Page 65 of Rules of Association

“Am I your hostage or something?”

“As fun asthatsounds, no. You just don’t seem to know when to quit,” he continued. “And I need a few things from you right now.”

He was already on the second foot, the other shoe having fallen to the ground in a thud so hard I knew there had to be a mess on the clean wooden floors. But all I could focus on was what the hell he could’ve meant by that sounding“fun”.

“You want to know what I need?” I asked.

“Yeah, what?”

“For you to put some clothes on. You’re blinding me.”

His mouth did something sexy then. It ticked up high on one side in a smoldering smirk that he tried to hide but couldn’t quite catch. He ran his eyes over my face as he dragged the last shoelace loose on my platform leather boots, letting it drop to the floor next to its twin. Then in a low, sarcastic voice he said, “Yeah, you seem really torn up about it.”

My eyes snapped to his, and that’s when I realized I was staring. His abs were like a hypnotizing kaleidoscope of muscle and ridges and perfect symmetrical definition. It was hard not to become lost in—

“Hey, eyes up here,” he snapped twice, pointing to his face.

Damn!I did it again.

He was leaning into me now. Not touching me anymore, but he had his hands splayed on the countertop on either side of my legs. His shoulders hitched up slightly as he leaned in, looming over me like a cage.

As he peered down at me, it was like his gaze switched. Turning intentional all of a sudden. It made my stomach flip in a way it never had before. With anyone.

“Now,” Connor said. “I’m going to ask you a few questions and you’regoingto answer them, alright?”

I said nothing.

“AlrightCee?” His voice was this low smooth rumble that didn’t need to be loud, or hard to tell me he meant business.

I nodded.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, his Ceci-meter working overtime. And when he opened his mouth to speak, I felt this rush of panic at having to relive the night before. Having to feel that shame and embarrassment and annoyance with myself just to answer his questions.

But his words were not what I was expecting. Not chastising or judgmental or harsh in any way. The first thing he asked me as he stared into my eyes was, “Are you okay?”

I blinked. And blinked again.

With a tilt of my head and a voice that was smaller than any I think I’d used in years, I said, “Yeah.”

He blew out a deep, deep breath that seemed to both take the weight of the world off his shoulders and still leave on a few pounds. When he started to shake his head, I dropped my hands down to cover his on the counter.

“What?” I asked, searching his troubled expression. “Don’t I look okay?”

“Yes, but you—but you werenotokay last night,” he said, his voice going raw.

“I was scared,” I whispered, a weight settling heavy on my chest.

He didn’t say anything for a while, so I continued. “But thank you for coming. And for staying when I didn’t answer your calls. I just couldn’t…let go, you know?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, probably picturing the way I had held onto that crowbar like it was life or death. “I know.”

We stared at each other for what seemed like long, long minutes, and when I closed my fingers around the sides of his hands, he gripped onto them and held them tight. So tight like he was scared I would slip away.

It seemed like forever before he sucked in a big, shaking breath. But when he let it out, he was level again. Squaring his shoulders and preparing to talk.

“So you were mugged?” he asked.

“Basically,” I nodded.

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