by Vicki Tharp
He shook the thought off and set his mug down next to hers. As tasty as the whiskey would be, a drink wasn’t really what he wanted.
“You didn’t ask me in for a drink, did you?”
He laid his hands on her knees, her skin soft and warm. All he wanted to do was run his hands up her thighs and see what treasures he would find. “I’m not much of a drinker anymore. That whole twelve-hours-from-bottle-to-throttle thing. It became easier not to drink, than worry if I was okay to fly.”
“You haven’t flown in a long time.”
“Saw no reason to pick it up. I’ve had physical therapy to concentrate on. I didn’t have time to drink, or waste being hungover.”
He slid his hands farther up her legs, his thumb brushing against something lacy around mid-thigh. He eased a fingertip underneath and tugged. “What’s this?”
“Lace holster Mac let me borrow.”
He brushed his hand over the lace, over the micro-compact Sig held neatly between her thighs. He hissed in a breath, his erection stress-testing his zipper. “That’s fucking hot as hell.”
She smiled. “You like that? I didn’t have anywhere else to put it. I didn’t want to bring a purse.”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning forward and nipping at her bottom lip. “I like it. A lot.” He pulled back a step and looked her up and down. Her high-heeled cowgirl boots weren’t half-bad, either. “Speaking of fantasies…”
Jenna laughed, the low, throaty sound full of amused wariness. “This ought to be good.”
“You and me, those boots, that lacy thigh holster—and nothing else.”
“Soto might get jealous if you don’t ask her along, too. I’m sure she would wear her gun if you were a good boy and asked nicely.”
“I don’t want Soto. I want you.”
“She’s got a nice ass, and boobs that—”
He shut her up with a kiss. He didn’t want Soto’s ass or her boobs or anything else of hers. All he wanted, and all he’d wanted for a very long time, sat right there in front of him.
He planted his hands on her ass and scooted her up against him, the end of the gun nudging up against his hip. As sexy as that was, he wasn’t stupid enough to take chances with a loaded weapon.
“I think I need to take care of this first.” He drew up the hem of her dress until he’d exposed the holster, the gun, and her slender, muscular thigh. Then all he could think about was having those strong legs wrapped around him. He put his fingers on the butt of the gun, and the back of his hand brushed against the crotch of her panties. “May I?”
Jenna held onto the edge of the counter, and her knuckles went white, her breath quick and shallow. “Yeah.” Her voice cracked. “Go ahead.”
He held the bottom row of lace, made sure the safety was engaged, and pulled the gun free, setting it on the counter on the other side of the sink. She didn’t bother smoothing her dress down, which suited him. He resettled against the counter, hitching her legs up over his hips. She locked her boots behind his back.
His hands slid up her thighs, up, up, up, past the lacy holster, up until his fingers came to rest at the top of her thighs, his thumbs stroking the silky edge of her panties. She moaned in the back of her throat, and her head fell back against the cabinet. All he wanted was to rip her panties off, pull his jeans down, and bury himself to the hilt. But he wanted better than that for her.
Especially for her first time.
“You’re a virgin, but you said you hadn’t been in a nunnery, either.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “So, tell me, not-Sister Jenna, what have you done?”
He pulled back. Her irises went two shades darker, and her cheeks flushed a sexy shade of red. “I…um…well, you know…”
Brushing his lips against hers, he said, “No, I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”
He continued the light, teasing strokes with his thumbs. The heat, the dampness spread. “You’re so freaking amazing.” He reached down and adjusted himself, taking her hand and pressing it up against him. “Feel what you do to me.”
Her touch was tentative, as if she was afraid she’d hurt him.
“Have you ever felt an erection before?”
“Well, yeah, of course.” But she didn’t look him in the eye when she said it. She traced the outline of him through his jeans, and he lightly leaned into the touch.
“With your hand?” he asked.
“No.”
He guided her hand until she cupped his balls, her touch so light through the fabric it almost had him slobbering like a rabid dog. He swallowed hard and pulled her hand away.
“Hey, I wasn’t finished.”
A strangled chuckle escaped him. “I will be if I let you keep that up.”
He kissed her again, his tongue driving into hers, exploring, exciting, excruciating. With his finger, he traced the vessel on the side of her neck, loved the thrum of her pulse as he deepened the kiss. He drew a line with his other hand from the hollow at the base of her neck down her chest to the scoop at the front of her dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
Holy hell.
If he’d realized that earlier, they might never have made it to the bar.
Exploring the skin beneath his finger, he kissed the swell of her breast, edged a thumb across a nipple until it peaked. “How about that? Has anyone ever done that?”
“Yes.”
He stifled the jealous growl. He had no claim on her. When he’d walked away, he’d left the door wide open. Stupid bastard. He took his hand away.
“That doesn’t mean you have to stop.”
“Oh, darlin’, I’m not stopping. I’m just getting started.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The dress Jenna wore stretched. Quinn eased the straps off her shoulders, partially trapping her arms at her sides as he slid the fabric down, exposing her breasts.
Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her chest, her stomach feeling like she’d just stepped off the bungee-jump platform…without the bungee. He encircled her wrists and kissed her lips. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re beautiful.”
“They’re a little lacking.” Going for levity, she said, “Soto, on the other hand—”
He kissed her again and shut her up. “I don’t want to hear about Soto any more tonight. Got that?”
“But she’s gorgeous and curvy and has that fabulous mane of dark hair and…”
Quinn frowned. “Finished?”
She swallowed hard and nodded. A cool breeze blew through the open window, whipping up goose bumps on her bare flesh.
“I’ll never understand why women do that. Why do you have to compare yourselves with each other? Slight, curvy, big boobs, flat chests, huge smiles, and lotta attitude. You are each beautiful in your own unique way.”
She stared into his dark brown eyes. Saw the truth in his words swimming there. He truly believed every word that he’d said. Her stomach landed softly, and her heart beat a little more freely as one of those binding scars broke free. She dropped her hands. His eyes roved over every exposed inch, lust in his eyes but also an appreciation, like an aspiring artist gazing at a masterpiece—wanting to touch but afraid to reach out. Afraid it wouldn’t be real.
He placed his hands behind her neck and traced the edges of her collarbone with his thumbs. Then he slid his hands down her chest, the calluses on his palms grazing her skin. A second round of goose bumps pebbled her flesh, her nipples tightened, and her core heated. He cupped a breast in each hand, and she arched her back and pulled him in tighter with her legs. All she wanted to do was forget the world, forget their problems, forget that they’d ever broken each other’s hearts, and just…feel.
Leaning in, he sucked a nipple into his mouth, teasing the tip with tongue and teeth and temptation. He released it with a soft pop, and said, “What about that?”
She roll
ed her eyes. “Yes. As I said, I wasn’t in a nunnery. But it’s good, don’t stop.”
He smiled, and his warm eyes turned naughty, like she’d just issued him a dare. As if she was daring him to find out where her experience ended and discovery began.
Like a good boy, he returned to her breast, laving and nipping and teasing. She locked her arms around his neck, encouraging him to stay there.
He did.
Kinda.
That didn’t keep his hands from searching for uncharted territories. His hands slipped beneath her dress and found her hot and wet and willing. A groan ripped from the back of his throat.
Cupping her ass, he pulled her against him at the edge of the counter, his erection rubbing against her center. With her dress pulled down to her waist and shoved up to her hips, she felt wanton and fabulous and desired and cherished. She loved that he made her feel that way, loved that he made her know there was nothing wrong with it, either.
Other guys had made her feel embarrassed by her limited experience, and so she’d held back, never allowed herself to really be free.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth as his thumb brushed across her clit, swallowing her cry as she bucked up against him. “That’s it, baby, I want you to fly with me.”
Pushing her legs farther apart, he pushed the crotch of her panties aside, slicking his thumb with her wetness, rolling the sensitive nub beneath the pad of his thumb over and over again. With a moan, her head fell back against the cabinet. Her nerves danced with anticipation; her heart thudding in her chest, she knew what was coming.
Her.
He ducked his head, his rapid breath hot on her shoulder. His whiskers scraped and her stomach clenched, and he bit her flesh, flicking her clit and thrusting a finger inside. She yipped, and he chuckled as he masterfully worked his thick finger in and out, building speed, building pressure. She arched against his hand, wanting more, wanting him deeper and faster and… Gah!
Her orgasm hit, a tight wave of pleasure that slammed into her, exploding outward, as his thumb and finger worked together, filling her, milking her, shooting her higher and higher until stars danced in front of her eyes.
“That’s the way to soar, baby,” Quinn crooned in the crook of her shoulder. “God, you feel good.”
Holding the back of her head, he kissed his way up her neck to the corner of her jaw, her cheek, her lips, as she started to come back down. He pulled his hand free and smoothed her panties into place. Aftershocks racked her body, her breath coming fast and shallow.
She rested her forehead against his. “That was new.”
Quinn chuckled. “The hand or the orgasm?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus. You don’t know how hot that is,” he muttered, with a self-satisfied smile on his face. He wrapped his arms around her back and held her tight. “So, you liked it?”
“I’m a fan.” The heat crept up her face, and he leaned back and kissed her on the tip of her nose. She tucked a finger beneath the waistband of his jeans. “So, um…does that mean it’s your turn?”
“Not exactly.”
Had she done something wrong? “Okay…yeah…um, I guess I’ll…you know…” Hide my head and slink back to my room. Nothing to be embarrassed about when a guy rocks, rolls, and tilts your world, but then isn’t interested in pursuing things further. “Beautiful,” her ass.
Quinn was as full of shit as the rest of them had been.
She slipped her arms back through the straps of her dress and tucked “the girls” back into place. She tried to wriggle down off the counter, but he refused to move out of the way.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“My room. It’s late. I’m tired. And you’re not interested.” Not that she would get much sleep, thinking about Quinn’s hands on her. What he’d done. What she wanted him to do.
“Did I say that?”
“Didn’t have to. It’s okay.” The back of her eyes stung, and at the rate her throat was closing up, she was damn close to losing her voice. “Just let me go.”
“Jenna Nash.” She was thankful he hadn’t used her middle name, because he would have sounded too much like her father, and under the circumstances, that would have been weird. The last person she wanted to be thinking about at the moment was Hank.
Quinn smoothed her dress down, covering her thighs, waiting until she met his gaze. “The only way I’m coming is inside you.”
All the warmth and heat Quinn had given her, vanished, leaving a cold spot in the center of her chest. “What if I’m not ready for that?”
One side of his mouth tipped up in a self-deprecating smile. “Then I guess I’ll have blue balls and take cold showers. But I’ll live. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. Nothing wrong with that.”
She’d already had enough people run out on her in her life. Her mother, her father, the guys who’d dumped her when she’d refused to sleep with them…Quinn.
What was it about her that made people run? That made her not worthy of staying around for?
But she and Quinn had promised to be truthful. “I’m not ready.” The words come out thin. They would have to be thin, after being squeezed so tightly in her throat.
He took her hand and helped her off the counter. “Fair enough.”
* * * *
Quinn woke to someone knocking on his door.
“Quinn. You up?” Jenna.
“Yeah, hang on a sec.” He adjusted himself beneath his boxer briefs and tried not to think about just how “up” he was. Had been. All fucking night. And cold showers were highly overrated as effective cures. He also tried not to think about being so lovesick.
Lovesick?
No.
Lustsick?
Probably.
Maybe.
He scrambled into a pair of jeans and opened the door. Jenna stood on the other side, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail beneath her brown cowboy hat, wearing butter-soft jeans that molded to her beautiful ass. Her T-shirt—fitted, but not tight. But now that he knew what lay beneath, he couldn’t shake the image of those beautiful breasts. Lust. Not love.
Keep telling yourself that.
He leaned against the door and couldn’t stop the goofy smile. “Morning, beautiful.”
Red ran up her cheeks and stayed. She looked everywhere but at him, her hands rammed deep into her front pockets.
“Will you look at me?”
She did. Finally. The color in her cheeks deepened.
“Did you change your mind?” he teased, as he tried to keep his voice from sounding like the kid who thought he’d talked his parents into buying him a shiny new car—all hope and no remorse.
Her eyes went to his lips, and when he was sure she was going to say yes, she said, “Um…your CO called the house.”
He stiffened. “What did she want?”
“She said to call. ASAP.”
Shit. Quinn finished dressing and jogged up to the big house, and Jenna headed to her office in the barn.
On a pad of paper by the kitchen phone, Jenna had scrawled his CO’s number. His cell phone connected to the house’s WiFi, and it binged and buzzed as missed messages rolled in. That can’t be good. A drop of adrenaline warmed his veins.
He punched in the number and paced in front of the cold stove as he waited for the line to connect. How late had he slept?
“Lieutenant Colonel Kind’s office, Staff Sergeant Johnson speaking, may I help you?” the adjutant said.
“Lieutenant Powell returning the CO’s call.”
“I’ll put you through, sir.”
There was a series of clicks, and then Lieutenant Colonel Kind came on the line. “I need your ass back at base, ASAP.” She wasn’t one for casual pleasantries.
“I have a few more days of leave—” He winced. Not the best way
to talk to his CO.
“Which, as of oh-six-hundred this morning, I’ve canceled.”
“Why?”
“Excuse me?”
“Ma’am. Why, ma’am?”
“Your squadron was called up this morning. We ship out at eleven-hundred hours the day after tomorrow. All pilots. All support personnel.”
“But I’m still…” He needed to shut the fuck up while he was ahead.
“Lieutenant. If your butt isn’t on base in two days, I’ll report you as UA. Understood?”
Unauthorized absence. Damn. He didn’t need charges brought against him. He could probably kiss the pilot’s seat good-bye for good if that happened. “Understood, ma’am. Eleven-hundred hours.”
His CO clicked off without another word. Not that there was anything left to say. He leaned back against the counter, rubbed his hands down his face, and glanced at the clock on the wall. Nine o’clock straight up. Fifty hours until he went wheels up.
If he hauled ass, and managed not to get arrested, he could make the trip back to California in twelve. That left him and Jenna thirty-eight hours to do whatever they could to provide the task force with as much information as possible. Catching Kurt’s killer would be the icing on this whole crap cake.
With no time to waste, he grabbed a couple of Lottie’s biscuits and three slices of bacon she’d left in Ziploc bags on the counter, and headed for the barn, the screen door groaning and slapping back against the jamb.
He’d just made it to the barn as the sheriff’s truck came up the drive. “Hey, Jenna,” he called out. “Sheriff’s here.”
She came out of the office, Dink trotting at her heels. “Why?”
“Come on.” He took her hand. “I need to talk to him.”
Sheriff St. John parked and made his way toward them, his face about as easy to read as the Dead Sea scrolls.
