Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1)

by Di Lorenzo, Melinda

  And Ginnie realized he hadn’t noticed.

  She was standing in the middle of the room, the sheet pulled around her body like a shield, and he hadn’t noticed.

  For some reason, that was as upsetting as his meanness and his coldness combined.

  “So if you could excuse me…” she prodded, trying not to sound as annoyed as she felt.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “PJ told me to keep an eye on Liv, so I’m keeping my fucking eye on her. On you. And as it happens, I’ve seen you naked before. So again. Fat fucking chance.”

  At his blasé tone – so at odds with his angry-sounding words – Ginnie’s temper flared. “You want to cut the bullshit? Fine. Lose the asshole act and quit dropping the F-bomb every five seconds!”

  “This isn’t an act. This is me, showing you just how perfectly I fit into one of those tidy boxes you like so much.”

  “Fuck the tidy boxes!” Ginnie cried, so loud that Quinn whipped his head toward the door.

  Oops.

  She watched him stride to the door, then close it gently. When he turned back toward her, his face was dark.

  “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this current situation,” he growled, low and intense.

  “Of course I do.”

  He took a step closer. “I somehow doubt it.”

  “Why do you think I – ” She cut herself off quickly.

  “Why do I think you what?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know what I was going to say.”

  He took another step closer. “That’s a lie.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Another step. “I call more bullshit.”

  He was close enough to touch. Close enough that she could smell his soft, masculine scent. Warmth crept up under the thin sheet she held.

  Oh, god.

  She took a step backward so she could turn and snap up the borrowed dress from the chair. Pretending she didn’t care, Ginnie dropped the sheet and slipped the pink cotton over her head, then yanked it down firmly.

  “PJ’s waiting,” she stated, her tone even.

  “PJ is a killer, Ginnie,” Quinn replied bluntly.

  “I know.”

  “Then you also know that you need to leave.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  She spun again and moved to go past him. Instead, one of his hands shot out, grabbed her elbow, and pulled her directly in front of him.

  “You’re right. I don’t get to tell you what to do,” he said. “But if PJ hurts you, I don’t know what I’ll do. And quite frankly, I’m feeling a little unstable.”

  Ginnie lifted her face, prepared to tell him off. But the second she met his gaze, she couldn’t do it. Because any pretence of indifference was gone. His features were pained, his amber eyes agonized. Yet somehow…still full of unfathomable longing.

  He ran his free hand over his faux-hawk and choked out her name. “Ginnie…”

  And him caring…him hurting like that…She couldn’t take it. Instead of opening her mouth, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed it into his.

  As she gave him the gentle kiss, Quinn stood stock still. So still that Ginnie pulled away, an ache in her heart and an apology on her lips. But the words never made their way out.

  Quinn reached down, slipped a hand to the small of her back, and dragged her close again. He stared straight into her eyes with wordless emotion, asking a question that made Ginnie’s throat tighten.

  Don’t cry, she ordered herself.

  But when she nodded, the first tear slipped out. And by the time he leaned down, they were pouring freely down her face. Ginnie didn’t know if they were happy tears, or relieved, or something else entirely. She just knew that she needed Quinn. So badly. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought she could live without him.

  He ran a finger down her chin, tracing the trail of tears. His lips were so near to hers that she could feel their heat.

  Please don’t stop, she begged silently.

  And he didn’t.

  Oh, thank god.

  This time when their mouths met, his was animated. Alive. Warm. Perfect.

  Home.

  Ginnie slid her hands to his shoulders and dug her fingers into Quinn’s hair.

  And the kiss became urgent. Almost needy.

  Quinn pressed into her, his body enveloping her.

  Almost needy?

  No. There was nothing almost about it.

  The hard length of his erection jammed against her thigh, and Ginnie let out tiny gasp. She was hot. Ready.

  And he’s still not close enough.

  She pulled away just enough to slide her fingers to the button of his jeans. She only fumbled for a second before it sprung open. The sound of the zipper dropping was somehow deafeningly sexy. It carried over their sharp breaths and had a decisiveness to it that sent Ginnie’s already spiked heart rate even higher.

  Quinn brought his hands to her thighs, lifted the bottom of her dress, then lifted her. He carried her across the room, and for a moment Ginnie assumed he would take her to the bed. But he didn’t do anything so delicate. Instead, he slammed her to the wall, his wide palms both cushioning and silencing the impact. He held her in place tightly with one hand and she could feel him using the other to slide his jeans down.

  She wished she could touch him. But she sensed that there was no time. And this wasn’t a sweet and loving release anyway. It was a desperate meshing of two souls. Two bodies.

  Hurry, hurry.

  Like he could read her mind, and without preamble, Quinn thrust forward, penetrating her. For one second, there was pain. He drew back, then forward again, and fullness replaced the soreness. On the third thrust, Ginnie’s body opened to him, wet and waiting.

  Yes.

  Quinn’s hips worked quicker. Harder.

  Yes again.

  He gripped her with one hand and flattened the other to the wall above their heads, driving himself into her.

  And impossible heat ripped through Ginnie.

  Soon. Too soon.

  But there was nothing she could do to slow it down.

  With a silent cry, she tossed her head back and let herself go. And as she pulsed around every inch of him, she felt an answering throb, deep inside. Quinn moaned against her throat.

  And then he ripped himself away, leaving her empty.

  Thirty-Eight

  Quinn was disgusted with himself. One tiny kiss, one small nod, a few pitying tears, and he’d turned into an animal. He was still panting, still half-turned on, even though he’d been sated and even though he’d disentangled himself from her embrace.

  He slunk across the room and sank into the armchair there. He could feel her eyes on him, feel the hurt they exuded.

  Fuck. What kind of person am I? He didn’t like the answer. The kind who’ll take his fix any way he can get it.

  Forgetting that a dangerous as hell man was in the next room and satisfying his own need instead. Ravaging Ginnie because she was as addictive as any drug. Because he didn’t know if he would ever get another chance. And quite simply…because she let him.

  “Quinn?”

  Her voice was wobbly. Small. Worried. It dug straight into Quinn’s heart, and he couldn’t lift his eyes to meet hers.

  “I’m so sorry,” he managed to get out.

  “Sorry?” she repeated.

  “I know I don’t measure up. I can think of a hundred reasons why you were right about that. I lied by omission when I left out the stuff about knowing Jase, and I’m not rich or tied up in a pretty package. I know I’ll always have my past – hell, right now it’s even my present – making things darker, and I can’t change that. So I am sorry. But if you let me try, I think I could make you happy. I was a good man. Every day, I’d work on it. Work on us. Make you feel worshipped. Needed. You’d never want for anything, I promise you.”

  He sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

  Christ. Any way he co
uld get it, all right.

  He hazarded a look at her face. She still stood across the room, leaning a little on the wall. Her green eyes were wide, her hair a wild mess, her lips swollen from his rough kisses and dropped open in surprise. She was stunning, as always.

  God, he loved her. More than enough to warrant begging.

  “Even if you’re going to say no to me, say yes to letting me get you out of here. I need to know you’re safe.”

  For another long second, she stared at him silently. Then her eyes flicked toward the door and Quinn remembered.

  The money.

  “However much it is…it’s not worth dying for,” he said softly.

  “Quinn…What are you talking about?”

  “Whatever you think he owes you financially.”

  Her eyes widened even more. “Is that what you think I want?”

  “Isn’t it what you said you wanted?”

  She shook her head. “No. I mean, yes. I said that. But Quinn…I’m not here for Lawrence or his money.”

  “You’re not?”

  Hope buoyed Quinn’s heart, but it came crashing down when she spoke again.

  “But I can’t say yes to you.”

  “Please, Ginnie, just – ”

  She cut him off. “I came here for you. Whatever mess Lawrence got you into when I overreacted and kicked you out…I’ve got to save you from it.”

  Quinn felt his eyebrows shoot up, and his tongue came out to give his lip ring a single, solid tap. “Save me?”

  Her cheeks went a bit pink. “It’s not as silly as it sounds.”

  “Silly?” Quinn shook his head. “It’s not silly. It’s crazy as hell. You risked your life to save me? Why would you do that? You were free and clear. You were safe.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She took a deep, deep breath, squared her shoulders and set her beautiful eyes on his face. “I love you, Quinn. So I can’t leave until I’ve done what I came to do. And don’t try to fight me on it. You won’t win.”

  “You…” He trailed off, stunned.

  Saving him was preposterous. But she wanted to. Holy hell. Quinn felt like a ton had been lifted from his shoulders.

  My knight in soft, pink cotton.

  At the thought, a tiny smile played on his lips.

  Ginnie’s eyes narrowed. Her chin was lifted defiantly and her hands were on her hips…And she fucking loved him. In spite of it all.

  “Baby,” he said, but whatever else he’d been about to add was lost.

  The bedroom door flew open and Doctor Lawrence Douchebag Michaels burst in, shotgun in hand. The desperate look was back on the other man’s face. He glanced around the room wildly – looking for Liv, probably. When he didn’t find her, his sights set on Ginnie, and he didn’t look happy.

  This time, when the familiar, run-on sentence hit Quinn – letmeatthatmotherfuckersoIcanbreakhisface – he didn’t stop it from taking over his body. He leaped from the chair, moved forward, and followed the motion through with his fist.

  It was a good, clean punch. A satisfyingly thorough shot. As Quinn’s knuckles met Lawrence’s chin, the man went flying. He crumpled to the floor in a stunned, barely conscious heap, and the gun slipped from his hands. Quinn didn’t have time to relish taking the other man down, though. Just as he reached down and his fingers closed on the weapon, PJ came limping in. He had a black eye and a sour look on his face.

  In one hand, he held a pistol. And in the other…he held Quinn’s badge.

  Shit. Maybe he doesn’t know it’s mine. Maybe he thought it was Lawrence’s. Maybe –

  PJ held the badge out, cutting off Quinn’s uncharacteristically frantic thoughts.

  “I believe this is yours,” he said casually, then cocked the pistol, far too casually.

  Quinn remained motionless. Expressionless, as PJ looked from Quinn to Ginnie to Lawrence’s still form, then back to Quinn.

  “Now it makes sense,” the other man stated. “This thing isn’t about favors at all. It’s about a girl.”

  Quinn adjusted his position, putting his body between PJ and Ginnie. Between Ginnie and the gun.

  “What’s the story, PJ?” he asked cautiously.

  His former boss offered the badge again, and when Quinn didn’t take it, he shrugged and set the wallet on the dresser. Then he sat in the armchair Quinn had recently vacated and rubbed at his bruised face with his free hand. The other stayed gripped on the gun, and the gun stayed aimed at Quinn.

  “Your ‘friend’ tried to rat you out.” He glanced down at Lawrence. “Guess you took care of punishing him for that. By the way, you can drop the gun any time, Mcdavid. Fucking thing’s not loaded anyway.”

  Quinn didn’t let the claim affect him, and he made no move to let Ginnie out from behind him. PJ noticed immediately.

  “Her name’s Liv?” he asked.

  Ginnie spoke up before he could stop her. “Genevieve Silver. Formerly Michaels.”

  “Aha,” PJ said. “Married to the doctor who just tried to out your secret identity to me.”

  “Yes,” Ginnie said.

  “Hmm.” PJ turned his attention to Quinn again. “Married to him. But you love her.”

  “More than my own life.”

  “Well. Holy shit. This whole time, I thought you were an even more heartless bastard than I am.”

  “Apparently not,” Quinn replied, then waited for his former boss to get to the point.

  PJ sighed. “I have a confession to make. I’m not alone out here for fun. I’m in mourning.”

  “All right,” Quinn replied. “I’ll bite. In mourning for…?”

  “Myself. I’ve got six months. Fucking lung cancer. Never smoked a day in my life, but I guess my other vices more than made up for it.” The other man let out a short, bitter laugh. “You’re my one good thing, Quinn.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Eight years ago, you walked in here with the same look on your face that you had today. Something to prove. Something to win. I’ve known you were a cop since the second I laid eyes on you.”

  “If I was a cop – hypothetically,” Quinn said. “And – also hypothetically – if you knew it, why would you let me work for you all that time? And why let me go so easily at the end of it?”

  “Hypothetically – why would I even let you live?” PJ countered agreeably.

  “Hypothetically.”

  “As far as letting you go…” PJ offered up a shrug. “I really am a self-centered bastard. My own life means that much to me. As far as the other stuff…You were different, Mcdavid. Most low level guys, they give off a desperate vibe when they’re trying to climb up the ladder. The ones who come in from the cop shop, they’re even worse. They all try to pretend like they’ve got nothing to lose and it’s all bullshit. It’s like I can smell it. Not you. No desperation. Like you really did have nothing to lose. At the beginning, I admit, I thought I could use you. Counter intelligence, maybe. Then I got to know you, and damn if I didn’t actually like you. And you were fiercely loyal to me from the get-go. To the Black Daggers, too. I’ve thought about that a lot over the last few days. A good man, maybe a bit damaged. Was that an act?”

  Quinn was careful not to glance behind him as he made the admission. “No. It wasn’t an act.”

  PJ made a satisfied noise. “Why?”

  Quinn hesitated.

  Now or never.

  This was the true reason he wasn’t good enough for Ginnie. The true reason he knew he could never fit tidily into a box. But honesty was his only chance of getting them out alive. Quinn could feel it.

  And she loves you.

  He latched onto the sincerity in her voice, the certainty in her face when she’d said it. He used it to shove aside his self-doubt.

  Then he closed his eyes and spoke slowly. “I was alone. Lonely. My parents were dead. The drunk driver who killed them got off on a technicality. I couldn’t connect with anyone at the academy. Even my training officers knew I didn’t fit the mold. When I w
ent undercover… The guys inside the Black Daggers didn’t care if I was hurting. They didn’t pity me or worry that I might snap. I was accepted. For the first time in forever. I still did the police work. I still reported when I had to and had guys arrested. But…”

  “Things weren’t black and white.”

  “Exactly.”

  “We gave you a fucking purpose. Something to lose. And that, my friend, is why you’re my good thing. And the less self-centered reason I had for letting you go. Thought maybe you’d put a little good into the world.”

  PJ focused his gaze just to Quinn’s right, his eyes on Ginnie, who’d come around and placed a hand on Quinn’s elbow.

  “So now you know it all,” PJ said. “And do you still love him?”

  “I do.” There was zero hesitation in Ginnie’s reply. “It might even be why I love him.”

  “The doctor’s wife on the outside,” PJ commented thoughtfully. “But not on the inside.” PJ shot a decisive look Quinn’s way. “Now we’re close to square.”

  For a second, relief flooded Quinn’s body. Then Lawrence groaned from his spot on the floor, and Quinn remembered that the doctor had an outstanding debt to pay, too.

  Ginnie spoke again, and it was obvious that she remembered as well. “Do you like the Bahamas, PJ?”

  “I don’t hate them,” PJ replied.

  Ginnie smiled. “Because I know a guy whose got a house there. And I know a guy who can make it yours.”

  PJ smiled. Then he picked up Quinn’s badge again and held it out. When Quinn took it, PJ flipped the gun around and offered that to him, too, butt-end first. After just a moment, he took the weapon. It was a sign of trust. And a perfect representation of Quinn himself.

  One unregistered gun and one symbol of justice.

  He had a feeling that PJ knew it, too.

  His former boss offered him a nod, then turned back to Ginnie, his smile widening.

  “Keep talking. And don’t scrimp on the white sand.”

  And Quinn finally felt like he could breathe again.

  Thirty-Nine