Risking it All (43 page)

weren’t nearly as severe, his ass showed

up when it was supposed to. He couldn’t

be late if he tried.

Apparently he’d been banished into

the midst of an undercover squad that

didn’t share the same quality.

Connor tapped his fist against his

knee, breathing through the need to look

at the clock again. The blank whiteboard

and the room’s six empty chairs mocked

him. He didn’t like going into meetings

blind. It went against his nature to be

unprepared, but he’d been given no

choice. All he knew was Bowen Driscol

and Seraphina Newsom were on the

squad, sent from New York City to

Chicago in exchange for favors, same as

him. For the first time since his short-

lived stint with the SEALs, he was going

to be on the right side of the law.

Or the wrong side, depending on who

was doing the asking.

He’d be working with cons, criminals

who wanted to stay out of prison. That

was where his knowledge started and

ended, truly pissing him off. If they’d

been given the same options as him,

they’d decided helping the Chicago

Police Department catch criminals such

as themselves was the lesser of two

evils.

Another valuable lesson he’d learned

from the SEALs? If it doesn’t look like a

bomb, it’s probably a bomb.

The door of the conference room flew

open, crashing against the opposite wall.

Connor’s hand flew toward the small of

his back, searching futilely for his gun—

a gun the uniforms had taken away from

him upon arrival
, dammit
. He shot to his

feet instead, focusing on the…threat?

“Relax, Trigger. I like to make an

entrance.”

A girl sauntered into the conference

room, her combat boots jingling with

each step, as if there were bells

attached. She wore a shirt that said
Bitch

Don’t Kill My Vibe
over a pair of

ripped jean shorts that ended just below

her ass. An ass that he’d noticed even

before he registered her bright pink hair.

Who the fuck?

She tossed a frayed canvas bag onto

the table and sprawled into the seat

across from his currently empty one,

head tilting slightly as she regarded him.

Amusement transformed her features

from merely beautiful to interesting
and

beautiful.

From

distracting

to
the

distraction he didn’t need. Like she

fucking needed the extra push.

Since when did he get mad at girls for

being good-looking?

Very slowly, she looked him over.

Connor felt her gaze slide over his

crotch and bit back the urge to adjust

himself, to hide the wood he’d sprung in

honor of a girl who’d been in his

presence for thirty seconds. He didn’t

like this. Didn’t like feeling out of

control of the situation. He let people

see only what he allowed, but somehow

this girl had walked into the room, said

eight words, and thrown him off his

game.

“Well.” She sat back in her chair and

winked at him. “I guess the nickname

Trigger is appropriate in more ways than

one.”

Connor sat back down and dug his

fingers into his knee, forcing himself to

show no outward reaction. He hated the

nickname she’d just christened him with,

but he’d be damned before he let her

know. “Your name, please.”

Her lips twitched. “So formal, aren’t

you, baby?” A flicker of calculation

entered her eyes before disappearing,

but it told him to expect her next move.

She dragged her full lower lip between

her teeth and propped both feet up on the

table, giving him a view of her thighs

that clogged the breath in his throat. She

crossed her feet at the ankles, but not

before he glimpsed where those legs led.

The tiny patch of denim covering her

pussy. “Call me whatever you want. Just

don’t expect me to answer.”

Jesus Christ. If she made him any

harder, he’d have to excuse himself. “I

wouldn’t say your name unless I had a

good reason.”

She swayed her feet back and forth.

“Give me your best one.”

The urge to shift in his seat was

strong. “You’ve already looked right at

it.”

Her feet stilled. He caught a flash of

surprise and uncertainty, confusing the

hell out of him. Had he read her signals

wrong? One minute she was challenging

him, and the next, she looked frozen in

the headlights. Or maybe he’d just called

her bluff? His ability to read people had

been his saving grace more than once

since being dishonorably discharged

from the SEALs two years ago. Working

as a street enforcer in Brooklyn for his

cousin’s underground crime ring, the

skills he’d honed in the Navy had been

utilized on a daily basis. Often in ways

he didn’t like to recall, but forced

himself to anyway. To remember what

he’d been reduced to.

But reading this girl was difficult,

even for him. She’d flashed her thighs at

him as if wanting a reaction, but when

he’d given it to her, she’d clammed up.

Whatever the reason, he refused to show

another ounce of interest. He
wasn’t

interested. This girl couldn’t scream

trouble any louder. He was through with

trouble. Done.

“
So
.” She finally recovered her

entertained expression. “What kind of

piece were you reaching for when I

walked in?”

He simply narrowed his eyes at her.

“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir.

They took my favorite Ruger.” She

pouted. “Has my initials painted in

Wite-Out on the side and everything.”

Oh, I get it now. She’s crazy.
“Why

are you here?”

His abrupt question didn’t faze her.

“Three o’clock meeting, same as you.

Some

people

just

don’t

value

punctuality.”

The way she smirked when she said it

made him think she’d read his mind upon

walking into the room. But that was

impossible. Who the fuck
was
this girl?

A tempting weapons enthusiast who also

happened to be perceptive? He needed

to know more. Just enough to solve the

formula she presented, so he could pack

up his curiosity and store it away. “I

wasn’t asking why you’re in this room.

What landed you on this squad?”

She inspected her fingernails. “Ah.

The

old
what are you in for

conversation. I don’t want to play.” Her

boots abruptly hit the ground. “Just

kidding, I’m in. But you have to go first.”

“Nope.”

“Impasse,” she whispered, walking

her fingers across the table. “I could

guess why you’re here, but you’d dislike

that more than simply telling me.”

Connor said nothing. He
would
dislike

that. Guesswork had always been a

source of irritation for him. He dealt

only in facts. Again, he got the feeling

this girl saw more than most people. The

air of mayhem she wore like a second

skin

probably

made

people

underestimate her. He wouldn’t be one

of them.

“You have a military background. But

you’re not there now, are you?” She

leaned across the table and he caught a

whiff of smoke. Not cigarette smoke.

Like the strike of a match, or the

lingering scent of incense. “It isn’t

difficult math, soldier.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You don’t like Trigger, baby, or

soldier.” Her tongue lingered against her

top lip. “If you don’t like any of my

nicknames, better tell me your real one.”

Connor almost laughed. Almost. The

nicknames had been her roundabout way

of getting him to spill his name first.

He’d nearly walked right into it. Why

were they waging a battle over

something so minor? When this meeting

started, they would find out each other’s

names anyway.

It was time to let this girl know he

didn’t play games. At least not the kind

that took place while fully clothed. As

he leaned across the table, he watched

her blue eyes widen and knew she had to

be a blonde underneath that pink hair.

Her eyelashes and eyebrows were light,

her coloring fair.
She’d look goddamn

perfect against my black sheets…arms

stretched over her head, unable to free

herself. Not really wanting to get free

at all.

“I never said I didn’t like you calling

me baby.”

Dammit
. Had he said that out loud?

He’d decided not to show her any more

interest. Once he made a decision, he

stuck to it. Every time. He resented her

for being the one to make him deviate. If

she weren’t leaning so close, her small

tits pressing against the front of her shirt,

maybe he’d have kept his resolve. He’d

always liked women with bouncy little

tits, and he’d lay ten to one odds she

wasn’t wearing a bra. “Maybe I just

want to hear you call me that under

different circumstances.”

When her confidence visibly wavered,

Connor

wanted

to

curse.

These

contradicting sides to her were only

increasing his need to know more, and

he

did
not
want to get involved.

Couldn’t afford to. Her chin went up a

notch, and that show of fire amid the

uncertainty turned him on. “What

circumstances would those be?”

Too soon. Too insane. He’d just met

this girl. They’d be working together. He

couldn’t sit here in the light of day and

detail the many activities he’d like to

perform with her. Even if he wanted to,

just to see her reaction. To see if she

wanted him, too. But what would he do

if she did? Drag her onto the conference

room table, tug her shirt up to her neck,

and get a look at those tits? He’d have to

get her back to his apartment if he did

that, damn the meeting.

Change the subject
. “Why do you

smell like smoke?”

Her eyelashes shielded her eyes a

second before they flashed wide, hitting

him square in the chest with the force of

their impact. “I set things on fire.”

Any other time, the expression on the

hot, bearded former-soldier’s face

would have made Erin O’Dea dissolve

into a fit laughter. It wasn’t the usual

response men gave her when she played

the crazy card. Not at all. Maybe that

was why she wasn’t laughing. This guy

wasn’t typical. Didn’t fit her profile of

what men should be like. They all

wanted to get inside her until she

performed her fun little reveal.
Surprise,

sweetheart. I’m a convicted arsonist.

You might be next.

Cue haunted house cackle.

They never asked why she’d done it or

questioned the circumstances, simply

vanishing into a puff of smoke. Exactly

as planned. This guy wasn’t vanishing,

however. He hadn’t flinched, not once,

and the trickle of relief in her chest

pissed her off. The words “proceed with

caution”

flashed

across

her

consciousness, sparking and flaming

around the edges. This man
would
ask

why and question the circumstances.

Having only met him mere minutes ago,

she shouldn’t be so certain of that fact,

but it would be reckless to put him in the

same category as other men who scared

easily. His steady green eyes were so

intent on her, she worried her mask

might slip underneath the weight of them.

She didn’t want him to be the first

person to ask her why. She didn’t want

anyone
to ask her why. Her secrets were

all she had. After you’d lived behind

bars among hundreds of women with

your privacy stripped clean away, you