24

CONOR

Fresh from my shower, I grabbed the bag of treats from my suitcase and headed for the door.

Dinner had been over for about an hour now, and I’d finally seen the room where I’d be staying—the best part? Star was just next door.

Hefting the candy in my hand, I left and made my way to her quarters.

Our suites were so large and grand that I had to walk a good eighty feet before I even reached her door. Once there, I knocked.

“One minute,” she called, the words muffled.

With nothing else to do, I tipped my head back to stare at the ceiling, trying to uncover the location of any speakers or cameras.

On this occasion, I only found one ‘bubble’ above the door. Smaller than a fingernail and transparent, it was hidden damn well.

Star opened the door and found me mid-study of the ceiling.

“There are two inside the living room, but none in the bedroom,” she greeted.

Rocking forward, I studied her and tried oh, so fucking hard not to get a boner.

She was wet.

Wrapped in a towel.

Shoulders gleaming.

Hair curled around her throat.

Eyes sleepy.

Mouth relaxed.

Fuck.

I was literally looking at my living, breathing, walking fantasy.

“Just the one in mine. They must trust me more than they do you.”

At my joke, she huffed. “Apparently.”

“That’s what you get when you don’t stab your host in the hand.”

“I think I’d have had two even if I’d have curtseyed when I met him,” she grumbled, but she retreated a step. “Come in.”

I hadn’t actually intended on sticking around but I wasn’t going to argue about how easy that had been.

Then, she startled me.

Star grabbed my arm, leaned into me, and for a moment, I thought her lips hovered over mine. My heart raced, my dick stood to attention, and I breathed her in. Disappointment struck when she tilted her head then whispered in my ear, “Did you bring your toy?”

My toy?

The little brain in my cock had no understanding of what she was talking about.

Unless she meant… “Your Christmas present?”

She reared back. “No! Dammit. The toy . The one that—” She moved into my personal space again. “—cuts out footage and blocks transmissions,” she finished on a hiss.

Oh.

“I didn’t.”

Her scowl was immediate. “Why not?”

“I was tired! I barely remembered to pack boxer briefs!”

Her eyes flared wide, then her gaze drifted down my length.

Double fuck.

I leaned into her, my hand lifting to tuck a stray lock of hair away from her cheek and?—

She jerked away.

Triple fucking fuck.

I cleared my throat. “Brought something for you.”

Her brows lifted when she saw the bag in my hand, immediately snatching it from my grip and tearing it open. “Fuck, nothing tastes as good as American candy.”

I sniffed to hide my discomfort when she moaned around the treat. “We can agree to disagree on that.”

“Hey, I like that you hate the candy I love,” she countered before chomping on a couple candy hearts. “That means I don’t have to share.”

“You make a good argument,” I concurred, shifting my hands behind my back as I looked at her and tried not to make it creepy.

Maybe I was asking for too much. It had already been impossible to keep my eyes off her throughout dinner, especially once Kuznetsov had left partway through the entrée course.

Now, it was even more of a task because she was naked apart from a towel—I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, did I?

Deciding that it was safer to escape while she was still in G.I. Jane mode, I muttered. “Anyway, you probably need to get some rest. I just thought you’d appreciate the candy.”

As I stepped back and away, she caught my eye. Brow puckered, she said, “You were mad at me.”

“When? Earlier?”

“No, when you came for me, and you still brought me candy?”

“I’m a glutton for punishment,” I derided, turning on my heel before we could get into this. “You get some rest. We’ll reconvene tomorrow and figure out our next steps.”

“Are you mad at me for stabbing Kuznetsov?”

I paused. “I would be if they hadn’t put me in that nice suite and had me in a dungeon underneath this building. But…” I tried to get my thoughts together. Jet lag wasn’t helping me any. Nor was the scent of her. Flowers. G.I. Star wasn’t supposed to smell of flowers. Concentrate, Conor. “I think I knew he’d let you get away with it so I wasn’t worried.”

“What made you think that?”

“How he looked at you.”

She stopped chewing the candy. “How did he look at me?”

“Like you were his granddaughter.”

“He was manipulating you?—”

“Yes, he was. You were right to push him like that at dinner. He did twist my arm to get me to help you to talk to him, but that doesn’t take away from the truth—he wants you in his life. This other granddaughter too.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t have room in my life for family.”

“I think you know that’s a lie,” I said carefully, trying not to show how much her words hurt. “Katina’s family. What are the Sinners if not family too?”

Brow furrowing, she retreated a couple steps, backpedaling until she could plunk down on a comfortable couch.

As modern in style as this place was, as luxurious, comfort was the keyword. That meant everything was squashy—from the couches to the chairs to the beds. Amid the modern, Scandinavian styles, there were antique pieces that were more befitting the tastes of a man Kuznetsov’s age.

It made for an eclectic but homey mix. One that enabled Star to sink back into the cloud of cushions and actually look comfortable for once.

She’d sat with her spine straight all dinner, and it was only now that I saw her slouching that I remembered how infrequently I’d seen her like this and never so stiff.

She’d been hyperaware at dinner—on red alert.

Now, she wasn’t.

Something she confirmed when she breathed, “I’m tired, Conor.”

“I told you—we can reconvene tomorrow. I’m seriously jet-lagged, so?—”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m tired . I have been tired for years.” There was a weariness in her usually blank expression that backed up her words. “It feels like even if I sleep, it never eases up my exhaustion.”

I was a confident man in most things, but I had to admit, Star made me more hesitant than I was used to being.

It was pretty annoying, to be honest.

If she hadn’t had the past she did, I’d have grabbed her and dragged her to bed. I’d have tucked her in and?—

I sucked in a breath.

I could still do that.

I wasn’t taking this anywhere, not yet.

She needed sleep.

I wanted to take care of her.

I just needed not to earn a broken wrist in the process.

Striding toward her, I gently grasped a hold of her elbows and tugged her onto her feet.

“What are you doing?” she grumbled as I snagged the bag of candy, tossed it on the coffee table, then urged her toward the bedroom.

“No more sugar for you. We’re going to rest tonight and then, tomorrow, we’ll talk about game plans and what needs to be done,” I repeated as I walked her backward.

Her gaze tracked mine as I maneuvered her around the suite, and, with every step I took, she stunned me by mimicking me.

When we were standing in her bedroom, I asked, “Do you need a shirt?”

The idea of her wearing my clothes was going to make sleep hell.

And heaven.

Was her being naked better or worse for the wet dreams I was about to have as if I were a teenager again?

Her mouth opened. Closed. “It’s okay. I can go to sleep in the robe in the bathroom.”

My T-shirt was the best option.

“Would that be comfortable?” I countered, trying some reverse psychology on her.

Slowly, she shook her head.

“Wait here,” I warned her. “Don’t. Move.”

Her brow furrowed as she watched me back away.

Less than five minutes later, whistling beneath my breath, I returned with a T-shirt for her.

Her hands were fisted at her sides and she was scowling with annoyance. “I don’t like being bossed around.”

“Do you boss Katina around when she won’t go to bed and she’s tired?”

“Yes.”

“Well then,” I pointed out. “This is precisely like that.”

“It is not,” she argued. “I’m not ten.”

“I’m not going to do anything or take this anywhere, Star. You’re safe with me.

“I’m going to put you to bed and you’re going to sleep in here and I’m going to return to my room and sleep in there.

“But, before then, I need to make you comfortable. So, arms up.”

Her mouth rounded but, like the good little soldier she could sometimes be, her arms slipped upwards.

A second later, the soft cotton was swooping along the length of her biceps and puddling around her neck. Carefully, I angled her head through the opening then dragged the mass of fabric over the towel she’d tucked under her arm.

“I’m not going to look,” I promised her, my gaze locked on hers as I fiddled with the knot that kept the towel in place.

My hand clapped against her belly to hold it up as I pulled the sides of the tee down so she was covered.

Only then did I move my hand. Gravity did the rest.

When she was dressed in my tee, the hem sitting high on her thighs but low enough for decency’s sake, with the towel puddled around her feet, I gently cupped her elbow.

“You ready for bed now?”

“My hair’s wet.”

I grabbed the towel, moved around her, and started patting it dry. It wasn’t much drier than it had been before I started, but it was better than nothing.

Without waiting for her to complain about my hairdressing skills, I gently tossed the towel at the bathroom door and started shuffling her toward the bed.

When I dragged down the sheet, I ordered, “Get in, Star.” I waited for her grouchy compliance then tucked her in. “Sleep,” I encouraged. “Tomorrow’s problems are exactly that—for tomorrow.”

Her eyelids drifted lazily up and down. “Your tee smells of you.”

My lips twitched. “It smells of detergent.”

Softly, she shook her head. “No. You smell of oranges.”

“I don’t even eat oranges,” I muttered under my breath when I saw she’d closed her eyes.

I routinely ate fruit that could be put in a pie and that was it.

I drew back and headed for the living room, tugging my shirt away from my body and taking a surreptitious sniff down it—where the fuck did she get oranges from?

It was when I entered that space that the strangest urge hit me—I didn’t want to leave her. Not even to go to my room next door.

I scraped a hand over my head as I fought an internal battle.

Call me crazy, but I trusted that her grandfather had no desire to hurt her. Maybe that was because he thought she’d already been hurt enough, or he truly believed she and I were the only people who could find his other granddaughter.

Whatever the reason, physically, I believed she was safe.

But Eoghan… I knew he had terrible nightmares. I’d heard them myself. I’d also eavesdropped on Inessa telling Camille about them, and how she was worried when he froze up in the night and went to work it out in the gym for hours on end.

Star had been perennially alone for decades.

It felt important that I prove to her that she wasn’t anymore.

That, in the depths of the night, if her memories came back to haunt her, I was here.

It was dumb, but it was an urge I couldn’t fight.

So, I stopped trying.

Switching off the lights in the living room, I pulled out my cell phone to guide my path to the couch, then I unfastened my belt buckle, dropped my jeans to the ground, yanked my tee overhead, and, in my boxer briefs, flopped onto the cushions.

There was a throw over the back of the couch, so I covered myself with it then sighed at finally being able to lie flat after such a long time awake.

Having shoved my exhaustion aside for hours by this point, it was no wonder that it was starting to rear its ugly head again and with a vengeance.

The screen of my cell popped on though, illuminating the darkness in a way that made my eyes ache.

With a huff, I reached for it and saw I had about three million texts from my brothers.

Feeling bad about not texting sooner, I shot off a simple message:

Me: Alive, well, on the ground.

I hit send before I thought about what to tell them re Star.

Deciding that the truth was easier to maintain than a lie when things were about to get complicated, I continued:

Me: I’ve got her. But we have some work to finish off together here in Croatia. (Don’t fucking ask.) I’m gonna crash. Been on the move since I set off for JFK. I’ll speak to you in the morning, deartháirs.

‘ Deartháir,’ whether we admitted it out loud or not, was our code word.

We rarely shared that we loved one another, but Gaelic was our poison of choice whenever we did the deed.

Not wanting to see their replies because I’d have to answer them, I flipped my phone screen side up after I’d set it on silent, then I closed my eyes.

I had no idea how long I slept for. My eyelashes felt like they were rimmed with salt and my eyes were dry and crusty, but something had made me stir.

That was when I felt it.

Felt her .

For a moment, I just thought I was dreaming.

Star couldn’t be here. Not on the couch.

With me.

But she was.

Her face was nuzzled into my armpit of all places which totally made me freak out about whether I’d used enough deodorant after my shower last night, and her hand was on my chest.

What the hell was she doing on the couch with me?

And had I dragged the roll-on twice over each armpit like I usually did or was I too tired and only did it the once?

My eyes drifted down before I had answers to those questions. My head tilted to the side and my lips gently brushed the crown of her still-damp hair.

Then, I fell asleep again.

Not knowing what magic had brought her here, I just hoped I’d wake up and it wouldn’t be a dream…