by Sarah Andre
He had a point. Her fawning was annoying her. She snatched the device and shoved it under the pillow. “Next time I’m on top,” she proclaimed regally.
“You’ll love it up there.” He grinned wryly and lowered his head, kissing her earlobe, her temple, her cheek, then finally trapping her mouth. His tongue milked more shivers. After a long while, he broke off with a contented grunt and pulled out of her. “No more lollygagging. We’ve got a big day ahead.”
“Lollygagging?” she muttered. “Who even says that? Was it in the poem? It can’t have been. That would’ve turned me right off.”
“Thank God you’ve returned unharmed.” His grin sculpted hollows in his cheeks. “I thought my extraordinary lovemaking skills conquered your rudeness for good.”
She slapped his bicep, hard. In retaliation, he kissed her nipples reverently, then slid down her body and planted a lingering kiss on the chess queen, an area he seemed to be obsessed with, which was downright hilarious. Still, beneath the silky press of his tongue, she twitched impatiently as her new sensuality awoke. Of their own volition, her thighs parted further in invitation.
Sean paused over the juncture, his angular face taking on a hungry wolf look. “You’re a siren,” he muttered, his breath tickling her in exquisite torture. “We don’t have time for this.”
He sat up and stripped off the condom, folding it neatly inside a tissue like a miniature package. She rolled her eyes and trailed fingers along the etched lat muscles of his bowed back.
His phone buzzed on the bedside table. “Jace,” he announced, and pushed speakerphone. “What’s up?”
She loved the new confidence in his voice.
“I told Mom to cancel her party tomorrow,” Jace said in his authoritative bark. “All law enforcement branches are still searching Chicago for the bombs. Trick’s even gone straight from a forty-eight-hour shift to volunteer. We’ve successfully retrieved three so far. Who knows how many are left.”
Sean shot her a grim look over his shoulder. He inched the phone closer as if she couldn’t hear from this side of the bed. “Have you arrested Adyton,” he asked, “or are you afraid to?”
His brother let out a weary sigh. “He’s in custody. We’re in very complicated negotiations, but he’s on the losing end, and my gut says he’s ready to finish this.”
“He didn’t strike me as a guy who thought he had much to lose.”
“He does now. We have his great-nephew and all the merchandise he stored in Donatello’s warehouses.”
The sinewy muscles along Sean’s torso contracted as he inhaled deeply. “What about Walter?”
“We’ve got him for altering a price point on the fake inventory list for Hussain, which is technically money laundering, but your boss has agreed to work with us to take down Joe Taylor’s counterfeit provenance business and will also testify once we fold Adyton’s op.”
Gretch sat up and plastered herself along Sean’s back. “Count us in too,” she called toward the phone. “I’d be happy to help the prosecution, especially for that fuck-head Victor.”
“Oh. Hi, Gretch.” The tinny voice took on a strange tone, and Sean both blushed and beamed.
“Anything else?” he asked Jace, crisscrossing her arms over his chest like the sleeves of a sweater. “We’ve got a full day.”
“I’ll bet you do,” his brother murmured, a clear sulk attached to the words. Gretch kissed Sean’s ear and folded back on the bed like Cleopatra.
Sean ended the call and twisted, running his palm along her hip. “You did that on purpose,” he accused, although the reverence in his expression belied his tone.
“It strikes me your brother is never on the losing end with you. In anything. I figured a reminder once in a while might be healthy for his ego.”
His gaze lingered on hers, the tenderness there stealing her oxygen. “Thanks.”
It was suddenly too much, all this lovey-doveyness between them. “Do you think I’d make a good FBI agent?” she asked archly, so he wouldn’t know how much his answer meant to her. Naturally, he saw right past her act and stroked her hip thoughtfully.
“You’re efficient. Good at getting people to do things your way. And I’m in awe of your courage.” He nodded. “Yeah, you’d make a great agent, Gretch. You’ve got all the characteristics of a hero. And being a Quinn, I’m a master expert on that subject.”
Sean, Jace, and Trick. All superheroes in their own right. No doubt all hiding layers of conflict and damage. “You Quinn boys sure are a lot of trouble. I’m trying to make up my mind whether any of you are worth it.”
He grinned, trailing his hand around back and smacking her rump hard enough to sting.
“Ow!”
“Get up, princess. As soon as I’ve scrubbed you in the shower, I have a tin of mints in my book bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He brushed a thumb along her chess queen tattoo.
She frowned. “Are you implying that I smell bad?”
“God, no. That pepper scent is exactly right for you.”
He’d said that before. “A pepper? What the hell’s wrong with your nose?”
“Nothing. You’re hot and spicy.” He snatched her borrowed shorts and t-shirt from the floor. “And a slob. Look at this place.”
She scanned his neat room, making sure her pout looked bored. The sterile place didn’t reveal the complex layers she was discovering by the minute. Like his outer façade, this functional space lacked personalization or warmth. It made her ache for the saggy purple sofa-and-chair combo, or Dwayne’s outrageous collection of male nudes. Her place was still a crime scene, so the day ahead included retrieving some clothes there, then going to Dwayne’s memorial service in the evening. Gretch sobered and sat up, hugging her knees.
“He would have liked you,” she said, perusing Sean’s lithe body and sensational ass as he crossed to the bathroom.
“He did like me,” he called, turning on the shower. See? He automatically knew who she was talking about. “We chatted Tuesday morning while you prettied yourself up.”
She rested her chin on her knees. “Chatted about what?”
“Stuff.”
She smiled. Of course Sean wouldn’t elaborate or gossip. Even two days ago, that would have annoyed the hell out of her. Now she liked the way he kept confidences. Warmed at how he had his own memory of Dwayne that he didn’t feel was necessary to share. She held zero control or influence over him, and appreciated every challenging second.
Sean reappeared in the doorway, splendidly nude and all hers. Last week this would have shocked her stupid. Now her heart thudded a trembling rhythm. “By any chance do you ballroom dance?”
He folded his arms. “No. That would have been the last straw for my father. There’s no doubt in my mind he’d have kicked me to the sidewalk.” He grinned at whatever image went through his head. “Why?”
“I’ve always wanted to waltz.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll sign up for lessons on Monday.” He swept an arm wide. “Any day now, your majesty.”
She nodded. The sheer force of love swelling in her chest kept her in the tucked position. “In a sec.”
Sean rapped twice on the threshold and disappeared inside. Okay, so one behavior had to stop. “Has anyone ever encouraged that?” she called.
“Encouraged what?” He popped his head back out, his quirky eyebrows tilting. It was a look she’d grown to adore, and it took a second to recover her snark.
“That.” She waved her hands. “Knocking twice when you leave a room. What the hell does it mean? And don’t say ‘ancient Chinese secret.’”
A slow grin bloomed on his face. He braced a bicep on the threshold. “I swear I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”
“Is it a secret code?”
“Sort of.” He shrugged, a flush creeping up his neck. “When I was a kid, my brothers instilled a healthy fear of ghosts in me.” He patted the crown molding. “This is how I’d warn the spirits I was entering a room.”
&n
bsp; She sucked in a breath. See, just when you understood Sean, he’d say something to knock you for a loop. That annoying knock wasn’t his introverted signal for goodbye. It was a hello to the spirit world. “Do you still believe in ghosts?”
“Sure,” he said in a tone like she’d asked a ridiculous question. “Doesn’t everybody?”
She also loved that he kept her in constant surprise—and yes, okay, slightly annoyed. But her adult self ached for the little boy who’d been so indoctrinated to alert ghosts of his silent presence that he carried the habit still.
She stood and swept across the room, giddy at the way he ate up her nudity, purposely grinding out her haute runway walk. She had a freaking boyfriend! And it was Sean Quinn.
Gretch knocked the threshold twice as she sailed by him. “You coming or what?”
About the Author
Sarah Andre is a 2017 RITA® finalist, which is Romance Writers of America’s highest award of distinction. Sarah’s novels include: Capturing the Queen (2017), Tall, Dark and Damaged (2016) Locked, Loaded and Lying (2015), plus a short story in an anthology, From Florida with Love (2016.) She lives in serene Southwest FL with her husband and two naughty Pomeranians. When she’s not writing, Sarah is either reading novels, exercising to rude alternative rock music or coloring. Yes, you read it right. She’s all over those coloring books for adults!
Romantic Suspense That Keeps You Up All Night
Keep in touch with Sarah here:
@SarahRSWriter
Sarah Andre Author Page
www.SarahAndre.com
[email protected]
Tall, Dark and Damaged
Damaged Heroes: Book One
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A 2017 Romance Writers of America RITA® finalist