His pen scratched furiously against the paper as he asked questions about the date of purchase and the bank. Lori got up to get the papers she’d found, and Ben stood with her, still writing.
“I’ll get to this first thing in the morning,” he said when she handed him the papers.
“Thanks.” She started for the door, but Ben’s hand fell on her shoulder to stop her.
“Are you okay, Lori? What’s going on?”
“Besides my father’s murder?”
He paused, and his fingers tightened gently on her shoulder. “Yes, besides that.”
I’m a failure, Lori offered, but only to herself. Sexually, financially, socially, educationally, professionally. A failure. But that was something she’d never said aloud, even to herself, and something she’d never, ever say to another human being.
“Why don’t you come over for dinner,” Ben offered, his cop voice falling completely away. “Molly’s making lasagna. And it’s store-bought, so you don’t have to be scared.”
She laughed at that, but even to her ears it sounded a little shaky. Ben pulled her into a hug, his strong arms radiating warmth and security.
“Lori, please tell me what’s going on.”
Lori clutched the neck of the wine bottle tighter. “It’s girl stuff, Ben. And it’s not serious. It’s just depressing.”
“Early onset menopause?”
“Shut up.” She laughed, and shoved him hard with her free hand.
He gave her one of his rare smiles. “My mom’s been having weird conversations with Molly recently. I can’t help but absorb it.”
“It’s nothing, honestly. Just boys. Now go.”
His smile snapped to a frown. “What boys?”
“Go!”
“All right, but I’ll be watching the Tribune for clues.”
“Great.” Shoving at his shoulder, she turned him, then placed her hand flat against his back and started pushing him toward the door. Or more likely he allowed himself to be pushed. Regardless, she got him out of the living room and he turned the knob and opened the door. She pushed him right out onto the stoop and down the two steps to the narrow sidewalk.
The only thing that alerted her to a change was the sudden unyielding hardness of the muscles beneath her fingers. Her pushing ceased to work. “Ben?” she huffed, giving him one last little shove that didn’t even shift his shoulders.
Shrugging, she spun on the ball of her bare foot to flounce back inside. That was when she saw Quinn. Standing in the middle of the front lot. Glaring.
“What do you think you’re looking at?” she shouted.
Quinn didn’t hesitate. “A woman in her underwear. Outside in the open. With a man who’s supposed to be my sister’s boyfriend.”
Air hissed out between Ben’s teeth, and Lori shuffled quickly through her memories, trying to remember if the two men had ever exchanged blows before. They’d been best friends for years, and neither was inclined to violence, but there was a first time for everything. Lori touched Ben’s arm, just in case.
“Fuck off, Quinn,” he growled, but Lori didn’t hear any real heat behind the words. He looked over his shoulder at Lori, then to Quinn, with the same alertness he’d shown the other day when he’d found them together, but he didn’t say anything else before getting in his official police vehicle and driving away.
Quinn didn’t say anything else, either; he just stared at her, his vicious frown caught somewhere between bafflement and frustrated anger.
Lori did her best to convey only one emotion with her glare. Complete and utter pissiness. She crossed her arms—ignoring the pain when the bottle banged against her elbow—and stared him down.
AN OPAQUE CLOUD of debris had settled over Quinn’s mind, pelting his thoughts with grit and tiny bits of shrapnel. It was hard to think clearly through the mess of confusion.
All he could process was that Lori was in her underwear.
Outside.
Outside, yes, but looking just the way he’d fantasized she’d look in her underwear.
Except in his fantasy she hadn’t been with his best friend.
And she hadn’t been angry. Or drunk enough to drink straight from a wine bottle.
As if she’d read his scrambled thoughts, Lori arched an impatient eyebrow and raised the bottle to her lips for a hearty gulp. Fury flashed through him, uncalled for and totally real.
“What the hell is going on here?” he barked.
She gestured with the bottle, a long sweep that encompassed the house and the lot. “It’s my Thursday-night pajama party, Quinn. Me and all the other girl mechanics get together to have a pillow fight and lure men off the streets in our butch underwear. Is it working?”
Quinn tried to hold his tongue and failed. “Apparently. Ben’s already been here, hasn’t he?”
Her lips smiled, but there was no humor in her eyes. “Yep. In and out. And all the free coffee you can drink, but you might leave with a few grease stains.”
His grand plans for seduction were spiraling into obscurity. The last thing he’d expected to find was her already undressed and entertaining Ben. And what the hell was she so enraged about?
Lori must have gotten tired of glaring at him, because she finally shrugged and headed for the front steps. Quinn followed and caught the door before it could slam in his face. “What is your damn problem? Are you still pissed about Wednesday night?”
“Yeah, because I’m that sensitive about not getting to the glory inside your pants, Quinn.”
He followed her in and slammed the door. Hard. But that didn’t relieve his baffled anger, it only pushed it up another notch. “What is your problem? I’m the one who just walked in on a very questionable situation. Shouldn’t you be explaining yourself? Jesus, you’re not even dressed!”
“Did we ever agree to be exclusive?”
“Excuse me?”
“We never made any promises about dating other people. It’s just a fling.”
His vision flashed a dull red with each pulse of his heart. “We haven’t even slept together yet. And he’s your best friend’s boyfriend!”
Lori rolled her eyes. “Look, you’re off the hook, all right? I don’t want you making any grand sacrifices for me, Quinn. Just get back to your Aspen women.”
“I don’t…What the hell are you…? What Aspen women?”
“You know, the ones with the fake boobs and the fake eyelashes and fake tans. The ones who look like center-folds instead of tomboys.”
What in God’s name was she talking about? Quinn threw up his hands and shrugged, exasperation turning the gesture violent. Lori apparently felt violent, as well, because she stalked over to the table, banged down the bottle and snatched up a newspaper. He only knew it was a newspaper because it landed on his face a half second later.
“That doesn’t help clear things up!” he shouted as he crumpled the sheet in his hand.
“There’s a picture of you in there with Dream-Whore Barbie. That obligation I believe you mentioned. Not exactly a horrible burden, huh?”
Anger still swirled through his chest, but beneath it Quinn felt the floor of his stomach drop a few inches. Dream-Whore Barbie? That could only be—
He snapped the paper straight and looked right into the wide, white smile of Tessa Smith. Shit.
“No wonder you didn’t want to do me the other night. You were probably still worn out from the night before. She looks like she does Pilates.”
She did do Pilates, damn it. Quinn shook his head. “No. No, Lori. That wasn’t a real date.”
“No? You mean you’re not sleeping with her?”
He watched her eyebrow arch up, a challenge he couldn’t counter. Shit. “Not anymore,” he offered pitifully.
“Not,” she bit out, “anymore?”
Though frustration began to fuel his anger again, Quinn was suddenly struck with the realization that Lori was hurt. He’d hurt her feelings. Most of his rage fell away and slid like spilled ice across the floor. W
hat a seduction this was.
Time for a hurried explanation. “We used to date. I broke it off two weeks ago—”
“She was at that restaurant with you a week ago.”
“Uh, yes. A misunderstanding. And when I broke it off, she insisted that I still take her to that music fund-raiser and I wasn’t seeing you yet, and…I only took her to the fund-raiser and then home. Not even a kiss.”
Her hard expression didn’t soften. “But you did date her. And sleep with her.”
“Uh.” Was there a good answer? No, there was not. He left it at “uh.”
“You liked her.” She came close enough to tap the paper so hard that it fell from his fingers and floated away. “You liked that. And that is not this.” Her hand swept a scornful path over the front of her body.
“No, it’s definitely not.”
When her face darkened to the color of blood, Quinn realized what he’d said.
“I don’t want that kind of woman,” he blurted.
Lori stalked back to her bottle of wine and slammed back a shot of red. When she looked at him again, her face was calmer, but her eyes might have been a bit too shiny. “Stop being so nice, Quinn. Just stop. You dated her, so you liked her. I’m not a delicate flower. I appreciate what you were doing for me, but…I want a fling, not a handout. So, thanks, but I’m not a grenade you need to throw yourself on.”
“A grenade…?” Quinn shook his head, wondering again how this had all gone so wrong. He’d stayed up half the night reading. First the stories she’d suggested, then the rest of them, because what the hell. And he’d been looking forward to coming over and starting their little adventure. More than looking forward to it. He hadn’t been able to sleep, which wasn’t unusual. But he also hadn’t been able to concentrate on work, and that was a first. He’d wanted to rush the clock forward so he could come over here and give her what she wanted.
And now? Now it was off the rails, and if he hoped for any chance at all, he had to tell her the truth. The embarrassing truth.
So he did. “Tessa is not my type. I wasn’t really interested in her at all, but she was…persistent.”
Lori narrowed her eyes in clear doubt.
“She wanted to go out with me, I guess. Because one day I looked up and I was dating her.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Yes, it is. But at some point, I was distracted during a conversation and I said yes when she suggested dinner. Then I was on a date, and I couldn’t not be nice, and a few hours later we were in bed together.”
“Just like that?”
“Damn it, I know it sounds absurd, but this is my life, Lori. Absurdity. If you don’t pay attention to the world around you, you find yourself involved with…”
“Dream-Whore Barbie.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“No, it’s not. I’m not nice all the time, and it throws people off because I look like an elf.”
“A sexy elf,” Quinn said automatically, apparently surprising her, because Lori lost her frown and actually laughed.
“You sound like your sister.”
Her smile started a slow burn of relief that melted some of the ice from his muscles. “It honestly was an obligation. And she’s honestly not my type, Lori.”
“Ha!” She didn’t believe him, but at least she seemed to consider it a benevolent lie.
“So, truce?”
“Ah, screw it,” she muttered, reaching for the bottle. “Fine. Here’s to a truce.” She tipped it back and then offered him the wine.
Not wanting to be rude, and still a little dizzy from the whole strange encounter, Quinn took a drink, too. A long drink. More like chugging, actually. “Nice vintage,” he rasped, as he finally set it down. “Now I don’t suppose you’d care to explain the whole underwear-in-the-parking-lot aspect of this?”
She shrugged. “I just got out of the bath, and Ben happened to stop by at an unlucky moment.”
Unlucky. Right. Now that he finally had the time to focus completely on the picture she presented, Quinn was even more shaken. Her panties covered everything, but seemed somehow sexier for it. And her tank top…Well, it wasn’t made out of thick twill. The white cotton looked painted onto her small breasts. Her nipples pressed hard against the friction, and he could just make out the faint shadow of the darker skin of her areolas.
Speaking of shadows…Quinn let his gaze drift lower. No shadow, but his attention was drawn by the blue sparkle of something decorative winking from the front of her panties. He wasn’t close enough to make it out, but maybe he could get closer.
“I did my homework,” he murmured, and watched her jump a little at his words.
Her eyes flew to meet his. “Homework?”
“Yes.” There had been a clear common thread in the two stories she’d liked. Both heroes had been aggressive. Not rough, per se, but not the least bit tentative in getting what they wanted. On the drive over, Quinn had felt slightly nervous about that. Not that he considered himself passive, but he was always considerate in bed. Maybe even polite. But these stories weren’t about gentle encounters, they were about hard lust.
Quinn wasn’t nervous anymore.
They’d been staring at each other for a good thirty seconds, neither making a move. Lori’s eyes got wider. Quinn’s got narrower. His anger had morphed into something much better.
When he took a step forward, her hands twisted together.
“Quinn?”
“Hmm?” Not willing to stop and let her think—what did thinking have to do with fantasies?—Quinn closed the last two feet between them and pulled her into his arms.
“What…?” she gasped before he caught the sound against his lips. Ah, yes. Just the taste he’d spent the whole day trying to recall with perfect clarity. Lori sprinkled with wine.
She was stiff in his arms, but while the old Quinn would’ve immediately set her back and let her go, he was a new Quinn. A man determined to give her what she needed, even if she had no idea what that was. A man shaped for her wicked pleasure.
He smiled against her mouth and swept his tongue in to brush against hers. The tiny sound she made seemed very positive. Her arms crept around his waist. Quinn backed her up and set her on the table, fit himself between her parting thighs, and picked up where they’d left off on the hood of his car.
THIS WASN’T RIGHT. She was so mad at him. So mad that he didn’t truly want her.
But now his mouth was working magic, his tongue making promises about what the rest of his body would do, and his hands…
“Mmm.” She sighed at the feel of his fingers sliding along the hem at the back of her tank top. Those long, elegant fingers, exploring her back. Now slipping up her spine. Now splayed across her shoulder blade, her bare skin.
He pulled her closer to him, a rough little jerk that pressed her sex hard against him. Oh, God, he was hard already, which made her feel better about the damp state of her underwear. His dick pressing against her made her aware of her own heat, her own slickness. Lori pressed back and felt him shudder.
His mouth broke away, breath harsh as his lips trailed down her jaw. She drew in a desperate gasp, overwhelmed already by the feel of his teeth on her neck and his hand sliding around, pulling her shirt up as he moved.
She was about to be nearly naked, exposed to his eyes and hands and mouth, and Lori was just tipsy enough to be thrilled instead of self-conscious. Some evil part of her brain whispered that she should be worried about the comparison to tight silicone, but she beat that voice down and stomped on it with imaginary work boots. Those steel-toed monsters were good for something.
Quinn’s hand finally found her breast, fingers curving under the slight weight, thumb dragging over her nipple.
“Ah,” Lori cried out, unable to hold back the startled sound. Embarrassing to be so affected by such a minor caress, but it felt so damn good. Because of the wine or the adrenaline or because it was Quinn…She didn’t know and didn’t care. This was it. Just what
she’d been looking for.
Quinn tore his mouth from her neck with a curse and his hands fumbled roughly with her shirt before he managed to yank it up over her head. Before she could clear the hair from her face, he was on his knees in front of her, eyes blazing.
He growled, “Lean back.”
“Wh-what?”
“Lean back on your hands.”
Uncertain but fully willing to take a chance, she put her hands flat on the table behind her and arched her back.
Quinn smiled a pirate’s smile. “That’s it.”
When she glanced down to see what he meant, Lori thought that her breasts looked smaller in this pose, pulled high and taut. Before she could protest, his hand came into her line of sight, fingers trailing a butterfly touch over the curve of one breast.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Unbelievable. I’ve been imagining you for days.” His thumb brushed her peaked nipple again, and the skin crinkled tighter around it. Lori held her breath, watching.
One long, elegant finger traced the edge of her areola. “Like late dawn. A cool white sky warmed by pure blush pink.” It would’ve sounded sweet if his thumb and finger hadn’t closed over her nipple just then, squeezing pressure into a nerve that ran straight to her sex.
Lori closed her eyes and tried to breathe and feel and memorize it all as it happened. His fingers soothed, then squeezed again. She was gasping for air when wet pressure closed around her, and then his teeth, scraping fire.
“Oh,” she yelped, spine arching even farther. His hand closed over her other breast while his mouth worked, and Lori descended into pure pleasure. She’d never particularly enjoyed it when a man paid attention to her breasts. In fact, at times she’d found it vaguely physically disturbing, an irritant. But now she was so turned on, she wanted more, harder, something close to pain.
Lori gave up her pose and reached for Quinn’s hair to pull him greedily closer. He bit her—as reward or punishment, she wasn’t sure, but she enjoyed it all the same.
“More,” she groaned, and felt his hand tighten over the other breast. Then his mouth sucked harder while his teeth closed down and Lori wondered if she was bruising his skull.
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