Connor's Gamble (7 page)

Lungs burning, Connor sucked in air like a drowning man.  The plaintive wail of sirens broke through his rage.  He spun around, sprinting over to the struggling bound man.  Kicking aside the gas can, Connor stomped his feet at the fire burning around the base of the tree.  Muffled screams of terror emanated from behind the tape, eyes wide and staring.  A streak of fire raced up the bark of the tree as Connor struggled to untie the tightly knotted bonds.  Heat stung his hands, fingers slipping on the blood coating the rope.

Voices filled the night air and uniformed bodies appeared through the trees like ghostly apparitions, solidifying as they moved closer through the thickening field of smoke.

“I need help over here,” Connor shouted above the crackling roar of the fire.  Several firefighters ran to him, quickly dousing the fire, containing it before more damage could be done.  Paramedics attended to his fallen attacker as well as the victim, cutting him free and immediately beginning treatment.

Connor relayed to the lead officer on scene exactly what he'd encountered, gave his information and tried to shrug off medical attention.  He couldn't take his eyes off the man who'd attacked him.  He was still unconscious as EMT's worked on him.  Within minutes, the entire area was crawling with people.  The NOPD arrived and secured his attacker for transport to the hospital.  Another set of paramedics worked on the burn victim, who was now blessedly unconscious, the screams that erupted the moment the tape had been removed from his face finally stopped.

Adrenaline was a wonderful thing, Connor thought, as blackness ate away at the edges of his vision and the world turned dark.

The phone in his hand chirped with a text message, the vibration startling him.  Remy messaged him that he'd had an officer check on Trejo and he was in his cell, bunked down for the night.  Since it was three in the morning, that wasn't surprising, but Connor appreciated Remy checking.

Connor's fingers tapped the keyboard as he sent his thanks.  Then he sprawled into the lone upholstered chair and turned on the television.  Might as well, he thought, it was going to be another sleepless night.

Chapter Nine

Friday

A
lyssa glanced down at her dark slacks and creamy beige sweater, wiping her palms on the sides of her pants.  The clamminess and damp sweat betrayed her calm exterior.  Damn, why was she so nervous?  It was a simple lunch between two exes, nothing more.  She needed to confront the demons of her past relationship with Connor, finally lay them to rest.

Instead, visions of last night flooded her again.  Images of Connor, naked, erect, and proud as he stood before her.  He'd matured, the changes subtle yet obvious.  She'd tried to forget his sleek form.  The strong finely honed muscles of a firefighter, not bulky but definitely masculine.  His job required excellent physical health and stamina, and boy howdy had that stamina been evident last night.  She fanned herself with her hand.

She tried chalking everything up to the situation and timing.  Or maybe she'd finally lost her grip on sanity and reality.  Needing to feel alive and whole after the traumatic events of the day, she'd succumbed to every want and need Connor had reawakened.  She reveled in her reawakening desire.  With the events of the previous twenty-four hours—the bus crash, dealing with its aftermath, and finding poor Mrs. Spencer dead—her brain had gone into overload and she'd gotten through by sheer determination, refusing to break under the stress.

The police's questions were answered, all the residents herded back to their rooms so they didn't have to witness Mrs. Spencer's body being removed and taken to the morgue.  The whole time Connor stood by her side, steady as the Rock of Gibraltar.  She knew she could lean on him, let him handle all the stress, deal with the police.  Let him protect her the way he'd always done in the past.  But she didn't give in to her weakness.  Instead she'd found her inner strength, not only for her charges, but also for herself.  The need to prove she'd made it all on her own prodded her into pushing him away.

Several hours later, he'd shown up with a bottle of scotch and a shoulder to cry on.  Getting rip-roaring drunk was tempting.  So was slaking the raging fire burning inside her for both the man she'd always loved and the oblivion she'd get in his arms.  She bit back the cynical laugh threatening to escape.  Obviously she'd opted for the latter course.

Being in Connor's embrace, the mind-blowing sex—
no, don't kid yourself, it's never just sex with him
—eased a bit of the loneliness she'd felt since moving away from New Orleans.  Now she had to find the strength to push him away one more time.

Turning her back to him last night and saying good-bye nearly broke a part of her.  At least he hadn't seen the tears trickling down her cheeks, hadn't seen her biting her lips to keep from calling him back.  They'd shared something so profound and special, but in the aftermath, when memories boiled to the surface and reality came crashing back, she couldn't forget everything that drove them apart.

Nothing was resolved.  Nothing changed by one mistaken night of lust obliterating her better judgment.  His breach of trust still remained, along with those damning photos of her husband cheating with another woman.

Right, Lyssa, remember the pictures.  There's no going back.  You can't trust him ever again
.

She glanced into the open doorway of the hotel's coffee shop, spotted Connor seated across the room at a booth in the back and strode forward, her back straight and her resolve ironclad.  He stood when she reached the table, leaning in for a kiss.  Alyssa turned her head at the last second and it landed on her cheek instead of her lips, where she was sure he'd intended.

Last night was a huge mistake.  I shouldn't have let things go that far.  It's all my fault
.

“Connor, I'm glad you could meet me.”

“Of course, Lyssa.  How are your seniors doing?”  She heard the concern in his voice, and a little bubble of regret filled her.  Connor was always concerned for those around him, a protector first and foremost.  Damn, this was going to be hard.  She stared down at her hands clenched in her lap.  Hoping he wouldn't notice, she casually placed them on the table, forcing the tension from her grip.

“They're fine. Connor . . .”

“It's okay, babe.  I get it.”

Alyssa's head jerked up at his resigned tone.  “Get what?”

“I know why you wanted to meet here instead of your room or mine.  Last night . . .”

Alyssa rushed to interrupt him.  She couldn't let him tell her how much last night meant to him.  Didn't dare let him know it was just as important to her, but it changed nothing.  They couldn't be together.

“Last night was a mistake,” she whispered.

“Yeah, like I said, I get it.  You were hurting emotionally and things got out of hand.  I'd had too much to drink earlier and should have walked away.”  Connor reached across the scarred tabletop and squeezed her hand.  “As much as I'd like it to have meant something more, it was one night.  Exes doing what exes sometimes do.  I know it doesn't mean you want things back the way they were.  Too much has happened to ever go back.”

Wait, what
?  Connor was giving her the it's-not-you-it's-me speech.  She'd come prepared to let him down gently, and he'd cut her off at the knees before she'd gotten a word out.  
Damn it, he's taking everything I planned on saying to him and turning it around on me.  What the hell? 
Irritated that he'd stolen her thunder, a tiny bit of guilt ate at her conscience.  Nothing was happening the way she'd rehearsed it in her head.  Crap.

“One night of great sex does not a reconciliation make, Lyssa.”

“I'm glad you understand, Connor.  I'm glad we were there for each other, but we can't do that again.”

She glanced around the half-empty coffee shop, at the stragglers of the tour group finishing their meals, killing time until the new driver and replacement bus were delivered by the travel company.  They'd be back on the road, hopefully tomorrow morning, and be in New Orleans in a snap.  They had one more overnight layover, not counting tonight, and then he'd go home and she'd go back to being miserable and alone. 
Yeah, what a great life.  Maybe I'll become the spinster cat lady.

“I'll try to stay out of your hair until we're back home—I mean I'm back home.  Until then, you've got my cell number, call me if you need me.”

With those words, Connor stood and strode away, never looking back.  Alyssa sat with her mouth half open.  She probably looked like a bug-eyed fish gasping for air, but he'd shocked her to the core.  She'd met him, expecting to deal with pleas to reconcile, thinking last night meant more than it did.  Instead, he'd verbally knocked her feet out from under her before she got a word in edgewise.

It hurt
.

The burning pain in her chest couldn't be blamed on the greasy food from the coffee shop, since she hadn't eaten a bite.  She knew exactly what caused the ache.  It was her heart breaking all over again as the man she loved walked away.

# # # # #

Every step Connor took away from Alyssa was a knife gouging his insides like a dull blade, twisting to cause the most pain.  He knew the minute his phone rang earlier that morning why she wanted to see him.

When he'd shown up at her room last night, he hadn't intended anything to happen except maybe getting her a little bit drunk and relaxed after all the crap she'd been handed over the previous twenty-four hours.  She'd looked exhausted and defeated.  Sitting back and not holding her, comforting her, took a reservoir of strength he hadn't realized he possessed.

She'd downed the scotch and he'd seen the wheels turning over in her mind.  He'd watched the same thing happen with guys at the station house after a bad fire.  The need to feel something tangible, to reestablish a feeling of belonging for just a short time.  To be able to push everything aside and feel alive.

When Alyssa turned to him, he could no more resist her than the dawn could keep from breaking.  He didn't want to.  With her in his arms, he felt complete for the first time since signing the divorce papers.

Making love to her—there wasn't another feeling like it in the world.  But even when he plunged deep within her body, he'd known it was only for the night.  She'd never forgiven him for her perceived breach of trust.  He'd never done the things she'd accused him of, but he had no way of disproving them.

So, he'd take one night of respite in the arms of the woman he loved and deal with the fallout to his broken heart.

The words he'd spoken to her in the coffee shop, those were the words she'd been about to throw at him.  He'd known from her voice on the phone.  So, he let her go, let her know he understood it was one night and not the beginning of a new lifetime together.

Didn't mean he believed it though.  Last night with her reawakened everything he'd frozen down deep inside, thawed the unfeeling lump in his chest, started it beating again.

Alyssa didn't realize it, but his mind was made up.  He'd find a way to win back her love, whatever the cost.  The preemptive strike had just been fired.

Let the fun and games begin
.

Chapter Ten

Friday

T
he camera crew rolled into the parking lot of the Silverado Hotel just after noon.  The door opened and Bethany tumbled out almost before the van had fully stopped.  Patience was not a virtue she claimed or one she aspired to.  The toe of her Jimmy Choo's tapped impatiently on the pavement as Eli pulled open the back door to the van, stacking the containers holding his precious camera equipment.  For heaven sake, did the man ever do anything fast?  Tired of waiting, she spun and headed for the lobby. 
Shouldn't be too hard to find a group of old people in a place this size.  Especially ones who'd been in a bus accident the day prior.

Sauntering to the front desk, she turned on her thousand-watt smile and batted her lashes at the male hotel clerk.  He couldn't have been more than nineteen.  Slicked back short ditch-water brown hair, high forehead, and pockmarked face, he looked like the typical teenage geek who'd never been laid.  Hell, the only thing missing were the coke-bottle glasses. 
Piece of cake
.

“Hi, I'm Bethany Banks with WBRL in Baton Rouge.  I'm supposed to meet with Molly Scott; she's one of the ladies who was in the bus accident yesterday.”  She watched the young clerk swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing.  His eyes never left her cleavage, another asset she employed to its fullest.  Good looks, long blonde hair and a killer bod got her places where her intelligence never could.  Taking a deep breath, she pushed her breasts out even further, watched the glazed expression on the clerk's face with barely hidden amusement.

“Um, Ms. Scott's in her room.  I think.”

“May I have her room number, please . . . George?”  She added his name with a flirtatious smile, reading it off his name tag.

“We . . . I can't give out a client's room number.  It's against . . . policy.”  His voice cracked with his rapid breathing, his eyes still fastened on her boobs.

“Could you call her room, George, and ask her if she could meet me here in the lobby?  Would that be against policy?”

“No, ma'am.  I mean, yes ma'am, I'll call her right away.”

“Thank you, George.  And please, call me Bethany.”  She touched his hand, just a brief slide of her own across the back of his, but it was enough to make a flush of red stain his cheeks. 
Man, the hicks in this town
, she thought. 
He can't be more than nineteen, twenty tops
.

Eli stumbled into the lobby, rolling a cart with his equipment, his precious video camera held in one hand.  Freaking amazing.  The man finally made it inside. 
At this rate, I'll have the entire interview completed, and nothing will be on film
.  Waving at him, she called, “Over here, Eli.”