Real men hide their feelings, at least that's what Connor and Murphy believed in order to survive. Until Elena Jensen helps them open up through therapy before they escape prison and go back to work as the Saints. The boys learn Elena has some secre...
She looks like she's seeing a ghost. Given the way he and his brother disappeared, he might as well be a ghost. Her mouth hangs open, her voice searching for something to say. Connor carefully approaches her, hoping that closing the distance between them might help.
"Please tell me you didn't swim across the ocean..." she says lightly, a smile tugging at her lips.
A laugh escapes from his throat as he shakes his head. "No, no. But I would have if I had to." He stares at her, watching her eyebrows press together while her lips tremble ever so slightly. "Whatever it takes to come back to ye, love."
Her smile widens into a grin, but tears quickly fall out of her eyes. How much he missed those jade-green eyes. He always knew that color belonged on the hills of Ireland...that her eyes always felt like home.
Connor holds her face, gently wiping away her tears even as he blinks away his own. He smiles, too, remembering what she told him in that dreary prison and what she's taught him ever since. Real men show their feelings. And he'd be damned if he denies how he feels anymore.
He kisses Elena slowly and softly, knowing that it's not the last thing they'll ever do. Her hands grip his back as she lets her body melt into him. He can taste the salt of her skin mixed with the salt of her tears, and her scent of eucalyptus mixed with the salt of the sea trickles through his nose. Never has there been a more magical sensory combination—until he hears her voice say his name against his lips.
Connor pulls back, finding her glistening eyes staring deep into his soul. "You know I love you, yeah?" She sounds a bit unsure, and he can't help but chuckle. Pure happiness creases his eyes as he brushes his fingers across her forehead. Her brown strands still flutter in the wind, swirling over the tattoo on his hand.
Veritas.
"I do. Ye never needed to say it," he assures, his tone warm against the cool Irish air blowing between them. "But it sure feels good to hear it in yer voice." Connor kisses her again, letting his lips move against hers as he finally says the truth aloud. "I love ye, Elena."
She pulls him closer, deepening the kiss as he slides his hand to cup her neck. His thumb rubs lightly over her sparrow earring, fitting his digit perfectly against the curve of her face. She breaks the kiss briefly and looks up at him—that same look she gave so long ago that made him fall for her as she asked him, "What do you want?"
He never imagined that he'd want this—this connection, this powerful feeling that he couldn't comprehend from that therapist who sat across from him. But the Lord works in mysterious ways, with the soul serving as a conduit to that deeper understanding and Elena being the spark to ignite everything.
Connor takes her hand with both of his, and as he's about to bring it to his chest, he notices the sparrow tattoo on the inside of her arm. A grin breaks across his face as he traces the design with his fingers. "A little bird," he utters softly as she smiles through her tears. "M'éan beag," he says in Irish. My little bird.
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