by Tami Lund
Do your damndest to stay on her good side, Daniels.
“We need Oshard to work with us to bring her down.” Well, that certainly wasn’t the way to keep her happy.
“Hell, no,” Kyra said flatly. “No. You can’t possibly think you can trust him, after what he did to my case?” Quinn heard what she didn’t say. After what he did to me. He wanted to pull her into his arms, tell her everything would be okay, but he knew she would not allow it, not right now.
“I don’t trust him. If he fucks up one single little time, his ass is in prison, even if it means we have to let Bianca go to do it,” Quinn said instead.
“That’s my decision to make,” she nearly shouted, stabbing at her own chest. “It’s my case.”
“Then make the decision.” He didn’t understand why she was having such a hard time wrapping her head around the gift they’d just been handed. Oshard was screwed no matter what, but it would be three times worse if he messed with the case now.
Nico opened his office door and beckoned them inside. Before he even rounded his desk to drop into his chair, Kyra said, “We aren’t working with Keith.”
“Stop taking it so damn personally, Kyra,” Quinn snapped.
“It is personal,” she retorted, and they glared at one another until Nico finally cut in.
“Stop acting like a couple and start acting like damn FBI agents.” That finally shook Kyra from her pissy mood, at least enough to settle down so they could go over the details of their plan.
Quinn was the one having trouble concentrating now.
Does Nico know about us? And if so, would he send Kyra back to Dallas when this case was finally closed?
• • •
“You should have told me the second you saw him walk into the office,” Kyra accused that evening when they finally stepped into their house.
“You’re right,” Quinn said.
She stopped walking and turned to look at him.
“You’re right,” he repeated. “But I didn’t, because I wanted to give him a piece of my mind first.”
“Why?”
“Because he hurt you,” Quinn said. He appeared baffled by her question.
She felt the tension drain from her body for the first time all day. It was late on Monday evening, and they hadn’t been home since early that morning. After leaving the office that afternoon, they’d taken Keith to a nearby hotel, where they’d left him with an agent parked outside the door. Then they drove around the corner and doubled back on foot, so they could hunker down with the other agent and wait.
They hadn’t had to wait long. It had barely taken Keith thirty minutes to slip out of his hotel room and hurry across the parking lot to a nearby restaurant. He’d gone inside and twenty minutes later, Whitney Bianca had pulled her silver Jag into the parking lot, Oshard had climbed into the passenger seat, and they’d taken off together. Just like Quinn, Kyra, and Nico had predicted.
Quinn lifted his hand, cupped her cheek. “I like your eyes better when they aren’t spitting fire at me.”
Her anger was deflating like a balloon, now that the plan had been enacted, and she had finally stopped letting her pride control her actions. This wasn’t her case anymore; it was their case. And together, they were going to solve it.
She ducked her head and laughed softly. “Wow, that was pretty eloquent, Quinn.”
“You think so? You know where I’m even more eloquent? In the bedroom. Come on, let me make it up to you.”
He herded her up the stairs. At the top, he stopped and unbuttoned her shirt. He pushed the shirt off her shoulders and then reached down to undo her pants. All the adrenaline from her earlier fury shifted to desire. She wanted this man, almost more than she wanted anything else in life. He might infuriate her at times, but the reality was, his decisions, his choices, were usually in her best interest. He cared, truly cared, and she knew he would never hurt her on purpose.
She grabbed his shirt, more aggressively than she meant to. The buttons popped off and made tinkling noises as they smacked against the wall and fell to the floor.
“Holy shit. She-woman. I like it. You wanna be in control? I’m all yours.”
She laughed and gave him a push toward the bedroom. He turned around and bent at the knees, wrapped his arm around her thighs, and lifted her over his shoulder, carrying her across the room and laying her on the bed on her back. She propped herself on her elbows and watched as he quickly shed his clothes down to his boxers and then climbed onto the bed. He crawled up her body and towered over her, his hands and knees pressed into the bedcovers as he kissed her while pushing her back against the blanket. She wrapped her arms around his back and in one deft movement, rolled them both so that she straddled his hips.
He shifted his hips and crossed his arms behind his head. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”
She trailed her finger across his chest as her demeanor turned serious. “I want you, Quinn. I want us. I want this to be real.”
He uncrossed his arms, smoothed his hands up her thighs. “It is real,” he promised her.
“Do you think we should tell Nico? Maybe he should take you off the case. That way, it won’t interfere in our … our…”
“Relationship?”
He said the word. Her heart stuttered, and she nodded mutely.
“Is this about your fear that Whitney Bianca will steal me away? Are you still not over that?”
“It seems to me, the only time we argue, it’s over this case. If you weren’t attached to it anymore, maybe we wouldn’t argue so much.”
Quinn sat up and wrapped his arms around her back. “I don’t mind the arguing, as long as we get to have lots of makeup sex afterward. But I do mind the idea of you living here with some other guy. Even if it is for the case.”
“But if—”
“But nothing. I want you in my bed every night. Period. And if that isn’t enough of an argument, you don’t think our perp will notice that you suddenly have a new husband?”
“We can come up with something,” Kyra argued. But it was a weak argument, and they both knew it.
Quinn flipped her onto her back again. “No. End of argument. And now that the argument is ended, let’s have makeup sex.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m hot,” he said as he tugged her panties down her legs. “For you.” He shed his boxers and then covered her body with his own. She reached over to grab a condom off the bedside table. He sat up again to let her roll the protective material over his erection, and then he groaned when she wrapped her hand around the length of him and guided him to her opening. He pushed, and she gasped as her body opened for him. “I think you feel the same away about me.”
“I do,” she confirmed, just before she arched her back, allowing him to go deeper.
“Good,” Quinn growled as he pulled out and surged into her again. “Because this isn’t ending any time soon.”
No, not anytime soon. Maybe never.
• • •
On Tuesday morning, Quinn woke first. He was lying on his back, and Kyra was next to him, curled into a fetal position, lying with her backside pressed against his thigh. Mr. Happy had preceded him awake.
He rolled to his side, wrapping his body around Kyra’s and pulling her tightly to him. She cuddled into him but did not come fully awake. He reached down, positioned his erection, and then gyrated his hips, so that Mr. Happy was able to slide back and forth between her thighs.
She sighed. He nibbled at her neck and lifted his hand, cupping her breast, tweaking the nipple with his thumb and pointer finger. She made a moan of pleasure. His hand left her breast and headed south, cupping her sex as he continued to pump his hips, mimicking sex.
She still had not opened her eyes, but he knew she was awake, at least awake enough to be an active participant in the activities he had planned. He continued his ministrations until she panted and wiggled and clutched at the sheet. He pulled away from her, reached over and grabbed a condo
m and then he returned to position, pushing into her from behind, pressing his hand to her abdomen and grasping the headboard for leverage.
“Damn, I love morning sex,” he said a short time later, when it was over and he was lying on his back next to Kyra, who had apparently gone back to sleep. He rolled to his side and scraped the hair out of her face.
“Are you really asleep?”
She mumbled something incoherent and cuddled more deeply into the pillows. He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder and then climbed out of bed. Morning sex apparently had the opposite effect on them. Whereas it knocked Kyra out cold, he was invigorated, wide awake.
He took a shower and pulled on a pair of warmup pants before heading downstairs to make coffee and find something to eat. Court called a short while later, asking for help with a case he was about to wrap up. Figuring he had time today, Quinn headed back upstairs to get dressed. Kyra was just waking up.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” He admired how soft and sexy she looked first thing in the morning.
She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and rubbed her eyes. “I slept for nine hours, and I still feel exhausted,” she complained.
He grinned. “I blame me.”
She rolled her eyes and then padded to the bathroom.
“I’m heading into the office,” he called out as he searched the closet to find something to wear. “Court wants me to help him with a case.”
She appeared in the doorway, her toothbrush in her mouth. “Okay. I’ll go to Keith’s hotel, see if he ’fesses up to going to Whitney’s yesterday.” She headed back into the bathroom. He followed.
“I feel like I should act all jealous or something here. You know, like you do every time I express an interest in talking to Whitney on my own.”
She reached over and twisted the spigots in the shower. “It’s not you, it’s me,” she said.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
She laughed and stepped under the spray of water. “No. I’m telling you that my irrational issues with Whitney Bianca are a result of my own insecurities, not because I really, truly believe you will sleep with her. Although I do have a little fear that, if given enough time, she might be able to persuade you.”
“Irrational fear, just like you said,” Quinn replied. “And by the way, I figured all this out a long time ago, sweetheart. If it helps, Mr. Happy is Mr. Exhausted right now. Maybe I should ditch Court and go talk to Whitney instead?”
“Maybe you should go help Court.”
“Fair enough. Kiss me so I can leave.”
She did, and he grinned as he headed back into the bedroom to finish dressing.
• • •
Keith was in his hotel room, waiting for her.
The agent in the car parked outside his room indicated that he had returned at about two in the morning. Which meant he’d probably gone to Whitney and informed her that the FBI was on to him and he wanted to warn her away. Was Whitney even now packing her bags in preparation to flee? So far, there had been no call from the airport or the Canadian border, where they had additional agents watching and waiting for their perp.
“Did you bring food?” Keith asked as soon as she opened the door. “I’m starved.”
Actually, so was she. “Let’s go to that restaurant across the parking lot,” she suggested. How ironic would it be if Kyra chose to slide into the same booth where the night before he’d met Whitney and driven away with her?
“Any contact with our perp?” Kyra asked casually, as she munched on a French fry.
“None.” He took a bite of his burger. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
“Working on another case.”
“So he is your boyfriend, then?”
She silently cursed herself for the slip. “Yes.”
“Does the director here know?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“So it’s Keith and Kyra all over again, huh?”
“Hardly. What I have with Quinn is nothing like what you and I had.”
“Why? Because he hasn’t slept with Whitney yet? Give him time.” There was bitterness in Keith’s voice she knew was a result of his discovering his fling didn’t have the same emotional investment that he did in their affair.
“He won’t,” Kyra said with a conviction that surprised even her. “Quinn isn’t you.”
“He’s male, isn’t he?”
“Shut up, Keith. I know you saw Whitney last night.”
He looked surprised by her announcement. “Christ, Kyra, cut me a break. You’re about to send the woman to prison. I had to see her one last time. She’s fucking amazing. Those tits.” He cupped his hands in front of his chest, to emulate big breasts.
“I can’t believe I ever found you attractive,” she said, her voice heavy with disgust.
“Frankly, after meeting your new boy toy, I can’t either.” He took a bite of his sandwich.
“Is she planning to flee?”
Keith swallowed and then gave her a malicious grin. “Yep. Just as soon as she wraps up some unfinished business.”
• • •
After dumping Keith back at his hotel room, Kyra went into the office to report to Nico. Court was there, but Quinn was not.
“I thought he was helping with your case,” she said to the agent.
“He was,” Court confirmed. “We finished and he left. Sorry I’m not keeping tabs on your boyfriend for you, Kyra.”
Apparently, the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. How would Nico react? She was curious, but not curious enough to check in with him again before she escaped from the FBI building and headed home.
• • •
Despite the handful of minor annoyances going on at the moment, Kyra was pretty damn happy with her lot in life. Although those annoyances were certainly—annoying. Like Keith’s reappearance in her life, and his insistence that he wanted to help close the case in exchange for amnesty, which Kyra knew damn well neither Quinn nor Nico wanted to give him. She sure as hell didn’t. Or the fact that Whitney was still walking free on the outside when she should be in prison, paying for all her theft over the years, not to mention stealing Kyra’s boyfriend a year ago.
Funny, she was having a hard time really staying angry about that part. If Whitney hadn’t seduced Keith, if Keith hadn’t admitted it was happening and then covered his own ass, Kyra never would have moved to Detroit, never would have met Quinn. Never would have experienced the best sex of her life.
Not that it was all about the sex. Not by a long shot. And she knew, despite his sometimes lewd teasing, that it was more than that to Quinn, too. Which was pretty freaking cool.
She walked into the house and paused when she caught a glimpse of the dining room. All of a sudden, as clearly as if it were happening right this moment, she could see Thanksgiving, at her house. Well—this house. She could see her mother wandering about with a bottle of wine, refilling everyone’s glass; her father walking in from outside, holding the deep-fried turkey on a platter, steam billowing behind him. Her brother commenting about all those people who thought oven-roasted turkey was so good, and how they would never go back if they had a taste of his dad’s fried perfection.
And Quinn. He was there, too. Smiling. Saying something semi-crude to her mother, who blushed and giggled and playfully swatted his arm before tossing Kyra an approving look. She could almost hear her mother, whispering as she brushed past, “You done good, sugar. He’s a keeper.” Her mother would love Quinn. They all would. Even her slightly overprotective brother.
A dog barking as it was walked past the front of the house pulled her out of her reverie, and she reminded herself that this house wasn’t hers. Even if she and Quinn—well, even if something happened with this relationship, when the case was done—which arguably would be soon—they would have to move out of this house. It belonged to someone else, and the federal government was only renting it short term to help with her case.
It’s a short sale. The owners are tryi
ng to get out from under it.
What if, when the case was closed, she approached the owners, offered to buy it? She liked the house. A lot. She loved the sunroom, the layout. The dining room that was the perfect size for Thanksgiving dinner. The two smaller bedrooms upstairs, for two kids. The suite downstairs, perfect for guests, like her parents.
I could do it.
She had plenty of money saved. She’d hired an agency to rent out her condo back home in Dallas. The agency told her just last month that the renters were interested in buying, if she was interested in selling.
I could move to Detroit.
Quinn was here. And he’d made it clear he didn’t want her to leave.
What if she didn’t?
She walked through the house, viewing it with a more critical eye than she had the first time she walked through it, after Nico slid the keys across his desk and said, “Let’s close this.” There were scuff marks on the baseboards. Easy fix. The screen on the back door needed to be replaced. She would need a new hot water heater soon. She would need to buy a lawn mower, or rehire the service the government was currently paying to keep the yard manicured.
None of it turned her off. If anything, she grew more excited. Even more so when she imagined Quinn living here with her. Why not? They were already living together, even if it was due to an undercover assignment. And it was working. Really well. Look at the heat they generated together—
She felt her cheeks warm, even though she was all alone in the house at the moment.
She placed her laptop on the dining room table and wandered into the kitchen, still critiquing and still loving the idea. Nothing could change her mind at this point. She was going to do it. She was going to buy the house and move to Detroit. She couldn’t wait to tell Quinn.
Kyra pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and walked into the sunroom, dropping onto the flowered wicker couch. This furniture definitely had to go. Besides the fact that it wasn’t her style, it wasn’t terribly comfortable, either. She twisted, propped her feet on the other end of the couch. Yep. Uncomfortable. Something scraped the back of her ankle, and she sat up frowning, and reached down to see what it was.
She pulled a red thong out of the couch cushions. It was barely there, just two pieces of string and a tiny triangle of sheer material with a small black bow on the back, which would have been positioned just above the wearer’s ass.