Hidden Embers

by Tessa Adams

  She smelled rich and ripe, like blackberries in the summertime and the night-blooming jasmine that grew along the back fence at his house. His beast liked the scent, wanted to glut himself on it until he was drunk, and the man wasn’t far behind.

  Unable to resist, he turned toward the door, grinding his teeth together as he realized that a number of other men were doing the same thing. Not that he could blame them—she was, by far, the hottest thing in the bar, despite the fact that she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Or maybe because of it.

  Unlike the rest of the women in the bar who were wearing tiny skirts and enough makeup to keep Maybeline in business for a long damn time, this one was dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a matching tank top. There was no makeup on her face, at least none that he could see, but her lips were a rich, cherry red anyway, her cheeks flushed a soft, pale pink.

  Her blond hair was cut short and sassy, and her eyes were big and dark and rimmed with long, sexy lashes. He was too far away to see their color in the darkened room, but what he could see of them he liked a lot.

  She wasn’t the kind of trouble he’d been looking for when he landed here, but as his dragon all but scrambled across the scarred wooden floor to get to her, he figured she would do.

  She stood in the doorway for a few seconds, eyes narrowed and hands clenched into fists as she surveyed the room. As she did, nearly every man in the room sucked in his gut and straightened his shoulders.

  She didn’t even notice.

  He grinned. Yes, she would do very nicely indeed.

  Her gaze swept the tables first, all of which were full, before falling on the only two empty barstools in the place—which were on either side of him.

  Go figure.

  She headed straight toward him, her long legs eating up the floor between them in a matter of seconds. His beast tensed in anticipation—and so did he. He wanted to know what she looked like close up, wanted to know if her skin was warm and if her smell was even sweeter without an entire room between them.

  But before she could get to him, some asshole grabbed her elbow and spun her around, his other hand groping for her hip as he pulled her against him.

  Quinn was off his barstool before the woman had even come to a stop, more than ready to teach the guy a lesson. But before he could take a step, she’d twisted her arm out of the idiot’s grasp and sent him stumbling backward with a well-placed shove to the shoulders.

  The guy laughed, low and mean, and reached for her again. But there must have been something in her eyes that stopped him, as he froze, his hand halfway to her waist, and not even the threat of being embarrassed in front of all the other yahoos in the bar made him close the gap between them. Instead, he took the few steps back to his table and drank his beer like a man dying of thirst.

  As she turned back to the bar, the light of battle hadn’t yet faded from her eyes. She wore a smirk as big as Texas, and when her eyes met his, there wasn’t an ounce of fear in their violet depths.

  He grinned at her—he couldn’t help himself—and lifted his glass in a quick but sincere salute before downing it. He’d never been a big fan of women who acted like they were as tough as a man, but there was something about her that made her ability to defend herself sexy as hell. Besides, he wasn’t looking to marry the woman—he just wanted to feel good for a little while. Just wanted to forget, and she looked like she could help him do just that.

  And when she slid onto the barstool to his right, calling out for a shot of Patrón as she did so, his dragon curled up inside of him and all but purred.

  Yes, he thought as he gestured for another shot of his own. She was trouble, no doubt about it. And she would do very nicely, indeed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The bartender slapped two shots of Patrón on the bar between them, along with another shot glass full of lime slices. Jasmine reached for hers, aware that the guy sitting next to her was doing the same.

  She might have thought it was lame that he ordered the same drink as her—as if that would impress her or something—but there was a line of used shot glasses in front of him, and when he turned his head to look at her his breath smelled faintly of her favorite tequila.

  “What should we drink to?” he asked in a low, smoky voice that made her toes curl inside her favorite pair of Skechers.

  She thought about it for a second, then remembered how good it felt to defend herself against the jerks outside. “How about to kicking a little ass?”

  If she’d hoped to shock him with her response—which she was honest enough to admit she might have—she was disappointed. His only response was the lifting of one dark eyebrow and the sardonic question, “So, you like to kick ass, do you?”

  “Absolutely. If the occasion warrants it, I’m all for a good ass-kicking.” She raised her glass, clinked it against his. Then tossed the shot back in a hurry.

  It burned all the way down, lit a fire in her stomach that worked its way through her bloodstream until every part of her was tingling and warm. Tequila didn’t usually have that effect on her, but she refused to give the guy next to her the credit. No matter how hot he was.

  And God, was he hot. Long and lean with heavily muscled arms and a torso so sculpted she could see the outline of his six-pack through his T-shirt. He was so sexy that she had to surreptitiously wipe her mouth to make sure she wasn’t drooling.

  Add in the brooding green eyes, chin-length black hair and cut-glass jaw lined with stubble, and he was every late-night fantasy she’d ever had. Even as she told herself she wasn’t going to be sticking around long enough to find out if he tasted as good as he looked, a part of her was intrigued enough to turn toward him and watch as he lifted his own shot glass.

  He caught her looking and grinned, a sharp, seductive expression that made her nipples tighten against the thin cotton of her tank top. She started to cross her arms over her chest, but saw that she was too late—his emerald gaze had already found the telltale peaks beneath her shirt.

  “That was fast,” he said with a grin. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her response to him or the way she’d downed the shot. “Can I get you another one?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.” It wasn’t like she was going to be driving anywhere anytime soon.

  He flagged down the bartender and ordered them both another shot before turning back to look at her. “So, whose ass did you kick tonight, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “A couple jerks who thought a woman stuck on the side of the road with a flat tire was fair game.”

  The smile slid off his face and his eyes darkened dangerously. “Are they still alive?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  He scanned the bar. “Are they here?”

  “Nope. They took off once they figured out things weren’t going to go the way they wanted them to. Why? You planning on coming to my defense?”

  She held her breath as she waited for him to answer. She was all for a knight in shining armor, but she preferred a man who knew she could take care of herself—and who trusted her to do it.

  “Not your defense, no. But I figure there are a bunch of women in here who wouldn’t be able to handle themselves as well in a similar situation.”

  She melted a little at his words. Despite his very badass exterior, it sounded like he was one of the good guys. At the very least, he had more than a passing respect for women. She could totally get into that.

  “They’re long gone, so that’s one less thing for you to worry about tonight.” Even as she spoke, she couldn’t believe the flirtatious tone in her voice. She never went that route, usually went out of her way to avoid sounding like some silly schoolgirl with a crush. But something about this man was really ringing her bell—in the best possible way.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” He spun his barstool toward her, so that his knees brushed lightly against her upper thigh. Pleasure fluttered inside her and she caught her breath, shocked that such a light touch could elicit any response
from her at all, let alone one strong enough to have her libido stand up and take notice.

  The sudden heat radiating from him told her she wasn’t the only one whose body was just a little out of control.

  “Are you? Why?”

  “Because as entertaining as it would be to teach those guys a lesson, I much prefer sitting here with you.”

  “Really? And why is that?”

  “You smell a lot better than they probably do—and you have excellent taste in tequila.”

  “Yeah, well, a girl never knows when a taste for highbrow tequila will come in handy. Speaking of which—” she said, as she reached for her second shot. “Cheers.”

  He inclined his head forward. “Cheers.”

  She downed the shot in record time, but when she slammed her glass on the counter, she realized he still hadn’t taken his first shot—which was resting, neglected, between his fingers—let alone the second one that was sitting in front of him.

  “Something wrong with your drink?” she asked.

  “No. I just enjoy watching you indulge. Besides, I’m already a few ahead of you.” He nodded to the empty shot glasses the bartender had yet to clear away.

  “You are indeed. Why is that, by the way?”

  This time his smile was anything but warm, and she felt the chill of it cut through the rosy tequila glow currently enveloping her. “It’s been a rough year.”

  There was something in the way he said it, something in the sudden sadness that wrapped around him like a cloak that made her think that his “rough” was a number of shades worse than hers. And that was saying something, considering her year to date had consisted of dealing with a serious outbreak of Ebola in Congo, followed by being blown up in the third week of a research trip that had started going wrong the second she’d gotten off the airplane.

  Still, no one was more surprised than she when she reached a hand out and covered his, where it rested on his knee. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

  His fingers clutched at hers like a lifeline. “Don’t be. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m having a pretty crappy year myself, so I can empathize.”

  “Awww, don’t tell me that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I wouldn’t wish my luck on anyone.” His thumb ran in soothing—and seductive—circles across the back of her hand. Her sex grew damp at the contact. “Look, if we’re going to drown our sorrows together, we should at least exchange names. I’m Quinn.”

  She tightened her hold on his fingers, relishing the strength and width of the hand that held hers. “My friends call me Jazz.”

  “Oh, yeah? What do your enemies call you?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I think you might be surprised at what I want to know about you. But for now I’ll settle for your name.”

  He turned her hand over and glanced down at her palm before tracing one long, elegant finger over her lifeline. As he did, shivers worked their way down her spine, and for a moment Jasmine wanted nothing more than to crawl into his lap and see where this crazy attraction would take them. Normally she was a lot more cautious, but there was something about him that made her crazy. Made her want to be crazy.

  That desire should make her nervous, Jasmine told herself firmly. If meeting a really hot, really sexy guy in a bar sounded like a fantasy, it probably was—of the nightmare variety. And yet…and yet part of her was in the mood for a little fantasy tonight, as long as she got to act out that fantasy with Quinn.

  “Hey, Jazz. Is something wrong?” Quinn’s voice broke into her reverie, and when she glanced up from their entwined fingers, she was surprised at how concerned he looked.

  “No. Why?”

  He shrugged. “You look a million miles away.”

  “No. Just a few hundred. But I’m back now.”

  “Are you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. Because there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  Her stomach turned over at his words, though she did her best not to let it show. She promised herself that she would drop kick him to the door—no matter how big and hunky he was—if the next words out of his mouth included married, wife or misunderstood.

  “What’s that?” she asked, barely aware that she was holding her breath.

  He reached for the salt shaker sitting next to him on the counter. “You did those last two tequila shots all wrong.”

  Relief flooded her, and she laughed, feeling more than a little stupid for getting so worked up. But then he was leaning toward her, and she let the thought drift away. She could examine her motives later. At the moment she just wanted to concentrate on the first thing that seemed to be going right for her tonight.

  Propping her elbow on the bar, she moved forward until her chin was resting against her left palm and her breasts were only inches from the bar. By the time she was settled, she was close enough to Quinn that she could feel the sweet and spicy warmth of his breath against her forehead. “And I suppose you’re going to show me how to do it right?” she asked.

  “I’m going to try.”

  Jasmine wasn’t sure what to say or how to react when he grabbed her wrist and brought it to his mouth. She did know that if any other man had tried it—flirting or no flirting—she would have decked him, no questions asked. But there was something about Quinn that made her twitch, though not in a way she minded. For that, she was willing to give him just a little bit more leeway than usual.

  She told herself that she was ready for anything he could dish out. But she still wasn’t prepared when his tongue darted out to trace the delicate veins right below the skin of her wrist.

  Wasn’t prepared for the warm, wet heat of his mouth or the flames that ripped through her belly and between her thighs.

  And she sure as hell wasn’t prepared for the sudden, irrational need to be alone with Quinn, naked.

  His tongue swirled back and forth over the veins, then traced the slightly raised scar right at the seam where her hand met her forearm. Her knees trembled and little shocks of electricity speared through her wherever his tongue touched.

  When her skin was finally as moist and hot as his mouth, he pulled back, tilted the salt shaker and sprinkled a few grains of salt on her wrist before setting it aside. Then, before she could brace herself, his mouth was back, licking, lapping, lingering over the salt—and her skin.

  And he did it all without ever taking his eyes from hers.

  Her pussy clenched once, twice, and for a second Jasmine couldn’t help thinking that if he kept this up much longer she might actually climax right here in the middle of a crowded bar.

  She didn’t know if the thought horrified or intrigued her.

  She never got the chance to find out because Quinn chose that moment to lift his head. He reached for the glass of limes, pulled one out and raised it to her lips. At first she kept her mouth shut—wanting to play with him a little—but the look he shot her was hot enough to melt glass. Certainly hot enough to shoot her arousal to fever pitch.

  Strangely parched, she darted her tongue out to lick her suddenly dry lips. As she did, he took advantage and slipped the lime partially into her mouth, while at the same time taking one last, leisurely lick down her arm.

  Then he grabbed his shot of Patrón. Slammed it back. She watched his strong throat work as he swallowed, right before he leaned forward and closed his mouth over hers.

  He bit down hard on the lime she still had clenched in her teeth and Jasmine gasped as its sour-sweet juice shot straight into her mouth. That gasp was all he needed. With a couple quick flicks of his hand, he had the lime peel out of her mouth and into his discarded shot glass—right before his mouth slanted over hers for a second time.

  Nothing in her life had ever felt quite so right—or so dangerous.

  She told herself to pull back even as she pressed her body to his.

  Told herself that they were in the middl
e of a bar filled with people even as her fingers tangled in all that long, silky hair.

  Told herself that she didn’t engage in public displays of affection even as she slid off her barstool and pressed herself between his legs.

  Told herself…nothing as he sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit down softly. She simply imploded.

  Her hands tightened in his hair and her mouth came alive beneath his. She opened herself fully to him, gasping when his tongue darted inside her. For long moments, it tangled with her own—teasing, taunting, titillating—but then he stroked deeper. Ran his tongue over the roof of her mouth, down her cheek, between her upper lip and her teeth, where he played with her frenulum until she was utterly boneless. Utterly his.

  How could she have made it through four years of medical school, and six as a doctor—thirty-two as a woman—and not know how sensitive that small bit of skin could be, she wondered. And then she ceased to think at all as he slid a hand up her cheek and around to the back of her head, pulling her closer. Pulling her under.

  It was a long time before she surfaced.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The second Quinn tasted Jazz, he was lost. Lust rose within him, sharp and terrible and all-consuming. It raked its talons through his belly, its heat down his dick. Got in his head and demanded that he take her. That he fuck her, again and again, until she couldn’t remember her own name. Until he couldn’t remember the laundry list of misery that had sent him here.

  For a second—just a second—common sense tried to intrude. He slapped it back, ignored it. There would be time for everything else later—time for his anger and his pain. Time for his worry and his desperation. Right now all he wanted to think about—all he could think about—was her.

  She nipped at him, her teeth almost drawing blood. And still he kissed her, reveling in the pain. Unwilling to give up her lips, to break the strange connection between them when the beast inside of him roared, knowing she was his for the taking.