Start Me Up

by Victoria Dahl

  Quinn dropped her purse and lifted Lori onto the hood of the car. He fit himself between her legs, and pulled her snug against his growing erection.

  Oh, Christ, that felt good. Lori seemed to think so, too, if he was reading her little whimper correctly, but he wasn’t thinking straight, so maybe it wasn’t—

  She thrust her hands beneath his jacket, tugged up his shirt and stroked her palms up his back. Yes, definitely good.

  Her tongue sliding over his, her breath hitching, her sex pressing the perfect pressure against his dick…It was all sublime. Beautiful. He sucked gently at her bottom lip, memorizing the texture before he kissed his way over to the sweet curve of her neck.

  Lord, she tasted good. Clean and simple, no scent except her skin. Her breath was a rushing beneath his mouth, so loud he could feel it as he sucked and kissed.

  “Oh,” she gasped. “I don’t—”

  She broke into silence when he rocked against her sex. He wanted her to feel how hard he was, needed her to know what she did to him. Her muscles jerked when he nipped beneath her ear.

  “Quinn! I don’t think…Oh, God, that feels good.”

  He dragged his mouth all the way down her neck to press his teeth to her collarbone.

  “Oh! We need to go somewhere. Not here. We need…” Her body stiffened enough that even in his haze of pleasure, Quinn registered it. “Wait, what did you say?” she asked.

  He shook his head. He’d been too busy relishing the texture of her skin against his tongue to say a word. Raising a hand, he cupped the soft mound of her breast, then licked up her neck to her jawline.

  Her fingers dug into his back as her knees opened farther.

  Yes. That was better. He was cradled by her thighs now, her sex the perfect concavity to hold his hardness.

  “Quinn.”

  “Yes,” he answered. Yes, yes, yes. She shivered and began to arch her neck back, but that shock of tension raced through her again, and she sat up straight. He felt the tight hold of her fingers in his hair just before she pulled him back. When he opened his heavy eyes, Lori was staring him down with a surprising lack of warmth.

  “Did you say we weren’t going to have sex tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why would you say something like that?”

  The world began to lose its smoky haze, and Quinn suddenly registered that he was halfway to having sex with Lori right here. In public. On top of a car.

  He smoothed her skirt back down toward her knees. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

  Lori crossed her arms and glared, but he got distracted from her anger by the way her arms pushed her breasts up. The lacy edge of a black bra peeked above the linen.

  “Quinn Jennings!” She slid off the car and forced him back.

  “I’m sorry. What…? Um, right. No sex.”

  “You’re telling me we’re not having sex?”

  “Yes.”

  “First of all, you’re not the one to decide whether or not we have sex. Secondly—”

  Quinn shook his head. “Sorry, darlin’, but you hired me for this project, and I need to do all the research before we get started.”

  “I…You…” she sputtered. “I did not hire you!”

  God, she was adorable. “You’re too easy to tease, Lori.”

  Her lips tightened until they nearly disappeared. “I may be unarmed right now, but I want you to be very aware that I have access to lots—” she poked his chest “—and lots—” another poke “—of heavy machinery.”

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into his arms. “Don’t be mad. I want to have sex with you. Tonight. Now. In that dark alley right there while un-suspecting people walk past. I want to push up your dress and pull down your panties…Are you wearing panties, by the way?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good, because I want to tug them off and slip my fingers inside you while you try to keep from screaming. And while you—”

  “Yes,” she insisted. “Now.”

  “No.” He tried to keep the sorrow from his voice. “you wanted a—”

  “Look, buddy, this is what I hired you for, so let’s get to it.”

  Quinn laughed, though he kept a close eye on her fisted hands as he chuckled. “No, the deal is that you get a torrid affair. Not a one-night quickie.”

  “So we’ll do it again tomorrow.” Her jaw inched out in frustration when he only shook his head. “I am not going to beg you.”

  Quinn grabbed the book from his jacket and tapped the cover. “Depends what I read in here.”

  She finally hit him then. Her knuckles bit into his shoulder with surprising force. “Ow!”

  She muttered, “Sorry,” without much enthusiasm.

  “Okay, all joking aside…You said yourself that you want something more than what you’ve had before. That’s a lot to put on one man, especially a man who doesn’t get out much. So the least you can do is trust me on this. It’ll be better if you wait.”

  “If I wait?”

  Stubborn girl. “We’re talking about you here. What you want. What you need.”

  She stared him down as if she was searching for a sign of truth in his eyes. As the seconds passed, her face lost a bit of its frustration. “You really wanted to do it, too? Just now?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Her curls bounced with her nod. “Fine. I can wait then. How long?”

  “Not fucking long. I’m no martyr.”

  “Good.”

  Apparently she wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, because Lori sealed the deal with a kiss that curled his toes and drew his fingers up into fists. The taste of her hit him again, as if it were the first time.

  Quinn knew right then that he was about to have the best summer of his life.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THIS WAS THE WORST DAY she’d had in months. The worst day since her father died.

  Lori tossed a disgusted glance toward the cuckoo clock her dad had hung in the garage. Nearly five o’clock.

  She was relieved one of the mechanics had ripped the bird out long before. If it were still there, Lori would have picked up a sledgehammer as soon as it showed its ugly face. Unbelievable how a clock could take its sweet time ticking away the hours.

  But she was almost to the end of the day now. In three minutes the broken perch would emerge from the door with a sick squeal of gears. Then Esteban would come by to pick up the keys of the tow truck for the night calls, Joe would pack up his things, and even Lori would be nearly free. Only one customer scheduled to pick up, and he would be here by five-thirty.

  Not bothering to stifle her sigh, Lori wiped her arm across her forehead to catch the sweat before she turned back to the lug nuts of the left rear tire and pushed as hard as she could against the wrench.

  She hated rotating tires above all else. It was boring work—and for her, heavy—and it didn’t satisfy her need to take something broken and make it purr again. Tire rotations were even more tedious than oil changes. At least with the oil, you could see the satisfying change from black to clear brown liquid.

  When her hand slipped off the wrench and crashed against the wheel, she wasn’t the least bit surprised, not that it hurt any less just because it was expected. “Shit, shit, shit!” If only her last torque gun hadn’t burned itself out last week. She was going to have to scrape up the money for a new one. The men were grumbling, especially since she’d broken the news that she wasn’t planning to fix the hydraulic car lift that had given out in June.

  Wussies.

  “Lori,” Joe called over her shouting. “Chief Lawson’s on the phone.”

  “Fuck! Tell him I’ll call him back.” Damn it. Ben had left a message on the machine earlier, asking her to get in touch. He’d sounded serious and official so, of course, Lori hadn’t called back. She didn’t plan on returning his call this time, either. Not today. Tomorrow maybe, when she wasn’t tired and furious and hurt.

  Quinn had dropped her at her truck last night, gi
ven her another of those deep, searing kisses, and let her drive away. Fine. She’d reconciled herself to it. Waiting could be good, she could see that. A good hour of her night had been spent fantasizing about getting Quinn back between her thighs. The moment her alarm clock had blared to life, so had Lori’s sex drive. When would he call? When would he come over?

  So, yes, she’d been tense before she’d ever rolled out of bed, but it had been a good tension. A deliciously tight anticipation that squeezed gently at her body. And then she’d made the mistake of retrieving the Aspen paper from her doorstep.

  She got the Tumble Creek Tribune, so why the hell did she subscribe to the Aspen paper, too? And why the hell had she opened up the society section?

  Quinn Jennings, one of Aspen’s most eligible bachelors, shows his support for the arts by escorting Ms. Tessa Smith to the Aspen Music fund-raiser.

  And there he was, pictured in unflinching black and white at that “previous obligation” he’d mentioned on Tuesday. It must have been a glamorous party. Sting was standing right next to him, and on Quinn’s other side, hand on his arm, was a woman apparently named Tessa Smith.

  She was beautiful. Stunning. Blond and tall and lean. Model-thin except for a pair of giant round breasts squeezed high by the corset-style bodice of her pale dress. Hollywood white teeth. Thick black eyelashes. Long, elegant arms accented by the perfect bangle bracelets.

  The same woman Lori had glimpsed at Quinn’s table last Saturday.

  Oh, God. Lori felt nauseous just thinking about it. A comparison to last Monday’s gossip column in Tumble Creek’s paper just made it worse.

  Our little Lori Love is a late bloomer. Word is that she was spotted in Aspen last week buying a very pretty dress with a female friend. What’s next? Perhaps some fluffy kittens painted on her purple tow truck?

  The contrast was clear. Lori was a tomboy playing dress up for the amusement of her neighbors. Quinn was a high society bachelor who dated models and hung out with Sting. That summed it up nicely.

  Lori was no longer puzzled by Quinn’s easy suggestion that they not jump into sex. He’d been riding the wild silicone waves of women like Tessa Smith. Now he needed time to acclimate himself to Lori’s flat terrain. Regain his land legs.

  Men who were interested in women like that were not interested in girls like Lori. And she’d felt so pretty during those forays into Aspen.

  She had been pretty. Or maybe cute. But definitely not beautiful. Girlish, as opposed to womanly.

  Lori looked down at the thick suede work gloves covering her hands, and wondered that she’d ever thought anything different. She was a pity fuck, pure and simple. How utterly humiliating.

  “Miss Love?” a gravelly voice asked from the direction of the tiny garage office. She forced her heavy head up to look at Esteban. “I got the keys. I’ll be on call until six.”

  “Got it,” she answered.

  He turned to gather up the clipboard and paperwork he’d need, while Lori stared at his back. This was the type of man she should have set her eye on. Stocky and silent. Arms covered with tattoos. Hair shorn down to a brutal and practical buzz cut. No aspirations beyond owning a kick-ass muscle car as far as Lori could tell. Or maybe he was saving up to buy a tow truck and plow gear so he could work on his own terms. Regardless, he was one of her kind.

  Though, hell, he probably liked giant fake boobs, too. They all did.

  When Esteban straightened, he caught her watching and frowned. Lori frowned back.

  “Lori?” Joe’s voice broke in. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “What’s going on with the chief? He sounded serious.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  He watched her carefully. “You’ve been acting odd. You want to talk? We could grab a beer at The Bar.”

  “No, thanks.” She’d managed not to snap at the men throughout the day, or not more than normal. But she was entering the red zone of bitchiness now and just wanted to be alone. Beer, hell yes. Company, no.

  She felt guilty when Joe’s brow creased with concern, but she managed to ignore it. He didn’t say anything more, just waved goodbye and crunched out onto the gravel. Esteban had vanished. She was alone.

  Fitting the wrench back to the lug nut, Lori ignored the fact that the wheel blurred before her eyes and managed to get through the last five minutes of her task without letting any tears fall. Then she backed the pickup out of the bay, stowed the keys beneath the floor mat, and called the owner to come pick it up.

  As soon as she’d locked up the garage, Lori hit the fridge.

  “Oh, God no,” she groaned when she saw the contents. In her attempt to become a sexpot, she’d brought home a bottle of wine instead of a six-pack. The thought of walking across the street to the market made her even wearier than the thought of drinking wine instead of beer, so Lori grabbed the bottle, pried out the cork, and headed for the tub.

  She felt deliciously melodramatic swigging straight from the bottle, and she needed all the delicious she could get tonight. The swigging worked. A half hour later, she was sprawled out on her old bed in the upstairs bedroom and staring blearily at the TV. Her favorite Travel Channel DVD carried her away to the canals of Venice, though she felt inexplicably grumpy as she floated along on the opaque water.

  But the red wine tasted Italian enough, and the cool breeze from the open window felt like a river breeze caressing her naked arms. Then again, she probably wouldn’t be riding in a gondola wearing a wife-beater and her favorite panties.

  Molly had given her a days-of-the-week set for Christmas, and though Lori hadn’t been able to find Thursday’s pair after her bath, the sparkly cursive “Saturday” still made her smile. If a bit weakly.

  She was just floating toward the Grand Canal when a completely unacceptable sound rose up from the first floor. Lori turned up the volume on the TV and crossed her arms, but the knocking returned, followed quickly by the chime of the doorbell.

  “Screw you,” she muttered. Quinn had probably psyched himself up and returned to take the plunge. Probably decided to just get it over with as quickly as possible. He was too nice. She never should have told him her plans. Of course he’d feel responsible for taking the task on himself, just to keep her from doing something stupid with a stranger. “Bastard.”

  By the time the doorbell rang a second time, Lori was pissed again, the wine only making her anger more reasonable.

  “He wants to see me? Fine.” Lori muted the TV, then took her bottle and stomped downstairs.

  When she flung open the door and found Ben Lawson standing there, she didn’t miss a beat. Here was another man she was pissed at. Lori put her hands on her hips and glared. “What do you want?”

  Ben’s eyes traveled quickly down her body, then back up, widening as each second passed. A pink tinge colored his cheeks as his gaze finally fixed on a spot high on her forehead. “I left you a couple of messages.”

  “And?”

  “And I wanted to talk to you. Could you put some clothes on?”

  “No,” she snapped.

  “Lori.” He sighed. “Is Molly here?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because I thought maybe this was another attempt to get me to look at your ass. I’m not sure why you two think that’s so funny, but you do.”

  “She’s not here. And I don’t want to talk to you. That’s why I didn’t call you back, genius. And that’s why I’m not getting dressed. Go away.”

  “Lori.”

  “No. You’ve clearly got bad news and I am not in the mood.”

  His gaze dropped from her hairline to her eyes, and the granite of his shoulders softened to something closer to limestone. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’ve had a bad day, that’s all. Shouldn’t you be out rescuing people from bears or something?”

  “Bears?” This time his gaze slid lower, all the way down to the wine she held in her hand. She’d feel more secure in her wildness if she’d managed to dri
nk more than a quarter of the bottle. “I think Molly’s a bad influence on you.”

  “You think? Look.” She jiggled the bottle. “I’m a lush now. Though at least I’m not drinking from one of those fancy boxes that Molly likes.”

  Ben’s sigh was familiar. He used it often enough around Molly. “Do you really want me to come back tomorrow? Because you might be better off adding to this bad day while you’re still in it.”

  Damn it, she could hardly argue with that. Ben was right, probably because he had years of experience delivering bad news to people. She felt her resentment rumble back an inch or two, and get mixed up with sympathy for him.

  Careful not to spill any of the red wine on her cheap brown-flecked carpet, Lori gestured with the bottle toward the couch. “Fine. Come on in. You’re dripping doom all over my stoop anyway.”

  It turned out to be less than she’d expected, but still jarring to hear it said aloud. Ben hadn’t found some forgotten photo of the assailant’s name scratched into the dirt before her father had passed out. No, the evidence was all strongly circumstantial.

  “The medical examiner confirmed the previous findings of blunt force trauma to the head. She also looked over the CT scans and X-rays.” He glanced up from his notes at that point. “In her opinion, those injuries couldn’t have been caused by a fall unless he’d fallen headfirst down an incline.”

  Lori made a soft, involuntary noise and looked away. “But the blow was to the back of the head.”

  “She said something about the angle of the force.”

  Staring at the blank TV, Lori nodded, then took a swig from the bottle.

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said.

  In an attempt to keep from crying, Lori made herself speak calmly. “I’ve been going through his records. He bought some land about a month before the…injury.”

  He leaned forward. “Land?”

  “Yeah. It looks like he bought it directly from the bank. I thought that might mean it had been foreclosed on.”