Intimacy

by Mattie Bowman

  “Maybe?” He grinned at me. “It’s quite the vacation, isn’t it?”

  I laughed, thinking of all that had happened in such a little time already, and almost dreading what was to come. I slipped slightly, leaning farther over Owen than I meant to, and he steadied me until I’d regained my balance. Damn tight ass black dress—I’d picked it hoping Quinn would want to rip it off me and then everything would magically work itself out afterward.

  Silly of me, but it’d made sense when I’d squeezed into it.

  “So, the Gondola incident didn’t make you feel differently toward her?” I asked, knowing the full glass of wine helped fuel my nosiness.

  “No,” he answered without hesitation. “Of course not.”

  I grinned from ear to ear, the presence of love I could see without any doubts so refreshing I felt actual joy over it despite Owen being a stranger. I reached out and cupped his cheek. “You’re in love with her.”

  He shook his head as if to deny it—though I didn’t have a clue why he’d want to—before his eyes went above my head and widened. The smile he’d worn seconds before vanished as he muttered, fuck, and flew off the stool and out the entrance to the club.

  Odd. I finished my second glass of red by the time Quinn took the seat Owen had vacated in a hurry. He looked so good in a pair of black jeans and white long-sleeved Henley; the sleeves rolled up over his perfectly proportioned forearms. I chased a few stray drops of wine off my bottom lip, smiling at him. “You won’t believe who I just met!”

  “Who?” He grinned, ordering a beer from the bartender.

  “Owen freaking Grady!” I clapped my hands together, but the excitement quickly drained out of me when he didn’t start bouncing up and down like he should’ve. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, Owen Grady. That’s awesome, honey.” He took a swig of his beer before setting it down. “I actually met his wife last night.”

  “How’d you meet his fiancée?” I asked, correcting him.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” he said it like an afterthought. “She was at the poker game Anderson took me to.”

  I nodded. “Thought you’d be a little more excited.”

  He leaned closer to me, his eyes trailing from my head down the black pumps I wore, and back up again. “You want to know what excites me?”

  The breath shook in my throat, and I couldn’t answer.

  “You in that dress.” He licked his lips, his eyes lingering on my chest before returning to my face.

  A warm chill made me tremble, his scent—cedar and soap—filling my air until it intoxicated me more than the wine. “That’s why I chose it.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, sliding his hand over my hip. “You look beautiful, Tara.”

  The way he said my name, the way he touched me, made me weak in the knees. He was still capable of doing this to me after all these years. Was I doing the same to him? Or was he behaving like he thought I wanted him to?

  Nope. I took another long drink, draining the glass and successfully shutting that shit down. Instead, I focused on the way his hand moved gently in a pattern from the small of my back before returning to my hip and over again. The way his touch was light but set the skin underneath the fabric on fire.

  “What’d you talk about?” he asked, and I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes, practically purring from the touch I longed for.

  “What did I talk about with who?” I asked, completely lost under his hungry gaze.

  He grinned, a genuine small that lit up my insides.

  “What are you grinning like that at me for? Do I have something in my teeth?” I asked, exposing them more so he could show me if I did.

  He rubbed at the perfectly trimmed goatee on his chin. “You’re either very drunk, or I’m extremely lucky.”

  “I’m not drunk,” I said though my words were thicker than two glasses ago. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because if this”—he said and gripped my hip a little harder, getting a good handful of my ass afterward—“is enough to make you forget about having a conversation with the Owen Grady, then I’m one lucky bastard to have that attention.”

  I leaned closer to him, breathing him in and brushing my lips over his just enough to tease him in the way I knew he loved. “You are lucky.” I slipped my tongue in his mouth, flicking it along the edges of his teeth before pulling away.

  “And you are a little drunk,” he said, his hands keeping me close.

  “Then you’re behind.” I arched an eyebrow at him and handed him his half-full beer.

  “Oh, so this is the game we’re playing tonight?” he asked, taking a long pull.

  “Why not?” I mimicked his answer to every question.

  He nodded, excitement lighting up his blue-gray eyes. “Why not, indeed.” He finished the rest of his beer in one gulp.

  Two hours—and two too many drinks later—I stood up from the barstool, more than ready to go back to our suite and ravish the man who had done nothing but talk and laugh with me for the night…something we hadn’t done in so long. The floor was tilted though, and I lost my balance on the stupid black pumps I’d chosen to wear.

  Quinn caught me, hauling me against his chest with a chuckle before swiping an arm underneath my legs, cradling me to him. “That’s our cue,” he said to the bartender as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

  “Can we take a bottle back to our room?” I asked, and the bartender nodded.

  “No,” Quinn said, stopping him. “We’re good.”

  “Awh, you’re no fun.” I wiggled against him but the room started spinning, and I clenched my eyes shut.

  “Ouch. We’ll see what you’re saying in the morning.” He moved slowly through the crowd, never hitting anyone as he carried me out of the club.

  The quiet in the hallway settled over us like a warm blanket, or maybe that was the warmth from his chest. I nestled my head against it, breathing in more of his glorious scent and trying to get my head to stop swimming.

  “I miss you,” I whispered, rubbing my nose along his neck, loving the way his skin felt.

  He stopped walking for a few moments and looked down at me, pain and confusion flashing in his eyes before he started walking again.

  “Am I too heavy?” I asked, wiggling again. “Put me down. I can walk,” I said, and knew if I absolutely had to I could manage it.

  “Hush,” he said, shaking his head.

  I obeyed, deciding to make better use of my lips. I traced them along the edge of his jaw, the line of his neck, and his collarbone, flicking my tongue out to taste him. A low growl rumbled in his chest, which sounded much louder with my ear pressed to it.

  “You know how wet that makes me when you do that?” I asked, scratching his stubble with my fingers.

  He halted again, his eyes snapping to mine, eyebrows raised. “I’m building you a wine cellar when we get home. Then I’m filling every slot with a bottle,” he said and started up the stairs toward our suite.

  “For as long as you stay with me.” I snorted, though I couldn’t remember why that was funny.

  Once again he stopped. “What?”

  “Maybe you’re the one who is drunk,” I said, sliding my fingers in the back of his hair. “You’re the one who keeps stopping.”

  “You keep distracting me.” He continued walking until he managed to get our suite door open and closed without putting me down. Heat pooled in my belly with the thought of how freaking strong he was.

  “Can I keep distracting you?” I asked, kissing the corner of his mouth.

  Another growl.

  “Yes,” I sighed.

  “No,” he said, taking the wind right out of my wine filled sails.

  “What?”

  “Honey,” he said, and it sent a warm tendril of electricity to my core.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re about five seconds from passing out.” He walked into the bedroom and gently laid me down on the bed. “We can’t.”

  “Please,”
I said, not caring that I was full on begging. “I need this. I need you before it’s too late.”

  He sat next to me, pressing my hand to his chest. “I’m right here, Tara. I haven’t gone anywhere.”

  “Yes…you have,” I said, tears burning the backs of my eyes. I didn’t know why they were there or why my heart was heavy, but I didn’t like it. I wanted to feel more of him. Reaching for him, I attempted to pull him on top of me, but he held himself up, caging me against the bed.

  “I’m right here,” he whispered again before crushing his lips on mine.

  I gasped from the pressure, arching against him for the touch I was so desperately craving. He slipped his tongue between my lips, and I opened for him, letting him kiss me deeper and deeper until I was coiled and breathless.

  It wasn’t until who knew how many hours later—when I woke confused and with the desperate need of a bathroom—that I realized I’d fallen asleep before I found out where that kiss led.

  Damn it. I hated it when he was right.

  8

  Quinn

  “Feeling better?” I asked Tara after she’d finished her lunch—which was more like breakfast since she’d only just woken up. Immediately demanding food, we hadn’t even showered before rushing to the restaurant downstairs.

  “Much better.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thank you for letting me sleep.”

  “We drank like we were in high school again.” I laughed.

  A soft smile played at her lips, and she shifted next to me in the booth. She almost hesitantly wrapped her arms around my waist, leaning her head against my chest. I immediately held her to me, stroking her spine up and down like the motion could say everything we couldn’t.

  “You smell so good,” she said, and I grinned.

  “You kept saying that last night. Have I stunk for the past few months?” I chuckled, not being able to remember the last time she’d said something like that to me.

  She tensed within my grasp, the tightness in her muscles something I’d become too familiar with. “Of course not,” she said and shrugged. “Just, something I notice when I’m this close to you.” She squeezed me, burying her head against my chest.

  The nearness of her, the feel of her body on mine, sent a fierce shock of need slamming through me, and I wanted nothing more than to pick up where we’d left off last night. Slowly, I tipped her chin up toward me, and gently kissed her lips. She closed her eyes, but I kept mine open, studying the curves of her face as I cupped her cheeks in my hands, planting kisses along her jawline, her eyes, the corners of her mouth.

  Finally, she opened up for me and let me slide my tongue into her mouth, stroking hers with my own until she sighed against me.

  Fisting my shirt in her hands, she yanked me closer—if that was possible—and I tilted her head back to get a deeper angle to taste her. God, I’d missed this. Missed my Tara—the one who didn’t push me away but instead pulled me closer. The one whose muscles went soft and pliant under my touch instead of tense and tight.

  I teased my hands down her bare arms before scooting in the booth, hooking one of her legs around my hip as I pressed her back to the wall. I didn’t care that we were in a restaurant and any moment our waitress could come upon us. Tara rarely let me touch her, so I would take her where I could get her. I pushed against her center, our bodies lining up just enough to put her at the perfect angle to feel my hard dick. She was hot between her thighs, and I ached to get her out of her jeans.

  She flattened her hands on my chest, pushing me back slightly. Her eyes were hooded and filled with lust, but when I tried to kiss her again, she drew away.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, relieving the pressure I had pinned her with.

  “Nothing,” she said, placing a hand to her flushed cheek. A devious smile shaped her swollen lips. “Let’s get the check.” She glanced around the restaurant, her eyes filling with relief that no one had seen us. “And I need to shower. After, do you want to go try another Wonderland room?”

  I knitted my eyebrows at her. I wanted her. Anyway she would let me have her. I would’ve been completely satisfied to ravish her right here in the booth, but if she needed a little something…extra to let me back in, then so fucking be it.

  Quickly, I kissed the top of her head. “Shower then fun. I can handle that,” I said, trying not to let the disappointment filter into my tone.

  After handling the check, we headed down the hallway toward the stairs.

  “Quinn,” a familiar voice said just as we’d reached the bottom stairs. “How are you?”

  I glanced up, finding Presley standing next to Owen Grady—who looked much larger than he did on TV. “Hey there, Presley,” I said as I slid my arms around Tara’s waist.

  “Tara,” Owen said in way of a greeting.

  “Owen!” She perked up in my arms, turning to smile at me like she’d produced my favorite boxer on purpose.

  A laugh filled our small group as we looked back and forth between each other, trying to fill in the gaps on how one knew the other. The way Presley’s stance tensed as she looked at Tara had my chest puffing out just a tad like I needed to protect her.

  “This is my wife,” I said, and Presley’s unease quickly shifted to relief. I didn’t have a clue what that was about, but I assumed it had to do with Tara meeting Owen last night. Tara was the most gorgeous woman in the world, and I could see how it would make Presley worry—if she didn’t know she was married, that is. Now that she did, the air seemed much lighter.

  “It’s so good to meet you,” Presley said, shaking Tara’s hand.

  “She’s the one I was telling you about,” I said, nudging Tara.

  “Oh.” Tara chuckled. “Did you have to take his money? I could’ve bought a new bag with that,” she joked.

  Presley raised her hands in defense like she was innocent of the crime. I glanced over to Owen, who, the longer we stood there, didn’t seem as intimidating as I thought he would be. He was big, sure, but he had a laid-back look that didn’t match his fierce television fighter persona. I liked it.

  “She told me you were hers but damn dude, I didn’t want to believe it,” I said.

  “Didn’t want to get his hopes up, is what he means.” Tara smacked my chest. “He’s a big fan.”

  Owen shook my hand, eyeing Presley. “That’s how you talk about me? That I’m yours?”

  “Aren’t you?” Presley asked in a teasing tone.

  Owen wasn’t laughing, though, and suddenly our little exchange turned just a little more awkward as he decided then was a good time to kiss Presley. And he fucking went for it, too. No holding back. There was no way to not see the passion that coated these two. A pang of jealousy stung my chest. Presley didn’t push him away as Tara had just done to me a few minutes ago.

  “We have to be going,” I said, motioning up the stairs when Owen had broken for air, leaving Presley flushed and hazy-eyed. Good for them. “Hope to see you two around, though.” Tara nodded her agreement, and I intertwined our hands, pulling her toward our room.

  Tara took an hour in the shower—after playfully denying my requests to join her—and as I sat in our room waiting for her, I wondered if she was taking so long because of nerves. Last night, I’d felt so close to her and yet, even farther away when she kept mentioning that I had left her, that she missed me. I hadn’t gone anywhere—sure, I worked too much—but I was doing it for her, for us. She had to know that.

  Maybe you should tell her.

  The tiny voice in the back of my head could be incredibly annoying. I wanted to tell her, but it would ruin the surprise I had in store for her at the end of this trip. And, if I was being honest with myself, I would go on to say that the longer we stayed here, the more I wondered if she would even be happy about what I had planned for her, or if she’d hate it and turn me down.

  Tara walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed and fresh-faced, looking so damned beautiful it was enough to drown out my doubts.

 
She’d love my surprise. We would be okay.

  I cleared my throat, desperate to get her talking again. She’d said she wanted to go to the Wonderland rooms and I wanted to do anything that would make her happy.

  “What did you have in mind for the room?” I asked, swallowing the shot of pain that crippled my insides with the thought that plain old me wasn’t enough for her anymore. I batted the shit away—there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with her wanting to explore new things. As long as she wanted to explore them with me.

  “I’m feeling…007.” The excitement in her tone, paired with the flush of her cheeks, erased the gritty doubts in my gut and replaced it with pure want.

  “The Spy Suite?” I cracked a grin, remembering how Jessica had described it as a European style suite with neckties and fun gadgets. “I think I could interrogate you for a few hours.” I cocked an eyebrow at her, trying to hide the reality behind that statement because I honestly would love to get inside her head right now.

  “Let’s go.” She led the way but didn’t take my hand as we walked out of the room.

  I followed her, helpless to anything she wanted. If she asked me to dance around on a stage like Magic Fucking Mike, I would. Whatever it took. I just needed her to let me in.

  As we reached the top floor, I drew her close, kissing her neck as we walked, or lightly smacking her ass when she’d try to get ahead of me. Her laughter filled the otherwise quiet halls where the Wonderland rooms were, and when I shushed her, she glared at me with teasing eyes. My heart re-filled at her laughter, the excitement in her eyes. So much like how we’d used to be.

  Easy.

  Stopping in front of the Spy Room, I caged her against the door for a few moments, stealing her breath with a fast, hard kiss and inhaling it like the drug it was. She set my nerves on fire, every breath, every gasp, every arch of her body that connected to mine, only fanned the flames. Moving her, I double checked the iPad on the wall next to the room, making sure it wasn’t occupied.

  Tara fished for the key in my back pocket, taking her time to find it, her first attempt discovered my cell. Finally, the tease held the key out to me, and I slipped it in, the lock popping audibly as I pushed the door open.