Conquering Conner Read online

  When I got home, Jeremy was there with food and wine, pretending everything was fine.

  “Well, that’s strange, because I tell you exactly why, every time you ask.” I don’t remember ever being this angry at him before. Feeling this… controlled. “I’m upset because you came here to check up on me,” I hiss at him like a snake. “I’m upset because you just showed up.”

  “I wouldn’t have had to just show up if you’d take my calls,” Jeremy sniffs, looking at me over the rim of his wine glass. “You haven’t even asked me why I’m here.”

  I don’t have to ask. I know why. He’s here because he knows. He knows I don’t want to marry him. That I’m tired of pretending. That I want a real life.

  That I want Conner.

  “Why are you here, Jeremy?” I say it to my risotto, not wanting to look at him. Trying to figure out how to say what comes next. That he was right to worry. That I’m not going back to New York.

  “Because I needed my best friend.”

  Something about his tone pulls my gaze up to his face. “What happened?”

  “I think Gregg’s cheating on me.”

  “I—” I shake my head, not sure I heard him right. “That’s not possible.” Gregg and Jeremy have a fantastic relationship. So fantastic, I can’t help but feel a little envious around them.

  “I assure you, it is.” Jeremy wipes his mouth with his napkin and sits back in his seat, taking his wine with him.

  “I don’t understand,” I say, guilt instantly replacing anger. “Everything was fine between you two when I left. Better than fine.”

  “I think it’s been going on for a while.” For the first time, I notice how tired he looks. How worn. “He seems distant. Buried in his work.”

  “Maybe it’s just one of those ebb and flow things,” I say like I have a clue how a real relationship is supposed to work. “All couples go through growing pains. I wouldn’t worry. Gregg adores you.”

  “Maybe. Let’s talk about something else.” Jeremy says, setting his glass down hard enough to slosh wine over its rim. “Your mother called me last week.” His gaze narrows slightly. “She says you’ve been ignoring her calls too.”

  I take a sip of wine and shrug. “I’ve been busy.” I do my best to sound natural when really, just the mention of my mother threatens to break me out in hives.

  “That’s what I told her,” Jeremy says, topping off my wine glass as soon as I set it down. “She’s over the moon about the engagement. I told her not to—”

  “You told my mother about the engagement?” I try to temper my tone, but it still sounds sharp. Accusatory. “We agreed we weren’t going to announce it officially until Christmas.”

  “Well, it’s not like it was an actual surprise, Henley.” He rolls his eyes, digging his spoon into his own dish of risotto. “I figure with you busy doing whatever it is you’re doing here, you could use her help planning the engagement party.” When I don’t answer him, he looks up from his food. “It’s just your mother.” He says it like I’m being unreasonable. Like I’m a child, having a tantrum. But he knows how she is, that as soon as she heard the word engagement, she called everyone she knew with the news. Half of Manhattan probably knows by now. It’s why we’ve been so careful to not to say it. I’ve worn the ring he gave me to a couple of public appearances to stir up speculation, but that’s it.

  “You had no right, Jeremy.” I shake my head and stand, tossing my napkin onto the table. I have that feeling again. The sense that I’m being manipulated. Controlled. The most infuriating part is that the feeling isn’t wholly unfamiliar. I’ve just never had a reason to balk before.

  We stare at each other across the table for what feels like years. Finally, he says it—what really brought him here. What he’s really worried about. “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?”

  I can’t say it, so I nod.

  “You promised.” Now he’s standing too. “We’ve been planning this for years and now, all of a sudden—”

  “It’s not sudden. I’ve never…” wanted to marry you. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but even though it’s the truth, I don’t say it. It would feel like a betrayal. After everything that Jeremy has done for me, I owe him this.

  Really? You owe him your happiness? Your freedom?

  A few months ago, I believed the answer was yes but now… “I love him, Jeremy.” It’s the first time I’ve ever said it out loud.

  His mouth flattens into something too grim to be a smile. Something that looks like resignation. “Does he love you back?”

  “Yes.” Saying it causes a momentary flutter in my chest. Panic. Hope.

  He sighs, nods his head, more resigned than happy. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together. Just like we always do.”

  Fifty

  Conner

  Once I knew what I was looking for, it was relatively easy to find.

  A way to keep Henley.

  A way for us to be together.

  It took me less than ten minutes, but I‘ve spent the last several hours reviewing case law to make sure the argument will hold up in court.

  I will. I know it will.

  I should be doing goddamned backflips.

  I should be pounding on her door, copy of Bradford’s trust fund provisions in hand, so I can show her what I found. A way for Jeremy to get his billions without her having to marry him.

  Instead, I’m just sitting here, scared shitless. Not because now that I can finally have her, I’m afraid of what that might look like, but because what if, with all the roadblocks and bullshit out of the way, she still doesn’t want me.

  Still doesn’t choose me.

  I’m at my parent’s house because that’s where I keep the bulk of my law books. It’s late, almost eleven on a Wednesday night but I can hear my mom downstairs in the kitchen. My Da watching SportCenter. Six months ago, he would’ve been behind the bar, pouring dollar shots for a couple hundred drunk college kids, but since he’s signed the place over to Patrick, he’s been easing himself out, bit by bit. Makes me think maybe we do need to hire someone on, a few shifts a week. Give us all a bit of breathing room. Logan would be—

  “I didn’t know you wear glasses.”

  I feel my gut clench at the sound of her voice and look up to find Henley standing in the doorway of my old bedroom. She’s wearing the same thing she had on this afternoon—dark jeans topped with a cream-colored sweater. Brown leather, lace-up boots with a heavy tread. Cheeks and nose red from the cold. Looking at me like she expects an answer.

  “Uhhh…” I reach up and snag my reading glasses by their bridge and pull them off my face, looking at them like I’ve never seen then before. “Yeah. When I’m reading microscopic law text, I do.” I toss them on my desk and try to smile. “What are you doing here?” I say, turning in my seat.

  “Looking for you.” She aims a quick look over her shoulder before refocusing on me. “Can I come in?”

  I nod, watching as she slips across the threshold, closing the door behind her. Looking at her, all I can think about is the first time she was here. The way she pushed her way into my room despite my protests. How panicked I felt, having her that close. Being alone with her.

  “Your mom said it was okay.” She smiles, remembering the same thing I am. “And that she and your dad are heading to bed.”

  I stand, my face crumpling into a frown. “How’d you know I was here?”

  “I checked your place, but you weren’t home, so I decided to try Gilroy’s, but then I saw your light on…” She suddenly looks uncomfortable. Unsure. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No.” I take a step forward before I can stop myself. I shake my head, easing back a bit. “I want you to tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “I…” Her gaze drops to my shoulder. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. Again.” She sighs. Shrugs. “Jeremy just showed up out of nowhere. “I had no idea—”

  “You don’t owe me an apology or an explanation.” I cut
her off because I don’t want to talk about her fiancé, despite the fact he’s all I can think about. “It was just lunch. Not a big deal.”

  “Why do you always do that?” Her voice is suddenly loud. Sharp.

  “Do what?” I keep my voice low. Even. Maybe she’ll get the picture and tone it down a bit. My parents’ room is down the hall. The last thing I need is them to hear us arguing.

  She shakes her head at me. “Act like you don’t care.” Thankfully she takes the hint and keeps her voice down. “Like this doesn’t matter.”

  “This matters, Henley,” I say, my jaw suddenly tight. “Trust me. It fucking matters.”

  She laughs, rocking back on her heels so she can see my face. “You could’ve fooled me.”

  “What do you want to hear?” Whatever it is, I’ll say it. Whatever she wants, I’ll give it to her. “That every time I think about you wearing that asshole’s ring, I have an inexplicable urge to put my head through the nearest wall? Or how about I almost murdered him when he kissed you this afternoon? Is that it?” I take another step toward her, closing the distance between us so quickly, she doesn’t have time to move away from me before I put my hands on her, closing them around her arms to pull her even closer. “Or, that every time I think I might be gaining ground with you, you always find a reason to push me away and somehow, you manage to make it my fault. Or maybe you want to hear about how, even though I know how this is all going to end, I can’t stay away from you because it’s too late. I’m fucking done. I was done the minute you walk back into my life. Is that what you want to hear? Does knowing how fucked up I am over you make you feel better?”

  “I never wanted that.” She stares at up me, stunned. How we keep surprising each other, I’ll never understand. “I never meant to hurt you.” Her gaze falls to my neck, the intricate knot inked into it. Lower, grazing the point of the tattooed heart peeking past the collar of my shirt. “I always imagined you happy. That I’d been forgotten as soon as I left. That you’d moved on.”

  It reminds me of what Tess said last night.

  When do we get to be happy? When do we get to stop watching them be happy without us, without it feeling like someone’s got our guts in a meat grinder?

  “You keep saying that.” I let her go because I’m seriously torn between shaking her and kissing her and I know I can’t give in and do either. “When is it going to click, Henley? How many more times do I have to cut myself open for you before you get the picture?” I laugh but there’s nothing humorous about the way it sounds. “I’ll never move on. I’ll never stop loving you. I don’t know how. It’s not how I’m put together.” I lift a hand to my face and give it a rough scrub. “I wish to Christ it was. I wish I was the guy you think I am. Life would be a hell of a lot easier if I was.”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever said it out loud. That I wish I was something other than what I am. That I know I’ll never be that person. The person who doesn’t love her. Need her.

  She stands there, staring at me, mouth open to say something but I beat her to it.

  “Don’t.” I shake my head at her. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. My fucked-up feelings aren’t your responsibility. My fucked-up way of dealing with them isn’t your fault. I’ve been who I am since the day I was born—long before I ever asked you for your calculus notes and I’ll still be who I am after you leave again.”

  She doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me, chewing on her bottom lip like she’s trying to decide what to do next. She’s having a hard time figuring it out, so I decide to help her out.

  “You should probably head on home and tuck Prince Charming into bed.” I take a step back, putting distance between us. “He’s had an exciting day.”

  “I don’t want to go home.” She frowns at me. Takes a step forward.

  “Henley…” I turn my head, holding my hands up to stop her from coming any closer. “Please don’t do this to me.” I can’t say no to her. She knows I can’t. “Please, I don’t think I can—”

  “I want to stay.”

  Something about the way she says it makes me look at her. Drops my hands. Pushes me toward her. Makes me think she means longer than just tonight.

  Like maybe she means forever.

  “I love you.” She looks down at the piece of paper in her hand. “I love you and I want to stay.”

  She can’t stay. I know she can’t and so does she. But right now, it’s enough that she wants to.

  Fifty-one

  Henley

  I understand now. Why he told me no when we were kids. Why he refused to take it when I offered him my virginity. It wasn’t because he didn’t want me. Didn’t love me. It was because he did.

  Too much.

  He needed me too much to take the risk of things changing between us. Loved me too much to take the chance. He knew I’d never let him in. That I’d always hold him at arms’ length and that loving me would eventually ruin him.

  I can see that now.

  He thinks I’m lying to him. I can see it on his face, and I open my mouth to tell him the truth. That I wish things were different. That I’d had the guts to stand up to my mother, all those years ago. To let him in. Let him love me.

  But then his arms are around me. His hands in my hair. His mouth on mine, and I’m lost.

  We both are.

  I feel his hands fall to the hem of my sweater and I lift my arms, our mouths parting only long enough for him to pull it up, over my head, before they find each other again, our tongues tangling together, hot and frantic.

  He turns me, the back of my knees hitting the edge of the bed. Tearing his mouth away from mine, Conner lowers me, sitting me down so he can kneel in front of me. I watch him, my gaze centered on his dark head, bent over as he lifts one foot and the other, to unlace my boots.

  “This isn’t why I’m here,” I say to the top of his head and his shoulders stiffen under my hands. “I mean, I don’t want you to think…” Think what? That I’m using him for sex? That it’s all he’s good for. The only reason I’m here. All I want from him. “Conner, we don’t have to do this.”

  He doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls off my boots and sets them aside before raising his head.

  Lifting himself onto his knees, he brings us face-to-face again. “Did you mean it?” His gaze holds mine, so close and so impossible tender I can barely breathe. “Do you love me?”

  I nod my head. “Yes,” I whisper, ignoring the way my heart flutters in my chest when he smiles at my answer. The impossible things it makes me want to do.

  “Then the rest of it doesn’t matter.” He leans into me, softly brushing his mouth against mine. “Not right now.” His fingers skim up the length of my spine. “Right now, I just want to be with you.” Finding the clasp to my bra, he unhooks it, drawing its straps down my arms before dropping it at my feet.

  It’s not a question but I nod again anyway. “Yes.” It’s what I want too. No matter what it means. What it looks like. How long it lasts.

  Laying me back on the bed, he leans over me to run his tongue along the swell of my breast. Grazes my nipple with his teeth. “My parents room is right down the hall.” He circled my nipple with the tip of his tongue. “And you didn’t lock the door,” he says before drawing it into his mouth, sucking and nipping while his hands work the front of my jeans open. Lifting his head, he gives me the same crooked grin he used to give me when we were kids. “Do you think you can be quiet this time?”

  It makes me think about the library. The way he fingers fucked me between the stacks. The way he had to cover my mouth with his hand to keep me from screaming while he made me come. “Probably not,” I say, lifting my hips off the bed so he can jerk my pants down my legs. “But I’m willing to give it another shot if you are.”

  He laughs as he touches me between my legs, skimming his fingertips up the center of me, soft, feathery strokes over my panties, designed to test my resolve. “Know what I think?” he says, pushing against me t
hrough lace and silk, his gaze darkening when he feels how ready I am. How wet he makes me. “I think this might be why my mom never allowed me to have girls in my room.”

  I swallow a gasp as his fingers push past the edge of my panties, their tips brushing against the slick, swollen folds of my pussy. “Conner…” I lift my hips again, moving against the pressure of his fingers teasing my entrance.

  “Say it again.”

  I open my eyes to find his face inches from mine, his gaze searching my face.

  I lift my hand to cup his jaw, my fingers tracing the line of this brow. “I love you.” I whisper it, my eyes wide open so I can see his face when I say it. “I’ve always loved you.”

  He lowers his lips to mine, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. His fingers slide into me, slow and deep, his thumb circling and pressing against my clit, his tongue and fingers stroking me in tandem until the moan trembling in my throat breaks free, getting lost in his mouth.

  My hand falls to his shoulder, fingers gripping his shirt, trying to pull him closer. Deeper. The other one pushes between us to wrap around the hard length of his cock, stroking him through his jeans.

  Breaking his mouth away from mine with a low groan, he levers himself up and away from me.

  He stands, snagging the back of his shirt to pull it up and over his head. Watching him work his belt loose, my mouth goes dry at the sight of him. How beautiful he is. Smooth, flawless skin stretched over hard muscle. The tattoos only I know the meaning of because they’re mine.

  Conner is mine.

  Sitting up, I move his hands away to push the button of his jeans from its loop before tugging the zipper down to make room for my hands. Slipping them past the waistband of his pants and boxers, I push them down, so he can step out of them completely.