by Tami Lund
“Quinn, you—” Before she could finish her sentence, a loud noise, followed by a childlike shout and then a squeal drew her attention. The front door flung open and three children hurtled themselves onto the front porch and then stumbled down the stairs into the front yard. They looked to be close in age, and not one was old enough to be in school.
One child climbed onto a brightly colored plastic rocking horse and began moving it so violently, Kyra was afraid she would flip the thing and slam headfirst into the ground. But just as quickly as she started, the toddler threw herself from the horse and hurried to play with the next toy. Meanwhile the other two children, a boy and another girl, were arguing over a green and yellow shopping cart. The boy released his hold on the cart and instead began grabbing small plastic renditions of fruit and milk cartons and tossing them to the ground. The girl let out a shriek Kyra was sure could be heard for a mile, at least.
A woman stepped out of the house and stood on the porch, hands fisted on her hips, eyes narrowed. She was plump, with flyaway hair, and she wore a simple V-necked shirt and a pair of jeans.
“Knock off the screaming,” she called out to the kids. Her gaze rested on the Charger for a moment before she yelled something over her shoulder, then herded her kids back into the house. The children complained loudly but complied.
A man stepped into the doorway, then moved to the side to let the three little ones pass. He reached out, ruffled the hair on each head as they trudged past him. He then stepped out onto the porch to stand next to the woman. He placed his hand on her shoulder and they exchanged a few words Kyra couldn’t hear, but she suspected they were talking about the car parked at the curb in front of their house.
“Go, Quinn,” she said without pulling her gaze from the couple on the porch. “Before they call the police.”
Once they crossed the not-proverbial train tracks, she asked, “Why did you bring me here?” Maybe she knew, but she wanted to hear him say it.
“It wasn’t like that when I was a kid,” he said, instead of answering her question. “I don’t have any siblings. I don’t think I ever saw my father touch my mother, unless he was hitting her. Or me. I can’t remember a single time he expressed affection to either of us.”
“Not everyone has the same experiences, even if they come from the same background.”
He didn’t respond for a few moments. Eventually, he said, “Yeah. I know.”
She repeated her earlier question, and watched as he flexed his hands and then tightened them on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
“I wanted you to see it. See where I came from. See … what I need to avoid becoming.”
Thank God, he was beginning to accept that he had control over his life, his future, despite his past. Yet she felt compelled to point out, “They didn’t appear unhappy. I mean, we don’t know, of course, from that small glimpse, but that looked like a happy family to me.”
“The kids were fighting.”
She smiled. “Yeah, siblings do that. I could tell you a few stories from my own childhood. You should see what Thanksgiving is like at my parents’ house. We spend half our time making fun of the way we fought with each other when we were kids, and everybody laughs until we’re wiping tears out of our eyes.”
“That’s what I want.” He kept his gaze trained on the road. “But I don’t know how to get there.”
Her heart raced. Raquel had suggested she broach the subject of their relationship, suggest they define it. This was the perfect opening to do so. But Kyra was too damn afraid.
It was as if she couldn’t quite clear the hurdles of her memories with Keith. Even the good times hadn’t been as spectacular as what she’d had so far with Quinn—and that didn’t even include the amazing sex—yet the breakup had been devastating. While Quinn was coming to terms with his demons, and she was honored that he was sharing his revelation with her, she was still uncertain if he wanted that future with—her. Or if she could handle it if he did.
Stupid emotions and self-doubt. Before she started dating Keith, she never felt this way, not about the job, not about her personal life. It angered her that one man could cause her so much internal frustration, yet she had no idea how to stop, how to change and get back to her old, confident self.
“I noticed your driving has improved,” she said, a blatant attempt to change the subject if she’d ever heard one.
“There was nothing wrong with my driving. I just pay more attention to my surroundings now.”
“I’m sorry I answered your phone this morning,” she said, abruptly shifting the topic of conversation again.
He glanced at her for the briefest moment before focusing on the road again. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t. I knew it was your father. That’s the only reason I did it. I never would have invaded your privacy like that if it had been any other number.”
“Then why did you answer it?”
“I wanted to … I don’t know. Protect you, maybe? I wanted to tell him to leave you alone, stop messing with your head. Let you live your life, like you deserve to.” She blew out a breath, surprised at herself for saying these things out loud. If only she could be so vocal about her desire to define their relationship.
Nothing happened for several painstaking moments. He didn’t look her way or change his posture in any way. His breathing remained even, and his hands continued to grip the steering wheel. His jaw was clenched, but then again, it had been since they crossed the railroad tracks the first time.
Then, finally, he reached across the console and cupped her thigh. “You don’t have to protect me. I’m fine.”
She opened her mouth, intent on protesting, when he added, “Now.”
• • •
“Quinn, why do you keep touching me?”
“Ostensibly because we’re newlyweds and that’s what newlyweds do. But in reality, it’s because you are so fucking hot in that dress and I haven’t seen you naked in more than twenty-four hours.”
After they had returned to the house and Kyra escaped upstairs to get ready for the gala, she’d half expected to walk back downstairs to find Quinn in his cups, turning to the bottle like he had so many times before in an effort to escape his demons. But he hadn’t.
He was sitting in the living room, watching some sport on television. The look in his eyes turned hungry when she came downstairs and he’d taken in the pale blue satin gown, her hair pulled back into an elegant twist at the base of her neck, her nails painted a pale, shimmering pink. Her eye makeup was dark and smoky, her lips glossed and shiny. She staggered and nearly tripped over her own feet, and had to grab the railing for balance. Not exactly sexy and sultry.
He leaped to his feet, offered his hand, and kept her steady as she descended the last few steps. “You look breathtaking,” he had managed in a hoarse whisper.
Kyra had giggled because it was such an un-Quinn-like compliment. Now, she had no choice but to believe him. He really did seem unable to stop touching her.
She ducked her head and smoothed her hand over the front of the icy-blue satin gown. “If I’m naked, you won’t get to see the dress anymore,” she teased.
“We’re doing it with the dress on tonight,” he said, mock sternly. “In fact, we could right now, if you want. There’s a hallway right over there, and an empty banquet room not twenty feet away.” He tugged on her hand. She rolled her eyes and did not budge, so he pulled her back into his arms and resumed running his hands up and down the gown.
“Where’s your gun? I know you would never leave home without it. But this dress doesn’t exactly offer many hiding places.”
She smiled demurely. “I’ll leave that to your imagination … for now.”
His eyes flared and his hands began a more urgent perusal of her dress.
Kyra laughed. They were having fun, which was a nice change from the past twenty-four hours. What a relief—the Quinn she was coming to adore was back.
It lasted until
Whitney Bianca breezed into the ballroom, wearing a red-sequined gown that fit like a second skin. The neckline dipped to her navel. The back was bare. Nearly every man and a handful of female guests all clamored for her attention.
Quinn stayed at Kyra’s side. He didn’t appear to notice the vision in red as she worked the room. Kyra didn’t believe it for a second, and she tried to call him on it.
“Do I have to lay you down on the floor and bang you right here in front of all these people to get you to believe it’s you I want, Kyra?” Quinn snapped. “Keith Oshard was a dumb fuck,” he added as he snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. He downed the contents in one swallow. “And you need to get over thinking that I am anything like him, because I have to tell you, it’s really starting to piss me off. I have plenty enough of my own demons to deal with, without worrying about you comparing me to him all the damn time.”
“I have never compared you and Keith.” She could feel the heat of her flush, working its way up her chest. She looked around for a waiter, needing her own drink to cool the heat rising in her body. “Well, okay, maybe I have. But I promise, you have definitely come out more favorably. In fact, there wasn’t even a real comparison.”
He dipped his head and kissed her neck, just below her ear. “That’s what I like to hear,” he whispered. “Mr. Happy really wants to make you happy tonight.”
“At what point in your life did you name your genitalia Mr. Happy?”
“The first time I managed to get into your pants.”
Kyra laughed. Quinn nibbled on her neck again.
“Goodness. It is certainly getting warm in here.”
They pulled apart at the sound of the female voice, although Kyra appreciated that Quinn kept his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, with his hand resting on her hip.
Despite the fact that she knew she looked good in her understated pale blue gown, it was hard to focus on the job at hand when faced with Whitney’s overly ample, perky, high assets. They were all but spilling out of the gown’s plunging neckline. When she leaned forward and placed her hand on Quinn’s arm, Kyra swore she could see the outer edge of one areola. She sucked air through her teeth and forced herself not to stop smiling.
“You two are so adorable,” Whitney cooed as she stroked the arm of Quinn’s tuxedo jacket. “You make me believe there is hope for the institution of marriage after all.”
“Didn’t you say you’ve been married four times?” he asked.
“Yes,” Whitney admitted. “I took them to the cleaners each time. I suppose there is some positive to the institution.” She smiled demurely.
“I suspect there’s a lot more than that,” Quinn remarked, his arm still firmly latched around Kyra’s waist.
Whitney’s predatory smile was for Quinn alone. “Oh, certainly. There are other … benefits, I suppose.” Kyra was plastered to his side, yet she might as well not even been in the room.
“When are you going to turn our little nest egg into a million-dollar retirement?”
Whitney blinked rapidly, as if she didn’t quite understand why Kyra was speaking directly to her.
“Well.” The woman in red cleared her throat. “After reviewing your portfolio, I think it would be best if you invested separately.”
Quinn arched one sleek black brow. “Oh?”
“Absolutely. I believe your money will grow better separately, instead of combined.”
Bullshit. Everyone knows about compound interest, even lowly FBI agents.
Quinn must have sensed her agitation, because his fingers were digging into her hip, a silent message to keep her cool. A waiter paused to offer them drinks from the silver tray balanced on his hand. Kyra snagged one and took a healthy swallow of the carbonated liquid.
“What do you suggest we do?” Quinn asked politely.
“I think it’s best if I meet with you separately, to discuss how best to invest your money.” She pinned Quinn with her sultry gaze. “I can make myself available day … or night.”
Before Kyra could formulate a scathing response, Quinn said, “We’ll have to review our schedules and get back to you.”
You don’t stand a chance in hell, honey.
Kyra was dimly aware that her confidence in Quinn now far exceeded whatever she may have felt for Keith. Quinn wouldn’t betray her. She twisted her head, caught his eye, and gave him a radiant smile. He blinked owlishly, clearly not understanding her unspoken signal. But it was okay. She’d make sure he understood later. When they were alone. And maybe she’d even work up the courage to tell him she wanted this to be a relationship. Something real. Something—long term.
Some wealthy local politician who was on the fast track to Washington D.C. stepped up and managed to divert Whitney’s attention, and Quinn immediately began maneuvering Kyra toward the door.
“Time to go,” he announced.
“We’re leaving?”
“Hell, yes. We’ve gathered plenty of intel, and I can’t take it anymore. At this rate, we may have to pull over to the side of the road.”
“We didn’t bring any condoms.”
“Damn it.”
• • •
They were barely inside the door before Quinn was on her, his hands everywhere, his lips on hers, demanding she open for him, give him exactly what he needed. She surrendered, fully and completely.
He gathered the hem of her dress into one hand, discovered the gun strapped to her thigh, and let his fingers wander over highly sensitive areas while he unstrapped the weapon before grasping her thighs and lifting her off her feet. Her silver spiked sandals clattered to the floor as Kyra wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. His mouth never left hers; their tongues warred for dominance.
“Window seat,” he decided as he carried her into the master bedroom. He placed both his gun and hers on the nightstand, while Kyra snagged the box of condoms perched there.
She lifted the box and turned it over. “Only two left.”
“We may have to make a midnight run to the nearest twenty-four-hour convenience store,” he said as he turned and dropped onto the window seat with her in his lap. “This dress is fucking hot. I don’t know if two will be enough.”
Her laugh turned to a gasp of pleasure as his fingers slipped into her silk panties and slid through the wetness there.
“Quinn,” she moaned his name as he thrust two fingers into her while simultaneously using his teeth to tug the bodice of her dress aside so he could suckle her nipple. “Oh, Quinn.”
Her orgasm began to well. “I want you. Inside me. You.” She sounded like a bumbling fool, but she couldn’t help it. Her brain was too coated with lust to function properly.
He leaned back against the window and she urgently began scrabbling at the fastenings of his pants. “I’m all yours,” he promised. “Any way you want me.”
“Just like this.” She freed his erection and waited impatiently while he sheathed himself. He pulled her panties to the side and she slid down onto him. He was smooth, like a hot knife through melted butter.
“Christ, Kyra,” he said as she found her rhythm and began shifting up and down. “Don’t stop.”
“Oh, Quinn …” She opened her eyes to a slit and swore she caught a flash of light. It looked as if it was coming from Whitney’s house. She abruptly stopped moving. Quinn’s fingers dug into her hips.
“Holy hell, why did you stop?” he demanded, gasping for air like he’d been running for miles.
“Someone’s watching us. Whitney,” she whispered, her eyes wide and staring out the window.
He lifted his hips. “Let her watch. I bet it’s a hell of a show. Now move, goddamn it.”
“No, I can’t. I—” He didn’t wait for her to finish her plea. He wrapped his arms around her waist, surged to his feet, and stumbled over to the bed, dropping her onto her back and falling on top of her. She widened her legs and grabbed his face, kissing him as he hammered into her, clinging to the comfor
ter for leverage.
When they were both sated and he was stretched out, still half on top of her, Quinn said, “We’re getting blinds for that window. I want to do it on that window seat again. That was fucking hot.”
She chuckled but quickly sobered. “Do you think she really was watching us?”
He shrugged. “What made you think she was?”
“I saw something. A flash of light. I mean, there are so many trees and her house is plenty far enough away that I wouldn’t think she could see. But if she had binoculars …”
He didn’t discount her fear. Instead, he said, “I’ve been wondering for a while now if she doesn’t have something personal against you. I know you said she didn’t know you were the agent who almost caught her in Dallas, but how can you be sure? We know she had inside information. What if Oshard told her?”
“He wouldn’t,” she whispered. “Not because of me, but because of the institution. He’s been an agent for nearly twenty years.”
“Agents can go bad. It doesn’t happen all that often, but it’s not unheard of. And he was banging the woman, even though he knew she was your perp. In my book, he’d already gone bad.”
“He didn’t tell her,” she insisted. “He just wasn’t thinking. He let his lust control his actions.”
“I let my lust control my actions every time I’m around you.”
Kyra rolled her eyes. “Besides, Whitney’s never once indicated she knows who I am.”
Quinn wrapped his arms around her waist and twisted so that he lay on his back with her sprawled on top of him. He rolled his hips and trailed his fingers over her satiny dress. She could feel his erection growing, pressing against her.
“Already?”
“I can’t help it,” Quinn replied, busy nibbling on her neck. “I told you, the lust controls my actions.”
She believed him. She didn’t exactly have a choice.
Chapter Twelve
“I like waking up like this.”
“Like what?” Kyra snuggled more deeply into the cocoon of Quinn’s arms.
“With you in my bed. Naked. With a strong opportunity for morning sex.” He kissed her shoulder. “Very strong,” he added as he cupped her ass and pulled her closer.
