Her thighs clasped his, and she tilted up to take more of him. To take all of him.
He thrust harder, his fingers digging into her hip. A ball of fire slowly uncoiled inside her. Then, with a flash of lightning, it detonated into a series of explosions that arched her back. She cried out his name, her nails digging into his skin. Wave upon wave of electric pleasure pumped through her until finally, she went limp.
With a growl of her name, he ground against her and came.
After several deep breaths, he dropped his forehead to hers. The friendly intimacy slid contentment into her smile. She patted his shoulder. “Sorry about the fingernails.”
“I’ll wear your marks any day.” He withdrew, smiling at her brief whine of protest.
He rolled to the side and spooned her in safety and warmth. “I like having you here, Juliet.”
“I like being here.” She rubbed his arm. “I’m sorry you had a rough night.”
“The night just got a hell of a lot better…and drop the society tone. I’m not too tired to spank you.” Lazy amusement colored his voice, yet an edge always lived within Quinn.
She swallowed. “That’s how I speak.”
“Only when you’re uncomfortable or trying to control a situation.” He tightened his hold. “Before I forget, I was hoping you and Sophie would take Anne Rush out this weekend. Maybe to a dinner and movie or something like that. My mom agreed to babysit her kids.”
Juliet snuggled into the pillow. “Sure. I’ve met Anne quite a few times and really like her. Why are you her social organizer?”
“I think the woman needs a night out. Her husband is still overseas, and she needs a break.”
The tough, gun-toting sheriff was a softy. “I’d be happy to help.” A sudden vision of what life could be like if she stayed with Quinn filled Juliet’s mind. She’d be called upon to help with the community, to be a part of so many lives. The sharp desire to be included in such a way stunned her.
“Thanks.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her head, his voice slurring with exhaustion. “I’m excited for your showing tomorrow night. You’re my date, right?”
Her smile heated her cheeks. “Yes. I’m your date.”
“Excellent.”
Time to tell him everything.
Quinn began snoring in her ear. Poor guy was exhausted. Well, she’d take the reprieve and tell him all in the morning. Yes, she was a coward and was just fine with that.
She closed her eyes, but her mind kept wandering to the showing. Had she gotten everything ready? What if she’d forgotten something? And where the heck was her laptop? While she’d backed everything up, having her gallery invaded gave her the creeps. Was her past catching up with her?
Finally, she dropped into sleep.
She’d slept for a while before something startled her awake. Her heart smacked against her ribs. She gazed around the unfamiliar room.
A low growl jerked her head up. She slowly turned and scooted up in the bed.
Quinn lay on his side, sweat dotting his upper back. The bedcovers had been shoved to his waist. A tortured groan roiled from his gut.
She forgot his instructions and reached out to place a cool hand on his shoulders.
He moved faster than she could’ve imagined, rolling over, forcing her down, and pinning her with his body. One broad hand wrapped around her throat. His heart beat hard enough she could feel it through her chest.
“Quinn,” she whispered, her trembling hands caressing his chest. “Quinn? It’s me, Juliet. Wake up, baby.”
His eyes shot open. They weren’t focused. His hold tightened.
“Quinn, wake up.” She put more force into her whisper. “Wake up, now.”
Awareness filtered into his dark eyes, followed quickly by horror. He moved his hand. “Jesus, Juliet. I’m sorry.” He made to roll off her.
She shot her legs around his waist and her hands onto his shoulders. “Don’t move away.”
He closed his eyes and his body vibrated. “Let go of me.”
“No.” She caressed his chest. “I’m okay. You’re fine. You had a nightmare, and you didn’t hurt me.” She rubbed his whiskers. “Open your eyes.”
He did, and the regret in them broke her heart. So she smiled. “I’m fine. You move like an old, slow mare.”
An unwilling smile lifted his lip. “I’m neither old nor slow.”
His grin relaxed her shoulders. “Unfortunately, you were so slow, I was afraid I’d hurt you, Sheriff. We might need to get you a personal trainer.”
He snorted. “A trainer?”
“Don’t worry. I took a karate class years ago. I’ll protect us.”
He lowered himself onto his elbows. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”
“Nope. Not at all.” She could help him through this—she really could. “I promise.”
“Did I scare you?” He lost his smile.
“No.” She kept hers in place. “Honest. I knew you’d never hurt me—and you didn’t.”
Uncertainty had him pausing. “All right.” His phone buzzed from the table. He grabbed and pressed it to his ear. “Lodge.” He sighed. “I’ll be right there.” Hanging up, he dropped a kiss on Juliet’s mouth. “Home invasion on the south side of the county. Gotta go, darlin’.” He kissed her deeper until all her bones turned to mush. “I’m looking forward to our date tonight and your amazing gallery opening.”
“Me, too.”
He sat up, his back to her. “Juliet? This, um, means a lot. That you’re here and willing to work on this. That you trust me.”
The words slammed her in the stomach. She trusted him not to hurt her, but hadn’t trusted him to still love her once he knew the truth. “I do trust you—and I, ah, have a lot to tell you.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Now?”
“No. You have to go, and I need to finish getting ready for the show. Tonight, after the show, I’d like to tell you about my crazy family and the trouble they’ve gotten me in.”
He smiled and somehow, the world brightened. “I look forward to it.”
Juliet forced an answering smile. “Me, too.”
Chapter Fourteen
The gallery opening and art showing was a huge success. People packed the gallery, although the show would end in less than ten minutes. Juliet wound through bodies, her cheeks flushed.
Reaching Sophie’s side, she leaned over to whisper, “I’ve had six offers on Storm over Maverick.” The incredible oil was alive with dark thunderclouds and jagged lightning. “You’re going to need to meet with your tax guy to plan next year.”
Sophie beamed. “How wonderful.” She tipped back her head and finished her sparkling cider. “A reporter from Los Angeles interviewed me. He’s doing a piece on Western art and how the modern paintings compare with the early Remington, Gollings, and Seltzer work.”
Juliet clapped her hands. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I, of course, mentioned the Maverick Gallery at least ten times.”
Juliet grabbed another flute of cider from a bustling waiter and handed the bubbly to the star of the hour. “You’re a good friend, Sophie Lodge.”
“Ah, Juliet…I’m hoping we end up more than friends.” Sophie glanced over to where Quinn and Jake huddled near an open window. “That man is in love.”
“So am I.” Juliet’s gaze ran over the sheriff. Even in the dark suit with a crisp white shirt, a sense of wildness surrounded the man. Contained wildness.
The caterer waved her over.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to Sophie. Turning on her decadent three-inch heels, she glided around people to the makeshift kitchen. “How are things going, Raul?”
The stooped man tossed a white braid over his shoulder. A former chef from France, Raul had retired to Montana years ago. He had to be in his mideighties at the earliest. “Excellent. It’s time to cut off the champagne and collect the empty trays.”
“You’re the boss.” Juliet laughed and headed into the chaos of the
empty kitchen.
“Now that’s a laugh I’ve missed.” A low voice echoed from around the corner.
“Freddy.” Fear made Juliet’s ears ring.
“JJ.” Her stepbrother came into the room, his smirk baring sharp incisors.
“Darn it, Fred. How did you find me?” Her hands trembled.
He rubbed his nose. “I may not be as smart as you, but I can figure some stuff out.”
“Get out of here, or I’ll call the cops.” Would her past ever leave her alone? She forced herself to keep from running for the hills.
“The cops? Or Sheriff Snuggle-Bunny?”
Freddy knew about Quinn. Her knees weakened. “There’s nothing snuggly about Quinn Lodge. He’ll take you out back and skin you like the weasel you are.”
“Don’t call names.” Freddy flashed the diamond in his incisor. A Third Street hooker once told him diamonds in teeth were cool. His tailored leather jacket, black jeans, and spotless cowboy boots couldn’t be more out of place in Maverick, Montana. Of course, he only wore the boots because they gave him a couple extra inches in height.
“You look like My Cousin Vinny. Without the charm,” Juliet muttered.
“I kinda like that movie, Juliet Jennifer Spazzoli.” He snorted. “Montgomery suits you better.”
Montgomery had been her maternal great-grandmother’s maiden name. “Why are you here?”
“What? I can’t meet up with family? It’s been too long.” He shoved an entire canapé in his mouth.
If she screamed, Quinn would come running. “Did you break into the gallery yesterday?”
Freddy lifted a narrow shoulder. “I needed a computer and figured my little sister would lend me one.”
“What’s the truth, Freddy?”
“I need help.” His beady eyes beseeched her. “For old time’s sakes.”
The door opened, and Quinn stepped into the kitchen. “Hey? Are there any more of those shrimp deals—” His chin lowered as he took in the situation with one glance. “Who’s your friend, Juliet?”
Freddy coughed and leaned forward to extend a hand. “Fredrick Spazzoli from out of town. I, uh, collect Western art and was hoping to acquire a couple of the, you know, the amazing pieces here tonight.”
They shook hands, and Freddy winced.
Quinn cut his eyes to Juliet. “Juliet?”
She took a deep breath. “His name is Fredrick Spazzoli, he’s my stepbrother, and the last thing he wants to collect is art.”
Surprise flashed across Freddy’s face, while no expression marred Quinn’s. He focused back on Freddy. “And?”
Juliet clasped her hands together, drawing dignity around herself like a wool coat. “He’s a criminal who has never been caught. I don’t know why he’s in town, but since there seems to be DEA activity, my guess is Freddy’s up to his old tricks of moving drugs.”
Freddy flushed a deep red. “I’d watch yourself, JJ.”
Disbelief rippled through her so quickly she swayed. “Did you really think I’d lie to him? For you?” Damn man had never understood her.
“Why not? You’ve been lying to him since you got here.” Freddy snorted snot up his nose.
“Not for you,” she muttered.
Quinn squared his stance. “What exactly are Freddy’s old tricks?”
“They run the gamut from illegal betting, extortion, petit theft, grand theft, and most recently, drug running.” She was dropping her own coffin into the ground, but it was too late to turn back now. “My mother married into the Spazzoli crime family. They were small time…nothing like the mob people you see on television. But, they were into crime.”
Wounded outrage pursed Freddy’s lips. “I think that’s slander, little sister. I mean, since you have absolutely no proof, and your Cuddles here can’t arrest me just on your say-so.” He edged closer and stopped when Quinn’s shoulders went back. “Besides, if there was a family crime enterprise, you’re in the family, now aren’t you?”
Quinn turned his focus to her.
She swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Quinn. We moved drugs.”
…
Quinn paced his office, confusion and anger mingling inside him until he wanted to hit something. Juliet was a criminal along with her weak and slimy brother? How was that possible? “I want in on the interviews.”
Reese sat in a guest chair, his legs extended, and his new cowboy boots crossed at the ankles on Quinn’s desk. “I figured.” He read from his phone. “The DEA has suspected Freddy Spazzoli of running drugs since the death of his father three years ago, but so far, we haven’t nailed him.”
“Why not?” Quinn dropped into his chair, a thousand pounds weighing him down.
“Anyone able to testify against the guy ends up dead,” Reese said,
“The guy seems like a moron to me.” No way had the scared dork killed people.
“He is a moron. We’re fairly certain he’s being directed by somebody, but we haven’t nailed down who it might be.” Reese cracked his knuckles.
“No wonder Juliet ran.” Of course, her statement that she’d run drugs made it entirely possible she’d created a new life to escape the law.
“Speaking of your love, how long are you going to let her stew in the cell?” Amusement lit Reese’s serious eyes.
“At least she’s safe in the cell.” Quinn had arrested both Juliet and Freddy the second Juliet had dropped her bombshell, hustling them out the back door and to the station. “Until I arrest her for running drugs. Or until you do.” This still wasn’t possible—there had to be a logical explanation.
Reese’s phone beeped, and he read a message. “There’s no record whatsoever on Juliet Spazzoli. Her mother married Dominique Spazzoli when Juliet was ten and changed Juliet’s last name at that time.”
Quinn frowned. “Spazzoli didn’t adopt her?”
“No. Just the name change. Dom Spazzoli owned several illegal betting operations but didn’t run drugs. For a criminal, he was one of the decent guys. I mean, sure, he killed once in a while, but he didn’t sell drugs to kids.”
“Unlike Freddy.” And maybe Juliet.
Reese’s brow furrowed. “We don’t have any proof against Freddy. Even if Juliet provides proof, according to her own statement, she’s a co-conspirator. We can’t arrest Freddy just on her word.”
Quinn shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m not using Juliet’s statement against her until I talk to her officially.” The woman had clammed up the second he’d arrested her, regally lifting her chin. She was the most graceful prisoner he’d ever cuffed and escorted into a jail cell.
Reese shrugged. “We’re talking federal law here. Her statement doesn’t hurt her any more than it hurts Freddy…unless we get corroborating evidence against one of them. Considering she just confessed, I’d bet my shiny new boots she has some evidence we could use against both of them.” He leaned forward. “How well do you really know this woman?”
“Apparently not well at all.” Quinn was 100 percent in love with a woman he didn’t know. How crazy was that? Love or not, if she’d been involved with the drug trade, she wasn’t who he thought. “I wish we could tie Freddy to the murders. Then he’d give up his partner or boss or whoever the guy is.”
“The operation is believed to span several states. We’re talking federal trafficking here,” Reese said.
Dread slammed into Quinn’s gut. Juliet would go to jail for life if she’d been involved in the drug trade. “There has to be some mistake.”
“There’s no mistake,” Reese said slowly. “I definitely want Freddy and his partner on the trafficking and murders. Maybe we could talk to the federal prosecutor about some sort of deal with Juliet—if she has proof that hurts Freddy, or if she knows who Freddy is working with and is willing to testify.”
Hope commingled with fury inside Quinn, but he kept his face impassive. “I’m sure that will be an option—once we find out the entire truth. So far, I’m not believing Juliet willingly traf
ficked drugs.” He couldn’t be that horrible a judge of character, could he?
“Are you thinking with your head or your dick?”
That the question was valid pissed off Quinn more than he would’ve believed possible. “Don’t make me shoot you.”
Reese lifted a shoulder. “The DEA has waited long enough, and now I’m going to interview my suspect. You in or out?”
Quinn clenched his hands. “I’ll get her.” He stomped from the room, taking deep breaths to maintain control. It’d been years since he felt on edge like this, and he needed to hold it together. The long hallway stretched forever until he reached the first cell. Still wearing her sexy black dress with the sparkly silver shoes, Juliet looked like a captured princess in the dismal cell.
A feminine and fragile princess.
Keys jangled against the old lock as he released the bars. “Come on, Juliet.”
Her pale face whitened further, but she rose gracefully from the single cot. “Where?”
“Interrogation.” Every instinct he owned wanted to reach out and gather her close for a hug. “The DEA wants to interview you about your statement to me.”
She nodded, regally lifting her head and gliding past him into the hallway. “Your friend, Reese?”
“Yes.” Quinn relocked the door. He’d put Freddy in a cell at the far end of the cell block and had every intention of leaving him there until Reese wanted to talk to him.
She stopped. “Quinn, I—”
“Save your statement for the DEA. I don’t want to hear it.” Quinn motioned her ahead of him, his gut clenching at how her hands trembled. Didn’t she know he’d have to testify about anything she said to him?
“Of course,” she said formally. “I apologize.”
For the first time in eight years, he hated the fact that he was the sheriff.
Chapter Fifteen
Juliet shifted on the cold metal chair in the interrogation room. Chilly and intimidating, the room was small with unadorned, dingy, white walls. “I understand my rights as you’ve read them to me.”
Maverick Montana [2] Under the Covers Page 11
