Cross-Checked (Boston Rebels, #3)

by Julia Connors

Because Ronan McCabe hasn’t looked at me with this lost puppy dog look in a very long time, and the last time he did, it ruined my marriage and almost ruined his career.

“Helping me?” “What part of we need to win tonight isn’t resonating?” This man is infuriating. It’s like he needs to question everything I say and turn every conversation into a fight, and I’m already tired of saying the same thing over and over.

“Don’t make me stop hating you now.” His words are practically whispered as he watches me take his baby and turn her so she’s facing me. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply flippantly as I hold his little cuddle bug against my chest.

I’m not sure why, but babies love me. It’s a cruel trick of nature, I guess, to give a woman who can’t have kids the ability to calm any baby she comes into contact with.

but the truth—a truth I will never reveal to a single living soul—is that I couldn’t stop looking at her holding my baby.

Damn, this woman turns me into a fool.

The physical toll of carrying Abby for hours, combined with the emotional toll of watching McCabe self-destruct at the press conference like that, has me just wanting to crash into bed.

“I appreciate that you’re looking out for him,” I say, and next to me, Lauren’s rumble of laughter slips out like she already knows what I’m going to say. “But he’s a big boy. He can stand up for himself.” Walsh laughs then, too. “Against you? I’m not so sure he can.”

when a woman is beautiful, strong, and successful, she’s a triple threat. And that weak men don’t like to be threatened, so they’ll find any way to undermine and invalidate you—to make you feel small, like you’re nothing without them. But a strong man will encourage and support you, will want to see you shine and be successful in all aspects of your life, not just where it relates to him.” Lauren pauses and laughs before saying, “And then she offered to help me bury the body if I needed.”

“Fighting with you. It’s like you try anything and everything to piss me off.” “I’m not trying to piss you off. I can’t help it—you’re infuriating, and I just react.”

“I meant I’ll be fine on my own.” “Over my dead body.” “Easily arranged,” I mutter under my breath.

I’m a quiet guy by nature, reserved in a way that has people thinking I’m grumpy or pissed off. But it’s not because I don’t like people, it’s because I’m fascinated by how much you can learn about others when you simply shut your fucking mouth and listen.

“I’m fine.” “You keep saying that,” Frank says, “and somehow, I still don’t believe you.”

“What is it you don’t want me to see?” Me, I want to scream. Because right now, with him staring down at me, this whole situation feels too raw, too vulnerable. Like not only will he be able to see how bruised and battered my body is, but maybe he’ll even be able to see that my heart is in the same condition.

With my eyes closed and my forehead resting against the hollow space at the base of his neck, secure and warm, wrapped in his arms, I feel like a weight has been lifted. I feel like I can breathe again.

Have we always been this fucking nosy about each other’s lives? Thank god I changed her name in my contacts, because if I’d just been that lost in a texting conversation with my boss, there’d be a lot of questions.

I see the war raging in her gaze. She doesn’t want to want me here, but she does. I understand the feeling completely. I shouldn’t want her. I shouldn’t be here with her. It makes every single thing about my life more complicated, and I don’t do complicated. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to convince myself that I don’t want her. And now, I’ve decided to stop trying.

“I want to make sure that there’s no miscommunication at all. Because once is an accident, but if I stay here with you again tonight, it’s not an accident, and it’s not a mistake. It’s a choice.”

“We shouldn’t . . .” “I know we shouldn’t.” Dipping my head back toward her, I graze my lips over her forehead. “But are we?”

“You’re injured. The last thing I want to do is hurt you more.” “How about you let me be the one to decide what kind of pain I can endure? Because sometimes . . .” Reaching down, she cups her hand over the zipper of my pants, and as my balls tighten up, I’m afraid I’m about to embarrass myself. “. . . a little pain is . . . just . . . fine.” Holy shit.

“Oh, Sunshine, I’ve been waiting for you for a fucking decade. I could wait longer . . . I would wait longer, if I had to.”

“Go ahead.” She nods and raises her eyebrows like she’s challenging me. “Ruin me.”

I take in the vulnerability in his eyes. “How could this ever work between us?” Without breaking eye contact, he presses another kiss to my temple. “How could it not?” It’s a crazy thing to say. Isn’t it?

“Taking care of your needs feels like the bare fucking minimum, Alessandra. And if doing that ruins you, then prepare to be spoiled senseless.”

“Listen, Sunshine,” he says, pulling out slightly and then sliding right back in. The sensation of his length gliding along my inner walls eases some of the pain from being stretched so full. “I wanted to take this slow. You’re the one who decided to impale yourself on my cock.”

“Don’t be condescending when you’re inside me.”

“Hey, you can’t put a price on sanity,”

“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him, feeling uncommonly vulnerable. His voice softens. “Like what?” “Like I’m broken.” “I don’t think you’re broken. If anything . . . I’m looking at you with admiration. It’s like the person I see in front of me now is completely different than the person I thought you were. And I really like who I see.”

“Sometimes we want what we want, even if it’s not what’s best for us.”

“I’m not going to turn her loose on the streets, so I guess I’ll have to endure her hissing at me every time I walk past. Kind of like I endure you growling at me when you don’t get your way.”

“No, you don’t.” “I want to hate you.” “That’s not even close to the same thing,”

The thought of not having her in my bed is painful. I’m not just desperate for her physical proximity, for the way we make each other feel when we’re together, but also for the way she opens up with me, the way she shows me who she is and how she feels in a way that she doesn’t do with anyone else. It’s not just the sex. I want her. All of her.

“Like I wanted to be with her every second of every day. She was oxygen and I needed her to breathe. Gotta be honest, still feels like that.” “All these years later?”

It was just too much, because that's no longer my reality.

“And you're telling me,” she says, looking at me pointedly, “that you don't know if that’s worth fighting for? This person who knows you, who you've confided in, who's obsessed with you and has told you he wants more than just sex, and you don't think that's worth fighting for?”

“I never wanted to be a public figure,” I say with a little laugh. Lauren gives me a smile. “Perils of breaking the glass ceiling, I guess.”

“You’d go to all that effort just to lace up my skates for me?”

Being here, simply watching AJ do something she loves . . . it brings the kind of quiet contentedness that has a smile permanently etched onto my face. I can’t wipe it off—I’m trying, I really am.

“Oh my god,” I say with a laugh. “The world’s grumpiest cat has found the world’s grumpiest man, and it’s a match made in heaven.” “I’m not grumpy,” he all but growls, but there’s a heat in his eyes that I don’t miss.

Am I an asshole for deflecting this conversation back to him? Quite possibly. Do I care? Not at the moment.

I need you in every way. Sometimes it feels like I don’t know what I would do without you in my life.”

“I’ve never not wanted you. I’ve just been waiting for you to want me, too.”

“I’m not in competition with her,” I tell him. “I have my career, and I want her to achieve everything she sets her mind to in her career. I want her to be happy and fulfilled. The level of success she’s achieved . . . man, the only people who’d be threatened by that are those who are weak, those who can’t let other people succeed without trying to tear them down. So I guess what you have to ask yourself is: why did you have to make her feel small in order to feel good about yourself? Sounds like a personal failing to me.”

“You can’t do this,” Chet says, eyes wide with rage and bewilderment. “I have a contract.” “Yes, and you’re an at-will employee. Seems I no longer have the will to employ you.”