d be. After all, she was naked under the towel and their relationship didn’t really stretch that far-at least not yet. He slowly stood, his gaze never wavering from hers.
But instead of the expected indignation, relief suffused her flushed face. She let out a tiny scream, then launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely. At first, Conor wasn’t sure what to do. And then he did the only thing he could think of doing. He wrapped his arms around Olivia Farrell’s waist and he kissed her.
SHE’D BEEN SO overcome by her relief, Olivia didn’t bother to consider the consequences of kissing Conor Quinn. Throwing herself into his arms seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He was alive, he’d come back safe, and any guilt she had over sending him after her cat could now be forgotten.
Olivia wasn’t sure who ended the kiss, although neither one of them seemed very anxious to pull away. But when she finally looked up into his eyes, she found them clouded with desire. Her gaze flitted over his handsome face and she noticed a trickle of blood on his cheek.
“You’re wounded,” she said, reaching up to touch him.
Conor grabbed her hand and gently drew it away. “It’s nothing.” He bent closer, as if to kiss her again, but Olivia wriggled out of his arms, her concern for his injuries taking precedence over her desire to feel his mouth on hers.
“Sit,” she said, pushing him down on the edge of the bed. Olivia hurried to the bathroom and returned with a damp washcloth. She knelt on the bed next to him and examined his injuries. This served her right! She’d sent him off to retrieve her cat and he’d been grazed by a bullet. He could have been killed and all just to satisfy a silly whim, to give her a sense of control in this game they were playing. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I was selfish. I knew you thought Tommy was a child. Since you left, I’ve been feeling so guilty. I never meant for this to happen. Was it Keenan?”
“Not exactly,” Conor said, his gazed fixed on her mouth as she tended to his wounds.
“Then one of his men?”
“No,” Conor replied. “It was…your cat.”
Olivia sat back on her heels. “Tommy did this to you?”
“Yes. And if you ever repeat that story, I’ll fit you for a pair of cement overshoes and toss you in the Boston harbor myself.”
Her eyes went wide then she saw the teasing glint in his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”
Conor shrugged. “You should have told me Tommy was your cat. I could have been better prepared. As it was, he tore up the leather upholstery in Dylan’s ’68 Mustang. I think he might have barfed on the floor. And I breathed in so much fur I should be coughing up a furball in an hour or two.” Conor gave her a reluctant smile, then took the washcloth from her hand. “If you plan to let that cat out of the box, you’d better keep him away from me.”
With a giggle, she scrambled over the bed to the box and called a soft “kitty-kitty.” A “meow” sounded from inside the box and Olivia pulled back the flaps. Like a shot, a huge orange tabby leapt out of the box and onto the bed. She scooped him up in her arms and pressed her face into his fur, surprised at how happy she was to see him. “Were you a bad boy for Uncle Conor?” she cooed.
“I should charge him with assault on a police officer,” he muttered.
Olivia set the cat down, then gave him a long scratch on the tummy before she turned back to Conor. A shiver skittered down her spine as she caught him staring. She didn’t have to worry about his anger anymore, but there was something much more dangerous pulsing between them. She grabbed the washcloth from his hand and then she rummaged through her purse and found a small bottle of astringent she kept in her makeup bag.
“I expected you to take my head off,” Olivia said as she poured a bit of the astringent on the washcloth.
“Believe me, I considered it.”
He winced as she dabbed the astringent on his cheek. Olivia leaned closer and blew on his cheek to cool the sting. “There,” she murmured. “That’s better.”
Conor slowly turned to face her. Their gazes locked and, for a long moment, Olivia couldn’t breathe. She was suddenly aware that she was dressed only in a towel…a very thin towel. And that towel could be dispensed with by a mere flick of Conor’s finger between her breasts. Another shiver skittered over her skin, raising goose bumps, and her eyes fell to his lips, hard and chiseled.
Her gaze was like a silent invitation and he accepted. He bent forward and touched his lips to hers. But this was the first time he’d kissed her merely to kiss her. Until now, their actions had been driven by impulse. This kiss was slow and measured and deliberate and Conor took his time with her, tasting and teasing until she tentatively opened for him.
As her lips parted, any attempt at resistance dissolved. Olivia knew it wasn’t right, at least not by the policeman’s handbook or her own set of relationship rules. He was a cop and she was a witness. They’d only known each other a few days. And although the kiss wouldn’t cost her any more than breathless desire, it could cost Conor Quinn his job.
But she couldn’t think of that now. Conor slowly pushed her back onto the bed, his mouth drifting down to the curve of her neck and tracing a warm path to her shoulder. Olivia closed her eyes and sighed, the sensations his mouth created sending tingles to her fingertips and toes.
It had been so long since a man had touched her that she couldn’t bear to put an end to it. Nor could she deny the attraction she felt for Conor. Maybe it was a typical reaction, the vulnerable witness and the protective cop. It was almost a cliche, but then cliches always had a basis in reality-and her need was definitely real.
Conor was unlike any man she’d ever known and, in a secret corner of her soul, she wanted to know him more intimately. He was brave and volatile, funny and vulnerable, silent and strong, all qualities that had become pieces of a fascinating puzzle. What made this man tick? What piqued his desire? What was beneath that steely exterior? A man with such passion for his job must have other passions as intense. They’d spend the next ten days together and Olivia knew it would be impossible to deny her curiosity-or her desire.
“Why are you so soft?” he murmured, his lips pressed against her collarbone.
She furrowed her fingers through his hair as he moved to a spot just above her breast. “Why are you so tough?”
He glanced up at her and she saw it in his eyes, as if the sound of her voice had triggered a realization of what
