Ginnie watched Quinn’s receding back as he disappeared up the aisle, admiring its impressive width. In spite of her recent release, warmth crept up between her thighs again anyway. It got even worse – or was it better? – when she remembered she was panty-less. And the fact that those panties were in his hand…
She shook it off, and moved after him, walking slowly, hyper-conscious of her commando state.
She had no problem with the first two things he’d mentioned – the blush and the bit of shame. Her face was hot with embarrassment, and the heat doubled when a retirement-age couple gave her a knowing nod. And when a young mother with a toddler in her arms shot her a dirty look, her shoulders dropped guiltily too.
But when she hit Lawrence’s row, she couldn’t work up the nerve to even look at him. And she almost got past him without having to. Until his hand shot out unexpectedly and grabbed her wrist, giving her no choice but to face him.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded in a whisper.
Ginnie gave him and his question a cursory assessment.
He looked and sounded mad. Confused. And very, very jealous.
Yes! Quinn was right.
And Lawrence’s other hand was closed tightly around something.
Her underwear.
Her former husband’s hand was nowhere near as big as Quinn’s, so the pink lace poked out everywhere.
“Ginnie, explain this!” he ordered.
She felt no compulsion to comply. In fact, his voice – and his touch – did nothing for her at all. They evoked almost no emotion, and the only physical reaction was something that bordered on revulsion.
Even the girl he was with – who currently had her head resting on Lawrence’s shoulder and her hand right on his crotch while she snored away – didn’t make Ginnie feel a thing.
I was in love with him, just three months ago. Wasn’t I?
“Ginnie!”
Now she did meet his eyes, as she shook off his hand and replied coolly, “What the hell was what?”
“That display.”
Ginnie bent down, making sure that Lawrence, and Lawrence alone, could hear her reply.
“I believe that’s what they call getting fucked.”
Then she smiled a very sweet, very genuine smile, stood up again, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and flounced straight to First Class without looking back.
Eight
As Quinn waited for Ginnie to make her way back to the seat beside his, he didn’t know if he was pleased with himself, or disappointed.
Probably both.
Okay, it had been his goal to get her genuinely going, but he was surprised at his success anyway. Quinn was damned sure that Ginnie’s sweet, shuddering orgasm – created by his words, for God’s sake – had been far from fake. Not that he couldn’t dirty talk with the best of them. Hell. He’d received more than a few compliments on his abilities in the bedroom in the past so he knew he was a more than passable lover. A virtual orgasm with almost no touching at all, though?
Except for the end, when the plane propelled her forward and straight into his waiting body. She must’ve felt it. Realized how badly turned on he was.
I should still be in some kind of book of records, Quinn thought.
Then he shook his head.
She was either so tightly wound that an explosion like that was inevitable, or she was one hell of a faker.
Her mouth open just that little bit…Her eyes closed and her head thrown back. Utter release.
No one is that good of an actress, he thought.
Those gasps. Those moans.
Who the hell had she been picturing as it happened?
Quinn wished he hadn’t planted the idea of using her celebrity crush as a source of eroticism.
Yeah, because you want to be the one she was thinking of. You want to be the one making those soft, sexy panties all wet.
There wasn’t even a point in denying the internal accusation. The response was a resounding hell yes. He did want those things.
And there isn’t anything wrong with that, he told himself.
He was a red-blooded, woman-loving man. Who hadn’t seen any action in quite a while.
And Ginnie…
Well. Under that slightly prim, put-together appearance, she was hot as hell. Sexy, toned thighs. Perky breasts, pressing against the thin material of her blouse. Soft skin, soft hair, and soft, plump lips, made for kissing. Made for sucking.
Quinn adjusted a little uncomfortably in his seat. His erection – which hadn’t seemed to subside since the second he laid eyes on Ginnie, if he thought about it – pressed insistently against his zipper.
Yeah, he wanted her all right. His body was a clear indication of his insistent need to set her free.
As though he could sense her entrance, his eyes flicked up to the divider between First Class and the rear of the plane just as she walked through. Her hair was still down, slick over her shoulders, and crowning her head like a halo.
Quinn sighed and muttered, “And that’s what makes it wrong.”
She had a bit of sass, but what Ginnie really oozed was niceness. Goodness. Politeness. Qualities which were probably compounded even more when she was in a normal state of mind and not led astray by Quinn and his bad habits and not-so-nice ideas. Qualities which Jase had hired him to protect.
He studied her as she paused to smile at and speak to one of the flight attendants, the brightness in her eyes evident even from where Quinn sat. The flight attendant nodded at Ginnie, and she looked to Quinn. She was full of post-imaginary-coitus sparkle. In fact, her face was glowing, and she even shot Quinn a happy-looking wave.
Jesus.
The orgasm he gave her shouldn’t have been like that. It shouldn’t have been kiss-free, hands-free…It shouldn’t have happened for the first time in a bathroom stall, thirty-five thousand feet above ground. It shouldn’t have happened because she wanted to punish her ex-husband. Ginnie sure as hell shouldn’t think that’s all there was to it. To him. She shouldn’t be looking at him like he’d done something nice for her.
A lot of “shouldn’ts”, Quinn thought, his tongue reaching for the comfort of his lip ring. When what she needs are a lot of “shoulds”.
Like she should be with some guy who was planning on sticking around for more than a weekend. Who was capable of it.
“I’m an asshole,” Quinn muttered as Ginnie got closer, and he saw that she was carrying four miniature bottles of champagne and two glasses gripped in her delicate fingers. “A really big asshole.”
“It worked!” she announced gleefully.
She balanced the drinks on the wide armrest, then strapped herself into the seat, talking excitedly as she got settled and popped the bottles open.
“Lawrence – that’s his name, I can’t remember if I told you before – was royally pissed. Hopping mad. In all the time I was married to him, I don’t think I ever saw him so angry. Not even when I destroyed the three-thousand dollar rug in his home office.”
Who the hell had a three-thousand dollar rug?
Quinn forced a casual smile. “So he was jealous?”
Ginnie took a triumphant sip of champagne, and handed him a glass too. “So jealous. I had my doubts, but you were right Quinn. He even kept the underwear.”
Quinn almost spat out his drink. “He what?”
“Kept them.”
“Why’d you let him do that?”
Ginnie’s face became quizzical. “Was I supposed to ask for them back?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“Because…” Quinn trailed off, not sure what to say.
Because I don’t want that prick to be walking around with your panties, while true, seemed…inappropriate. Possessive. Inappropriately possessive. Which was totally unreasonable on every level.
Ginnie was already moving past it, and she waved a hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t wear them again anyway, not now that the two of you have manhandled them.”
<
br /> “Right,” he muttered. “Manhandled panties are the worst.”
Internally, Quinn gritted his teeth. He hated that she’d lumped him in with the douchebag. Even as a joke. Then he gritted them harder, annoyed with himself for letting it get to him in the first place. Clearly, his desire for the girl sitting with her knee pressed casually against his was clouding his ability to think straight.
“You know what?” Ginnie said, still smiling. “I know someone who would love this. He’d probably even pay to see it.”
He?
Another prick of jealousy stabbed at Quinn, and even though he forced it aside, Ginnie picked up on his consternation immediately.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Was he that easy to read? He’d always thought of himself as good – better than good – at assessing his audience, finding the right way to blend in. Hiding his true feelings.
Yeah, because you’re good with drug dealers and scumbags. Not so much with pretty doctor’s wives.
“Quinn?” she prodded.
Quinn tried to relax as he shot back his reply with a wink. “Nothing’s wrong, baby.”
“You’re a liar. And I told you not to call me baby.”
“You told me not to call you hun. Baby you seemed fine with,” he corrected. “And I’m not sure what makes you think I’m lying.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Every time your tongue hits that lip ring of yours, I know you’re thinking hard about something.”
Quinn grinned and tried not to be distracted by the fact that she was so interested in what his tongue was up to. “Are you saying I have a tell…baby?”
She gave him an eye roll. “Yes.”
Quinn tapped the ring with his tongue, sucked it for a second, then said, “Hmm. Maybe I should just take the damned thing out, then.”
Ginnie’s eyes fixed on his mouth for a moment, her own bottom lip visibly moist. “Don’t.”
Quinn stifled a groan. The way she exhaled the bossy little command had a hardline to his crotch.
“Why? You think I should leave it in so you can keep reading me so easily?”
She muttered something that sounded like, “I need some way to keep you in line.”
Quinn stifled a chuckle and told a half-truth. “Nothing is wrong. I was just wondering what kind of friend would pay to watch you get hot and bothered just to piss of your husband.”
She pursed those pretty lips of hers in a way that Quinn was sure was meant to cover a smile. Her own little tell.
“I think you mean fake hot and bothered.”
Quinn shot her a sly grin. “You sure you didn’t like that a little bit for real?”
“Are you sure you didn’t like it?” she countered.
“No. I’m quite sure that I did, actually.”
A flush crept up from under her tight collar, and she took a big gulp of champagne before answering.
“I was talking about my brother, actually. Jase hates Lawrence. He’d love to see him put in his place.”
Jase.
Quinn had all but forgotten his obligation to the man. Guilt hit him in the gut, full force.
Paid to look out for her, but lusting after her instead.
“Brother?” he replied innocently.
“Yeah,” Ginnie said. “My big, protective brother. A little too protective sometimes, actually.”
No shit, Quinn thought. He’d want to throttle me if he knew how I was thinking about you.
And just like that, he realized that he needed to put the parameters back up. Quickly.
She was the target. He was the shield.
Be the undercover bodyguard you’re being paid to be. Not the need-to-get-some-action fool. Jump into the role and see it through. No more thinking about putting her on a sink. Naked. Pants around your ankles and –
Quinn cut off his thoughts forcefully.
He just wasn’t sure how the hell he was going to manage it. He needed her to like him, too. At least enough that she wouldn’t send him packing before the end of the weekend.
What a place to be stuck. Between a rock and a…soft place.
“So,” Quinn said slowly, “If big brother Jase is so protective, how come he let you take a trip to Vegas by yourself?”
She arched a critical eyebrow at him. “Let me?”
Quinn crossed his arms. “Uh huh. If I had a sister as sweet and pretty as you are…I doubt I’d let her out of my sight. Never know what kind of weirdos and perverts are out there.”
She gave him a pointed look. “I think you know exactly what kind of weirdos and perverts are out there.”
He grinned. “Hey. I’m not the one who enjoyed myself a little too much in bathroom.”
Ginnie’s face glowed pink, and for a second, Quinn thought he’d won this particular round. Or that he’d crossed a line. Then she snapped open her purse, pulled out a tiny bottle of airport-approved hand lotion, and held it out.
“What’s that for?” Quinn wanted to know.
“For you.”
“For me?”
“So you can go back to the bathroom and enjoy yourself. And just FYI…your hands are a little rougher than you think they are.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes and clicked his lip ring. He had a half-dozen snappy replies at the ready, but she didn’t turn his way, and she was wearing a pleased, self-satisfied smile that he couldn’t stand to wipe off her face.
You’re a big, giant suck, Quinn.
Slowly, deliberately, he opened the bottle of lotion and sniffed it. Its scent was Ginnie’s. Or at least the top layer of her heady, intoxicating smell. Quinn had been close enough to her to know that underneath that was a sweeter, feminine scent that was completely her own.
He took another big inhale, then squeezed out a generous dollop of lotion into his palms. He set the little bottle in his lap and began to rub his hands together. He did that slowly, too, for her benefit. She might be pretending not to look, but he was sure she was watching. So he worked the cream between his knuckles, across the backs of his hands, then up his wrists. There, he focused the rub into a lazy back forth motion reminiscent of one thing and one thing only.
You want auto-erotic, you get auto-erotic, he thought smugly.
He snuck a glance at Ginnie’s profile.
Yep. Definitely paying attention. She’d sucked in her bottom lip and her chest was rising and falling a little quicker than was normal.
Quinn started to tell her she shouldn’t dish it out unless she could take it, but the plane jerked abruptly, sending the remaining champagne flying.
Frightened cries – including a little yelp from Ginnie – erupted throughout the plane, and then the fasten seatbelts sign flashed, followed by the captain’s voice over the loudspeakers.
“Attention passengers,” he said, his words calm. “We’ve hit a large pocket of turbulence.”
The plane bucked again, the speaker cut off, and a second generalized murmur of concern rose from the seats around them. The cabin vibrated heavily for several seconds, then smoothed out again. The calm only lasted for about twenty seconds before everything started to shake for a third, far longer period. Long enough that even Quinn got a little nervous.
His eyes sought Ginnie. Her face was frozen straight ahead, her body stiff, and Quinn forgot about his own worry.
“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re going to be fine.”
She didn’t look at him. “I am fine.”
“You look a little tense.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “My dad was a pilot. I know exactly how safe we are.”
“You dad was?”
“Yes. When I was a kid – back before my mom died – he used to take us all over the world. I think I must’ve missed a whole year of school over the course of my childhood.”
Then she snapped her mouth shut and turned away, like she couldn’t quite believe what she’d said.
Quinn was really tempted to ask a few questions. She had to be talking about her biolo
gical father. Which made Quinn very curious. In the time he shared a cell with Jase, the other man had spoken to him ad nauseam about the foster parents he shared with Ginnie. Dad worked construction, Mom was a book keeper. In all those conversations, Jase had never brought up his own biological parents, and he’d definitely never mentioned hers either.
He could feel the pain of the tiny bit she shared and Quinn wanted to know more.
So you can do what? Kiss it better?
The loudspeakers squawked, and the captain spoke again, still even-toned. “Sorry folks, but it looks like this turbulence is being caused by a very sudden, severe winter storm. We were hoping to skirt around it, but it’s become unsafe to do so. As a precaution, we’re going to be making an unscheduled stop at a small airport here in Huntingdon, Colorado. Your flight attendants will be through in a few moments to collect any trash or unwanted items. We should be on the ground within forty minutes. Further information on overnight accommodation and rescheduled flights will be available at the ticket desk in the airport. We do apologize for the inconvenience.”
Before the captain even finished his speech, the cabin filled with noisy complaints.
Not that Quinn could blame them. Anyone on his or her way to a what-happens-in-Vegas weekend wouldn’t be thrilled about losing a night of debauchery.
He stole another glance at his companion. She was looking a little green, and the hand closest to Quinn was opening and closing nervously.
And he didn’t care what she said – something had clearly scared her.
Nine
The plane rumbled under Ginnie. It made her chair vibrate. Then it bumped hard enough to make her strain against her seatbelt.
And she was glad.
It gave her an excuse to keep her eyes forward and her mouth shut.
Which she needed help with. Apparently.
She had no clue why the comments about her parents had slipped out. She hadn’t seen or heard from the man in over a decade, and she could count on one hand the number of times she’d brought them up voluntarily. Because Ginnie had one, simple – very solid – rule about discussing her biological parents.
Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) Page 6