by Kris Norris
She opened her mouth to ask what qualified him to do any kind of exam then snapped it shut. This was exactly the kind of personal information she didn’t need. If she found out he was a doctor or nurse or maybe a fireman, it would give her a means to track him down, later. To break all the rules that had kept her safely in the shadows. It would mean she cared, even if just peripherally.
Instead, she clung to him, secretly waiting for him to put her down when she got too heavy. But Russel simply moved along as if he were carrying some groceries. Or maybe he was accustomed to carrying bodies. Maybe he was an assassin instead of a mercenary. Or some kind of forensics guy who dealt with dead people all the time.
She nearly giggled at the thought. Chances were, it was just endless hours in the gym. But she couldn’t deny the appeal of being with a man who knew how to handle himself. A guy who might actually be untouchable where her family was concerned. Someone not intimidated by the dark stain smeared across her DNA. Someone she could have more than just a fleeting moment with.
God, she must have hit her head harder than she’d thought if she was seriously romanticizing about being with a guy she’d just met. One who she was secretly hoping was an assassin, just to have more than a one-night stand with him. That’s if he was even interested. Judging on how clinically he was holding her, he really had only planned on driving her home and dropping her off.
Great, now she’d become some kind of charity case. A drunk one with a concussion. Nothing screamed sexy like a bruised lump on her head. And, if she’d thought her hair was a mess before, it was wild, now. Anything left of the bun she’d made had let loose with the fall, the tangled curls bouncing around her shoulders with every step.
Russel stopped at the elevator, glancing at the keypad. “Do you feel well enough to put in the code?” He eyed her. “Can you even see the keypad?”
She scowled. “I told you. I’m fine. You’re the one who’s blowing this out of proportion. I just fell. Trust me, I’ve had worse lumps than this.”
Not that she’d tell him any of the details. Learning how to read people hadn’t been easy, and she’d encountered a few “failures” along the way. Gotten too close to a few of her father’s colleagues who hadn’t thought twice about knocking her around when she’d accidentally walked in on a meeting. Until her father had found out, and the men had vanished.
Russel made eye contact. “Why does that singular thought make my skin crawl?”
Quinn ignored the remark, reaching for the keypad. It took a couple of tries with her hand shaking and missing the odd number, but she managed to disengage the lock. Russel stepped inside, still holding her against his chest. No heavy breathing. No outward signs that he found it at all stressful to hold her this long.
She tilted her head to the side, squinting when the scenery blurred. “I must be getting heavy. I swear, I can walk.”
He rolled his eyes. Actually, rolled his eyes at her. “Please. I’ve carried guys my size for miles on end. Your weight barely registers.”
She knew her mouth had gaped open before she’d managed to shut it. He’d carried guys his size for miles? Seriously? Who the hell was he? Who carried men anywhere?
Pain throbbed through her head, pushing away the thoughts. It didn’t matter who he was. Where he’d come from or where he was heading. All that mattered was now. This moment, even if she’d managed to screw it up more. The chances of talking him into anything, now, seemed remote at best.
Russel stopped next at her alarm system, allowing her to push her thumb on the print reader before taking her inside her apartment. He headed immediately for the kitchen off to the right, sliding her onto the counter. Before she’d blinked twice, he had a cold compress on her head and was testing her eyes, again.
She grunted. “I’m fine.”
He probed the lump, mumbling an apology when she winced. “So far, so good. But…I’m concerned. Between the amount of alcohol you consumed, and now this… I’m not sure it’s safe to leave you alone.”
Her heart fluttered at his words, the sensation moving lower to settle in her gut. Had he really just implied he wanted to spend the night?
She leaned against him, tracing the line of his jaw. “Sounds like you might need to stay. For safety, of course.”
His jaw flexed, jumping the muscle in his temple as he took a deep breath, lips pulling tight at whatever it was he’d scented in the room. “Quinn.”
“I wasn’t lying, before. I never bring guys home. Not home. And never from a bar. But you…” She inched forward until she could kiss the spot just below his left ear. “You’re worth breaking a few rules.”
A deep rumble vibrated through his chest as she nipped at his earlobe then licked the slight hurt. His fingers dug into her waist, his breath hot and heavy against her neck.
She pulled back, staring up at his closed eyes before he blinked them open. “Unless, you’re not interested.”
That muscle in his temple jumped, again, a moment before he snaked his arms around her, dragging her against him. Her groin collided with his crotch, the hard, thick evidence of his arousal jabbing the soft vee of her mound.
Another deep rumble—somewhere between a growl and a purr—as he hovered a breath away. “Does it feel like I’m not interested? But—”
“No buts. You’re hard, and I obviously want you to fuck me, so…”
“Christ.” He closed the distance, claiming her mouth in a brutal kiss. It was all lips and teeth and tongues, mashing together. His erection swelled, increasing the pressure against her sex, and she ground herself against him, sure she wouldn’t need more than a minute or two to get herself off.
Russel hissed out a breath once he’d eased back, his chest heaving, his dark gaze riveted on her. He didn’t move, seemingly frozen to the spot as he stared down at her. “This is a bad idea.”
She chuckled, kissing her way along his jaw then down his neck, nipping at his muscles through his shirt. “Actually, it’s a fantastic idea. You. Me. Naked. I bet you can go all night long and not get tired.”
He moaned as she arched against him, rubbing her groin up and down his dick. “Hell yeah. All night and all tomorrow. But…”
“Again, with the but?” She eased back enough to meet his gaze. “This is pretty brainless.”
“It’s not like I don’t want to. And the but is because not only did you just whack your head, you’re drunk.”
“Not that drunk.”
He continued as if he hadn’t even heard her. “And I make it a policy not to sleep with women when they aren’t in their right frame of mind. That would make me no better than those assholes at the bar.”
“I didn’t want any of those assholes at the bar to touch me. But you… I want you to touch every inch of me with your hands, your mouth.” She pressed against him. “Your cock.”
“Quinn.” He moved his head when she tried to kiss him. “How about we make a deal?”
She shuffled back, blinking against the sudden shift of the scenery. “I’m offering you a night of hot sex, no strings attached, and you want to make me a deal? I thought that was the deal?”
His smile made the room spin faster, and she had to hold his shoulders to stop from falling off the counter. He shook his head then sighed. “The deal is… You show me you can walk from here into your bedroom without falling down or puking, and I’ll pound you into that bed for as long as you’d like.”
Quinn smiled. “Seriously? All I have to do is walk into my bedroom, and you’ll make me scream?”
“Scream. Beg. Come. Over and over, sweetheart. You have my word.”
“Fine. Then, I suggest you take a deep breath because I plan on grinding myself on your face for the foreseeable future.”
Russel’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move, waving in the direction of the hallway. Quinn allowed him to help her off of the counter, then steadied herself. Walk to the bedroom—piece of cake.
She set off, gettin
g a few steps away before her head seemed to catch up with her. The floor tipped, and she had to palm the back of a chair to stop from crashing into the table. Russel tsked behind her but didn’t stop her, staying in her peripheral vision as she made her way to the hall—using more pieces of furniture than she would have admitted to. But now… Now, it was clear sailing. Nothing in her way and a wall to brace against. She had this.
Until more than the floor tilted, and she had the distinct sensation of falling. Only, she didn’t. Russel was there, catching her against him—taking her up in his arms, again. He said something, but it got lost in the hazy darkness slowly drawing her under. Images danced around inside her head, too fleeting to make sense of, when everything settled. She blinked, wondering what the ringing in her head was before she rolled over, staring at the alarm buzzing on the small side table. She reached for it, groaning at the pulse of pain through her temples. Light streamed in through the windows on the opposite side of the room, the brightness suggesting she’d slept later than usual.
A throat cleared close by, and she shifted her gaze, locking it with a pair of stunning green eyes. The guy smiled as he leaned forward in the chair, his muscled forearms braced on thick jean-clad thighs. Heavy stubble covered his jaw, the shadowed skin adding to his rugged good looks.
He smiled, and her damn stomach dropped. “Morning, Quinn.”
CHAPTER THREE
Russel stared at Quinn, wondering if he’d ever seen a woman quite as beautiful. Hair a tangled mess around her face. Eyes slightly reddened. A deep blush coloring her cheeks. She looked so perfectly—imperfect.
Quinn palmed her head, glaring at him through long lowered lashes. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing about this conversation that requires you to yell.”
He smiled. Fuck, she was adorable when she got angry. And there was no doubting she was mad. The way her eyes crinkled as she continued to glare at him… Priceless.
He grabbed a glass of water off the table and held it out to her. “Here. Drink. It’ll help with the headache.”
She groaned, still palming her head. “Again, with the yelling.”
She took the glass, managing half of it before handing it back to him. She glanced at the clock, squinting in an effort to see the numbers.
“It’s almost eleven.”
Her head wobbled as she turned it toward him, as if she was trying to hone in on his voice before her eyes widened. “Did you say, eleven? As in, just an hour before noon?”
“That’s generally how the clock works. First, eleven, then twelve.”
“Shit!” She collapsed against the headboard. “This can’t be happening. Not today.”
Russel frowned. While he wouldn’t question her being upset if she had somewhere to go—not that she’d mentioned anything before she’d passed out in his arms last night. Of course, he hadn’t really asked her too many personal questions. Any, really. Not when he got the distinct feeling she wasn’t looking to share those kinds of details. In fact, he was certain she’d gone to great lengths to keep herself as anonymous as possible. But the way her voice had cracked slightly. The raised pitch and uneven tone. She wasn’t disappointed. She was nervous.
The thought scratched at his protective instincts. There had been several instances during the evening when he’d wondered if she was actually running or hiding from someone. Tidbits of information coupled with her usual residence. Not to mention the part where she claimed she never brought anyone home. Hadn’t asked him anything remotely personal in return, even when he’d given her the perfect opportunity to do so.
He’d grown up in a troubled home. Had been roused in the middle of the night and spirited away into the dark. He’d been too young at the time to appreciate what his mother had done for both of them. Why she’d left everything behind in a desperate attempt to escape. But he’d clued in as he’d gotten older. Had watched her try to adapt to a life spent looking over her shoulder—always wondering if his father would show up. Drag them back.
While Quinn put up a good front, he’d noticed the slight cracks in her façade. The fingerprint reader on her door—definitely not standard fare. And her apartment lacked any type of personal items—no photos, no memorabilia. Nothing that couldn’t be left behind at a moment’s notice—pretty much the same as his house had been. He just needed to figure out a way to bring it up—see if there was anything he could do to help.
He nearly laughed at the thought. He barely knew the girl. Had spent the night watching her sleep, waking her every few hours in order to check her condition. For all he knew, this was a weekly outing for her, despite her claims to the contrary. And yet…
His years of training—of knowing when guys were lying to him about how badly they’d been hurt in order to stay in the field—told him she’d been completely honest with him. At least about the few details they’d discussed. And he wasn’t about to abandon his instincts, now.
Russel shifted over to the edge of the bed, smiling at her when she wedged one eyelid open. “Late for something?”
“Not yet. But based on how bad I feel…” She managed to sit up, her head still bobbing around a bit. “So, um…”
He groaned. “Fuck. You don’t remember my name, do you?”
Her chin jutted out as she attempted to stare him down, only to close her eyes for a few moments. “Of course, I remember you name. It… It starts with an R…” She looked at him, again. “Russel.”
“Score one for the home team. Now, what about last night? Do you remember anything after leaving the bar?” He frowned at the way she squinted at him. “Do you even remember leaving the bar?”
“Why do you seem to think I’ve got amnesia or something?”
“Because you’re staring at me as if you’ve never seen me before.”
“It’s not that I don’t remember you. Things are just a bit…fuzzy.” She glanced down at herself. “I’ll assume that since neither of us are naked and you were sitting in the chair, we didn’t…” She waved her hand between them.
“Didn’t what? Fuck? No, we didn’t, because I prefer my sex partners to be conscious. Crazy, I know.”
She furrowed her brow. “So, you spent the entire night sitting in the chair? Watching me sleep? I thought you were just going to drop me off then go home?”
“That was the plan until you Peter Panned out of my truck and hit your head on the cement floor. Someone had to make sure your concussion didn’t get worse. Or that you weren’t suffering from a bout of alcohol poisoning. With how much you drank…”
She stared at him, mouth hinged open, eyes wide.
He arched a brow. “Quinn? You okay?”
She opened her mouth wider as if she was going to say something then shook her head and closed it, doing her best to swing her feet over the edge of the bed—wedge in beside him. “Christ. You really are some kind of knight, aren’t you? One of the last few good guys out there.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not bad, just not what I’d imagined.” She glanced over at him. “I suppose this means you’re not an assassin or mercenary?” She inhaled. “Shit, you’re not a cop, are you? Or a fed? Damn, you’re probably a fed.”
He grasped her shoulders when she went to move, keeping her still. “You might not want to stand up that quickly or you’ll just end up back on this bed. And, for the record, I’m not a cop or a fed. Actually, I’m—”
“Don’t.” She held up one hand. “I don’t want to know what you do. In fact, I already know too much.”
Too much? They’d barely talked about anything.
He snorted. “Is that so? You already think you know me?”
She locked her gaze on his. “I know enough.”
“Really? And what is it you think you know about me? Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell you anything remotely useful.”
“I know you’re a man of your word. That you have an insanely strong moral compass. That you know a
t least some form of martial arts, and you seem to have medical knowledge.” Her gaze dropped to his arm, a hushed curse lighting the air. “You’ve got a tattoo? One that looks like…”
She didn’t finish, choosing that moment to push to her feet. She took a couple of staggering steps away then turned to face him. “Thank you for bringing me home. For watching over me. But… I have somewhere I have to go, so… If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to attempt a shower.” She stumbled over to the adjoining bathroom door, glancing at him over her shoulder. “It was nice meeting you.”
Russel watched her grope her way into the bathroom before closing the door. He waited until the shower turned on then made his way to the kitchen. She didn’t have much in the way of food, but he managed to toast them both a bagel and make some coffee before returning to the bathroom. He’d been standing outside the door for a couple of minutes when it opened and she nearly crashed into him as she barreled through.
He caught her, somehow avoiding spilling coffee on her skin as he waited for her to regain her balance before releasing her.
She blinked, frowning at him. “You’re…still here.”
“You need to eat something. Here.” He handed her the bagel. “I’ve got some pain killers in my bag. I’ll grab a couple for you. But they’ll just make you nauseous if you don’t eat.”
She stared after him, one hand fisted around her towel as the other held the plate with the bagel. “Your bag? When did you have time to bring in a bag?”
“You’ve been passed out for nearly twelve hours. There was plenty of time to go to my truck and grab my kit.”
“You have a kit?” Her eyes widened when he retrieved the smaller of his medic bags from the hallway. “Christ, this is crazy.”
“Crazy is not being prepared.” He unzipped it, then grabbed one of the bottles. He shook out a few pills, closed everything up, then walked over to her. “Take these.”
She arched a brow at him.
He chuckled. “Seriously? You’ve been unconscious all this time—completely at my mercy—and now, you think I’m going to drug you or poison you or something?” He offered her the pills, again. “It’s just some Tylenol and some Naproxen. Trust me. It’ll help with the hangover and any residual pain from that lump on your head.”
