Conor

5

OLIVIA BIT her bottom lip as she turned the ignition, sending up a silent prayer she wouldn’t do anything stupid, like hit a parked car or run a red light. But when she reached for the gearshift between the seats, she realized prayers wouldn’t do any good. A driving instructor might. “There’s no pernundul,” she murmured. No P, no R, no N or D. The car had a manual transmission and she’d never driven a stick shift before.

“I can’t do this,” she said. She glanced over at Conor. His head was tipped back and his eyes were closed. She knew he’d been working hard, but this was no time to take a nap! Olivia reached over and shook his arm. His hand fell between the seats, wet and sticky. She swallowed hard. Blood. “Conor? Conor, are you all right?”

Panic rose in her mouth like bile as Olivia shook him. He opened his eyes halfway and at first didn’t seem to recognize her. “Are we there?”

Olivia leaned over and frantically examined his arm, then pulled his leather jacket open and found the source of the blood. All along his left rib cage, his shirt was seeped through. She felt faint and took a moment to draw a deep breath. “Oh, no, oh, no.” She reached for the gearshift and studied the little diagram on the knob, then pushed in the clutch. “Oh, no, no.” She knew the basics of a standard transmission, but she’d have to learn the finer points on the fly. “Hang on,” she said. “Just don’t die on me. Don’t you dare die. I’m going to get you to a hospital.”

“No,” he muttered. “No hospital. Just get to Brendan. He’ll know what to do.”

She jammed the car into first, the gears grinding, then slowly let out the clutch. The car jerked and shuddered, but to her relief it started forward. By the time she’d circled the block, she had managed to try three of the four gears without stalling the engine. Olivia glanced both ways before pulling out on the highway, afraid to stop for fear she wouldn’t get started again.

As she drove, she tried to contain a tremor that shook her body. “Stay calm,” she murmured, searching the road for signs pointing to a hospital or for a pay phone to call an ambulance. She didn’t want to obey his orders! He’d been shot protecting her and now it was her responsibility to save his life. “I’m going to call an ambulance,” she said. “Give me your cell phone.”

His hand shot out and clutched her wrist. “No,” Conor insisted. “Do as I say.”

“But the boat is at least ten minutes away. You could die before then.”

“I’m not going to die,” he replied. “I promise.” He reached up and stroked her hair, the movement causing him to groan with the pain. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Olivia glanced over at him, overwhelmed with concern and torn by indecision. “All right,” she said. “We’ll go to the boat as long as you keep talking. If you pass out, I’m stopping to call an ambulance. Deal?”

“Deal,” he murmured, his hand flopping back to his side.

She drew a ragged breath. “Fine. So what should we talk about? Let’s talk about you. Tell me about your family. Tell me about Brendan and Dylan.”

He moaned softly as he shifted in his seat. “Why do you want to know about them?”

“Just tell me,” Olivia insisted. “Or tell me about your parents. Or your childhood in Ireland. Tell me where you were born. Just talk so I know you’re still alive.”

“I was born in a stone cottage that overlooked Bantry Bay,” Conor began. “On the south coast in County Cork. My da was a fisherman. And my ma was…well, she was beautiful.”

“When did you come to America?” Olivia asked, her mind jumping ahead, thinking of questions to keep him talking yet not really listening to the answers. She recognized the turn to Hull and said another quick prayer. They were only a few miles away. Now her only worry was finding the boat.

“She died,” Conor continued.

Olivia glanced over at him. “What? Who died?”

“Or my da says she died. I don’t think she did, because I would have known. But if she didn’t die, then why didn’t she come back?”

Olivia frowned. He was talking but he wasn’t making much sense. “You don’t know if your mother is alive or dead?”

“She went away when I was seven. One day she was there and then she was gone. Da wouldn’t talk about it. Later, he told us she died in a car wreck. But he was angry and I think he said that because he wanted us to forget her.” Conor sighed and for a long moment he was silent.

Olivia thought he’d lost consciousness, but when she looked over at him his eyes were still open. “I never forgot her. The others did, but I didn’t. I can still see her.” He tipped his head her way. “She was pretty…like you. Only she had dark hair and yours is like spun gold.”

His compliment was so simple and plainspoken that Olivia felt tears push at the corners of her eyes, tears of concern and affection and frustration. She was frightened, and usually when she felt that way, Conor made her feel safe. The thought that he might not be there to keep her safe tomorrow caused an ache to grow in her heart.

She turned back to the road and forced herself to concentrate. To her relief, she found The Mighty Quinn on the first pass along the waterfront. She slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop on the street. Reaching a hand out, she placed her palm on Conor’s cheek. “We’re here,” she said. “Can you walk?”

He nodded and she hopped out and ran around to Conor’s side. She pulled, then dragged him to his feet, urging him to put one foot in front of the other and walk with her. Conor draped his arm around her shoulders and she bore most of his weight. He was still lucid, moving and talking, and Olivia hoped that she’d done the right thing bringing him here.

“What the-”

Olivia looked up to see Brendan coming toward them from the boat. “Help him,” she said. “I think he’s been shot.”

Brendan grabbed Conor’s other arm and wrapped it around his neck and, in a few moments, they were helping Conor into the cabin and onto a long narrow berth.

“It hurts like hell,” Conor murmured, “but I don’t think it hit anything vital.”

Olivia stepped away as Brendan tended to his brother, the impact of what had happened suddenly hitting her full force. Her hands began to tremble and her breath came in quick gasps. Tears scalded the corners of her eyes. Brendan tugged off Conor’s jacket and she moaned along with him, feeling his pain.

“God, Con, there’s an awful lot of blood.” Brendan turned to Olivia and pointed to the far side of the galley. “There’s a first aid kit on the bulkhead. Grab that and a few clean towels.”

Olivia did as she was told. Brendan flipped the kit open and rummaged around until he found a small bottle of alcohol. “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” she asked. He doused one of the towels with it then pressed it against Conor’s side.

Her question was met by a loud string of colorful curses. Startled, Olivia stepped back. Brendan chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at her. “It’s the sting from the alcohol.” He turned back to Conor. “It looks like a flesh wound, not too deep, just a lot of blood. I’ve got a buddy here in town who’s a doctor. I’m going to call him.”

“It’s a gunshot wound. He’ll have to report it and they’ll know where we are,” Con said. “You stitch it up, like you stitched up Da’s arm that time when he got caught in the line.”

“Con, we were four hundred miles out to sea and I used an old needle and some fishing line. I’ll explain to my friend that you’re a cop. And he’ll report it tomorrow morning. By that time we’ll be gone.” Brendan grabbed a cell phone from the table and dialed a number, then spoke in soft, urgent tones to his friend.

At the same time, Conor looked over at Olivia and gave her a weak smile. She walked over to the berth and knelt down on the floor, then took his hand. “I was so scared,” she murmured. “I still am.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said, pulling her hand to his lips. “You did good.”

She sat on the floor next to him, holding his hand, until the doctor arrived. Then Brendan drew her out of the cabin up to the deck. Olivia was glad for the fresh air. She was weak and dizzy, and if she had to watch Conor’s pain for a moment longer, she was sure she’d faint.

They stood at the rail and stared out at the dark harbor, listening to the clank of rigging and the soft lap of the water against the hull. “You’ve had quite a night,” Brendan said.

“I thought I had a pretty exciting life before this,” Olivia murmured. “I travelled, I went to fancy parties, I took nice vacations. That was nothing compared to spending time with your brother.”

Brendan wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks,” he said.

She glanced up at him. “For what?”

“For saving his life. For caring about him.”

“That’s not hard to do,” she said, a tiny smile quirking her lips. “He’s a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known.”

“But sometimes he makes it hard to like him. He keeps his distance, and when anyone gets too close, he retreats.”

“He told me about your mother,” she said.

Brendan blinked in surprise. “Conor talked about Ma?”

Olivia stretched her arms out over the rail and stared at her hands. “I don’t think he realized what he was talking about. He was just talking to stay awake.”

“I think that’s the reason Conor keeps to himself,” he said. “When she left, he was the one who took the brunt of it. He was a kid raising five other kids. I don’t think he ever wants to be deserted like that again, so he closes himself off to the possibilities and turns his energy into making everyone feel safe.” Brendan sighed. “He still thinks Ma is alive.”

“Do you think she is?”

Brendan shrugged. “I don’t know. When we were little, Con said he would go to find her when he was old enough. Maybe that’s why he became a cop. Or maybe it was because he needed to take care of everyone else’s troubles. He’s kind of codependent that way. But I don’t think he’s ever looked for Ma.”

“Why not?”

“I think he was afraid of what he might find. He was happier believing she was alive somewhere, alive and living a good life.” Brendan pushed back from the rail. “I’ll go see how things are going. Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea? A shot of whiskey?”

Olivia smiled and shook her head. When she was alone, she walked along the deck to the bow of the boat. The shadows from the quay cast the bow in darkness and she sank down, her strength finally giving out and her emotions taking over. A sob tore from her throat and she hugged her knees to her chest and let the tears fall.

They fell for the life that she once had, calm and orderly, and for all her hopes for the future. They fell for her anger at her business partner and at Red Keenan. But mostly, they fell for Conor, for the boy he was and the man he’d become. A man who’d risked his life for her, a man she was fast falling in love with. And a man who might never return that love.

“Olivia?”

She raised her head and quickly wiped away the tears, then stumbled to her feet. Brendan was waiting for her at the entrance to the main cabin. “He’s going to be fine. The doctor stitched him up. The bullet just grazed him.”

A fresh round of tears flooded her eyes and Brendan drew her into his arms. “Come on. It’s all right now. The doc and I moved him into my cabin where he’ll be more comfortable. And I brought your cat in from the car.” He leaned back and gave her a smile. “Why don’t you go see him. I have to hide the car before someone recognizes it. Then I’ll run and get you both something to eat. Do you want anything special?”

“Little Friskies in the can,” she said. “Tuna flavor. And some kitty litter. For Tommy.”

Brendan chuckled. “I’ll get you a burger.” He nodded toward the cabin. “It’s the companionway that leads to the bow of the boat.”

Olivia wiped her cheeks again and ran her fingers through her hair, hoping that she looked at least presentable. Why she bothered to worry about her appearance, she wasn’t sure. Conor had certainly seen her looking worse. But she wanted to be strong for him and looking like she was falling apart didn’t cut it.

When she reached the forward cabin, she knocked on the door, then stepped inside. The soft glow from an oil lamp washed the cabin in flickering shadows. Conor lay on the bed, bare-chested, eyes closed, a bandage taped to his rib cage. His jeans had been cast aside and the waistband of his boxers was visible where the bedsheet was twisted around his waist. Tommy was sitting silently on the end of the bed, keeping guard over the man that had saved them both. Olivia distractedly scratched the cat’s ears as she stared at Conor, her gaze transfixed by the planes and angles of his face.

Awake, he always had a hard edge to him, his gaze intense and his jaw tight. But as he slept, she saw a side of him revealed rarely, only in a fleeting glimpse when he smiled. Olivia tiptoed over to the bed and knelt down beside him. His hair fell over his forehead, just touching the dark slashes of his eyebrows.

She looked closer, surprised that she’d never noticed how long and thick his lashes were. Beautiful, she mused. Not a word one would usually associate with a man like Conor Quinn. Desire welled up inside of her, unbidden but undeniable. She’d always been so careful with men, but with Conor all her resolve seemed to crumble with just one touch.

He was arrogant yet affectionate, dangerous yet vulnerable, contrasts that she found irresistibly intriguing. She’d never felt such an instant connection with a man before. With a hesitant hand, she reached out and tenderly brushed the hair out of his eyes. Her breath stilled and she bent over him and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Conor’s eyelids fluttered and he awoke.

FOR A MOMENT, he thought he might be dreaming. The light from the oil lamp shimmered around her head, like a halo. And then his vision cleared and he found himself looking at an angel come to earth. Conor smiled sleepily. “Hi,” he murmured.

Olivia leaned forward and gazed into his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Like hell,” he said. “But the doctor says I’ll be fine. A little sore for a while. And I’m going to have to give up my Olympic dreams in the javelin and shotput.”

She giggled and the sound brought a small measure of relief. Brendan had told him that Olivia had been close to tears when they’d arrived. It was nice to see her smile again. Just looking at her exquisite beauty was the best medicine he could have.

“Brendan went to get us something to eat. Are you hungry?”

He pushed up on his elbow, pain shooting through his side. “I’m starved,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Here,” Olivia said. “Let me help you.” She placed her arm around his shoulders and helped him sit. His face nuzzled into her chest as she moved him and he groaned inwardly, trying hard to ignore visions of the warm flesh beneath her sweater. When she had stacked a few pillows behind his back, Conor closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to banish the heat that had shot to his groin. At least he knew the bullet hadn’t injured that part of his anatomy.

“What are we going to do now?” Olivia asked, sitting down on the edge of the berth.

“Bren called my little brother Liam. They’re going to help Brendan take the boat up to Salem. My brothers Sean and Brian will meet us there with another car. After that, we’re going to get lost until the trial.”

“Don’t you think you should call your boss and tell him we’re okay?”

“I’m not playing by the rules anymore. I did, and it almost got us both killed. If they thought I was a rogue cop before, they haven’t seen anything yet.”

“All right,” Olivia said. “Whatever you think is best.”

A soft knock sounded at the door and Olivia walked over and opened it. Brendan stood outside with two paper bags. He handed them to Olivia. “I’ve got cat food. Why don’t you send Tommy out and I’ll feed him.” He looked over to Conor. “Liam’s here. We’re going to be casting off in about a half hour.”

Olivia set the bags on the bed, then picked up the cat and shooed him out the door. When she and Conor were alone again, she carefully opened the Styrofoam containers. “We have a hamburger…a hamburger…and-ah, something different-a cheeseburger.”

“My brother has very basic tastes when it comes to food,” Conor said.

Olivia plucked a French fry from the bag and held it out in front of Conor’s mouth. He grabbed it with his teeth and quickly devoured it. It was the best French fry he’d ever eaten and Conor wondered whether that had less to do with the chef and more to do with his dinner companion.

After they finished, Olivia cleaned up the wrappers and the soda cans, then took them out to the galley. When she returned, she stood in the doorway of the forward cabin, her hands clutched in front of her. “I guess I should let you get some rest. I’ll just find a spot for myself in-”

“No,” Conor said. “Stay here. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re close by.”

She gave the twin-size berth a long look and Conor could tell exactly what she was thinking. In order for both of them to sleep in it, they’d have to practically wrap their bodies around each other. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” she said, moving to sit on the edge of the berth.

He nodded, then closed his eyes. “Tell me a story,” he said. “When we were kids, my brothers and I always had a story before bed.”

“About what?”

“Fairies and gnomes and elves.”

“Well, I know the story of Thumbelina,” she said.

“Is that an Irish fairy?”

“No, I think it’s just a fairy tale.”

“I suppose that will have to do. Tell me, then.”

Olivia drew a deep breath and began to speak. Though her story seemed to be an odd amalgam of several different Disney movies, Conor really didn’t care. He just wanted to listen to her voice, to reassure himself that she was still safe. As she launched into a subplot that had something to do with a cricket, he reached out and took her hand between his, distractedly toying with her fingers.

His touch caused her to hesitate for a moment, as if the warmth from his fingers had swept the words from her head. But then the story continued, through his gentle exploration of the soft skin on the inside of her wrist and inner arm, past the point where he gently pulled her down next to him on the bed, and beyond the moment when he tucked her body against his. It was only then that he could finally close his eyes and sleep, when his arms were wrapped around her waist and the sweet curve of her backside was tucked in his lap.

Conor drifted in and out of sleep, the painkillers the doctor had given him causing fitful dreams. He remembered hearing the engines start and then the gentle motion of the boat as it cut through the water. Olivia slept soundly, her body soft and warm in his arms, her breathing slow and even. Now that they were on the water, he was certain he could keep her safe. And though he’d always hated The Mighty Quinn, he had to appreciate the old boat for taking them out of danger.

Salem was fifteen miles across Massachusetts Bay and a busy harbor town. The boat could get in and out without much notice. Though Conor wanted to put his plans all together in his head, his brain was too fuzzy to concentrate for long. Instead, he nuzzled his face into the curve of Olivia’s neck and closed his eyes again.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but the next thing he remembered was the boat bumping up against the dock. Olivia rolled slightly with the motion and he grabbed her tight to keep her from falling off the berth. She stiffened in his arms and he knew she had awakened. When she turned onto her back and glanced up at him, it was with uncomprehending eyes.

“We’re just tying up,” he whispered, her face so close to his that he could feel her breath on his skin.

She didn’t say anything, just stared into his eyes. And then Conor bent closer and touched his lips to hers. He really hadn’t expected her to respond, but when she did, he deepened the kiss, lost in the enticing taste of her mouth.

Everything about her was too much to resist and he didn’t want to make the effort anymore. He’d been alone for so long and, for the first time in his life, he’d found someone who could make him forget all of the barriers he’d built around his heart. She touched a spot, deep inside of him, that he hadn’t even known existed. And when he kissed her, he didn’t have to wonder whether his kiss was making promises he didn’t want to keep. For now, Olivia was his and that was all that mattered.

Her pale hair fanned out on the pillow and Conor ran his fingers through it, liquid and silken to his touch. She moaned softly and wrapped her arms around his neck, then teased at his bottom lip with her tongue. He sensed that her need for him was as acute as his was for her. And though he could spend the entire night just kissing her, the urge to explore her perfect body was just as overwhelming.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a little voice-his cop voice-told him that spending the night in the same bed broke all the rules. And making love to her could end his career. “Why do you taste so damn good?” he murmured. “I want to stop but I can’t.”

She sighed softly, her fingers skimming over his face. “There are rules,” Olivia whispered, “against this…” Her tongue teased at his nipple. She trailed lower, nipping and biting, and driving him mad with need. “And against this…” she said, her fingers splaying across his belly, causing a flood of heat to rush to his lap.

He’d already decided that when it came to this case, the rules didn’t apply anymore. Someone in the department had nearly gotten them both killed. The police were supposed to be the good guys. Those were the rules. If they couldn’t follow them, then he wouldn’t either. “From now on, we make up our own rules,” he said. “And rule number one is that there will be no more rules.”

A playful smile quirked the corners of her mouth. “I like that rule.”

He laughed softly, then captured her mouth with his again. He’d never have guessed that behind her cool, sophisticated facade lurked an uninhibited temptress. Conor turned to pull her nearer, but the shift in his weight caused a sharp pain in his side, deep enough to steal his breath. He cursed softly. “This is not going to work,” he said. “I can barely move.”

“Then don’t,” Olivia said, straddling his hips and bracing her hands on either side of his head. “Rule number two. You must stay perfectly still.”

Her hair created a curtain around them and she dropped a kiss on his mouth and then another and another, dancing away when he tried to take more. When she straightened, Conor reached out and slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. He spanned her slender waist with his hands and reveled in the beauty and delicacy of her body.

She was made for his hands, every curve a perfect fit against his palms. Though he’d never touched her this way before, it was as if he knew her by instinct. Yet that didn’t stop him from wanting to explore and memorize every inch of her skin.

With other women, it had been all about him and his needs, the undeniable rush toward satisfaction. Maybe it was the way he and Olivia had begun, his focus on protecting her. Suddenly, he wanted to make her ache for him the way he ached for her. He needed to see the desire grow in her eyes and feel it in her hands, until nothing could stop them from the inevitable.

Conor slid his hands along her rib cage until he found the soft curves beneath her breasts. The silky fabric of her camisole beneath his palms enhanced every warm inch of her flesh. As if taking a cue from him, Olivia reached for the buttons of her sweater and slowly undid them. When she was finished, he reached up and skimmed the sweater off her shoulders and down along her arms.

He’d chided her for her underwear obsession at the motel, but now he understood. The lace edging of her camisole offered a tempting view of the cleft between her breasts and the silk clung to her body like a second skin, outlining the peaks of her nipples.

With her eyes fixed on his, her gaze challenging him to make her stop, Olivia reached for the hem of her camisole and pulled it up over her head, then shook her hair until it tumbled around her shoulders. Conor’s breath caught in his throat. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, her skin luminous in the soft light. He knew at that moment that he wanted her, more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. But he schooled his need and promised himself that he’d go slow.

His reached up and cupped a breast in his palm, teasing at her nipple with his thumb. What bit of luck had brought her into his life? What had he done to deserve her? Whatever it was, Conor wasn’t about to question his good fortune. He’d simply enjoy it while it lasted. Never in a million years could he hope that Olivia would want a future with him.

But he did know one thing. He was fast falling in love with Olivia Farrell, with her beautiful eyes and her incredible body, with her stubbornness and with her vulnerability. With the way she made him shiver with anticipation. He slipped his hand beneath the hair at the nape of her neck and slowly drew her back to him, covering her mouth with his. The blood rushed hot through his veins and his pain was forgotten as he rolled her over beneath him.

His mouth ached to taste her, his fingers craved the feel of her skin. Slowly, Conor explored her body with both, gently arousing her desire then letting it ebb. He wanted this to last as long as it possibly could, for Conor wasn’t sure they’d have this chance again. But the more he touched her, the more irresistible she became.

Conor wasn’t sure at what moment they reached the point of no return. Perhaps it was when she stood beside the berth and slipped out of her jeans. Or maybe it was when he cast aside his boxers. But by the time she’d retrieved a condom from Brendan’s bedside table and slipped it over his hard shaft, he was certain he was lost.

She straddled his hips, then slowly sank down, taking all of him, to the hilt. For a long moment, Olivia didn’t move, her eyes closed, her head tipped back. Conor’s jaw went tight as the sight of her alone almost brought him to his peak and he realized that he’d relinquished all control. She was the seducer and he was the seduced.

As if caught in a dream, Olivia started to move above him, rocking slowly at first and then increasing her rhythm. It took all his willpower to wait, to tease and touch, to grasp her waist and slow her movement, until she was ready to join him. He waited for the signs, the soft sighs, the shallow gasps of breath that marked each thrust, the subtle tensing of her body.

And when she was ready, he touched her once more, at the spot where they were joined. She stilled, and then he felt her tighten around him in an exquisite spasm. She murmured his name, once, and then again, and then Conor let himself go, arching into her.

Waves of sensation shattered them both, leaving them breathless, a sheen of perspiration the only thing separating skin from skin. And when it was over and they’d both drifted back from the edges of passion, she curled up in his arms and closed her eyes.

He knew this time it had been different. They’d shared something that he’d never shared with a woman before, an intimacy so deep and stirring that it caused his heart to beat more strongly and his mind to sharpen. She’d broken through a barrier and touched his heart and, in that instant, he knew what it would be like to love a woman, so deeply that it defied reason.

Conor closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he was afraid that when he woke up, she’d have slipped away in the night, like a dream. He turned his face into her hair and inhaled the scent, then ran his hand along her thigh. She was real and the pleasure they’d shared was real.

He didn’t want to let her go. Not now. Not ever.

OLIVIA WOKE sometime in the early morning hours, confused at first by her surroundings. Then she heard Conor’s soft, even breathing and the tiny edge of fear dissolved. She was safe, wrapped in his arms. For a long time, she watched his naked chest rising and falling, slowly, steadily. The lines of tension that had bracketed his mouth and eyes were finally gone and she gently smoothed her fingers over his face as if to erase the last traces of pain.

A wave of emotion washed over her. How had she grown so attached to this man in such a short time? They’d known each other less than seventy-two hours, yet she felt as if she’d already spent a lifetime with him. Circumstances had thrown them together, given them a common enemy and forced a trust that might have taken years to build, but in reality had taken no more than a day.

He had a beautiful body, lean and hard, smooth skin covering carved muscle. His broad shoulders and chest tapered to a flat belly and narrow hips. It had been so long since she’d been intimate with a man that Olivia had forgotten what the sight of the male form could do to her resolve.

Still, making love after such a short time wasn’t really her habit with men. But Conor was different. She trusted him with her life, why not trust him with her body? Though she’d only known him for a few days, that had been enough for her to see that he was a good man, an honorable man. And no matter what the future held for them, she was sure she’d never regret her choice.

But then again, she didn’t really have a choice. The first time Conor had touched her she’d been lost. What had happened between them was inevitable and so were the feelings that came with it. She tried to convince herself that she could separate sex from love-and maybe she could have with another man. But with Conor, her feelings were so intense, so undeniable, that she couldn’t tell where love began and sex left off.

For the next ten days, they’d live together in a world of their own making. And when it was time to go back to the real world, she’d have to deal with the consequences. Until then, she’d cherish every touch and every kiss.

Olivia drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. The scent of coffee drifted through the chill morning air and she squinted in the low morning light to read her watch. “Six a.m.,” she murmured. Though she wanted to wake Conor with languid kisses and tempting caresses, to rediscover the passion they’d shared the night before, she knew he needed his rest.

She slowly rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb him. Piece by piece, she plucked her clothes off the floor and got dressed. She slipped out of the forward cabin and into the bathroom-or the “head” as Brendan had called it. After brushing her teeth with her fingers and raking her hands through her tangled hair, she ventured out to the main cabin, craving a hot cup of coffee.

Olivia expected to find Brendan up and about, but she walked into an entire cabinful of men. They all had gathered around the table, each of them with a steaming mug of coffee. Even Tommy was there, perched on a shelf and accepting small treats of table scraps. She paused, then smoothed her hands over her sweater. “Good morning,” she murmured, wondering if the events of last night were evident in her appearance.

Brendan pushed up from the table and smiled warmly. “Hey, Olivia. How’s the patient doing?”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “He’s still sleeping,” she replied. “I-I think he’s feeling…fine.” She felt a warm blush creep up her cheeks. He was better than just fine, she mused. He was incredibly gentle and intensely passionate. And after a night in bed with him, she felt exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.

“I don’t think you know everyone here. You met Dylan a few nights ago.” He pointed to the youngest man at the table. “This is Liam. And across from him are Sean and Brian.”

Olivia frowned. All of Conor’s brothers resembled each other with their dark hair and their unusual hazel eyes. But Sean and Brian looked almost identical. “Twins?” she asked.

They nodded in unison. Olivia had been an only child but had always wondered about the bonds between siblings. They must care for Conor very much to leap to his aid so quickly. Somehow, she knew she’d come to no harm as long as the Quinn brothers were standing behind her.

“Come on,” Brendan said. “Have some coffee. Liam brought donuts and muffins. I hope you don’t mind- I fed your cat.”

Olivia found a place between the twins. Tommy watched her with wide eyes. She’d never considered her cat very sociable, but he seemed right at home among all these men. She noticed the empty tuna can on the table. Either Conor’s brothers had unusual tastes in breakfast food, or they’d been spoiling her cat rotten.

Brendan set a mug of coffee in front of her and she picked it up, grateful for the warmth. The brothers all stared at her, as if she were some kind of bizarre lab specimen and she shifted uneasily, not sure what to say.

“So, what do you do?” Dylan inquired. “I mean, when you and Conor aren’t dodging bullets?”

His teasing tone was so like Conor’s that Olivia immediately felt a level of comfort that she shouldn’t have felt among strangers. “I sell antiques. I have a small shop over on Charles Street.” She took a sip of her coffee. “That’s how this all started. My partner was laundering money for a mobster.”

“And how is it, living twenty-four seven with our Conor?” Sean asked.

“It’s nice,” Olivia said.

Brian chuckled. “Nice. Con?”

“He’s not bad. He takes good care of me. Sometimes he gets a little impatient, but that’s only because he’s concerned for my safety. And I-”

“What are you boys up to?”

They all turned to find Conor standing at the far end of the cabin. He’d managed to pull on a pair of jeans but hadn’t bothered with the top button. His hair was tousled and the bandage was stark white against his rib cage.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Olivia asked. She scrambled from her place at the table and crossed the cabin. Conor winced as she draped his arm over her shoulders and walked with him back to the table. He didn’t bother to sit and Olivia could see what it was costing him. It was as if he didn’t want to show any sign of weakness.

“So tell me what you have for me,” Conor said, glancing at each one of his brothers.

“Brian got you a car,” Dylan said. “It’s parked at the end of the dock. It’s wicked ugly, but it runs. I brought you some fresh clothes. They’re in the trunk.”

“Here,” Brendan said. “You can take my cell phone. I’m not sure if they can trace the calls on your phone, but it’s better to be safe for now.”

“We should stay here for a little while longer,” Olivia suggested. “You need to rest.”

“No,” Conor said, not bothering to look her way. “We’ll leave in a half hour.”

“But-”

Conor turned to look at her, his gaze unyielding. “This is not up for debate,” he said. “We’ll do it my way.”

Olivia bristled at the tone of his voice, so different from that of the night before, and she felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks. He turned and started back to the forward cabin. Olivia glanced around the table. “He should rest,” she murmured. “He was shot.”

Brendan shrugged, then sent her a sympathetic smile. “Con does things his own way.”

Olivia spun on her heel and followed after Conor. When she reached the forward cabin, she stepped inside and closed the door behind them. Conor stood beside the berth, trying to slip into his shirt.

“Why do we have to leave?” she asked, holding onto the shirt as he twisted into it. “We’re safe here. And you need to rest.” He refused to answer her, focused on his shoulder holster. “What is this?” she demanded. “Are you determined to kill yourself just to show your brothers what a tough guy you are?”

He glanced up at her. “Don’t think because of what happened last night I’m going to stop doing my job,” he murmured. “I’m paid to protect you and if that means we move, then we move.”

Stunned by his indifferent tone, Olivia wasn’t sure what to say. Had she imagined what they’d shared last night? Was she naive to believe that it changed things between them? With a soft curse, she grabbed her purse, her shoes and her jacket, then yanked open the cabin door. “Forgive me,” she muttered. “I didn’t realize that what happened last night was all part of the job.”

Olivia walked out into the main cabin and didn’t bother turning around when he called her name. Maybe this was all for the better. They’d had a little fun and now it was time to get back to business. She was a witness and he was a cop and she’d do well not to forget that in the future.

But Olivia knew in her heart that it would take her a very long time to forget her night with Conor Quinn-if she could forget it at all.