by Elle Kennedy
Something indefinable flickered across his face.
“What?” she prompted.
He gave a shrug, averting her inquisitive gaze. “Nothing. I was just thinking how difficult it is to satisfy you.”
Suddenly the air in the stuffy living room grew even stuffier. Swallowing, Morgan awkwardly rested her palms on her thighs and said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Quinn finally brought his gaze back to hers. Bitterness clouded his eyes. “It means exactly what it sounds like. You’re a hard woman to satisfy. God knows I tried.” He sucked in a breath. “And failed, of course.”
Confusion flooded her body. “You didn’t fail,” she protested. “I failed. I’m the reason you left, Quinn.”
His voice grew hoarse. “I left because I obviously wasn’t enough for you, Morgan. You weren’t satisfied with just me, with our life.”
“Yes, I was.” She blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. “I loved our life together.”
“Not enough.” His powerful chest heaved as he drew in another breath. “You chose your other life over ours. Your role as the senator’s daughter instead of Adam Quinn’s fiancée.”
The pain in his voice made her heart ache. A part of her also felt an inkling of irritation, because evidently he still refused to understand why she’d agreed to her father’s request to postpone the wedding. It wasn’t because she loved Quinn any less. Her father had been up for reelection, and she’d promised her mom she would stick by him when he needed her. She told all this to Quinn, the night she asked to delay their wedding until after her dad’s reelection, but he hadn’t understood where she was coming from.
“I wanted to marry you,” she whispered. “I just wanted to push back the wedding for a few months.”
Quinn shook his head, looking irritated. “You know that’s not the only reason I left, Morgan. Your father was sticking his nose into our business long before you asked to delay the wedding.” He snorted. “Our dinner reservations, our vacations, the goddamn brand of toothpaste we used—he interfered with every aspect of our lives.”
“I tried to get him to back off,” she protested.
Quinn frowned. “Evidently not hard enough.”
“You know my father, Quinn. He’s determined to get his way about everything…” She trailed off when she realized he wasn’t interested in her excuses.
“I made a mistake,” she whispered. Her chest felt as if some one had scraped it open with a razor. “And I’ve regretted that mistake every day for the last two years, okay?”
He didn’t respond, but the animosity in his eyes dimmed slightly, giving her the nerve to continue. “I miss you,” she admitted. “I think about you all the time, Quinn.”
His features softened, just a bit, and her courage rose even higher. Her hand shook as she lifted it to his face, fingers trembling wildly as she gently stroked his strong jaw. He winced at the touch, but didn’t draw back. His breaths came out ragged, and Morgan could see the battle raging in his eyes. Lust and anger. Hurt and anticipation.
God, it felt good touching him. The pads of her fingers brushed across the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, relishing the feel of him, the sharp planes of his face, the fullness of his bottom lip. Her heart pounded so loud she was surprised he didn’t comment on it. When she slowly slid her hand from his jaw to his neck, and then his chest, she could feel his heart beating, too, thudding against her palm.
His large, warm hand suddenly covered hers, impeding her tentative caresses. “You should stop,” he growled.
“Why?” she murmured. “You can’t tell me you don’t like me touching you. You know you’ve missed me as much as I missed you.”
His green eyes flashed. “Damn it, Morgan. I don’t want to play these games with—”
She kissed him before he could finish that sentence. And what do you know, he kissed her back, with such passion the oxygen drained from her lungs and a wave of dizziness crashed over her. His taste was familiar, the feel of his lips against hers like a homecoming, yet there was something different about him, too. An edge, a roughness that troubled her and excited her at the same t
His mouth and tongue were relentless, toying with her, claiming her. When his hot tongue slid into her mouth, she whimpered, and he swallowed the desperate sound and deepened the kiss. The air around them grew thick, the sizzle of sexual attraction flowing freely from her body to his like a bolt of lightning looking for a place to strike.
Morgan threaded her fingers through his dark hair, stroked the nape of his neck, touched his jaw, desperate to make contact with him. And his hands were doing some exploring of their own. He cupped one aching breast over her thin cashmere sweater, the heat of his hand searing right through the material and making her nipple jut out against his palm. He squeezed, fondling one breast, then the other, until she was moaning in his arms.
Yet it wasn’t enough. She shifted restlessly on the couch, sliding closer to him, rubbing against his rock-hard thigh. “I need you,” she choked out. “God, Quinn, I need you so much.”
He froze for a moment, and when her eyelids fluttered open she immediately saw the hard look in his eyes. She knew she’d said something wrong, did something wrong, but Quinn didn’t give her time to question his sudden harshness.
One hand abruptly left her breast and reached for the fingers she’d tangled in his hair. Green eyes glittering with arousal and another emotion she couldn’t quite label, he gripped her hand with his and dragged it to the waistband of her gray wool slacks.
Letting go of her hand, he deftly unbuttoned her pants and peeled them off her legs, leaving her sitting on the leather couch in nothing but her skimpy black panties. Then he took her hand again and, before she could object, placed it directly over her core.
Morgan gasped from the intimate touch. It didn’t matter that it was her own warm palm pressing against her throbbing sex. The contact caused a rush of pleasure to spiral through her body and settle between her legs.
“See, you don’t need me,” Quinn said in a hoarse voice, covering her hand with his again.
In the back of her mind, a warning bell sounded. He was playing with her, toying with her so he could…so he could what? Make a statement? Prove a point? Yet the gentle stroking of his fingers—her fingers—overpowered the apprehension. Her entire body grew achy and agitated, her breasts heavy with arousal, and every soft brush of her own finger against her clit made her gasp.
“That’s it,” Quinn muttered. “Let’s see how much you need me.”
He continued directing her movements, moving her hand over her damp panties, pressing down on her fingers when he decided she wasn’t applying enough pressure. Morgan struggled to breathe. She wanted to push him away, tell him to go to hell for whatever game he was playing, but she couldn’t find the willpower. She could feel the climax building, and there was no stopping it. It had been so long. Too long. And regardless of whose hand it was between her legs, it was Quinn’s presence sending her closer to the precipice. Quinn’s masculine scent, and raspy breathing, and—oh, yes. Release pounded through her body, a combination of soaring pleasure and aching pain that fragmented her mind and thundered through her body. Burst after burst of ecstasy exploded inside of her, until she finally slumped back against the leather sofa c, gasping for air.
Very slowly, Quinn lifted his hand, leaving only her own pressing against her pulsing center. He stood hastily, but not before her glazed eyes took in the obvious erection straining against his faded blue jeans.
He made no mention of his arousal. He just stared at her, rueful, aroused, bitter. “You don’t need me,” he said again, squaring his broad shoulders until he stood like a stiff marble statue in front of her. “Next time the thought enters your mind, remember you’re perfectly capable of making yourself feel good. As you can see, you don’t need me for that.”
Shaking his head to himself, he stalked out of the room, leaving her sitting bewildered on the sofa.
“You arrogant bastard!�
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Quinn paused at the foot of the majestic spiral staircase, stifling a sigh. He’d known it wouldn’t take her long to shake off the aftereffects of the climax and let the fury take over. And hell, she deserved to be mad. He’d acted like a heartless son of a bitch back there, and he wasn’t proud of it. Yet hearing her utter those words—I need you—had unleashed a storm inside of him.
She’d proven two years ago that she didn’t need him. Didn’t want him. He’d wanted to remind her of that. Sure, he might have gone about it the wrong way, but the truth remained the same. Morgan had tossed him aside, and just because she suddenly decided she wanted him around again didn’t mean he would pull her into his arms and pretend the past hadn’t happened.
“What was that about?” she continued, charging across the marble floor and intercepting him before he could take another step. “You wanted to prove a point, was that it?” Her blue eyes flashed. “Well, you proved nothing.”
He tried to ignore how beautiful she looked, with her cheeks flushed from climax and anger. Instead, he pasted on an indifferent expression and said, “I proved that you don’t need me.”
“Why, because I had an orgasm?” she shot back. “I’ve got a news flash for you, Quinn, you made it happen. I climaxed because you were there with me.”
Oh man, why did she have to say the word orgasm? The erection he’d been attempting to get rid of returned with full force, jutting against his zipper. He ached for her, craved her, and he hated himself for the traitorous reaction. He’d had two years to get over his desire for her, and he thought he’d succeeded. But from the moment he’d laid eyes on her back at their cabin, he’d been in a constant state of arousal.
“What exactly do you want from me, Morgan?” he asked, slowly meeting her gaze.
She faltered, as if she’d expected him to lash out again and didn’t know what to say now that he hadn’t. “I want…” Her voice drifted for a second, and then she cleared her throat. “I want you.”
His hard-on jerked against his jeans but he refused to give it the attention it pleaded for. “Morgan—”
“I want your forgiveness,turning her head, but not before he glimpsed the sorrow swimming in her blue eyes.
He let out an uneven breath. “I forgave you a long time ago.”
Her gaze flew back to his. “What?”
“I forgave you,” he repeated.
“So, why…” Her delicate throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Why are you fighting the attraction? You know it’s still there, Quinn.”
“It is,” he agreed quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it. I’m through with relationships. I have no interest in getting involved again, with you, or anyone else.”
Her voice became soft. “That’s foolish, Quinn. You’re just going to shut yourself off from everyone for the rest of your life?”
He shrugged. “I have my job, my guys, I don’t need anything else.”
She shook her head. “I never took you for a coward.”
“There’s nothing cowardly about this,” he replied, nearly cringing at the defensive note in his voice. “I’ve just decided I prefer being alone.”
“Because of me.” She sagged against the railing of the stair case. “I hurt you, and now you’re reverting back to the man you used to be before we met, the one who refused to open his heart to anyone.”
Annoyance seized his insides. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Morgan. The way I feel about relationships is none of your concern, not anymore. I’m here to help you find out who tried to kill you and figure out what happened to your friend. That’s all I’m equipped to do.”
Her eyes rested briefly on his groin, which still sported an erection that refused to go away. “It looks like you’re equipped for other things as well.”
His irritation grew. “What are you suggesting exactly? You want me to take you to bed?”
“Yes.”
Her candid response threw him for a loop. “For God’s sake, why? I just told you I’m not interested.”
“In relationships,” she said. “You didn’t say a word about casual flings.”
Despite himself, he laughed. “You honestly think, after every thing we’ve been through, that anything between us could ever remain casual?”
“It can if we keep it that way.”
He wavered for a moment, disgusted when he realized he was actually considering this ridiculous proposal. He chalked it up to the fact that he hadn’t had sex in two years, but that reminder only evoked another wave of disgust. He’d almost gone to bed with someone else, a cute redheaded tourist he met in Venezuela six months after he left Morgan, but the entire encounter had been awkward and frustrating. Unable to get Morgan out of his head, he ended up leaving the redhead in her hotel room with a confused expression on her face.
So yeah, he was a little hard up for some physical action
But not with Morgan.
Because really, how could he possibly have sex with her after he’d made love to her?
“Forget it,” he said flatly.
Disappointment bloomed on her face. “There’s nothing wrong with giving in to the attraction between us.”
“There’s plenty wrong with it.” He sighed. “Let’s just drop this, all right? Are you still determined to spy on the sheriff tonight?”
His swift change of subject obviously caught her off guard, but she recovered quickly. “Yes, I am.”
“Fine. Then wake me up at nine-thirty. I’m taking a nap until we leave.”
He attempted to continue up the stairs, but she blocked him again. “So that’s it?” she taunted. “You’re going to pretend nothing happened between us in the living room, that the conversation we just had didn’t exist, and just tail the sheriff tonight?”
With a grim nod, he moved her aside with a little more force than necessary and ascended the stairs. “That’s precisely what I’m going to do,” he called over his shoulder.
Quinn never got around to that nap, though he did stay out of sight until it was time to head out. He made a few calls, stared at the walls of the guest room and did his best to ignore the sound of Morgan’s footsteps roaming the main floor.
She truly was nuts, but not in the way her father claimed. A casual fling? As if the two of them could ever manage something casual. They were too explosive together, the passion too strong, the emotions too raw.
He chuckled to himself. Casual. Ha.
Although he still thought following the sheriff to his mysterious meeting with his possible accomplice was a bad idea, Quinn didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Morgan would go whether he accompanied her or not, and considering her hotheaded nature and animosity toward Jake Wilkinson, Quinn wasn’t in the mood to bail her out of jail tonight.
Throwing on a dark blue sweatshirt, he headed downstairs with a sigh. Morgan was waiting in the foyer, tapping her foot impatiently. She’d changed into a pair of jeans, a dark sweater and hiking boots.
“Planning on climbing a mountain?” he asked.
“Grady’s cabin is in the middle of the woods. I can’t go in heels.”
“Wait, you know where this place is?”
“Of course.” She grinned. “There’s only one Grady in town, and he happens to be a good friend of Jake’s.”
They exited the house and walked toward the car, neither of them mentioning the fiery encounter they’d had mere hours ago. Quinn hadn’t expected Morgan to bring it up. Knowing her, she was biding her time, letting the proposition sink in before she raised the subject again. And she would raise it, of that he was certain. When Morgan wanted something, she didn’t stop until she got it
And at the moment, apparently she wanted him.
He gulped and pushed away the thought. Out of habit, he opened her door, waited until she climbed in, then rounded the vehicle and hopped into the driver’s seat.
“So what’s the story with this Grady guy?” he asked as he drove through the gates. “Why does he live in the woods?”
“Because he’s weird.” She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms in her lap. “His name is Grady Parker, and he was in my grade in high school. He didn’t have a lot of friends, yet somehow he and Jake were buddies, which was odd since Jake was a jock and jocks hate everybody that isn’t a jock.”
“You’re rambling.”
“Oops, sorry.” She shot him a sheepish smile. “Anyway, Grady was always scribbling away in this ominous black notebook—I think he might have been plotting our deaths. Seriously, he had school shooting written all over his face—”
“Rambling again.”
She scowled at him. “Anyway, he didn’t go to college, just got a job at the lumber mill in Huntersville, the next town over. He has no friends, doesn’t go out much. His parents died a few years ago, so now he lives in the family house, which, like I said, is in the middle of the woods. There’s a small cabin on their property, a few hundred yards from the big house, and I think that’s where Jake is heading. Make a right up there.”
Quinn followed her directions, turning onto a narrow road heading north. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, thoughtful. “Pot or moonshine?”
Morgan glanced over. “Huh?”
“Grady is a weird recluse who lives in the woods, has no friends and keeps to himself. He either grows pot, or makes his own moonshine—which is it?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her fighting a grin. “Pot,” she replied. “I’m pretty sure he dealt drugs to Jake in high school. Grady’s dad apparently had a grow-op somewhere on the property.”
As they reached the tree-lined driveway leading up to the Parker house, Quinn decided there was no “apparently” about it. Parker was definitely engaged in some illegal activities. On each side of the driveway were bright red signs with the words TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT written in large block letters. Normal people didn’t put up signs like that. Pot growers, on the other hand…
When they passed the third death-threat sign, Morgan gestured for him to stop. “The main house is right up there. We’ll walk the rest of the way so he doesn’t see us pulling up,” she said.
