Connor’s eyes slid open, the morning rays of the sun already brushing the bed and warming his face. How long had they slept? He shifted his head to take in the beauty sleeping beside him. Damn, she looked so gorgeous when she slept. He smiled at the ludicrous idea. She was gorgeous any time, but when she slept, it was like the worry of the world melted off her face. She played a good game, true, but Connor saw right through it. The small but constant tugs at the corners of her eyes, the way she set her jaw when lost in thought. If she’d realized he’d noticed the way she could disappear inside her head for minutes at a time, she hadn’t said anything. Perhaps no one else did notice. Either that, or they brushed it off, expecting it. In a way, they were right. Anyone would change having been through what Scarlett had experienced. Even without the tragedy of Derek’s violent death, Connor knew as well as the next guy what being on the job could do. It didn’t matter how hardened you made yourself, how much you promised to leave work at work. There were always cases that got to you. For some, it was kids; others, when they lost someone—even someone they knew could never be saved. For some it was elderly victims, reminding them of a parent lost to time. Everyone had a ghost who haunted them—real or imagined. It was part of the job.

Scarlett had had it worse than most. Most days, Connor was amazed that she was still showing up for work every day, kicking ass. He’d been curious to work with her as a liaison to the firehouse at first, and now with what he knew, it was his honor. But the fact that she trusted him enough to let him into her most precious domain, to fall asleep in his arms, trusting him to look after her and keep her safe while she was at her most vulnerable. That brought him to his knees. Only days before, he’d thought that moment would never come.

His arm tightened around her as his gaze roamed her face. He would have taken whatever he could get when it came to Scarlett Christensen. Even if that something was a quick fuck at the end of a hard day and nothing more. She’d captivated him from the moment they’d met, and it hadn’t taken him long to realize that she’d captured him entirely.

His head fell back onto his pillow, his touch never leaving her body. Somehow, he needed to reassure himself that she was still there. The words she’d said the night before, the way she’d gripped at him as he’d taken her, moaned his name when he’d brought her body to the peak of ecstasy, it had imprinted something in his soul. He had to believe that she’d felt something, too, because after the way she’d trusted him to take care of her when no one else could get close last night, then watching her come apart in his arms . . .  That was it. He was done. There was no one else for him, never would be. He could only hope that she could feel the same about him one day.

He grinned at the idea. He and Scarlett, sitting on rockers out on the porch, surrounded by grandchildren. Why that was the first image that came to people’s minds when they were imagining their future, he didn’t know, but it felt right. One day. Scarlett probably wouldn’t retire until she was made to, but they could still build a life together. Still be happy.

She shifted in his arms, groaning as she rolled onto the side of her injured arm. Connor’s smile chased away as he moved to stop her from putting any more pressure on the wound. He could daydream of the future later. Right now, he needed to take care of the amazing woman waking up in his arms. That would be enough for today. Scarlett rolled again, toward him this time, and he propped his arm under her shoulder, holding her against his chest. Her hand came up, sleepily running over his skin. Connor felt his cock hardening at her touch, and he shifted his hips. The night before had been incredible, but he didn’t want to scare her off before she was even properly awake.

When he looked back down, Scarlett’s eyes were open. She blinked at him, moving the hand caressing his chest up to her eye, wiping away the last vestiges of sleep. “Morning.” Her voice was a little hoarse, most likely from sleep, but possibly from the number of times she’d called his name when he’d brought her to orgasm. He grinned, leaning down and kissing the tip of her nose. Her reaction to his thoughts would probably put him out of commission for a week if she could hear him, but God, she was cute, all wrapped around him with her hair sticking out at crazy angles.

Her nose wrinkled and she yawned. “What’s so funny?”

Connor leaned down, his hand pressed against her lower back, and kissed her, his tongue pushing into her mouth, tasting her as he explored her mouth. Scarlett pulled back after a few seconds, grimacing. “Morning breath,” she rasped. “Got a toothbrush I can borrow?”

He smiled, begrudgingly pulling back. He had no idea if she was talking about him or herself, but if he kissed her any more, then his morning wood was going to become a full-blown erection that his boxers weren’t going to conceal. He leaned back, dropping a kiss to the top of her head, stupidly happy when she lay against his chest, still seemingly half dozing. Feeling her warm body pressed against his was bliss. Until she shifted again and a wince crossed her face. He moved, placing a pillow behind her head and slid out of bed, padding swiftly toward the en suite to grab the ibuprofen. “Still sore?” he called out.

His answer came in the form of the pillow, flying across the room and thumping into his back. Thank goodness he was still turned around, because Connor didn’t think she’d appreciate the grin that almost split his face at the action. Even injured, she could still nail him from across the room. That was his girl, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Though, the thought of nailing her. He groaned as his dick inflated again. He had to get himself under control. The sex was great, amazing, incredible even, but he didn’t want it to be all they were about. Scarlett had to know she could trust him, that he had her back and always would. Maybe he could start on that over breakfast, if he could control himself long enough to get his libido under control.

He delivered the pain killers with a fresh cup of water to Scarlett and then told her to catch a few minutes more rest. She rolled her eyes but snuggled back under the bed sheets as he walked back into the bathroom. One very cold shower and probably the quickest hand job in existence and he was done. With images of Scarlett in the throes of passion roiling through his brain, it had taken fewer than five tugs on his dick before he’d splattered his come all over the shower wall, groaning as he found his release. He could only pray that Scarlett was back asleep, or all the jerking off in the world wouldn’t stop him from rolling her under him again.

When he stepped back into the bedroom, Connor didn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed to find the bed empty. With a towel wrapped around his hips, he dragged a T-shirt he’d left hanging from the bathroom doorknob over wet skin and then shimmied into fresh boxers and a pair of pants. It looked as though he’d been saved from having to hide what seemed like an ever-present hard-on from Scarlett, but he was still anxious from finding the room empty, and he hurried to dress.

He’d just zipped up his jeans when the whir of a coffee grinder sounded from his kitchen. The muscles in his shoulders that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding tightly loosened and he skipped socks and shoes, stepping out to his kitchen barefoot. Scarlett met his gaze, her eyes widening a little at the sight of him. He couldn’t help but grin. Despite his ridiculously constant arousal, seeing her do what could only be described as an eye fuck while her gaze raked over his body was just about the best thing in the world. She was as sexy as sin, and the thought she might view him in the same way made his day before he’d barely managed to start it.

“Hope you don’t mind I started the caffeine,” she said, gesturing toward the kitchen bench. “I can’t think without it most mornings.” He stared as Scarlett walked over to his coffee maker. She’d clearly been raiding his wardrobe while he was in the shower, dressing in a pair of borrowed workout shorts and a large Monroe FD T-shirt. It hung on her, but somehow didn’t disguise a single curve, one shoulder slipping off as she walked, revealing creamy skin dotted with the cutest freckles he’d ever seen. He wanted to walk across the room and join her, kissing every one while she made the morning’s nectar of the gods. He barely used the machine, not ever bothering to figure out how it worked, and would grab a takeout cup most days instead. The only thing more tempting than a fresh steaming cup of coffee was the woman making it. He could drink it slowly, sip by sip, while watching her saunter through his home dressed in his clothing. That would make for an incredible morning.

“Creamer?” Her voice broke Connor out of his thoughts, and he leaned up against the bench to hide what his thoughts had done to him. Was he ever going to catch a break? He’d only come minutes ago, but his dick didn’t seem to want to listen to reason where Scarlett was concerned. He was broken out of his musings once more as something warm touched his hands. Connor wrapped his fingers around the ceramic mug Scarlett was handing him, lifting his head to smile gratefully at her. He took a sip of the hot liquid, forcing himself to focus and get himself under control. The last thing he wanted was for his distractions over how gorgeous Scarlett looked just puttering around his kitchen to make her think he was avoiding her, or worse, disinterested.

He watched her, taking another sip. She looked perfect, even doing the simplest things. He chuckled at the expression of disgust she made when inspecting the produce drawer of his refrigerator before she moved on to the pantry, emerging with a grin and a can of baked beans. She tipped the can into a bowl, nuked them in the microwave, and then messily scooped half into a fresh bowl, dropping a couple on the bench along the way before handing the bowl with sauce still dripping down the side to him. Connor grinned, accepting the bowl with a small bow of thanks. It wasn’t as if he would have done any better. Unless it was Matt’s day to cook, he usually skipped breakfast at home altogether and snagged something at the firehouse. On days off, he’d go for a jog, stopping off for food that undid any calories burned somewhere along the way.

Connor looked back over at Scarlett, who had migrated to the kitchen table, where she sat surrounded by manila folders, absent-mindedly scooping up a spoonful of beans in between page turns. Even with work obviously strewn over his tabletop, this was way better.

He followed her path, sitting opposite her, toying with the spoon and pushing it around the edge of the bowl. He swiped the dribbling sauce off the side of the bowl and sucked it off his finger, giving himself an imaginary fist pump when he saw Scarlett’s eyes glaze over and her cheeks heat at the action. It made his ridiculously happy morning all the better to know he wasn’t the only one so affected by their lovemaking the night before.

That’s what it had been. It held all the passion, all the heat of their first coming together, but there had been something more, too. It had bubbled along under the surface. Neither of them had given a name to it, but was there in every touch, every bite of her lips against his skin, and every thrust of his hips as he pushed deep inside her, becoming one with her, as close as he could get.

That morning, paperwork over canned beans, it was almost as mundane as you could get, but the night before . . . something had changed, and they’d both felt it, even if neither of them would admit it just yet. Connor didn’t care. The spark of heat in her eyes and the way she’d watched him too told him everything. There was hope, and he was taking it.

“What are you looking for?” Scarlett’s head jerked up at his words. A spot of bean sauce sat in the corner of her bottom lip, and he resisted the urge to lean over and swipe it away, maybe with his tongue.

Her tongue came out, and Connor suppressed a moan as it darted across her lips, removing the drop before she spoke. “There’s a connection here,” she said, gesturing at what could only be described as a small disaster of reports and scribbled notes, “but I can’t find it.”

He picked up the paper closest to him, a report on vandalism at the local high school. It looked like a record from the police database, and judging by the stack of papers currently littering his kitchen table, Scarlett might have printed everything they had. He turned back to the report. Just kids being idiots by the looks, tagging stupid shit on the side of the gym. He looked up at Scarlett, raising his eyebrows.

“I pulled everything they had mentioning triangles,” she said around the tip of a pen. Somewhere in the last few minutes, she’d swapped her bowl of beans for a battered old ballpoint, the end of which had been just about chewed into oblivion, and she had been scribbling something on the paper in front of her. “I may have gone a little overboard. But I spent most of yesterday getting exactly nowhere.” She shuffled the papers. “There’s something here, I know there is. I was on my way to the station to check the evidence log when the shit hit the fan.”

She shrugged, saying no more on the topic, but the reminder was enough to finally chill Connor’s arousal. Getting the phone call from Scarlett the night before, the shaking in her voice obvious even as she’d actively tried to hide it, then the blood coating her arm, enough to soak through multiple layers of clothing. She could call it a graze all she liked; the thought of it still shook him to the core. Someone had been waiting for her last night, hiding in the shadows, and then deliberately aiming a gun at her. It didn’t matter that she’d only been wounded. Even if that had been their intent, what if the fucker had been a bad shot?! His stomach flipped as an image of Scarlett lying dead on the sidewalk pounded into his brain, and the beans threatened to make a reappearance.

She stood, abruptly shaking him out of his thoughts as she spoke even as she was moving across the room. “Have you got a shirt I can borrow? My pants should still be fine.”

Connor pushed the chair back, ignoring its catching on the rug and nearly toppling over. By the time she crossed through the bedroom door, he’d managed to catch up. “Where are we going?”

She looked over at him from where she’d sat on the bed, one leg inside her pants. Now it was her turn to look puzzled. “No idea about you. I’m going to the station. Gotta get my hands on the report from those crazy-looking tanks at the second scene.”

He swallowed as his stomach flip-flopped again. Damn, why was he being such a nervous wreck? He charged into buildings that were on fire on a daily basis, for God’s sake. He thought back to the scene the other day, where Scarlett had found the piece of metal that had started this whole hunt. He’d been worried about her digging around in the damn ashes when not long before he’d charged into the house itself while burning ceiling beams dropped just feet from him and his team.

Connor huffed out a breath. Who was he kidding? It was entirely different when the person you loved was the one putting themselves in danger. That was even harder than admitting it to himself. He loved her. The seed had been planted on their first night together. There had been something more there already, and now, watching her work under pressure, how brave and brilliant she was, he’d fallen completely.

And now he had to watch her throw herself in front of danger. Over and over again, because that was what they did. She got that about him, and he wasn’t about to turn into every other person in her life right now, trying to shelter her from the world. She knew what a fucked-up asshole fate could be. No one needed to teach her that. Scarlett didn’t need anyone to stand in front of her. Plus, she’d likely maim him for trying. What she did need was for someone to stand beside her and have her back. That, he’d do in a heartbeat.

He stepped over to a chest of drawers and pulled out a shirt he’d accidentally shrunk in the wash once. One of his favorites, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to throw it away, and now he could see why. The shrunken fabric clung to Scarlett, wrapping around her body and pulling in all the right ways. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. In an instant, she saw it all, and thank God she smiled back. Grinning, she picked up his jacket that he’d slung over a chair and threw it to him one-handed. “Let’s roll.”