Connor just rocked my world, and I wasn’t even talking about the sex.

Lying in his arms bathed in a post-coital glow, I felt as if I’d come home. I’d been holding tightly to those three-little-words, keeping them caged inside my chest and locked in my mind. Mostly because I didn’t want to scare him away by suddenly turning clingy. Not that I believed I would just because he said he loved me, but I worried. I still had no idea why Connor wanted me, or whether this fling would turn out to be anything more serious. There had been too many times I’d worried I would let it slip how I felt for him. That I would ruin what we were building because I’d fallen fast and hard for him. The fact that he let his heart tumble free first, hoping I would catch it, shocked me to the core.

I wanted to cry. Not in sadness, but at how perfect it was. Connor loved me. I loved him. Maybe, I could believe that we could be a real couple once we returned to Chicago. I wasn’t sure what I would do about the no fraternizing policy at work, but love would conquer everything.

I shouldn’t have been shocked. Once the surprise faded, I wasn’t surprised. Connor didn’t do anything in half measures. He fucked, cursed, drank with everything he was. There was no filter or barrier between his emotions and the realities of life. He embraced it, whether it was killing himself training or in the ring, or chasing me around the bedroom.

Connor loves me.

My mind latched onto those words, and only then did I realize a mistake I’d made.

I hadn’t said it back.

I groaned as I rolled onto the flattened grass, trying to figure out why I hadn’t told him how I felt earlier. I loved him. It scared me how much he meant to me. How deeply my Irish bad-ass had crawled past my barriers in such a short amount of time. Was I holding back because I didn’t want to make it seem as if I was jumping onto his declaration? I wanted him to know how much he meant to me. I wanted him to know I would be by his side. That I had his back in the truest way possible.

Lord, I didn’t even want to think of the thoughts I’d had when those Zoreto douches yanked the rug out from beneath us. I hadn’t even called JW or Jeff yet to let them know that this whole contract possibility was all a ruse; a way for the suits to have an all-expenses paid vacation for two months on their company’s dime. They might give the winner of Connor’s tropical brawl a sponsorship, but it wouldn’t be near the nine-figure payday they’d tempted us with.

Assholes. Connor had been crushed. I’d felt his pain. I couldn’t imagine what it was like having your dreams destroyed again. But, he’d bounced back from his injury. After he won against El Toro, the sponsorships would come calling. I would make sure of it.

Somehow, I’d make it better. That’s what I did. Now that Connor’s career was in my capable hands, together we would make those Zoreto jerks eat dirt.

A sudden flurry of noises, which sounded suspiciously like crying and shouting, filtered out from the hut. Whoever had been knocking on the door apparently was still with Connor. Why were they arguing? I sat up, straining to hear what the cause of the fighting was about. The sudden cry of a child jerked me upright, and I frowned. That was unexpected. Why was there a kid inside? Was something wrong with one of the locals?

Sitting outside bare-ass naked probably wasn’t a good idea if there was a kid around. Cringing slightly at the cum that was drying on my chest, I used Connor’s shirt to clean it off. Then I pulled on my clothes while I mentally wished for a bra. The lazy days on the island had changed me, let me slip free of the fashionista shell I’d encased myself in, and got me closer to my farm-girl roots than I’d been in years.

“What bullshite is this,” Connor yelled as I stepped into the hut.

I allowed my eyes to adjust, blinking as I found Connor with his chest heaving and furious, glaring down at some dark-skinned, brown-haired girl. She was a waif of a thing next to him. A little boy clutched her hand in a chubby fist, and looked up at Connor as if he were some monster in the closet. His lower lip trembled, and I had a brief flash of what I must have looked like the day I’d been told my father died. The boy held the same expression—as if his life had just ended.

My heart went out to him. Connor was rough to tolerate as an adult on his best days. Though I loved him, I wasn’t blind to his faults and temper. In full rage, it was best to let him run around like a rampaging bull than try and get in his way.

“Why are you doing this!” The woman was borderline weeping. Her chin quivered, and she sniffled softly. Even with her cheeks ruddy from crying, she was beautiful. I should, just as a girl, hate her on sight. But I tried not to. She was exotic and voluptuous, with long toned legs and a lush body flattered by a two-piece cropped top and flowing skirt that had a homespun quality to it. She reminded me of a gypsy or belly dancer with the softness of her tummy that did nothing to detract from her attractiveness.

And I really didn’t like how she was looking at Connor. I wasn’t the jealous type. Or hadn’t been until now. Her watery stare was latched on him, looking at Connor as if he were breaking her heart, and in a way that was too intimate for me to handle.

“What’s going on?” I hadn’t meant to step into this mess. I’d just meant to check to make sure everything was alright. Obviously, things weren’t, but that wasn’t what prompted me to press my palm between Connor’s shoulder blades. Pure feminine possessiveness demanded I lay my claim on my man.

Connor was wired up, and twitchy. His body was keyed up, bursting with adrenaline. Soothingly, I ran my hand down his spine, quietly letting him know I had his back.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing, because he flinched away from me, and the woman in the doorway shot venom-filled glares my way.

“Who are you?” The woman snapped in a beautifully accented voice. Immediately I knew she was a local, if her swarthy, bronzed coloring hadn’t given it away.

“It’s none of your business,” Connor snarled at the woman.

I had to give her credit. She didn’t cower away from him. She planted her fist on one broad hip, and cocked it like a gun. “Yes, it is!”

“Like shite it is!” Connor’s yell almost deafened me. The little boy flinched and pressed his tear-streaked face into her colorful skirt.

I really needed to diffuse this situation. I hated the notion that Connor and this woman were fighting in front of—whom I assumed—was her kid. He looked like her in a way with his almond-shaped eyes and button knows.

“Connor, I don’t think whatever the problem is, should be discussed in front of the boy,” I whispered against his ear.

“Don’t you dare tell him what to do,” the woman screeched.

I blinked at her, stunned that this girl invaded our hut and was now trying to push her weight around. Though I was a blonde, I considered myself a smart cookie. Still, I felt as if I was missing something so damn obvious.

Who the fuck was this chick?

“Marta,” Connor snarled.

“She’s the reason, isn’t she.” The woman—Marta—stomped her foot in a sign of an impending tantrum.

Connor sighed. Aggravation stippled his muscles, bunching them in his shoulders and back as shoved both hands through his hair. When he pulled the ginger strands in frustration my curiosity piqued.

I turned inquiring eyes onto the hot-eyed woman trying to incinerate me with a look.

“Who are you?” I finally asked.

“Don’t,” Connor growled. Who was the warning for? Marta? Or me?

He swung his head around and pierced me with imploring eyes. An apology shone on his face, much like how the sun caused the reddish whiskers on his face to gleam. All at once the love bubble I’d been existing in popped.

Foreboding swam through me, and I steeled myself for what was going to come. This was the truth of my life. When everything was going perfectly, a wrecking ball came through and smashed it into pieces.

Satisfaction, and no small hint of malice, gleamed on Marta’s face. She tossed her head, sending a river of silky brown hair to swirl around her shoulders. “I’m his wife.” Her hand tightened the boys, and I knew what she was going to say even before she pulled the crying little boy out from behind her, and shoved him towards me and Connor. “And this is his son--.” She hissed at Connor, directing her last word to him. “Alfonso.”

* * *

“Crystal, wait. Please, feckin’ wait.”

Connor was begging me as I stood outside, trying to figure out how I was going to get away from the man who’d just broken my heart. I hadn’t even packed. After Marta’s bomb, I stomped out and called a taxi. That simple title explained so much of what was going on that I felt stupid for not catching the undercurrents before. I had no excuse for why I didn’t realize it. Maybe Connor had fucked me stupid.

Later, I would come back for my things when Connor’s wife wasn’t watching me from the doorway of our hut. I felt her eyes on me, dissecting me every twitch of her lashes. She’d won. Her and I both knew it. I was leaving without a fight.

I was a homewrecker.

“I can’t believe you abandoned your kid! After everything you went through back in Ireland.” Fury, and shame, shrilled my voice.

“I didn’t know about him. He might not be mine.” Connor’s anger bled from him, though I was working myself up into a full-on fit.

“The age fits. Good LAWD, Connor. You were here five years ago, and by the way you two were fighting, you were definitely in some sort of relationship with her.”

Which led reality to come crashing down around me again. Not just a relationship.

“A wife, Connor? You’re married? What the hell!” I could believe that he might not know about a son. Especially if he’d left the island before Marta realized she was pregnant. But the marriage? Oh hell no. There was a lot of things I could forgive. Infidelity wasn’t one of them.

“It’s not like that.” Connor’s accent was as thick as Guinness, and just as hard to take.

The urge to scream at him, or claw his lying eyes out, roared through me like a typhoon. I was wrecked on the shoals of his betrayal. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the damn world for me to draw enough breath to slow down my racing heart.

My toes curled in the dirt, and I glanced down, realizing I’d left my shoes behind. I wasn’t going back into the hut though. Not for anything. “What’s it like then, Connor? How did it slip your head that you were married!”

“It was an island thing.”

“An island thing?” If he even mentioned mana again I could not be held responsible for my actions. I might wind up stabbing him.

“It was a bit of a celebration. There was dancing, and alcohol, and there might have been some kind of ceremony, and something about joining our mana together. I don’t feckin’ remember. I was in a bad place when I was here, Crystal. You know that. But I’m not married. I swear to you.”

“Don’t you dare say that, Connor McGrath!” Marta’s voice rose like a fishwife berating her husband on the dock. “We are married in Julio’s eyes!”

Lord, she sounded like a harpy. I’ve never hated someone more than I did in that instant as I twisted in place, and glared at her as she stood at the threshold of our house and tore down my taste of paradise.

Connor flinched beside me, and I knew Marta had struck him where it mattered. From the brief interactions I’d had with Julio, and everything Connor had ever said about the shaman, disappointing the man who’d saved him would tear Connor apart.

Tears stung my eyes suddenly, and I spun back around, hunching my shoulders against the rawness in my chest. He’d made me feel so much earlier, and then he’d reached in and yanked out my heart.

Connor came closer. His heart pressed over my exposed arms, and the scent of him—us—tickled my nose. Had it been just an hour ago when he’d been inside me? It felt like days ago. “I swear, Princess. I haven’t talked to her in five years. You are the only one in my heart. I love you.”

I believed him, yet at the same time, this was a whole barrel full of complications. I couldn’t help but drum up the image of Alonso’s big eyes as he watched his parents fight.

Lord, Connor was somebody’s daddy. My heart constricted, mirroring the anguish knotting my stomach. Nothing would be the same again after this.

“You need to handle this. If that boy is your kid, you have to be there for him. If she goes around claiming she’s your wife, all the credibility we’ve built here is shot. The big fight is in less than a week. If this gets out…” My voice trailed off. I drew upon my job skills, and shoved all the sorrow down into a ball in my stomach.

“Crystal don’t do this.”

I shook my head. “This is why Jeff hired me, Connor. To deal with a crisis like this.”

“Feck Jeff!” Connor exploded. “This is more than a working relationship between us! I love you, and you sure as feck love me.”

I closed my eyes, trying to staunch the river of pain about to leak from them. I failed as a teardrop trailed down my cheek. I kept seeing Alfonso’s puppy-dog eyes, and all the hope he’d had when he looked up at his supposed daddy. It brought my own sadness over losing my father swelling inside me, choking me.

My taxi arrived in a gust of dust as it pulled off the main road, and coasted through the seaside village.

I scurried towards the backseat before Connor could react, and was inside by the time he reached my window. With how hot it always was on Easter Island, and the fact that a lot of places that were away from the tourist areas didn’t believe in air conditioner, the windows were down.

Connor leaned in, his grizzled face a mask of pain and fading hope. “I’ll fix this. I swear it.”

I bit my inner cheek, trying to hold onto the bitchy exterior that would get me through this ordeal. There was so much I could say to him. Deny I loved him. Tell him it was just work. But, I couldn’t do that to Connor. My big, rugged, beautiful, battered Irishman.

Tightening my hands into fists, I bent slightly. I searched his eyes, memorized them. “The big fight is on Saturday, Connor. I’ll be gone on Sunday.”

His jaw tightened. I wasn’t going to wait around once the job was finished just hoping that he and Marta didn’t rekindle their relationship. I knew how he felt about marriage. While I didn’t know his stance on children, deep down I believed that if Alfonso proved to be his, Connor would never leave him. Not without a fight.

I twisted away from him, the remnants of my heart crumbling anew. “Please drive.”

The driver eyed me in the rearview mirror, but didn’t ask any questions. He pulled away. Right before we turned the corner onto the main highway, I twisted, and got my last look of Connor.

He stood shirtless with his arms crossed. And as I watched, Marta came up behind him and ran her hand down his arm.

I was such a coward, running without a fight.

But the truth was, Connor wasn’t mine. Five years ago, he’d apparently bonded himself with her. He’d joined his mana with her or whatever horse-crap ceremony they’d done. I knew how much that all meant to him, and on a spiritual level, Connor was married. He wasn’t mine. He belonged to this island woman.

Hurricane Marta.

The nickname popped into my mind. It was fitting. She’d torn through my life, and dashed everything I’d wanted, hoped for, dreamed of with Connor, into smithereens.