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Under the Boardwalk

Page 9

by Carly Phillips


  Quinn gave her excitement. He made her feel desired and sexy and completely feminine even when he was in one of his darker, not-speaking moods. While she was in town, she wanted to get to know him better. Her search for Zoe had suddenly become as much about clearing Quinn from guilt as finding her sister.

  She obviously couldn’t rely on fact or logic, and frustration shot through her. She’d just have to confront Quinn. She’d already checked his office, but the door had been locked. She checked the paper he’d given her with his phone number in case she had to reach him. Sure enough, he’d also included his room number.

  Her gaze strayed from the house phones to the bank of elevators. The easy way or the hard way? Ariana wondered. Which would it be?

  Apparently, since her return home, she’d acquired courage she hadn’t known she possessed. Not five minutes later, Ariana was knocking on Quinn’s door. Her fists clenched tight as she waited.

  Finally he jerked open the door. His gaze fell on Ariana and his eyes opened wide in recognition. “Oh shit. I forgot all about you.”

  “Nice way to impress a lady,” she said wryly. “You never showed up at the bar to take me home.” That was unlike him, and for the first time she wondered if he’d gotten sick.

  A look at his furrowed brows and she realized he was preoccupied, nothing more. If he’d let her drive to the casino and leave on her own, he wouldn’t have to add her to his list of concerns, something she opened her mouth to mention.

  “Come in and let me get dressed,” he said, and all rational thoughts fled.

  Her stare drifted from his troubled gaze to his muscled chest. His bare muscled chest, sprinkled with just the right amount of sandy-colored hair and tapering to a trim waist. Lower down, a thin scar traversed his lower right abdomen and led into the waistband of his unbuttoned jeans. Her hands twitched with the desire to feel his skin’s texture, to dip her fingertips into the worn denim and explore further.

  “Unless you’d rather wait in the hall?”

  His voice startled her, and feeling as if she’d been caught, she quickly raised her gaze. Her body had already flushed hot at her thoughts, and now she was certain a blush covered her cheeks as well. “No. I’ll come in. Thanks.” Ariana stepped inside, tripping over the raised wooden saddle on the floor.

  He righted her with a hand on her elbow and if he knew why she was suddenly flustered, at least he was gentleman enough not to say. Instead he gestured with a grand sweep of his arm around the suite. “Be it ever so humble.”

  “There’s no place like home,” she finished for him, and to distract herself from all that blatant testosterone pummeling her, she glanced around.

  The place he called home wasn’t anything like the private domain she’d imagined he occupied. Instead the room was a sterile suite with plenty of luxuries and amenities but lacking any warmth. From the cold, industrial-type carpet to the pictures and furniture common to all hotel rooms, there was nothing personal to indicate anyone lived here. Oh, Quinn stayed here, that much she could tell, since his watch lay on a dresser beside some spare change and his clothes had been haphazardly tossed around. But there was nothing of him inside this room.

  “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting company,” he said, as if guessing her train of thought.

  She shrugged. “Not a problem.” She sat down on the couch and waited while he buttoned his jeans and then reached for a sweater he’d left on the arm of a chair.

  In front of her was a mass of paperwork, and though she didn’t plan to pry, Sam’s name jumped out at her from the top page. And suddenly Ariana knew the reason he’d forgotten about her.

  “Will you have trouble finding Sam a home?” she asked softly.

  Surprising her, he took a seat by her side. He still held his shirt in his hands, and his body heat emanated off him in waves. “Unfortunately, yeah. Finding her a new place won’t be easy.”

  “But she’s such a great kid.” Ariana couldn’t imagine a couple not wanting her. “What happened to her real parents?”

  He eyed her steadily. “Her father’s a drug dealer doing a life sentence, and her mother’s dead. Caught by a bullet meant for her father.”

  Ariana winced and her eyes filled with tears. Embarrassed, she wiped them with the back of her hand. “That’s horrible.”

  “That’s the kind of life she’s been exposed to.”

  Ariana paused for a steady breath. “Is it the kind of life you’ve been exposed to?” She knew he’d also been in foster care, and wondered what had happened to his parents.

  He shook his head. “No, my folks just didn’t give a shit.” He let out a bitter laugh. “At least Sam’s mother made an effort at giving her kid a decent life before a bullet got in the way.” He’d changed the subject back to Sam, and Ariana knew that’s all she was likely to learn about him for now.

  But that was okay, since she’d plumbed unexpected depths and gained a deeper understanding of what made him tick. She still couldn’t put all the pieces together, but she’d made a start.

  “Social Services will have no choice but to place her in a group home filled with mostly troubled teens. But she needs love and stability and she sure as hell won’t find it there.” He rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes.

  “Maybe another couple that can’t have kids will want a teenager?” she asked hopefully.

  He shook his head. “Not likely. Sam’s got so many strikes against her I don’t know where to begin.”

  “What else is there besides her age?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “You met the kid, so you shouldn’t have to ask. She’s a wiseass for one thing, and you experienced her petty-theft tendencies firsthand.”

  “But underneath it all, she just wants to be loved. Surely somebody will see past the facade,” Ariana said. She had seen past it the first time they’d met.

  Quinn shook his head again, his eyes wide with obvious disbelief. “You don’t really buy into that humanity crap, do you? Not everybody’s got the rosy family you do.”

  She bit her cheek to keep herself from giving him a wise-guy comeback about her family, because he was right. At least she’d had a loving home to grow up in. “Okay, I get your point, but there’s got to be a solution.”

  “I wouldn’t leave my dog with half the applicants on this list, and besides, they’re looking for younger kids. Anyone who’d consider a teen will be hard pressed to take her, given her history.”

  “But she’s got reasons for the way she acts.” Ariana knew she was grasping at straws, but like Quinn, she already cared about Sam.

  His anguished gaze met hers. “The reason she acts out doesn’t matter. The facts in the reports do.” With a wave of his hand, he trashed the papers, sending them sprawling to the floor. “I’m going to have to work on Felice and Aaron, because nobody decent wants a troubled teen.”

  In Quinn’s gaze, in his expression and in his posture, Ariana could see traces of the little boy who had once been in the same position as Sam. He still remembered being the kid nobody wanted.

  But he wasn’t that teen anymore, he was a man. A man whose hurt she wanted to ease and who she desired more with each breath she took. Knowing it wasn’t wise, she reached out anyway and placed a hand on his shoulder, a safe distance away from the hair-roughened chest that interested her so.

  His heated stare locked with hers and she realized there was no safe place to touch or to run. There was no way to escape from her mounting desire for this complicated man.

  He leaned closer, his lips hovering near hers. Every time she inhaled, she smelled his masculine scent and her nipples puckered tighter against her stretch tee. Desire pulsed inside her, and from the fire burning in his gaze, he needed her, too.

  “This is crazy,” she said softly.

  He nodded in agreement. “Then walk away.”

  “I can’t.” Once again it was that simple.

  She didn’t know who kissed who first, but finally, blessedly, his lips were on h
ers, hot, devouring, demanding, and giving her exactly what she’d yearned for.

  They were combustible and the fire between them flared out of control. Her hands started at his waist, slid upward, her fingers trailing over his skin and taking in every contour and sensation. His flesh was smooth to the touch, made coarser by the liberal sprinkling of hair. And everywhere she touched, his skin was aflame.

  He held her head in place with one hand and all the while his tongue dipped and swirled inside her mouth, setting the pace. One she gladly matched. He was a man who obviously liked being in control, and if it made her feel this good, she didn’t mind allowing him the liberty. Not as long as she could take a few of her own, and she did, as her hands came to rest over his chest, his hard nipples spearing her palms. He let out a slow groan of intense satisfaction and she took pleasure in knowing she could affect him as easily as he did her.

  His lips slid over hers, then down her neck. “You drive me insane.”

  “You do the same to me.”

  With shaking hands, he pulled her top high around her midriff until he cupped her breasts in his hands. He’d anticipated her need, as he fed her hunger, his warm hands plumping and kneading her aching flesh. His hands worshiped her breasts and desire pulled a straight path to her center while a rush of liquid trickled between her legs.

  A pulse beat harder in her throat as waves of temptation beckoned to her. He caressed and plucked her nipples with his fingertips, each movement creating a pull of exquisite desire throughout her body. She realized she was trembling, her hips gyrating in time to his unspoken commands.

  He understood what she desired and pulled her onto his lap. Though it took some adjusting, she managed to straddle his legs, her thighs bracketing his. Her skirt inched up and only a thin scrap of cotton and his denim jeans provided a barrier between mutual, aching need. As his erection pressed warm and full between her legs, a delicious heat spread through her. She tipped her head back and let out a slow moan, allowing the pleasurable sensations to infuse her body, mind, and spirit.

  “Let go,” he whispered in her ear. “Let me make you come.”

  She had no doubt he could. Without him ever touching her there, he had the ability to make her lose control. But that was the thought that cut into her pleasure and forced her to think instead.

  Her control was the very thing that had kept her sane. She had always held herself in check, deliberately forced composure because doing so distinguished her from her family. Her more dramatic, emotionally freer, bordering-on-crazy family. Control distinguished her from her twin.

  Their moment had passed and Ariana scrambled off him, pulling down her skirt as she moved. “I can’t do this.”

  She’d come here to question Quinn about Zoe. Instead she’d taken one look at his distraught face, seen his pain over Sam, and fallen into his arms with no questions asked.

  He met her gaze, looking as shell-shocked as she felt. But he wasn’t the one who’d made a mistake. She had. Because while she was sitting in Quinn’s hotel room, shirt and skirt hiked up, breasts bared, her precious control nearly shot to hell, her sister was missing.

  And Quinn, who was masterfully taking charge and encouraging her to let go, knew where her sister was. And he refused to say.

  Just wonderful, Ariana, she thought to herself.

  • • •

  Quinn sat in silence as Ari adjusted her clothing, pulled down and retucked her shirt. He wished he could say he was sorry, but damn it, damn him, he wasn’t. Because for the moment, he’d been able to forget.

  He’d been able to put Damon, the case, Sam and her problems, and Quinn’s whole sorry life, out of his mind. No woman ever had the power to make him lose focus and forget. And he’d needed to lose himself in Ari more than he’d needed to breathe. So he wasn’t sorry.

  Even if she obviously was. “What’s going on?” Not the most tactful way to approach her, but she hadn’t looked at him since pulling away.

  She met his gaze through hooded eyes. The desire still lingered but a wealth of other emotions obviously flooded her, too. “Where’s my sister?” The question was quickly becoming a chorus.

  He ran a hand through his hair, frustration welling inside him. “I can’t tell you.”

  She strode closer and leaned down so she could whisper in his ear. “Is this place bugged?”

  He heard the hope in her voice and knew she was wishing there was a reason for his silence that she could understand. There wasn’t. His room had been swept clean, something he made certain of daily. He put up with Damon’s meddling in the office, but his private domain remained sacred.

  He shook his head in answer to her question. No bugs, he thought silently. “I just can’t say.”

  “That’s what’s wrong.” Disappointment laced her tone and kicked him in the stomach, sucking the life out of him.

  She rose from her seat. Her clothing was still awry, her face red from his razor stubble, and still she appeared sexier than any woman he’d ever known. Even if her expression made it clear that she couldn’t be more disappointed in him. He’d rather be hit by a barrel of someone’s gun than face her disapproval. Which shocked him, since Quinn Donovan never gave a shit what anyone thought.

  “Rumor has it you had something to do with Zoe’s disappearance.” She shivered and rubbed her arms with her hands.

  He knew better than to offer comfort, just as he also understood her need to push for answers. “I didn’t.”

  Ari narrowed her gaze. “Then tell me why and how you got to know Zoe. Because from what I can see, you don’t have much to do with the dancers. Why did you have a relationship with my mother? Why with Zoe? Why were they different?”

  He admired her intellect. But that intelligence would also be his downfall, Quinn realized, since she was beginning to put together pieces of information.

  How long before his cover was blown?

  “Your mother was just plain friendly,” he told her truthfully. “As for Zoe… You’re going to have to trust me.” He held his hands out toward her but she refused to come near.

  “Just because I’m sexually attracted to you doesn’t make me stupid,” she said, her exasperation obvious. “For all I know, the rumors are true and you did have something to do with Zoe’s disappearance.”

  “I didn’t. Not in the way you mean, anyway.”

  “Oh, okay. That’s clear as mud.” Disgust etched her features, and those lips he’d kissed earlier turned downward in a frown.

  The desire raging through him hadn’t lessened, only now it was accompanied by frustration. At Ari for her persistence and at himself for his inability to give her the answers she needed.

  “Give me one more week,” he said, thinking back to Damon’s insistence he’d go away next weekend. If he could stall Ari for another seven days, he’d have the proof he needed to put this case to rest.

  She shook her head. “Not without a reason. Some kind of proof that I can trust you.”

  “Besides my word?” he asked, not missing the irony in that statement.

  “Sorry but that’s not enough.” A hint of regret flickered in her eyes.

  Maybe at least a part of her wanted to believe him. “I had nothing sinister to do with your sister’s disappearance,” he told her, once more for good measure.

  Her wry laugh sliced through him. “Do me a favor, Quinn?”

  “What?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Take me home.”

  • • •

  An awful stench greeted Ariana as she walked into the kitchen early the next morning. As she’d told Quinn, her mother didn’t cook, she ordered in, and this odor was a testament to the reasons why. Her mother had pulled a barstool away from the counter so Spank the monkey could sit and watch while she cooked. A fact that struck Ariana as more normal than the sight of her mother in an apron, stirring something in a large pot.

  “So, what are you cooking?” Ariana asked diplomatically.

  “Not cooking. Creating.
” Her mother continued to stir the ingredients with a wooden spoon.

  “I hope it’s nothing like the drink you made the other day,” Ariana said.

  “It’s another version,” Aunt Dee said from her place at the table.

  “This recipe is for facial cream. I’m waiting for it to thicken. The combination of ingredients has restorative qualities for the skin. It’s an old family recipe. Don’t you think our new spa should have a product unique to the Costas family?” she asked.

  Ariana raised an eyebrow. She didn’t know her family claimed anything but cons to pass down from generation to generation, but she didn’t want to insult her mother by asking whether she’d made up this story for the public relations benefit it would offer the spa.

  Instead she tackled the more surprising revelation. “You said Costas family spa. Does that mean Dad’s willing to move away from the Addams family?” she asked hopefully.

  “He will eventually,” Elena said with certainty. “He only holds on to it as security because the persona lets him forget he was sick during his treatment. It’s been a long time. He just needs the right prodding to let go. He’ll come around.”

  Elena sounded so sure of herself that Ariana knew her mother would have her way. She glanced into the pot only to have herself smacked away by her mother’s hand.

  “Leave it be,” Elena scolded her.

  “What’s the main ingredient?”

  “Other than fish oil?” Aunt Dee asked.

  Ariana swallowed, attempting not to gag. “So that’s what the odor is.” She winced and decided once and for all not to try to look into the pot again. “I know I’m going to regret asking, but why?”

  Elena glanced heavenward. “I’d think that was obvious. Have you ever seen a wrinkled fish?”

  Ariana blinked. Only her mother would come up with such absurdity. “Only a scaly one,” she muttered. “Assuming you can even get anyone near this stuff given the odor, I think you’re going to have flaking problems.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

 

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