by Vonnie Davis
She jerked her arm out of his grasp and rounded on him, her dark hair flying about her head like a dusky storm cloud. His Cassie was never one to back down from an argument. “Oh, you’re a fine one to talk. You all but kicked me out of your apartment once you got your rocks off, so don’t hand me some song and dance about how much it all meant to you.” She jabbed her finger in his chest. “Because it didn’t mean diddly.” The strap of her handbag slipped off her shoulder and she yanked on it, wrapping the leather around her wrist a couple of times before swinging her purse to belt him across his arm. “You are such a cold-hearted bastard. I gave you everything…everything…and you gave me the boot.”
She’d zeroed onto the heart of the guilt ripping at him the last twenty-four hours, and he didn’t like it.
He shook his finger under her nose. “You want me to give you something? I’ll give you more than you can freaking handle.”
She bit his finger.
He tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and marched up the steps. She yelled and cursed, beating his back, but he was so agitated he didn’t give a flying fuck. His fingertips slid into the front pocket of his Levis for his keys, and he unlocked the door. As soon as he’d closed it behind him, he slid her down his body into the corner between the entrance to the foyer and the coat closet.
“Cassie, you better settle your ass down!”
“And you better go to hell!” Her disheveled hair billowed away from her face when she screeched.
A streak of grey fur charged back down the hallway toward Quinn’s bedroom. “Hush, angel, you’ve scared Furball.”
He brushed her tumbled curls back only to find two big pearly tears glistening on her lower eyelashes. God, he hated seeing her cry. Knowing he was the cause of her distress wounded him far more than he’d expected. He forked his fingers into her hair and made slow, comforting circles on her scalp. He lowered his head. “Angel.” His lips found hers as if they were a part of him he needed to connect with in order to live.
On a moan, she opened her mouth to his and their tongues met and mated, swirled and seduced, touched and tortured. He leaned into her as if she were the other half of his being and, for a few minutes, he feared she was. How would he exist without his angel? Yet staying with her would only bring her pain, for, in his soul, he lugged around deep agony and an innate ability to hurt others, while she carried goodness and light and happiness in hers. Added to all that was this new threat he hoped he’d averted with all those emails, because, frankly, when it came to Cassie’s safety, he didn’t trust anyone.
A moan of feminine need pulled him from his dark thoughts. He nuzzled her neck and swept a hand down her back to cup her sweet behind, bringing her against his erection, rubbing and easing the pain for a few blessed seconds before the ache grew so powerful he thought he’d lose his mind. He bit her jaw and soothed it with his tongue. “Sweetheart.” His teeth grazed the column of her slender neck, and she shivered before tilting her head to grant him access.
There was no way to measure how much he needed her. She was the only good thing God had set on the path of his obscure, emotionless, desolate existence. A glowing daisy in the dark miasma of his guilt, bending and tilting with the winds of life.
His glorious, glowing daisy tugged on his t-shirt. “I want you naked. I need to touch you.” Her breathless plea turned him on even more.
His hand fisted in her hair and he jerked her head back so her gaze focused on his. “You are mine, Cassie. Mine and no one else’s. From now until the moment I leave, you belong to me. Do I make myself clear?”
Her hand rose to cup his cheek. “I’ve always belonged to you.”
He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and brought her hand to his lips, placing a kiss in her palm. He’d give anything if his life was different, if his history hadn’t destroyed the young man he’d once been. “Don’t ask for what I can’t give.”
She pulled her hand back. “But I want more. I need more.” She swiped at a falling tear. “I want you now and tomorrow and next week.” A wobbly grin tried to form and failed. “I want you next month and all summer long. I don’t understand why you’re leaving and you’re determined not to tell me.” Her green eyes regarded him for a few beats, and then, as if a decision had been made, she trailed a finger up his arm. “I want you naked. Now. If this is all you’re prepared to give me then, by damn, I’m taking it.”
Swooping her into his arms, he carried her into his bedroom. She wanted to see him naked, did she? Oh she would, but he’d not let her touch. Not until he was damn good and ready.
He laid her on the bed. “Stay. You want my clothes off?” She nodded, her eyebrows waggling in delight. He toed off his ratty sneakers and, with one hand over his shoulder, tugged off his t-shirt. His cock nearly sighed in relief when he unbuttoned his jeans, the rasping of the zipper echoing in the silent bedroom. He shucked them and his boxers to the floor in one swift motion.
Cassie’s gaze shone with passion and hunger when it traveled down his chest and abdomen, snagging on his erection. It was the kind of visual inspection, laced with appreciation, men dreamed of, and his cock grew and stiffened in response, a wonderment given how hard he’d had been minutes earlier.
Her manicured hand reached for him. “Let me touch you.”
“Not yet.” He strode to her side of the bed and sat. Yanking the edges of her black shirt together, he quickly buttoned them all.
“What are you doing?”
“A little trick. Wait and see.” He unbuttoned the cuffs and tugged her shirttails from her skirt. To raise her upper torso off the bed, he slid one arm under her and pulled her shirttails over her head. Then he laid her back down, her head covered by her shirt.
“If you wanted to take it off my—” her voice got muffled when her shirt covered her mouth. “You thoulda left the buttonth open.”
He tied the cuffs of her sleeves around one of the posts of his brass headboard.
She wiggled and kicked, pulling on her arms. “What did you do?”
Furball hopped onto the bed and sniffed at her covered head.
“I tied you to the bed. Don’t. Stop flailing around or you’ll tear your shirt. Can you breathe?”
Her mouth drew the cotton material in and out with each frantic breath. The material’s movement snagged the kitten’s attention and he pounced on her mouth. Cassie shrieked. The cat sat back, tilting his head to watch his prey. “Behave, Furball.”
Quinn fought the urge to laugh. God, he was going to enjoy this. He worked to open the button through the fabric near her nose so she could take in air. “Can you breathe better now?” He kissed the tip of her nose. The cat moved in and sniffed it before he bit it.
No response.
He shifted the material so he could see her one eye.
Narrowed in anger, it all but exploded fiery daggers at him.
“Just checking to see if you’re still awake. Looks like kitty-cat wants to play while I undress you.”
She made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat and, when he pulled the opening over her mouth, she stuck out her tongue at him. God, she was so much fun. He was going to miss her temper and the teasing banter he’d enjoyed these last three years. Sadness squeezed his heart with sharp, frigid tentacles, so intensely he could barely breathe. How can I leave her?
He willed away the pain and doubt to bring himself back into the moment, back to enjoying her. He moved the hole over her nose again. “This is a bit of punishment for hooking up with that bald bastard. I’m going to undress you and kiss your soft skin, and all the while you won’t be able to touch me in return.
“I don’t want to touch you, you bossy asshole.” She squirmed on the bed as if she wanted desperately to get her hands on him—no doubt around his throat.
He smiled against her one bare shoulder and tsked a few times. “Is that any way for an angel to talk?” He bit her freckled flesh until she inhaled in shock, or arousal. Then he soothed it with the tip of h
is tongue and solid kisses. “I love these freckles. I might play connect the dots with a Sharpie and send you home with my brand all over you.”
She mentioned an uncomfortable place he could shove his Sharpie pen and he smirked. God, she was a vocal piece of work when she was pissed.
With a well-practiced flick of his thumb and index finger, he unsnapped her black lacy bra. Furball dove in to claim the underwired cups. Quinn shoved him away. “I do love your choice in lingerie, but I think I want to see you naked again.” He cupped her breasts and, bestowing kisses on each one, thought of something else to make her mad. “I’m thinking of a tat above each one of these beauties. Above the right one, you need the word ‘Quinn’s’ and above the left one ‘tits’. He rolled off her in self-preservation.
She kicked air with her boots, no doubt hoping to make contact. If he didn’t get this leather footwear off her, he’d have one stiletto in his ankle and the other rammed into his knee.
“Easy, now.” He leaned across her thighs, grasping the decorative pull on one zipper. “Are these new?”
“No.”
“I don’t recall you wearing them.” He tugged one long boot off, his fingertips trailing the soft skin on her legs as he exposed it. Four crumpled tissues floated onto his sheet once he removed the footwear. The cat dove for white paper butterflies. “Let me guess. These are Sarah’s boots. She’s got damn big feet. Hold on while I put the cat in the hallway. He’s liable to use my cock for a scratching post.”
“Huh, he’d need a pair of glasses to find it first.”
“Now is that any way to talk?” He scooped the kitten in his arm, set him out in the hallway and threw down the tissues to attract the feline’s attention. Quinn quickly closed the door. When he returned to the bed, he removed her other boot as slowly as he’d slipped off the first. Yes, slow and deliberate would be the modus operandi for the evening. He’d slowly drive his angel insane with need.
One by one, he drew a toe into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. At first she jerked. Then she stilled. He feathered kisses along the arch of her foot and over her ankle, and heard what he hoped was a sigh. Moving from leg to leg, the smooth skin of her calves enticed him. Each received meticulous attention of nibbles, soothed by kisses. He inhaled her peaches and cream fragrance, knowing he’d never be able to taste of the sweet fruit again without thinking of his Cassie. His hands stroked her toned thighs, while his mind recalled how tightly they’d squeezed around him to push him through her barrier, breaking her cherry. She was his first virgin. He’d been her first man. Three years and they’d shared so much.
“Roll, angel.” He tilted her to the side so he could unzip her leather skirt and slid it over her hips, dropping it onto the floor. She wore a tiny swath of black lace attached to a narrow black elastic band. “Your ass has been my fantasy for years.”
“Yours, too.”
Delighted by her two-word confession, he smacked one of her ass cheeks. “Like my tight bubble butt, do you?” She giggled and he pressed kisses to each cheek of her most delectable behind. He slipped his thumbs under the warm ebony silk and tugged her thong off, tossing it over his shoulder.
The aroma of fuchsias, a wild flower that grew abundantly in Chile, reached his nose, conveying his thoughts back to the lush, green countryside. Renata used to bathe in fuchsia water. He shook his head to clear his mind.
And spied Cassie’s shaven pussy.
He stilled. Anger, hot and unforgiving, rolled through him. He ran a finger between the folds of her labia. “What the hell is this?” The tone of his voice deepened to a dangerous level.
“I shaved tonight.”
“You shaved for him? Does that bald motherfucker like his women bald as well as obedient?”
“No. No, it’s not like that at all. Untie me, Quinn. I need to see your face.”
Strong emotions of betrayal and fear of losing Cassie overtook him. She was the continual beam, the bright ray of sunshine in his world of obsidian emotions. God, she was everything of value in his life. Confusion muddled his cognizance. His familiar bedroom faded away and the opulent coastline of Chile shimmered into his consciousness. The labyrinth of inlets, canals and twisting peninsulas lined with magnificent greenery and dotted with occasional waterfalls and lakes, once a place of beauty to him, was now a memorial of death. Bouquets of exotic blooms and humid earth replaced the delicate fragrance of the peaches and cream lotion Cassie wore. His fingers curled into fists. Damn Renata for her treachery.
A red haze of fury covered his vision, or was it the spilled blood of his team members? He trembled as memories of gunfire rang in his ears. The acrid smell of gunpowder and the coppery stench of blood filled his nostrils. He’d been deceived. His whole team had been betrayed, set-up and damn near destroyed. Only two people knew about their mission that night—Renata and his contact in the State Department. And only one had confessed.
“You used me. Filled my mind with lies.” He forced air into lungs constricted with resentment and revenge.
“What? You’re not making any sense.” She pulled at her restraints. “Get this shirt off me so we can talk sensibly. Enough games.”
“Oh, you like playing games, don’t you, Renata? You move from me to the next guy as quickly and easily as you change underwear. The cartel paid you well for your loyalty, didn’t they?” He rolled off the bed and stormed out of the bedroom. Renata’s cries—no, Cassie’s—followed him. Jealousy and anger had him so damned confused. He needed space, time to think and a cold beer. Maybe two.
Twisting off the bottle top, he guzzled a long drink. He shook so badly, beer dribbled down his chin and chest. He slammed the brew on the counter and reached for some paper towels to hold under running water to wipe his face and upper torso. Sweat poured out of him, and he gulped deep breaths of air to calm the shakes. His first assessment had been correct. He was too emotionally damaged for Cassie. One whiff of Renata’s favorite exotic flower and he’d had a full-blown flashback. What had he said to Cassie? He couldn’t recall.
She was so precious to him. If he hurt her, he’d never forgive himself. Yet someone had to talk to her about the choices she was making. Hell, next thing she knew she’d be saddled with some loser like him…or worse, if that were possible. He took another pull off his beer. Maybe if he talked to Becca, explained how reckless Cassie was behaving of late. Asked Becca to keep an eye on his angel. He upended the bottle to his lips. Lord knew, someone needed to explain the consequences of her actions to her.
Furball jumped onto the counter and headbutted Quinn’s arm, meowing his I-need-a-treat plea. “You’re eating me out of house and apartment, cat. And let me tell you one damn thing. Lucky for your sorry ass, you’re a male and not female. ʼCause, just between us, I suck at relationships with women.” He stroked Furball’s head twice before holding a snack triangle for him to eat. “Easy now, don’t mistake my skin for a piece of salmon.” He glanced toward the hallway leading to the bedroom. “I’m more the ass type than the fish variety.” Quinn drained his beer, tossed the empty container in the trash and trudged back to the bedroom to face Cassie.
Why in the hell did I let myself fall in love with her? Who the hell am I kidding? One dose of her sassy sunlight and I was fuckin’ toast.
CHAPTER TWELVE
If she didn’t stop struggling, she was going to suffocate under her own blouse. Cassie laid still and breathed slowly. God, this thing was hot and drawn tight. Who was the idiotic expert who claimed cotton breathed? Once she got out from the humiliating position of her shirt pulled over her head while she lay completely naked on an empty, deserted bed, she was going on a feminine rampage.
Men. Not a single one of them had a lick of sense. Ryder and his bright idea of making Quinn jealous. Micah and his touchy-feely tactics. Quinn with his hot-and-cold affections and spontaneous temper tantrums. All of them deserved a good old-fashioned ass-whooping and she was just the pissed off woman to deliver.
What soured her mood e
ven more was that her body still hummed with desire for more of Quinn’s touch. Being stroked and kissed during the temporary loss of her sight was a real turn-on. Every cell in her system honed in on whatever part of her body he worked. The man certainly knew his way around the female form, how to arouse and whip into a sensual frenzy.
Which brought to mind another question that deserved answering in a damn big hurry: just who the hell was Renata? Some other woman Quinn was seeing? He would pay big-time if he was having sex with both her and someone else.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. She ground her molars together and tensed. Victim number one in her feminine retribution approached.
The bed shifted and dipped when he sat, his naked hip warmed her waist. “Are you all right, angel? I shouldn’t have left you tied up like this.” Oh, so he was back to being Mr. Nice Guy now. His lips pressed a kiss to her navel and around the mounds of both breasts. “I’m sorry for the way I acted.” His tongue flicked across her beaded nipples, already straining for his attention.
Her eyes narrowed beneath the fabric of her shirt. What made him think he could kiss her so casually? After all he’d accused her of? After calling her by another woman’s name? A simple “I’m sorry” was supposed to erase leaving her tied up like this? Not on your freaking life, bucko.
The material pulled her arms while he untied the knots in her sleeves around the posts of the headboard. “I’ll rub your shoulders to get the circulation going again. I should never have left you tied up while I walked out to cool off.”
Her fingers curled into her palms. Oh look at how nice and concerned Mr. Moody Ass is now.
Once her arms were freed, pain rushed in. Her nerve endings pinged and pronged throughout her shoulders and arms as blood flow returned. She gasped to swallow the aching while a couple of moans eked out from her throat.
“You okay?” Quinn tugged her blouse off her head and arranged it around her body, gently and with tenderness, as if he really cared. His fingers massaged her shoulders and arms, while steam built inside her like a teapot without a release valve. Mr. Moody Ass had the nerve to smile, as if his charm would just melt away his offensive behavior. “Although, I gotta admit, you looked damned appealing laying there in the middle of my bed, naked with your face covered up like that.”