Quinn's Woman

by Susan Mallery

  Wanting slammed into him. Wanting and need and more than a little surprise. Damn. She got him good.

  But he couldn’t risk a compliment. Not when that’s what she would be expecting.

  “You’re on time,” he said.

  “Whatever. Just so we’re all clear. This isn’t a date.”

  “Of course not.”

  His sports coat hung over the chair by the door. He grabbed it, along with his room key and stepped out into the hall.

  “Are we still allowed to have a good time?” he asked as they walked toward the stairs.

  “Sure.”

  He chuckled at the tension in her voice.

  When they stepped into the parking lot, she turned toward a black SUV. So the lady wanted them to take her car. Quinn glanced from the high step up to her short dress and couldn’t wait to see her climb in.

  “Want me to drive?” he asked.

  She hesitated, then handed over the keys. “Okay.”

  He hit the unlock button, then opened her door. She ignored the hand he offered and climbed up into the seat. Her skirt rode up to the top of her thigh, giving him a clear view of female perfection. On cue, heat exploded in his groin, nearly searing him with the intensity.

  It was going to be a hell of an evening, he thought as he closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side. D.J. taking him prisoner was the best thing to have happened to him in years.

  CHAPTER 6

  They were immediately shown to a table in a quiet corner. D.J. was grateful to be out of the line of sight of the front door for a couple of reasons. First, she didn’t want to see anyone she knew walking into the restaurant. Second, if she couldn’t see the exit, she would be less tempted to bolt for it.

  She slid onto the smooth leather of the booth bench and set her small purse next to her. The steak house was dark and elegant, and midweek it was half-empty.

  Quinn glanced around. “Nice place,” he said. “Come here often?”

  D.J. thought about her nonexistent social life. A big night out for her was joining Rebecca and her family at a pizza place. “I’ve been a couple of times. The food is good.”

  The waiter appeared and handed them menus, along with a wine list. As he detailed the specials, Quinn flipped through the wine list.

  “May I bring you something to drink?” the waiter asked.

  Quinn looked at her. “Do you drink wine?”

  “Sure.”

  He ordered a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

  She’d been thinking more along the lines of half a glass. Not that she would let him know she was concerned, because she wasn’t. She would drink as much or as little as she wanted.

  When the waiter left, she opened her menu and tried to read the selections. But she was too nervous. Her attention kept snapping back to the man sitting across from her.

  He’d been appealing in military garb and tempting in jeans and a shirt. In a suit, he looked like a successful CEO attending a board meeting. The dark fabric of his jacket make his eyes look black. The crisp, white shirt emphasized the firm line of his jaw. His tie looked like silk and was the color of brushed silver.

  She shifted slightly and glanced at his face. He was watching her. Thinking what? Did he know he made her nervous? Had he figured out how much she hated that he made her nervous?

  Before she could decide, the waiter appeared with the bottle of wine. He opened it expertly, then poured a small amount into Quinn’s glass. Quinn rotated the liquid slightly, inhaled the fragrance of the wine, then tasted it.

  “Fine,” he said with a nod.

  After the waiter had poured for both of them and disappeared, Quinn raised his glass toward her. “To what each of us is about to learn,” he said.

  She wasn’t sure she liked the toast, but she couldn’t come up with one on her own. So she touched her glass to his and took a sip of the wine.

  It was surprisingly smooth, with lots of flavor, but no bitterness. She was more of a white wine kind of gal, but this wasn’t bad.

  “Very nice,” she said, and set her glass on the table.

  “I’m glad you approve.” He glanced at her menu. “Do you know what you want?”

  She closed her menu and went with what was easy. “Salad, steak, baked potato.”

  He nodded, then motioned for their waiter. After ordering for her—what was it about the phrase “the lady will have” that sounded so elegant—and himself, he waited until the waiter left, then turned his attention back to her.

  “You said you didn’t grow up in Glenwood,” he told her. “What part of the country are you from?”

  D.J. couldn’t remember mentioning anything about her past, but maybe she had. They’d chatted during their six-mile run. At least, he’d chatted and she’d panted her way through labored conversation. It was possible she’d gasped out a few insignificant facts while her lungs were screaming for more air.

  “I grew up in southern California,” she said. “Los Angeles.”

  “Glenwood must have been an adjustment.”

  “An easy one.”

  He raised his dark eyebrows. “Small-town America at its best?”

  “Something like that.”

  She reached for her wine. She didn’t want to be talking about herself, she wanted to know about him. What did he do for the government? How long had he trained and where? Was the knife concealed in his collar the only weapon she’d missed in her search of him or had there been others?

  All important questions, but she wasn’t sure how to make the transition from idle chitchat to real talk. She didn’t date much and had never been very good at it. Probably because it had never been important to her.

  “I told you that I grew up in a small town in Texas,” he said. “Sort of like Glenwood. Everyone knew everyone else. You met my brother, Gage.”

  She nodded. “Nash and Kevin Harmon, too. All Texas boys.”

  “More than that.” Quinn rested his fingertips on the base of his wineglass. “It’s all gotten complicated.” He looked up at her and smiled. “Family stuff.”

  She did her best to ignore the smile and the way her stomach muscles clenched in response. “Complicated how?”

  “Nash and Kevin grew up without a father. The guy who got their mom pregnant never wanted anything to do with her or them.”

  D.J. thought about pointing out that might have been the best for all concerned, but didn’t want to distract him from what he was telling her.

  “It turns out that their father is the same guy who fathered Gage and me. We’re all half brothers to the Hayneses.”

  D.J. stared in surprise. “I’d heard that old Earl Haynes was something of a ladies’ man, but I had no idea his exploits crossed state lines. When did you find this all out?”

  “Gage was the first to learn the truth a few months ago. Kevin and Nash found out next. They put a call in to me to meet them here.”

  She wasn’t a fan of having a lot of family, but not everyone was like her. “So you’ve gone from one brother to more than half a dozen, plus a half sister. That’s going to mean sending out a lot more Christmas cards.”

  He grinned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  The waiter appeared with their salads. After he left, Quinn continued.

  “You know the Haynes brothers, right?”

  “I know Travis and Kyle the best. A lot of my work is coordinated through the sheriff’s office. Jordan lives here in town, but he’s a fire chief, so we don’t have as much contact. I’ve meet Craig a few times, and Hannah’s great.”

  “They’re all in law enforcement,” Quinn pointed out. “Except Jordan, and he’s close enough.”

  She picked up her fork and smiled. “They wouldn’t agree with you. Everyone gives Jordan a hard time about being a firefighter.”

  “My brother’s a sheriff. Kevin is a U.S. Marshal, Nash works for the FBI and I...” His voice trailed off and he shrugged. “It’s strange.”

  “Not necessarily. A lot of time broth
ers go into the same line of work. Besides, if you’re going to join a ready-made family, this is a good one.”

  “They’re big on wives and kids.”

  “Actually I think just one wife apiece, but plenty of kids.” She took a bite of her salad. “Are you married?”

  She thought he might tease her or make a joke, but instead he shook his head. “Not my style.”

  “Work?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  What were the other parts?

  “So what does D.J. stand for?” he asked.

  “Nothing interesting.”

  “I don’t believe that.” He ate some of his salad. When he’d chewed and swallowed he said, “Debbi Jo.”

  She shook her head.

  “Darling Jenny?”

  She took another sip of her wine.

  “Dashing Joyce?”

  “I’m ignoring you.”

  “Darlene Joy?”

  She broke off a piece of bread and bit into it.

  “It can’t be that bad,” he said. “Give me a hint.”

  D.J. knew it was that bad. “I don’t hint.”

  He sighed theatrically. “I’ll have to ask around town.”

  “Ask away. No one knows the truth.”

  “Really?”

  She shrugged. “I keep my secrets.”

  “What other secrets do you have?”

  “If I tell you they won’t be secrets.”

  “Good point.” He studied her. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  The quick shift in topic left her mentally stumbling. Worse, the compliment actually made her toes curl in her too-high and very uncomfortable pumps.

  “I, ah, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I appreciate that you got into the spirit of my request for your clothing this evening.”

  “I pay my bills in full.”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “We have a deal. I honored my end, I expect you to do the same.”

  He raised his glass as if toasting her again, but he didn’t say anything. She watched him drink. There was something about the way he looked at her. He wasn’t just watching, he was learning. Studying. The attention should have made her uncomfortable, and in a way it did. But it also left her very aware of his maleness. She’d done the boy-girl thing when it suited her purpose, but never without a reason. Never just because she wanted to.

  “You’re a hell of a woman, D.J.”

  While the quiet praise didn’t make her toes curl the same way his telling her she was beautiful had, the sincerity in his voice eased through a tiny crack in her usual solid protective wall. She felt herself relaxing in his presence. Accepting him. Liking him.

  The latter should have put her on alert, but she didn’t want to think about safety and staying distant. Not for a few more minutes. It felt good to simply be in the presence of a man whose company she enjoyed.

  “So tell me about growing up in L.A.,” he said.

  Her good mood shattered like a glass dropped on tile. Wariness returned, along with the need to bolt.

  “There’s not much to tell. I lost my parents when I was eleven. There wasn’t any extended family, so I was put into foster care.” She held up a hand before he could say anything. “The people I was with were fine. Genuinely nice. They worried, they gave a whole lot more than the state paid them to give.”

  All true, she thought. In just under seven years she’d been with two different families, and each experience had been textbook perfect. She’d been well fed, clothed, even fussed over on occasion. What no one had figured out was that by the time she was eleven, the damage had already been done.

  “I finished high school and went on to college. I had a partial scholarship, some grants and a couple of part-time jobs,” she continued. “I graduated and ended up here.”

  D.J.’s brief outline of her past was like looking at a black-and-white sketch and being asked to guess the colors that would be used later. There was a broad picture but no detail. Not an accident, Quinn thought. She didn’t want anyone to know about her life. He wasn’t special in that—he knew she kept the truth from everyone.

  He found himself wanting to discover all the nuances that had created the woman sitting across from him. Interesting, as he usually wanted to know only enough to maintain a very temporary relationship. Long weekends were generally the length of his emotional commitment. The less he knew about his women, the less chance he had to find something he didn’t like. He leaned toward affairs that touched his body and nothing more.

  With D.J. he was willing to risk knowing more. Was it because he sensed she would surprise him only in good ways? He didn’t doubt that she would be a hell of a lover—just thinking about all that physical energy and determination channeled into sex was enough to make his breath hitch—but there was another layer that intrigued him. The person underneath the facade. Who was she?

  “What about you?” she asked. “How did you get from Possum Landing to Glenwood?”

  He pushed away his salad. “After high school, I did the college thing, too.”

  “Let me guess. You were a football star.”

  He leaned back in his seat and grinned. “I was very popular.”

  “I’ll bet. A cheerleader on each arm.”

  “On a good day.” He narrowed his gaze. “You would have looked hot in the outfit, but I can’t see you being a cheerleader.”

  “I was too busy winning at my own sports. So did you play in college?”

  “Some. After graduation I went into the military. Officer training.”

  “Of course.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. He responded in kind.

  “You’re impressed,” he said. “It’s not the uniform, it’s the power.”

  “Uh-huh. Keep talking.”

  “Once I had my commission, I was tapped for Special Forces. From there I was moved around.”

  “Doing things you probably can’t talk about.”

  “Right.” He wasn’t surprised she understood.

  “You said you rescue Americans from places they’re not supposed to be. How do they get there?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “With enough money, people can persuade a pilot to drop them off just about anywhere. Sometimes what starts out as a safe trip turns bad when there’s an unexpected regime change. Things get hot, and my team and I go in. Most of what I do doesn’t get covered in the local press.”

  “Of course not.” She played with her salad fork. “It must be nice to be away from all that for a few weeks. You don’t have to spend all your time looking over your shoulder.”

  He nodded.

  In the subtle lighting there were hints of red in her dark-brown hair. The loose curls brushed across her shoulders and down her chest, drawing his gaze to the cleavage exposed by her low-cut dress. Despite the lace covering her arms, he could still see the definition of her muscles.

  She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met.

  “Don’t you want to ask if I’ve ever killed anyone?” he asked, because it was a question his dates eventually got around to.

  He should have known better.

  D.J. picked up her wine. “It wouldn’t occur to me that you haven’t. You wouldn’t get your kind of experience any other way. You are who and what you are for a reason.”

  The quiet acceptance in her voice tempted him. There had been a time when he’d thought normal might be possible. That he could find the one woman who would understand. Who could accept what he did and know why. He’d long ago given up on the hope of finding her. There was no way she existed...or did she? Was D.J. a possibility or was he fantasizing, based on a tough talk and perfect thighs?

  “You did promise that you’d be in town for a few weeks,” she said as the waiter cleared their plates. “I expect a return on my investment.” She plucked at her long sleeve as she spoke.

  “I’m on indefinite leave.”

  She waited until the waiter left before leaning forward
. “Why? Were you injured?”

  Not in the way she meant. “I want to consider my options. My work requires a level of disconnection I need to be willing to continue. Maybe it’s time for a change.”

  This was the first time he’d verbalized what he’d been thinking about for the past few weeks. He waited to see if the words felt right or not. When there was no definitive answer, he finished his wine and reached for the bottle.

  “I was supposed to kill someone and couldn’t.” He poured himself another glass and topped up hers. “I’d never refused an assignment before. Never had reason. But this time...” Everything had been different, he thought grimly.

  Her dark gaze never left his face. There was no recoil, no disgust, no foolish questions.

  “You had a good reason for refusing,” she said. She wasn’t asking, she was announcing.

  “Yeah.”

  There was no way she could know, but he liked her assumption. She was right.

  He’d been sent to kill a double agent. It had happened before and he didn’t mind killing one of his own if the operative had crossed to the other side. But the double agent had turned out to be someone Quinn had known for years. His former commanding officer and mentor. He’d felt as if he’d been trapped in a bad spy movie, only the players and the bullets were real. When the time came, he couldn’t do it. He’d had the man in his sights and he’d been unable to pull the trigger.

  Someone else had been sent in to take care of the problem, and he’d been brought out for evaluation. When he’d asked for leave, it had been granted. Until then he hadn’t minded what he did for a living, but he knew he couldn’t keep cleaning up messes like that—not without paying with the price of his soul.

  Silence surrounded them. Quinn searched for a casual topic, some distraction. He didn’t usually talk about his work in any detail. He certainly never told the truth. So why had he with D.J.?

  She tilted her head. “So when you sneak into foreign countries, you probably don’t get the exotic stamps on your passport, huh?”

  “No. Under those circumstances we tend to avoid immigration.”