17. Connor O’Doyle

Chapter 17

Connor O’Doyle

Paws for reflection .

My brow furrows as I awake and peek one eye open. A dark lock of hair belonging to someone else touches my face, but I don’t have to wonder who’s tucked safely in my arms. Her scent is not only all over me, but it’s around me, in my arms, in my very breaths, intoxicating and body thrumming, and it has been for hours.

Whitley moves in her sleep, making me painfully aware of my hard dick riding along her back. I wince, shift my hips, and pull my morning wood away.

Although my memory is a little fuzzy, I remember how I found myself in Whitley’s room and bed. I should be concerned that I’m here, and a part of me deeply is because it means I need to start accepting things I’ve been denying, but I’m oddly at ease waking beside her. She’s warm and soft, making me want to drag her closer until all those curves mold around me perfectly.

No woman has tempted me to sleep in any bed but my own in a very long time—it makes it easy to avoid attachments when I have no choice but to hide what I am.

It’s never been a desire of mine until now. Until her.

I’ve never felt this pull, this need, or the peace I find with her so close. I want to be angry and annoyed with myself for being unable to resist her, but the contentment I feel is just too damn strong.

After battling the urge to go to her, I stupidly decided to take not one, but three vials of the supposed sedative Jekyll sent me.

Fat lot of good it did.

I vaguely remember making my way up the staircase, my instincts a ceaseless demand that I go to her. It’s like my body and my subconscious were missing her, and I was helpless to deny them.

An emotion I’m scared to name floods my sternum at the knowledge that she didn’t deny me the simple act of holding her through the night, and the urge has abated.

For whatever reason, the woman in my arms has the capacity to forgive my incredibly abhorrent behavior these last weeks. It’s become exceedingly clear that she affects me as no other woman has, but I’m finding the more it goes on, the less I’m beginning to mind.

I admit now that when she first walked into the castle it was my instant reaction to her that scared the daylights out of me, and I wanted her gone immediately.

After making her come in broad daylight inside the maze, I later found dirt imbedded in my nails from my claws digging into the ground as I ate her sweet cunt. The sight of my giant paw-like impressions makes it all too apparent that she is driving me to madness, but I would sooner chew my own arm off than hurt her, which makes my behavior unacceptable.

I flinch when she pushes her breast more firmly into my hand as she stretches lightly. Soft, round, and full. Fuck me, she is perfect.

I jerk my palm away when she lets out a contented sigh before she wiggles to roll over. With her head falling to rest on my shoulder, her pretty brown eyes pop open to look at me.

“Good morning.” My voice sounds like gravel to my own ears.

“Hello,” she answers, and the dimples in her cheeks show with her smile.

Her skin flushes as she moves to get more comfortable. Her hip grazes my cock and we both jolt.

“Sorry. He has a mind of his own around you,” I murmur.

My mind whirs with how I can possibly make the last month up to her.

Would she let me treat her to a day of pampering? The stubborn woman would probably need to be forced to it.

She pushes up off my chest. “What time is it?”

I frown, fighting the urge to pull her back to me, and acknowledge how odd it is that I’m unconcerned with where my own phone is currently. “I don’t know.”

She folds back the coverlet and reaches for her mobile.

“Almost six,” she says with a tired sigh. “I need to go start breakfast. Ugh, the choreography lessons are today. I hope I don’t fall flat on my face.”

She deflates, her back falls back onto the mattress, and she rubs at her eyes with her hands.

“Let me hold you a moment longer,” I say, my body greedy for just a little bit more of her soft warmth as I tug her into my arms. “It can wait another five minutes, and you will do fine.”

“Well, aren’t you being nice this morning? Do you want me to make you a hangover cure? You were pretty drunk.” The lightest humor in her voice eats at my worries that she could be upset with me being here.

When her head lands on my chest, her breath fans across my shirt-covered chest. I find myself wishing the clothing between us would disappear. My dick jerks at the idea of propositioning her for a bout of morning sex. Or just fucking sex with her—having never been inside her is killing me.

“I feel okay, but thank you.” I hug her to me and withhold a purr of contentment when her hand runs over my abdomen.

“What do you remember about last night, King Arthur?” she snarks.

I think back to the night before, but my memory is still a bit spotty. I only recall the way she smiled, and how beautiful it looked. Shit. My voice is a groan as I pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand and squeeze her to me with the other.

“What did I say?”

She laughs and her body shakes with it. “You basically called your dick Excalibur.”

Her husky tone has my cock thickening further, and I move her gently to get out of the bed before I say something idiotic to ruin the morning, like “help me to pull it out.” She makes it so I can’t think properly, and she’s far too pretty for me to resist with her luscious hair a mess, and so few clothes on.

Think, fucker.

“Right. I am sorry.” My sock-covered feet touch the worn wooden floors as I snatch up my suit jacket from the nearby chair. I sweep my shoes into my arms.

I glance around the room and frown at how sparse and empty it is. Realization dawns as I recall her pained expression any time the bonus came up in conversation, making me feel like a complete and utter ass. This is why she would never leave any time we would argue, no matter how apparent I made it that I wanted her gone. Idiot. Stupid fool!

I should never have threatened her bonus; she so obviously needs it. It doesn’t look like a woman has been living here for three months in the slightest and the place is almost bare.

“I will make it up to you,” I mutter, unsure if she’ll hear or even understand what I mean.

A frown puckers her brow, and guilt makes my stomach dip.

I make a grab for my jacket to put it on, avoiding her gaze as shame flushes the back of my neck. Suddenly the room feels too small, and I need to escape.

“Don’t you think we should talk about all this?” she asks, gesturing with a wave of her hand.

I try and fail to quickly come up with any excuse for my actions with her up until now. My breath is choppy when I inhale.

I stride back to the bed, ignoring how her gaze widens as I lean in to kiss her forehead.

“I have to run, but I will find you later and try to explain,” I say, avoiding the conversation because I don’t have a proper answer.

I mentally add ordering her some new clothes to my growing list of things I can do to ensure she has an easier stay here at the hotel.

“Umm, okay.” Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t seem overly upset, just mildly confused.

“Don’t worry, we will have plenty of time to talk tonight.” I hastily exit the door, knowing I won’t be able to keep my hands from her if I stay. I can’t think with her near, but I, apparently, can’t be too far either.

I’m absolutely fucked.

Whitley Whitt

I breathe in deep, trying to relax my stiff shoulders while resting a hip against the kitchen counter, and blow out a harsh breath. I rub at the tightness in my shoulder with one hand and twist my neck, pulling at the heavy white fabric of my uniform there.

“So what if I cuddled with my boss, right?” I mutter to the empty kitchen, wishing I had someone sane to talk to because, apparently, I’m severely attracted to walking red flags.

Should I put my two index fingers up above my ears and start bellowing like a bull?

It usually takes me an hour before my brain shuts off to even allow sleep.

With Connor, I just drifted off without issue, like poof , and off to freaking dream land. I haven’t been able to do that for years, and last night was the best sleep I’ve had in ages. My mouth goes dry at how he looked this morning, his hair all mussed and cute. It made me want to run my fingers through it, but the mixed signals from him are driving me nuts.

I’m in way over my head, and I have no idea what is happening. I’m now having sleepovers with my asshole—somewhat—boss.

Throwing my hands up because the empty kitchen never answered me, I move to make coffee by filling the pot at the sink. I take another deep, calming breath. It’s fine.

I just need to keep my shit together long enough to ask him a few questions, and I have several. What was he doing in my bathroom the other day? Why did he have my vibrator? Why was his head between my thighs out in the garden? And what are we doing? I have no idea how to react to him making me orgasm and then asking for sleepovers with cuddles.

It was so nice waking up in his arms, almost too nice.

Trevor and I never really cuddled because he didn’t like to be touched while he slept.

It took about a year after my divorce to realize that while me and Trevor were the best of friends, there was no passion between us, and my agreeing to marry him was out of fear of losing him and myself. Fear of moving off into the unknown kept me there, safe in the town I grew up in, and that’s also why I said “yes” when he asked me to marry him.

Cuddling Connor is something else altogether, and I’m not even sure we are friends. I’m pretty sure friends don’t wake up with a friend’s dick pressed against their ass cheeks. Thank god I woke up before I did something absolutely shameless, like trying to ride it in my sleep.

The idea of seeing him later sends equal waves of anticipation and apprehension through me, but he usually doesn’t pop into the kitchen until after lunch. It gives me some time to think alone.

I just hope that when I do see him, he will be the Connor I’m getting to know, and not “O’Doyle rules.”

I set the tea kettle on to boil and rub my hands down the apron tied around the front of my waist.

Pushing my worries away, I head through the door to the dining room just as Maria is opening the curtains to the large bay windows. Bright sunshine fills up the place and illuminates the flurry of disturbed dust motes, making the room glitter.

I smile at the mesmerizing scene and the way the sunshine makes her brown hair glossier than normal, giving it an auburn hue. Her deep-olive skin tone and distinctly Romanian features always strike me as beautiful, even more so when she smiles back and her dark brown eyes crinkle with joy at seeing me.

Maria wipes her hands on her dark blue work shirt to remove the dust and turns to me. “Good morning, pretty girl,” she says in her usual greeting, always making me want to blush. “I’m guessing breakfast will be ready soon?”

“Yeah. I’ve just put the coffee on, and I’ve already been brewing the tea,” I answer, before a smile lifts my lips. “You’re quick to move around this morning.”

At my tease, Maria tosses her hair over her shoulder sheepishly. “I probably shouldn’t be making you do my job in the morning, should I?” she says with a laugh.

I wave my hand down at her. “It’s fine. I really don’t mind.”

As we are talking, Maria starts wiping down tables in the dining room, getting it ready for the guests. After she puts tablecloths over them, she also places little jars of jam and honey onto each square table, followed by salt, pepper, and sugar shakers.

A pouty huff comes from her. “Anton’s alarms kept going off. I had to kick him out of bed, but it meant I was already awake.”

I know exactly what she means. Trevor used to do that every morning for an hour and a half, and it made me want to scream.

With a laugh and shake of my head, I start helping her with her duties since I can’t keep still when I’m at work. Plus, the kettle hasn’t finished boiling yet, but I can hear it starting to whistle.

“By the way, have you seen Mr. O’Doyle this morning?” Maria asks, lifting her gaze to me after throwing over another tablecloth. “I wanted to ask him about the dress rehearsals we have this afternoon.”

I can almost see her bouncing with giddy joy, and the youth of her early twenties shines through in that moment. I couldn’t think of anything worse. Playing dress up and dancing around like the teacup from Beauty and the Beast makes me want to throw myself into the fireplace.

My brain short circuits on how to answer where Connor is.

What am I supposed to say? He was sleeping in my bed this morning, but we aren’t sleeping together? Then again, I can just say I don’t know where that pompous ass is.

“Good morning,” Connor’s voice comes from behind me.

My shoulders go rigid at his unexpected appearance. I turn around and paste a smile on my face, completely at odds with how my heart is thundering in my chest.

He never comes to the kitchen or dining area this early, and my startled stare falls to the white box he has in his gloved right hand.

“Mr. O’Doyle!” Maria exclaims, pausing her duties to approach him with a demure grin that tells me she’s up to no good. “I was wondering if I could skip the dress rehearsals this afternoon?”

Connor cocks a sharp brow at the much shorter, slender woman. “I thought my email to all employees was clear. None of the rehearsals or events are negotiable.”

My lips part in surprise. I thought he was only an ass to me! Why do I feel a little jealous? I was beginning to think that was just our personal tango. How dare he cheat on me like this?! Or maybe I’m just difficult.

Maria tucks a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “Since I know all the moves and have been practicing, I was hoping it would be okay just this once?”

One side of his lips pulls like he’s trying not to smile. “Well, you have been the most enthusiastic about the event, and you are the only one who knows everything, unlike some employees.” His gaze slides to me, but it lacks the general hostility like usual, as if he merely wants to play with me. “I will permit it just this once. Enjoy your evening with Anton.”

Maria’s lips part in surprise. “How did you know?”

Connor laughs, and it’s warm and bright. “I know everything that happens in this hotel.” Then he dips his head toward me. “Do you mind if you continue your duties elsewhere? I need to speak with Whitley privately.”

Maria casts me a concerned look, but quickly goes to leave. “I’ll be back in a little bit to finish the table set-up.”

“It’s fine. I can finish the last few for you,” I answer as she makes her way out of the dining room, leaving me alone with Connor. I spin to him and blurt, “What are you doing here?”

The delighted look on his face morphs into an accusing scowl.

“Looking for you, obviously.” He holds the white box in his hand out to me. “I brought you new shoes since you’ve been complaining how much your feet hurt.”

My brows come together, as I don’t remember ever telling Connor about my shoe dilemma. Sometimes I feel like he has super hearing abilities.

I take in his usual butler attire, his trimmed beard, and his hair still damp from a shower. He doesn’t even look remotely hungover like I would have, and I find that extremely rude. I want him to have eye bags to his knees and look like the walking dead.

I eye the box in his hands, wondering what he’s playing at with this routine. New shoes? It’s like he’s not even the same person. Better yet, how or when did he organize them so fast?

I take the box without thought when he all but shoves it into my hands. “I don’t want them if this is going to be deducted from my pay.” I thumb the edge of the box and notice the quality in the cardboard alone. “These look expensive.”

I can’t even understand the language of the brand embossed on the top, but it looks fancy. Like nose up, pinkie out, lips puckered until they look like a butthole, hoity-toity fancy.

“No. This is just a gift.”

He smiles like all is right with the world when all I can think is: Where’s the joke, or the punchline that makes me feel like an idiot? I can never tell with him because he’s so hot and cold with me.

“Are you serious?” I ask incredulously.

His face turns thunderous. “Why do you always ask if I’m being serious?”

“I don’t know,” I say, unable to keep the confusion and distress from my tone. “Maybe it’s because we were enemies just a couple weeks ago, and now we’re cuddling? You’re gifting me shoes, Connor. Don’t you see?”

“I’d say enemies is a bit far-fetched. It’s not like we were wielding swords on a battlefield.” He says it with a grumble like I’m being silly! “And you needed new shoes.”

His cute brow furrows, and he pouts like he’s a puppy I’ve kicked, which doesn’t help the issue.

I want to quiet-scream, but instead I spin on my heels and head back to the kitchen, needing away from him and how he confuses me. At least there I can find something else to focus on and ignore him.

“Whitley, wait,” he says, following me into my safe space, and he grabs my arm with his free hand.

I wiggle from his light grip while struggling not to drop the shoebox. “No, Connor.”

This is all probably a game to him. If he had just explained why he was drunk and in my bed this morning, rather than running out of the room and leaving me like a deer in headlights, I wouldn’t be so emotional. But he keeps doing this, keeps running off without giving me any answers, and it’s starting to get to me.

Fuck knows why he hated me on sight before, but that doesn’t mean he gets to act like it didn’t happen. A few nice things don’t make up for shit, and I really hate how much I need this gift because of my situation that I can’t even stand to part with the shoes already. Even worse, I hate that he figured it out, making shame sting the back of my neck.

“The first night I got here, you wanted me gone,” I toss over my shoulder as I shove open the door to the kitchen with his stupid butt following me. “You may have forgotten, but I haven’t.”

“It’s not like that,” he grumbles, his words sounding pained and sincere. “I haven’t forgotten anything. In fact, I want to make it up to you. It’s why I got them.”

Surprised, I throw the box onto the counter and turn to give him a distrustful look. He opens his mouth to say something else, but I hold up a hand.

“We were at each other’s throats for ages and now we are cuddling. What about any of this makes sense to you?”

“You’re forgetting when you came all over my mouth days ago,” he has the gall to say!

He leans against the counter like this is a normal conversation and folds his arms like nothing is the matter while my skin heats at the memory. To hide my reaction, I shoot him a narrowed stare that says he’s an idiot. A sharp whistle starts from the kettle, and I give him my back, thankful for an out so he can’t see my flush of arousal.

“And you wonder why I can’t take you seriously,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you, Whitley.” He opens the box to reveal the most comfortable pair of black work shoes I’ve ever seen, and places them next to me like he wanted an excuse to get in my space. “I truly am, and now I wish for us to be friends.”

“Friends don’t lick friends’ labia, Connor,” I deadpan, since he’d already brought it up. I eye his offering, my heart wanting to cave, but I steel myself against him and whatever charm he has over me.

He closes the space between us, making my breath hitch as he places his hands on either side of me to corner me in. He licks at his lips devilishly and leans into me. “I can be your very special friend then. I don’t have labia, though, so I will need to borrow yours.”

“Ughh!” I groan, strangely turned on by his perverted sense of humor.

His voice goes all deep and rumbly as he continues, “Or I have plenty of other things you can lick.”

My eye begins to twitch at the smirk pulling at his all-too-cute lips.

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” I mutter lowly.

I almost groan in frustration when my pussy flutters as his smell and hot breath fan across my neck. He’s so close, I can almost feel his lips touching me as he speaks.

“No, you won’t, cause then you’ll have to explain what the bloody hell I’m doing in your bed.”

He pulls back, his blue eyes zeroed in on me and filled with a naughty heat I’m so not used to seeing from him. Where did this teasing deviant come from all of a sudden? He pushes off from the counter to head to the door, leaving me with my jaw threatening to fall to my tits.

“Also, your new costume arrived. I’ve put it in your room. I’ll see you this evening.”

With that, he’s gone.

I glance at the shoes sitting on the counter with a glare, then it sheepishly falls.

A tingle surges in my chest and spreads happiness at the thought that he acquired them for me, and they look like they’re my exact size too. Silly girl , I berate myself. He still hasn’t said why he was in my bathroom snooping through my shit the other day, nor in my bed this very morning.

I bite my lip and laugh at how the vibrator fell to the floor and bounced.

This is by far the strangest friendship I’ve ever had in my life, but I have never felt so alive.