by Penny Reid
Another smolder. I tried to keep my face straight.
“Then there is the distinction between extrinsic and intrinsic musculature of the tongue-”
“You need to stop talking.” Quinn grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back, claiming my mouth with his and ending my involuntary bubble of laughter.
When he lifted his mouth I whispered, “Most of the tongue’s blood supply comes from the lingual artery.”
He kissed me again and again.
If I’d been listening to our ensuing kiss-sloppy conversation, been an observer rather than a participant, I might have rolled my eyes and shook my head in judgmental exasperation. Admittedly, it was improbable that peer-reviewed medical research citations and correlative studies of human anatomy could get a person, let alone two people, hot and bothered. But, there we were, pawing each other with mounting urgency as I recounted theories linking the amount of hair on earlobes and genital arousal.
By the time the limo stopped we were, rounding up, half dressed and the buttons of my shirt were scattered all over the floor. Naturally Quinn had ripped the shirt open with a growl when I mentioned mammary glands.
I frantically pulled away and grasped the useless edges of my shirt, “Oh shit!”
Quinn was still somewhat lost in a fog of lust and moved his hand further up my inner thigh, his mouth seeking mine again. I swatted him away despite the fact that everywhere he touched me protested like the other 99% against Wall Street and mortgage lending practices. Nonsensically, I tried to smooth my hair, tsking when my shirt opened again.
“What am I going to do?”
Quinn, finally drawing away from me, pulled a sweater over his bare chest with not a trace of hurry. He lifted a single eyebrow as he adjusted his pants, zipping his fly. The sound made my back stiffen and I realized how close we’d just been to copulating in the back of a car.
“I think you look good just like that.”
I stared at him for two seconds before I smacked him on his infuriatingly well-muscled shoulder.
“My shirt is ripped open and…” I frantically twisted in my seat and may have shrieked, “Where are my underwear?!”
There was no amusement in his voice when he responded, “Someplace safe.”
My eyes widened further and, I knew, my mouth hung open dumbly. I was about to lose my mind.
“Give them back-”
“You don’t need them-”
“-to me right now-”
“-and you should try new things-”
“I am not leaving this limo while commando!”
The passenger door on Quinn’s side opened and I yanked the skirt I was wearing back to my mid-calf. I didn’t miss his dark smile when it was clear that I was not likely to push the underwear issue further until we were in private. And, by then, it likely wouldn’t matter.
Quinn reached for his leather jacket and draped it around my shoulders, zipping the front up to my neck. I swam in the largeness of it; but at least I wasn’t going to be walking around with my shirt hanging open. He exited the limo then held his hand out to me at the threshold. I moved and stood as demurely as possible. When he cleared his throat I met his gaze and he winked at me, surreptitiously yet suggestively licking his lips.
I followed where he led.
~*~
Sometime later, near midnight, Quinn gave me my underwear back on the promise that I would wear only underwear until sunrise. The only other option was my birthday suit as he’d confiscated all my other clothes and hidden them someplace within the massive penthouse he referred to as home.
Of course he lived in the penthouse.
It was the same building where ‘the boss’ had purchased five floors for Cypher Systems staff. At first, when we arrived, I thought we were headed to the apartment he’d shown me before; my imagination filled with images of us Tubinn together in the giant bathtub. Quinn’s tub, as it turned out, was far superior.
As was the view. And the kitchen. And the bedrooms.
Although, it was nearly as sparsely decorated as the unfurnished and unfinished apartment downstairs we’d previously toured weeks ago. There was no couch or chairs in the living room, no table in the dining room, and only a single dresser and bed in the bedroom- box springs and mattress on the floor, no frame. There were no pictures either.
I had a sheet wrapped around myself and, turning away from him, I glanced down at my underwear. They were white cotton and, as I contemplated it, not at all sexy. Most of my undergarments were chosen for comfort, cost, and practicality. I eyeballed him as I pulled on the granny panties, keeping the sheet in place to nonsensically preserve my modesty.
“Why did you hijack my underwear?”
Quinn was lying on his back, his long form stretched on the unmade bed, his hands behind his head, watching me.
He was completely naked. No sheet for him. Nope. No modesty for Quinn. He appeared to be entirely, mindlessly, at ease in his own skin. I envied his unabashed ability to Just. Be. Naked.
I also appreciated it.
“I hate them.” His gaze swept from where the sheet covered my bottom to my bare shoulder then back to my hidden thighs; the way he perused my body made me shiver.
I snapped the elastic at my waist beneath the sheet, “Is it because they lack frill?”
He shook his head lazily, “No. I don’t care what they look like. I hate all your underwear.”
I frowned, “So you’re an equal opportunity underwear hater?”
“Only your underwear.”
“Underwear serves a critical purpose.”
“I don’t want to know.”
He sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and reached for me by moving aside the edges of the sheet and hooking a finger in the band of the much discussed panties. He brought me to his lap, encouraging me to straddle him, then peeled the sheet from my under my arms. He kept his eyes on mine while extracting the material then crumpled it, tossed it away from us. I shivered. He wrapped his arms around my middle so that his arms crossed behind me and his hands warmed the skin of my sides and stomach, my front against his.
“You’re staying with me tonight. No escape.”
I spread my palms over his bare biceps, “You haven’t given me much of a choice, you’ve even taken my sheet. I can’t go home clothed only in granny panties. It’s supposed to be cold tonight.”
He nuzzled my neck and tightened his grip, pressing our chests together. Although I was thoroughly mussed and mollified from our evening of marathon love making, my heart skipped in at the contact.
“It’s supposed to be cold tomorrow too. Why did you leave your coat at work?” he asked the words against my skin, kissing a path across my collar bone then biting my shoulder.
I was really and truly enjoying physical contact to the point of craving it, yet I did not allow myself to wonder at this inexplicable transformation. My spoken reply was an automatic, thoughtless, breathy sigh, “I didn’t, Jem took it.”
Quinn immediately stiffened and his movements stilled. Abruptly his hands moved to my forearms and he pulled away even as he held me in place, “You saw Jem?”
I met his astonished glare and my mouth struggled to make sound. I squeaked once or twice before I managed to respond, “Yes.”
His eyes seared and scorched, pinning me with an accusatory stare; “When? Where?”
“I- I- I saw her last night. She was- at my- she was waiting for me at my apartment.”
“Damn.” Quinn clenched his teeth, his jaw and temple ticking, and pulled me abruptly against him in a fierce hug. “Damn it, Janie. You should have called me.”
“She didn’t stay long.” I held on to him tightly even though I didn’t precisely understand the ferocity of his reaction.
We held each other for a long moment. My encounter with Jem had been weighing on me like a squatting Sumo wrestler all the previous night and through the morning; but I hadn’t thought about her since Quinn showed up in my office with his gre
asy lunch offering.
I moved my hand in a slow circle over his bare back, a motion I hoped would sooth the unexpected shift in mood; I kissed his temple then whispered, “I don’t understand why you are so upset.”
“Because Jem is dangerous.” I felt his chest expand; he sucked in a capacious breath as though greedy for air, “I don’t want her anywhere near to you.”
I leaned back, forced him to meet my gaze, “She would never hurt me.”
His eyes only narrowed, “You’re wrong. She would.” His voice was like steel, “I really think you should move into this building.”
I pressed my lips together but didn’t respond.
His hands moved to my face, giant palms cupping my cheeks, long fingers pushing into my hair behind my ears and at my temples, “Please. You don’t have to stay here forever. Just please show Elizabeth the apartment and think about it. Think about staying until this Jem business is resolved.”
“Quinn, I-” my hands moved up his biceps and settled lightly on his forearms, “You are my boss. You are also the guy I am dating and now you want to be my landlord?”
He winced then gritted his teeth, “It’s not like that.”
“Just one of those things, relationships, can complicate, does complicate interactions between two people. You can’t be everything to me. I have to stand on my own.”
He studied me, his stare turning hawkish; “You could move in with me.”
I smiled even though my heart felt heavy, “We’ve been dating less than a month and, besides, I can’t afford even one tenth of the rent on this penthouse.”
“I own this place. There is no rent.”
“Quinn-”
He cut me off with a kiss, turning me- us- until I was lying under him on the bed.
“Just- don’t say no.” He kissed me again, “Not yet.” He kissed my neck, his words and breath were hot and urgent, “I’ll give you the key and the code to the building. Promise me you’ll show Elizabeth the apartment.” He nibbled on my ear and whispered, “And promise me you’ll think about moving in with me.”
I nodded but not mindlessly. I wanted to pacify him so we could get to the good stuff.
He pulled away and his eyes surveyed me, moved between mine, “Promise me.”
I nodded again and lifted my hand to tousle his hair, “I promise.”
~*~
At some point in the last forty-eight hours Quinn had brought my bag from the Vegas trip to his apartment. Therefore, and thankfully, I was able to dress in fresh clothes, ones with buttons, before heading to work.
I learned a bit more about Quinn as a consequence of spending the night at his place; he doesn’t really sleep, he exercises every morning, he eats pastries for breakfast. Quinn was up by five and back from a long run by six thirty.
After his shower he woke me up in the most pleasant way imaginable.
Yes. That way.
I was standing at his kitchen counter, drinking a really delicious latte from one of those marvels of modern mechanics one-touch espresso makers and eating a cherry and cheese Danish by seven twenty. At seven forty we were walking to work, a short six block stroll, holding hands and talking about the day ahead.
Since I had tutoring on Thursdays, we made arrangements to go out again Friday night. He kissed me goodbye at the entrance to the building, leaving me wobbly headed and kneed, at seven fifty eight. I was in the elevator at eight on the dot.
What a difference a day makes.
I was still smiling dazedly as I walked down the hall to my office, not really noticing anyone or anything. I sat behind my desk and mindlessly shuffled through the folders. I didn’t yet want to lose myself in spreadsheets so I opted to read through the pile of memos threatening to spill off my desk. It would allow me to continue to revel in all the warm and silky feelings from the previous night and morning.
The first ten or so were actually about my new billing software. The last memo suggested moving the conversation to email. This was typical. Most conversations were initiated via hard-copy memo. After they were determined to be benign in nature, they would move to email. All memos were to be shredded after they were read.
As he was responsible for the private clients, most of Steven’s internal correspondence was hard-copy. Since I was responsible for the corporate clients, most of mine was electronic.
I sifted through the correspondence quickly but then my attention was abruptly ensnared when I spied both my name and Quinn’s listed together in a printed copy of an email. I’d never received a printed copy of an email before and my gaze moved to the email address of the sender. I recognized it as one of the French Tweedle Dee lawyers I’d met on my second day. At first I skimmed the email but then, after the second sentence, forced myself to start at the beginning and really, truly read it:
Hi Betty,
Per Mr. Sullivan’s request and as discussed during our phone conversation, Jean and I have consulted on the matter of Ms. Morris at length. It is our opinion that Mr. Sullivan’s best course of action would be to terminate Ms. Morris’ employment as soon as is feasible (without interrupting operations). In such cases as these, it is not unusual or unwarranted to offer a large severance package and release her from the non-compete agreement she signed upon initiation of the position.
The reason for termination should not be stated explicitly to Ms. Morris nor inferred/alluded to in any documentation in order to mitigate risk for future recompense. Furthermore, we advise that Mr. Sullivan not be charged with conducting the dismissal interview. I’ve taken the liberty of cc-ing Mr. Davies and his administrator to this email as it is our recommendation that he handle the matter as Mr. Sullivan’s designee.
The other option is for Ms. Morris to resign her position. In either case, we’ve drafted a release form which Ms. Morris should sign and which, regardless of future outcomes, should, as much as is feasible or possible and to the extent allowable by law, absolve Cypher Systems from any related future litigation. I recommend that she sign the release as a condition for receiving the severance.
Please let us know if Mr. Sullivan decides to proceed so that we may move to nullify the non-compete agreement. Likely, Ms. Morris will have great difficulty finding new employment until it is expunged.
Henry LeDuc, J.D.
CHAPTER 27
“Have you shown this to him? Asked him about it?”
I shook my head and chewed on my thumbnail, staring over Elizabeth’s shoulder at nothing in particular.
We were in the Starbucks four blocks away from my building. As soon as I found the email I used the dratted cell phone to call her and beg her to meet me for lunch. As it turned out, I woke her up at home and she immediately left to meet me for coffee. As such, she was dressed in pajamas and boots.
“I have to be honest, Janie. I don’t speak lawyer gibberish so I’m not really sure what this says. But,” Elizabeth reached for and held my hand, drawing my attention to her, “I think you should ask him about it before you jump to any conclusions.”
I swallowed, “I know. I will.”
Elizabeth’s frown deepened, “How did you get a copy of this? Did they accidentally email it to you?”
“No, it was with my memos on my desk. Someone must’ve…” I blinked, my eyes losing focus again, then I shuddered my lids.
Of course.
“What? What is it?”
“Olivia.” Blood drained from my face even as heat spread up my neck, “I found Olivia, Carlos’ assistant, in my office yesterday morning. She must have left it there.”
“The one who gives you dirty looks at work? Any chance it’s fake then?”
“I don’t think so.” I debated the theory for a moment but dismissed the possibility, “It’s real. She just wanted me to find it.”
Elizabeth rolled her lips into her mouth and between her teeth, surveying me. Finally she said, “After everything you’ve told me about him, about Quinn, I seriously doubt he wants to fire you.”
I nodded
and was surprised to find that I agreed with Elizabeth’s assessment, “I don’t believe it either.”
She smiled, a wry hopeful smile, “So, does that mean, despite this strange email and its indecipherable but damning contents, you trust Quinn?”
I nodded again without thinking and spoke-thought my words, “It does. I do.” I met her clear blue eyes, “I do trust him. I think that there has to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Yay!” Elizabeth’s smile was full and immediate; she squeezed my hand, “Although I don’t advocate love as a rule, yay for you and Quinn!”
My head tilted to the side in a very Quinn-like expression before I could stop the movement, “What- love- yay for- what are you talking about?”
“You and Quinn-” Elizabeth sipped at her mocha with whip, licking off a residual creamy mustache, “You are in love, Janie.”
“I’m not in love! I’m in lust, I’m in deep infatuation, I’m in- in- in definite a lot of like with Quinn but I’m not…”
Was I in love?
Though I loathed to admit it, it was a distinct possibility.
I loved being around Quinn. I loved talking to him. I loved his laugh and, at times, his bossiness. I loved his self-doubt and loved his determination. I loved that he seemed to be changing, wanted to change, even as I was changing. I loved that we were growing into something new, together. I loved trusting him. I loved making love to him… like, really loved making love to him.
If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck and loves like a duck…
Well, Thor!
My ears were suddenly ringing.
Elizabeth wiggled in her seat and wagged her eyebrows, “You looooove him.”
“You don’t even believe in love.” I leveled her with a severe glare, hoping to quell the unexpected dawn of realization. If I could just think about it a little more without Elizabeth’s wagging eyebrows I might be able to analyze the situation with the pragmatism it deserved.
She shook her head and adverted her gaze from mine, “You know that’s not true. I believe in one love, fist love.”
