At his too-loud speech, several other First Class passengers turned in their direction, and Ginnie’s face reddened.
“He’s not my husband,” she retorted in a whisper.
“Uh huh.”
Quinn moved past her, folded his thick body in seat 1B, and stretched out his long legs so far that they almost hit the wall in front of him. Somehow, he made the decently-sized space look small.
Quinn tossed her an expectant grin. “You coming?”
Ginnie glanced down at her ticket. 1C. And there was no 1A.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
She gave his feet a dirty look, climbed over his ankles, and sat on the very edge of her own seat.
She refused to look at him. But no matter how hard she stared out the window, she could still feel his looming presence beside her. And no matter how she shifted, his knee kept brushing hers, sending unnerving ripples of awareness up her thigh.
And you like it.
Ginnie shoved down the snide voice in her head and squeezed as close to the window as she could. She was thankful that for the moment, Quinn was silent too. In fact, he didn’t speak to her at all. Not as the flight attendant gave her safety speech, not as the plane pulled onto the tarmac and not when it roared to life and climbed into air.
He stayed so quiet that Ginnie couldn’t help but steal a sidelong glance of his profile.
He was faced forward, eyes closed, body still. His lashes were enviably long, and the barest hint of stubble covered his cheeks.
God, he was hot.
There was no getting around it.
Hair so dark it was almost black, cut short at the sides and spiked up in the middle. And that lip ring. And inside his mouth. That tongue ring.
What would it feel like, to have it slide down the sensitive skin on her neck? To have it trail to her collarbone and down further to trace the curve of her lace bra?
Ginnie’s nipples tingled at the thought and she swallowed nervously. But her mind didn’t want to stop there, either.
She tried to halt it by pulling her gaze from his mouth, but that didn’t help at all, because her eyes landed on his hands instead, and damned if they weren’t hot, too. Rough and masculine, nails clipped short, and a wide, silver band on one pointer finger. And Ginnie knew just how warm they would be on her back as they unclipped that same lace that his lips were tasting.
“Ex?”
His voice cut through the fantasy, and Ginnie jumped. He was watching her as she watched him, and she realized she’d leaned back in her seat, and her knees had parted a little too, just enough that she was touching him. Again.
She jerked away.
“Genevieve?” His named wrapped around her full, proper name with an unreasonably perfect French accent.
So damned sexy.
“Ginnie,” she corrected automatically.
“Ginnie,” he agreed softly. “Is the douchebag your ex?”
“Sort of,” she admitted, not sure why she felt so compelled to tell him the embarrassing truth.
Maybe it was the way those caramel eyes stared straight into her. Like he knew her secrets already, and was just waiting for her to speak up.
The flight attendant came by with an offer of drinks, and Ginnie waved her off. Clearly, the last thing she needed was to consume anything more.
She cleared her throat. “He’s my former husband.”
“And that’s different because…”
“Because we didn’t get divorced. He had our marriage annulled.”
One thick eyebrow went up. “Annulled?”
Ginnie nodded. “So it’s like it never happened.”
Quinn didn’t look convinced. “Former and ex are kind of the same thing, though, aren’t they?”
“It just sounds more fitting.”
That same, I-call-bullshit eyebrow of his went up. “I don’t see the difference.”
Ginnie crossed her arms over her chest irritably, then uncrossed them again as soon as she realized it drew attention to her breasts. And Quinn was helping himself to an eyeful.
“Are you always this argumentative over semantics?” she grumbled.
“No. In fact, I rarely argue over semantics at all.” She was sure he was trying to cover another grin, especially when he added, “I get the feeling you don’t like me very much.”
Ginnie colored. “That’s not true.”
“So you do like me?” he teased.
She rolled her eyes. “Could you get anymore high school?”
This time, Quinn didn’t hide his smile. “As a matter of fact…I could. But I’ve decided on a way I can definitely help you. I’m kind of leaning toward a revenge scheme. And come to think of it…That’s pretty high school, too.”
“Revenge for what?”
“Annulment.”
Ginnie was going to argue. She really was. Revenge wasn’t high on her list of priorities. She’d gone ahead with the vacation – solo – as a part of her plan to prove that didn’t care about Lawrence at all. But the truth was…she did care. At least a little. It ticked her off that he’d come on their vacation, too. Not even because he had the ridiculous arm candy at his side. No. It was because it felt like he’d stolen something else from her. Ginnie had owned this trip to Vegas. With the encouragement of her brother, she’d made it hers.
So even though she knew it was a bad idea – that it would only lead down some dim path that she’d probably never be able to return from – she turned an expectant eye in Quinn’s direction.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
And a totally devious, totally sexy, one-sided smile crept up the rock-god-esque man’s face.
Six
Oh, Christ.
Those startlingly green eyes stared up at Quinn, and every protective fiber in his body stood on end. He saw the hope there, hung on his vague promise of revenge. He saw pain, too, and when she’d confessed about the annulment, he’d seen a hint of guilt and a shitload of self-doubt.
Annulled. Hell.
She didn’t deserve that.
What kind of shit-for-brains man made a girl like that question her own worth?
“Quinn?”
She said his name emphatically. Short and sweet, like an important piece of punctuation. And it reminded him that he was supposed to be telling her something.
Right. Revenge.
Quinn leaned forward, looked around conspiratorially, and whispered, “Jealousy.”
“Jealousy?”
“Oldest trick in the book,” Quinn confirmed.
“But why would he even get jealous?” Ginnie wanted to know. “He wants to pretend our marriage never happened.” She shook her head. “Even when we were married, he wasn’t exactly possessive.”
Quinn gave her another onceover. Any man who got a chance to bury himself in that creamy skin – or even one who got a taste of those so-soft lips, like he had – was going to earn a jealous streak as wide as the Grand Canyon. He could see Ginnie didn’t believe it, though.
“Trust me. I can smell green a mile off. He’s jealous as hell,” Quinn stated firmly. “If you want proof, think of this…The man just dumped some girl off his lap to run over and tell me you were his wife. Which you’re not.”
He watched as Ginnie’s mouth opened, then closed.
“Fine,” she said a little grudgingly. “Tell me your plan.”
Quinn grinned and said the first thing that popped into his head. The thing that would drive a thick-skulled, self-centered sonofabitch like Ginnie’s “former” husband crazy. Quinn wanted to punish him too.
“You ever heard of the Mile High Club?”
Her eyes went wide and her face went crimson. “The – yes. Of course I have. But I’m not having sex in an airplane bathroom!”
Quinn’s smile widened, mostly because her protest had been about the accommodation, not the company.
Freudian slip? he wondered.
He decided not to draw attention to it.
>
“I’m not talking about actual sex,” he told her instead.
The red didn’t leave her cheeks. “Fake sex?”
Quinn nodded. “Mm hmm.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Really?”
“No.”
Her eyes were on her hands, though, and Quinn knew she was lying.
“You’re telling me you’ve never faked it before?” he asked teasingly.
“Err…”
He’d never heard a more awkward noise.
If a blush had a sound...that noise would be it, he decided.
It was cute as hell though, and Quinn couldn’t resist an urge to reach out and tip her chin up so that she had to meet his eyes.
“Not once?” he asked.
“Maybe once,” she admitted softly.
Oh, that blush.
“Good. You’ll know what to do then,” Quinn said, and he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I’m going to go in the regular seating area. All the way to the rear washrooms.”
“We’re doing this now?”
“Yep. In less than two minutes, you’re going to follow me. Make sure you grab your not-husband’s attention.”
“How?”
Quinn shrugged and stood up. “Smile at him. Bump his seat. I don’t care. Just make sure he knows you’re going by.”
“Okay.” She said it like she couldn’t quite believe she was agreeing to do it.
Quinn didn’t blame her. He couldn’t believe it either. It was a very bad idea. With a capital bloody V and capital damned B, topped with a cherry.
That didn’t stop him from leaning down, his face just an inch from her sweet-smelling hair, and saying, “Ginnie?”
“Yes?”
“If you were my wife, I’d make sure you never had to fake it.”
He heard her little gasp as he strode through the plane without looking back.
Jase was going to kill him.
The girl deserves a goddamned break, he growled internally.
She’d been handed a shit deal. Her brother said he wanted Quinn to help her. Well. Maybe not quite like this.
Okay, not at all like this, he amended.
But hell. Quinn was used to doing things his own way. Why should this be any different? If anything, he was doing more than Jase asked him to. He wasn’t just protecting her. He was pulling her from the mire of baggage she was carrying around. On top of that, he was putting the asshole ex in his place.
And speaking of the asshole…
Quinn caught the other man’s eye as he walked by his seat. He shot him a knowing grin, made a show of checking out the ample cleavage of his lap-candy girlfriend, then offered him a thumbs up before making his way to the bathroom.
“Jase should give me a fucking medal,” he muttered as he opened the tiny door and entered the stall.
Maybe she won’t even come. Maybe she’ll realize it was a shitty plan and tell you where to stick it.
The thought made Quinn’s heart lurch unexpectedly. He tamped down the unusual emotion and forced himself to focus on counting off the passing seconds instead.
Two minutes or less.
And on the seventy-seventh second, a hesitant tap told him she hadn’t chickened out after all.
Quinn swung open the door. There she was, flushed cheeks, perfect ponytail, and chest rising and falling nervously.
Quinn’s body reacted automatically, and he wondered briefly just how the hell he was going to hide his obvious arousal in such a closed space.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
The breathlessness in her voice made it that much worse. His jeans were already uncomfortably tight.
“Quinn?” she persisted.
He cleared his throat. “Did Captain Douchebag see you?”
Ginnie’s eyes flicked sideways. “He’s a doctor, not a captain. And he’s looking now,” she whispered.
Of course he was.
“Let’s give him something to watch then,” Quinn suggested.
He took a small step out of the stall, making sure he was visible up the aisle, and placed a hand on Ginnie’s waist possessively. He bent to her ear.
“Giggle,” he ordered.
“What?”
She tried to pull away and he held on tightly.
“A little laugh,” he said.
“I can’t giggle on command!”
“Are you ticklish?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer. He yanked the bottom of her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt, slipped his finger under blouse, and poked her ribs.
“Oh!”
Her exclamation was loud enough that several people looked their way. The asshole was definitely paying attention too. Quinn could feel the burn of his gaze.
Good.
He dragged Ginnie into the bathroom and reached around her to close the door. Then he locked it firmly and stared down at her.
“Well,” he conceded. “That wasn’t a traditional giggle. But I guess it did the trick.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes unblinking, her pretty mouth pursed thoughtfully. Quinn’s memory stuck on the softness of those lips and how they felt against his. How they resisted for just a breath, then succumbed. Then became a willing accomplice.
He wanted it again, but he didn’t dare take it. He might not be able to control himself if he did. He focused on the puzzled look on her face instead.
“What’s wrong?” Quinn’s voice was husky.
“Nothing. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re a good guy, or a bad guy.”
Quinn chuckled. “Is there no gray area?”
Ginnie shook her head, gold ponytail bouncing. “Not in my world.”
“That must make your world a tough place to be.”
“Not at all. It’s easy.”
“So…What…You put everyone and everything into their little boxes and that’s that? Then they stay there, just waiting for you to unwrap them?” he teased.
“In a far less sarcastic, clinical-sounding way, yes. I like to know where I stand.”
“In relation to what?”
“Everything.”
“Sounds…confining.”
A little smile curved her lips sexily. Quinn’s heart thumped with a desire to run his tongue along that curve. Her next question didn’t help matters either.
“More confining than being trapped in an airplane bathroom with a strange man?” she asked.
“Am I strange?” he countered.
“You’d prefer another adjective? How about…unusual. Unpredictable. Unexpected.”
He grinned crookedly, enjoying the word play. “That’s a lot of ‘uns’.”
A strand of hair snuck out of her elastic and dangled over her cheek. Ginnie reached up to brush it away, but Quinn beat her to it. He tucked it gently behind her ear.
What he really wanted to do, though, was pull it all out and see it tumble down her shoulders. Thread his fingers through it, pull it back and sink his teeth into her throat.
As he pictured it, his tongue darted out to tap his lip ring, and he heard the little catch in her breath as her eyes focused on his mouth. Her eyelids fluttered, almost to a close, and Quinn had a funny feeling she was picturing it too.
He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he actually did it. If he closed the miniscule space between them and did what every part of him was longing to do.
Knock it off, he told his libido irritably.
Out loud he asked, “Should we get down to business?”
Her eyes moved away from his lips with visible reluctance and sought his gaze again. “Business?”
He raised an eyebrow. “The fake sex business.”
“R-r-right,” she stammered, then recovered quickly, and asked in a serious – very down-to-business – voice. “Should we just wait for a few minutes? Maybe ten?”
“Ten minutes? That’s pretty damned insulting.”
“Sorry. But, I mean – shouldn’t it be a quickie? It’s a bathroom stall,
right?”
“There’s a quickie…And then there’s a waste of time. Besides which, we’re going to put on a show.”
“No can see us,” she reminded him.
“Nope,” he agreed. “But they can hear us.”
“They can – wait. What?”
In reply, Quinn grabbed her by the hips, lifted her up, and turned to set her on the sink. Ginnie squealed.
“That’s a good start,” he told her. “But you should probably fill your screams with delight instead of terror. I don’t want people to think there’s a murder happening in here.”
“You actually want me to scream?”
She was squirming in her seat, trying to find a way to keep her skirt down. She was failing, and a little bit more leg got exposed with each wiggle. The movement was making Quinn a little crazy.
Hot. But crazy.
“Can you stop that?” he grunted.
“Stop what?”
“Moving.”
“Not exactly.”
“Your knees are in my stomach,” he said.
“You’re the one who put me up here,” she pointed out. “And my butt happens to be a little bit stuck in the sink.”
He pressed a palm to each of her legs and pulled her forward.
“Better?”
Ginnie said nothing, but when she glanced down quickly, and Quinn followed her gaze, he saw that he was practically sandwiched between her thighs. Her skirt was now well above her knees, and the view was enticing as hell.
Shit.
Blood rushed through him, fast and hard, and all of it pooled in his groin. Any second, Ginnie was going to notice exactly how much better Quinn’s body thought it was. He tried to pull away, but there was really nowhere to go.
He was losing control. Quickly.
Only one way to stop it.
“This was a bad idea,” he announced.
His hand shot backwards, but before he could grip the door handle, Ginnie’s fingers found his forearm.
“Please,” she said softly. “I really do want Lawrence to pay. Just tell me what to do, Quinn, and I’ll do it.”
Damned if he could say no to that.
“Show me what you’ve got,” Quinn ordered softly. “Moan. Scream. Yelp.”
Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) Page 4