Undercover Heat

by Tami Lund

  “You wanna see my panties?” Quinn asked, looking at Whitney. He started to tug at the waistband of his sweats.

  Whitney held out a hand as if to stave him off. “God, no. You probably wear briefs, for crying out loud.”

  “He wears boxers, actually,” Kyra interjected. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. Whatever the hell Quinn was up to at the moment, she didn’t care. He’d just proved that he and Whitney had not slept together. He hadn’t cheated on her. “And he calls himself Mr. Happy,” she announced, too excited to care that she had an audience.

  “TMI,” Court said. Keith made a strangled noise. Whitney’s eyes widened.

  “Take me with you to Greece,” Quinn said to Whitney.

  “I most certainly will not.”

  “You offered to take him to Greece?” Keith asked, sounding like a little boy who’d had his sucker taken away.

  Whitney thrust out her chin and did not respond.

  “Why’re you going to Greece?” Court wondered out loud.

  “That is none of your business,” Whitney retorted. “And who are you, anyway?”

  “I’m with them,” he said, pointing at Kyra and Quinn.

  “Why are you with him, Keith?” she demanded.

  “You asked this guy to go to Greece with you? I thought we were going to Greece together.”

  “You went to the FBI behind my back.”

  “I am the FBI,” Keith retorted.

  “Then what the hell are you doing with me?”

  “I’m not doing anything anymore. You don’t want me, so I told Kyra everything,” Keith announced.

  Kyra watched as it all came together for Whitney. She knew she was trapped.

  The woman’s gaze darted every which way, then she determined her best escape was through Quinn, who was the only person between her and the back door. Unfortunately for her, his drunkenness had been an act, and as soon as she tried to run, he snagged her around the waist and had her wrists in cuffs before she even had the time to let out a string of curse words.

  “I assume you have the warrant?” he asked Kyra, all business and clearly not drunk in the least.

  “Colored water?” she guessed, nodding at the Jack Daniels bottle.

  “Flat Coke.”

  “I have the warrant.”

  He gave Whitney a little nudge. “She’s all yours.”

  It probably wasn’t appropriate to grin like a damned fool while booking a criminal, but Kyra couldn’t help it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was nearly midnight when they finally returned to the house they’d shared for the past month. Kyra headed straight to the couch and dropped wearily onto it. It had been an incredibly long evening, but she and Quinn hadn’t yet talked about anything personal. Everything had been about work. They actually made good partners, because when it came down to the wire, they were both able to put the personal crap on the back burner and focus on the case.

  Now, though, it was time to deal with all the personal crap. She had to apologize to Quinn for not trusting him, for instantly assuming the worst when she found the thong Whitney had planted in the couch. Then she planned to tell him about her conversation with Nico. Whether she and Quinn could work out their personal issues, she had made her decision. She was staying in Detroit.

  “I’m going to shower. I can’t even stand myself right now,” Quinn said. He had doused himself in deer urine, which Court, who was a hunter, happened to have in his truck. The two of them had devised the plan for Quinn to show up on Whitney’s doorstep, drunk and smelling disgusting, just in time for Kyra to show up with the warrant they knew Nico had been working on. It had worked exactly as planned, according to Quinn.

  She watched as he disappeared into the downstairs bathroom. Then she sighed and closed her eyes, feeling almost too tired to stay awake for the talk that she knew they needed to have.

  When she surfaced from sleep, it was because Quinn had slid his arms underneath her and was lifting her off the couch. As he carried her through the house, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you to bed. I suppose makeup sex has to wait until morning?”

  “Makeup sex?”

  “Yep. Remember our conversation about fighting? Every argument has to end with makeup sex. It’s a requirement. Actually, it’s a requirement to pick a fight with me once in a while, just so we can have makeup sex. Good job, by the way, Sanders. This one was a doozy.”

  He laid her on the bed and proceeded to divest her of her clothing.

  “You aren’t mad?”

  He paused in the act of pulling off her sock. “If I say yes, will I get makeup sex tonight instead of tomorrow?”

  She giggled. “You’re incorrigible. And I can’t believe you just used the word doozy.”

  He tugged at the towel that had been wrapped around his waist. When it dropped to the floor, she saw that Mr. Happy was clearly hoping to get lucky.

  “When you look at me like that, it causes me to think all sorts of awesomely lewd thoughts.” He climbed onto the bed, crouching on all fours, looking down at her. She lay on her back and stared up at him. “Can we have makeup sex now?”

  “Don’t you think we should talk? I mean, I accused you of cheating, and you told me you didn’t, and I didn’t believe you, and—oh …” Her speech ended on a gurgle when he dipped his head and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth.

  He released the nipple with a popping noise and peered into her face again. “I assume you no longer believe I cheated?”

  She shook her head. He took a moment to lave at the other nipple. She threaded her fingers in his hair to try to hold him there, but he pulled out of her grasp so he could look at her again.

  “And you believe I never will, ever, right?”

  She nodded. He bent his head and nibbled at her ear for a moment, before stopping to look her in the eye. She made an impatient noise and he grinned.

  “This is fun. What else can I get you to commit to, while I torment you?”

  “Quinn!”

  He slid down her body, until his face was flush with her pelvis. He stroked the inside of her thigh. Kyra grabbed the blanket and made a moaning noise. He licked her, one quick swipe of his tongue that was pure torture. She protested when he didn’t continue.

  “I want you to stay in Detroit.”

  He hovered over her thighs, his face close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. She squirmed, lifted her hips, but he did not touch her.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Yes!”

  “Is that a yes, do me, or a yes, I’ll stay here?”

  “Both. Quinn, please—oh, yes …” She sighed and let her head drop back against the bed covers when he finally touched her, licking her clitoris while at the same time working two fingers into her opening. But relief quickly shifted to panting, to begging him not to stop, to—“Quinn!”

  “And I want us to move in together. Or rather, continue living together.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  “Agree to my terms and I’ll continue.”

  “You’re a masochist.”

  “Lucky for me, you love masochists. Well, at least one of them, anyway.”

  “I do. I really do love you, Quinn.”

  He froze. “Wait—really? You aren’t just saying that because, well you know.” He nodded at his hand, the fingers that were suspended centimeters from her opening.

  “Well, I am under duress here.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He abruptly rolled away from her. When he returned, Mr. Happy was covered with a condom. He situated himself between her legs and then thrust, impaling her. He groaned. “Okay, that’s better. Now I can think rationally.”

  She giggled.

  “I love you, Kyra. I really do. I think we should get married and buy this house, and make a couple of babies to go in those bedrooms down the hall—wait, why are you crying? Did I hurt you? I mean, I suppose I’m kinda big, but—” She half laughed, hal
f sobbed as she pressed two fingers to his mouth to get him to shut up.

  “I thought it was time for makeup sex?”

  He grabbed her hips and thrust a couple of times. “Good point.” And then he finally stopped talking and focused on the task at hand. Pleasuring her. Pleasuring him. Making up.

  Epilogue

  “I’m exhausted.”

  “Not surprising, considering that Thanksgiving dinner we put together, and the fact that you’re growing life inside you.”

  Kyra splayed her hands on her flat abdomen. “I’m barely ten weeks along.”

  “Yeah, but you’re making the placenta right now. Creating an entire organ. That’s so hot.”

  She laughed. He flipped off the kitchen light and herded her through the house toward the stairs.

  “Is there anything that doesn’t make you hot? And it makes me hot that you are so aware of what is going on with my pregnancy. How do you know all this stuff?”

  “I’m an FBI agent. I know how to do research. And by the way, there are only six billion books and almost as many websites on the subject. It wasn’t very hard to gather the information. How are your breasts? Can I touch them yet?” Her breasts had gotten significantly bigger since she discovered she was pregnant. Unfortunately, they were also ultra sensitive, so he hadn’t been able to enjoy them for the last few weeks.

  They stood side by side in the bathroom and brushed their teeth. She spit out toothpaste and said, “Not yet, sorry. And are you really okay with having sex when my parents are sleeping in the bedroom downstairs?”

  “Are you really asking me that question?” he shot back. He left her in the bathroom, washing her face. When she stepped into the bedroom, he was seated on the window seat. He patted the space between his thighs. “Come here, Mrs. Daniels.”

  Her smile was warm. He loved that smile. He hoped their unborn child inherited that smile.

  After she was settled, leaning back against his chest, he lifted a book off the stack he’d accumulated on the floor. She stroked her fingers over the smooth, brightly colored cover.

  “I’m so proud of the way you handled your father yesterday.”

  They’d gone to the prison together to deal with his demons, once and for all. It had been the first time since his father’s incarceration that Quinn had stepped foot in the place. He fully expected it would be his last.

  “I’m proud of you for figuring out one of the guards had been feeding him information all this time.”

  “Not anymore. He’s been reassigned, and he knows I have the power to get him fired, if he crosses that line again.” She paused and then added, “I’m surprised you told your father about the pregnancy, though. Especially considering you were severing ties, officially.”

  “I wanted him to know that he didn’t have any control over me anymore. That I was forging my own life, despite him.”

  “Considering all the research you’ve done, I’m sure you are aware that we have no idea if it’s a girl or boy. Yet you told him it was a girl.”

  “He doesn’t know that. And it sort of felt like … I don’t know, retribution, I guess. And just for the record, I don’t care one way or the other if it’s a girl or boy.”

  “I know you don’t.”

  “Now, let’s get to reading. I have plans for your time, later, and I need you to be awake.” He patted her stomach. “Ready, Peanut? Once upon a time …” And he proceeded to read a bedtime story to his unborn child, just like he had every night since Kyra realized she was pregnant. Just like he intended to for the kid’s entire childhood.

  More from This Author

  (From Naked Truth by Tami Lund)

  Kennedy St. George stepped up behind her cousin who stood in front of an ornate full-length mirror, staring at the big, white dress reflected there. “Hey, you coming? We can’t exactly have a wedding without the bride.”

  Sabrina blinked rapidly until her eyes focused, until, Kennedy suspected, the tears receded. “How are you doing?” her cousin asked instead of answering the question.

  “I should have known better,” Kennedy murmured. No point in pretending she didn’t know what the bride was asking. “There were hurricane warnings on my wedding day.”

  “The weather is not an accurate predictor of happily ever after,” Sabrina gently chided. Kennedy pointedly looked at the window, which framed a gloriously beautiful, late spring day. Sabrina rolled her eyes.

  “You and Cullen are perfect for each other,” Kennedy responded. “Jerry and I … weren’t.”

  “We are hardly perfect for one another, although Cullen is the perfect guy.” She absently twisted the engagement ring on her finger, a dreamy smile on her lips.

  Cullen was often gruff, swore like a sailor, and quite possibly did not own a razor. He was lousy at small talk and awkward at family functions. But he was loyal to a fault, adored Sabrina to the point of obsession, and if one liked scruffy guys, he was definitely handsome.

  Sabrina laughed. “You don’t think so. I can tell. Which is okay, because he’s about to be my husband, not yours. What’s your version of the perfect guy?”

  “No guy is perfect.”

  “Fair enough, but what type of guy would make you happy?”

  “Anyone besides Jerry.”

  That earned her a stern look from Sabrina’s reflection in the mirror.

  “Okay, okay,” Kennedy relented. “I’ll play your game. Let’s see … perfect guy …”

  “Someone who doesn’t cheat.”

  “That’s a given,” Kennedy pointed out, although she understood why her cousin mentioned it.

  “What else?”

  “This is hard.” She pondered the question. “I guess I’d like someone who proves he cares by his actions instead of just saying it all the time.”

  “That’s reasonable.”

  “And I’d like someone who has his own life, too. You know I work a lot of hours at the hospital, and I like what I do. I imagine I’d come to resent a guy who expects me to work a nine-to-five schedule just because it fits his needs.”

  “Considering I’m marrying an FBI agent, and agents definitely don’t work regular hours, I get that. Anything else?”

  “I’m not into going out on the town all the time, clubbing and such. So when we would get to spend time together, I’d want to do it at home, cooking together or watching a movie or, I don’t know, just hanging out—that’s my idea of a perfect evening.”

  “So no party animals for you.”

  “Nope. But he still has to be—” she cut herself off.

  “Good in bed?” They shared a laugh. Sabrina abruptly sobered and said, “I think you should start dating again. In fact, Joey, one of the groomsmen, is single, and he’s really sweet. Good looking, too. I bet he fits at least some of your criteria.”

  “Don’t even think about setting me up at your wedding.”

  “Weddings are the perfect place to meet someone.”

  “Weddings are the perfect place to meet a one-night stand, and if I’m not interested in dating, I’m sure as heck not interested in that.”

  “Why not? Not about the one-night stand necessarily, but about dating at all?”

  Sabrina’s earnestness invited an honest response. But Kennedy didn’t know how to respond. Five years ago, she’d married a man who’d swept her off her feet, who’d given her empty promises about rainbows and unicorns. Two years later, he’d stolen every last nickel and charged her credit cards to the max before disappearing out of her life.

  The official story was that he’d cheated on her, so she’d demanded the divorce. That was humiliating enough, but she figured if everyone knew the truth—that he’d literally stolen everything while she’d been stupidly unaware—that would be ten times worse. Cheating was, unfortunately, a fact of life. It happened, you moved on, and you hoped to find someone new, someone who wouldn’t cheat. But your own husband leaving you with literally no recourse whatsoever? There was something far more … embarrassing about that,
at least in Kennedy’s mind.

  “How can I?” Kennedy asked, sticking with the lie she’d told everyone, even her cousin and best friend. “How can I trust someone again?”

  Sabrina adjusted her veil and squeezed her fist around the white-with-blue-embroidery handkerchief in her hand. “You just do. I don’t know how to explain it. You just reach a point where you realize this man is the one, and you are going to put all of your trust in him because you are so in love you don’t really have a choice.”

  “I did that with Jerry, remember?”

  “Did you, really?” Kennedy averted her eyes. What her cousin implied was right. The hurricane on the day of her wedding hadn’t been the only warning sign. She had just been a fool and refused to pay attention.

  “I won’t ever make that mistake again,” she vowed.

  “Certainly not if you never date again.”

  She smirked. “It’s safer that way.”

  “Safe isn’t fun. Live a little. Enjoy yourself today. Dance with Joey. Flirt with him. See where it leads.” Before Kennedy could protest again, Sabrina turned away from the mirror and lifted the billowing, white skirt. “Now come on, I want to get married.”

  Kennedy grabbed the train to make it easier for Sabrina to walk. I can’t take the chance, she thought as she followed her cousin out of the bride’s room.

  • • •

  They met the groomsmen in the lobby, just outside the chapel. Cullen’s brother, Marshall, was the best man, a less scruffy and slightly shorter version of the groom. When he saw the bride, he smiled widely and spread his arms as if he intended to hug her, but caught himself and squeezed her hand instead, murmuring that she was beautiful and Cullen was a hell of a lucky guy.

  Cullen’s FBI agent partner, Jack Boudreaux, wasn’t nearly so couth. When he saw the bride, he gave a loud wolf whistle and pulled her into a bear hug, lifting her off her feet and causing her to squeal. Kennedy expected the bride’s uptight sister, Vanessa, to snap at him for crushing the bride’s dress, but she simpered instead.

  Kennedy supposed she could understand. Cullen’s partner was an incredibly attractive man. Although Cullen and Sabrina had been dating for a year now, Kennedy hadn’t yet met his closest friend. Now that she was admiring him from only a few feet away, she was sort of glad she hadn’t. He was James Bond with thick, blond hair and a clean-shaven jawline, and he looked damn good in a tux.