by Reid, Penny
I nodded. “Okay.”
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes growing wide. “Okay?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t help my smile, nor could I stop two fat tears from rolling down my cheeks. “Yes, Quinn Sullivan, I will marry you. I will become your wife.”
He stared at me for a moment, his blue eyes filling with the wonder and softness that usually concerned me, but in the current situation made me feel like I was flying.
Then I felt the impulse to add and clarify, just in case there was any question, “This also means that you’ll be my husband. We’ll be married… to each other.”
His face split with one of his rarely used and extremely dazzling wide smiles.
It took my breath away.
Then he literally took my breath away when he grabbed me and kissed me.
I was on his lap, the hem of my dress nowhere near appropriate levels of modesty. His mouth was fierce, hungry, and I felt both his relief and possessiveness in his kisses. They were deep, adamant, greedy. Likewise, his hands were all over me, or at least felt that way. One was on my upper thigh then in my hair, then pressing firmly against the center of my back, then flexing on my bottom under my dress. I got the impression he wanted to touch me everywhere at once.
I was being thoroughly and unequivocally claimed.
The less than subtle insistence of his fingers gripping and tugging my underwear alerted me to the precariousness of our situation and current surroundings.
I pulled my mouth from his and moved my head to the side, tucked against his neck. My breathing was understandably heavy when I gasped, “Quinn.”
He answered my gasp with a growl, kissing then biting my neck, his fingers still hooked in my panties. “Take these off.”
“Wait, wait, wait-”
“Take them off or I’ll rip them off.”
“Guh.” Was my response, because the arousal fog was back, and I was losing my grip on caring about my surroundings. I was entering the territory of only caring about getting his pants off.
The last thing that happened before I was pulled under, beyond caring or shame, and engaging in a scandalously explicit semi-public display of affection, was my underwear being torn in two by the very happy, very domineering, and very soon to be my husband, Quinn Sullivan.
Part II
The Engagement
Chapter Four
*Quinn*
I wanted to touch her, but I didn’t want to wake her up. Not yet.
Without premeditation, I reached for and carefully pulled her left hand away from her body. She was holding it close and tucked under her chin.
The clock on the side of the bed told me it was just before 5:30 a.m. Heavy curtains blocked most of the pale, early sunlight, but the beginning of a gray morning still filtered in, filling the room of our suite just enough to make everything visible. I had a meeting at 9:00 a.m. and needed to get up and moving if the day’s schedule was going to proceed as planned.
Instead, I continued to stare at her.
Janie is cute when she sleeps. More accurately, she is fucking adorable.
I’ve studied her enough to memorize her face. Her eyelashes and eyebrows are a shade darker than her hair, and they flutter just before she wakes up. Every so often, she scrunches her nose as if the light freckles on her pale skin tickle her while she sleeps.
She is a quiet sleeper; even her breathing is silent. The first time we slept together, in Vegas, she was so motionless and quiet that I’d checked her neck for a pulse.
Her hair is a mess. She says it’s like curling snakes. I agree. They reach out in every direction. I’ve been pulled out of sleep more than once by a mouthful of her hair, and I’ve come around to her way of thinking, that her hair has a mind of its own.
She once told me that there were four independent, sentient beings in our relationship: her, me, her hair, and my eyes.
I reluctantly moved my attention from her face to her left hand, now held in mine. I rubbed the skin around the gold and ruby ring with my thumb. The band was thick, substantial, and the ruby was huge.
Elizabeth was right about the ring. It was perfect.
Seeing it on Janie’s finger and feeling the weight of it there was tremendously satisfying. Giving the woman you’re going to marry an outrageously expensive ring to mark her as your own was genius. Women probably thought they were the winners of tradition in this scenario. They were wrong.
Men were the winners, because the prize wasn’t the ring. The prize was the woman.
The engagement hadn’t gone according to my original plan. It went better. Every guy is nervous when he proposes to his girl. If he isn’t nervous then he’s a fool, or he’s not in love.
Proposing is like giving someone your dick and a sharp knife, then waiting to see what they do next.
So, yeah, I was nervous. The original plan called for getting her drunk before proposing. This wasn’t ideal, but I’d been prepared to do what was necessary to secure a yes.
I was trying to be romantic, and she kept bringing the conversation back to beheadings, suffering, and patricide. No one wants to give a girl his dick and a sharp knife, especially not when she keeps talking about torture.
She was frustrating. She was driving me crazy. She was ruining my plans.
The first glimmer of hope came when she saw the ring among the Crown Jewels. She pointed it out to me. Of the rings, it was also the one I liked the best.
Then, the medieval device room, the rack, and tying her up….
God bless Janie’s insatiable curiosity.
Yeah, yeah—I know. I’m not a good guy. I try to be, for her. I want to be worthy of her brain and heart. I want to deserve her trust and admiration.
But I’m still selfish, especially about Janie. I’d like to say I’m working on it. I’m not. Not really. But she doesn’t seem to mind, so I’m just going to go with it.
After all, she’s wearing my ring, right?
I approve wholeheartedly of expensive jewelry. In fact, the bigger the better. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have given her a 24-karat gold necklace that read Property of Quinn Sullivan.
But I didn’t think she’d go for that.
I also don’t think of her that way—as property—but I do think of her as belonging to me, because I belong to her.
I belong to her, and I am completely screwed, because I want her ownership. I want her to use me. I want to give her everything. I wouldn’t have a problem getting a tattoo that reads Property of Janie Sullivan.
I smiled, blinking once as I thought about the realization. But my devotion was an affirmation more than an epiphany.
She wouldn’t want me to do that. She wouldn’t want me to get a tattoo about her. Sometimes her selflessness was exasperating, but it was also fucking adorable.
Janie stirred and I loosened my grip on her hand. She immediately tucked it back under her chin. Her legs straightened, stretched under the covers. She snuggled into the pillow.
She shifted to her side and back; the covers slipped and exposed one of her perfect breasts. I held my breath and tugged the covers even lower to expose the hidden twin. She settled again, her lips slightly parted. I watched her bare chest rise and fall with her silent breath, and stifled a groan.
She was no longer fucking adorable. She was now sexy as fuck.
I gritted my teeth, reached down, and gripped the morning stiffness between my legs, glanced at the ring on her finger.
After last night’s events—ripping off her underwear, inadvertent and frantic tent-sex, her embarrassment during dinner, making out in the limo, then making love in the shower before collapsing on the bed—my first instinct this morning was to wake her up with my mouth between her legs.
I studied her and recognized signs of fatigue. I’d kept her up late, and we’d been very active. She needed time to recuperate. We had a meeting today with a corporate client. She needed her rest. I knew she didn’t like having to take three guards with her everywher
e she went. It was wearing her down, but we were far from my base of operations, so I considered it necessary.
My influence in Europe is limited, unlike how it is in the States. The presence of three guards might be overkill. I don’t care. I need her safe. If I can’t be with her every minute of the day, it gives me peace of mind that she is well protected.
She is mine to protect, and I will do the right thing: I will let her sleep.
I closed my eyes to augment my resolve. If I kept looking at her, thinking about her, smelling her, then I’d likely ignore my newly found conscience and have her for breakfast.
Moving silently, I got up, dressed, and grabbed my gym bag. I gave her a kiss on her cheek before I left.
Kissing her was a mistake.
I was still hard when I left the room. I needed to stop thinking about her lying naked in our bed. If I kept thinking about her, and how she had excitedly told me about Roman stone work and hundred-carat diamonds while tied to the rack, I wouldn’t make it to the elevator.
So I thought about restitution. I asked her about restitution last night because I wanted to see what she would say.
Something Janie and I have in common is that we both look at the world and see black and white, right and wrong, good and bad.
I look at myself and see black. I see wrong, bad. When I look at her, I see white. I see right, good.
Shades of gray are for idiots, assholes, cowards, and politicians (which, again, idiots, assholes, and cowards).
She isn’t perfect. No one is perfect. But she never knowingly hurts people. I do. Or, more accurately, I used to.
I need to believe in restitution. I have to believe in penance. I don’t have a choice. If I don’t believe, then I am screwed. My brother is dead because of me; my parents blame me; I blame myself.
Getting revenge didn’t help.
Janie helped.
Maybe restitution would help.
I’m not a saint, and I don’t think I’ll ever get there, but Janie deserves better than a sinner.
* * *
The gym was empty when I arrived. I checked the closets, cabinets, exits, and perimeter before setting up the high frequency audio pulse (what my company had patented under the nickname the Bug Smasher). I set it for fifteen seconds, left, closed the door behind me, and gave the pulse adequate time to disable any listening or video devices within the room.
Thirty seconds later, I re-entered the gym, packed up the Bug Smasher, claimed the best treadmill of the three, and hooked my headset to my ear before setting my pace. I set the machine to a ten-minute warm-up. Then I called Dan.
His phone rang five times before he picked up.
“Someone better be dead or horny.”
“Good morning, Dan.”
“You’re seriously calling me at five-fucking-fifty in the morning?”
I glanced at my watch. “Sorry, are you on vacation?”
“Wait, are you on the treadmill? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—please don’t tell me you left Janie to go run on a treadmill? What happened to your dick, Quinn? Did they confiscate it at customs? I can’t think of another straight man who would leave all that a-”
“You didn’t give me a report yesterday.” I thought about the previous day, remembered that Dan took Pete’s place guarding Janie last night. “Anything I should know? Why’d you replace Pete?”
“Oh, that. We thought some guy was tailing her. Pete called it in. I replaced him so he could follow up. Turns out the guy was a nobody, some banker. Thought she was pretty, wanted to ask her out for a drink.”
“Did he approach her?”
“No. Pete interceded and took him for a walk. I think you’re driving her crazy with all the guards.”
“I know. But I want her to be safe.”
“Do you know something that I don’t?” I guessed that Dan was referring to the Wickfords. They were the primary private account that we were offloading during this visit.
The Wickfords were idiots, assholes, and cowards.
During the handoff meetings, they’d made veiled threats about undermining my credibility with corporate clients. I wasn’t expecting the temper tantrums.
But they weren’t violent, which was probably why Dan was questioning my compulsion to have a team of three guards following Janie everywhere she went.
“No. You know everything. I just want her safe.” I glanced at the display panel. I still had eight minutes left in my warm-up pace of six miles per hour. “Anything else happen?”
“Not on the ground. I have a few items as part of the daily status update. Speaking of, how are the negotiations going with the Wickfords?” He finally came out and asked.
I grimaced and thought about how to answer without using only expletives. “Better yesterday than the day before.”
Extracting my company from the private security business had proven challenging over the past four months. In other words, it was a pain in the ass.
Powerful families were like spoiled children; they required coddling and didn’t respond well to change.
“Those people are a piece of work,” Dan said. “Do you remember three years ago when I assigned myself to the grandson because he kept having accidents and run-ins with the O’Toole crew? That prick wanted us to get him hookers.”
“I remember,” I said.
“You should have dropped the family then.”
“They pay well.”
“Yeah, they’re also assholes. I’m glad you’re cutting all the families loose.”
“So you’ve said.” The treadmill display told me I had another five minutes.
“So, the Wickfords don’t like their replacement security? Is that the deal?”
“That’s part of it. The other issue is they’re nervous about all the intel we’ve gathered over the years.”
Dan chuckled. “They should be. They all should be.”
“They want assurances.”
“They can kiss my ass.” Unlike me, Dan hadn’t shed his south Boston neighborhood accent. This sounded more like Dey kin kiss ma a-a-se.
I agreed, but I didn’t need to make enemies, not with some of the world’s richest families. “They’ll come around. Let’s talk about tomorrow.”
“Right. Tomorrow night. The party, the shindig thing. You, Janie, Steven, and me are all on the guest list. They’ve approved our security detail, finally. Nothing like waiting till the last bloody minute.”
“And you’ve looked over the guest list.” I stated this rather than asking.
“Of course, they’ve been cross checked. A few previous clients will be in attendance, mostly nothing to worry about.”
“Mostly?”
Dan hesitated, then he let out a weary sigh. “Remember Damon Parducci? The guy who drugged Janie in Chicago at the Outlandish club—or whatever the hell that stupidass place is called. His parents will be there. And they’re still unhappy about you ending their contract after that mess. Damon’s sentencing is next month, and all signs point to maximum prison time.”
I grunted. My blood pressure spiked, but I kept my tone even. “That little fucker got what he deserved. He had the coke in his possession; we just tipped the cops as to when and where. I told them we weren’t in the business of protecting rapists and drug dealers, even before what happened to Janie.”
“I know. I just thought you should know, be prepared. Also….” Dan sighed. Again.
“What is it?” I was down to thirty seconds.
“Niki Kenner is going to be there.”
I blinked at the display, trying to place the name. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“You banged her in Los Angeles for a coupla weeks a few years ago. Then she went apeshit and made the rest of the month out there hell.”
I grimaced. That bitch was crazy. “Maybe we won’t go.”
“No. You have to go. At least ten of our corporate liaisons will be there, including the Grinsham corporate account. I know you and Janie are meeting with the security l
iaison today, but you know how these Brits are. They want to see you socially before they trust you and they know you’re on the list. It’s the main reason for this trip.”
He was right. “Maybe I won’t take Janie.”
“Take Janie. She’ll make you look good. And it’ll look weird if she’s not there after they meet her today during the specs meeting. She’s good for business. And when she’s not making you look good, she can make me look short…and good.”
“No, no…I don’t want—”
“Yes, yes. You don’t have to say it again. Steven and I are tired of hearing it. You don’t want our extraction from the private clients impacting her in any way. I know this already. She’ll have a good time. It’ll just be a charity party thing for her. She’ll get to dress up and shit.”
I grunted again. “I’m serious.”
“You’re always serious.”
“I have to go. We’ll go over the daily status report after my meeting this afternoon. I want to know what’s happening with Watterson.”
“No change with Senator Watterson, and it’s fine to go over the rest of the report later. Things are pretty quiet anyway. I’m going back to sleep.”
My time was up. I was already a full minute over my warm up, but I had one more thing on my mind.
I needed to ask Dan to be my best man. I briefly thought about waiting until I could do it in person. I decided against that. Better to just ask and get it out of the way.
“One more thing.” I took a deep breath, cleared my throat. “We’re engaged.” Then I added unnecessarily, “We’re getting married.”
Without missing a beat, Dan responded. “That’s great. Do I know him? Was it everything you dreamed it would be?”
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up, asshole.”
“Did he get down on one knee?”
“Dan….”
“Both knees? Wow. You’re lucky.”
I cracked a smile and shook my head. “I’m hanging up now, douchebag.”
“Does he know you’re not a virgin?”
“Keep talking, fuckface. You’re going on knitting group duty when we get back.”