Connor's Gamble (5 page)

“That stuff's gonna kill ya.”

Connor rocked forward in his seat, startled at the sound of a voice next to him.  Gladys.  Dammit, he didn't need company.  He wanted to drown his troubles all alone.

“Gladys, I really . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, you want to be alone, right?  Tough.”  She traced a finger around the ring on the table where his glass sat moments before, noting the fresh drink in front of him.  He hadn't heard the waitress, either.  Maybe he'd had enough.

“She's hurting too, boy.”

“Molly?  I'll go.”

“No, not her.  She's fine.  Asleep and snoring her brains out.  Jeez, your grandma can cut some logs.”  Gladys looked him dead in the eye and Connor nearly flinched at the anguish in her expression.  Instead of responding, he glanced at his watch, dismayed to realize he'd spent half the day drowning his bruised heart in alcohol while the rest of the people around him suffered through their loss.

Damn, I'm a selfish bastard.  I should have been there for Gran, for Lyssa.  Instead I'm getting drunk off my ass in a crappy bar.  Great, just freaking great, jackass.

“Alyssa needs you.  She's strong for everybody else, helping us and dealing with all our nonsense day in and day out.  Right now, she's grieving alone with nobody there to help her.”

“Gladys, she doesn't want or need me.  I'm the last person__”

“Wrong, boy.  You're the
only
person she needs right now.  Go.” 

Should he stay or should he go?  If Alyssa would let him, he wanted to be there for her.  His decision made, he stood and looked down at Gladys's slight frame outlined against the cherry red vinyl.

“Can I walk you back, Gladys?”

“Naw, go on with ya.  I'm just gonna sit here and listen to the music a bit before hitting the hay.  You go take care of your wife.”

“Ex-wife,” he corrected.  Gladys smiled that abnormally white smile of hers and shook her finger at him.

“Okay.”  He grinned.  “I'm going.”  Tossing several bills on the table to cover his tab, he walked toward the door, stopped and backtracked over to the bar.  After a back and forth discussion with the bartender and handing over an exorbitant amount of money, he walked out with an unopened bottle of Scotch—the good stuff, not the cheap swill he'd nursed all afternoon.

Within minutes, he stood before Alyssa's door.  Eagerness tinged with an inexplicable bout of awkwardness gripped him.  Was he making a fool of himself or could Gladys be right—did Alyssa need him?  Only one way to find out.

His knuckles rapped softly on the wooden door.

“Just a minute.”  Alyssa's voice called through the closed door, barely loud enough to be heard.  He knew she'd check the peephole before opening it, something ingrained in her long before they'd met.  He'd even installed a state-of-the-art one in the door of their home, because she never felt comfortable opening their front door without knowing who was on the other side.

“Connor, what are you doing here?”  Wrapped in a blush pink robe, her hair mussed as though she'd run her hands through it, she looked rumpled and beautiful at the same time.  It reminded him of the way she used to look when she first woke up in the mornings, tousled and sexy as hell.

He held up the unopened bottle of Scotch, waggled it back and forth.

“After the crappy day you've had, I though maybe you could use a drink.”

She hesitated.  Indecision and something else he didn’t recognize passed across her face.  Stepping back, she held open the door, motioning him inside.

“I'll get the glasses.”  The little vanity beside the bathroom held paper-wrapped glasses.  She brought two over to the round table, plopped down into a chair and grabbed the bottle.  Seconds later there were two half-filled tumblers of Scotch, one in front of each of them.

“To never having another day like today ever,” she toasted, raising her glass high in a mocking salute.

Connor choked back his laugh.  “Hell, yeah, I'll drink to that.”

He watched her for long quiet moments, taking in the shadows already forming beneath her eyes, the smallest downturn of her mouth.  The events of this hellacious day had obviously wreaked havoc with her, both emotionally and physically.

“You really okay, Lyssa?”

“Why, Connor?  Why'd this happen?”  She ran her finger around the rim of her glass.  “This was supposed to be a fun trip, a chance for them to be away from the senior center for a few days.  Travel to Louisiana, gamble a little, and have a good time.  Instead, we've crashed, lost our driver, and dear Mrs. Spencer . . .”

Connor reached across and clasped her hand in his.  It was freezing, and he grabbed up the other, beginning a soft stroking motion, offering both comfort and warmth with his touch.

“Maybe we can sue Jack Frost?”

Alyssa gave a little snort of laughter.  Connor kept stroking her hands, feeling the warmth slowly returning to them.  He remembered their softness when they'd stroked his body, could almost feel them now rubbing against his chest so strong was his memory of her touch. 
No, don't go there.  Concentrate on Lyssa.  She needs a friend, not an idiot with a raging hard-on.

“I see this all the time.  I mean, I work with the elderly.  They're not in the best of health, but Abigail?  She wasn't sick.  She has . . . had diabetes, but it was under good control.  Her doctor even took her off her medication.”  Shaking her head, Alyssa pulled her hands from his.  Within a heartbeat he missed the touch of her skin against his.

“It's nobody's fault, hon.  Not yours, not the driver's.  You saw it yourself.  She bumped her head on the night stand.  It was an accident, plain and simple.”

“I know, it's just . . . she'd been looking forward to this trip.  It was all she talked about for weeks.  Her and Trudy and Esther, they were the three musketeers.  They planned an all-out run on the tables at the casino, strike fast and hard.  Come back big winners, all three of them.  Instead, she's gone and I'm not sure Trudy and Esther are going to handle it well.  They were friends, the three of them, always together.  Wherever one went, the others were right there.  I need to go—check on them—again.”

Alyssa stood and headed toward the phone.  Connor clasped her arm as she started past him.

“Not now.  They're probably asleep.  It can wait until morning.”

“You're right.  I'm not thinking clearly.  It's all just . . .”

Connor stood and wrapped his arms around Alyssa, pulling her against his chest.  One hand slid up and down her back, offering his silent support.  The other rested at the bend of her waist, holding her close.

Her arms wrapped around his back and she burrowed her head against his shoulder, leaning into his body.  Her hand slid upward until her fingers curled into the longer hair at the nape of his neck, teasing the ends brushing along the top of his collar.  Since his injury, he wasn't on duty at the fire station and he'd let it grow out.  The touch of her fingers threading through it, her fingertips brushing against his scalp shot a jolt of fire straight to his groin.

Hell, her touch always had that effect on him.  No different now than the moment they'd met.  One brush of her skin against his and he burned.  Wanted her.  Needed her.

It's not the right time, idiot.  After the day she's had, she needs your support.  Be a professional, like you've been trained.  You can do this, hold her without kissing her, without . .
.

Too late.  His lips were on hers, his tongue sliding against her lower lip in a sensuous glide of warmth and wetness.  Hands rose to cup her face, bring her in closer, angle her and deepen his kiss.  This wasn't a civilized brush of lips, no gentle persuasion.  It was an all out, no holds barred assault of the senses.  Demanding, plundering, his tongue demanded entrance, breached the opening of her lips and tangled with hers.  He nipped at her bottom lip, caught it with his teeth before rubbing away the sting with a flick of his tongue.

Alyssa pulled back, gasping for breath, staring deep into his heated gaze.  He wanted to drown in her, engulfed in the flames reflected in her eyes.

“Connor, I don’t think . . .”

“That's right, don't think.  Feel.  You're alive.  I'm alive.  Nothing and nobody else matters at this moment except us.  No guarantees of tomorrow.  Only right here, right now.  Let me hold you.” 
Let me love you.

Alyssa broke their staring match, looked away to drag in a ragged breath.  So many emotions raced across her face.  Uncertainty.  Yearning.  Connor prayed he didn't read
no
in her eyes.  It would destroy him if she turned him away.

She gave a brief nod and that was all the confirmation he needed.  Connor swung her up in his arms, not giving her the opportunity to change her mind.  He took the few steps to the bed, laying Alyssa gently atop the patterned bedspread.  He stared down at the glorious vision before him, an invitation to paradise he had no intention of ignoring.  He knelt over her, one knee sliding between her parted thighs, and he pressed an openmouthed kiss to her ear.  His tongue gently laved the delicate outer rim, eliciting a moan.

With slow and deliberate action, he pressured kisses along her jawline until he reached her lips.  They kissed hungrily, a give and take between two lovers who knew exactly what the other craved.

He filled his hands with her, relearning each curve.  While he cupped and shaped her luscious breasts, her fingers began their own bold exploration, yanking free his shirt from the waistband of his pants.  When Alyssa reached for his belt, Connor's hand stopped hers.

“Patience, my love, we have all night.  I want to savor every moment.”

“No, I need you, want you.  Hold me, Connor.  Love me.”  Alyssa's whispered plea stole away every single good intention Connor had of taking things slow and easy.  Hands tangled in clothing as each struggled to remove every piece, craving that skin-to-skin feel.

“It's been so long.  I want to feel alive, Connor.  Touch me.”

A ragged sigh escaped him.  There was no force in heaven or on earth strong enough to make him deny her every wish.

Arching up, Alyssa rubbed her body against his.  Connor slid his hand along the outside of her leg, past the knee, all the way up her now bare thigh.  He groaned as his fingers glided through the dampened curls at the apex of her thighs.  The soft groan escaping her was music to his battered soul.

“I need you.”  He whispered the words against her throat as his fingers continued their exploration, sliding between her dew-kissed folds.  She rolled her hips, pressing deeper into his touch.

“I need you, too, Connor.”

Urgency pushed aside his best intention to go slow.  He wanted nothing between them.  The barriers of clothing gone, he needed the barriers she'd erected in his mind torn away as well.

Shifting forward, he eased his swollen girth into her silken folds.  Into her tight, sweet depths.  The place he belonged, always and forever.

“Yes, oh, yes,” she sighed, her arms pulling him closer.  He loved the way she clung to his neck, as though the world around them disappeared and he was the center of her universe.  It was so easy to fall into the moment, let reality slide away. Forget everything except need.  He needed her touch, needed her mouth beneath his, her heated breath against his feverish skin.

The frenzied pace he'd begun slowed.  He wanted to savor every moment of their time together.  Not care about the coming morning and normalcy's return.  Instead he kissed her, his senses opening the floodgates to sensation.  Her lips felt petal soft, their taste an ecstasy of delights.  Her skin was soft and flushed, pink with arousal.  He stroked inside her tight hot sheath again and again, imprinting this in his memory like photos he'd take out and remember in the cold light of day, when regrets and recriminations haunted his waking hours.

His lips traveled to the creamy flesh at the nape of her neck, and he laved the sweet spot with his tongue before applying suction, drawing it between his lips.  There'd be a mark there come morning, a tangible reminder she'd see and know their lovemaking wasn't a dream or fevered imagination.  For this one night she'd come alive again in his arms.

“Connor, faster, harder.  I need . . .”  Her whispered plea echoed in his ears and in his heart.  This woman, his woman, needed him.  Wanted him.

“I need, too, Lyssa, my love.  Need you.  Always you.”

This overwhelming lust for her felt like an old acquaintance, familiar and welcome.  The taste of her filling his senses, the sudden tightening of his groin, all familiar sensations—but this was more.  A deep, steadying rhythm in the middle of his chest. 
Her
, its whispered response resonated. 
She's mine
.

A groaning sound echoed in Connor's ears and he realized the sound came from him.  He slid forward, pounding into Alyssa's body, needing the sweet relief only she could bring.  Harder.  Faster.  Deeper.

He pressed into her body, thrusting as if he could merge two beings into one whole.  Covered her lips with kisses, hot and wet and deep.  Only this mattered.  Without warning, her eyes flashed open as her body bowed.  She tensed beneath him, clinging as her orgasm swept through her, crying out even as her sheath tightened around him, sending waves of friction against his penis buried deep within her core.

Connor didn't hold back.  Couldn't have held back if he tried.  He rode the cresting wave of completion, thrusting deeper as her climax pulled him straight into his own, the sheer blinding rightness of it like nothing he'd ever experienced.

Afterward, he placed soft caressing kisses along her jaw and neck, before leading back to her mouth.  Spent and trembling, he buried his face in her neck.  Words failed him.

Through half closed lids, Alyssa looked at him, a sleepy smile crossing her lips.  She threaded her fingers into his hair and he leaned into her touch.  Rolling off her, his breathing slowed back to normal and he watched her.

He wanted to spoil her.  Shower her with rose petals and make love to her on a blanket in a field of flowers.  A pipe dream.  The best he could wish for was she'd let him stay the night.