Christ.
“You realize that this is a mess, right?” he asked, aware that his voice was a little raw.
He wished absently that she’d showed up in his room ten minutes later. At least then, he would’ve had a chance to relieve himself.
She dipped the strawberry again, then licked it and took a delicate bite. “How is it a mess?”
“Yesterday, at the airport, I’m pretty sure you wanted to punch me for kissing you.”
“That’s not quite true.”
“True enough that it makes you standing there, licking the hell out of a strawberry like that a big, giant mess.”
“You want me to stop? Give me what I want.”
“What, exactly, do you think you want?”
“You.”
She made the statement with a red face and a hair toss, but she didn’t back down or pull her eyes away from his.
Dammit.
Quinn wanted to point out that he was pretty damned sure they’d had this conversation – but in reverse – the night before. He kept his teeth together in an attempt to stop himself from saying it, but apparently, he didn’t have to. She remembered, too.
“Are you saying you don’t want me anymore?” Ginnie prodded. “Because last night…”
Quinn couldn’t stand the hint of real insecurity under her teasing bravado.
“Of course I fucking want you,” he growled.
“Then what’s the problem?”
I don’t want to be a wild oat.
That truth dug at him. And he couldn’t admit it out loud. It wouldn’t make sense to her, even if he did. He was supposed to be a complete stranger, to not know enough about her that he could say with certainty that this bit of wantonness now would likely haunt her forever.
Hell. The only man she’d ever had sex with was the asshole of a husband.
That, Quinn hadn’t known. Though he guessed he shouldn’t have been so startled to hear her say it. It was perfectly in line with everything else about her.
“The problem is that you don’t know a thing about me,” he said.
“Isn’t that the way this is supposed to be?”
“No.” Quinn ran a frustrated hand over his hair. “Could you please stop making me sound like a girl?”
“Nope.”
With a self-satisfied smile, Ginnie lifted her champagne to her mouth and took a sip. As she pulled the glass away from her perfect, sexy-as-hell mouth, she didn’t tip it up in time, and a significant amount of the sweet liquid poured down the front of her shirt. The pale pink material became see-through immediately, and so did the bra underneath it. Quinn fought a groan as the whole thing clung to her curves and her nipples came to full, taut view.
“Shit!” she exclaimed. “Now I’ve got to change.”
“Do it quickly,” Quinn suggested. “Fake-Vegas awaits.”
He needed to get the hell out of the room before he lost it.
Ginnie shrugged. “All right.”
She turned away and walked toward the loose pile of clothes in the suitcase that wasn’t hers. It gave Quinn a brief reprieve. A very brief reprieve. Until she bent down to lift an item, and the skirt lifted to almost-ass level.
Quinn swallowed and forced his gaze away.
Do not think about what else is under that skirt.
“So…Are you going to tell me anything about yourself?” Ginnie asked, interrupting his attempt at making his mind go blank.
Quinn closed his eyes. “No.”
Do not listen to the way that fabric sounds as she pulls it off her body. Seriously. Do not.
“Now you’re just being obtuse.”
It took him a second to realize she wasn’t talking about his internal orders. “Hardly.”
“Oh, please. You told me the problem is that I don’t know anything about you. But you won’t tell me anything about yourself, either? You’re the very definition of obtuseness.”
“Is that even a word?”
“Yes, it is, Mr. Semantics Smartypants.”
In spite of himself, Quinn smiled. “If either one of us was going to get the title of Semantics Smartypants, it wouldn’t be me.”
There was a brief pause before Ginnie said, “You know what I think?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“I think you like control just as much as I do. I think your too-cool-for-school act is an act, and that you use that to stay in charge. So you can toss your ‘life has lots of grey’ bullshit around all you want. Underneath it, you have just as many tidy, black and white boxes as I have.”
At the end of her uncomfortably accurate speech, Quinn’s eyes flew open. But whatever he’d been about to spout off in reply was lost as his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and every ounce of blood in his body made its way with a dart-like zing to his crotch.
Ginnie stood across from him, one hand on her hip, the other holding a strip of something shimmery. She was topless. Her luscious, perky breasts were on alert and demanding attention. The skirt looked shorter than ever and Quinn’s eyes worked on autopilot, exploring every exposed inch of her.
Those lithe thighs. Shit. They’d feel good wrapped around him.
Those toned arms. Hell, how they belonged draped over his neck, fingers yanking on his hair.
Those pink, delicious nipples. They needed to be kissed. Sucked. Worshipped.
That half-smile on her face as she reached to cover herself. Barely. It was –
On purpose, Quinn realized.
The spill. The teasing. The speech.
Damn.
She might be new at seduction, but she was sure as hell giving it a good shot.
Right that second, all Quinn wanted to do was unbuckle his belt, drop his pants to his knees, and take her against the wall as hard and fast as he could.
“My bra got soaked, too.” Ginnie’s words sounded like an apology, but her face told Quinn she wasn’t sorry in the least.
“Borrow one from the pile,” he said gruffly and turned his attention to his wineglass.
He felt the narrowing of Ginnie’s eyes, even though he couldn’t see them. “Even if I was willing to consider it…Not an option. Lawrence’s girlfriend happens to be slightly better endowed than I am.”
Automatically, Quinn’s gaze flicked to her chest, which she still held not-quite-covered with her arm, then to her face. “Not a chance in hell is she better endowed than you.”
There was that blush. “Fine. Bigger endowed than I am, then. And either way, I can’t wear one of her bras. Which is why I picked this.” She held up the shimmery strip she’d been holding in her hand. “It doesn’t need a bra.”
“That doesn’t need a bra because it’s not a shirt.”
“Are you going to tell me what to wear now?”
Quinn eyed the sparkly fabric skeptically. Tell her what to wear? No. He wanted to tell her what not to wear. Except he had a feeling if he tried, she’d suggest they stay in, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he could handle it.
“I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do,” he said.
If she was disappointed, she hid it well. “Good. Then you can help me do this up.”
Ginnie dropped her arm, and Quinn forced himself – really, really forced himself – not to look down again as she slipped both hands into the shiny fabric and shimmied a little. Even when she had the so-called shirt over her chest, it left little to the imagination.
Quinn exhaled. “I don’t even see a part that needs to be done up.”
“On the back.”
Ginnie turned around, flipped her hair away from her smooth shoulders, and stood still.
With an uncomfortable and markedly thick ache between his legs, Quinn stepped across the room to the spot where she waited. Two tiny strips of ribbon hung loose on the back of the shirt.
Hardly even worth the effort, he thought as he reached for them.
As if to prove his point – or maybe as if to defy it, it was hard to say – the first r
ibbon slipped from his fingers the moment Quinn grabbed it. When he made his second attempt, his hand glided across Ginnie’s lower back, and she drew in a sharp breath.
Not that he could blame her for the inhale. Not if she felt anything like he did.
That one bit of contact sent a shock of heat through him, and it was searing enough that he was surprised to see that her skin stayed creamy rather than erupting in red.
Easy now, Quinn.
He gripped each piece of ribbon tightly, and drew them together, speaking as he did it.
“Less than five women,” he said, feeling an unusual flicker of uncertainty.
“Less than wh – Oh.”
He looped one ribbon under the other, then paused, pushing his finger to her back to hold them together. “Is that an ‘oh, you thought it would be more’ or an ‘oh, you thought it would be less’?”
“More of an ‘oh, I can’t believe you actually told me’,” she replied before admitting, “And probably…A bit of the first one, too.”
“I’m twenty-nine.” Quinn wasn’t sure if he was defending the number by stating his age, or just adding it to the mix of things he was sharing. “I was an only child, and my parents died in a car accident when I was seventeen.”
“I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t the automatic, somehow detached sympathy that Quinn was used to hearing, and when she paused for a beat, then added more, he knew it was because she understood.
“My mom died when I was young, too,” she reminded him, then added, “And a week later, my dad decided he couldn’t handle the pressure of being a single dad, and he walked away. I was on my own until I met the Silvers and my brother, Jason. I know how lonely it can be.”
He finished making a bow, but left his hand pressed to the small of her back. “I’m sorry, too.”
For a minute, an emotionally raw moment hung in the air. It was different than the sizzling chemistry that had been bouncing back and forth between then for the last twenty-four hours. It was deeper. And it scared the shit out of Quinn.
“I like pizza, but hate melted cheese on anything else,” he announced with a forced chuckle, and ran his finger up her spine. “I’ve never been to Europe or South America or Africa or anywhere off the continent, actually. But I’ve been arrested in two countries, though. I’ve never been married. You?”
He could hear the smile in her voice as she leaned into his caress and answered. “I’m twenty-four and I’ve never been married, either. Cheese can pretty much go on anything and I love hockey. Europe’s a dream, and I’ve only been arrested in one country. You done back there?”
Quinn released her reluctantly. “Done.”
Her last admission was a true surprise. Something Jase sure as hell had never mentioned. Or more likely…that he didn’t know about.
What the hell had she been arrested for?
Ginnie flicked her hair over her shoulder, sending a cascade of curls down her exposed back, then spun to face him.
“How do I look?”
Quinn’s eyes raked over her. “In-fucking-credible.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Yeah, and the second I find a store, you’re getting something to cover up, he added silently.
The top was purple and silver and he could tell that each time she moved, it was going to bare her midriff. The fabric didn’t just cling to her curves – it was like a second skin. He wanted to pant like a cartoon dog. And so would every other man who caught sight of her.
“In-fucking-credible enough for a one night stand?” she asked teasingly.
She did a little spin, flinging the skirt up to an unacceptable height, and Quinn couldn’t answer her smile.
He grabbed her arm and dragged her close.
“My last relationship lasted six years,” he told her. “And I’m not even sure I liked the girl. You, Ginnie…I like you. And you’re worth a hell of a lot more than a one night stand.”
Her mouth dropped open like she couldn’t quite believe what he’d said – and maybe Quinn couldn’t believe it himself, but he wasn’t going to take it back.
It was true. The girl in question had been his by virtue of his rank in the gang, but never once had he thought of her as his by virtue of desire. The moment he’d been jumped out was the same moment she walked away. Quinn had barely blinked.
Ginnie, on the other hand, was the kind of girl who would never – should never – be a trophy.
He bent down and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, aware that it was more sweet than sexy, then pulled away.
It was clearly time to get out of the room.
Before he could change his mind, Quinn grabbed her hand, slipped his jacket over her shoulders, and yanked her to the door.
Twenty-Three
Ginnie wasn’t sure if the things Quinn had just said to her were supposed to dampen her desire – or even if they weren’t intended to, ought to anyways. Either way, they hadn’t.
As they walked through the almost-silent hotel hallway, Ginnie felt a little like the bubbles from the wine had migrated from her stomach to cover every inch of her skin.
Quinn’s coat smelled like him. Muted cologne and leather and something musky that screamed of masculinity.
Screamed? No, not screamed. Whispered something low and sexy and naughty in her ear.
His strong hand was wrapped around her smaller one, and his words had wrapped around some other, squishy part inside of her that she didn’t want to say was her heart. Because that was a bit ridiculous.
But something that was close to that nonetheless.
So no. She didn’t want him any less.
And her mind was bubbling, too.
It had never even occurred to Ginnie that Quinn might be a relationship-man. In fact, if she’d had to make an assumption, it would’ve been that he was the anti-relationship type. The rebound type. That was how he’d described himself, wasn’t it?
But…
Six years, Quinn had said.
The same length of time she and Lawrence had been together.
Not that the two could be compared. Or even should be.
And you’re not going to think about what a relationship with Quinn would be like, she told herself.
Six years, though. That was long enough to build a life with someone. To get married. To buy a house, or maybe two, and to talk about having kids, or not having kids.
Ginnie cast a sideways glance at Quinn. Did he have kids? She bit back an urge to ask. She was the one who’d insisted that they didn’t really need to know anything about each other.
No matter what his past was – no matter what her own past was – this was a live-in-the-moment weekend. Just like she’d planned. Like she’d told Jase.
But Quinn liked her. And she had to admit that made her feel good. Almost as good as knowing that he thought she looked in-fucking-credible.
Ginnie savored the way the curse-modified word felt. The way his voice made it sound so damned sexy. The way it slipped around her body, even tighter than her outfit, even more intoxicating than the wine.
And even though she was trying hard to believe that their history didn’t matter, she couldn’t help but wonder...What if they had a week together instead of three days? Would she want to know even more about him? And would every detail make her plunge even deeper in lust?
She was so busy musing things over that she almost didn’t notice when they bypassed the elevator. And when she did pause, two feet past it, Quinn caught her puzzled glance at the sliding doors right away.
“No way,” he said.
“No way what?”
“No way am I getting into a tiny, enclosed space with you.”
And of course, as soon as he said it, there was nothing she wanted more than to get into the elevator with him. She pulled on his hand.
“You’re safe,” she promised. “There’s probably a camera.”
“This from the girl who wants to make pornography.”
G
innie flushed. “I said watch it, not make it.”
“I don’t think you specified.”
“I didn’t think I had to.”
Now he tugged on her hand. “I forgive you for your lack of attention to detail.”
Ginnie snorted. If there was anything about herself she knew to be absolutely true, it was that she paid attention – too much of it probably – to details. Like right then. Quinn’s brow was furrowed like he wanted to keep saying no, but she saw his eyes flick to the elevator, noted the dilation of his pupils, and she was damned sure he’d rather be saying yes. So she refused to be pulled along. She dug her spiked heels into the hotel corridor carpet.
“You realize at some point you’re going to have to get into that elevator with me,” she said.
“Not unless you break a leg while we’re out.”
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “When we’re coming back, you’ll be walking behind me up those stairs.”
“And?”
“And what do you think’s riskier? Getting in the elevator, or getting a full view of my ass?”
Without warning, Quinn let go of her hand, and the tug-of-war ended, sending Ginnie stumbling backwards. She caught herself on the wall behind her, but barely managed to get her footing before he was on her, his heated gaze pinning her to the spot.
“What do you think’s riskier?” he asked. “Teasing a man like me, or being taken by a man like me?”
Ginnie felt her lower lip drop. He did look dangerous then, with his gaze grinding into her and the full size of his six foot plus height standing over her. One bare arm flexed, just a little, drawing her attention to the dancing ink.
Shit. You forgot.
It only took a moment for Ginnie to make sense of the thought.
In the closed quarters of the hotel room, with his confessions and his refusal to jump into bed, and his role play as the naughty school boy, he’d seemed softer. A milder version of the tattoo-covered man who’d kissed her when she wasn’t just a stranger but a complete stranger, who’d given her an orgasm with words, who was now staring at her like he might devour her.
“Quinn – ”
He cut her off. “Threaten me again.”
“I – What?”
“Threaten to show me that sweet little ass of yours.”
Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) Page 16
