With a Twist

by Martin, Deirdre

  He held up two champagne flutes. “Champagne?”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  Quinn poured out the champagne and handed her a glass, coming to sit beside her on the bed.

  “To love,” he said softly, kissing her.

  Tears sprang to Natalie eyes. “To love,” she whispered back. They clinked glasses and sipped their champagne. The bubbly went down Natalie’s throat smooth and easy.

  Quinn went to sit with his back against the headboard, his feet stretched out in front of him. He patted the space beside him, and Natalie joined him.

  Quinn sighed contentedly. This is the life, aye, Nat?”

  “Oh, please. You must have done this before.”

  “Done what? Take a carriage ride and stay at a fancy hotel, sipping champagne with a gorgeous woman? Nope, I’ve never done it.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I swear on Rudy’s ashes.”

  Natalie almost passed champagne through her nose. “Has the Wild Hart always attracted such unique characters?”

  “Oh yeah. There was one woman who came in for about ten years we called Sasquatch Judy because she claimed she’d seen Sasquatch on line at the Thirty-fourth Street post office. Then there were these identical twin firefighters, Patrick and Daniel Brady, who no one could tell apart, not even their wives. They’d sit together at the bar and flip a coin to decide who’d go home to which family.”

  “Whatever happened to them?”

  “They both died on 9/11,” Quinn said quietly.

  “Oh.”

  “The big joke at the wake was that their families probably flipped a coin to decide who’d be buried in which grave.”

  Quinn took a drink of champagne and changed the subject. “You glad you emigrated? Ever have any regrets?”

  “Never.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Glad to hear it.”

  Happiness was expanding inside her like a balloon. She felt she would burst.

  He brushed her hair away from her face. “I wish I could do more. Give you more.”

  Natalie slowly lifted her head. “All I want is more of your time, Quinn. You know that.”

  The words slid out so effortlessly it was a second or two before she realized what she’d said. She glanced up at him, expecting to see a defensive expression on his face. Instead, he looked guilty.

  “Soon. I swear. You know that.” His palm gently cupped the back of her neck. “Because there’s nothing in the world I want more than you.”

  His mouth on hers was so tender that Natalie felt her entire body go weak. She was trembling, experiencing a split second of hesitation before she grabbed Quinn tightly to her, showing him she desperately longed for more than tenderness right now; she wanted passion, the straight road to blissful oblivion. Quinn delivered, his hungry mouth bruising hers, his fingers pressing so hard into her skin that she gasped. She pulled him down on the bed atop her, impatient, her hips instinctively pushing against his. Quinn responded with a growl as he tore his lips from hers and locked eyes with her, his own eyes dark with lust. It was too much; frustrated by the clothing between them interfering with pure touch, she yanked Quinn’s shirt out of his jeans and slipped her hands beneath it, splaying her fingers on his chest, slowly pressing and caressing the muscled skin beneath her touch.

  Quinn’s reaction sent a thrill through her. He was breathing hard, his pupils enlarged as he continued staring down at her eyes, his expression daring her to do more. And so she did. With an uncharacteristically wanton smile, she let her hands roam lower and lower until her fingertips gently slipped beneath the waist of his jeans. Quinn groaned, spurring her on to more boldness. She unzipped his fly, moving her fingers beneath his briefs to take him in her hand, her touch featherlight as she moved her hand up and down.

  Quinn’s eyes flashed. The slow seduction was over. His gaze was now smoldering with pent-up desire so fierce it almost scared her. He sat up and hurriedly took off her shirt, then with impatient hands he pushed up her bra and began suckling her with an intensity that made her cry out. She arched against him, raising her arms high above her head, pushing more of herself into his mouth. Quinn laughed wickedly, Natalie teetering on the edge as his teeth began nipping a sharp trail down her body, the bites punctuated with hot licks of his tongue and lingering kisses. She was becoming a quivering wreck. Throwing her head back, she gasped and brought her legs up, wrapping them tightly around his hips. Quinn, breath ragged, gently pushed her legs down and apart. With a husky, seductive laugh, he hurriedly undid her jeans, tugged them down, and then, with a gaze now bordering on feral, plunged his fingers deep inside her.

  It was too much. She cried out as she thrust against him, climaxing. Quinn was still watching her, his expression thrilled, his breath coming harder than she’d ever heard it. Moaning with lingering need, Natalie pulled him down to her. Quinn growled once, bit her neck, and then freed himself from the confines of his own clothing. Natalie held her breath, eager, waiting. He sheathed himself. And then he plunged into her.

  “Oh, God!” Natalie cried out and squeezed herself tightly around him. The burning blue of his eyes told her he was greedy for her, greedy for speed and force and total possession. “Yes, God, please. Do it,” she whispered hoarsely. She watched his eyes darken again, thrilled by his instant transformation from man to beast.

  “Beg me again,” he commanded.

  “Please . . . do it.”

  It was what he wanted to hear. Again and again he drove into her. Deeper. Harder. Sensation after sensation soared through Natalie, leaving her raw, quivering, completely at his mercy. She climaxed again, the feeling one of being lifted up by a tornado and slammed back down to earth, rendering her insensible. When lucidity returned, she caught the dark thrill of pleasure in Quinn’s eyes at having pleased her, which she gladly returned.

  “Your turn,” she panted. Natalie watched as his eyes went blind, and he gave himself over to raw need, his hips pumping, the mild sheen of sweat coating his muscular body one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen. Her eyes never left his face as she matched her frenzied rhythm to his own, until finally he gave one final thrust and with a strangulated cry of relief, emptied himself inside her. Spent, he collapsed on her, but not before he flashed her a devilish grin. “Happy, happy birthday, Nat.”

  “My best ever.”

  And it was.

  31

  It was wrong, and Quinn knew it. The minute Natalie went to run a bubble bath for them, he hopped out of bed and grabbed his cell from his backpack to check his messages. There was one from Liam.

  “Quinn . . . hey. I really need you to call me back as soon as you can. Please.”

  He sounded stressed. Quinn stared at the time of the message. Liam had called a few hours before his carriage ride with Natalie. Quinn had turned off his phone hours before, determined that nothing spoil his birthday surprise for her, especially after missing the party.

  He listened to the message again. Fuck a duck. He’d called Liam yesterday as soon as he’d left his folks, and Liam had never called him back.

  Quinn deleted the message and sank down on the bed. He glanced quickly at the bathroom door. Natalie was sweetly singing to herself in French over the cascade of water filling the luxurious marble tub; he could probably shoot a quick call to Liam if he wanted. He hit his speed dial, and then thought better of it. He felt furtive, like a married man sneaking a call to his mistress. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he let his head fall back. Years ago, Durham had once asked him, “If you had a choice between winning a Pulitzer or settling down with a good woman who’d love your sorry ass for the rest of your life, which would you take?” Quinn didn’t miss a beat: “A Pulitzer.” If Durham asked the same question now, how would he answer? It’s just this one story, he told himself. And besides, she’s inside running a bath. It wasn’t as though returning his brother’s call was cutting into their time together. He picked up the phone and dialed. Liam picked up on the first r
ing.

  “Quinn.” He sounded relieved.

  “Li, what’s up?”

  “Uh, I’m fucked, okay? Totally and completely fucked. Quinn?”

  Quinn squeezed his eyes shut. He knew he was tempting the Fates by calling his brother back. Knew it. He turned. Natalie was poised in the bathroom doorway, staring at the phone in his hand. She stood there a second, then retreated back into the bathroom, closing the door. Fuck.

  “I gotta call you back, okay?”

  “Quinn—”

  “I’ll call as soon as I can.”

  He hung up the phone, bounding to the bathroom door. It was locked. The water had stopped running. He knocked gently. “Nat?”

  “Allez en enfer!”

  “Nat—”

  “I’m telling you to go to hell! Go! To! Hell!”

  “Natalie—”

  “ ‘I can explain’—that’s what you’re going to say!”

  Quinn closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door. “Nat. Please hear me out.”

  “You told me your phone was off!”

  “I don’t see what the big deal is checking my messages when you’re running a bath!”

  “God forbid you don’t check them. Tell me all about it, then, your big important messages.”

  “Message.”

  “Go on.” He knew she had her arms crossed expectantly on the other side of the door. He knew it.

  “It was Liam. I don’t know what he was calling about since I hung up as soon as you came out of the bathroom.”

  “Of course you did. Because you felt guilty. Because you promised you wouldn’t be checking that damn phone the second you got the chance. Tell me, Quinn: What if the call had to do with your big story, eh? Would you have ignored it until tomorrow after we parted? Or would you have left me here, high and dry, with the promise of returning as soon as you can?”

  His silence was damning. Liam’s call did have to do with his story; he felt it in his bones. Not that he could tell her that.

  “No answer. I thought so.” The bathroom door swung open, and Natalie pushed past him. “I’m going.” She went directly to the closet to pull out her overnight bag. How vulnerable she looked in the plush, terry cloth robe the hotel had provided. It was swimming on her, making her look so tiny.

  Quinn followed her. “Don’t. Please.”

  Her shoulders drooped with exhaustion. “I can’t do this anymore. I was deluding myself yesterday. You’ll never change. Your work will always come first.” She shook her head, chuckling bitterly. “I was so confident that it wouldn’t matter to me. That I’d be the one who’d let you be who you are. But I was wrong. I’m just like all the others. I want to come first.”

  Quinn grasped her arm. “You’re not like the others. I didn’t love the others.”

  Natalie shook him off. “So what? That’s doesn’t matter, does it? I’m tired of being patient. I’m tired of waiting, feeling like I should be grateful for any little crumbs of time you can give me. I don’t want a lifetime of ‘I’m sorry, Natalie, ’ or a lifetime of ‘I can explain, Natalie.’ Your job is the love of your life. Not me. I saw what not coming first did to my mother. It turned her into an angry, bitter woman. I will not let you do to me what my father did to my mother.”

  She marched to the bed and put the bag down, hurriedly pulling out clean clothing. Halting abruptly, she turned to him. “You know what? Why am I going? It’s my birthday. You should be the one to go. Leave! I’m going to take that bath, and then I’m going to call room service and order anything I damn well please and think about how sad you are, Quinn O’Brien. Sad, selfish, and stupid. And when I’m done, I’m going to sleep in this big bed and love it.”

  She walked back into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind her. Quinn didn’t want to think about how she was right; his mother, too. He’d gotten what he deserved. He swallowed, trying not to heave his guts up.

  He collected his things and walked to the bathroom door, rapping gently. No reply. He left the suite, closing the door quietly behind him.

  The minute Quinn exited the Plaza, he called Liam. The two agreed to meet at the Hart.

  He walked all the way from the Plaza to the pub, trying to silence the disgusted voice in his head berating him for losing Natalie. He should have told her what was going on with Liam. Who the hell would she have told? But that wasn’t the point. The point was that no matter how hard he tried, the siren call of work was always there. She wasn’t the only one who’d thought this time would be different; he was certain that because he loved her, he’d find a way to balance a personal life with his job—after this article was done. But Natalie was right: he was kidding himself if he thought he could change his stripes. This was how he rolled. This was how he always had rolled and probably always would: solo, just like so many other obsessed reporters he knew.

  He just hated how much he’d hurt her. It killed him, as did the thought she probably hated him. The thought streaked through his mind that she’d wind up with Clement. Talk about something that would drive him insane.

  He walked into the pub, surprised to find the Major sitting at the bar, reading the Irish Independent. Quinn felt sorry for the guy. He’d never married, and he had to be pretty damn lonely to spend so much time here, probably to avoid being home alone. Look who’s talking.

  “Hello, Major,” Quinn said as he slipped behind the bar.

  The Major nodded politely. “Evening, Quinn.”

  “You doing well?”

  “Very well. Thank you for asking. Yourself?”

  “I’ve been a little better,” Quinn admitted ruefully.

  “Sorry to hear that,” the Major sympathized and went back to his paper.

  Liam was stacking glasses, listening in on the exchange. “What do you mean, you’ve been a little better? Natalie tore you a new one for missing the birthday party, didn’t she?”

  “She went one better: she dumped me.”

  “Well, I can’t say I blame her.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever,” Quinn said impatiently, not wanting to get into it. “I had a pretty goddamn good reason for missing the party.”

  Liam tossed him a bar towel. “Tell me while you make yourself useful.”

  “I missed the party because your pal Tommy’s boss wanted to see me.” He was trying to be as oblique as possible in front of the Major. “What was I supposed to do? Say no?”

  Liam’s face fell. “Shit. What happened?”

  “In a nutshell, he told me that if I dropped the article, he’d help out those who’d been hurt, but if I didn’t, he’d drop a dime on you.”

  “They sent me the same message tonight—that’s why I called.”

  “What happened?”

  “Shoes strolls in like he owns the place and walks behind the bar. Tells me Tommy’s going to ask me for help again and that I shouldn’t let friends down. Says my family will be heartbroken if I forget how important that kind of loyalty is. And then he leaves. I have to tell you, I was shaking so bad I had to down to two shots of Wild Turkey. I don’t know whether it was because I was so scared or because I wanted to kill him. Thank God he was in and out so quick I couldn’t make up my mind. What the hell are we going to do?”

  Quinn glanced quickly at the Major sitting at the other end of the bar. “Li, keep it down.”

  “No need,” murmured the Major casually. Stunned, Quinn and Liam turned to him simultaneously.

  The Major closed his paper. “I think maybe you boys should tell me what’s going on. What did Shoes have to say to you, Liam?”

  Liam and Quinn looked at each other in amazement. The Major had never said more than a few words to them before. And now he was asking them to open up to him? The Major obviously knew what they were thinking.

  “Come over here,” he said in a voice that commanded obedience. They did what they were told.

  “Quinn, look at me. Look into my eyes.”

  As if under a spell, Quinn did just that. He�
��d never noticed it before, but the Major had dark blue eyes, almost black in their intensity. And as Quinn looked into them, he saw something he’d seen only a couple of times before in the eyes of cops he knew. Rogan called it “the shark.” It was a blackness, Rogan said, that came when a man had killed so often that he’d lost the part of his soul that hesitated to take a life.

  Still looking into that frightening emptiness, Quinn started telling the whole story to the Major. Liam followed suit, describing everything that had happened. The Major listened closely and, Quinn later swore, didn’t blink the whole time. When they were done, the Major looked them both in the eye before slowly closing his own eyes and folding his newspaper. When he opened them again, the blackness seemed to have passed. He was back to being the quiet, distinguished gentleman they’d always known. He got up slowly from his stool.

  “You boys go home and get a good night’s sleep. Don’t worry about anything. It will be taken care of. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  With that, the Major slowly walked out the door of the Wild Hart.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Liam asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  Merde, what have I done? Natalie sat on her couch, cradling her head in her hands, staring down at the small mountain of bags and boxes at her feet. After checking out of the Plaza the next morning, she’d headed down Fifth Avenue and hurried from store to store, buying whatever struck her fancy. Shoes at Ferragamo. Earrings at Tiffany’s. Two blouses at Bergdorf’s. A handbag from Gucci. Price didn’t matter; she charged it all, telling herself she deserved a consolation prize after what she’d put up with from Quinn all these months. Why shouldn’t she pamper herself? So what if she was the one who ended things? It still hurt.

  As soon as she sank down deep in the tub at the Plaza, she realized she should have been the one to leave. It was torture being there alone in the plush suite they should have been enjoying together. His gift to her, and still he couldn’t keep away from the phone. That was when she’d known he’d never change.