He stares into my eyes as he listens to whatever she’s saying. We’re still pressed tight together. Beneath my hands, his chest rises and falls rapidly as he struggles to regulate his breathing. I’d bet his pulse is racing just as fast as mine.
“You’re sure?” he says sharply, eyes going alert.
My brows arch.
Whatever Sykes called to report is not making him happy. In fact, based on that expression, it’s making him decidedlyunhappy. Which shouldn’t exactly be a surprise. In my experience, calls that come in after midnight generally aren’t conveying good news.
“No. No, you were right to inform me.” His body tenses, every muscle tightening as though he’s preparing for battle. “I’ll handle her extraction personally.”
Extraction?
My mouth opens to interject but there’s little point. Conor is already stepping away from me, all his attention absorbed by Sykes’ words. I swallow down my protests as he walks across the room, ignoring the lance of hurt that shoots through me at the abrupt loss of his touch. Slumped back against the wall, I try to slow my breathing as I watch him sling the strap of my duffle over one shoulder.
I never even got a chance to change.
“Keep me apprised of the situation as it develops, Sykes.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing the dark locks. “I want everyone working on this. Yes. I’m aware of that.” He pauses. “I don’t care. She’s priority number one.”
My heart flips.
Conor’s eyes meet mine. “I want hourly reports on his movements.”
His?
“Yes. I will.” He blows out a sharp breath. “See you there.”
He disconnects the call.
From opposite sides of the room, we stare at each other. It’s clear neither of us wants to break the silence first. It’s even clearer that something between us has changed, shifted like a tectonic plate beneath our feet — and I’m not referring to whateversituationSykes just told him about on the phone.
I search for the right words and come up pathetically short. What can I possibly say about our unexpected seven minutes in heaven? Besides, of course, the obvious…
It never should’ve happened.
We weren’t thinking clearly.
Momentary insanity.
Never to be repeated.
The room is so quiet, I can hear the ice machine just outside the door humming in the night.
“So,” Conor says finally. I notice his hand is clenched around the phone so tight, his knuckles have gone white. “That was Sykes.”
“I gathered as much.”
“Right.” He shakes his head, as though he’s trying to clear a haze from his thoughts. “She had some rather alarming new intel. Intel that concerns you.”
Okay, so… I guess we’re just going to skip right over the fact that we just made out like two handsy, horny teenagers in the backseat of a car after prom.
Fine by me, Gallagher.
Avoidance is my middle freaking name.
(Actually, my middle name is Quinn. Not that that’s vitally important, at this moment. Or at any moment. Ever.)
Moving on!
My brows lift. “More alarming than the Evanoffs taking Paul?”