Thrill Seeker (Sinful in Seattle Book 1)

by Taryn Quinn

  “We’re not but that’s fascinating. You have atypical reactions.”

  “You have no clue, buddy. I’m outside the norm in lots of ways.”

  “Such as?” If glee had a facial expression, it would’ve been Michael’s as he made an impatient gesture with his fingers. “Let’s get to the main event. Stop with the previews already.”

  What would it hurt? It was seeming more and more likely that nothing would happen between them. Not because of his age, but because messing around with an earnest guy like him could only lead to problems. With her tendency to bruise hearts and egos even when it wasn’t intended, she didn’t want to risk hurting someone so genuinely nice.

  “I don’t want children, for one.” She held up a hand before he started to object. “In case you were about to ask if that was even an option for me anymore, I’ll have you know my reproductive organs are all still functioning normally, thank you very much. I’m not too old to have children, it’s just not what I see in my future.”

  “Why?”

  She pushed her cake around her plate. Talk about a heavy topic for a diner and dicking-around excursion. “I had a couple of miscarriages early on, when I was married. Way back in the dark ages. My husband wanted to keep trying. I didn’t. That was one of many reasons we divorced. After the papers were signed, I got my tubes tied. No kids for me from here on out.”

  “I’m sorry.” He covered the hand she’d set beside her plate with his own. She stared at his big palm cradling hers as if he’d produced a live snake from his pocket. “If you’re in such different places emotionally, it doesn’t make sense to stay together. I don’t blame you for walking away.”

  Kim dragged her gaze from their linked hands to the compassionate dark eyes trained on hers. “What, no token encouragement for me to put my heart on the line? To stop running from love and offer my viable eggs as proof that I’m a real woman?”

  He didn’t smile. Didn’t look away. “You feel pretty real to me, Kim. Eggs optional.”

  Proving it, he curled his fingers around hers and she let out a shuddering breath she couldn’t hold back. Her lungs ached. Just inhaling and exhaling seemed like a Herculean task all of a sudden.

  “I don’t want children either,” he said in that same conversational tone, picking up his fork with his other hand without releasing her. “They’re not in the cards for me.”

  “Why?” She tossed his own question back at him, expecting him to evade it. Perhaps he donned his straightforward demeanor only when it suited him.

  He ate a couple of bites of cake then let go of her long enough to lift the napkin from his lap and wipe his mouth. The blunt tips of his fingers snagged her focus an instant before those same fingers were sliding over the back of her hand to loosely grasp her wrist. For how intimate the gesture felt, he might’ve slipped into her panties instead. “I’m one of nine kids.”

  “Nine?” Holy shit, he was stroking the inside of her wrist. Slowly. The pads of his fingers were rough with calluses and immediately brought to mind all the other places he could touch that would appreciate his thoroughness even more. “Where…” Breathe. “Where were you in the mix?”

  “The second. My older sister didn’t stick around long after she turned eighteen, so I was the one left with the kids most of the time while my parents worked. My dad died when I was twelve. Congenital heart defect that he found out about right before he passed.”

  “Oh no. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” Not the most articulate of responses, but his wonder fingers were still circling her skin and those seven words strained her addled brain to the max.

  “Yeah. It was worse on my mom. She couldn’t work and be home with the kids at the same time. And she couldn’t afford daycare on a waitress’s salary, so a neighbor helped during the day and I took care of them as best as I could after school. Until I stopped going to class. Then I could take care of the younger ones during the day too.”

  “How old were you when you dropped out?”

  “Sixteen. I hated school. It bored me senseless and the counselor kept wanting to get me on drugs for ADHD or ADD or some three-letter diagnosis that wasn’t reason enough for me to lose the only thing I had going for me.”

  “Which was?” His hand had finally stilled on hers while he ate the last of his cake. In its place, his jumpy knee beat a staccato rhythm under the table, making it shake. She doubted he even noticed.

  “My ability to think my way out, for me and my family. I couldn’t take the chance the meds would slow me down in any way.” He toyed with the edge of his fork, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Eventually the crappy gas-station job I worked a few hours a week led me to Roch, and it turned out I didn’t need to think about anything except what I could give her. And what she gave me.”

  Nerves sprung to life in Kim’s belly, and this time they weren’t for her. These were all for Michael. “So you accuse me of teasing you with the main event and you bury a lead-in like that?”

  “Sorry.” He shook himself and dazzled her with a full smile. “Roch was older, wealthy, sophisticated. She was looking for a relationship. I grew to care for her quite deeply and she…provided for me.” The pinkening of the tips of his ears snatched her focus until his words sank in.

  She provided for me. What the hell?

  “You kids need some more drinks?” Their waitress gestured with her coffeepot and Kim glanced down at her nearly full cup. She must be out of her element if she wasn’t inhaling caffeine by the jug.

  “Do we?” Michael asked softly.

  Though she would’ve been happy to talk to him for a few more days, a glance at her watch told her they’d already been occupying this booth for an hour. It wasn’t a bustling place, but he’d mentioned an early day tomorrow and she wanted to finesse her sketch of him before she turned it in at her next class. Her drawing of Michael would be her final project and despite the class being non-credit, she hoped to get at least a B.

  Unlike Michael, she’d always been a hopeless school nerd.

  She shook her head and smiled at the waitress. “No, thanks. Check, please.”

  Her smile faded as she caught Michael’s obviously dismayed expression. Did he think she was in a hurry to split? Worse, did he think his subject matter had put her off?

  Her cell rang before she could inform him how wrong he was. So wrong that she wouldn’t mind another quasi-date at this very diner or maybe somewhere a little more upscale. She definitely wanted to see him again, even if alone time with her teacher’s young, clearly complicated model wasn’t the best way to secure her loosely cinched chastity belt.

  Pretending she could convince herself not to be interested in Michael—and his intriguing, slightly disquieting past—was basically a sucker’s bet. And she was no sucker.

  Okay, that was a lie. But only if the dude believed in reciprocation. Michael would, she was almost sure.

  Irrelevant information, O’Halloran.

  Seeing her brother’s name on the Caller ID made her grin. “’Sup?” she said into the phone, noting Michael’s quick smile in response. That smile could become addictive if she didn’t watch herself.

  “Hey. You staying out tonight?”

  There could be no mistaking the hopeful tone in Brad’s voice, which meant he probably intended on romancing his girlfriend in every room of the house. “Lemme guess. Sara bought a new teddy?”

  His rich laughter made her relax into the seat. She loved her stupid lug of a little brother and knowing he was blissfully happy with her best friend did wonders for her own equilibrium.

  At least until he asked her if she could “stay scarce” that night.

  “Yeah, and where exactly am I supposed to go?” She supposed she could always sneak back in the house like Brad and Sara had done the last time she’d asked them to get gone, but she really didn’t want to see anything she couldn’t unsee without bleach and surgical implements. “The library’s not open twenty-four hours, last I checked.”

  “S
tarbucks?”

  She glanced at her almost untouched coffee and scowled. “Nah. Think I’ll pass. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. Do your thang and remember you owe me.”

  “Thanks. And I do owe you big-time. We both do.”

  “I hope that involves giving me serious details ASAP. It sounds like something major’s up.”

  “It is. Way up.”

  “Wait, we aren’t talking about you, are we?”

  He laughed. “Talk to you tomorrow, sis. Love you lots.”

  “Uh-huh. Ditto.” Her grin lasted until she hung up.

  Brad and Sara had been together a little more than a year. A relatively short time in the scheme of things, if they hadn’t been friends before that and as serious as heart attacks about each other. Were they getting married? That would be amazing. Beyond.

  Except for the housing situation that meant she’d have to find a new place if they were shacking up officially. And the fact that she was ridiculously jealous for no good reason at all.

  She was happy for them. Ecstatic. They were perfect for each other. So what was her problem?

  “What has you looking so sad?”

  Kim glanced up at Michael, and the intensity of his expression dragged her forcibly from her thoughts. “My brother and my best friend are maybe getting married. Or having a baby. Could be both.” She forced the tension out of her shoulders and relaxed into the booth. “I’m so happy for them. They’re celebrating privately tonight at our house. We all live in my mom’s old place.” She licked her dry lips. “The house I grew up in.”

  “That’s great news.” He tilted his head. “So why are you upset?”

  “I’m not,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “They’re the best couple I know. If anyone can make it, they can. I’m—” Already missing them after things change. Focusing on myself. As usual.

  “You can stay the night with me.”

  Before he’d shown her more glimpses of the sweet, decent guy with possible mommy issues behind the gold-standard penis, hell yeah, she would’ve been a-okay with that plan. Now? She couldn’t help considering the vat of trouble that might land her in for more reasons than one.

  “No thanks. I’ll go…somewhere.” Where? Dammit.

  Sometimes the fact that her BFF was in love with her brother seriously sucked. Sara was the only friend she could’ve crashed with on such short notice. Ah, the irony.

  “I’ll go to a hotel,” she decided. “Thanks anyway.”

  “Don’t be silly. I have a perfectly good bed you can have. Not mine,” he added at her blank stare. “Just as a friend.”

  She didn’t have any male friends she spent the night with platonically. Did people really do that? If she went over to a guy’s place, it wasn’t to warm his couch cushions.

  Hell, she didn’t know Michael. A hookup at her place was one thing with her big, burly brother down the hall. On the guy’s turf? Not so bueno. Much better to get a room at the clean, dismal, possibly bedbug-infested motel down the street. Sixty-nine dollars a night would get her a nice hot breakfast and all the clichés she could stand.

  “I appreciate the offer, truly. But I’ll be fine.” With an entirely fake smile, she reached for her purse, only to have him clasp her wrist.

  “My treat.” He continued before she could pelt him with her objections. “How about this? We drive separately to my place. If you don’t like the looks of things once you arrive, you can leave.”

  “Did you get the Spic-and-Span award three years running or something? I guarantee how your place looks won’t convince me to stay.”

  His mouth curved. “So that’s a yes? You’ll follow me home?”

  She sighed and dropped her purse on the bench. Who was she kidding? She didn’t have a lot of options and her teacher had known him for a few years. Odds were in her favor that the danger he represented wasn’t to her physical person.

  “Sure. Just platonically,” she reminded him.

  That would be the prudent way to proceed, especially when her edginess over the potential new situation with Brad and Sara was making her reckless to go along with horny. Best not to engage on that level at all.

  He’d thank her later, when she hadn’t unintentionally smeared his heart on the interstate. Despite her fervent attempts, delicate with other people’s feelings she was not.

  The way his smile spread didn’t convince her he was wholly on board with the platonic idea. This had to be a first. For once she wasn’t encouraging a guy to get naked, she was practically insisting he remained clothed.

  “As you wish,” he murmured.

  Kim drove up the winding circular driveway behind Michael’s car, her eyes widening the farther they traveled. They’d left behind the city for the country, and she could smell it in the cool air, tinged with rain, wafting in through her car window. Hard to enjoy the breeze, though, when she had such a visual banquet in front of her.

  In the rainy darkness, it was hard to make out much of the enormous property other than the sheer number of trees and the house. Sheesh, house wasn’t a big enough word to describe the place. She glimpsed enormous columns and the dense shrubbery guarding them. Lights beamed through every window, and holy Mary, there were a lot of them to go with the multiple balconies, turrets and thatched roof.

  This was the closest thing she’d seen to a mansion around Fairdale. Definitely a far cry from the rambling fixer-upper she and Brad had inherited from their deceased mother. Michael’s Architectural Digest-special put the homes in her neighborhood to shame.

  He parked at the base of a stoop that looked like it belonged to a library, not a personal dwelling. There weren’t any lions or gargoyles that she could see, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some gigantic animal head mounted over the fireplace.

  Oh, a fire would be perfect on a night like this. Nothing chased the fall chill away like the warmth from crackling wood. She could picture it now. The soft rug, the kindling flames casting golden sparks over his dark hair. His broad chest on display, gilded by firelight. His abs rippling, her panties dampening—

  Lord, she was in deep.

  With effort, she pulled herself out of her daydreams and met him on the stoop. The overhead light cast the area beyond the porch in shadows, emphasizing the seeming vastness of the property. She tilted her head back to note the scrollwork in a pane of glass above the door—it looked like some kind of crest—and endeavored to sound unaffected. “Nice digs.”

  Michael chuckled and hitched the backpack up on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “Sure this isn’t a long-lost uncle’s place?”

  To her utter relief, he only laughed. “My name’s on the deed, Kim. I promise.”

  She liked how he said her name with that twinkle in his normally pitch-black eyes. For an instant they seemed to lighten, and he smiled.

  Addictive smile. Gorgeous house. Waning conscience.

  “You also promise you’re not a serial killer?”

  “Yes. Just the occasional lady.” When she frowned, he laughed at his bad joke and waved for her to walk ahead of him. He leaned around her to open the door, his mouth hovering too close to her ear. “Enter my lair, beautiful spider.”

  In spite of herself, she shivered. He obviously knew how to turn on the sexy when warranted, but she wasn’t some wide-eyed innocent. She couldn’t be lured.

  She was almost sure she couldn’t be.

  “Oh dear God,” she whispered, reaching back to grab his hand to steady her shaky knees.

  Again he laughed, soft and husky. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

  Was it ever. A gigantic chandelier adorned the front hall, sending prisms over the glossy black marble floor. The spiral staircase hugged the wall to the second-level loft and a hallway full of doors, probably to bedrooms beyond her wildest imagination. A tall archway to her right led into a living room with a classic brick-fronted fireplace, a cathedral ceiling and regal jewel-toned sofas and chairs that somehow looked as comfortable as they were elegant
. Large black-and-white photos of sights like the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben hung on the cream walls, offset by sconces that offered soft, romantic light.

  And in front of the fire sat a plush red circular rug that made her want to stretch out and purr. While naked.

  “So let me get this straight. You’re young, work as a nude model for an art class, have some other unknown job that requires early hours at least on Thursdays, drive a beat-up pickup and live in a mansion. Am I missing anything so far?”

  Michael scratched the scruff darkening his jaw. “Nope. Seems like you’re on point so far. Except young is a relative term. And my pickup is not beat-up. It’s rugged. Remember that.”

  She fought back a smile, unwilling to give him even one more inch until she figured out how he’d already taken a mile. “Are you a spy? A military operative? A real-life Christian Grey?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Never mind.” Blowing out a breath, she decided she’d save her official tour of the house for when she wasn’t so starstruck. When that would be, she had no idea.

  Alcohol would help. Alcohol always helped.

  “Do you have any wine?” she asked, staring up at the sparkling chandelier in the hopes that it might blind her and render her incapable of seeing Michael’s ridiculously handsome face.

  It wasn’t fair that a guy who looked like he did also owned this kind of place at his age. She’d met up with him after class expecting a quick meal, and if things went well, hopefully a long ride. She’d also expected him to be the usual sort she’d slept with. Friendly enough, probably middle income, passably intelligent. How had she even ended up here, in this palace? She was a gift-shop manager with dubious taste in men. This one, it seemed, had vaulted right out of the backstreets of poverty and into a gold mine.

  “No, sorry, I’m not a big drinker. I don’t have any wine.”