Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Chapter Three

  SHANE

  When Shane had pulled his pickup truck in front of Whitney’s cabin, he hadn’t known what to expect, but he would’ve never imagined she’d burst through the door wearing damn near the skimpiest shorts and barely-there top he’d ever seen in all his eighty years walking the earth, that was for sure.

  It was hard to keep his eyes from wandering down the perky length of her, but he could still take in the sight of her soft curves in his peripheral vision, as he answered, “I need to talk to you.”

  Damn, even her little feet looked cute, all barefoot the way she was, toenails painted red to match her big mane of hair.

  She screwed her face up and crossed her arms in a way that bumped her bouncy boobs up and Shane was instantly confronted with his attraction to her.

  “You shot my brother,” he reminded her in a mean tone. “You owe me.”

  She narrowed those big, green eyes at him like he was an enemy she needed to size up. He respected the instinct, he surely did. But it was her unintended feminine wiles that had him broadening his shoulders with a straight back so he could look even larger in stature as he held her scrutinizing gaze.

  “Fine,” she said curtly as she sank into the fleshy curve of her hip that was barely covered by her cotton short-shorts. It gave him the clear impression she wasn’t about to welcome him inside, but he could work with that.

  The fact of the matter was that Troy hadn’t okayed the strategy of turning Whitney. Shane was convinced it was the best way to go. If Whitney was one of them, she’d have a vested interest in keeping herself, and by extension the entire pack, a secret from all of the mortal residents in Devil’s Fist, including her own father. But Troy hadn’t taken to the idea. He’d promised to give it serious thought and hadn’t forbidden Shane to pay the girl a visit. So, here he was. Though now that he’d arrived and was looking the fiery girl in the face, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do about it.

  “Well?” she prodded when he still hadn’t formulated a way to delve into the situation at hand. He’d never broached a topic like this with anyone. Where would he even begin? “You’re here about your brother? So talk.”

  “Can we talk inside?”

  “No,” she said straight away.

  She was bobbing her leg now, the meat of her thigh bouncing in a way that gave him all kinds of urges. She didn’t even know she was doing it, couldn’t fathom the effect she had on him. Even the impatience of her body language was turning him on.

  He should’ve taken her to bed after they’d gotten fast and flirty in Libations that night after she’d shot Pamela Davenport dead in Yellowstone. She’d been all hopped up on pride and power that night. She would’ve been a real wildcat in bed, he imagined, not that this was the time or place for such thoughts.

  “You said that you know what I am,” he began, easing into the uncharted waters of what would surely become a strange and dangerous conversation.

  “I know what I said,” she told him sharply.

  “What am I?” he challenged.

  She looked hesitant to state what she thought she knew out loud. For a moment, she just stared at him, studying him in a way that made him wonder what she might be thinking. She couldn’t be afraid of him. If she was, she wouldn’t be acting so uppity about it.

  Holding her head high, she said, “All I know is that I shot a huge wolf out on Main Street and a second later Kaleb Quinn had taken its place.”

  “And?”

  He didn’t know why, but he needed to hear her say it. He needed them both to know and understand and fully respect what he truly was. For some reason, despite the friction rising between them, he sensed that he’d feel closer to her, and she to him, if she admitted her assumption so that he could confirm it.

  “He’s a werewolf,” she stated with conviction. “I don’t know how he lived after I shot him in the chest with a silver bullet, but I know that’s what he is, and I don’t see how you couldn’t be one yourself, since y’all are brothers. So there. That’s what you are. And I’m not sorry I shot him just like I’m not sorry I shot Pamela. I’ll shoot to kill any were-thing that crosses my path.”

  “You gonna shoot me?” he challenged.

  She held her fixed gaze on him, unwavering, and said, “My gun’s in the house. You gonna wait out here while I get it?”

  He felt the corner of his mouth tug into a crack of a grin at her folksy confidence.

  He took one step towards her then another, slowly, very slowly closing the gap between them. At first, Whitney held firm with her arms folded tightly across her chest but as he neared her, her hard expression loosened, her eyes widened as though she couldn’t figure out what in the hell he was doing, and her pink lips parted with timid confusion.

  He knew she wouldn’t run scared. She was too stubborn for that. If she raced into her cabin to fetch her gun and make good on her threat, doing so would only admit her fear, and she would be damned if she gave him that much.

  But she did take a slight, barefoot step backwards when he reached her.

  As he towered over her, looking down at the soft surprise that had washed over her pretty features, Whitney lifted both hands, palms out, as if it could ward him off.

  He leaned right into them, feeling her small palms against the firm wall of his built chest.

  Her brow furrowed as she breathed, “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for you to get your gun,” he instigated, growling out the challenge, which seemed to make her angry.

  “You think I won’t?”

  “You haven’t.”

  Not only had she not turned into her cabin to get her gun she also hadn’t shoved him away.

  Instead, Shane felt her stiff hands soften and mold against the shape of his chest, fingers spreading as though she was subtly exploring his muscular strength. Even her green gaze had lowered, watching her hands on his body.

  “If I’m a werewolf,” he groaned out at a whisper, “then why aren’t you afraid of me?”

  “Because,” she breathed as she slowly smoothed her hands down the rippling wall of his chiseled abdomen, only the thin material of his black tank top separating his skin from hers. She hadn’t finished the thought so she tried again, “Because I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

  The statement seemed to take her by surprise as though she hadn’t known it was true until she heard herself say it. She cut her big eyes up to meet his gaze, pulled her warm hands back, and said, “You should go. I’m expecting company.”

  Shane couldn’t hold himself back a second longer. She smelled too good. She looked too soft. She was standing too close.

  In one, swift, enveloping motion, he had her by the nape of the neck, fingers tangled in red hair, as his other large hand landed on her bubble butt, pulling her hard against his body. He crushed a hard kiss against her beautiful mouth.

  She let out a squeak, body tensing, but as he kissed her, the surprised sound that had lurched from her throat smoothed out into a melodic moan as the length of her relaxed in his arms.

  Her arms were dangling by her side, though her lips reciprocated and he could feel her attraction for him in the pressure and tension between their moving mouths.

  He leaned forward with her in his arms, Whitney arching back trustingly, as he deepened their kiss.

  When he released her, she looked dazed and confused.

  “I’m going to come in now,” he informed her, and as he brushed past her, starting into her cabin, she smiled, touched her lips, and said, “Daddy’s not going to like this.”

  Chapter Four

  WHITNEY

  Shane had brushed passed her, boldly entering her cabin with confidence and audacity.

  Insult mixed with arousal was a feeling she hadn’t experienced before, she’d give him that.

  As she turned on her heel and padded barefoot in after him, her thoughts latched on to his tremendous size
. Dang, he was massive, and he hadn’t exactly been gentle with her outside when he’d stalked up slowly into her personal space, watching her expression shift, and put his strong hands on her.

  Why hadn’t he been so bold at the bar? Or any of the times they’d flirted secretively around town? Why now? Had it been because she’d gotten sour at him?

  Inside, she found Shane taking a slow lap around the living room. She hung back where the foyer opened up into her rustic living room and studied him.

  Was he really a werewolf? Why had he challenged her as though he might not be? And how had his brother survived her silver bullet?

  As question after question rose up in her mind, it was clouded over and swallowed by his dangerously good-looks—those built shoulders of his, his beefed-up arms that looked like they could bench press an insane amount of weight, his erect posture that seemed to accentuate the steel wall of his chiseled chest, the musculature of which his black tank top couldn’t hide.

  His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply, turning to start back on through her living room.

  No, he wasn’t breathing deeply. He was smelling, sniffing, she realized.

  But what?

  “I really am expecting someone,” she commented as she plopped onto the couch, staring at him with unblinking eyes. She didn’t want to miss a thing. Then she added worriedly, “I think.”

  “Hot date?” he asked, locking eyes with her without a shred of humor in the guess.

  “Hardly.”

  “Booty-call,” he decided.

  “No!” she blurted and let out a little huff next. “Delilah. You know her? Delilah Dane?” The dark gaze he was holding on her turned even darker, if such a thing was possible, and she chalked it up to recognition. “She works with me over in Yellowstone at the corral stables.”

  “When’s she coming?”

  Whitney sighed and admitted, “A few hours ago.”

  “That’s Delilah for you.”

  “So, you do know her?” she questioned, straightening her spine.

  He seemed cautious as he replied, “Sure.” Quickly amending his response, he told her, “Know her, know of her,” as if he was pronouncing tomato two different ways.

  “What are you doing here, Shane?” she confronted.

  He shrugged and offered, “Came to check on you.”

  “What for? It’s not like we’re girlfriends, or did I miss something?”

  He cracked the faintest smile and after a lingering beat, joined her on the couch where he sat impossibly close to her, leaving the latter two couch cushions vacant for no reason that she could figure out.

  “When you shot my brother—”

  “Hey, look,” she groveled before he could finish whatever it was that he was planning to say to her. “I shot a wolf. That’s what I was aiming to do. I would’ve never trained my gun on a human being.”

  “That’s not where I’m going with this. I don’t think you’re a killer, Whitney.”

  She straightened her spine all over again, feeling her brow furrow at him and her chest flare with a sting of heat.

  “Of course I’m not a killer. But I’d kill a killer if I had to.”

  He was looking at her strangely now. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to assert such a thing, convince him of her capabilities. There was something about him that intimidated her, but that intimidation turned into a compulsion to impress. Whether her assertion had impressed him or not, she could read in his dark eyes that he understood she’d meant to puff herself up a bit, and maybe that’s why he was nodding understandingly at her now.

  “No greater feeling than killing the enemy,” he offered.

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “I’m relating to you,” he corrected.

  “How is it that Kaleb is even walking around?” she asked him without a breath of preamble.

  But Shane was still angling for his own answers and wasn’t about to address any of her questions.

  “Did you feel like you were in a fog when you pulled the trigger that night?”

  She gave it some consideration then assured him, “No. My mind was clear.”

  “You sure about that?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve been my daddy’s daughter long enough to recognize when a man would like to assume a girl is in the throes of hysterics and I wasn’t in any kind of emotional state that night. If anything, I was calm and cool as a cucumber, steady with my grip of the gun. I’m good in a crisis.”

  “That’s the warrior in you,” he informed her, and Whitney felt a sideways grin come over her at the compliment. “When I was in battle—and I fought at the front lines more times than I can remember—I was a jittery, nervous, stomach-twisting mess going in.”

  She liked it when he talked about his service, not that he’d offered many anecdotes before. She could envision him in the trenches, lying flat on his stomach as bullets zinged past his head. It was hot, not the image of it, but the bravery it must have taken just to be there. Maybe it was that quality—courage, bravery, and the selflessness that a soldier required—that had her drawn to him like moth to a flame.

  “But once I fired off that first round,” he went on, a dark look coming over him as he seemed to see an old wartime memory unfold in his mind, a mile-long stare coming over him that gave her the chance to drink in the sight of his handsome, scarred face. “An incredible calm would wash over me. I was steady and alert. Did my job. Never crossed my mind the danger I was in, I’d just keep pushing forward, keep shooting, keep killing.”

  He fell silent and she had the urge to place her hand on his arm, reach out to him in some way.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she said bashfully, “I’m not sure it’s fair or accurate to compare me shooting a wolf here and there to your service to this country.”

  He glanced at her, having come back into the room from whatever memory had taken momentary hold of him, and said, “I’m just saying I get the clarity you’re referring to.”

  “But you thought I might’ve been in a fog?” she questioned.

  “You definitely weren’t?” he questioned right back and she let out a little exasperated laugh.

  “No! I definitely wasn’t!”

  He mulled that over without explanation and the quiet that came over them gave her the chance to ask her own question.

  “How is it that Kaleb ended up being fine?”

  “Long story.”

  “I’ve got time since Delilah ain’t here,” she promised, then a fresh wash of concern crashed over her. Where the hell was she and why hadn’t she returned any of Whitney’s calls or text messages? She told him, “Go on, I’m listening,” as she leaned forward and grabbed her cell phone from the coffee table.

  When she tapped the screen, the profound absence of a single notification made her stomach drop.

  She felt his eyes on her and when she looked at him, she found Shane’s gaze locked on the cell phone in her hands.

  “Delilah should’ve gotten back to me,” she explained. “I’m worried.”

  “Don’t be worried about Delilah,” he said easily. “You wouldn’t be the first person she stood up.”

  It wasn’t that Whitney disagreed. Facts were facts and Delilah Dane was known for breezing in and out of peoples’ lives and evenings like the changing wind. She did as she pleased with little regard for anyone. But still, Whitney had a bad feeling about it. When the dark-haired beauty had agreed to come over to Whitney’s cabin, she’d lit up like she was already looking forward to it. There hadn’t been even the faintest hesitation or apprehension in her expression to indicate she was on the fence about it. Whitney wasn’t a mind reader, but she was pretty good at reading people, judging their moods and intentions regardless of the words coming out of their mouths. She was certain that Delilah would’ve showed up, if…

  If something hadn’t happened to her.

  “You have to stop shooting at wolves,” Shane informed her from se
emingly out of nowhere.

  “If I see a wolf charging towards someone I care about—”

  “You have to stop shooting at wolves,” he repeated with a barking air of authority in his stern tone that made her shrink beside him on the couch.

  “Because you don’t want me to shoot you?” she guessed, coming full circle to her gut-instinct suspicion.

  “Something like that.”

  “So, you really are a werewolf?” she asked with wide eyes.

  He stared at her for a long moment then challenged, “What do you think?”

  Again, she shrank, this time under the weight of his intense stare, but admitted, “I guess I’m not really sure anymore. If y’all are werewolves, Kaleb should be dead, but he isn’t. So I don’t know.”

  “Are you trying to appease me?”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing. No. I don’t think so. No,” she started, as conviction rose in her soft voice. “I know what I saw out on Main Street that night. I saw a huge wolf and he shifted into Kaleb. But…” she trailed off then had another go at what was on her mind. “But then how’d he live through it?”

  “I could tell you, but then I’d have to turn you,” he told her.

  “Turn me?”

  “Do you want that?”

  “I…uh… turn me?”

  She got the gist of it. He didn’t have to clarify the terminology. He would have to turn her into a werewolf if she wanted to know those kinds of secrets.

  “No,” he surmised on her behalf as he studied her quizzical expression. “You don’t want that.”

  “Is that why you came here? To ask me if I wanted to be turned?”

  Of all the reactions she could’ve expected from him, Shane leaning in as he brought his large, warm hand to her cheek hadn’t been one of them.

  He drew near, so slowly, and it was as though he was giving her ample opportunity to change her mind. Like he was asking for permission in a sense, and if she didn’t pull away or slip off the couch, then he could proceed with a kiss or maybe more.