“Dammit!” She leaned her head against the closet door. She’d left her briefcase in her office on top of the credenza.
Well, too damn bad. Since this morning, briefcases had slipped from her first choice as weapons of self-defense.
The front doorknob rattled, shocking her heart into orbit. She whirled around and slammed into the open closet door. Stars danced. Fingers sweaty, she gripped the knob and eased her head beyond the edge of the door.
Someone—face scrunched against the frosted glass and shielded between skillet-sized hands—peered into the reception area.
Damn, and she was fresh out of Lamar’s.
Her legs wobbled. No hysterics. She bit her bottom lip.
The knob turned. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. It’s locked, her mind whispered. Definitely locked. She’d locked it...after Sami left. Around six.
Fingers tapped the glass. She clamped down on her bottom lip and jammed the tip of the car key between her thumb and forefinger.
The knob jiggled once, twice. Then nothing. Slowly, the shadow turned away. Quinn strained to hear footsteps in the carpeted hall. She heard only silence.
Adrenaline popped along her stretched nerve endings. Logic evaporated. She reverted to instinct. She dropped to all fours. Her office had magically relocated to the next county. She stopped crawling every few inches and turned to stare over her shoulder.
The light in the hall threw off about three watts. How much could someone on the other side actually see in reception? What if he came back before she reached the phone?
Air whooshed out of her lungs, and the floor tilted.
Get a grip. She tucked her head and kept crawling. Security procedures required a badge after hours for entering the building. But if someone left a door open...which happened. Too often. The trembling in Quinn’s arms snaked down her backbone. She paused and glanced over her shoulder.
The hall light again. Her heart jammed her throat—exactly the way it had when she’d been afraid, as a little girl, to check for monsters under the bed.
A shadow materialized at the door.
Quinn fell on her stomach. She inhaled a snootful of dust from the runner. Too late, she covered her mouth and nose. Her ears exploded from the pressure of stifling the sneeze. Tears stung her bruised cheek.
The door handle rattled. “Quinn? You in there?”
“Pierce?” She scrambled to her feet, banging the side table and knocking off a pile of magazines.
Her feet slipped on one of the slick covers. Surprised, she yipped and hydroplaned several feet before kicking the magazine out of the way.
“Wait, Pierce! I’m coming.”
****
Quinn threw open the door hard enough to shake the glass and Pierce’s gut. He stared at her. “Is it my hair or what?”
“Did you come by here a few minutes ago?”
It took him a nanosecond before he realized she was shaking with terror instead of outrage at seeing him. He shook his head. “Saw your car in the garage and—”
“You didn’t come by here two, three minutes ago?” Her voice cut like a new razor.
“Are we in parallel universes here?” Pierce crossed the threshold, flipped on the lights and sidestepped an open magazine on the floor. “What the hell spooked you?”
Quinn stood frozen near the doorway, glancing toward the hall. “I was in the closet.”
She stopped fumbling with the buttons on her coat and pointed to the closet.
“Putting your coat on, I bet,” Pierce coached her, careful to keep his distance. She was already too close, too vulnerable.
Eau de terror oozed from her, shaking him. “I-I-I was in the closet.”
“Uh-huh.” What could he say? Genius that he was, he recognized a closet when he saw one, and he sure as hell knew better than to touch her. “I can go check the hall.”
Blood drained from her face. “No! Don’t leave. He’s long gone...I’m sure.”
“What happened?” Pierce plopped on the arm of a sofa and let his foot dangle like he was Cary Grant. His heart was racing a hundred miles a beat. He relaxed his jaw. No way he’d give her Clue One how much he wanted to hold her. Just hold her.
“Someone...came by...tapped on the window.” Shock hummed below her rage.
“Hey, that’d raise my pulse.” Pierce went for teasing so she wouldn’t guess he’d decided to kill the little weasel.
“He tried the door knob. Two or three times.”
“He?” The bitter taste of too much coffee and too much rage bubbled in the back of Pierce’s throat. He planted both feet on the floor. Let the weasel crawl back under a rock. Let him hide there until he felt safe. Let him rot in hell. Pierce would find him and make him pay for scaring Quinn.
“He looked inside.” Quinn framed her face with her hands. A bead of sweat lined her upper lip. “He didn’t say anything. Just looked inside.”
“Creep.” Pierce glanced at the open door, flashing on Brittany, the interior designer who’d persuaded him frosted windows were elegant. Inviting. Very “in” as doors went.
Absolutely not a security problem in a modern building like this, she’d assured him.
“He tried the door twice.” Quinn’s voice, steady now, almost matter-of-fact, brought Pierce back to her office. “He left a few minutes before you showed up.”
“Must’ve used the stairs.” Pierce picked his words carefully, worried he’d push her to the edge of hysteria. “I was using one elevator. George was probably using another one. The other four—”
“I know. They’re shut down at seven. I called George. He wasn’t at his desk. Maybe he came up—checking on me.”
“George wouldn’t rattle the door. And he’d identify himself immediately.”
“Okay, okay. I see your point.” She wrapped and unwrapped the long purple scarf around her neck. “It probably wasn’t George. No probably,” she amended.
Pierce opened his mouth, but she waved at him and retied her scarf. The desire to kiss her, hold her, reassure her, made him look away. He stared at the frosted door.
“I told you frosted doors were a bad choice.”
Her tone stung like a slap in the face, but to hell with giving her any satisfaction. He swiveled his gaze to meet the accusation in her stare. “I remember.”
Face stiff, she fingered her damn coat buttons. “See, there really is more to me than my pretty face.”
The bitterness didn’t surprise him, but he waited a beat before answering. He didn’t want her to see how much her crack had caught him off guard. His tongue felt bigger than a tree trunk, but he said, “There was more to Brittany than her pretty face.”
“Uh-huh.” A muscle under Quinn’s eye jumped. “Like her hot, sexy bod?”
“Like her sense of humor,” Pierce countered, his jaw cracking.
“Oh, yes. It was hilarious when I found the two of you stark naked in my office.”
Stark naked bounced and skidded and caromed around in Pierce’s brain, fueling him with a crazy, intense desire to lean forward and kiss Quinn until she got stark naked.
Her curled lip brought him back to his senses. He said, “Not the way it was.”
Quinn shrugged with the least movement possible. “So I exaggerate. Sue me. But you better hurry. This time tomorrow, I won’t have enough left to make it worth your while.”
This second, meteoric change of subject set his head swimming. Sudden subject changes typified the ploy she’d used from the beginning, every time he’d tried explaining about Brittany.
So, like any red-blooded male accused of being a goat for a sheep, he finally gave up. Brittany welcomed him with open arms. She didn’t give a damn he was on the rebound.
Stuck in the same rut he and Quinn had churned so many times, Pierce hesitated, his mouth clamped shut. Her scent of roses, mixed with violets, undermined his determination to get them back on track.
Anger uncoiled in his stomach. She had to think Walker was her boogeyman. Push her on
that hunch and she’d shut up like she’d contracted lock jaw.
Why mention the weasel when she could throw Brittany in my face?
“You want to know what I saw in Brittany?”
“Do I look as if I watch Oprah?”
He shrugged, ignoring the barb. “I saw her good sense. She never demanded an affidavit signed in blood that I wouldn’t abandon her.”
A sense of pride surged into his gut. He hadn’t said leave. He’d used the A-word. He’d said abandon.
One look at Quinn’s pinched, startled face and his stomach lurched. Damn, what a prince. Disregarding concern for his safety, he reached for her. She flinched. A hormone-attack hijacked his brain. He clasped his hands under his chin and fell on one knee.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Kick me. Hurt me. Put me out of my misery. Please.”
For a fraction of a second, he’d swear her mouth twitched. Once. Then she pressed her lips together and tossed her head—a gesture he’d never seen her use.
“I don’t think so. Get up. I’d rather see you really squirm.”
Common sense told him to take his time. “You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?”
“After the day I’ve had, I deserve a little enjoyment. Stand up. Look me in the eye.”
“Do I get a blindfold?”
“No blindfold. No cigarette. No mercy.” She took off her coat and tossed it across the nearest chair.
On his feet, Pierce tensed, half expecting she’d roll up her sleeves and deck him.
“Repeat after me.” She met and held his gaze. “I, Pierce Jordan...”
The words had a familiar ring. She snapped her fingers, and he repeated them in his most confident tone.
“...do solemnly swear...”
Oh-oh. He had to clear his throat twice, but finally said the phrase, asking quickly, “You sure you wouldn’t rather kick me to the curb?”
Narrowing her eyes, she continued. “...I am incapable of commitment to Quinn Alexander or to any other woman in the galaxy.”
Ouch. His tongue flopped like a dying fish. He swallowed three times before croaking the lie. He watched her closely because, God save him, she was smiling... and enjoying every second of this game.
“Is that it?” Bad move—an insight that came with hindsight.
“Not quite.” She arched a brow. “Ready?”
“Sure. I like being flayed alive.”
“That’s a little kinky, don’t you think?”
His heart missed a couple of beats, and he mentally tripped when he focused on the deep, sexy purr from the back of her throat. God, she was...flirting.
“I’m into kinky.” His tone was as cool as if he channeled Cary Grant.
“Good. Then say, ‘I lied about Quinn’s demand for a signed-in-blood affidavit.’”
“In my own defense—”
“Say it.”
“Okay.” He spit the words out faster than bullets from an Uzi. “Satisfied?”
She sighed, long and deeply. “Best orgasm I’ve ever had.”
Chapter 5
No facial or body tics gave away Pierce’s thoughts or feelings as he and Quinn marched to the elevator in silence. She, on the other hand, was having a hard time keeping a straight face. She wanted to skip down the hall like a kid recently visited by Santa.
What fool said revenge wasn’t sweet?
A fool who knew zip about broken hearts. Quinn smiled to herself. Hard to believe she’d extracted the revenge she’d dreamed about for four years. Her pulse hip-hopped. Laughing at Pierce in her office, she’d almost certainly guaranteed the end of their professional dealings. The thought sobered her, but she felt so jazzed, so indomitable, she didn’t care.
Maybe, just maybe, he finally had an inkling of what humiliation tasted like.
A clue his nerves were stretched tighter than a matron’s Botoxed forehead came from his clenched jaw. It was a wonder bones and teeth didn’t tumble out of his mouth. He gripped his black leather briefcase at the ready—as if to beat her off.
Quinn swallowed a giggle. She could tell him a thing or two about his briefcase-strategy.
At the elevator, he slapped the DOWN button a little harder than necessary. Thank God she’d nixed any discussion about the shadow outside her office or the nutcase or Rex. Pierce had tried to protest, but she insisted.
Talk would detract from the honeyed taste of revenge.
The elevator door glided open, and he stood silently aside. She stepped into the wood-paneled space, faced the control panels and jutted her elbows out at her sides. Pierce entered on the clean scent of lemons. Her nose twitched, but she didn’t recognize his aftershave.
Definitely not the lavender fragrance of Canoë he’d used when they were together. Kissing him had always left her wanting more. Heat stung her cheeks, but she kept her eyes on the controls and she punched GARAGE. She’d forgotten until this moment how much she missed his scent. How much she associated it with his supremely natural self-confidence.
Neither spoke. Her neck and back muscles could serve as elevator cables if they had to make a quick escape. Impossible to relax with him so close. Dressed in a forest green crew-neck sweater pulled over a green and burgundy-plaid shirt, Pierce had changed clothes since morning. He was leaner, trimmer than when he wore pin-striped, double-breasted suits. The soft recessed light added a brilliant sheen to his ebony hair, free of spray or gel.
The nerves in Quinn’s fingers jumped. They still carried the memory of caressing his naturally bronze face, his shiny hair and other places she refused to think about. She stared at the doors, acutely aware of his hip-hugging jeans.
There should be a law against such flagrant baiting of one’s former sex-starved lover.
Dry-mouthed, she pressed her lips together like a pissy, born-again virgin. He didn’t know she was sex-starved. He might suspect after the theatrics in her office, but he’d been coming on to her. And he must’ve known she viewed his come-on as one more assault in a day when she’d had enough. Too bad he just happened to stray into her fallout zone.
Cold, stale air in the garage took Quinn’s breath away. She shivered, felt her bravado slip a notch and forced herself to step into the desolation. “You don’t have to walk me—”
“Like hell. You think I want to face another kangaroo court like that one in your office?”
“Kangaroo court?” Quinn hooted, realizing they’d passed the spot where she’d dropped the pastry box and confronted the nutcase. Her self-assurance surged. She faced Pierce.
“Since I’m now absolved of my one grievous offense—”
“You’ll walk the straight and narrow forevermore?” Quinn pressed her new Avalon’s remote, but missed a couple of keys in the combination.
“You probably have to take off your gloves,” Pierce offered.
“You probably have no idea why I’m letting you live.” She jerked off her glove and stuffed it in her pocket.
He opened both his palms. “What’d I say?”
“I said I’m letting you live.” His suggestion had carried no trace of smugness or condescension. His suggestion made sense. And he’d kept his word and said zip about the bizarre day, but damned if she’d let him off the hook.
The taillights remained off after repeated jabs on the remote. “I. Am. Dreaming.”
Smart man that he was, Pierce saved his life again. He refrained from suggesting he try the remote. He said, “I bet your battery’s dead.”
“No way. I bought this car two months ago. Off the showroom floor.”
“Curiouser and curiouser.” His frown did nothing to mar his good looks—but what did? “It’s not cold enough for a new battery to go dead.”
“No, but it is the Monday from hell.” She spoke in a bantering tone that mocked her, jammed the key in the lock, slid behind the steering wheel and slipped the key into the ignition. “Ever had that feeling a black cloud’s hanging over you?”
“Your cloud’s black? Mine’s puce.”
&nbs
p; “Goes well with your hair.” Live by the acid tongue, die by the acid tongue.
The honey-sweetness of her earlier Pyrrhic victory tasted bitter as old coffee grounds. Because he was standing there, she’d go through the motions. She turned the key. Her gut already told her that her battery was deader than their once hot romance.
“Deader than old e-mail,” Pierce intoned and shook his head.
She locked her jaw and managed to repress another sigh. No use getting in the habit of sighing, because, mercifully, there was only one Monday per week. “I’ll call Triple A.”
Pierce snorted. “Expect Santa Claus before they show up. I’ll take you home.”
Ride in his car with the ghosts of that kangaroo court riding with them? Quinn’s stomach dropped. Not in this lifetime. She shook her head.
“Thanks, but if I stay, they’re more likely to come and fix the battery.” She stepped out of the car, cell phone in hand. “Otherwise, I have to deal with no car tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll swing by and pick you up.”
Several dozen neurons in her brain misfired. Repeatedly. So fast, she couldn’t think. Her heart banged her ribs. They’d have about ten inches separating them in the car.
“Don’t think so.” Playing with matches raised the likelihood of getting burned. “You’ll want to rehash the whole day. I’m not up for that.”
“No rehashing.” He held up his right hand and nailed her with an unblinking stare. “The guy in the garage? Erased from my memory. The one outside your office? Out of sight, out of mind. I swear, no mention of the weas—of Rex. No more cracks about kangaroo courts. I’ll even drive like a choir boy.”
His declaration rang with sincerity, but he was grinning like an executioner.
****
The ’Vette’s engine turned over the first time. Pierce felt like crowing, but caught himself just in time. No use bragging a new Avalon couldn’t hold a candle to his classic wheels. Knowing Quinn, she’d think she’d gotten under his skin with that stupid oath.
I...incapable...commitment to Quinn Alexander or—
“Nice toy.” She clutched the seatbelt. “Like a certain comic-book character’s wheels.”
Unraveled Page 5
