Page 85 of Undeniable

It was so intense, too intense. I’d never felt so connected to someone else, so in sync. I shut my eyes to try to stem the onslaught of emotion. But it was too late. I’d already let him in.

He cupped the back of my neck—the touch both comforting and yet somehow commanding. “Look at me, Goody.”

I shook my head. Connor would be leaving soon. And what would happen then?

I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. I panted, trying to catch my breath both from what he was doing and the way my heart clutched painfully in my chest. It would break me. But I also couldn’t refuse.

His gray eyes were filled with just as much emotion, just as much love as my own. And seeing it reflected back at me, I knew… I would never be the same again. Connor owned me.

* * *

I staredup at the large mansion, nestled in an exclusive gated community in Pacific Palisades. I’d visited the neighborhood once—to attend a party with my dad at the home of Crew Dixon, billionaire and owner of the Hollywood Heatwaves.

“Damn,” Connor said, marveling at the structure before us. “Hudson has one hell of a house.”

I laughed. “He certainly does. Though, you should see Crew Dixon’s house.” I hooked my thumb in the direction of Crew’s house. “He lives down the block.”

“Friend of yours?” Connor asked. His jaw was tight, and I wondered if I’d said the wrong thing.

“My dad’s. Crew owns the team my dad played for.” Connor seemed to relax at that. Even so, I found myself asking, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course.” Connor rounded the car, reaching into the back seat to remove the box with the chocolate crack cookies I’d baked. “Violet said I was welcome to bring a guest.”

“Yeah, but…” I glanced at the cars lining the street. There were so many of them. “She probably meant a significant other, not—” I lowered my voice “—a fling or…whatever.”

He frowned, and it was then I realized just how intimidating he could be as he loomed over me, blocking out the sun with his glower. “Is that what you think you are to me?”

I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth, unwilling to say more, especially not as a couple approached on the sidewalk. A pit formed in my gut, sadness threatening to overtake me. Had Connor ever indicated otherwise? Had we ever discussed what would happen after this week? No, because there was nothing to discuss. When he went home, this would end.

“Connor, hey,” the man said, stopping to shake his hand.

Like Connor, the man was tall. But it was his arms that really stood out—they were massive and covered with tattoos. Despite his intimidating appearance, he flashed me a warm smile. And the woman standing at his side was…stunning. She had black hair and blue eyes that were shrewd, assessing. Together, they made a striking couple.

“Hey.” Connor placed his hand on my lower back. “Clay. This is Olivia. Olivia, Clay.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clay said as we shook hands. “This is my wife, Reagan.”

We chatted for a moment before following them up the path to Maverick’s home. Connor kept his hand on my lower back, but it did nothing to calm my nerves. Especially not when he leaned in and said, “This conversation isn’t over.”

I stared ahead but nodded. Though, really, what else was there to say? This was fun, temporary. And wishing for something more was both unrealistic and foolish.

We entered the house, and Connor assessed the situation. He was fascinating to watch—always on alert, constantly scanning for potential threats. I knew he did it out of habit more than anything else, but it made me feel safe, protected.

But also…sad, somehow. Did he ever just relax? Was it a product of his training, or did it have more to do with his traumatic childhood?

“Pumpkin,” Clay boomed.

I followed his gaze to the top of the stairs, where a man stood with his hands on the banisters like the captain of the ship. Scruff lined his angular jaw, and he seemed far too serious for a celebration.

He chortled. “Pigeon. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t miss your forty-fifth birthday, now could I?”

Pumpkin? Pigeon?I turned to Connor. “I assume those are call signs,” I said, struggling to keep up. Between the real names and call signs, it was a lot to take in. Especially since everyone else seemed to know each other.

Connor laughed, dropping the cookies on a food table before looping his arm around my shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

He said it like he expected me to hang around. And while he’d been pissed earlier when I’d referred to this as a fling, I didn’t know what else to call it. He was leaving soon.

---