Kellie’s mind stuttered to a halt. “Oh, gee, that sounds—I’m not sure I could afford to quit my job.” Or that she would ever possibly trade bringing the Very Hungry Caterpillar alive for preschoolers for the opportunity to order promo buttons for Lustful Lovers.
Her friend thought a minute, and then named a figure, which wasn’t terrible. “It’s got to be more than you’re making now. And you could live in the mother-in-law apartment in the house we just bought. My own mother-in-law will never, ever be staying there.”
Chewing her lip, Kellie toyed with her straw. If the bookstore went under anyway—which was a very real possibility—this chance might never come around again. But still…
“Just think about it. You can answer me later. I may not have a house to live in if we can’t get Toby out of this ridiculous contract with Joyce Rodgers. I can’t believe he did that. And for me!”
“Isn’t there some kind of three-day take-backsies thingy on contracts?” Kellie asked.
“Hmm. I think that’s the lemon law, for cars. I don’t think it applies to buying people.”
“I know someone we can ask.”
“Really? You have a lawyer in your pocket?”
“As a matter of fact, I kind of do.”
“Really? What, your biker’s been in jail enough that he’s got his attorney on speed dial?”
“No.” She hoped she wouldn’t be breaking a trust by sharing this information, even if he wasn’t using it. “Quinn has a very nice law degree of his own. From Harvard.”
Brae looked over Kellie’s shoulder then and smiled. “Well, isn’t that convenient? A lawyer! Looks like you’ve snagged yourself a keeper after all, haven’t you?”
Kellie turned quickly enough to see the hurt in Quinn’s eyes before he masked it with indifference. Crap.
“Hey,” he said, not meeting her gaze. To her friend, Quinn said, “There’s a very sad clown in the casino about to throw away a few thousand bucks on some long odds. You might want to hop in there and see if you can stop him.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked away, in the direction of the elevators.
…
Quinn really didn’t care if Kellie outed him as “more” than a biker, but…yeah, he kind of did. Because he found that he cared a lot about what she thought of him, even though she wasn’t quite ready to talk about anything after this weekend.
She grabbed his arm as he pushed the button for the elevator, her cool fingers sending a wave of electricity over his skin. “Whoa, Quinn. I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have told Brae about the lawyer thing. I wasn’t trying to give your services away or anything. I was just telling her that you might have some suggestions for the mess Toby’s in.”
“I already talked to him about getting some legal advice,” he admitted.
Her smile lit up the elevator car. “So you’re not mad at me?”
And suddenly, he realized that he had to convince her to stay in touch. That it did matter to him what she thought of him, because she mattered to him. And not just because she was the first woman in ages who saw more than one side of him.
“I don’t know,” he said, pulling a pair of gold lamé pants and a plastic bullwhip from the bag he carried. “If I’m going to be a lion tamer, I probably need to practice disciplining my…uh, lioness.”
“Were you going to say pussycat?’” she asked, as the elevator chimed for their floor.
“Uh…” He felt himself flush. “It came across my mental vocabulary list and I tried to ignore it, but it got stuck for a second.”
She led the way down the hall. “Well, Mr. Lion Tamer, you’ve got to start small before you move on to the big cats.”
He barely caught up to her before she was in the room, shutting herself into the bathroom by the time he made it all the way in.
“You get dressed out there. I’ll get ready in here,” she called.
Shaking his head and laughing, he threw his shopping bag on the bed and unbuttoned his khakis. He dropped them and grabbed the gold pants.
Jesus. If possible, these were worse than what he’d worn last night. At least that had been leather, for crying out loud. A nice rough-and-ready fabric, even if it had been ball-strangling.
He pulled up the Vegas-tastic stretchy gold “pants” he’d been sold and looked down. Well, the guys had plenty of freedom to move tonight. And this shiny crap was going to move right along with them. Please, gods of all things kind and generous, don’t let anyone from the media photograph me and my man parts tonight, because this shit leaves nothing to the imagination.
A week ago, Quinn would have never imagined he’d be dressing up like he was from…Vegas…and running around a hotel full of bisexual pirate wereparrots and eating sushi with the hottest bookseller in the country. But damned if he wasn’t ready to keep doing it. Somehow. If only she’d agree to continue this past this weekend.
“Hey, Kellie. I was thinking. Maybe when you—”
He didn’t get to finish his suggestion because the bathroom door opened.
Every thought of the future went out of his mind, because the present just about blew his mind. “Damn, woman. Are you trying to kill me?”
Kellie twirled, and her hair flew out in an arc behind her. She had, indeed, put on a catsuit thing. But she’d left out the underwear. At least the bra part.
“Is this too slutty?” she asked, cupping her generous breasts. “I feel like I’m flopping around like a couple of…well, I don’t know what, but—”
He was next to her in two steps, moving her hands and replacing them with his own. “Darlin’, you’re perfect.” He tested the weight of her in his palms, and her nipples peaked.
“Oh.” It was half sigh, half gasp, and it send a thrill down his spine, straight to his dick.
Stroking each breast, he leaned forward and kissed her partially open mouth.
She welcomed him, let his tongue slide across her lips, meeting him and tasting him right back. Her teeth nipped his bottom lip, and he groaned. He wanted her mouth on every part of him, but not as much as he wanted his mouth on her.
Sitting on the chair at the desk, he pulled her toward him so that she stood between his legs. He tugged at the front of her bodysuit, wanting to lick his way down her chest, to pull those nipples into his mouth while he squeezed—
“Oh, no you don’t.” She laughed, pulling his hands away from her neckline. “I spent too much energy getting into this thing once already tonight. I’m not taking it off now.”
“Aw, babe, you’re killing me,” he groaned, squeezing a breast in one hand and pulling her closer to him so he could nuzzle her.
She put her hands on his head, digging her fingers into his scalp, pulling him back from her as she dropped to her knees in front of him. “No wet spots on me, either.”
“Hey, who’s the guy with the whip here?”
She grinned up at him, sitting back on her heels. “Well, Master, you might have the whip and the chair, but I think I’m in control.” And with that, she slid her hands up his thighs, meeting in the middle, right over his straining erection.
“Oh, Christ,” he muttered, unable to do anything but hold on to the sides of the chair and watch her slowly unbutton and unzip his pants. His chest heaved, breath stuttering in and out while she freed his swollen cock, stroking him slowly from root to tip.
Had anything ever felt so amazing as her hands? Smooth and firm, she touched him, reaching one hand to cradle his balls as arousal sent his head rocking back.
Her lips closing over him answered his earlier—rhetorical—pondering, and the hot wet slide of her lips and tongue had him immediately ready to explode. Her head moved down as she drew him deeper and then back while she released him slowly, sucking and tonguing him.
“That might not be a good idea,” he managed to get out, although his body begged him to plead with her to keep going. “I’m going to come in about— Oh, fuck!—ten seconds—”
But she just looked up at him, a smile in
her eyes, and kept going.
True to his word, his body began to tense, thighs quivering, balls drawing up tight, and he put his hands on her head and held her hair while he arched, and with one last thrust, shot into her throat.
She gripped his thighs while he pulsed for what seemed like minutes, and she greedily continued to suck until he had to push her away.
Sitting back, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at him with big wide eyes and swollen lips. “Was that okay?”
If he hadn’t been so completely drained of muscle tone, he would have laughed. As it was, the best he could do was squeak out an “Uh-huh.”
She shot him a mysterious, self-satisfied smile and leaned forward to push herself up with her hands on his knees. “We should probably go—”
“Wait.” He pulled her down onto his lap, heedless of his now-soft penis lying vulnerably exposed under her hip. “You’re amazing,” he told her, meaning it. He drew her face down to him, needing to kiss her, to make sure she knew how…“grateful” didn’t seem like the right word, but he needed her to know…something.
Staring into his eyes, she pressed her lips to his in a long, sweet kiss that had his heart thumping double time. After a moment, she pulled away, standing. “Come on, Siegfried. Put Roy back in your pants and let’s go to the party.”
Chapter Fourteen
The masquerade ball must have been hitting its stride when they left the hotel room. On the elevator down, Kellie was saved from avoiding any more long-distance affair suggestions by the Wicked Witch of the West, Glenda the Good Witch, and a tube of Crest toothpaste.
“Oh, did they find the lion?” Crest asked them from beneath her pleated lampshade hat. She eyed Quinn like she’d like to cage him.
Kellie didn’t blame her. He was really freaking hot in those shiny pants and the vest with no shirt. And carrying that whip just made him appear dangerous. But still… “I’m the lioness.”
“That’s not what I meant,” the toothpaste said, but they were separated when Scarlett O’Hara got on at the next floor, and Kellie didn’t get to find out what lion was missing, or who had lost him.
The giant hoop skirt took up the majority of the floor space, and Kellie was squashed against Quinn in a back corner. Not an unpleasant place to be, actually.
One of his hands pulled her closer, and all of her soft parts molded against his hard ones. One of his parts nudged her in a particularly delightful way. “Hey, is that a whip handle?” she murmured against his chest.
“I’m just glad to see you,” he whispered back, moving the handle just enough to make her jump.
Omigod. She hissed, “Stop it! We’re going to have a wardrobe malfunction if you’re not careful.”
Through the mirror on the wall, Kellie saw Scarlett turn her head and open her eyes wide at them. She just smiled, doing her best Mona Lisa. Get your own Rhett Butler.
The handle wiggled again. Kellie locked her knees to keep from turning into a puddle of kitty jelly.
The elevator door pinged open and the crowd spilled out toward the party.
Kellie looked at Quinn for a long moment, thinking about staying on the elevator and heading back up. Without the whip handle.
He waggled his eyebrows.
She was going to miss him so much. She reached out and grabbed the door before it shut on them. The longer they stayed in public, the longer she could put off refusing anything between them after this weekend. Heck, her heart was already broken just thinking about leaving.
“What’s wrong?” He slid his arm around her as they walked toward the ballroom.
“Nothing.”
“Hmph.”
“I guess I’m a little tired.” That was good. Maybe he’d buy that she was exhausted, and she could tell him good-night without actually saying good-bye later. Just…yawn and hand him his clothes to take home.
“We’re just going to have to wake you up,” he told her. “I think this is probably going to do it.”
Holy hot potatoes. The joint was jumping. And slithering. And spinning and shaking and rolling around on the floor. They stood together at the entrance, watching a dance floor filled with every conceivable animal, fictional character, inanimate object, and historical figure imaginable. All dancing.
“Well, come on, lioness. Let’s go shake our moneymakers.”
She held back when he tried to lead her into the room, and considered going back to the room. The ballroom was crowded, and loud, and full of romance readers and writers. For some reason, that banged around in her heart like a hot matzo ball. If she went in there, she’d be attending her last conference event, ever. Which made her inexorably sad. After this, she was returning home to her little bookstore, to live her little life, and to be happy. Happy, right? That would make her happy. Having her bookstore, filling those kids with words and imagination…
“What?” Quinn wore a puzzled smile. “Don’t you want to dance?”
His question was so shocking to her that she popped right out of her self-reflective wallowing. “Wait. You want to dance?”
“Don’t you?”
“Well…I just…it never occurred to me that your big, burly, motorcycle-riding badness hid the heart of a disco king.”
“I keep that part of me more hidden than the law degree. But hey. I’m wearing gold spandex pants and carrying a whip. What’s the worst thing that can happen? Someone will laugh at me?”
Whomp. Fwap. Splat. The matzo ball exploded.
“What’s wrong now?”
Well, I just lost my heart to you. “Nothing, John Travolta. Let’s dance.”
…
Kellie was, possibly, an even worse dancer than he was. Quinn caught her in his arms as she twirled into him in some sort of jitterbug/nae nae combination that nearly decapitated him each time she tried it. But the danger was worthwhile every time she twisted back out and did the rest of her “moves.” Because she bounced and jiggled and had an awesome fucking time.
Once, between songs, he managed to get her to the bar for a couple of Cokes. “You having fun?”
“This is great!” Face shining, she glanced at him and then back at the dancers.
For some reason, he felt like they were back at phase one of Getting to Know You. Awkward and stilted. Fearless lion tamer that he was, Quinn forged ahead. “I was thinking. Maybe when—”
The next song started, and Kellie grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the music booth. “I want to make a request.”
“Okay…”
She grabbed a slip of paper from the “request” basket and wrote “Hank Williams Jr.” on it. She grinned at Quinn and shoved it at the DJ. “You might know your seventies junk, but you need to learn a little about country.”
“What? No.” He grabbed his own slip and wrote “Earth, Wind & Fire.”
Kellie rolled her eyes at him.
The disc jockey held a slip of paper in each hand, staring back and forth at them, and then at Kellie and Quinn.
Finally, he raised a finger in “Aha!” and bent to search his computer for something before nodding at them in satisfaction.
The next song started, and Quinn laughed. He leaned over Kellie and growled in her ear, just to see her shiver. “What do you think of this?”
The first few lines of “Dub That 2Step ” filled the air.
Kellie grinned. “No thinking, just dancing!”
Finally, finally, the DJ said, “Everybody grab a partner. It’s time to slow things down a little.” The cheesiest, sappiest ballad from the eighties began to play. Quinn could have kissed the man, except he was too busy pulling Kellie against him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed, turning slowly with him to the music. He held her, hands on her hips—okay, maybe closer to her butt—and savored the feel of her body. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the way her lush curves filled his palms. He squeezed a little, just to make sure.
“Hey! We’re in public here,” she protested.
>
He looked around. No one paid them any attention, but he was all for moving this dance somewhere more private. “You wanna go upstairs?”
She caught her breath, staring up at him, big green eyes unfathomable. One corner of her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, and he leaned down to kiss her there, tugging the lip free with his own teeth.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
A million feelings chased across her face, and he was too much of a guy to put a name to any of them. Not that he couldn’t, he was just afraid to.
“I’m actually really tired,” she finally said.
For some reason, he didn’t think “really tired” was a fancy author metaphor for “really anxious to get upstairs and do you until neither of us can walk,” even though she’d just been gyrating like a Beyoncé backup dancer on meth—when she hadn’t been doing the cat in heat routine.
“Okay…”
She stared across the room, where Cinderella chased a miniature sumo wrestler across the floor. “So, yeah. I know your clothes are upstairs, so maybe we should go get them, and…”
Wow. This was it, huh? She was just going to ditch him after the ball? Maybe he wasn’t the lion tamer after all, but the coachman about to turn back into a mouse? He shook his head. Too much romance convention—he was starting to think in literary devices. Best to revert to Biker Quinn. “Fine, babe. Let’s go get my stuff, I’ll get out of your hair.”
After an interminable elevator ride, she silently scanned her key card and opened the door. Her suitcase lay on the floor, half filled with clothes. She kicked it as she led the way inside.
“What was that for?”
“I just…like I said, I’m tired.”
“Really?” Quinn stopped by the door, and she turned to look at him there. He didn’t know exactly what was going on with her, but he didn’t think it was anything good. She was going to tell him good-bye, and he’d walk out of her life forever. And he didn’t want that. So he decided to call her on what he hoped was her bullshit. “I think you’re bummed that you have to leave tomorrow and you’re taking it out on your poor suitcase.”
Accidentally in Love With the Biker (What Happens in Vegas) Page 11