Once in the back, they went through a series of warm-up exercises and stretches. Like Quinn, D.J. wore shorts and a T-shirt. She’d pulled her hair back in a French braid. She wanted to be free to move, but she didn’t look forward to a lot of skin-on-skin contact. Telling herself she wouldn’t react was one thing. Remembering what had happened the previous night and knowing the potential for sexual disaster was another.
Before they walked to the mats, they both tugged off their shoes and socks.
“We’ll take this slow,” Quinn said as he moved into the center of the mat. “You remember what we did last time?”
She nodded. They’d been working on a frontal assault.
“I showed you how to counteract it,” he said.
“You showed me, but it didn’t work.”
He grinned. “I’m really good.”
“Quit bragging. This session isn’t about you.”
“Fair enough. So let’s go.”
He faced her and waited for the attack. She moved in and mentally braced herself for his response. Seconds later she landed flat on her back.
“I remember this part,” she grumbled as she scrambled to her feet.
“We’ll take it slow,” he told her. “Watch me.”
Forty minutes later she was making progress. She could count on a draw about 20 percent of the time and victory about 30 percent of the time. Which meant the other 50 percent of the attacks could leave her dead.
“This is why you get the big bucks,” she said as she once again sailed through the air and landed on the mats, staring at the ceiling.
“You know it.”
He stuck out his hand to pull her to her feet. The movement was familiar enough that she barely hesitated before taking the offered help. When she was standing, she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Quinn, of course, still looked morning-shower fresh.
“I’m going to come at you from behind,” he said, moving in close. “There are several traditional attack positions.”
His body pressed against hers and his arm came around her throat. Her attention split neatly down the middle. One half reveled in his heat and the large hand resting on her waist. Even as her bones began to turn to liquid, the rest of her fought against a powerful fight-or-flight response.
“You can easily get away from this hold,” Quinn said. “Keep your chin down and go for leverage. A more controlled and deadly attack will put pressure here.”
He shifted until his hand cupped her throat. Instantly her fear escalated until she desperately wanted to break free and run. The second he pressed in with his thumb, her stomach rolled and adrenaline flooded her system.
“The difference between stopping blood to the brain long enough to knock someone out or kill them is all a matter of degree,” he said, sounding amazingly conversational.
She drew back her arm to elbow him in the midsection. From there she would grab his arm and pull him over her—
He released her and stepped away. “Now you try it on me.”
The panic faded as quickly as it had appeared. There was only the chemical aftermath that left her feeling shaky and slightly light-headed.
Ignoring the sensations, she stepped behind him and raised herself on tiptoe so she could wrap an arm around his throat.
“We have a height problem,” she muttered as her breasts flattened against his back. “This would be easier if you were shorter.”
“Hey, nothing worth having is easy.”
“Thanks for the bumper-sticker-level psychobabble.”
She tried to squeeze his neck with her hand, but she couldn’t get a good grip. The warmth of his skin and the scent of his body didn’t help her concentration, nor did the fact that her hands were small. She felt inconsequential and feminine. Neither reality thrilled her.
“Can’t I just shoot you?” she asked.
“It would shorten our lesson time,” he said, and bent his knees. “Is this better?”
She was able to grip more firmly. “It helps.”
“Don’t get used to it. Once you’ve mastered the technique, you’ll have to deal with me at my full height. You can’t always be sure your assailants will be shorter than you.”
She was about to agree with his point when she heard a familiar voice calling out her name. A quick glance at the clock showed her it was nearly ten-thirty. Time had flown.
“Back here,” she called, and stepped away from Quinn. “I guess we’ll take our break now.”
He turned toward the doorway and raised his eyebrows when Rebecca entered. D.J. followed his gaze and nearly groaned.
Just perfect, she thought, heading for the small refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water. She was hot, sweaty and badly dressed. Rebecca was feminine perfection in a white summer dress, perfect makeup and tasteful pearl earrings. Tiny flat sandals exposed the pink polish on her toes. D.J. had never been jealous of her friend before and refused to start now. What did she care if Quinn thought Rebecca was the perfect woman? Not only wasn’t she interested in him, her friend was happily married and hadn’t looked at another man since meeting Austin nearly ten years ago.
So why did D.J. suddenly feel like a “before” picture in a magazine makeover?
“You have company,” Rebecca said. She had a carafe in one hand and a box of doughnuts in the other. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all.” D.J. jerked her head at Quinn without actually looking at him. She didn’t want to see him drooling. “Rebecca, this is Quinn. He’s teaching me to be a better fighter.”
“That statement begs a thousand questions,” Rebecca said as she set the doughnuts on a table and put the coffee next to them. Then she crossed to the mats and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Quinn.”
“Likewise.”
Despite her best intention, D.J. glanced at the two of them. They seemed to be caught up in a staring contest...and still clasping hands, she thought glumly. Not that she cared. Men like him didn’t interest her. No men interested her. She didn’t do the romantic, boy-girl thing. Remember?
“I met your husband this morning when I joined Travis Haynes for breakfast.”
Rebecca pulled her hand free and sighed. “Isn’t he wonderful?”
D.J. took comfort in the fact that if Quinn had been blown away by Rebecca’s feminine charms, he’d just received a dose of reality. She might be pretty enough to have her portrait in the National Gallery, but she was a one-man woman. And Austin was her man.
“‘Wonderful’ isn’t how guys describe each other,” Quinn told her.
Rebecca smiled. “Good point. Would you be willing to describe D.J. that way?”
He turned his gaze on her. D.J. drank from her water bottle and tried not to care. “Maybe.”
“I think that’s secretly a yes.” Rebecca linked arms with him. “I stop by in the morning a couple of times a week. I bring fattening food and coffee. D.J. and I do girl talk and get a sugar high. Harmless fun, but we like it.”
They walked out of the workout room, leaving D.J. to grab the doughnuts and coffee and trail after them.
“What do you do?” Quinn asked.
“Mostly I’m a wife and mother, but I work part-time at the Glenwood Orphanage. I used to run it, but after I married Austin and started having babies, there wasn’t time.”
“You’re very traditional.”
“I suppose so.”
When D.J. reached her office, Rebecca and Quinn had already pulled up chairs around her desk. She sank into her seat and slapped the doughnut box in front of them, not sure why she was irritated. So Rebecca was talking to Quinn. What did that matter? Wasn’t it easier than D.J. having to talk to him?
Rebecca winked at her, then turned her attention back to Quinn. “Don’t let the modest offices fool you. Our D.J. is very successful. She flies all over the country, sometimes all over the world, rescuing children. She gives lectures and demonstrations.”
D.J. grabbed a doughnut. “I’m still in the room you know.”
/> Rebecca smiled. “Of course you’re here, but I doubt you’ve been talking about all your accomplishments.” She glanced back at Quinn. “D.J. can be very modest.”
D.J. bit into the doughnut and rolled her eyes.
Quinn reached into the box. “She mentioned that she helps when kids are abducted.”
“Yes. There’s a lot of danger, but she goes right in. She looks tough, but the kids are never scared of her. I guess they sense she only wants to help.”
This was as painful as dental surgery, D.J. thought. She didn’t like being talked about.
“Let’s change the subject,” she said brightly. “Let’s talk about Quinn. Guys like to be the center of attention.”
Rebecca looked surprised. “I didn’t know you knew that.” She turned to Quinn. “Where are you from?”
“A small town in Texas.”
“I know you have a brother. Well, I suppose now you have several. What about your mom? Are you close to her?”
D.J. frowned. Talk about a strange question. Rebecca turned to her. “Don’t give me that look. How a man treats his mother can be an indication of character. Well, unless she’s a horrible woman, like Austin’s mother was.”
Quinn grinned. “My mom is terrific and I get along with her extremely well.”
D.J. wanted to crawl under the table. Great. So Rebecca wasn’t even going to be subtle about the matchmaking.
“Are you seeing anyone?” her friend asked.
The second the question was out, D.J. wanted to smack her head into the desk. Was Quinn seeing anyone? Had she even thought to ask that herself? The man could be married, and she’d been offering him sex.
She held her breath until he said he wasn’t involved at this time.
“Have you ever been married?” Rebecca asked.
Quinn glanced at D.J. “You could rescue me here.”
“Why?”
He laughed. “No,” he told Rebecca. “No ex-wives.”
“What about significant relationships?”
“My work keeps me on the move.”
“Uh-huh.” Rebecca delicately bit into a doughnut, chewed and swallowed. “That’s a better excuse than some people have.” She stared intently at D.J., then smiled at Quinn. “D.J. doesn’t get out much, which you may have noticed. Not that she doesn’t need to.”
D.J. glared at her. “I’m still right here in the room.”
“We all know that. I’m just stating the obvious.”
“So what exactly is her dating history?” Quinn asked.
“It’s very sad,” Rebecca told him. “It’s not that men aren’t interested. A lot of them are. Some of the problem is her surly attitude.”
D.J. had just bitten into a doughnut and found herself choking. Rebecca pounded her on the back until she waved the other woman off.
“My surly attitude?” she asked, outraged.
Rebecca merely smiled. “Am I wrong? Do you in any way encourage men to be a part of your life? Don’t you make a habit of scaring off anyone even faintly interested?”
“Okay, then,” D.J. said as she stood. “You probably need to get going.”
Quinn leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Don’t make her rush off on my account.”
“Of course not,” D.J. said, trying to ignore him and her rising embarrassment. “You would love to sit here and listen to wild stories about my past.”
“It’s more interesting than cable TV.”
Rebecca rose. “I’m trying to help,” she said as she collected her purse. “Quinn seems very nice.”
D.J. wanted to die. She couldn’t believe that her friend—make that her ex-friend—was acting this way.
“I’m not going to be speaking to you later,” D.J. told her.
Rebecca patted her arm. “Of course you are.” She walked to the front door, then turned back. “It was nice to meet you, Quinn. Don’t let her scare you off.”
“Likewise,” Quinn said. “Your husband’s a lucky man.”
Rebecca sighed. “He knows. Oh! There’s going to be a big dinner at my house tomorrow night. Just another Haynes get-together for the new members of the family to commingle with the rest. I hope you’ll be there.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Rebecca turned her attention to D.J. “I’m really going to need your help setting up things.”
“Not even on a bet.”
“D.J., you have to.”
Rebecca wasn’t being subtle, but D.J. figured arguing in front of Quinn would only increase his entertainment factor. She gritted her teeth and nodded.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
Rebecca wiggled her fingers at them both and ducked out of the room. D.J. stared after her and thought briefly about throwing a chair across the room, but wasn’t sure it would do anything for her frustration level. At least she had plenty of energy to continue sparring with Quinn.
“Let’s get back to work,” she told him as she rose and headed for the back of the office.
He didn’t budge. “Not so fast. I have a question.”
D.J. could only imagine. “How did Rebecca and I get to be friends?”
“Nope. What do the initials stand for?”
She blinked at him. He wanted to know her real name? “Not even on a bet.”
“I’m not going to help you until you tell me.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I’ve already paid for my lessons. You owe me.”
“Maybe, but I’m not moving until you cough up the truth.”
She stared at him. He looked comfortable and more than prepared to sit there well into the afternoon. She considered her options: there weren’t any. She couldn’t force him to move and she couldn’t continue the lessons without him.
She sucked in a breath and braced herself for the laughter. “Daisy Jane.”
Quinn’s mouth twitched, but that was his only reaction. “It suits you,” he said.
She took a step toward him. “Don’t make me kill you.”
His twitch turned into a grin. “You couldn’t even bruise me, little girl. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 8
Quinn arrived at the party shortly after seven. Judging by the number of cars in the driveway, there was a houseful of guests. After parking his rental car, he sat in the driver’s seat for a few seconds and told himself this was just a family event. No danger, no threats.
The reminder wasn’t to make himself feel better, but to keep himself from going into work mode. Crowds usually put him on alert. He’d had to rescue more than one hostage from an overflowing temporary prison or a bustling outdoor marketplace. He knew how to move without being seen, how to slip in and out with no one realizing he’d ever been there at all. Not exactly qualities that would make him a favorite guest.
He climbed out of the car and pocketed the keys, then headed for the front door. It opened before he could knock.
Rebecca Lucas stood in the foyer and smiled at him. “Right on time.”
He jerked his head toward the crowd behind her. “Was everyone else early?”
She laughed. “The women and kids started arriving around four. The husbands are just starting to follow. As for this being ‘everyone else,’ you haven’t seen all your extended family in one place yet, have you?”
He shook his head.
She smiled. “Then brace yourself.”
She took his arm and drew him inside her large, welcoming home. He had a brief impression of warm colors, oversize furniture and lots of people.
“Most of the kids are out back playing,” Rebecca said. “But a few of them are running around. I won’t even try to match them with parents just now. You’ll be doing well if you can remember who is married to whom.”
She paused by three women and introduced them as Elizabeth, Travis’s wife, Jill, Craig’s wife and Holly, Jordan’s wife.
Quinn nodded and shook hands. He had a good memory for faces and names, but keeping this group straight was going to be a challen
ge.
“Hannah’s around here somewhere,” Rebecca told him. “She’s an actual Haynes. Her mother is over there. Louise knew Earl back when she was in high school. There’s still Sandy, who isn’t here yet. You know all the Texas clan, as we’re calling them. Oh, there’s Gage.”
Quinn turned and saw his brother walking toward him. Gage smiled at Rebecca. “Quinn’s getting that trapped look, so I’m going to rescue him before he bolts.”
Rebecca nodded. “We are overwhelming all at once. I had the advantage of meeting the brothers individually. When I married Austin, only Travis had a wife. So I’ve been able to get to know everyone slowly. You’re being thrown into the deep end. Let me know if you need a life preserver.”
“Will do.”
She patted his arm and walked off.
Gage led him to the kitchen where a cooler filled with beer and sodas sat on the counter.
“How you doing?” his brother asked.
“Fine.”
“Too much family?”
Quinn considered the question. He’d never been much of a joiner, and he rarely hung out with friends. But that was more about circumstance than temperament.
“I’m okay as long as there’s not a quiz on names.”
Gage chuckled. “We’ve all been through that one. You’ll figure it out.”
While Gage pulled out two beers and opened them, Quinn glanced around at the kitchen and family room. Several kids gathered around the coffee table and played a board game. Nash and Kevin sat on the sofa. Stephanie stood next to Nash, her hand on his shoulder, his arm around her waist.
He turned in the opposite direction, back the way he’d come. There were the wives he’d met, a few kids and...
Damn, he thought silently and shook his head. He wasn’t just checking out the surroundings; he was looking for D.J.
She was prickly, difficult and spent most of their time together wanting to bash his head in. So why was he so hot to see her again? He accepted the beer his brother offered, and grinned. Because she was never boring.
He spotted movement by the back door and glanced toward it. D.J. stepped into the house. She wore a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. Instead of her usual boots, she had on open-toed sandals. Her hair was loose, her expression happy. She had a little girl by the hand and bent down to hear what she said. After listening intently, D.J. nodded, then pointed toward the front of the house. The little girl—tiny, with pigtails and a bright-pink shorts set—released D.J. and ran in the direction she’d pointed. D.J. straightened.
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