Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  Would she like that?

  All she knew was that she wasn’t going anywhere.

  He tilted his face and brought his hard lips to hers. The kiss was soft, gentle, the lightest brushing of lips, and it had her leaning in, pressing against him to invite him further.

  She melted and moaned into the kiss that was deepening. She draped her slender arms over his massive shoulders and he helped her, effortlessly, onto his lap like she was light as a feather and easy to maneuver.

  As she settled into a straddle over his hard thighs, her body warmed instantly, a blossom of aroused heat blooming between her legs at the feel of him.

  She stared down into his dark eyes, searching for some kind of explanation or answer as to why this was happening. This was crazy, wasn’t it? He just showed up here from out of nowhere, confronts her, then kisses her, then questions her, then… what? They were going to start making out on her couch?

  When he tenderly stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, holding her by the nape of her neck with his other hand to draw her in for another kiss, he didn’t feel like a werewolf. Didn’t seem like one. Not in the slightest. He didn’t even feel like a war-torn veteran, rough around the edges and damaged, even though that’s what he was.

  Again, she melted into the kiss, into the feel of his hard body beneath her.

  If she wasn’t mistaken, she could feel him stiffening beneath his army fatigues where she was resting, his body hardening and rising between her legs.

  What would it mean to be turned? What would it feel like? What would her life be like if she agreed? She wondered so many things, but then another question cut through her sex-fogged brain.

  Who else in the Fist had been turned?

  How many werewolves were there?

  And what was in it for Shane if he turned her?

  She would’ve rattled off a series of questions if he didn’t feel so good. His large hands had worked their way down the length of her slender back and were now cupping the firm meat of her ass. His grip was strong and the way he was holding her in his large hands sent another hot flare of arousal shooting up from her core and warming every inch of her skin.

  “Did you hear that?” she startled, abruptly pulling back and listening out, as a prickly edge of terror shot down her spine.

  She could’ve sworn she heard someone at the front door, rattling the handle.

  Shane was listening out, too, but didn’t seem to register the sound that she’d definitely heard.

  It was quiet now, though. Too quiet.

  She flinched again. Chills were running down her spine all over again at the new noise that she was certain had come from outside the bathroom window. Tapping. It had already come and gone, but she could still hear it echoing through her suddenly anxious mind.

  She climbed off of him, though he protested, reaching out and taking hold of her wrist.

  “Stay here,” he quietly ordered her, but she was already creeping on tiptoes towards the bathroom.

  What if…? No…

  But, what if…?

  No, she decided. Her mind had been playing tricks on her before when she’d felt like everything in her cabin had been messed with, moved by a fraction of an inch. That eerie feeling that had consumed her when she’d first gotten home, the one that had told her someone had been inside her cabin, had been insane. She’d written it off. Chalked it up to the heebie-jeebies and moved on.

  But what if someone had been inside her cabin?

  What if they were back now?

  What if they had watched her kissing Shane somehow?

  She felt ridiculous and yet compelled to edge into the bathroom, but just as she was about to pull back the shower curtain to check the window on the other side of the tub, Shane pulled her back and stated, “I told you to stay out in the living room.”

  “I think someone’s out there,” she whispered.

  “Whitney,” he warned. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

  He was strong as hell when he lifted her by the hips and deposited her behind him just outside of the bathroom.

  She bit her nails, nervously watching as Shane whipped the shower curtain aside.

  Outside the window, a tree branch was brushing and tapping against the glass pane because of the wind.

  Whitney let out a rocky breath, laughing at herself, but it didn’t last.

  She startled at the clear and distinct sound of a loud thud.

  It came from the back of the cabin.

  The back door.

  Shane cut his eyes to her. He’d definitely heard it, too.

  “Stay put,” he ordered, but when he brushed past her, rounding into the living room, she was at his heels, padding after him. “I said, stay put,” he barked.

  “You don’t know where the back door is,” she asserted and he couldn’t argue.

  As they rounded through, Shane took hold of the Glock he kept shoulder-holstered beneath his left arm.

  “There,” she said, stating the obvious as they came to a brown, wooden door at the rear side of the cabin.

  “Get back,” he told her.

  She gave him a few inches and the look on his annoyed face told her that it wasn’t enough so she took a few large strides backwards, ducking around the corner but looking out.

  He waved at her to get around the corner completely, but she wasn’t about to.

  Giving up, he twisted the lock as quietly as he could then yanked the door open and aimed his weapon out into the darkness.

  There was nothing there.

  No one.

  Only the darkness of night cast in a faint glow of moonlight.

  She raced to him. She had to see for herself.

  “I heard a thud,” she insisted, but the point she’d meant to make was that there was nothing out there that had fallen against the door. “Someone’s out there.”

  Shane closed and locked the door just as Whitney heard the distinct scraping of the front door being unlocked from the outside, metal key sliding against rough steel.

  She screamed.

  Shane rushed through the cabin and Whitney kept at his heels, both of her hands wrapped around his massive bicep.

  “Hidy-ho!” she heard her daddy call out from the foyer just as they spilled into the living room.

  Rick rounded into the room just in time to see his daughter clutching Shane Quinn.

  It didn’t bode well that Shane had his gun trained on him.

  “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” Rick exclaimed.

  “Daddy!” she blurted at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

  Whitney took a moment to steady her breathing, her hand on her chest.

  “What in the name of Christ are you doing here?” he demanded of Shane as Shane holstered his Glock and planted his fists on his hips.

  Whitney didn’t give Shane a chance to defend himself. She was instantly furious that her father had had the audacity to key into her cabin, unannounced. She was also furious he’d scared the living crap out of her.

  “What were you doing stalking around the house like a prowler?” she demanded as she stomped right on over to him.

  “What is he doing here, girl?” he shot right back.

  “I don’t have to explain my guests, Daddy!”

  “I think you might, child,” he barked down at her, paternalistically.

  She really hated it when he got like this. It was the primary reason she rarely had men over. It was just easier to stay at the guy’s place if the mood struck her. Daddy was known for barging in at the worst moments.

  “You think I don’t know a Quinn truck when I see one parked outside my little girl’s house?” he argued.

  “I can have a Quinn over if I want,” she asserted with a little stomp.

  She wasn’t entirely pleased with herself that she tended to transform into a pissy child in her father’s authoritative presence, but it was what it was.

  “I can go,” Shane offered.

  “Damn straight, you ca
n go,” Rick agreed.

  “Daddy!”

  “And I’ll thank ya not to come back,” her father added as Shane passed him, heading for the foyer.

  “Shane, you stay put!” Whitney ordered, but he was already opening the door.

  When she heard the click of the front door closing, she glared at her father.

  “What the hell was that all about?” he asked her.

  To which she immediately replied, “I’d like to ask you the same thing.”

  Chapter Five

  SHANE

  Shane drove straight from Whitney’s cabin to his own, which was situated on the rural northwest side of the Fist just past the Quinn Security building. All of the Quinn cabins, five in total, lined the Dead-End side of Berry Road. Shane’s was the first cabin on the right. As he slowed his truck along Berry just after pavement had turned to dirt, his pickup bouncing and bucking with the ruts in the road, he noticed Kaleb’s cabin, first on the left. It was lighting up like a lightning storm inside and Shane had to smile.

  At least one of the Quinns was gettin’ it on, he thought, pegging the lightning flickers and flashes for what it was—Lucy Cooper firing up at Kaleb’s every touch.

  Shane never thought he’d find that. Have that. His one true mate. He really didn’t think there was anyone out there for him, but now, hot off the heels of a little time alone with Whitney Abernathy, and he had to wonder. Maybe there was someone out there for him. Meant for him. His destiny. And maybe it was Whitney.

  If she was or wasn’t meant for him, only time would tell, he decided as he angled his pickup in front of his dark cabin and killed the headlights.

  One thing was for damn sure, though. The girl was hot.

  She was also the sheriff’s daughter, he reminded himself as he climbed out of his truck and entered his minimalistic cabin.

  Shane hadn’t bothered to accumulate possessions over his many years walking this earth, but he had kept every single honor and award the military had ever bestowed on him. Purple Hearts, Medals of Honor, and countless Silver Stars lined the otherwise bare walls. Shane’s valor in battle had earned him just about every medal and ribbon that the United States of America could dream up, and there were times when his heart had certainly sunk at the thought that he’d never again receive another. Being retired, when he was born and bred to fight, wasn’t an easy way to live.

  The sheriff rubbed him the wrong way, to say the least. Rick Abernathy would rather chew off his own hand than acknowledge Shane’s service to this country. Rather, the man chose to consistently regard Shane and all the Quinns as though they were an acne smattering of blemishes across his otherwise flawless town.

  His town.

  What a joke.

  Rick took far more credit than he deserved when it came to keeping the peace on the streets of Devil’s Fist. Sure, he’d cleaned the town up some, especially ten years ago when a mild drug epidemic had swept through that brought with it petty crimes and a bit of prostitution, but it didn’t compare to being shot at and blown up overseas. Christ, the man even petitioned to have a street named after him—Abernathy Way.

  Some men needed to boast outwardly. That was Rick.

  And others hung their medals of honor privately around their homes.

  It took all kinds, Shane supposed, all kinds indeed, and Shane had done a soldierly job of avoiding the man as a general rule. The last thing he needed was to take a swing at the sheriff, though he and all his brothers certainly wanted to.

  But he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep the man at bay and keep his own emotions in check, not if he cared to explore the effect that Whitney had on him.

  Lord, he hadn’t thought this through, had he?

  Shane was a man of plan and action. He strategized. He executed missions to a T.

  And yet, when he’d driven over to Whitney’s cabin, he hadn’t had a clear thought in his lust-filled head, had he?

  Part of him had wanted to test her. Part of him had wanted to turn her. And all of him had wanted to bed her. The worst part was, he’d tipped his hand at every turn, revealing to her all three of his half-baked reasons for having shown up without warning.

  Maybe he ought to stay away from her, he thought as he kicked off his boots from the edge of his bed and pulled his black tank top off his chiseled physique.

  Maybe he ought to rub one out to get that girl off the brain, he countered to himself with a smart grin.

  He almost did when he got his army fatigue pants off, returning them to his closest, but thoughts of Delilah Dane slammed into him from out of nowhere.

  Help me, Shane. I’m in too deep this time.

  The secret.

  Their secret.

  He should’ve never messed with that one.

  As a general rule, he never kept anything from his brothers. He was an open book where they were concerned. Until Delilah.

  It all started a few years ago when the dark-haired girl had come to town. She’d had allure and the kind of confidence that made a man stop and think twice about what must be so special about her to cause her to conduct herself like that, like she owned the world and everything in it. She lived life with no strings attached and it appealed to men. Why wouldn’t it? It had appealed to Shane. He hadn’t been above it. He also hadn’t acted on it, not in the way Delilah had been aiming for. However, she’d gotten something from him, and he’d gotten something from her, on those infrequent and unplanned nights.

  He knew what she was about. She’d come to Devil’s Fist with high, unbridled hopes that a tiger could change its stripes, that she could, by some magic or force of will, become someone different than the person she’d been in all the states and cities she’d passed through before. But sooner or later, she’d gotten up to her old ways, lingering around Libations when the drunken dregs of customers would be far less equipped to resist her lifestyle. Shane included.

  She’d had a woeful tale the first night he’d encountered her at the bar, he’d give her that, she had woeful down to a science. But it had been just that. A tale. And he hadn’t realized it until he was on the other side of having offered her two hundred cash.

  She’d had debts and bills and a dark past she didn’t want to fall back into. She was trying to keep her head above water, not attach herself to an abusive man again—Shane questioned later down the road if that had even ever been true —not have to turn sexual tricks to make rent. She didn’t want to get put out on the street again, and felt optimistic now that she was in the Fist. It was cheap living here, not like them big, brutal cities like Jackson Hole.

  That night, Delilah had known just when to brush her fingertips across his arm or place a sensual hand on his thigh. She was seductive and had a talent for stirring up all kinds of urges in a man, the most powerful of which was when she played the damsel in distress. Making a man feel like a real man, like he was needed, like he was all the protection she’d ever prayed for, was a powerful tool, and even though Shane hadn’t taken her up on her offer to take her to bed that night, he’d fulfilled what she’d really wanted. Cold, hard cash.

  But he should’ve known. You feed a stray cat, and it’ll come scratching at your door every time its hungry. And Delilah had. Shane had gotten to know her. Learned a few secrets. Dark tales. He’d seen for himself how she tended to disappear for long stretches only to return to the Fist as though she’d never been gone. Nonchalant. Unaffected. Mildly confused that anyone would be upset with her for having taken off the way she had.

  Then she’d started to turn up at his cabin. Bruised. Crying. Desperate as always for money. He’d wanted to help her, but getting the details of how she’d gotten herself in a tangle or brawl had been like pulling teeth—Just a hundred, that’s all I need, I can make this problem go away with that much.

  Whether that was true or not, he’d obliged and she’d been satisfied, time and again. She’d go off, relieved. He’d see her around town, happy. But sooner or later, she’d get caught up in another mess and come rushi
ng to his door in the dead of night.

  Until one night, he’d turned her away.

  Enough had been enough.

  Oh sure, she’d let her dress fall off of her pale shoulders to keep him. She’d offered him her body, standing in the nude, that perfect body of hers, porcelain skin, exotic eyes that held just enough of a glint of sexual prowess to suck a man right in—Take me if you want me. I can’t lose you, Shane.

  But he wasn’t having it. He’d felt for her. But he stopped trusting her. It was embarrassing how long she’d managed to play him. He couldn’t even be sure if she was in the habit of inflicting those nasty bruises on herself just to add to a more convincing story. After years, despite all he thought he knew about her, he realized that he didn’t know the first thing about Delilah Dane.

  Then she’d come to him when his grandmother’s birthday parade had been winding down.

  Help me! I’m desperate! Can we talk? Please!

  He’d shoved her off, turned his back to her literally and figuratively. His only concern was that he hadn’t wanted to get caught in pubic with her. He didn’t want his brothers to take keen notice. She wasn’t even a werewolf, for Christ’s sake. There would’ve been no way to explain it.

  But she hadn’t stopped there.

  She’d been waiting for him at his cabin when he’d returned from the werewolf meeting at Damned Repair. Desperate and wearing a stunning dress, she’d forced her way into his home. She’d pawed at him, begging for help and when he’d tried to shove some cash in her hand just to get her to leave, she hadn’t taken it.

  I’m in real trouble this time.

  Getting her out had been a struggle of shocking proportions. She’d been hellbent on tearing her dress off to once again offer herself to him. He’d wrestled her to the door, felt awful when he’d accidentally elbowed her in the face. When he’d finally gotten her out, he locked up and jumped in his own truck, thinking he could avoid the entire issue of Delilah Dane by tackling a different, much more pleasurable problem—Whitney Abernathy.

  Delilah had obviously been in a state. That’s why she hadn’t shown up at Whitney’s cabin as planned. She’d probably driven off to Jackson Hole or some other place where some other chump could fix her life.