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  The heat started in her toes and ran through her body like a fire fueled with gasoline. With Connor's arms still wrapped around her, Claire tried to pull herself free, but when she tugged, Connor only held tighter.

  "Don't get me wrong," he said, moving his head around, trying to connect with her eyes again. "It's not that I don't want to." He reached a handout and stilled her face with a finger under her chin. "Damn, do I want to. But what kind of a man would you think I am if I took advantage of this situation?"

  Claire locked gazes with him. Her lower lip quivered, but she kept it controlled enough he didn't seem to notice. "I'm tired." She managed to keep emotion from her voice. "I'm going to sleep."

  Like a child, she crawled under the covers and allowed him to pull the blankets up to her neck. The lights dimmed, and she realized he'd taken the small lamp out of the room with him. Alone. She curled up into a tiny ball and let the sleep she'd been fighting finally take her.

  Glass shattering woke Claire from a deep sleep. At first, she thought she'd been dreaming. The darkness. The unfamiliar room. The sound of someone moving. Breathing.

  Still confused, she rolled over in the small cot, remembering Connor's house all too soon. Connor was asleep in the chair beside her. His eyes closed, but his legs kicked wildly, and his breathing came hard. She shifted to the far wall at first, but as her eyes adjusted to the light and she could make out the strained features of his face, she unraveled herself from the blankets and made her way across the dark room.

  Something sharp pinched the bottom of her foot, and she stalled. Bending her knee, she found a splinter of glass wedged into her heel. More glass shimmered in the darkness like droplets of water sprinkled on the carpeting.

  Connor's body jerked again, and she reached for his side.

  "Shhh." She soothed, stepping over the glass from what she assumed to be the bulb from the small lamp Connor must have knocked over in his sleep. She pressed a hand to his forehead and called his name.

  "Connor. Wake up. You're having a bad dream. Wake--"

  His arm shot out, and his fingers clasped onto her elbow, pulling her off balance and into him. Her knees hit the ground, and glass bit into her flesh. She winced from the pain but didn't scream out.

  "Connor," her voice shook. "Wake up. You're dreaming."

  Slivers of white appeared between his tight lids until his eyes were open and watching her. He glanced at his hand on her arm and let go, leaning her elbow to fall to her side.

  "What the hell?"

  Claire laid her hand on his leg. "You were sleeping. Having a nightmare. I heard the lamp fall and--"

  He shot out of the chair, cutting her off. Seconds later, dull yellow light filled the room from his phone. Claire pushed off the ground and sat on the edge of the cot. Dots of red covered the carpet where she'd been on her knees, and her foot ached when it touched the ground.

  "Don't move." Connor directed, already attempting to pick up the shards of white glass from the floor.

  "Too late," She glanced at her knees and the blood that had dropped onto her hands.

  Connor's face contorted into crazy lines and wrinkled with the strange shadows. "Damn it," he yelled, throwing a fist into the dresser beside his chair.

  Claire bit back a scream. She'd never seen him angry. Never even the least bit out of control.

  Connor took a deep breath and lifted his shoulders before releasing it in a slow hiss of air. "I'm sorry." he turned from the dresser to face her, then bent down on his knees to examine her. "Is there still glass inside?"

  "Not that I can tell," Claire assured. When his fingers touched her skin, she shivered. Not in fear, but something about the display she'd just witnessed made Connor more human. More approachable. Vulnerable even. "They aren't deep. It's nothing to worry about."

  Connor moved his finger over the small cuts, examining each one. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to her knees.

  A flush of heat ran through her body like a rogue wave. Connor's lips on her skin, the sensation was more than she could bear. She pressed her hand under his chin and lifted his face to meet hers.

  "What was your dream about?"

  Connor shifted to sit on the cot beside her. "The past. Stuff I'd rather leave there. For now."

  "I know the feeling," she said, rubbing a hand along his thigh. She told herself it was to comfort him, but as soon as she made contact with the constricted muscles bunched up under his pant leg, all ideas of comfort and control flew out the window.

  Connor's hand moved to her shoulder. He slipped his fingers under the collar of her tee-shirt and ran them along the warm skin on her collarbone. He leaned closer, his gaze flickering up to meet hers before his mouth landed on her lips.

  The sensation of moving against her mouth, pressing against her softness until she opened, earned a satisfied groan from his throat.

  He wasn't going to play the part of the good guy. He needed to feel her as much as she'd been burning for the same.

  Leaning back on the bed, allowing him to straddle her without ever breaking their kiss, Claire rubbed her thigh against the bulge in his pants, begging him not to stop. Claire shifted enough to get a hold of his waistband and undo the button of his pants.

  Before she could reach the zipper, Connor halted her, pulling her hand away.

  "I thought you--" she stammered.

  "I do." The grin that followed vanquished any uncertainty Connor didn't share her heightened emotions. The same unyielding attraction that ached in her middle and aroused the between her legs.

  Connor shifted himself, pushing lower on the bed until his face hovered over her belly, and his cold breath skated across the band of bare flesh below the hem of her shirt. He rolled the fabric up her stomach, layering kisses along her sensitive belly.

  The sensation had her arching into the bed, trying in vain to relieve the pressure building in her core. When Connor slid one hand under her lacy bra to rub his palm over her stiff nipple, she closed her eyes and moaned at the assault.

  How she could go from questioning his motives to being seduced by his touch, she wasn't sure, but wrapping her brain around that thought didn't seem possible with Connor so close.

  He hovered over her, his hand kneading her flesh, his mouth inches from hers.

  "You are so goddamn gorgeous, you know that?" He sucked in a breath of appreciation and bit his lower lip.

  Gorgeous wasn't a word thrown around often when it came to her. The term made her hot. Heat built in her cheeks and down her neck, and she was sure he could see the blush, but Connor said nothing.

  She reached for his face and cupped his chin. Smooth from a fresh shave, she ran her fingers along the line of his jaw. "You're not so bad yourself."

  Connor laughed lightly, but the intensity in his eyes melted any humor the sound held.

  His eyes stayed focused while he removed his hand from her shirt and pressed his fingers into the waistband of her jeans.

  Claire prepared herself for what came next. Would he use his fingers to warm her up, or was he the kind to go right for what he wanted? Her mind raced with possibilities, and she closed her eyes for fear he'd read every one of them on her face.

  Something buzzed from Connor's pocket. Within seconds, his weight lifted, and a harsh edge coated his voice as he answered.

  Like a hot horse put in a stall on a cold day, Claire lay on the cot, shivering from the sudden drop in temperature. Connor's footsteps grew lighter the further into the house he went until she could only make out garbled sounds of conversation.

  She reached for the blanket on the chair and pulled it around her. Maybe the call had been a good thing. Perhaps it had saved her from making a big mistake. Sleeping with Connor wouldn't get her any closer to an exclusive on Forge. If anything, it might change Connor's mind about helping her meet him.

  The story needed to be her single focus. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of that fact. No matter how badly she wanted to act on her impulses.


  5

  "She's a damn reporter."

  Forge's voice shot through the cell loud enough to make Connor jerk the phone from his ear.

  "A fucking reporter and my staff let her get close enough to touch me. I should fire you all."

  Connor slipped out the back door of his house, careful not to let Claire hear his conversation. "Calm down, Forge. We can handle damage control as long as you don't lose it and do something stupid."

  "Something stupid." Something shattered in the background. "Like allow a fucking reporter into my house?"

  Taking a breath, Connor pulled the phone away from his ear enough to read the two texts that had come in while he was playing house with Claire. One from Danny detailing the attack in the parking lot and a second from one of the security detail guys with a picture of Claire's work badge.

  Fuck.

  He rammed his fist into the exterior brick wall of the house and bit back a moan from the pain.

  "We can control this. Claire didn't even get to speak with you at the fundraiser, and as far as we know, she knows nothing more."

  "She attacked Danny."

  Connor pressed his throbbing knuckles to his lips to hide his laughter. Whatever story Danny told about the parking lot, he hoped to hell it hadn't been that a girl beat his ass.

  "Leave her to me. I'll take care of the reporter."

  "No." Forge's voice grew with intensity. "I still want to meet her. If she's so intent on getting a story from me, maybe I should give her one. Arrange a meeting. My terms. My house. She can obey or find herself six feet under the ground outside the county line."

  The phone clicked then went silent.

  Connor let out a string of fucks, then punched the wall again, forgetting his injured hand. The pain did little to alleviate his growing anger.

  If he didn't bring her to Forge, someone else would. He needed to be there to stand watch. He could protect her.

  He'd blow his cover doing it, but at least Claire would be safe.

  The back door squeaked open, and he turned to find Claire standing at the top of the back stoop with the blanket framing her body. Her soft eyes searched him out. So full of trust, it hurt to look into them.

  "It's cold out here," he said, making his way back to the house.

  Claire pulled the blanket tighter around her. "I was worried."

  When he reached the top of the steps and around her to open the door, Claire's gaze landed on the trail of blood dripping down his fingers. "You hurt yourself."

  "It's nothing." Connor led her inside then buried his hand in his jeans pocket.

  "It's not nothing. You need ice and a clean towel. Do you have either here?"

  "In the micro-fridge." He led her inside and turned on the lamp he kept on the table. "There is a roll of paper towels on top."

  Claire busied herself, collecting items while he sank into a chair.

  This was how it had all happened before in Bagdad. They'd been lured in by the false sense of security—peace talks with the town's leaders. For a show of faith, they'd left their weapons behind in the truck.

  They hadn't seen the mob coming. Hadn't had time to defend themselves. Within days they'd all be dead but Connor.

  "Connor."

  Claire's voice brought him out of the memory. He couldn't feel the ice she'd packed on with a paper towel. Hadn't noticed when she'd cleaned the wound as best she could with water and towels.

  "Why did you do this?" Her voice was so quiet, he almost missed it.

  "Bad memories." It wasn't a complete lie. The memories of being held captive sparked the need to release his building anger on the wall.

  Claire stroked the top of his hand. "You can talk to me. About the memories. I don't know much about what happens during a deployment, but I do know a thing or two about bad memories."

  Connor studied her face. The kindness in her eyes. What kind of trouble had she witnessed? He hoped nothing as dangerous as he'd seen.

  He took a seat on the cot, and Claire sat next to him, still nursing his hand.

  "We'd been sent to a tiny town outside Baghdad to help keep the peace. Some of the locals had wild ideas of homegrown terrorism, and we were there to deter that from happening.

  "Woodson, Reyes, and I--a three-person army sent to keep things quiet. We showed our faces around town day after day, and the residence stayed in line. Until they didn't."

  Claire's fingers clamped down on his hand, and though the pain was sharp, he didn't wince or jerk it away. Instead, he smiled at her, hoping a grin would wash away the worry lines creasing her eyes.

  He'd told this story over a dozen times in the days that followed the attack, each time reliving the nightmare. Since returning to the states, though, he hadn't given a full account to a single soul. Not even Woodson and Reyes' widows.

  Claire rested a hand on his shoulder. The warmth of her sunk in deep and threatened to push the sudden chill aside. "You didn't all make it home, did you?"

  Connor shook his head no. He looked up to the ceiling, allowing any chance for emotion on his face to fade before she could catch a glimpse.

  "They tortured us one at a time for the camera, sending the feedback to the states in hopes of freeing some of their buddies from custody. I was third, and by the time they got started on me, the rescue group bombed the town."

  Connor reached for his left side and rubbed his hand over the scar. They'd tried to kill him before being found, but he'd put up a fight and managed to escape with only a stab wound to the lower abdomen.

  "That had to be horrible. And you came back to the states to do this line of work?"

  "It's the only thing I know I'm good at."

  "I'm sure you are good at much more. Besides," Claire stood and dropped the towel of ice in the small sink. "Being able to protect people is a gift. Not everyone possesses that desire."

  A shadow crossed her face when she turned back. A dark thought Connor imagined he could see running across her face, but as soon as he noticed it, she'd replaced it with a smile.

  He'd let the comment drop for the time being, but at some point soon, he was going to find out what she meant by not everyone not being made for protection.

  Claire's whole body shook with adrenaline, but she hid it by moving around the small room.

  She couldn't even begin to imagine the depths of fear Connor had experienced at the hands of assassins, or what it must have felt like for him to walk away while others died. Living through such trauma would make her capable of just about anything.

  She turned from him and closed her eyes tight. Flashes of past homes and beatings she'd taken at the hands of foster parents reared up in her mind.

  "It's late." Connor's voice startled her. He stood. "Why don't you take the cot and see if you can sleep."

  Claire ran her fingers under her eyes, wiping away tears before she faced him. "Where will you sleep?"

  Connor eyed the chair. "I've slept in worse. You've had a shock. You need to rest more than I do."

  Another chill ran over her. This time she couldn't hide it. Connor took her shoulder in his hands and began rubbing them with his palms. "Shock. It's already settling in. You need to get warm."

  He led her back to the cot and motioned for her to lie down.

  Claire followed instructions, but when Connor reached down and pulled the covers up to her neck, she caught his hand with her fingers. His gaze met hers, and she held it, hoping he could read what she couldn't say aloud in them. She needed him. The comfort only he could provide.

  Then she'd be able to sleep.

  "Please," she added when he shook his head slightly. "I need to be held. That's all."

  Connor closed his eyes and his chest expanded with a deep breath before he pulled the covers back and slid into the cot beside her.

  Claire moved to her side, allowing him the bulk of the room. His chest, rock hard and warm, pressed into her back, and his legs following the bend in her knees. His mouth fell at her neck, and his breath blew across her
ear. He draped a heavy arm over her hip and pulled her closer to his chest.

  Claire pushed against him, soaking in the feel of his strength against her back. She closed her eyes and breathed in the air, laced with his scent. Safe wasn't a place she visited often, but in the moments that followed, she felt rooted.

  "Claire," Connor's voice drifted over her ear and blew hair from her cheeks. "You said earlier, not everyone is a protector."

  Claire made a noise in her throat, not wanting to answer the question and knowing where it led.

  "Who didn't protect you?"

  "What?" Claire whispered.

  Connor moved his head on his pillow, bringing him even closer than before. "Before, you said not everyone could protect others. What did you mean?"

  Claire's stomach tightened with a sudden rush of memories, but when Connor adjusted, and his arm moved from her hip up to lay across her lower abs, the feeling melted away.

  "I grew up in foster care for most of my life. That's all I meant." She closed her eyes, telling herself over and over, Connor wouldn't push the subject further tonight. She shifted to find a more comfortable spot and soon found herself pressed against Connor's hard erection.

  She had questioned her attraction to him for days, fearing it only one-sided. Oh, he'd played interested in keeping better tabs on her, and he'd come to her rescue, to keep his boss out of trouble. But, this, a physical reaction he had no control over, proved what she'd felt was mutual.

  Heat paraded through her body like a victory dance. Her nerves all stood at attention, and the invisible string that seemed to link her belly to her parts below pulled tight. By God, Connor was an attractive man by all regards, but until she'd felt his desire digging into her ass cheek, she hadn't known just how much she'd wanted him.

  Another of his warm breaths blew across her shoulder and over her ear, and Claire thought she'd combust with anticipation. At first, she wiggled away from him, hoping distance would solve her ache, but as soon as she put air between them, the arm resting on her stomach pulled her right back into the target zone of losing her mind.