Taking Connor (32 page)

“Demi, this Leslie Jenson.”

My brows furrow in question.

“This is the Jenson’s daughter, babe.”

I tense immediately, wondering if this woman has come to thrash me for killing her father. What am I supposed to say here? Nice to meet you?

“She’s come forward with information that may help us,” Jim adds.

“Information such as . . . ?”

“My father sexually abused me,” Leslie pipes up. Her blue eyes meet mine for a brief moment before dropping again. “Until I ran away when I was sixteen.”

“You haven’t seen them since you were sixteen?” I ask. I never knew the Jenson’s even had children.

“Not once.”

We spend the next two hours together, where Leslie shares details of a horrific childhood; a father sexually assaulting her, a mother who called her a liar, and a family doctor that never reported obvious signs of abuse.

“We’re meeting with the prosecutor this afternoon so Leslie can share her experience,” Jim informs me before sipping his coffee.

“I appreciate her willingness to share such a painful experience, but how will this help me?”

“Because he deserved to die,” Leslie states blatantly.

“Leslie, I appreciate how both of us feel in this situation. But the judge may not agree,” I point out.

Jim stands and straightens his tie. “Maybe not. Or maybe he has a daughter or granddaughter and just maybe the thought of something so terrible happening to them at the hands of a sick man will make him think. But we need to go now. We’re meeting the prosecutor in an hour.”

After they leave, Connor and I finish our cup of coffee in silence. I can’t seem to get my thoughts together, my mind is scrambled with what ifs? What if the prosecutor doesn’t care about her testimony? What if I go to prison? I’m a knot of worry and tension, which Connor must sense because he stands and takes my hand, looking down at me with his dark stare.

Again, no words.

He wants me to follow him.

He leads me upstairs and undresses me slowly, kissing me softly. I don’t want to think about the trial or prison or assholes that hurt innocent children right now. I want my mind to go blank, and Connor knows this. He knows exactly how to suck all of the worries out of me, at least for a little while, and I’m grateful for it.

He undresses and climbs on the bed, seating himself upward, his back against the headboard. “Come here, beautiful,” he orders me.

I crawl on the bed toward him, then straddle his lap, relishing the rush that runs through me when his erection slides against my wetness. Cupping my cheek, he slides his hand down my body, squeezing my breast and grazing my nipple with his thumb. I trace the curves of his muscles, wanting to touch every inch of his exquisite body. Our gazes are locked, the conversation flowing between us.

I want you,
I say.

You’re my everything
, he tells me.

He’s a master of sex. I’ve decided this. He knows taking his time, torturing me until I’m about to combust with want for him makes it that much more intense. By the time he finally lets me sheathe him inside me, I can think of nothing but him, us, this.

I ride him slowly, but I come quickly when he places his thumb on my clit. We never look away from each other and when I feel his body tense, feel him nearing his release, I do my best to memorize every single detail of this moment. I want to lock it away inside of me because there may come a time, very soon, that we will be forced to part ways; a time where I’m forced to let him go and move on with his life. If I’m convicted and sentenced, I now understand I could go to prison for up to eleven years. I would never ask him to wait that long for me, not after he’s just gotten out of prison himself and has barely had a chance to live again.

His hips thrust up, meeting me as I ride him faster, his hands gripping my hips. “Don’t,” he growls as he thrusts harder. “You’ll never lose, no matter what happens.”

His words, his expression, the way he knows me so well, send me flying high again and my orgasm breaks me into a million emotional pieces. When he finishes with a loud deep groan, I’m crying, again, but he sits up and crushes me to him, his hot breaths against my breast.

“You’re mine . . . and I’m never letting go.”

I hold onto him for dear life as I weep, not minding that I can barely breath because he’s holding me so tightly.

Connor Stevens is my everything.

And I’m about to lose it all.

“Guilty.”

Mrs. Jenson lets out a shriek of pained joy as my verdict is handed down.

The word hits me like a forceful wave, doing its best to knock me over. My gaze moves down to the table, Jim’s yellow tablet paper strewn across it with little notes he’d taken. I’m in such utter shock I can’t even muster up a reaction. The courtroom is buzzing with murmurs and chatting, but I can’t seem to move or think. I’m going to prison.

“Demi,” Connor says my name, sternly, demanding I turn around and look at him. But I can’t. I just can’t. If I turn around right now and meet that dark stare, I’ll melt into a puddle of tears.

The judge bangs his gavel several times. “Order,” he booms.

“Mr. Burgess, would your client prefer sentencing now or at a later date?”

Jim places a gentle hand on my shoulder in question. Not looking up from the table where my gaze is fixed, I nod my head yes.

“Mrs. Stevens,” the judge grumbles. Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his stern one. Clearing his throat, he says, “I do not condone a person taking the law into her own hands. The evidence we’ve seen here today shows that Ned Jenson was killed by suffocation.”

“Murderer!” Mrs. Jenson shouts.

“Order,” the judge bellows as he bangs his gavel. “One more outburst and you will be removed from this courtroom.”

The judge, dragging this moment out by pouring himself a glass of water and taking a drink, has me about to come out of my skin.
How long will I be in prison? What will happen to my house? What will happen to Connor? I have to let him go.
That last thought seizes me so deeply I have to fight the urge to lurch forward in pain. Twisting my neck, I glance over my shoulder and find him with his arms resting on the wooden divider, his head bowed as if he’s praying. I want to go to him, curl up in his arms, and never leave.

“Is there anything you’d like to say before I hand down your sentencing, Mrs. Stevens?”

Turning my head back, looking to the judge, I nod yes. “I’m sorry,” I croak, my throat tight with emotion. “But not for killing him,” I admit. Then I turn to the courtroom and look directly at McKenzie. Her blonde hair is braided down the side hanging over her shoulder. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying. Our gazes lock and a tear streams down my face as I address her. “I’m sorry that I let that monster hurt someone I love. Someone so innocent that relied on me and trusted me to protect them. I’m sorry I missed all the signs that said something was wrong. And I know sorry will never change what happened, but I hope someday you can forgive me.”

“You’re apologizing to her?” Mrs. Jenson shouts as she stands. She’s always been skinny, but now she appears deathly thin. Her short hair is wild and unruly, and her eyes seem hollow from lack of sleep. “You killed my husband!” Someone sitting beside her grabs her arm and tries to get her to sit down, but Mrs. Jenson rips her arm away. Jerking up her purse she digs a frantic hand inside of it and yanks out a handful of individually wrapped candies.

“Bailiff, remove her from this courtroom!” The judge yells as he hammers his gavel.

“All he did was give those girls candy,” Mrs. Jenson moans through her sobs before she hums the handful of candy at me. The candy falls short, but the bailiff is quick to grab her before she manages to scoop another handful from her purse. As they drag her away, she continues to scream at me until they’ve dragged her through the doors and out of sight.

The room is loud with whispers and gasps until the judge declares he’ll clear the courtroom if there’s not order. McKenzie is sobbing, and Jeff stands wanting to take her out to the hall, but she shakes her head no, adamantly. “I’m staying.” Then looking at me, her face pained, mouths, “It wasn’t your fault. I love you.”

I nod once and look at Connor. His expression is hard and riddled with fear. He’s scared for me.

“Mrs. Stevens,” the judge calls. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

Turning back to face him, I take a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I say, “I’m ready for my sentencing.”

“God, you guys are so disgustingly cute,” Wendy quips as she enters the kitchen and tosses some mussed up saran wrap in the trash. “Connor just told me to tell you how beautiful you look today.”

I can’t help smiling.

We are pretty disgusting.

And incredibly happy.

I peek out the kitchen window and see Connor, Jeff, and Dusty all standing in a little circle with beers in their hands. Connor has the biggest smile on his face as he talks, throwing his head back occasionally, and laughing.

He’s happy.

I’m happy.

That’s all that matters.

I try not to think about what might have been, about going to prison, because it’s behind me now. Turns out, Leslie’s testimony was what saved me from prison. The judge had mercy on me.

I was convicted of Voluntary Manslaughter and given ten years of probation and required to perform five hundred hours of community service. My case received news coverage across the country, and many have questioned the judge’s ethics—Jim says he’s going to retire soon anyway. The judge couldn’t care less what people think of his ethics.

My conviction was ten months ago.

I took it and my sentencing gratefully, even though it meant losing my job as a teacher. Being unemployed is scary, but jail is scarier. I know everything will be okay, though, one way or another. I thought about selling the house, not wanting to live across the street from Mrs. Jenson, but she sold her home, extremely cheap as most people don’t want to buy a home where a murder has taken place. So Connor and I decided to stay for now. With me out of work and him growing his business, it just isn’t the right time.

Wendy and I finish up in the kitchen and carry out the last two dishes. It’s just a small barbecue with the people we love most. As I place the bowl of potato salad on the table, Connor comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist pressing his mouth to my neck and whispering, “I want you.”

Turning my head, I kiss him and whisper back, “Meet me in the house five minutes after we eat.”

He growls and squeezes my hip before quickly sitting to hide his erection. I bend down and kiss his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I murmur. “I’ll take care of that.”

The meal is fantastic, and everyone seems to feel the same. Not one of the Tuffman children complained, so that’s success in my book. It’s been the perfect, relaxing day. I think we all needed this. Connor and I aren’t the only ones that have had problems lately. McKenzie and Mary-Anne are seeing counselors now, and we are all doing what we can to support them, doing whatever we can to help them heal. They have a long road ahead of them, but McKenzie already seems a little . . . lighter. I think finally making the secret known that she’s been carrying for so long has helped. Grayson will start special education Pre-K this year, and once Wendy and Jeff can get insurance, hopefully, they can get him more therapy. Dusty is still warding off my sister. Poor guy. Lexi loves nothing more than a challenge and Dusty is doing a damn good job of it. But when he doesn’t know I’m looking, I’ve seen the way he watches her. I think he may be a little more interested than he lets on.

After the meal, everyone helps clean up, except Lexi, and a pretty intense volleyball game is happening in the backyard. Connor and I decline to join in, wanting to play a little game of our own in private. I’m grabbing the last of the dirty paper plates from the table when he leans toward me and growls.

“You have two minutes to get that sexy ass of yours inside.”

“Yes sir,” I say, with a grin.

“I have to grab something. I’ll be right there.” He takes off for the garage, and I hurry inside hoping to have enough time to check myself in the mirror. I toss the plates in the trash and rush to the bathroom, running my fingers through my hair. I’ve missed feeling this giddy for someone, feeling so . . . alive. There was a time I thought maybe I’d never experience that again. After a few attempts, I’ve just perfected my sexy pose for when he enters when I hear a loud pop. It’s so loud I nearly jump out of my skin.
What the hell was that?