To her shock, he dropped one large hand and slid it around the back of her knee, gripping her. Then with irresistible strength, he drew her leg up and hooked it around his hip, her skirt dragging higher up her thigh, making her arch against the door, her pelvis rolling forward.
Pushing the hard ridge behind the denim of his fly against her.
He’d never been so blatant about it before and it sent electricity crackling through her, blazing like a power surge in a dark city, making what little breath remained in her body vanish. A helpless sound escaped her, a whimper she wasn’t able to control or contain.
The green fire in Quinn’s eyes blazed hotter. Brighter.
She could feel every point of contact between his body and hers, his palm searing her bare thigh, the unbelievable hardness pressing lightly between her legs, grazing her sex. The urge to move her hips, to shift, grind herself against that hard ridge was almost overwhelming.
“That’s why,” Quinn growled in a voice that barely sounded like his, rolling his hips against her to emphasize his point, sending another burst of wild electricity through her.
As if she hadn’t gotten his point already.
Lily struggled for breath, inhaling his warm scent cut through with the muskiness of masculine arousal. She felt dizzy, her cool armor fracturing beneath the hot press of his body. Beneath the hot press of her own need, the throbbing between her legs shocking in its intensity.
She could not let herself give in to this. because she knew what happened when she lost control of herself. There were always consequences and pretty much without exception those consequences had always been bad.
Such as being blackmailed, right?
It was a reminder and a good one that she needed to stay calm and not give in to this insane physical chemistry, no matter how good it felt.
So she raised her hands, put them against Quinn’s hard chest.
And shoved him.
Hard.
FOUR
Quinn had never been a man to let anyone push him if he didn’t want to be pushed, but as soon as Duchess’s long-fingered delicate hands touched his chest, he let her shove him away, releasing the silky skin of her thigh and taking a few steps back.
His heartbeat was out of control and so was his breathing, and he was so damn angry he wanted to spit tacks. But whether it was at her for kissing him or at himself for nearly losing control, he had no idea. Maybe a bit of both.
He should have seen that kiss coming. Because from the moment they’d walked into the office to find the rest of the Duchess team, plus his stupid fucking brother, all staring at them, he’d known what they were after, the deviant bastards. And with Rush egging them on, of course his hand on Duchess’s hip wasn’t going to be enough.
He just hadn’t expected Duchess to be the one to take the lead.
He hadn’t expected his own reaction to the soft brush her lips, either.
It had been full-on fucking fireworks, like he’d always known it would be, and he’d been hard within seconds.
Then he’d gone and made it infinitely worse by pulling her into her office, pushing her up against the door, and hooking her leg around his hips. Pressing his aching cock to the wet heat between her thighs. Wanting to show her what a bad idea kissing him was and how she was playing with fire.
Except the fire had a backdraft on it that had nearly burned him alive too, and thank fuck she’d shoved at him. Though, he thought he’d seen fear flicker in her eyes just before that had happened and he didn’t like that, not at all. Because he hadn’t seen it when he’d pushed her against the door. No, then he’d seen nothing but blue flames in her eyes. That fear had come a few seconds later, as he’d pressed lightly against her. And it was familiar. In fact, he’d seen the same thing in her eyes when he’d backed her up against the wall outside the door of her apartment.
Shit. Was it him?
They stared at each other for a long second, the shock echoing in the space between them woven through with the fizzing electricity of their physical chemistry.
She was breathing fast and her lovely face was flushed, her blue eyes dark. Then abruptly she looked down, busying herself by smoothing her skirt with shaking hands.
“Did I scare you?” Quinn demanded, his voice far more harsh than he would have liked it. “Because if I did, I’m sorry.”
“No, of course not.” She sounded cool, but he could hear the husky note in the words. “I just don’t appreciate being mauled in my office with my whole team just outside.”
“Mauled? Really?” His heartbeat was wild and his cock was aching, and his temper was hanging by a thread. And he was not here for any accusations, no matter how scared she’d been, because he would never do anything she didn’t want. And he was pretty fucking sure she’d wanted that kiss.
She had the grace to look slightly abashed, glancing away. “That was the wrong word. All I meant was that it’s not appropriate for a workplace.”
Lies. That fear hadn’t been about appropriateness or otherwise. It had been about something else. “Bullshit,” he said brusquely. “You were scared.”
Duchess glanced back at him, nothing but ice in her eyes this time. “You were mistaken.”
He tried to lock down the fire burning inside him. “Why did you kiss me?”
“I had to,” Lily said, as if it was obvious. “My team would only be irritating until they got proof and so I gave it to them. With any luck they’ll let it go now.” The heat had disappeared from her gaze as if it had never been. “You want to look at these emails or not? I’ll need to go start up my computer.”
Duchess made as if to go past him, but he found himself stepping in front of her, bringing her up short.
Her gaze came to his again, widening, and once more he saw a flicker of fear in the depths.
Yeah, there was something about his physical presence that scared her and that made it most certainly to do with him. He knew what it looked like when people were afraid of him; he’d seen it in the skips he picked up in the course of his job, and on the various tours he’d done, in the eyes of the enemy. And in the eyes of civilians too. Civilians who were no strangers to violence, who knew exactly what a powerful man in a uniform and carrying a weapon could do.
A cold sensation stole through him as he stared at her.
Had Duchess come into contact with someone like that in her life? Had they hurt her? Was he seeing the echoes of violence done to her in her eyes? Because yes, that look was horribly familiar. Too familiar.
Deborah had looked at him that way after Charlie Jones had died. And yeah, that had been all his fault, no one else’s. His temper and his impatience, and then his bullet causing the death of an innocent woman. Deb had taken Jack to LA after that, not wanting their son around him and he couldn’t blame her. ‘You’re bad blood, Quinn’, she’d told him, and he hadn’t argued. He’d let her take Jack away, because she was right. He was bad blood.
No wonder Duchess was afraid.
She made as if to step around him. “Now, if we could—”
He wasn’t sure what made him reach out and take her delicate chin in his hand, turn her lovely face toward him, but he did.
“I won’t hurt you, Lily.” He used her name quietly and with purpose. “I would never hurt you.” It felt important to tell her, to make it clear that he was no threat. Once, he might have been, but he wasn’t now.
She went very still and he could feel the the subtle vibration of tension in her slender body, an unreadable expression in her blue eyes. Then her lashes came down and she pulled away from him abruptly, walking over to her desk and then standing there, her back to him, her spine ramrod straight.
Quinn made no move to go to her this time, simply watching her. Tension was pouring off her in waves and he didn’t understand it. Did she not believe him?
“It’s not you,” she said eventually, picking the thought directly out of his head. And he had a moment’s relief, before realizing that if it wasn’t him, then t
hat meant it was something or someone else.
Anger shifted inside him, thick and volcanic, and he had to fight to ignore it. “Then who is it?” he asked into the silence, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“It doesn’t matter.” Her tone was completely uninflected.
“Yeah, it does. You looked at me like I was going to hurt you.” His fingers had unconsciously curled into fists in his pockets, the anger inside him seething away. “So if it wasn’t me who the fuck was it?”
Calm the hell down. You know what happens when you’re on a hair trigger.
Yeah, he did. The results of his temper had been Charlie and a bullet. Deborah taking Jack. Basically every shitty consequence there could ever be.
He gritted his teeth, trying to corral his anger, focussing on Duchess instead, all delicate and slender, and lovely in her soft gray skirt and white blouse.
“I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” she said quietly at last. “And anyway, it’s been handled.” Her tone was absolutely neutral.
“What’s been handled?”
“Drop it, Quinn. Please.”
The way she said that ‘please’ was soft, but he heard the slightly desperate note in it. And perhaps, given his current state, it was best to leave it anyway. There would be plenty of time to think about it later, when things were less fraught. Not that he should be thinking about it at all, not given how Duchess affected him, or how she actually wasn’t his to get protective over anyway.
Yet somehow telling himself all those things didn’t change the seething anger that demanded a target to lash out at.
Maybe he’d ask West for more info. He had a feeling West knew more about Duchess than just about anyone else and if Quinn went about it right, the guy might even tell him.
This has nothing to do with helping her. You should fucking leave it alone.
He definitely should. But he wasn’t going to.
“Okay,” he said in the same neutral tone she’d used. “If you say so.”
The tension in her narrow shoulders released at that and she moved slowly around the desk to her computer. “Good. Okay, so I’ll bring up the emails for you.”
He came over to where she stood bent over the keyboard, his gaze helplessly following the line of her figure, from the soft wisps of blonde hair that gathered at the nape of her neck, to the elegant arch of her spine, to the softly rounded curve of her ass outlined by the skirt she wore.
Christ, he should stop looking. His cock still hadn’t recovered from that fucking kiss, or the way he’d stupidly pressed it between her legs, to the wet heat of her pussy. Her gaze had been wide and dark and shocked, yes, but there’d also been heat in it, too, the sweet scent of feminine musk in the air.
She’d wanted him.
He could have had her against that door. If she hadn’t been afraid.
She’s way more complicated than you thought.
No, that was wrong. He’d always thought she was complicated. But there was even more to her than he’d imagined, which made it imperative that he stay away. He couldn’t afford to get himself tangled up with a woman who affected him as much as Lily Hammond did, not when he’d finally gotten himself and his business on a semi-even keel at least.
“Here.” Duchess stood aside from the screen and gestured to it. “All the emails I’ve received so far.”
Pushing away the remaining shreds of lust, Quinn leaned in, trying to ignore the sweet smell of her perfume as he concentrated on what was on the screen.
A list of emails from someone called IKnowtheTruth14.
“Original handle,” he muttered. “Must have taken him some time to figure that one out.”
“It’s a throwaway address. I tried tracing the IP but I didn’t get anywhere useful.”
Quinn clicked on another email. They were all variations of the same thing, that whoever it was knew the truth about Duchess and if the designated sum of money wasn’t paid into the designated bank account by the designated date, that truth would be disseminated to various law enforcement agencies.
The emails were frustratingly vague about what the ‘truth’ actually was, but they mentioned a file. And if that file was going to law enforcement agencies, then what they had on Duchess had to be evidence of some kind of criminal activity.
Interesting. What kind of criminal activity would that be? What kind of crime would the lovely Duchess have committed? No wonder she didn’t want people to know about it. Still, it was going to mean he needed to get that out of her sooner rather than later. Hopefully sooner.
The emails didn’t give him any other details. They’d been sent pretty regularly, once every couple of weeks and the payments required were eye-watering.
No wonder Duchess had been so distracted and pale the last few months.
“How much money have you got left?” he asked shortly.
“Not much,” she admitted. “Not enough to cover the payment to ensure Rose’s safety.”
Quinn glanced at her. “That demand came as a phone call, yes?”
She nodded.
“So that’s a change in his MO. Previously he sent emails. Any idea why a phone call instead of an email this time?”
“No.”
“And what’s this file he keeps talking about?”
The look on Duchess’s face shuttered. “Nothing I want to talk about now. Suffice to say it’s not something I want people to see.” Her tone was flat - she definitely didn’t to be asked questions about it.
For a second, Quinn debated on whether or not to push her, but then decided not to. At least, not now, not with this electric tension still pulsing between them.
Making a mental note to ask her about it later, he glanced back to the emails and quickly clicked through them all again. There was nothing there to identify who might have sent them, and Duchess had said she hadn’t had any luck IP tracing. He didn’t have enough computer nous himself to do anything further with that himself, but what he did have, however, was an extensive network of contacts. People in the criminal underworld via Rush and out of it, in law enforcement via Ava, Rush’s fiancée, and also the military, via Zane and himself.
He’d sent out a few feelers, get some idea of who might want to hurt Duchess and her business, because of course the owner of a bounty hunting agency would have enemies and plenty of them.
“Forward these on to me,” he said, straightening. “I’ll go over them back at Lone Star.”
“Okay.” The remains of a blush stained the porcelain skin of her cheeks, though the heat in her blue eyes had long gone. “I’m going to stay here for a bit. I want to talk to Rose and I need to do a few other things.”
Quinn narrowed his gaze, sensing a slightly false note in her tone. “Don’t go messing about with this shit on your own, okay? So if these other things include—”
“These other things include having a break from you,” Duchess interrupted, the look on her face as honest as he’d ever seen it. “Will that be a problem?”
Ah. Shit.
“Duchess,” he began, to say what he had no fucking idea.
But she only shook her head. “It’s been a hell of a couple of days, Quinn. I just…need some time to think about it all. When I’ve finished here, I’ll come direct to Lone Star, okay?”
You could do with some distance yourself.
Yeah, maybe they could both use some breathing space. He needed to get a plan together anyway and to do that, he needed a few more pieces of information.
Information that would be easier to get without Duchess around.
“Fine,” he said. “But you’re going to head straight there after you’ve finished here, right?”
She nodded then looked down at her desk, reaching out to straighten a few papers. “Yes.”
“And you’ll contact me straight away if you get any more weird calls?”
“Of course.”
He gave her one long, narrow look that she met steadily, then wit
hout another word he turned and went to the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the main Duchess reception area.
There appeared to be a lot of people milling around who were suddenly very interested in whatever it was that they were doing.
Quinn glowered at the room. Rush was nowhere to be seen, which was probably just as well since he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from giving his brother a well deserved punch in the face.
West was standing by Rose’s desk, his hand on the back of her chair as he bent over, watching something on her screen.
Good. Just the man he wanted to speak to.
Quinn started in his direction, marking the former Marine’s glance of suspicion as he got closer.
West was a big, rough, blunt guy, with closely cropped blonde hair and gray eyes the color of a knife blade. Quinn might not like the prick, but West was a protector through and through, and Quinn did respect the hell out of that.
“Got a minute?” he asked brusquely as he paused beside the desk.
Rose looked up at him in surprise, her blonde curls bouncing. “Me?”
“No. Your bodyguard here.”
West straightened to his full height — which was considerable, though not, Quinn noted, as tall as he was himself — not hiding his dislike in the slightest. “Not sure,” he said, threat coating each word. “I got a lot of things to do.”
“Make some time then.” Quinn flicked a meaningful glance at Duchess’s office door. “Concerns your interests.”
There was a pause.
“What interests?” Rose demanded, looking at each man, a frown marring her pretty forehead. “This is about Lily isn’t it?”
Quinn didn’t look at her, holding West’s belligerent gaze, instead. “Yeah, and your sister wants a word with you, too.”
“About goddamn time.” Rose got to her feet. “I have a few words for her as well.”
“What do you want?” West demanded once Rose had vanished into Duchess’s office. “If this is about Duchess—”
“It’s about Duchess,” Quinn cut him off flatly. “But not in public. Got somewhere else we can talk?”
Rhys was lounging on one of the reception area’s armchairs, flicking through a woman’s magazine of all things, apparently absorbed. Only a fool would think the ex-hitman wasn’t listening to every word that was being said, though. And the same went for Nora, the small blonde bounty hunter who was sitting on the other armchair, her attention on her phone.
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