I'd just lied to hotel security, risked my reputation, and potentially entangled myself in something illegal. All for a complete stranger who'd broken into my room.
I should have been furious. Instead, I found myself staring at his flushed face, wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into.
"They're gone," I said, more to myself than to him. I needed to take control of this situation immediately.
I threw back the covers, intending to call Michael, my executive assistant, to handle this mess. My longtime security chief could arrange for medical assistance and get this young man somewhere safe without involving the authorities.
Whatever drug was in his system needed to be addressed by professionals, not a CEO with a conference call scheduled for 7 AM.
"You need medical attention," I told him, reaching for my phone. "I'll call someone who can—"
My words died in my throat as Connor moved with unexpected speed, pushing himself up and crawling onto my lap with surprising determination. His movements were uncoordinated, but purposeful, like a drunk man focused on one clear objective.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
"Helping you," he murmured, his words slightly slurred as he pressed his warm body against my chest. "I promise I'll be responsible for you."
Responsible for me?
The absurdity of the statement might have made me laugh under different circumstances. I was Julian Montgomery, CEO of Montgomery Industries. I employed thousands of people. I didn't need this drugged college kid to be "responsible" for me.
"You're not thinking clearly," I said, trying to keep my voice firm but gentle. "You've been drugged."
"I know," he said, his glazed eyes fixing on mine with surprising intensity. "But I'm still going to take care of you."
His trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons of my pajama top, managing to undo the top two before I caught his wrists.
"Stop this," I ordered, though without the authority I typically wielded in boardrooms. Something about his earnest determination was disarming.
He looked down at my hands gripping his wrists, then back up at me. His pupils were dilated, nearly swallowing the gray-blue of his irises. His skin radiated an unnatural warmth. Whatever his mother had given him had dismantled his inhibitions completely.
"You're alone," he said, as if it were a profound observation. "I'm alone too, but we don't have to be."
His words struck a chord somewhere deep inside me, somewhere I'd locked away three years ago after the accident. I tightened my grip on his wrists, intending to push him away, to end this inappropriate situation.
But then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against my neck, and my body betrayed me.
I felt it immediately—a stirring, a tightening, a rush of blood to an area that had been dormant since metal and glass had reshaped my spine and my life. My breath caught sharply as the sensation registered in my brain.
An erection. I was getting hard.
It was impossible. The doctors had explained in clinical detail why this particular function was likely lost to me forever. Three years of nothing, not even a twitch, had confirmed their diagnosis.
I'd made my peace with it, focused on other aspects of my life, and even convinced myself it didn't matter. Yet here it was—undeniable, pressing against the thin fabric of my pajama bottoms as Connor shifted his weight on my lap.
I froze, my mind racing to process this seemingly impossible development. Connor must have felt the change because he paused his assault on my neck, pulling back slightly to look at me with a slow, drugged smile.
"See?" he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I can help you."
I shifted my weight, trying to conceal my growing erection while my analytical mind scrambled for explanations. Psychosomatic response? Delayed nerve regeneration? Some fluke of biology that three years of specialists had missed?
"You don't understand," I said, my voice uncharacteristically unsteady. "This isn't... I don't usually..."
But how could I explain to this stranger that he'd just triggered something I'd thought was permanently lost? That the warm weight of his body on mine had somehow awakened a part of me I'd mourned and buried?
Connor took advantage of my momentary confusion, freeing his wrists from my slackened grip to continue unbuttoning my shirt. His fingers brushed against my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Every touch amplified the rogue response of my body.
"Stop," I said, but the word lacked conviction. "You're in no condition to consent to anything."
