Under the Gun (CEP Book 3)

by Harper Bentley

  Their verbal sparring had begun over a year before after they met when Tilly had been kidnapped by a murderous lunatic. Quinn hated even thinking about how she’d almost lost her best friend, but with all the bad that’d happened had come something she wasn’t quite yet sure she could deem as good—her introduction to Gunner. But he’d been so sweet to her when she’d broken down as they’d waited for news about Tilly, allowing her to cry in his arms then afterward calming her by talking quietly to her, keeping her mind off what had been going on. He’d been so gentle, so sweet to her and she’d appreciated him so much for it that she’d invited him to coffee a few days later but he’d turned her down saying he’d take a rain check, which to date he hadn’t “cashed in.” Ever since, whenever they ran into each other, they invariably engaged in a kind of elaborate, flirtatious dance in which it appeared neither was willing to take to the next level which pissed her off because she didn’t know what to do with that.

  Oh, she knew Gunner would sleep with her if she so much as batted an eye at him, but that wasn’t what she was looking for anymore. It wasn’t that she was a prude since she was currently sleeping with Rod, fellow psychologist hot guy with whom she had an FWB gig going—and whom Tilly had no problem telling her every chance she got that she hated—but Quinn had no intention of getting serious with Rod. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t had one-night stands when she was younger. She’d most definitely had some fun. But she was now twenty-eight and the idea of just fucking someone for the thrill of it and never seeing him again had—and she’d had to chuckle humorlessly when this little realization had hit her—lost its appeal.

  If she were to be really honest with herself, which made her grit her teeth and become a bit irritated, she knew exactly what her problem was when it came to Gunner Murphy: she knew that if she let him, Gunner could break her heart in fifty-million different ways, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.

  So round and round they went, performing a careful tango with each other as they flirted like overly-hormonal teenagers.

  “I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he answered suggestively, his hand resting on the back of her barstool, his thumb smoothing over the soft fabric of her shirt barely grazing against her skin and making goose bumps appear in its wake.

  “Oh, but what I want, you couldn’t handle,” she retorted silkily, looking seductively at him from under her eyelashes.

  “Baby, I can handle anything.” His eyes pierced hers hotly.

  Of that, she had no doubt, damn it.

  She took another drink looking at him over the top of the glass. “But would you respect me in the morning?” she asked pulling the glass away and setting it on the bar.

  He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Not only that. I’d respect you all night long.”

  She sucked in a breath. God, he was enticing.

  “There you are! Our table’s ready!”

  Quinn’s head shot around quickly to see Tilly walking toward them, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss her bestie for keeping her from making a huge mistake in taking Gunner home right then or if she wanted to punch her bestie for keeping her from making a huge mistake in taking Gunner home right then.

  Huh.

  Quinn’s eyes slid back to Gunner’s as she licked her lips then she sat up straighter trying to compose herself a bit. Gunner’s eyes flashed as he gazed at her mouth and any kind of composing she was attempting halted as she gasped at the look of pure lust on his face. Holy crap. The man was too attractive for his own damned good.

  When he took her hand to help her down from her barstool, her heart skipped a beat. Good lord, he had it all—he was handsome, a gentleman, and fucking sexy. When he handed her her glass then retrieved her suit jacket from the back of the stool draping it over his forearm before putting his other hand gently at the small of her back to lead her toward the dining area, she knew she had to be careful because any resistance she tried to employ when it came to Gunner Murphy was just a big fat joke.

  Chapter 2

  Gunner shook his head and wore a slight smirk as he walked with the women, his fingertips softly skimming over the satin blouse at the small of the petite redhead’s back in front of him.

  Quinn McDonnell was one fucking sexy-as-hell spitfire all wrapped up in a killer body. Christ, it was all he could do right then to keep himself from snatching her hand, dragging her outside and throwing her ass into a cab—where he’d proceed to do very naughty things to her on the way to her apartment. Once there he’d fuck her six ways to Sunday until he got the smart-mouthed woman out of his goddamned system once and for all.

  She’d been on his mind for over a year now which had somewhat screwed with his head. Enough so that he’d found himself seeking out redheads to take home when he went out with the guys, which was just fucked up. He’d never been particularly into redheads but since meeting her, they’d become his preference which was even more fucked up.

  But he knew to stay away from Quinn because when he’d met her last year when Oz’s wife had been kidnapped, he’d felt in his gut that Quinn had been a threat. It wasn’t anything in particular that she’d done. It was just…her. He’d felt an immediate attraction to her, nothing like he’d ever experienced with any other woman before, which had him running in the other direction. Fast. And he knew he needed to keep running because he didn’t need that shit now or ever.

  In the past two years, he’d watched both his brothers fall hard for their women. His baby brother Chase, who was four years younger, had gone after Julia with a vengeance that had had Gunner shaking his head. Then when Layton, who at thirty-two was two years older than Gunner, had proposed to Genevieve, a model Lay had met at some big Hollywood casting party for the movie script he’d written, Gunner’d had to laugh that it was he who remained the sole Murphy brother with a fucking brain left in his head. Why the hell they wanted that snafu in their lives was a mystery to him.

  And God knew he needed more complications like he needed a hole in his head.

  Chrissakes, he’d already been to hell and back when he’d flown choppers in the Army. He’d been a Night Stalker, flying with Special Forces, performing top-secret operations at night, and after an eight-year stint fighting for his country, he’d come home. But that shit had stayed with him for a long-ass time, especially since several of the soldiers in his company had been killed—one of which had been his best friend Nate—when wires had been crossed on one of their missions. Of course, they weren’t supposed to have been where they’d flown into—which was standard operating procedure via the United States government—but somehow the enemy had gotten the fucking intel on their assignment and had blown things up, literally.

  Afterward, he’d felt like a ticking time bomb.

  Tick tock.

  He’d gone off on his commanding officer, disobeying orders, which had almost gotten him court martialed.

  Tick tock.

  When his enlistment had ended, he’d come home and dropped his girlfriend with no explanation—but seeing that she’d been Nate’s fiancée’s best friend, she’d only been a reminder of everything.

  Tick tock.

  Losing Nate had opened Gunner’s eyes to his own mortality which had more than screwed him up.

  Tick tock.

  And when he’d drunkenly slammed his Camaro into a retaining wall almost killing himself—BOOM!—his dad had had enough and got him into deep counseling which had helped tremendously.

  So, yeah, he knew a complication when he saw it and tried avoiding it at all cost.

  And Quinn McDonnell had had complication written all over her.

  That all being said, there was no doubt he’d fuck her if the opportunity arose; he just needed to make sure she knew that was all it’d be.

  Now as Gunner walked behind the women, he scanned the restaurant for signs of anything out of the ordinary that might pose a threat to the women, like, oh, say, one of the Morettis who’d happened to make the unfortunate choice of dining
at Scarpetta tonight. But upon seeing that the coast was clear for now, he couldn’t help the full smirk that covered his face as Quinn and Oz’s wife whispered to each other in front of him.

  And he knew exactly what they were talking about: him.

  “Here we are,” their hostess said, stopping at a table that had a booth against the wall on one side and two chairs on the other. “Your server, David, will be with you shortly,” she informed them as she placed menus on the table. Before leaving, her eyes shifted to Gunner and she smiled flirtatiously at him. He grinned back then his attention returned to Quinn in time to see her frowning at the young woman as she slid into the booth side, which made him raise an eyebrow. She was jealous that the girl had flirted with him. Interesting.

  Once the women were seated, he turned to walk back to the front to stand lookout but Oz’s wife, Tilly, spoke up. “Gunner! You’re sitting with us! John would have if he were here, so now you are.” She beamed up at him wickedly, nodding toward the booth across from her where Quinn sat and his lips tilted up seeing that Tilly was trying to play matchmaker.

  When he turned his gaze upon Quinn, he caught her bugging her eyes out at her friend who was now smiling widely back and chuckled to himself. Oh, what the hell. Might as well get some grub and have a little fun in the meantime.

  Sliding into the booth, he made sure his thigh landed against hers, which had her quickly pulling hers away, causing her to shoot him a glare. He winked at her which made her glower even harder.

  Yeah, this could be fun.

  “So, Gunner,” Tilly began, “how are you?”

  He shifted in the booth making sure to invade Quinn’s space and had to hold back a snort when he felt her go tense.

  “I’ve been good. You?” he answered.

  The waiter came asking for their drink orders before Tilly could answer.

  “We require a bottle of Antinori, please,” Quinn jumped right in, nodding at Tilly and making Gunner’s body shake in laughter at her phrasing.

  The waiter looked to Gunner. “Beer,” he responded.

  The server appeared confused until Quinn elucidated, “Amarcord. Bionda.”

  The waiter smiled looking relieved, nodded and left to retrieve their drinks.

  Gunner leaned down to Quinn and muttered under his breath, “That shit better be decent or my hand’s across that gorgeous ass of yours later tonight.” He then sat straight and upon hearing her gasp at his pseudo-threat, had to chuckle low.

  And here came the sass.

  “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Mr. Murphy,” she whisper-hissed.

  He shifted his eyes to her without turning his head. “Did. This morning. I believe a redhead was the main attraction too.”

  Then something happened that totally took him off guard, making him arch into himself quickly, his hand coming up trying to protect his chest before he bit out, “The fuck?”

  As he stared at Quinn in surprise, he watched her swivel back to the front as if she hadn’t just twisted his nipple right there in the fancy-assed restaurant. The waiter had appeared so she now held her wine glass to the bottle as he poured then she smoothly took a drink never once looking back at Gunner. Damn. The woman was slick.

  Gunner took a glance at Tilly who appeared to be having a tough time keeping in her laughter, her eyes twinkling at him as she bit her lips. When he narrowed his eyes at her, she let out a little snort, ducking her head and trying to compose herself.

  Huh. Yeah. This was loads of fun.

  The waiter took their orders then Quinn continued as if nothing out of the ordinary happened asking Tilly, “So, Till, how’s that new camera workin’ for you?” She took a drink, and he had to hand it to her; she was most definitely smooth.

  While the women talked, Gunner sat back and drank his beer, which was damned good he had to admit, as he kept watch over the place. Checking out the various tables, he realized he was aggravated that he’d let Quinn throw him off guard the way she had. He also perceived he was pissed at the sheer craving he now felt for the petite woman sitting next to him. And what was worse, the glimpse he’d just taken of her showed she wasn’t feeling the same about him, all caught up in the conversation she was having with Tilly.

  What the fuck was this? Women usually noticed him, flirted with him, took him home if he was so inclined to go to their place—not his, never his—but there sat the gorgeous redhead beside him not giving him one iota of attention.

  A beautiful woman three tables over whose breasts were close to spilling out of the low-cut cocktail dress she wore caught his attention. When she gave him a seductive smile, he cursed under his breath. But his expletive hadn’t been the result of how good she looked. Nope. He’d uttered the word because he hadn’t felt a damned thing toward her when normally his dick would at least have given an appreciative twitch by then.

  He sat back letting out an annoyed breath which was when he realized the conversation at the table had stopped. Looking across to Tilly then to his side at Quinn, he saw they were both looking at him with amusement.

  “See something you like?” Quinn asked, her mirth seemingly laced with annoyance as she nodded in the direction of the woman at whom he’d gawked.

  Christ. Could the redhead give him any more mixed signals? First, she acted as if she didn’t want him but then got aggravated when his attention went elsewhere.

  And that’s why he thought his brothers were insane for settling down. Women. Jesus.

  Gunner picked up his glass, took a drink then sat it down before answering. “I see a lot of things I like.” He gave her a wicked half smirk before turning to the front continuing to keep an eye on everything.

  A server delivered their food and nothing out of the ordinary occurred except for the extreme sexual tension he was experiencing. When they finished, he paid for their meals, to the protest of the ladies but too bad, then walked them to the coat check and on outside where he hailed a cab for Tilly.

  “I’ll see you at the dog show tomorrow?” Tilly questioned.

  He saw Quinn frown before she answered, “Do I have to? It’s Saturday, Till. I need my beauty rest.”

  “There’s an evening session,” Tilly responded with a giggle at Quinn’s groan then leaned in and kissed her friend on the cheek. Pulling away, she said, “Thank you again, Gunner. John and I will get yours next time. Tomorrow!” she hollered at Quinn while getting into her cab before it drove away.

  Gunner started to get a cab for Quinn but he saw she’d already stepped into the street to get one herself.

  “Hey!” he growled, walking to her. “What’re you doing?”

  Quinn dropped her arm and looked up at him, her face full of sarcasm. “I’m waving at the drivers as they go by, trying to promote fucking friendship week. What do you think I’m doing?”

  Christ. He’d had enough of her smart mouth. Gritting his teeth which made his jaw muscles jump, he threw out his arm to bar her from moving farther into the street, holding up his other hand to stop a cab. Of course Quinn resisted, making him let out a heavy breath. Stubborn-assed woman.

  When a cab stopped for him, she quickly made her way from behind his arm mumbling her protest and had just opened the door about to step inside when Gunner grabbed her by her shoulders spinning her to face him.

  “What in the wor—” she began but his mouth covering hers stopped the rest of her statement.

  Gunner pushed her against the back quarter panel of the taxi, his mouthed crushed to hers as he took all he could. And fuck. Her mouth was perfect. Warm. Responsive.

  Christ.

  Moments later, he drew back removing his lips from hers and stared down into the bright green eyes of the smart aleck temptress looking back up at him impudently, her bosom heaving with each breath she took.

  He knew she was angry and he wasn’t quite sure what to do next, but he didn’t have to wonder long when Quinn grabbed his hand pulling him into the cab with her.

  Chapter 3

  Fucking fucking
hell!

  What was she doing? God!

  Before she’d even thought about it, Quinn had grabbed Gunner by the hand practically dragging him into the cab with her, and after quickly giving the cabbie her address, there they now were, making out like a couple teenagers.

  And she was loving every minute of it.

  Which she knew she shouldn’t.

  First of all, this was the second overture to him she’d made. Yeah, yeah, feminism and all that, but she realized she’d been holding out hope that it was he who’d make the next move. Well, that wouldn’t be happening now. They were there and she might as well make the most of it.

  God.

  Second, she’d promised herself no more one-night stands but it appeared she was well on her way to having another.

  Great.

  Lastly, she knew that even though she put up a good front, she was still vulnerable. And being with Gunner, she knew, would confirm every suspicion she’d had—that in no way could she resist him; he’d be everything she thought he’d be and more; she’d wind up getting hooked; and finally, she’d end up getting hurt.

  But damn it. She was a big girl. She could handle this. She was a psychologist for God’s sake. If it didn’t end well between them, she’d self-counsel her way through it. Or, hell, she could talk to Daphne about it if that didn’t work.

  Yeah. She was covered.

  She hoped.

  When the cab came to a stop in front of her apartment building, she peeled her lips from Gunner’s and looked up at him. God, so damned handsome and looking even hotter now with lust in his eyes. Wow. His look of amusement snapped her back into reality and she observed him reaching a hand inside his jacket and pulling out his wallet.

  “Oh! No, I’ve got it!” she informed reaching for her purse.

  “I’ve got it,” he replied.

  “No! This was my ride and I—”

  “I’ve got it,” he repeated sternly giving her no choice but to let it go.