Risking It All for Her Boss: A Heroes for Hire novel (Entangled Ignite)

by Sharron McClellan

  She raised a brow and with a flip of her hair, dismissed him. “You.” She pressed a finger against Quinn’s sternum, blocking the blonde from view. “Can I buy you another drink?”

  “Have one. Thanks.” But his expression screamed, “Save me.”

  “We’re talking,” the stranger said, taking her by the elbow and trying to shove her out of the way.

  She glared at him over her shoulder, channeling the diva within. “I’m not talking to you. I am talking to him.”

  She tugged at the bodice of her dress, and this time, flashed her palm and the marble in it.

  Quinn’s gaze zeroed in on it. The relief in his eyes was brief but instantaneous as he shook his head no.

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  With another flip of her hair, she headed for the stairs, knowing he wouldn’t be too far behind. She sauntered out the front door, welcoming the cool night air, and let the door slam shut behind her. The music muted, leaving only the thumping of the bass.

  She leaned against the brick wall, enjoying the relative silence.

  Five minutes later, Quinn walked out. She grinned and pushed away from the wall. “What? Not bringing him back to the room?”

  “Not my type,” he replied, flagging down a cab as it rounded the corner. He held the door open, and she slid into the backseat. He climbed in next to her and gave the name of the hotel to the driver.

  Minutes later, they were back in the room.

  She fell onto the bed and kicked off her shoes. The heels might not be hooker-high, but her feet ached just the same. “Remind me to wear dance shoes the next time I try to salsa,” she groaned.

  Quinn sat in the chair across from her and propped his feet on the mattress. “No pity here. How long did you have the key before you told me?”

  She pushed up to her elbows. “A few minutes.”

  “Sure you did.” The drop in tone told her he didn’t believe her.

  Smart man.

  “Okay. Ten minutes. Maybe. But no more.” She knew she sounded insincere, but she didn’t really care. It had been almost fun to watch Quinn in an uncomfortable situation, since it happened so rarely. He usually controlled situations. Not the other way around.

  “Want to share?” he asked.

  She retrieved the marble from her bra and tossed it to him.

  He caught it midair. “Think he’ll suspect us?” she asked.

  “Doubtful. Even if he does and tries to cause a ruckus at the bar, I’m betting you can get Bruce to forgive us.”

  “He did like me.” It might be her job, but it still boosted her ego to have a stranger want her.

  “Hard not to,” he said.

  She bit her lip. She loved the easiness between them. She missed it. But she hated it just as much. She didn’t want to like it. To like Quinn. “Thanks.”

  He nudged her shoes under his chair and out of the way. “Watching you dance tonight was like watching a professional.”

  “A professional? Like a stripper?”

  His brows shot upward. “No. Like ballroom.”

  A giggle slipped past Eva’s lips. “I knew what you meant. And thanks. I thought you were having fun, too. He was cute,” she teased.

  “It was an act. It was not fun.”

  “Still, you did it. W.W.R.D.?”

  “If he finds out about tonight, I’ll never hear the end of it,” he said, but there was no animosity in his voice. Everything about Quinn, from his tone to the way he smiled as he thought of his brother, told her that he loved his sibling.

  She often wondered what having a brother or sister might have been like. Being an orphan would have been easier if she’d had someone to share the hard times with, but she wouldn’t wish her past on anyone. “He sounds like a nice guy. And he knows when to give you a hard time. Smart.”

  “He is.” He slouched into the chair and closed his eyes, making himself comfortable. “Top ten percent of his class at the Academy.”

  “Academy?”

  “Annapolis Naval Academy.”

  “Impressive,” she said, wondering what else she’d missed. They might not be lovers, but they were partners, and as a partner, she’d failed to listen, or ask questions, when it might have mattered. She wasn’t going to repeat that mistake. “Was it hard for him? Being a gay man in the military?”

  “At first. He says it’s better now, but still.” He opened one eye. “Why are you asking?”

  “Making conversation. Listening. That’s all.”

  The other eye opened. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, remembering their earlier conversation and laying bare the regret and embarrassment that drove her. “There’s nothing to make up for. You needed to talk, and I never minded listening. Still don’t. And I think we both can admit that I’m not the most open person even under the best of circumstances.”

  They hadn’t worked together since the breakup, and he still saw through her armor as if it were glass. His insight left her a jumble of emotions that wouldn’t get untangled. At least not tonight. Perhaps ever. She stretched out and shoved a pillow under her head. “Why is it so much easier to listen when we’re on the job?”

  He closed his eyes again. “Because it’s fake. We’re not really vulnerable when we’re playing a part.”

  Speak for yourself.

  He continued, “We’re acting vulnerable. And there’s a big difference between acting and reality. When we’re here, like this, we’re exposing our authentic selves. And that’s a helluva lot tougher. I learned that from Richard.”

  “Like I said, smart.” God, she was worn out, both physically and mentally. She needed rest. She’d been running on high for forty-eight hours, and now that she could take a moment to catch her breath, all she wanted to do was sleep.

  Even a hot shower sounded like too much work.

  “I wasn’t kidding about the dancing,” he said. He sounded as sleepy as she did. “You could be a professional.”

  She rubbed her tired eyes and watched the patterns flash on her eyelids. “Looking good is easy when you have a partner that knows the moves.”

  “I remember,” he said.

  The air between them shifted, and they weren’t talking about dancing anymore.

  “Eva, I want to apologize for—”

  “No,” she cut him off. Her emotions were already knotted into a tight ball. She didn’t want to talk about the past. If they did, who knew what would happen.

  The idea frightened her.

  “I have to,” he said. “How I ended us was wrong. You deserved better.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was a start. And she hated that his apology dissipated the anger that kept her feelings for him at bay. “Thank you,” she said, her voice a whisper.

  “You deserve that. And more.”

  She shrugged, and the chasm of silence stretched. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she rose and headed for the bathroom. She was worn out, but more appealing than sleep was five minutes away from Quinn and the awkwardness that seemed to develop whenever they were alone.

  …

  The bathroom door shut, and Quinn rose, unable to contain his frustration. He heard the water running, and he paced the room, furious at himself. What was he doing? He’d meant what he said. He was sorry. She did deserve better.

  But if he meant it, why was there desire underneath the apology? Why was there a hope that maybe they could be together one more time? Have one last night? Why was there a dark part of him hoping to seduce his partner?

  What kind of sick, selfish jerk hoped for such a thing?

  Steam seeped out from under the door, and he forced himself to retreat to the other side of the room, his imagination working overtime. Seeing her standing beneath the water. Her long hair streaming down her back. Her skin soapy.

  “You are an idiot,” he muttered. “An out-of-control idiot.”

  And she deserved someone that could be with her for not just one night but every night. Someone who l
oved her back instead of running when she declared her love. Someone who wasn’t so afraid of making another bad decision that he pushed her away and then told himself it was for her own good. He cracked open the door to the bathroom. “Back in ten,” he shouted over the rush of the water. Perhaps a walk or three around the block would help.

  “What?” She stuck her head out—her wet hair falling over her shoulder and sticking to her skin.

  He kept his hand on the doorknob, both ready to bolt and unable to let go as he drank her in. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Wet. Dry. Made up. Barefaced. Bruised. Her skin marred only by the, now-faint, three-inch scar that followed her rib cage, just left of her heart.

  His breath caught in his throat at seeing it again. The memories of her lying in the hospital bed. Pale. Unconscious. And all he could do was sit by her bedside, inept, hoping to hell she recovered.

  It should have been him.

  She deserved so much more than he could offer. “I said that I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t go,” she said.

  He didn’t want to wait—he wanted to run away before he crossed the tiles and kissed her. He swallowed down his desire. “Do you need something?”

  “I wanted to say that...” She hesitated, staring at him, her dark eyes filled with confusion.

  And more. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  He knew he should turn away. Leave. Anything. Instead, he found himself crossing the small space. Eva met him halfway.

  She tasted like the mimosa she’d been drinking earlier, and heat, and everything he remembered and wanted. She thrust her fingers into his hair and pressed herself against his body. Higher. Harder. Demanding.

  He wrapped his arms around her naked body, her wet skin soaking his shirt.

  “You should take a shower,” she whispered, taking a moment to gently bite his shoulder through the cloth. “I know how much you hate to go to bed sweaty.”

  It seemed she had been paying attention. She always claimed he underestimated her. Maybe there was some truth to that.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” he said as she worked her way across his jaw with tiny kisses.

  “Then walk away.”

  But he couldn’t, and he knew she knew it. He was as incapable of leaving her side as he was of ditching the mission. She kissed him harder, took his hand, and led it to her breast.

  There was no argument left in him, and he started stripping off his clothes.

  Seconds later, they were under the hot water. The texture of her skin and the sound of her laughter were as familiar to him as the beat of his own heart. As if the two of them never ended. As if the time apart was an illusion and this moment was the reality.

  Her touch. The way she insisted on scrubbing his back. The curve of her hip under his hand.

  It was the only reality he wanted.

  But it wasn’t real. A part of him knew that.

  “Stop thinking,” she said, wrapping her soapy arms around him until she held a round butt cheek in each hand. She gave him a squeeze and laughed.

  He shuddered at her touch.

  Rinse,” he growled.

  When the soap was down the drain and the water off, he took her hand and led her back to the bedroom. They might regret this tomorrow but not yet.

  She tackled him, and they landed in a heap of arms and legs on the mattress.

  He rolled until he was on top. She raised a dark brow. “Oh, you think you’re in control?” She wound a leg through his and went for a grappling reversal that would put her in power.

  He countered, and when they stopped, he still straddled her. He pinned her hands down at the wrist and grinned. “Nice try. But you’re not ready to school the master.”

  She grinned back. “I remember this,” she said.

  “No biting,” he teased. Leaning down, he kissed her, wanting to be inside her but forcing himself to wait. He didn’t want to end the night or this rare moment of reunion. He released her wrists, and after another small bout for control ended, he was on his back. Just where he wanted to be.

  Her grin broadened, and he brushed her mouth with the pad of his thumb as she leaned in to his touch like a cat showing affection. Slowly, he traced her jaw with a fingertip, the curve of her ear, and worked his way down her torso, knowing neither of them could wait much longer. He hadn’t been with a woman since the night he walked away, and rumors confirmed that she’d been as celibate.

  He leaned up on his elbows and pulled a nipple into his mouth, trying not to smile when he heard her breath catch.

  “Now would be a good time,” she said.

  But he didn’t listen. He didn’t want this to be quick. Instead, he nibbled and sucked until she moved against him, eager.

  But he wanted more than eagerness. He nuzzled her other breast. “Wouldn’t want it to get jealous.”

  When he finally lay down next to her, her breath came in small gasps.

  “Now for the rest of you.”

  “Not a chance,” she replied, and with a shift of her hips, he slid into her.

  He stilled, wanting to prolong the moment. Knowing that once they started to move, it would be over all too quick.

  She circled her hips, and he grabbed them. “Not yet,” he whispered.

  Instead, she planted her hands on his shoulders, closed her eyes, and rose. Heat raced through him, and he surrendered as she rocked against him.

  She squeezed, and he knew that she was on the edge of orgasm.

  She slipped over, and he tried to wait, but she cried out, and he knew he’d lost.

  His hands clenched into fists, and he let go. Heat overwhelmed him, the past fell away, and there was nothing but the pleasure that consumed them.

  …

  Eva stared at Quinn, the sunrise bringing a dusky glow to the room and giving her just enough light to see by. He’d wake soon, and when he did, she had no idea where this relationship was going to go. If anywhere.

  She hated the vulnerability, but at the time, one more night with Quinn had seemed worth the heartache. Now, in the light, she wasn’t as sure.

  His eyes flickered open. His hair was mussed, and he gave her a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he said. “You sleep okay?”

  She nodded. “Best sleep I’ve had in a year. You?”

  “Like the dead.” He traced a path along her cheek. “I always do with you.”

  She leaned into his touch, and God help her, it felt like before. Like they belonged together, and the time spent apart was a blip to be forgotten.

  “About last night.” He stroked her hair away from her face. “We should talk.”

  We should talk.

  She flashed back to their breakup. How he’d been at her side every day, caring for her.

  Then he’d stopped coming. One day. Two. Then three.

  He’d returned on the fourth as she was checking out. She hadn’t asked where he was, but she’d known something was wrong. He was distant. Cool.

  But she hadn’t wanted to see the truth. Instead, she’d ignored her gut and told herself the lie that his absence was due to work. Nothing more. She was in a wheelchair per hospital protocol, and he’d taken her to his car. Once they were on the road and she had nowhere to run, he’d broken her heart. And all by starting off with the three words: We should talk.

  She bolted upright, both fury and sadness warring inside her chest. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Breaking up with me.”

  His mouth tightened as if in pain. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He didn’t need to. She seemed capable of doing that to herself, she thought with disgust. “You’re not. I’m as clear-headed as I’ve ever been. And frankly, there is nothing to talk about. One night does not make us lovers. We’re not in love. Frankly, I wonder if we ever were.”

  He flinched as if slapped. “That’s not true.”

  She laughed, but it sounded forced and
tight. Grabbing the sheet, she wound it around herself and went to the far side of the room, scared that she might punch him if she stayed any closer. “A year ago, you walked away without hesitation. No explanation, except for a few platitudes, and you’re doing it again. So spare me the drama. We’re nothing. Never were.”

  He flinched again, and she knew her words hit home.

  And it felt better than a physical altercation. She went for the killing blow. “Face it. We’re just two bodies that enjoy a good fuck. That’s all.”

  His face flooded red, and he stalked over to her, naked. Furious. “I loved you.”

  She glared up at him. “Then why did you leave me?”

  “Because you almost died.” His mouth snapped shut, and she knew he hadn’t meant to reveal so much.

  Was this what he and Tempe were talking about in the car? The nightmares. How things went wrong. The pieces fell together. How agents shouldn’t have relationships. That it affected their decisions. Made for poor judgment.

  Her fingers found the scar—her reminder of what getting cocky did to an agent—and traced the stiffened skin. She was lucky that time. It had taken two hours to guide her client out of the swamp and to freedom, and by then her lung had collapsed, and the pleural lining that surrounded it had filled with air and fluid.

  Recoverable but painful. And she knew it could have been worse. The thug had been aiming for her heart, and it was only Quinn’s training that had saved her.

  And it wasn’t good enough for him. “You’re punishing me,” she whispered.

  Quinn took a step back. “What?”

  She pushed past him and almost fell on the bed as she sat, her knees weak. “You blame me for getting hurt. I’m a distraction to your job.” She stared at the floor. No wonder he left her. HRS was his world.

  And she wasn’t sure how to feel.

  “There is no blame.” He sat next to her. “The truth is, if we’d stayed together, one of us would have screwed up or worse, asked the other to quit.”

  “You don’t know that,” she countered.

  He shook his head, contradicting her. “How would you feel if it was me in the hospital bed and you were relegated to watching and waiting?”

  So that was it, she realized. He was scared she might die, so he’d decided to make a preemptive strike. And then say it was for her own good. “So you did this for me?”