Danger Zone

by Dee J. Adams

  No way would he leave Ellie. He couldn’t. But he’d have to call Mac ASAP when Ellie went to the bathroom or something. She couldn’t stay on his lap forever. It didn’t matter how good it felt to hold her there. This wasn’t how he wanted to be holding her. Not how he imagined it at all.

  Eventually, her breathing steadied on his neck. The tears actually stopped. It surprised him a little. She adjusted herself, got more comfortable. Having her brush against him nearly started his dick on a quest, but Quinn fought the sensation ruthlessly. Now was absolutely not the time for that.

  But then she nuzzled his neck. No mistaking it. She nuzzled. Took a big breath and exhaled. Warm air stirred his senses. Quinn’s body reacted despite his desire for it to do otherwise. He practically felt the blood rushing south.

  She purred. A low hum right in his ear and he clenched his jaw against another wave of sensation. She couldn’t know what she was doing to him, could she?

  “Elle…” He tried setting her next to him, but she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I was thinking you should sit…that I should sit over—”

  Her lips grazed his neck right under his ear. An erogenous zone he didn’t know he had. His dick came to full attention in two seconds.

  “Elle, really. I think we need a little space to—”

  She traced the shell of his ear with her tongue. Warm and wet, and he closed his eyes as an arrow of lust shot down his spine and arrowed to his penis. Oh shit. Not now. Not like this.

  “Hey, Elle, slow down.” He held her back and turned his head at the same time, hoping to see her eyes, to tell her that they weren’t going to do anything more than hug and talk, but her lips pressed against his and the exact opposite happened. She kissed him. Full on the mouth, not tentative, not slow, not anything like the kisses they’d already shared. She kissed him hard, demanded his attention and his complete cooperation.

  Okay, she needed consoling. He got that. So he kissed her. Tasted the sharp edge of whiskey along with the sweetness of Ellie. He threaded his fingers through her hair, did his best to soften the moment, to calm the raging fire between them, but she pressed her tongue deep into his mouth and had him gasping for air.

  Her hands pulled at his T-shirt until her warm fingers found his waist and stomach, and wound their way up his chest. Nothing felt better than having her touch him like this. Jesus, he’d fantasized about this moment, about her hands on his body and her tongue in his mouth. Turned out his fantasy wasn’t half as good as the real thing. Her fingernails scraped across his flat nipples and a ball of fire roared through his blood. He pulled her closer, brought her more fully against him as he took over the kiss, plunged his tongue into her mouth and took from her.

  She moaned and purred at the same time, a sound that sent his pulse pounding and had him wanting more.

  Shit! What was he doing? This was crazy. If he did this now, she’d never forgive him. He retreated, but she wouldn’t let him go far. As if sensing the shift in battle she played with his lips. Teased his chest with her fingernails. She pinched his nipple and his hips bucked involuntarily. She took advantage of his parted lips and kissed him again. Just as deeply, just as soul shattering.

  “Elle—”

  But she wouldn’t let him finish. Wouldn’t let him get a word in. While her mouth continued to devour his, she adjusted herself. Only her lips stayed connected to his, her tongue still swirled around his teeth in an erotic dance as, shit, she straddled him…with unbelievable legs. She wanted more than simple consolation. She wanted mindless sex. Outrageous sex. Rip-the-clothes-off-and-do-it-on-the-sofa sex.

  And Quinn couldn’t do that. Oh, he wanted to do it. But he couldn’t. Not in the state of mind Ellie was in now.

  “Hey…” He gasped for air and pulled away. “Elle, slow down.” Her teary green eyes stared at him. Without a word, she moved against him, lifted on her knees just enough to rub herself against his hard-on. He closed his eyes, fought the urge to press more fully against her. Closing his eyes was a mistake, because it gave her permission to kiss him again. Fighting her kiss was fighting a losing battle. How was he supposed to resist the one thing he’d wanted so badly for the past week?

  Speaking of week…how weak was he? He had to end this before she took it too far. Clearly she intended to take it way too far.

  “Elle, let’s not do—”

  She stripped off her tank top and kissed him again. The sight of her gorgeous breasts straining for release from a sexy, black lace bra had him groaning. The sound got lost in his throat.

  “Touch me,” she whispered at his mouth. “I know you want to touch me.”

  Jesus. He was dead meat. Because he did want to touch her. More than anything else in the world, he wanted to feel her soft skin beneath his fingers. He wanted to kiss every part of her, taste every inch of her.

  She took his hands and placed them on her waist. “Only skin you can see,” she murmured. Using his words against him, she rubbed his hands along her waist, up her ribs and stopped under her breasts. She wasn’t even completely naked and he burned for her like nothing before. Hot and hard and ready to go.

  “I love your hands on me,” she breathed. “I want them all over me.” She brushed against him, moved his hands so that his thumbs and index fingers cupped underneath each breast.

  Oh shit. He pulled back, gasped for breath. His heart thundered in his brain. “Elle, c’mon, you don’t really want to do this now.”

  She sat back, rested on his thighs. His erection strained against his jeans, poking out in an obnoxious display of weakness. After looking at the evidence in his pants, she met his gaze. Then she very slowly and methodically set her hands where his had been moments before. She cupped herself, right before she unclasped the front hook of her bra.

  Air stalled in his lungs. She let the material draw back slowly, revealing more and more skin until her erect nipples popped free from the material. All the while she grazed her fingers along her breasts, teasing him, torturing him. He wanted his hands there. He wanted to feel her. Touch her. And she knew it. She pulled the straps off her shoulders and the bra fell to the floor.

  Quinn swallowed. She was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Full breasts with dusky pink nipples stared him in the face.

  “Only skin you can see,” she murmured again. Taking his hands, she placed them under her breasts then closed them over her until she rested in his palms. She squeezed his hands over her. Quinn shut his eyes, clenched his teeth. Jesus, she felt good. Her breasts filled his hands. Soft and full. Perfection. Her nipples spiked against his palms, begged for attention.

  She moved closer, rode him through his jeans and her stretch pants as she kept the pressure of his hands on her chest. “It feels so good,” she whispered. “You can have more. You can have it all.” She rocked again and Quinn bit back the urge to buck up against her. “I know you want me.” She kissed him, drove her tongue into his mouth in a full on assault. “I want you, too,” she breathed. “Right now.” She kissed him again.

  What was wrong with him? At any time with another woman or at any other time with this woman—he wouldn’t have hesitated. And now…now he was going to do the one thing he’d never done in his life. Say no to a sure thing.

  A week ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to get inside Ellie. He’d wanted the California girl fantasy: blonde, tone, stacked and fun. She’d be incredible. She’d moan, gasp and beg. She’d say exactly what he wanted to hear. She’d touch him with her hands, her mouth. She’d do anything he asked. He had a chance right now to make it happen.

  He couldn’t. Not like this. Not knowing that she’d hate him afterward. And she’d definitely hate him after the fact. She’d feel cheap. Dirty. She’d feel as if she betrayed the memory of her best friend. And she’d blame him. Even if she took the responsibility, she’d probably never want to see him again.

  “No,” he rasped.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Before she kissed him agai
n and he lost his willpower, he grabbed her wrists and held her from him. “No, Elle,” he said softly. “Not right now. Not—” while she was hurting so badly. “Not like this.”

  Her lips trembled and tears welled up, but she fought it and smiled. She rubbed against him in a last ditch effort to change his mind. “You know you want me.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’d say we have plenty of evidence to prove that theory.”

  Her smile turned genuine. “So I don’t see a problem.”

  Quinn did. He saw a huge problem. An enormous problem. “Let’s hold off for now.”

  The softness left her eyes. The play disappeared. She lashed out with a solid fist, connecting with his chest. “What’s wrong with you?” she snapped. “You’ve been sniffing after me for days, looking for a quickie. Well, here I am. Fuck me, already!”

  Her words smacked him harder than her hand. Shocked him. This wasn’t Ellie talking. This was a distraught woman who wanted to think about anything but her best friend.

  Quinn kept his voice steady. “You don’t really want that.”

  “Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want. I’m sitting on top of you, fucking half-naked, so I think I know what I want.” She kissed him again. Hard.

  But Quinn was done being the observer as she seduced him. He took her wrists and shifted their positions so he covered her on the sofa. “Stop, Elle. Stop it. You don’t want it like this.”

  “Fuck you,” she snarled and fought to get free. “Get out!”

  Quinn had no plans to let her go. Just because he wouldn’t have sex with her didn’t by any means translate into him walking out the door. She needed him now, she just didn’t know it.

  They wrestled on the sofa, Quinn trying to settle her down and Ellie fighting for all she was worth to get free even as tears streamed down her face as she openly sobbed. “Elle, don’t do this.” He hated fighting her. Hated the absolute devastation in her eyes as she struggled. After a minute her fight got desperate.

  “Let go,” she gasped. “God, let go, I’m going to be sick.”

  Quinn released her and she made a mad dash to her bedroom. He heard her words come true as she vomited into the toilet.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. Hopping off the sofa, still breathing hard, he followed her path. In her bedroom, he spotted a short, white robe at the foot of her bed and scooped it up. The silk slid against his fingers and made him think of sex, but the thought disappeared in an instant. The sight of her worshipping the porcelain god just about broke his heart. Hair covered her face like a blond curtain as she continued to spew into the toilet. He opened a couple of drawers under the bathroom counter and found a clip for her hair. After flushing the bowl, he pulled her hair out of her face and clipped it together. Then he draped the robe over her shoulders.

  “Go away,” she moaned.

  Nope. “Not gonna happen.” He ran cold water over a washcloth and knelt next to her, wiping her forehead and neck where sweat dampened her skin.

  “Fuck you. I don’t want you here.” She batted him away.

  “I’m sorry. You don’t have a choice.”

  “Fuck you.” More tears streamed down her face.

  “You said that already. Lift your arm,” he ordered softly. She did and he slipped the robe over one shoulder then the other. He belted it loosely and breathed a mental sigh that at least he’d covered her up. His chest tightened as she battled some dry heaves, but when she finished, he helped her up. “C’mon…” He carried her to her bed, settling her between the blankets. “Go to sleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  If she heard him, she ignored him. Slow tears trekked down her face and landed on her pillow. Fifteen minutes later, her tears had stopped and her breathing had evened out.

  Quinn took a seat in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room. She’d sleep a little and wake up feeling like shit. But she wouldn’t be alone. Not now at least, while he could be here. But once he left… God, once he went home, she’d be on her own, with no best friend or roommate. He ran his hands through his hair and shoved the thought out of his head. It wasn’t his problem, right? He had other things to worry about.

  There was something he had to do…

  Mac. Shit, he had to call Mac. Quinn headed out of the room as he hit the speed dial. Three rings later, Mac’s voice mail told him to leave a message. He couldn’t catch a break today. Actually, that wasn’t true. If not for Ellie, he’d be a dead man. He left a quick message explaining the accident and circumstances, ended the call and paced the apartment.

  Shit. What if Gerhardt slid into the spot Quinn vacated today when he was with Ellie? What if they were still talking? What if Gerhardt had convinced Mac to sell to his company? “Bullshit,” Quinn muttered. Mac didn’t want to sell and Quinn was the only one able to convince him of that.

  Wasn’t he? Wouldn’t Mac do what he asked instead of a low-life competitor like Aaron Gerhardt?

  Quinn sure as hell hoped so.

  He was done with the company. Done with racing. He didn’t like cars, other than the fact that they got him where he needed to go. He didn’t like drivers—with the exception of his sister-in-law, but even she irritated him at times—and he really didn’t like being in charge of a bunch of people who had more knowledge about cars than he’d ever acquire in a lifetime.

  He didn’t want to deal with the sport in any way, shape or form. Period.

  Quinn stopped in Ellie’s doorway and watched her sleep. What the hell did he want?

  He flagged down the bartender as he finished his favorite pilsner and ordered another. He needed the consolation. A few women in business suits had already tried to catch his attention. Flash a wad of cash and the world was yours for the taking. But he wasn’t in the mood.

  He’d missed.

  He’d been so damn close too. Right on target as far as he could tell. The worst part had been missing the actual collapse. He’d had to make himself scarce and only hung around long enough to see that Reynolds and his bimbo had survived. How the man had dodged that bullet, he didn’t know. He’d seen them both, bloody and dusty. The minimal satisfaction from that picture hadn’t been nearly enough to appease him. What a wasted effort. But the destruction had been a sight to see. Gorgeous. And to think he’d done it all himself. That was highly empowering. Highly.

  It ranked right up there with running a multibillion dollar company.

  He needed another chance. In fact, he’d start covering every base first thing tomorrow. He knew the three places they frequented most. Her place, Reynolds’s hotel and the studio. He’d be ready for anything no matter where they were. He’d have transportation and firepower, the two things necessary to finish this job.

  He smiled at his genius. He hadn’t reached the top for no reason.

  The drink arrived and he tossed back half…but not before silently toasting himself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ellie blinked open gritty eyes. She grimaced at the rank taste in her mouth before her stomach rumbled in an ominous groan and nausea hit lightning fast. She pushed herself out of bed and raced to the bathroom. Every abdominal muscle clenched as she bent over the toilet.

  Only nothing came out.

  Why was she sick? Her mouth was like… God, she didn’t even want to think about what her mouth tasted like. How come—

  Ashley.

  The memories flooded back and with them came another wave of nausea. It couldn’t be possible. Ashley wasn’t dead. Ashley couldn’t be dead. Her stomach clenched. She ached all over.

  She heard someone moving around. “Ash,” she mumbled. That was it. It was a dream. Relief rushed through her. She was sick and she’d dreamed that terrible accident, but they were both at home and that rancid taste in her mouth was because…because…she’d drunk…Jack Daniels? That couldn’t be right. She didn’t drink. Nothing made sense.

  “Ash.” She didn’t expect Ashley to hear her name. Ellie hardly got any sound behind it. But she must
have heard her because she was at the door.

  Except when Ellie lifted her head, it wasn’t Ashley. It was Quinn.

  Quinn watching her, Quinn soaking a washcloth with cold water and Quinn crouching next to her as he pressed the cloth to her forehead.

  “Oh, my God.” It was true. Ashley was gone. Every muscle ached from digging through the debris to get to her. “Oh my God.” Fresh tears blossomed and Ellie collapsed. Somehow she landed in Quinn’s lap and he just rocked her. Held onto her and kept her safe.

  But she wasn’t safe. She wouldn’t be safe. Only Ashley knew her secret. Ashley made it so she kept her head above water. Ashley was her lifeline. Tears came harder and with them, came more nausea. Ellie gagged into the bowl with nothing left inside her to come out. She forgot about Quinn, forgot everything but the misery of the last few hours.

  Quinn carried her back to the bed and tucked her under the covers. The bed dipped and she didn’t say anything when he crawled next to her fully clothed and wrapped himself around her. More tears leaked down her cheeks and Quinn kissed the top of her head.

  She’d tried to seduce him. She’d done everything she could think of so he’d take her mind off…

  And he’d said no.

  She’d said horrible, vile things. Said things to him she’d never said to anyone in her life. And he was still here taking care of her. His arms felt solid and warm, wrapped around her tight, and she nestled into his heat.

  “Get some sleep,” he murmured in her hair. His low rumble sent a ripple of goose bumps across her nape. She closed her eyes and let sleep take her away.

  What seemed like a minute later her stomach churned and an inhuman moan rumbled from her throat. Her muscles ached, her eyes felt gritty and swollen. She didn’t have to see herself to know she looked like crap.