Connor’s gaze didn’t stop moving for the rest of the drive. Scarlet had expected him to take them to her place, but at her words, Connor had turned the car around and headed across town—directly to where she knew he lived. A mix of lust and quiet agitation had been rolling off him in waves. She’d meant the talk in the car to be reassuring, but it hadn’t done much to calm him down. Instead, he’d seemed even jumpier when they’d stepped out of the car.

He’d made it around to her side and opened the door before she managed to get her seatbelt undone. Scarlett held any protests, because as much as she was insisting she was okay, the further away she got from the precinct, the more everything started to drag on her. Suddenly, she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, and her arm was beginning to throb like a son of a bitch. The sooner she got it washed and bandaged—although that would probably sting worse—the better.

Connor’s vigilance continued as they crossed his yard, his gaze darting from Scarlett to the street, and back again in what seemed like a thousand times over by the time they reached his front door. It was only once they stepped inside and he closed the door firmly behind them that a whoosh of breath escaped Connor’s lips and the tight set to his shoulders finally relaxed. His hands had barely let up touching Scarlett in some way since he’d picked her up, moving only to do what was necessary not to total the truck. He’d placed his hands gently on her hips to help guide her out of the truck and wrapped one arm tightly around her waist as they’d crossed the yard. It had been nice, Scarlett resting some of her weight against him. She’d refused to think about exactly why Connor was reacting the way he was. She had no proof that this had been anything than a random shooting. Evidence first, then panic.

Who was she kidding? Her gut had been screaming at her about the case the whole day. She’d gone back to the station specifically because she knew there was something incredibly hinky about the whole thing.

The lab report!

She’d forgotten all about it in the aftermath. She wondered briefly if she’d be able to talk Scott into emailing it through, before dismissing the idea. If Wilder got any inkling at all that she hadn’t gone to the ER, then before she knew it, the captain would know, too, and she could kiss the chances of working her theory goodbye, for the next several days at least. Nope. She’d just have to put whatever was itching at her subconscious aside for the night.

She pulled her hand from her sleeve. It came away slowly, sticking to the ruined fabric. Blood was no longer running down her arm, but most of her hand was stained red. Her fingers stuck together with a tacky sensation that almost turned her stomach once she remembered all that red was her own blood. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and Scarlett sunk onto the couch. She’d had plans to make a beeline for the bathroom the moment they were inside, but now that they were finally away from any public eyes, the trip down the hall seemed as far as the dash across the parking lot had been when the bullets started zinging across the top of her car. Both had been so close and yet in the moment were impossible to reach.

The fact that the stain wouldn’t show up much on Connor’s dark colored sofa ran through her mind as she felt a touch to her cheek, turning her attention to worried green eyes. “Still with me?” Connor said, smiling. He’d calmed since entering the house, too, but he couldn’t disguise the look in his eyes. The colors swirled, his face still tight, brows furrowed as he took her in. “Still don’t like your color, Christensen,” he muttered.

Scarlett opened her mouth to utter her standard “I’m fine,” but before she could get the words out, Connor’s arm was back around her waist, hefting her to her feet and supporting her weight as they walked down the hall. “I’d offer to carry you,” he said, “but I like my balls where they are.”

Scarlett’s head fell sideways to rest on his shoulder as she grinned, momentarily forgetting the burn in her arm as she chuckled at Connor’s words. It was exactly what she’d needed—caring but not overbearing. He’d respected her choice to avoid the ER, without asking questions, and now he was taking care of her without taking over. She couldn’t hold his alpha-male grumblings against him. Every first responder she knew was exactly the same. If someone she cared about was in trouble or hurt, she’d walk through fire to make it better. She shivered at the words, her good mood suddenly dropping away as goose bumps rose on her skin.

Connor noticed. His frown returned as he booted open the bathroom door, turning to push it open with his foot as he held her steady facing into the hall, just as if he was getting ready to breach a room at a fire scene. She clung to him, letting the warmth of his body seep into her and chase away the chills her wayward thoughts had sent skittering through her nerves. Even tonight, standing in his own hall, Connor’s training was as instinctual as breathing. She wasn’t alone, she wasn’t at her own known address and—Scarlett forced herself to take in a deep breath and clear the last of the heebie-jeebies—although she was hurt, neither was she completely out of action. They would be fine.

The sensation of Connor’s chest moving slowly up and down as she supported her weight against him relaxed her, and by the time he placed her on the closed toilet seat and his hands finally left her body, Scarlett felt as if she could float away. The coldness of the toilet tank against her back woke her up, and she looked up at Connor. After making sure she was settled and wasn’t going to tip sideways, he’d turned and was rummaging around in the cabinet. He reappeared a few seconds later holding a pack of gauze, antibacterial ointment, and a bandage, along with a few other small, sealed, sterile packages. “Doesn’t look like it needs stitches,” he muttered, kneeling down in front of her. He placed the first aid supplies down on the bathmat before opening one of the sterile baggies and pulling out a pair of nitrile gloves. A small smile tipped up the corners of Scarlett’s mouth at the further reminder of who Connor was. If he had that kind of stuff in his bathroom cabinet, she’d bet there was a larger first-aid kit somewhere in a hall cupboard. Once you saw what they did on a daily basis, you tended to be prepared. Tonight she was glad he was.

As much as she wanted to avoid the hospital, the fading adrenaline had left her shaky and she was glad he was there to tend to the wound. She was beginning to realize that standing on your own feet didn’t mean always having to do it alone. She hadn’t been like that before that terrible night, and it was taking Connor’s care now to open her eyes to just how isolated she’d made herself since. Not having to wash away her own blood after the night she’d had was a blessing.

“Ready?” Connor’s voice brought Scarlett out of her musings, and she looked up, meeting his warm green eyes. She had to smile. Even kneeling, he was nearly at head level with her, and she wasn’t exactly short. He leaned in, pulling her good arm out of her jacket first, then lifting the shoulder of her injured side. He paused, his gaze moving from her shoulder to her face, his eyebrows moving together as he seemed to assess her for several seconds, then he slowly moved the jacket down over her arm. Scarlett tried to hold back a wince when it pulled over the injury, but he noticed anyway. “Sorry Gorgeous, almost there.” Connor rotated the sleeve to pass over her elbow and kept it moving, slowly and steadily, until the ruined jacket fell to the floor. He moved it off to the side then returned his focus to her shirt. “Want me to cut away the sleeve?”

Scarlett looked down. The once-white shirt was stained with blood down the entire sleeve, plus there were some decent splatters across the front. Without the jacket, she became aware of how damp her back was, sweat sticking the fabric to her skin. She repressed a shiver. The sooner the entire thing was gone, the better. “Just get rid of it.”

The corners of Connor’s mouth tipped up. “Don’t tempt me, Sugar. I have to behave myself.” His fingers moved to the buttons, slipping each one through before sliding the shirt off her shoulders. It tugged at the wound a little more than her jacket had, and that time she couldn’t hold back her reaction. Connor’s hand moved to the injury, pressing down lightly on it until the flare of pain left.

He removed his hand and used his clean hand to rotate her knees just enough that her injured side was facing him. “I’ll apologize in advance,” he said. “Because this is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.” He paused again, meeting her gaze. “Sure you don’t want to go find the nice doctor with the Lidocaine?”

Scarlett grinned before biting down on her lip. Her hands clenched around the edge of the lid. “I’m good. Let’s do it.”

She jumped at the first touch of a wet washcloth against her skin, the stinging burn ramping up. She looked down instinctively, but when her stomach heaved at the sight of red-tinged water running down her arm, Scarlett looked away and closed her eyes. “Just relax.” Connor’s words met her ears, pulling back some of the mounting nausea. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Talk to me,” she said. “Where’d you grow up?” Scarlett leaned back and rested her head against the wall, concentrating on the lilt of Connor’s voice as he talked about a childhood growing up in small-town America. Baseball, camping out in the backyard, catching fireflies, eating enough ice-cream to make himself sick one summer. His stories brought back her own memories of more innocent times, and before she knew it, the snap of the nitrile gloves and the touch of Connor’s hand on her waist—this time skin on skin—brought her back to the present. She glanced down. Her arm was clean and covered with a padded white bandage.

Connor pushed to his feet and turned back to the cabinet again, returning with a glass of water. He held out his hand, on which rested two small tablets. “Ibuprofen,” he said with a smile. “You’ll thank me later.”

She smiled back, her eyes roving over him. Now that the wound was cleaned and dressed and the blood was finally washed away, the sharp burn had been replaced with more of a dull throb, something she could far more easily ignore, especially with Connor’s six-foot-plus muscled frame standing in front of her. Somewhere along the way, he’d stripped off to his T-shirt. The thin fabric pulled tight over his chest, wrapping around biceps that looked to be the same size as her thigh. What the hell were they serving at the firehouse? They had to be fit for the job, true, but most of the guys from the firehouse looked like they’d just stepped out of a calendar. Her eyes moved down over thick thighs, pausing for what was probably a second too long not to be noticed at the bulge between them.

She pushed to her feet, feeling steadier now that everything was cleaned and she’d had a chance to catch her breath. Connor reached out again to steady her, and Scarlett took full advantage, leaning into his body. “How about I thank you now instead?” She didn’t wait for an answer, or to give her own mind any time to talk about it, just leaned in and took his lips with hers.

Connor groaned and opened his mouth as her tongue darted out, licking at his lower lip. He sucked it into his mouth, twirling his with it as his hands moved to her hips, pulling her flush against him. The heat of his body felt like home, and she leaned into him, feeling his muscles ripple as he moved.

Connor’s lips broke away, and he locked his gaze with hers, tipping her chin up gently with a finger. “You’re sure?”

The tenderness in his eyes after the night she’d had nearly broke her, but Scarlett refused to let a single tear form. She’d survived, she was there in Connor’s arms, and she was damned if she was going to let all the shit that had happened—tonight and over the last few years—take anything more from her. She held his gaze, watching his eyes heat with arousal when she licked her bottom lip, then uttered a single word.

“Yes.”

Connor’s hands reached around her and swept under her knees, lifting her to his chest as he walked out of the bathroom. She rested her head against his chest, enjoying the feel of his firm flesh beneath her and ignoring the mess they were leaving on the bathroom floor. She wasn’t going to give any of the earlier part of that night a single other thought. There’d be time for that later, when the sun rose again. Tonight was about this moment, when she finally let go of all the hurt and anger and allowed Connor to show her what life could be again.

His lips dropped to her head and brushed against her hair as he continued down the hall, murmuring unintelligible things as he made his way to his bedroom. Scarlett couldn’t hear what he was saying, and she didn’t really care. Lying back against him and closing her eyes, listening to the soft lilt of his voice and feeling his warm strength carrying her was enough to take over her world. Connor McClellan . . . he didn’t really have much of an accent, but there must be some Irish blood in him, as when they were alone in the quiet, his voice changed, bringing out the softest of accents. Who was she kidding? It was damn hot.

He moved through the bedroom and laid her on the bed, moving his hand from underneath her when she was settled. Scarlett scooted up the bed, taking care not to jostle her arm, and drank in the sight before her. Connor, tight shirt and butt-hugging jeans giving way to abs to die for as he reached behind his neck and tugged his shirt up and over his head. He made eye contact with her again, his gaze questioning hers once more as his hand rested on the button on his jeans. Scarlett sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and nodded, biting down as his nimble fingers made quick work of his belt and then the jeans, dropping them to land next to his shirt on the floor.

Dressed only in his boxer briefs, he crawled up the bed and repeated his movements on her pants, unsnapping the waist before pulling them down her legs, his hands smoothing down her legs as he pulled them from her body. Then, he moved up the bed, lifting her slightly as he slid in behind her, resting her back against his bare chest, allowing her to rest against him between his legs. His arms reached around and toyed with her bra, brushing against her and quickly finding her nipple, raising it to a point as his head curled around and found her mouth, tasting and sucking on her as his hands explored.

Her breath escaped her in short pants, and it didn’t take long before Connor’s hands moved again, threading down her belly to the edge of her panties. His lips trailed kisses along her neck and then nibbled at her earlobe as his hand dipped inside. One hand stayed at her breast, tweaking her nipple and teasing her sensitive flesh as his lips continued to drop soft kisses against her neck.

Distracted by the hand stroking her, Scarlett barely noticed as the other hand left her breast, quickly unsnapping her bra and pushing it from her shoulders. As it hit the floor, he pushed at her panties. She hastily moved her uninjured arm to help and lifted her hips, her panties following the same path to the floor seconds later.

She lay back, pushing her legs open—exposing herself and inviting Connor’s touch. She heard a sharp intake of breath as he took in the sight lying before him, and then his hands returned, the sensation burning through her without the thin fabric in the way of his touch.

Connor played with her, his fingers flicking at her clit and then sinking inside as his other hand cradled her head, holding her to him and kissing her as his fingers thrust in and out. She shifted her hips, and Connor groaned, sinking two fingers deep inside her, finding the spot that would make her scream. He rubbed against it, over and over again, until she was quivering in his arms, panting as the need within her rose sharply. “Tell me when, Gorgeous,” he whispered, and something within Scarlett snapped. She came, arching her back as Connor’s fingers thrust deeply, his palm grinding against her clit as he took her mouth, swallowing her cries of ecstasy.

When the world finally returned, Scarlett found herself lying on her side on the bed, wrapped in Connor’s arms as he dropped languid kisses over her body. She was deliciously sated, but God, she wanted more. Looking down, her eyes widened at the sight of his hard cock pressing against his abs. Somewhere in her orgasmic bliss, he’d shed his boxers, and now they lay naked together. Their skin touched from ankle to head as his body brushed against hers, leaving little sparks of sensation over her. Scarlett felt her arousal grow again, and her pussy clenched at the thought of taking more than just his fingers inside. She grinned. This man, this wonderful man, had healed her body and her soul that night, and made her completely fucking insatiable.

She leaned down, taking him in her hand and slowly pumping his erection while his hands roamed her body. First her neck and shoulders, her head tilting automatically to give him better access as his fingers brushed across the spot that always gave her shivers. His touch continued to move, taking her breast and cupping it, stroking a finger over her nipple. Goose bumps peppered the surrounding flesh as the bud grew tight at his touch, and every nerve tingled as renewed arousal flooded through her. Connor continued to kiss her as his hands roamed her body, his lips becoming more forceful, frantic, as she gripped him, sliding her palm around the head of his cock. He groaned and dropped his hand between her legs, making her back arch as he slipped a finger inside her sensitive pussy. He slid deep, over and over again, until she could feel nothing but his touch.

A touch on her shoulder had her turning her head, her eyes glazed with passion. Connor pushed gently, moving her on her side, him spooning her from behind. A few kisses dropped on her shoulder before she felt him at her entrance. His hand reached around, rubbing at her clit as he pushed inside. She cried out as her core clenched around him, and Connor’s head dropped to her shoulder, a low groan escaping him. His hands tightened on her hips, and she pushed back against him, taking him further.

She rolled, lying on her back and facing him as he continued to move within her, one of her legs draped over his as he thrust in and out, faster now. “Oh God, please . . .” The words fell from her lips as the pleasure rose within her, almost overwhelming her with its intensity. She cried out as something snapped inside her, everything turning white as ecstasy swamped her and took her under, Connor never stopping his movements. His hands moved to her head, cupping her face as he pushed deep inside her, and then held himself there, pulsing deep within her.

She was asleep before he’d even left her body.