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rhythmic strokes to give her everything he had.
God, he was going to marry her.
It took long moments before his breathing and heartbeat normalized. Pleasure lingered in his veins like a sweetly heavy drug. Just when Connor was about to collapse, he propped himself above her, struggling to catch his breath and bring his heartbeat back under control.
What the hell was he thinking? Marriage? Babies? She had his head reeling. This was not like him. He eased back and rose to his feet, taking a long breath. His whole body was still pulsing with pleasure and he wanted to press himself against her and share the buzz, but he needed a minute alone.
“I’ll be right back.” He turned, but not before he saw the startled hurt in her eyes.
She’d expected him to fall into her arms and give her “after” time, complete with cuddling and praise, no doubt. Instead, he picked up his clothes and stumbled into the bathroom, closing the door between them. He disposed of the condom he’d thought about not wearing.
Deep breath, Sparks. What the hell just happened? He stared at himself in the mirror. He’d lost control in the end. He’d let go in a way he never did.
He’d utterly forgotten that he had a job to do.
After turning on the faucet to cold, he reached into his jeans and pulled out his phone, texting Roman. He’d left the door unlocked. It was a calculated risk, but his gun was on the nightstand. As soon as Roman had what he needed, Connor would lock them in again.
He was letting the wolves into the princess’s castle. He was going to distract her by fucking her all over again.
Why did he already feel a twinge of guilt for doing what he needed to?
Gritting his teeth, he pounded his fists against the sink, and he was lucky he didn’t crack the marble.
Lara knocked softly on the door. “Connor? Are you all right? Did I do something wrong?”
He couldn’t continue dithering about her like some inexperienced idiot. He’d already made his choice and contacted Roman. There was no calling him off now. And there was no going back with Lara. He’d taken her. He could tell himself he would walk away at the end, but he made it a practice never to deceive himself. He would have her again and again and again. He would never fucking be satisfied.
So he needed to suck it up and start being the man he was. Stop trying to be worthy of her. He never would be, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take her, keep her close, and do his best. Sure, he’d have to lie to her. He’d have to manipulate her. He could manage that. After all, he’d made a profession out of dealing in misdirection and falsehoods. In return, he’d protect and sate her. It wasn’t much but all he had to offer. He’d never had anything to call his own, and he wanted Lara to be his. In the end, he knew he might cost her everything, but he couldn’t leave her alone.
Shame that he couldn’t be better for her slithered through him but he tamped the useless shit down.
And now he was being a coward because he’d closed a door between them. He would never allow her to do that to him. It was time to stop fucking around and be her man.
He opened the door and had her in his arms before he could second-guess himself again. He would do what he had to do for the operation, but he’d fight to the death to keep her. She’d given him everything she had and he wouldn’t let her take it back. But he had to give a little, too. He had to get over his fucking PTSD.
Connor pulled her close and felt her arms go around him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, princess. You were perfect.” He lifted her hand to touch his newest scar. “The reason I haven’t had sex in almost two years was the last woman I went to bed with gave me this.”
She gasped and all that doubt immediately became concern as she placed her hand right over the puckered gash as though she could somehow heal him. “Was it a knife wound?”
He nodded. “She was a little crazy. So I got overwhelmed. Forgive me.”
She was on her toes, enthusiastically kissing him. “Of course. I was worried. I . . . care about you. I didn’t want this to be the only time. I didn’t want this to be our only night.”
Not if he had any say in it. “I care about you, too. We’ve started something tonight. I told you I didn’t want some casual thing. We’re together now, and I intend for us to stay that way.”
She laid her head against his chest. “Do you want to go back to bed?”
He picked her up. “The answer to that question will always be yes.”
He laid her out and proceeded to show her how much he wanted her.
* * *
It was two in the morning when he heard it. Such a little sound, but then he’d been waiting for the snick of a door closing as quietly as possible.
Roman was here.
Lara turned over in her sleep, her hair in a tumble across the pillow. He’d been right. When her tresses were loose, they went everywhere. They were like wild vines creeping softly across his body, drawing him in. All he wanted to do was curl around her and go back to sleep, pretend there wasn’t a team outside trying to steal her secrets.
Yes, she still had them and he couldn’t allow her to keep any. He couldn’t protect her if he didn’t know what she concealed. No matter what happened, he had to make sure she was all right, and that meant finding out absolutely everything he could about her.
He could justify it all day, but it didn’t stop the guilt in his gut and he resented the hell out of it. This was his job. He’d never before felt guilty for protecting his president.
He rolled out of bed as quietly as he could and paused to make sure she wasn’t moving. The moonlight washed over her, and his heart flipped a little. God, he was in deeper than he’d imagined. He needed some distance. He wasn’t letting her go, but he had to find a way to not need her so much. Surely, he could devise a strategy to keep his soul from threatening to spill out every time he had sex with her.
It would get easier. Everything between them was new right now and she was different from any woman he’d ever met. The newness would wear off and he would be able to enjoy her the way he should. He would do his job and keep his secrets and she would be his reward.
He forced himself to look away and grab his gun off the nightstand, just in case. After all, a killer sought her. In fact, he kind of hoped the killer was, even now, sneaking through her door, rather than Roman. Connor suspected he would feel loads better after killing Lara’s stalking scumbag.
As silently as he could, he opened the door and walked down the hallway. Black figures moved through her apartment. Connor slipped down the hall, staying in the shadows. He counted four of them. All big guys. No crazy stalkers. He was out of luck on the killing front. Roman seemed to hire security for their bulk as though he wanted to make sure every guard could physically cover Zack in the event of an assassination attempt.
Of course Roman had been onstage with Joy Hayes when she’d died from a fumbled attempt to kill Zack. Maybe Connor could understand, but then he could also tell Roman that bulk didn’t always win. Connor managed to sneak past three of the guards and get right behind Roman, who was hovering over Lara’s computer. He placed the muzzle of his gun squarely against Roman’s head.
“Please tell me that’s you, Con. Because otherwise I might ruin a perfectly good pair of pants for nothing.”
Connor grinned in the darkness. It was good to know he could still scare the shit out of someone. He pulled away. “Safety’s on. But you need new guys. I got past all of them.”
Roman turned, shaking his head. “I keep asking you to come and take the whole thing over. We would all feel better if you worked at the White House. Is your girl out? Did you roofie her?”
