Honey House

by LAURA HARNER

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Ted Sparks? The one that was running the sweat lodges? He’s in jail, isn’t he?”

  “Yep,” said Gregory. “Awaiting trial, as they say. But, I guess he has to pay for his defense. He’s the name behind ‘The Rapture.’ It’s supposed to be a spiritual healing that uses the hidden hot springs. I guess the theory is the same as the sweat lodge. Go squeeze into a hot, over-crowded space and listen to canned messages from the leader. Come out all rosy and inspired to hand even more money over to Sparks and his people.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, KC, I’d like to talk about something other than scams. So, tell me. How are you loving Juniper Springs? Any desire to go into the big city?”

  We spent the rest of the evening drinking a good Pinot Noir, talking about books and movies, and offering our own expert opinions on the personal lives and styles of celebrities. When it was time to go home, I stood, stretched, and declined the offer of a ride. I walked down the path that led through their yard. Looking back at the patio as I closed the gate, I saw that Gregory had moved closer to Owen on the couch, and Owen dropped an arm over the smaller man’s shoulders. I envied their closeness. I didn’t know what it was like to feel that connection with another. It wasn’t sexual. It was comforting, supportive. I sighed and walked home, feeling the kiss of coolness hidden in the breeze.

  ****

  Quinn was waiting when I reached the Honey House. Swell. I’d had too much to drink to spar with him. I let a bone-weary sigh carry my thoughts at having him here, before I asked, “What do you want, Sheriff?”

  “I have a few more questions, Miss Carmichael. May I come in?”

  “Won’t it wait until tomorrow? I’ve had a pleasant evening and I’d like to curl up with a nightcap to relax before I go to bed,” I said.

  “An excellent suggestion,” he said. As he reached around me to grab the door handle the lock snicked open—then Quinn herded me inside. The House and I were going to have to have a talk.

  “Actually, I thought I was suggesting we wait until tomorrow.”

  “And here I thought I would join you for a nightcap.” Without waiting for my undoubtedly slack-jawed response, Quinn led the way to my apartment, leaving me to hurry down the hall behind him. It wasn’t all bad, since it gave me the opportunity to study ‘The Great Behind,’ as Gregory liked to call it. It was a great ass. But then again, so was the sheriff. A great ass, indeed.

  Quinn put his arm out, preventing me from barging into my own apartment. Quietly, he said, “Why don’t you let me go through the door first? Just in case.” Without waiting for my answer, he went through the doorway, his hand on his weapon.

  Shit. Did Quinn think someone was in there? Is that why he was here?

  He scanned the downstairs rooms and looked a silent question at me. I nodded my permission for him to check upstairs. I might not like cops, but I wasn’t stupid. If Jason’s killer was hanging around, I’d let Quinn introduce himself first.

  When he’d confirmed that the place was empty of murderers, he walked to the kitchen and unerringly opened the cabinet where I stored the liquor. Of course, it was directly over a small wine rack, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a deduction.

  “Make yourself at home, Sheriff,” I said sarcastically. “How about a drink?”

  “Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” He brought out two glasses, and I heard the bottles shift as he looked over my selection. I was curious to know why he was here and even more curious to see which booze he selected.

  He poured us each a generous glass of Macallan, and my estimation of him went up. It was the most expensive bottle in the cabinet. Then he drank his down in a quick gulp and poured another even more generous glass for himself, before he brought my glass to me.

  “Care to sit outside, while we talk?” he asked quietly.

  His honey-gold eyes were dull with something. Fatigue, maybe? The smart-ass comment died on my tongue. “Sure,” I said, and opened the French doors to the deck and led the way. Two steps down, I realized we would be overlooking the path where Jason died. Three steps down I tripped over something that shouldn’t have been there.

  I looked down and an embarrassingly girly scream ripped from my throat. There was a dead dog stretched out on the third step. A very bloody dead dog.

  ****

  Two hours later, I was huddled on the corner of my couch in front of a fire and sipping another whisky. I’d wrapped a throw around my legs to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the day I’d had.

  Quinn had been outside ever since we’d found the dog. I knew there were others out there with him, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to go back outside. It was ridiculous to be this upset over a dog. I’d touched the first body I’d found today, and that turned out to be someone I knew. This was some stray or maybe someone’s pet, and here I was feeling as if I would cry. Shit. I brushed at the tear that escaped and closed my eyes to hold back the flood.

  I’d learned early enough about being a tough girl, but I felt the self-pity threatening now. After all, not many people are orphaned by the age of three. I wouldn’t know the numbers, but I bet even fewer could lay claim to spending two days trapped in a car with their dead family. The site of the accident was discovered because some hikers heard me screaming. I’d learned later that the paramedics had to cut me out of the crumpled steel, still cocooned in my car seat. I didn’t actually remember the accident or anything about my birth parents or older brother. Something like that makes a girl tough, right?

  After the accident, with no relatives around to claim me, I’d been placed in a group home. I would have stayed there until I was eighteen if the Patterson’s hadn’t agreed to foster me. So what if my upbringing was unconventional? At least I’d had a home, and by God, I was tough enough to handle this little mess.

  As much as I hated to admit it, this situation still had the makings of an elaborate con. Well, except for the dead body. I swiped angrily at the tears and thought about my foster parents. June and Matt Patterson had been running cons for years before they’d brought me into their lives. To their minds, dragging a kid to a scam gave them instant credibility. “Gee, Mrs. Smith, I know we had a meeting set for this morning, but my daughter wasn’t feeling too well, so I needed to bring her along. I hope you don’t mind.” I would flash my deep blue eyes and be polite.

  I was taught early never to feel sorry for the mark. It wasn’t our fault if a woman was dumb enough to give us her money. And it was always a woman. Matt was a fine-looking man who grew more distinguished with age. He always made the pitch and June played the previously satisfied customer who could vouch for his honesty. I played daughter to Matt’s heartbroken widower. It was effective as hell.

  The last time I’d seen Matt and June was at the Los Angeles County Courthouse nearly ten years ago now. I’d been thirteen and the California Juvenile System became my new family. Six years in lock up at a California Youth Authority farm will either make a girl tough or break her. And damn it all to hell, I was tough, I reminded myself.

  Quinn finally came back inside and interrupted my trip down memory lane. I stared into the fire while he poured himself a fresh drink. Neither of us said anything until he joined me on the couch, bringing the bottle with him.

  “All right, KC. Everybody’s gone, but the photographer will be back in the daylight for another photo. I think we both know this wasn’t an accident. Someone is sending a pretty strong message. What is it you’re not telling me? Do you know something about Jason’s murder? Something else you’re holding back?” Quinn asked, his sheriff’s mask perfectly in place, his cop eyes blank.

  I shook my head. “So these are definitely related?” I asked. Something about that was gnawing at me, but I didn’t know what.

  “You don’t think they are? You can find two bodies in your backyard on the same day and imagine one has nothing to do with the other?

  “I don’t know,” I answered tru
thfully.

  “Is there someplace I should search besides Jason’s room? Did he stay in here with you last night?”

  “God, no! After what he wrote about me in the paper?”

  “So what? It was all true,” Quinn said coldly.

  “Just because it’s true, doesn’t much mean I want others to know. That life is long behind me now.”

  Quinn smiled a tight smile that didn’t change the look in his eyes one iota. “Sounds like a motive for murder. Was it revenge or were there more secrets coming that you don’t want known?”

  “Fuck off, Sheriff. You don’t come into my house, drink my finest whisky, and accuse me of murder.” My voice was cold, eyes steady. “You want to charge me? Go ahead. Otherwise, this line of questioning is over.”

  We stared at each other a long time, but he looked away first. I thought I might have won the skirmish. Then he took my hand and rubbed his thumb gently over the bruised knuckles.

  “Will you tell me how this happened?” he asked softly.

  I sighed. He was good; I’d give him that. He was playing the bad cop and the good cop. I answered him anyway. “I hit Jason. He arrived late and asked for a room. I decked him and dropped the room key by his head. I left him on the floor in the entry. It was the only time I saw him until I found him on the path.” I added shakily, “That didn’t count because I didn’t even recognize him there.”

  Quinn’s eyes sparkled for a minute. “Did you really hit him?” His voice held a hint of something. Laughter? Disbelief?

  “Hard enough to knock him out. I’m in pretty good shape, you know,” I said. I knew better than to volunteer information to the cops, but I hated it when men assumed any woman was a weak, fragile thing.

  Quinn stroked his finger lightly down my arm, tracing a path along the definition of the muscle in my biceps. “I noticed,” he said, and something about the smoky richness in his voice made me shiver.

  “Do you know whose dog it was?” I blurted, needing a distraction. I’m not sure why it mattered, except I felt vaguely responsible, since it was found on my back porch.

  “Not a dog, a coyote,” Quinn said. “It wasn’t someone’s pet, didn’t belong to anybody, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I nodded, not exactly trusting myself to speak. Then the tears started. Shit. What was wrong with me?

  “Are you all right?” Quinn asked. He slid across the couch and gathered me in his arms, offering temporary comfort where none was expected.

  Without thought or reason, I pressed my chest against him and raised my mouth to his.

  Chapter Seven

  Quinn’s lips were a wonder, perfectly shaped, made for kissing, for tasting. I’m not sure which of us was more surprised when my mouth found his, but neither of us turned away. It started as a gentle brush of lips and Quinn stayed very still. Not as though he found it distasteful, more as though he was waiting to see what would happen next. I needed to feel the heat of his tongue, taste his sweetness, hold his breath against mine. He relaxed his mouth against my kiss, and when his lips parted slightly, I pushed inside.

  When my tongue found his, Quinn’s stillness exploded into a firestorm of desire. He growled at the contact, cupped my face in one large hand while he twisted his fingers roughly into my hair. His desire took control of the kiss and stole my breath. I had a moment to think it was the most extraordinary of kisses before I thought no more. I experienced. I felt. I surrendered.

  The dance of our tongues was heated. He plunged into my mouth, sliding against my teeth, my palate, my tongue. I held his tongue with gentle suction, promising acts to come. I followed him back into his own mouth and tasted the whisky, the spice of him, the flavor of us. I wanted more. He pulled his mouth from mine and ran kisses along my jaw line, and then returned to trace my lips, biting gently.

  Quinn’s tongue followed the line of my collarbone and up the sensitive skin of my neck. He bit down so hard I knew it would leave a mark, but all I could do was arch my neck, make it longer, give him more. His mouth on my neck sent shivers down into the very core of me. I shuddered with anticipation.

  I leaned into him at the same time my hands found the buttons on his shirt. I wanted to feel his skin against mine. Now.

  I unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it from his jeans, and pushed it off his wide shoulders. Quinn leaned forward and wriggled his arms enough to give me room to maneuver. As soon as I bared his chest, I slipped my own shirt over my head and threw it behind me.

  His chest was broad, with a patch of dark curls nestled between small coppery nipples. I pulled him back into a kiss with one hand while the other splayed across his chest, nails scraping against the hair. He rubbed his hands against the bare skin of my back, leaving me with the illusion for the briefest of moments that I was driving our pace. Then with a movement so fast that I never saw it coming, he threw me on the couch and stretched out long and hard on top of me.

  I felt the grin on my face a second before his mouth claimed mine in another mind-numbing kiss. I liked it a little bit rough, and most men just weren’t sure what that meant. I liked my man to be able to stand up to me, to be a little bit dominant in bed. I wanted a man who would seek his pleasure and not be intimidated when I did the same.

  Quinn slid his face and hands to my breasts, and I didn’t bother to try to disguise the moan he wrenched from me. He disposed of the front closing bra and went straight to work. With a sigh, he pushed my breasts together and ran his tongue along the crease before he began to tease the nipples. Light tongue flicks, a scrape of his teeth, gentle bites on the soft underside. Just as I was sure I couldn’t stand anymore teasing, he’d switch to the other breast.

  My back arched, impatient, eager for what I knew was coming next. Finally, with another sexy growl, he pulled one nipple into his mouth, while he pinched and rolled the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Hard and deep he sucked, and the muscles in my belly and lower clenched tight. A shudder passed through me, a strong precursor of what was to come.

  Quinn slid up my body, returning to kiss me with a gentleness he hadn’t shown before. His hand caressed my cheek as his mouth pressed against mine. I realized his hair was still bound and I loosened the tie that held it back from his face. Waves of soft golden-brown spilled around us, releasing an earthy scent. I ran my fingers through the silky strands, and he moaned with pleasure against my lips.

  “KC…Katherine…Katie.” It was as though he was trying my name for the first time and had settled on Katie with a sigh. I’d been Katherine to my parents, and KC in jail. No one had ever called me Katie before. I thought I might like it.

  I realized I thought of him as Quinn, but I’d never called him that except for that one bitchy moment in front of Susan. Quinn. Short for MacQuinnlan. What was his real first name? I would remember to ask later. Right now, I knew what he wanted, what we both wanted, and it wasn’t talk. He was giving me a chance to change my mind.

  “Yes,” I replied in a breathy voice. I could hear the hunger in my voice and knew he heard it, too.

  With his lightning fast reflexes, he swept me off the couch and carried me up the stairs to the bedroom. He cradled me against his bare chest with one strong arm while the other flung back the bedspread, exposing the crisp, white sheets.

  I expected him to throw me down on the bed, but he surprised me by gently lowering me to my feet, keeping our bodies pressed together. He towered over me, at least a foot taller than my five feet, four inches. It put his chest at face level, and I ran my tongue over the nipple in front of me. He stiffened, back arching, and the tiny bud twitched. I traced my tongue to the other nipple and drew it into my mouth, scraping my teeth across the sensitive bud, running my fingers through his glorious chest hair. His hands rested lightly on my shoulders and I understood. He would cede some of his control. For now.

  I unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the jeans, and followed the trail of hair with my tongue to where it disappeared below his waistband. Dropping to my knees, I p
ulled down on all the clothing, and Quinn stepped out, kicking away the pile. He must have taken his shoes off at some point, because I encountered no obstacles.

  When he was completely nude before me, I leaned back on my heels and admired the view. “Magnificent,” I breathed before I took him in my mouth. It was a gentle taking; I wanted to taste him, to savor the unique, earthy aroma of his body. It was a scent of nature, of wild things, of power. I took just the tip, and rolled my tongue around the rim, flicking gently, tasting. Then my hand stroked the length of him while my mouth found other places to explore: the crease between his hip and his groin, the underside of his sac.

  He stood with his feet apart and let me explore, let me taste him. I took his cock back into my mouth and moved slowly, sliding him between my lips. I kept the pressure firm, the suction steady, and quickened the pace. He was massive, and I couldn’t come close to taking all of him that way. I circled my hand around the base of his shaft and stroked in time with my lips. His hips began to move, and he threaded his fingers into my hair, pulling me, pumping into me, letting me know it felt good.

  “Sit,” he murmured. It wasn’t a command for me quit what I was doing. It was a plea. He needed to sit down before he fell down, and I guided him to the bed where he gratefully collapsed against the edge. I was afraid he’d stop me, and I wasn’t ready—I wanted to taste more than the drops I’d had so far. I wanted all of him.

  I looked up into his lust-filled face. “Watch me,” I whispered.

  Quinn’s eyes were dark with need. “Yes,” he said on a breath. He leaned back on his elbows, his rock-hard thighs on either side of my shoulders.

  I took his cock into my mouth with one hard thrust, pushing it against the back of my throat. Again and again, until he began to swell even larger. I cupped his testicles in one hand and with the other began to stroke very quickly. When his balls drew up tight, I shortened my strokes and increased the suction. His sharp intake of breath let me know he was close. He was quivering with his pending release. I risked a look at his face and found him watching me, as I’d requested.