“You’re sleeping with my husband, aren’t you?” she asks as she stops in front of me.

“Lady,” Connor warns as he moves to step between us, blocking me from her. “You need to go.”

All I can do is stare wide-eyed, unsure of what I’m being accused of. Sleeping with her husband? Is she talking about Connor? No, there’s no way he’s married.

She raises her left hand modeling a small diamond ring. “Vick,” she says, simply. “He’s my husband, and you’re fucking him.”

My mouth drops open as my stomach flips.

Vick?

Vick is married?

“Three years,” she adds as she drops her hand. “I’m pregnant with our second child.”

My heart hammers in my chest as I stumble back and catch myself against the side of the house. Connor quickly turns and pulls me up, holding me as I process.

Vick is married.

Vick is married.

Vick has a kid and one on the way.

Vick is married.

Even witnessing how this news has knocked the wind out of me, blondie continues. “Told him I was pregnant two months ago. When I woke up the next morning, he’d cleaned out our savings account and took off. His mother wouldn’t tell me where he was until I threatened to never let her see her grandkids.”

I move my gaze to her and see she’s watching me. I’m giving her exactly the reaction she wanted. Vick may be a deadbeat husband and father, but that’s not my fault. She came here to punish him by hurting me. She knew telling me would ruin any chance he had with me, which is one hundred percent true, but her method of doing this was harsh. She didn’t have to hurt me to hurt him. Or maybe she did, but she could’ve been nicer . . . or more delicate.

Connor turns back to her. “You’ve said your peace. Now go,” he orders her.

Blondie backs away and shakes her head. “Should’ve known he’d go for the first easy piece of ass in town,” she jabs.

Connor lurches forward, but I grab his arm, stopping him. I know he wasn’t going to hurt her, but he was probably about to yell some choice words. Stepping around him, I look her in the eye. “We haven’t slept together. I’m not sure if that’s what you want to know or not. But you have my word we haven’t done anything beyond kiss.”

Her blue eyes run up and down me, her distaste of me evident. “Women that wear dresses like that are looking for more than kissing.”

My fists clench at my sides as I fight to maintain calm. I don’t need to stoop to her level. I don’t need to insult her. I don’t know her, and she doesn’t know me, which makes this whole conversation ridiculous.

“You can leave now,” I answer with a patient smile. “I’ll let Vick know you stopped by.”

Shaking her head again, she spins around and climbs back in her car and takes off. As soon as her car is out of sight, Connor turns back to me, an unsure and sad smirk on his face. His shirt is dirty with oil and grime, and sweat covers his brow, but he looks handsome as ever.

“I tried to get her to leave before she got to you,” he manages.

“I know,” I answer numbly. Looking down at myself, I’m surprised I’m not more upset. I mean, I was going to sleep with this man tonight, and I just found out he’s a married liar. I’m angry he lied. I’m embarrassed I was so easily swindled. But deep down I’m so grateful. However rude his wife may have been, she saved me from making a huge mistake. I look down at my dress and sigh, my eyes tearing up. I’m such a fool. How could I have been so naïve? Not wanting to get emotional in front of Connor, I blink my tears back and take a deep breath,

“Looks like a waste of a good outfit,” I pout, hoping to ease the awkwardness radiating from me.

“Give me five minutes,” Connor says, as he turns and heads for the stairs to his apartment.

“What?”

“We’re going out tonight. Give me five minutes to get ready.”

He disappears inside his apartment, leaving me standing in stunned silence.

We’ve been sitting at the bar for two hours, and I am mostly drunk. The bartender has just placed a glass of water and chicken fingers in front of me. When I glance at Connor, he smiles, not looking at me.

“Eat,” he orders.

I nibble on the chicken fingers and gulp the water. I fully intend to drink more beer, but I figure it’s best not to argue with Connor about the food and water.

Another two hours pass and I’m wasted. Lexi showed up and joined me in a Vick hating rally where the more you drink, the less hate you felt. Connor has kept close all night, watching us, sipping beer and warding off women trying to catch his eye.

When Lexi takes a bathroom break, I join Connor at the bar again.

“I think every woman in this place wants to go home with you tonight,” I murmur. I know I shouldn’t say things like this to him, but I’m too drunk to care.

He chuckles and looks at me. “Not every woman,” he mumbles and sips his beer.

That was a stab at me. Does he feel like I’ve rejected him? The urge to defend myself or address the giant elephant in the room rises, but I fight it back down. Acknowledging that night might only make it worse.

“Why don’t you talk to one?” I say, jutting my chin in the direction of two blondes that won’t stop staring at him.

He sighs and runs a wide palm down his face. “They only want to fuck me because I’m a convict.”

I scowl. “How would they know that?” I ask.

“Everyone in this town knows, Demi,” he huffs before chugging down the rest of his beer and motioning to the bartender for another.

“They do?” I question, baffled. “No one has breathed a word to me.”

“That’s because they’re scared you’ll tell me.”

My heart hurts a little with this news. Connor is so . . . good. I hate the thought that people sum him up as one thing: bad.

“I’m not into that shit.”

“What shit?” I ask, shaking off my thoughts.

“Women that only want to sleep with me so they have something to gab to their friends about.”

I narrow my eyes. “Well, what shit are you into?” The question causes him to rear his head back slightly. It’s a pretty bold question. I’ll admit, I want to know. What does Connor Stevens want in the bedroom? What does he look for in a woman? I know I’m crazy for asking him, but I’m so enthralled now waiting for the answer I feel like I should have a bucket of popcorn and be sitting cross-legged on the floor.

He raises his head to the ceiling and clenches his eyes closed, but when he looks at me again, I see something I haven’t before. He drops the wall. That wall where he talks to me like I’m his cousin’s quiet and sweet widow. That wall where he works so hard to be respectable. But I’m not afraid to hear his answer. I want to know, and I refuse to back down or shy away. “If I tell you, will you tell me?” he asks.

I swallow hard. Then I shy away . . . slightly.

He certainly knows how to turn something around on a person. How did I not think this would somehow get flipped around on me? But I refuse to back down from the challenge. Maybe he thinks I’ll get shy or meek, and that’s why he seems so . . . crass, but I won’t. I’m a big girl. I can talk about what I want in bed . . . even with Connor Stevens, who happens to be the person I want in bed.

“Okay,” I agree, straightening my posture.

“It’s not just about what happens in the bedroom,” he begins.

“Okay.”

“I’m looking for a woman that . . .” he pauses and scratches the back of his neck as if stalling, searching for his next words, “can put her full trust in me.”

I stare at him a moment, hoping he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. So I ask, “What does that mean?”

“I have a need to . . .” again, another pause, “to take care of people. I want a woman that trusts me to do that.”

I sip my beer while I try to understand his meaning. What would it be like to be taken care of by Connor Stevens? I imagine he means in the bedroom as well. My cheeks heat at that thought. I want to ask him more, but even in my drunken state, I control myself. Connor chuckles and I snap my gaze to his.