Ginnie’s palm landed on his cheek, drawing him back to the moment in that way that only she could.
“You know, Quinn. Every normal moment I’ve had has been a fraud,” she said. “My mom, pretending to be healthy, right up to the end. My dad, smiling as he walked out the door on the last day before he turned me over to social services. And Lawrence, getting up every day, going to work, being married to me…” Her face got funny then, and she went on barely audible and sounding like she was in awe of her own words. “And me, being married to him. All a fraud.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been searching for normal since I was a kid. Trying to make up for the things that were less than average in my own life. No mom, no dad, no chance. It’s taken me this long to realize I’ve been doing it wrong. I don’t want normal. I want you.”
Quinn lips turned up. “I know I compared you to a gang leader, but…Ouch.”
She didn’t smile back. “My point is, we grow and change and have scars and we forgive and we love. I’m not going to let you go just because everything in your past isn’t perfect. That wouldn’t just be hypocritical, it would be downright stupid.”
His own smile faded, not because what she said made him unhappy, but because he felt it so acutely. The sentiment behind them, the passion they exuded – they matched his own so well, and he’d never been so damned serious about something.
Neither of them might be able to say the words directly, but he knew they shared them anyway.
We love.
The phrase echoed in his mind as he drew her face to his and did his best to turn what was in his heart into a kiss. He touched her with the leisure of someone who had time to do it again and again, and with the thoroughness of someone who knew just how privileged he was to be allowed to do it. Then, for the first time in the nearly thirty years of life he had behind him, Quinn made love to a woman he never wanted to lose. Hard and fast, then sweet and steady.
All-consuming desire. Just the way it should be.
And he forgot everything but her.
Sunday
Thirty-One
Ginnie woke slowly, an all-over body ache making her smile.
Smile? Since when does hurting make me feel good?
Then she remembered.
Since Quinn.
And a silly, sleepy grin turned up her mouth as she reached across the bed.
Empty.
For a second, a deep sense of unease crept through Ginnie’s mind. And her heart thumped nervously in response before she remembered he’d been gone the previous morning as well.
For coffee.
God, how Ginnie needed one now. A hot, caffeinated beverage would soothe away some of the soreness, and to help clear the fog in her brain.
Though if she was being honest, if the choice was between coffee and Quinn…There was no contest. Quinn and his sexy smile took that cake on what fuelled her, and she blushed again at how badly she suddenly wanted him. Was it normal to feel so much desire after already having been so thoroughly satiated? Because she had definitely be satiated. Repeatedly. In many ways. Last night had been a breath-stealing, pulse-pounding, contortionist-worthy workout.
Her smile widened at the memory, and she winced as even her cheek muscles screamed. She was going to have to hire a damned physical therapist for sex recovery if it was like this every time.
Every time.
She shivered pleasantly at the possibility of his hands on her body, night after night. Of his voice, rumbling in her ear as he replied to the thoughts and feelings she shared with him, and he shared a few of his own.
The last thing Ginnie remembered before drifting off, her arms and legs wrapped around him, was a question that held a delicious promise.
“Where would you like to wake up Monday morning, baby? Your place, or mine?”
And Ginnie had told him that she didn’t care. As long as it was with him.
It was so easy to say things like that to him. To be honest and not worry if it was the right thing or the wrong thing because all that mattered was that it was the true thing.
Until that second, she’d never thought about how her crazy obsession with doing things perfectly also affected her ability to do them authentically. Of course, she’d never considered it crazy before, either. But right then, it seemed far more insane than lying in a hotel room bed picturing a long-term life with a man she’d just met and was already halfway in love with.
Only halfway in love?
And even though there was no one around to see, Ginnie colored. If she thought anything was crazy, it should be that nudging voice was crazy. But even the logical part of her brain was jumping up and down with agreement, offering its totally typical, totally reasonable list as evidence.
Palpitating heart? Check.
Can’t think about anything else? Check.
Unreasonable wish that he was there right that second? Check.
“Stupid logical brain,” she muttered.
With a self-directed eye roll, she decided she’d better get out of bed before she had a whole wedding planned. She flung the sheets back, swung her aching legs from the bed and placed her feet on the toe-curling carpet. Then went still.
What the…
She forced her hand to reach for the partially open nightstand drawer. She slid it wider, her heart in her throat.
Her phone sat in the bottom of the drawer.
Very slowly, Ginnie scooped it up. It felt like a lead weight in her hand. And the weight was somehow connected to her stomach, dragging it down to her knees.
What was the phone doing there? Quinn had to have put it inside the night stand, which meant he had to have grabbed it from the bar where Ginnie had given it its ice bath. But why had he held onto it until now? And why had he hidden it?
The door squeaked open, and Ginnie’s eyes jerked up as Quinn shouldered his way into the room. For a second, his face split into a goofy smile. A no-holds-barred, heartbreakingly sweet grin that was at odds with his tough-guy looks and that made Ginnie’s chest want to burst with joy. Then his eyes landed on the cell phone and his face changed. A whole range of emotions played across it, and none of them made sense. Fear. Guilt. Pain.
The feelings were so obvious and so strong that Ginnie had to look at her own hand to see if she held something far worse. But no…
It’s just a phone.
Except for some reason, she knew it wasn’t. Not with the way he’d looked at it. Not with the way he was now looking at her as he set down the coffee and cookies on the table.
The perfect coffee from the perfect man.
And Ginnie’s mind flipped through the last forty or so hours of memory. Some of them were clear as day, some were muddled with alcohol. All of them centered around Quinn. And all of them meant something. Though she wasn’t sure what.
Just…something.
Quinn, at the airport bar, zeroing in on her as she mentally stripped him.
Quinn, so insistent that he accompany her and protect her and help her.
Quinn, asking so few questions and refusing to answer any of her own.
One question and its lack of answer, in particular, stood out.
“Why were you going to Vegas?” she asked slowly.
She watched as Quinn tongue darted out and poked at his lip ring, giving away his state of mind.
Definitely something more, then. Something you’re missing.
“You said it was for work,” she reminded him. “I don’t think you meant to tell me that.” She closed her eyes, remembering the way he’d covered it by turning the question back on her, and how she’d been too drunk to care. “But you did mean it when you told me you weren’t in the gang. So if you’re not in the gang…and you had my phone, and…” Her eyes flew open as she made a sudden mental leap. “It’s me.”
“Ginnie…”
He took a step toward her, and she put up a hand. He stopped immediately. Like he’d hit a force field. Or a brick wall. Which Ginnie felt, too. Slamming between them, piece
by piece, the mortar setting as soon as it landed.
“I’m the job,” she stated, disappointed at how small her voice sounded.
“I can – ”
“Please don’t say explain.” Yes, better. Firmer. “It’s far too cliché for a man like you.”
“I can – ”
She cut him off again. “Can what?”
“I don’t know.”
Why did the big, tattooed man have to look so vulnerable? So broken. So much like he needed her. And how could the quick tap of his tongue on his lip ring and the sharp tug of his hair make her want to tear down the just-built wall?
No.
Ginnie wasn’t going to give in. She wasn’t going to be weak again.
She looked down at her hands so she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. “I should just go.”
“Please, baby. Just hear me out.”
The endearment snaked into Ginnie’s chest and squeezed at her heart and she had to force aside how bad it hurt to know that he could get to her with just a word. When she’d been nothing but a job to him.
And his next words slammed it home.
“Jase just thought you needed someone to protect you.”
Ginnie’s gaze snapped back up. What the hell did her brother have to do with this? With Quinn’s work? And – Oh. One plus one definitely added up to two.
She swallowed. “He hired you to protect me.”
“Yes.”
“He told you about me, and how I like my coffee.”
“Yes.”
“And he gave you money.”
“Yes.”
Which meant…She’d slept with a man who was paid to do it.
A wave of nausea hit her, and her stomach dropped down to her knees as she stared at Quinn, trying figure out how she could have been so easily duped. She watched his mouth work.
He’s still talking. Why is he still talking? Why are we still in the same room?
She needed to get out. But when she stood, she felt like she was moving underwater. Slow and clumsy and unable to breathe. Unable to get to the door with any kind of speed. And that gave Quinn just enough to push through that invisible shield between them and press a hand into her elbow. His touch seared into her skin, and she jumped away, half-expecting to find a brand where his fingers had been. Instead, there was just…nothing. Her arm and her aches. No other evidence that Quinn had touched her in any way.
The cold tendrils of sickness that took up residence in Ginnie’s gut fanned out through her body. They became brittle and threatened to crack. And oh, god, how they hurt. Threatened to knock her breathless.
She had to get past it.
Strength. Please.
She inhaled. “You can go, or I can go. Either way, one of us is leaving.”
“I didn’t know what was going to happen between us, Genevieve. I couldn’t have known.”
She shook her head. “Nothing happened.”
“Nothing? How can you say that? It’s bullshit.”
“What do you want me to say? You manipulated me. You and Jase both. And I’m just the stupid girl who fell for it.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be manipulation.”
“No? What was is supposed to be?”
“A job. And – Christ, Ginnie.” Pause. Click of the ring. “Can we just start this conversation over?”
“I don’t think so, Quinn.”
He flinched liked he’d been struck, but still shot her a pleading look. “Please.”
Another deep inhale. And an equally forceful exhale.
“Why?” she said coolly. “So you can tell me how you didn’t mean to sleep with me? That it was just a bonus? An expected side effect? Sorry, no. The why and the how don’t even matter. This weekend has been great. But we need to be honest with each other and with ourselves.” The words sounded like a lie, even to Ginnie’s own ears, but she pushed on, certain of what would dislodge the stubborn set to Quinn’s jaw. “I would have had sex with you, either way.” That, at least, was true. “I was looking to get wild, looking for an excuse to live outside of my tidy boxes. Desperate, I guess. So if you’d just walked up and told me Jase hired you, I would probably have been so mad that I would’ve jumped into bed with you right that second. You didn’t have to hold my phone hostage or keep it a secret or anything like that.” Also true, or close to it. “You know what’s good though?”
“There’s something good about this?” His voice was so very rough, so full of pain.
Ginnie forced a tiny laugh. “Okay, maybe not good. If we’re getting into semantics again.”
“Fuck your semantics,” he snapped.
She ignored him. “Maybe it’s just a relief.”
“What does that mean?”
She shrugged. “It means that it’s over. And both of us got the job done.”
Quinn stepped back, hurt making his big body fold in on itself. Ginnie steeled herself against it. She had no reason to feel guilty about her word-spinning. After all, he was the real liar. He was the one who’d chosen to keep the deception alive.
And now it’s time for the nails in the coffin.
She went on. “Now we can get on that plane and head home. I’ll go back to being the girl who used to be married to a doctor. And you’ll go back to being the guy covered in tattoos who once got shot protecting a drug dealer. We could never be anything more than what we already are. There’s no point in prolonging the inevitable. This ending couldn’t be more perfect, right?”
His mouth opened, but just barely. Then he ground it shut so hard that Ginnie could practically hear his teeth smacking against each other, smashed his hands into his pockets, and spun.
Ginnie waited.
For him to turn back and get the last word.
For him to plead one more time for her to listen.
For him to sweep her up and kiss her with brutal need before storming out again.
But he didn’t. He didn’t slam the door; he didn’t look back.
He’s gone.
And without his presence to buffer her against the torrent of emotional pain, Ginnie fell to the bed and let a wracking sob take her.
Thirty-Two
Quinn eased his back away from the hallway wall of the hotel room he’d shared with Ginnie for the last two days. Some of the best hours of his life. He’d been standing there for a good ten minutes, furious as hell, fighting the underlying hurt.
The pain in his chest was overwhelming, the crush of everything under his ribcage threatening to suffocate him. He tried to latch onto the anger, tried to hold it and use it as a shield against the burn of rejection, tried to use it as fuel for the fire of hatred.
But he couldn’t hate her. Her words, the sting they left, his own insecurity brought to life…those he could hate. But Ginnie? Hell, no. He was man enough to know that if he hated her, he wouldn’t care so fucking much about what she thought of him. And apparently, what she thought of him was so very little.
She has to be lying. Has to be.
Unless she wasn’t.
Because wasn’t he the one who’d told himself that not sharing his connection with Jase was a bad idea, one that would piss her off and hurt her and jeopardize everything? And hadn’t he also been the one who’d said he wasn’t good enough? The one who’d pointed out that his past would shape him, haunt him, not just right then, but always? All Ginnie had done was realize it, too. Or maybe she’d simply known all along and just needed an opportune moment to throw it in his face.
So why can’t I move away from this wall?
He realized he’d pressed himself back into it, his hands flat against the wallpaper, wondering desperately what she was doing on the other side. He closed his eyes and let himself imagine her soft cheek pressed to the door, her thoughts on him, too.
No.
Even if she was lying…it didn’t matter. In fact, it was worse. It meant she took what would hurt him most and used it anyway. He didn’t need that kind of bullshit in his life. He didn’t nee
d any kind of bullshit.
Quinn pushed himself away again, this time a little more forcefully. As he did, the familiar cock of a gun made him freeze. And he found himself staring into the crazed eyes of Dr. Lawrence Michaels.
Calm. Keep it calm.
Quinn repeated the mantra to himself and held very still.
The man across from him was clearly unstable. Possibly still drunk.
Or maybe drunk again.
Most importantly, he had the weapon trained on the hotel door, right where Quinn had pictured Ginnie just moments earlier, his finger on the trigger. Any tiny move, any tiny slip…No. Quinn wouldn’t let himself consider it. No matter how badly he was itching to flatten the other man. Because he’d recognized the look on the doctor’s face for what it was.
Desperation.
Reason and hope had been pushed aside, and the man might not be crazy, but he clearly believed he had nothing to lose. Quinn had underestimated the man once before. Now that he knew why, he wasn’t going to do it again.
Calm. Keep it calm.
But try as he might, his words – spoken low enough to not be accidentally overheard by anyone behind any door – betrayed his true feelings. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t jump you, take that gun, and shoot you with it right now.”
Lawrence smiled. “Just because you look stupid doesn’t mean I believe you are stupid. We both know you won’t jump me. I’m one little bump away from firing. Do you know where she is in the room?”
Both of Quinn’s hands balled up into fists. The idea of the other man lying in bed with Ginnie made him sick to his stomach. And the thought of him accidentally firing at her…There weren’t words for that particular emotion.
He forced himself to keep an even tone. “Let’s move this conversation out of the hall. Have a discussion where an accident is less likely.”
“And lose my one bit of leverage? I’m not stupid either.”
Quinn gritted his teeth. Leverage? She’s a fucking person.
“Dr. Michaels,” he said stiffly. “I give you my word that I won’t lay a finger on you. My only condition is Ginnie’s safety.”
Lawrence gave him a considering look, then – very, very slowly – he moved the barrel of the gun to Quinn, who never thought he’d be so relieved to have a pistol pointed at his chest.
Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) Page 22
