by Elle Kennedy
Quinn slid his hands underneath her body, cupping her firm ass and lifting her so he could get deeper. But it wasn’t deep enough. He wanted more, wanted all of her, wanted to bury himself so deep inside her and never come out. The all-consuming need startled the hell out of him. He tried battling it, pushing it away, but then Morgan wrapped her legs around him, dug her heels into his buttocks and he gave up fighting.
With a groan, he pumped harder, Morgan’s breathy moans egging him on, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. And when he felt her muscles squeeze and contract, when he heard her cry of release, he promptly toppled right over that cliff. Pleasure seized his spine, searing a path to his groin and unleashing a climax so ridiculously powerful he lost the ability to breathe.
Gasping, he jerked inside her, burying his face against her neck. Her sweet feminine scent brought another spark of pleasure, her tight inner muscles milking him dry until he let out a hoarse breath and finally went sti
Christ. What just happened? The sex between them had always been good, but this…this was mind-blowing. He tried chalking it up to the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in two years, but he knew it was so much more than that.
It was Morgan.
Damn it, it had always been—and always would be—Morgan.
“Why haven’t you been with anyone since we broke up?”
Her quiet voice sliced through his thoughts, and for a moment he wondered if she was a mind reader. No, she was just way too intuitive for her own good.
He withdrew gently and got rid of the condom, then slid up into an upright position and rested his head against the headboard. “Didn’t have the time,” he said lightly.
She sat up, too, wrapping the sheet around her body. The knowing glimmer in her eyes unsettled him. “You’re lying again.”
Quinn shrugged. “I guess I just never met anyone who interested me enough.” He quickly turned the tables, anxious to get out of the hot seat. “Why haven’t you been with another man?”
“I don’t want another man,” she said simply, meeting his eyes. “I’ve never wanted anyone but you, Quinn.”
His throat went dry. He swallowed a few times, bringing much-needed moisture to his mouth. He’d intended to respond with a reminder that she shouldn’t get attached to him again, but what came out was, “You never call me Adam.”
Morgan looked startled. “What?”
Discomfort crept up his spine like ivy. “You don’t call me by my first name. Your father does, but he uses it to patronize me, or at least that’s what it seems like. But you…” He cleared his throat. “You never use it.”
She tucked her messy hair behind her ears and shot him an earnest look. “When we first met you told me you didn’t like people using your given name.”
You’re not people, he wanted to say, but bit back the words. He had no idea where this was all coming from. He’d never given much thought to the fact that she called him Quinn. The only person who’d ever called him Adam had been his mother, the woman who abandoned him in front of a bank when he was five years old never to be heard from again. His father, who took off the year before his mother’s departure, had called him “kid.” Everyone after that just used his last name. Quit fighting in school, Quinn. Clean your goddamn room, Quinn. His foster parents had never addressed him as anything else, and over the years the name stuck.
So why did it suddenly annoy him to hear it from Morgan?
“I wish you didn’t hate your name so much,” she added, reaching out and touching his arm. “It’s a great name.”
He swallowed again. “It brings back some crappy memories, that’s all.”
“Do you want me to stop calling you Quinn?”
Her bewilderment increased his uneasiness. With a shrug, he swung his le around and hopped off the bed. “No, forget I said anything. I think I’m still half-asleep.”
He could feel her blue eyes focused on him as he retrieved his boxers and drew them up to his hips. Her confusion—and fascination—hung in the air, but he didn’t say another word on the subject. He walked over to the window and parted the curtains, letting the pale morning sun stream into the room.
“Let’s go make that coffee,” he said gruffly.
Morgan nodded and slid out of bed, bending down to pick up her discarded shorts and tank top. He admired her lithe, curvy body as she dressed, wanting to kiss her but knowing it was probably a good idea if he kept his distance. Kissing her, touching her, would only send them right back between the covers.
He pulled his jeans over his boxers, left them unbuttoned. He didn’t bother with a shirt, just followed her out of the room, his chest and feet bare. Morgan walked ahead of him, and he could tell from the slight tilt of her head she was still running their conversation over in her mind. Trying to figure out what the heck he’d been babbling about just now, no doubt.
Smothering a sigh, he trailed after her, surprising her—and himself—when he reached for her hand. She glanced at him for a brief second, puzzled, then laced her fingers through his and descended the steps. Neither of them spoke, but the silence was comfortable, even welcome.
The moment they reached the foot of the stairs, however, a startled curse broke through that silence.
Quinn swiveled his head just in time to see Morgan’s brother Tony enter the foyer from the living room doorway. The other man’s eyes, the same shade of blue as his sister’s, widened at the sight of them.
Tony looked from Quinn’s bare chest, to Morgan’s skimpy night wear, to their intertwined fingers, and said, “What the hell is going on here?”
Chapter 13
Oh, brother. Literally. Morgan attempted to look calm and nonchalant as she met her brother’s gaze, but within seconds, his disapproving blue eyes brought an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. She was a grown woman, yet under Tony’s scrutiny she felt like a kid getting reamed out by her big brother.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, letting go of Quinn’s hand.
“I came to check up on you. I was worried,” her brother re plied. His eyes became chilly. “But it looks like you’re doing just fine.”
She walked toward him, the marble floor like ice beneath her bare feet. Quinn followed her, hesitating for a moment before extending his hand toward her brother. “Hey, Tony, it’s good to see you.”
With obvious reluctance, Tony reached out and shook Quinn’s hand then crossed his arms over his chest. Uh-oh, he had that stern, big-brother look in his eyes, which was almost comical, considering there was nothing stern about his appearance. He stood at a height of five-eleven, with a lanky frame and sandy-blond hair cut in a short, no-nonsense style. In his perfectly pressed kha and sky-blue windbreaker, Tony looked like he belonged at a yacht club. He was so very different from Quinn, whose thick morning stubble and unruly dark hair gave him a lethal air.
“So it looks like I’m interrupting,” Tony said, shifting uncomfortably.
Morgan managed a smile. “Not at all. We were about to make a pot of coffee.”
“Why don’t I go do that, while you two get dressed,” Tony offered, a slight edge to his voice.
“Sounds great,” she replied with fake cheerfulness. “Come on, Quinn.”
They headed up the stairs, each to their respective floors. In her bedroom, Morgan took a lightning-quick shower, washing away the remnants of this morning’s passion. She towel-dried her hair, then grabbed a pair of black trousers and a gray V-neck sweater from the walk-in closet and got dressed in a hurry.
Tony’s visit was not going to be fun. Despite his claim that he’d been worried about her, she was fairly certain their father sent him to spy on her. And Tony was always ready to cater to the senator’s whims. Sometimes she wondered where their close bond had come from. When they were kids, Tony had been closer to their mother. Idolized her, in fact. And although Morgan knew her mother loved her, Patricia favored her firstborn, and the two had shared a strong connection.
After her mom died, Tony had been inco
nsolable. He’d mourned her for months, letting his grades slip, withdrawing from his friends. He kept saying how their mother left him, how he was alone now, and it took him a long time to get over the loss. Apparently the senator helped him do that, because a year after Patricia passed, Tony seemed to transfer all his affection to their dad.
And Morgan, as usual, was the odd woman out. Stubborn, passionate, liberal and completely different from everyone else in the family, her late mother included.
She’d just buttoned up her slacks when a buzzing noise sounded from the door. It came from the intercom mounted on the wall, and when she walked over, she saw the button that connected to the kitchen was flashing. She pushed it and said, “I’m on my way down.”
“Better hurry, coffee’s getting cold,” Tony’s voice crackled back.
She couldn’t help but smile as she left the room. When they were kids, she and Tony had a lot of fun with that intercom. It connected to every room in the house, and they used to go into opposite wings and have long, pointless conversations. Then they’d figured out that if you left a button pushed, the intercom stayed on, and they started eavesdropping on their parents, until their father finally caught on to what they were doing. Since then, the senator never entered a room without making sure the intercom wasn’t on and relaying his conversations to the rest of the house.
Morgan headed for the kitchen, where she found her brother leaning against the black marble counter and sipping on a cup of coffee. Two other mugs sat on the counter, and he gestured to one. “I made it how you like it.”
“Thanks.” She crossed the pristine tiled floor and picked up the cup, breathing in the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. She took a slow sip, letting the hot liquid slide down her throat, then made a sound of appreciation. “Oh, caffeine, how could I without you?”
For the first time since he showed up, Tony cracked a genuine smile. “You need to cut down. You drink way too much coffee.”
She rounded the counter and plopped down on one of the tall stools, still sipping away. “Maybe one day.” She grinned. “I was just thinking about how we used to spy on Dad with the intercom.”
Tony laughed. “Oh, man, that was fun. Remember when we heard him talking to his publicist about whether he should start using Rogaine?”
She couldn’t fight a giggle. “That was great. But then you made that comment about baldness at dinner and he figured out what we were doing. Way to spoil our fun, big brother.”
Tony laughed again, then, holding his cup between both palms, tilted his head thoughtfully. “So…what’s going on with you and Quinn?”
A sigh lodged in her throat. She pushed it down with another gulp of coffee. “Nothing serious,” she said vaguely.
“Didn’t look that way out in the hall.”
Morgan set down her mug and met her brother’s gaze. “Why are you really here, Tony?”
“I came to see if you were all right,” he said, sincerity ringing in his voice. “And I wanted to see if I could help you figure out what happened to Layla.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Since when do you care about the case?”
“I didn’t like what you said, about me hating Layla,” he admitted, suddenly looking sad. “She might have annoyed me when we were younger, but I never hated her. She was just my kid sister’s pesky friend. And I really am sorry she was killed, Mor.”
“I know.” She ignored a stab of guilt. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of hating her. You hit the nail on the head—I was lashing out.”
Tony grinned. “Told you so.”
She rolled her eyes. “You deserved it.”
The sound of footsteps came from the hall and a moment later Quinn strode into the kitchen. Morgan immediately experienced a healthy rush of lust when she saw him. Denim encased his long legs, and the black long-sleeve shirt he wore stretched across his broad chest. His hair was wet and slicked back from his face. He hadn’t shaved though. Dark stubble dotted his strong jaw, reminding Morgan of the delicious way those whiskers had scraped over her flesh.
She lowered her head before he noticed the flush on her face, but Quinn never missed a thing. His hot gaze pierced her, and when she gathered the courage to lift her head and meet his eyes, the sheer lust she saw in them made her choke on her coffee. Coughing, she set her mug down on the counter.
“You okay?” Quinn said, his voice casual.
“Yeah, it just went down the wrong tube, that’s all,” she lied.
Quinn smothered a laugh, knowing exactly where Morgan’s train of thought had taken her. She looked flustered and unbelievably cute, but he recovered quickly. As he accepted the cup Tony offered him, Morgan waited until her brother’s head was turned to shoot Quinn a lazy, self-assured smile. Then she swept her tongue along her top lip and suddenly Quinn didn’t feel like laughing anymore.
Awareness sizzled in his blood. He broke the eye contact be fore his body could respond to Morgan’s sensual tease.
Leaning against the counter, he found Tony staring at him warily. He stared right back, until Tony finally offered a sheepish grin. “Sorry I acted like an ass out there, Quinn. My protective brotherly instincts kicked in.”
“No harm done,” Quinn answered.
“So,” Tony began, tapping his fingers against the counter, “have you guys made any progress in the case?”
“No,” Morgan confessed.
She quickly told him about their visit to the M.E.’s office and the autopsy report. Tony didn’t seem optimistic about either. “Sounds like you have nothing,” he said wearily. He paused. “Are you sure it wasn’t Jake? He was the last person to see her alive.”
“I know.” She stuck her chin out glumly. “But I don’t think it’s him, Tony. Jake’s a hothead, sure, but he has no motive. He and Layla had already been broken up, and if I remember correctly, neither of them seemed too upset about it.”
“Maybe he was upset,” Tony countered. “But just didn’t show it.” He glanced at Quinn. “What do you think?”
“I’m inclined to agree with your sister. I was there last night when Jake denied it, and the denial didn’t trigger my bullshit alarm.”
Morgan slid off the stool and picked up her coffee mug. “Quinn and I were going to look over the files again, see if anything jumps out. You could help if you’d like.”
Tony nodded. “Sure.”
“I’ll go get them.”
Morgan left the kitchen, returning a few moments later with the files. As she dropped the stack of papers on the huge cedar table on the other side of the kitchen, she shot her brother a sideways glance. “How’s Caroline?”
Tony’s features softened. “She’s great.”
They drifted over to the table, while Tony offered a few details about his new girlfriend, who apparently worked at a rival advertising agency.
“We hated each other at first,” Tony said with a grin. “I thought she was trying to steal one of our clients.”
“I’m glad you gave her a chance,” Morgan said as she sat down. “It’s nice to see you in a relationship.”
“It’s nice to be in one.” Tony smiled again, then reached for one of the reports in the pile. “All right, should we get started?”
They pored over the files for the next hour, until Quinn’s eyes started hurting from staring at the small black print. He skimmed the autopsy report again and came up with nothing. Perused the interview with Layla’s parents, nothing. Read Jake’s statement, nothing. And yet despite the absolute lack of clues, something bugged him about the reports. He read Jake’s interview again, then picked up the one with Layla’s folks, and although the nagging feeling in the back of his brain persisted, he couldn’t bring whatever it was to the forefront.
He scratched his chin. “Something’s bugging me but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Morgan glanced at the file in his hand. “Layla’s parents?”
He nodded.
She chewed on her bottom lip. “The last time Mort and Wendy saw t
heir daughter was that morning, before she left for school. I talked to them, and I think they genuinely had no idea what happened.”
“Yeah, but…” Quinn glanced at the paper again, just as Tony’s hand reached for it.
“Mind if I take a look?” Tony asked. “I haven’t read this one yet.”
Quinn handed over the file and glanced back at Morgan, whose forehead was furrowed in a frown. “Why can’t we find a single lead?” she said in frustration.
Quinn sighed. “Because there’s nothing here. All we know is that ten years ago Layla went into the woods, either to meet someone or to go for a run, and she never came out. When she disappeared, the police searched every inch of the woods and found nothing. They talked to everyone in town, found nothing.”
“He’s right, there’s nothing here,” Tony said, setting down the report. He directed a sympathetic look in his sister’s direction. “I don’t think you’re going to solve this case, Morgan.”
She bit her lip again. “I have to. I owe it to Layla.”
Neither man said anything.
Quinn finally let out a breath. “Like I said before, I think we need to focus on whoever ran you off the bridge. That trail is hotter than this one.”
“Let’s go to the bridge then,” she announced. Her chair scraped the tiled floor as she pushed it back, standing up in determination.
“Now?” Quinn said warily.
“Now.”
She had that look in her eyes that said not even a speeding train rushing toward her could stop her from plowing ahead. Quinn glanced at Tony, who looked slightly amused.
“Now it is,” Quinn said, rising from his chair.
Quinn stood a short distance from Morgan and watched as she peered down at the river in frustration. The bridge was on the other side of town, hovering over Grace River, a small body of water with a mild current. The bridge was wide, with two wooden railings on each side. Steel would have been a better choice, Quinn mused. Steel would probably have stopped Morgan’s car from going over. Wood broke.