Stupid. Why did he want to do that? He was going to protect her, sure, but he didn’t need to hold her like she was his. Because she wasn’t. And anyway, given their serious chemistry, holding her would be a fucking terrible move. Especially when a simple kiss had just about blown his damn head off.
“I didn’t want to drag them into this,” she said, after a moment. “It doesn’t have anything to do with them.”
“Yeah, it does. You said you could lose everything, so I’m thinking it concerns them a hell of a lot.”
She was silent again. Obviously, this was hard for her, but too bad. It was time he got hard. In a way that didn’t have anything to do with his dick for a change.
“What did West say?” She was still staring at her hands.
“He was pissed, obviously, that you didn’t tell him what was going on. Especially given that he’s Rose’s husband. But I told him that you were trying to protect everyone.”
The breath sighed out of her and she lifted her head again, and he was struck once more by the marks the past month had left on her. The darkness under her eyes and the lines around her mouth. The pale cast to her skin.
A shred of unfamiliar regret passed through him, because even though he had to do this, he didn’t like forcing it on her. He wasn’t actually a sadist, despite what his brothers might think.
“I don’t want to undermine you with your team,” he went on. “That’s not what I was doing. I need intel, that’s the bottom line. Intel that you’re not giving me.” He put his hands on the bar top.“Now, I get that you have your reasons and they must be good ones. But if you won’t give me the information I need to protect you and Rose, then I’ll get it from somewhere else, understand?”
Duchess said nothing, staring at him, the look in her eyes absolutely unreadable. Then she suddenly lifted the tumbler of whisky he’d poured and downed the lot before putting back down on the bar with a decided click.
“I met Mason when I was younger,” she said, her voice turned a little husky by the alcohol. “When I was waitressing and he was a regular at the cafe I worked at. I was having a few issues with another customer and he stepped in to help me out. He was nice. Considerate. Seemed like a gentleman. So, when he eventually asked me out, I said yes.”
She was still tense and his palms itched to smooth over her tight shoulders and down her steely spine. Stroke her until all that tension melted right away. What would she look like if it wasn’t there? If she dropped that icy front for a moment?
You already know what she looks like.
Oh yeah, he did. He’d seen it the night before when she’d fainted. She’d been soft and warm then, her hair curling as it dried from being wet in the rain. She’d looked peaceful and so young.
The protective instinct gripped him tight at the memory. What the hell had happened to her? Correction, what had this Mason asshole done to her?
Quinn reached for the bottle of whiskey and lifted it meaningfully, because although he wasn’t one to encourage someone to drink, it did wonders for nervous tension and he was thinking, given the pale look on Duchess’s face, not to mention the way she’d knocked back the last lot, she might need another swallow or two.
There were, of course, other ways to ease nervous tension, but he wasn’t even going to consider those, not with her.
She eyed the bottle, then gave a nod so he splashed some more into the tumbler. Picking it, she swirled the amber liquid around inside the glass, not looking at him. “I didn’t get any weird vibes off of Mason. Didn’t have any warning about the kind of guy he was. He was just…nice. Attentive, not to mention generous. I was struggling financially and he helped me out. A few months after we started dating, he asked me to move in, but I had Rose to look after and she needed stability, so I refused. He was fine with it at first and then…” She stopped, her cool voice catching.
Quinn said nothing. Sometimes silence was better than urging.
She lifted the glass and drained it for the second time. “He kept asking. I kept saying no. And then we went out on a date one night and he took me back to his place instead of mine. Showed me the spare room that he’d set aside for Rose. Showed me the spaces he’d cleared out in his room for my stuff. Told me how wonderful it would be if we all lived together. I….thought he was sweet and told him I would think about it. He arrived the next day on my doorstep, asking me when I was going to call the removal men. I told him I hadn’t decided yet and that’s when he got angry. He started shouting about everything he’d done for me and so the least I could do was move in with him.” She put the tumbler back on the bar. “He apologized the next day and I thought it was just him being frustrated. I told him it was fine, but that it was moving a bit too fast for me and I needed more time. Things were good for a week, but then it happened again. He kept bugging me to make a decision, pointing out all the things he’d done, all the bills he’d paid for me. And I didn’t like that. So I said no, and this time…” Her voice was its usual cool self, but Quinn could see the glitter of a fierce, hot anger in her normally icy blue eyes. “He slapped me across the face.”
It was a good job that Quinn hadn’t been holding the whisky bottle then, because he was fairly certain he would have snapped the neck clean off it.
Part of him wanted to pick it up precisely so he could do just that, but he didn’t. He had to keep his temper locked down, so he went very still.
“He was very apologetic instantly,” Duchess went on, her voice devoid of inflection. “Bought me flowers, groveled. Told me he’d never done anything like that before and that he was appalled at himself. I told him we shouldn’t see each other for a while and he did all the right things, gave me some space. But I ran into some more financial difficulty and when he offered to help me out, I wasn’t in a position to say no. It was fine for a while, but again he’d start begging me to move in and this time I knew it was a bad idea. So, I told him it was never going to happen and he hit me again.”
Quinn breathed slowly in and very slowly out. This wasn’t his story, this was Duchess’s and getting pissed about it wasn’t going to help.
“I broke up with him then,” Duchess said. “Told him I never wanted to see him again, but he kept on at me. Sent me letters telling me he was going to get debt collectors to come and collect what I owed him, claiming he’d only loaned me the money, not actually paid for anything.” She lifted her glass, glancing meaningfully at the bottle. Quinn poured her another measure but not too much. She’d already had two shots straight down and she was a petite woman.
Duchess swirled the liquid again, watching it go around and around in the glass. “I had a bit of money by then, not a lot, certainly not enough to pay him back. But he was starting to frighten me. So that’s when I found West. I hired him to protect Rose and I, though mainly Rose. Mason didn’t take kindly to that.” She raised the glass and sipped, a bit more slowly this time. “He didn’t manage to hurt me again, but he made lots of threats. I went to the police the first time, but they didn’t prosecute him. I never found out why and I…” She stopped then shook her head. “The law and I have never had an easy relationship, not since Dad, and I decided that complaining to them wasn’t going to help me since they didn’t like me anyway.” Her gaze turned distant, the emotions shifting in her eyes unreadable, and he found himself watching her, fascinated. Wanting to know. “I was saved from having to do anything anyway though, because Mason died in a robbery gone wrong. He was shot.” Duchess lifted her glass and drained it, before putting back down on the bar with a purposeful click, something defiant in her gaze now. “And that solved my problem.”
Ah, but there was more to the story than she was letting on, he was sure of it. “Sounds like it,” he said, staring at her.
Her chin came up, blue fire beneath the ice in her gaze. “I wasn’t sorry. I was glad he died.”
“I can see that.”
“Are you judging me?” she demanded. “Because Mason deserved what he got. All of it.”
&
nbsp; “No,” Quinn said flatly, because he was in no position to judge anyone, and her least of all. “I think he more than deserved everything that was coming to him.”
She gave a sharp nod. The color in her cheeks made her eyes more vivid, and he knew it was the alcohol, yet even so, he couldn’t stop looking at her. That fire beneath her ice was like watching a mask slip from someone’s face, revealing a glimpse of their true identity. An identity he was suddenly desperate to see more of.
Bad idea, friend.
Yes. It was a very bad idea. In fact, standing here listening to her was starting seem like a worse and worse choice. And not because he wasn’t interested, but because he was. Because everything she said was making him more curious about her, more intrigued. And getting intrigued by Duchess was not what should be happening, especially given how badly she affected his control.
She lifted her glass again. “Come, barman. Another.”
“I think not.” He tore his gaze away and put the cork back in the bottle. “Three shots is enough for you.”
Duchess scowled. “Hey, I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough and I haven’t had enough.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a mean drunk?”
“I’m not drunk,” she said with dignity, straightening on her barstool. “Merely a little tipsy.” She shook her glass at him again. “Come on. Don’t you think I deserve more after telling you everything there is to know about my asshole ex?”
“No, I don’t.” He took the glass from her hand and put it on the shelf behind him, along with the whisky bottle. As much as he would very much like to continue to pour Duchess more whisky and ask her about her life, all the while watching her get completely, sweetly drunk, that wasn’t what he was trying to achieve here. Information as it related to the blackmail issue, that’s all he was supposed to be concerned about.
“And you’re a mean bartender.”
He turned back to her, amusement tugging at him at the pouty expression on her face. Trying to ignore how it turned him on, which was a real fucking problem. Because the front of the ice-cold Duchess was down and now it was clear who was behind her. Lily, with pink cheeks and blue fire in her eyes. A passionate woman.
The contrasts of her fascinated him.
Not a great idea, being fascinated.
No, he knew that. Then again, this was only a one-off, right? She was highly unlikely to get drunk again in his bar and…well, maybe this was a good time to get more information from her.
You can probably think up a lot more lies to excuse yourself.
Quinn ignored his stupid brain. Spending more time with her was probably playing with fire, but he’d managed to pull himself together after that instance in her office. He’d come close to losing it, but he’d gotten himself in hand. He wasn’t the fucking idiot on a hair-trigger temper he’d once been, so why he was getting so wound up about this he had no idea.
Sure, their chemistry might be off the charts and she was the most fascinating woman he’d come into contact with for years, but that was fine. He was a goddamn professional. He could deal.
Quinn leaned his elbows on the bar. “I call it being responsible.”
Duchess scrunched her face up and leaned forward, her hands on the edge of the bar top, her nose inches from his. “Mean,” she said emphatically.
He shouldn’t let her get so close, but he stayed where he was, looking into her lovely eyes. They were a pure, icy blue. Crystalline, like a sapphire tinged with frost. Except they weren’t so frosty now, a definite flame burning in the depths. Her skin was so fine-grained and smooth, it almost didn’t look real. He nearly put his hand out to stroke her cheek, to see if it felt as silky as it looked.
Her lashes were as pale as her hair and with the same gilt luster, and they lowered slightly as she studied him. “Your eyes are very green,” she said. “Did you get them from your dad or your mom?”
“Dad.” His voice sounded huskier than it should, which was a warning sign. That Quinn ignored. “What about you?”
“Both my parents had blue eyes.” She studied him intently, as if she found him as fascinating as he found her. “Why did you take on Lone Star Bounty? I mean, it was a failing business. There must have been other things you could have done.”
Perhaps he shouldn’t have answered, but he didn’t see any reason not to. “After I left the Navy, I wanted to do something that involved protecting people. And Lone Star was the family business. Making sure assholes got their comeuppance fitted in with what I wanted to do and…” He stopped, not wanting to get into any of the other reasons for keeping Lone Star going. The sense of responsibility he’d felt for how the business had steadily declined after what had happened with Charlie, and his own need to make up for that. Plus, he’d felt the need to give his brothers a place and a purpose, since they’d had issues, too.
Issues that you gave them.
“And what else?” Duchess prompted, her eyes bright with the effects of alcohol and curiosity.
But he didn’t want to talk about Charlie and he didn’t want to talk about his brothers, so all he said was, “And nothing. Just that it felt like it was the right thing to do.”
“Huh.” She tilted her head to the side, still staring at him. “I get that. It’s why I started Duchess Bail Bonds. So many people get away with stuff they shouldn’t, so it feels good to be part of bringing them to justice.”
Given that her father had been a con-man — if the rumors were true — then maybe that wasn’t so surprising.
“You mean you didn’t want to be a bail agent all your life?” he asked lightly.
She shook her head, her gaze drifting over his face. “No. I wanted to go to law school. But then Dad went to jail and I had Rose to look after, and…well. College is expensive.”
He decided to test the waters a little. “So, your dad was in prison?”
“Yes. For fraud.” She looked away. “He died there.”
Quinn wanted to push, but there was a vulnerable note in her voice that made him reluctant to do so.
“Pity you didn’t end up going to college,” he said instead. “You’d have made a great lawyer.”
She glanced back, her mouth curving in a goddamn beautiful smile. “I know.” Then her hand lifted, and before he could move, cool fingers were trailing along his jaw.
He went very still as sparks scattered all over his skin, prickling down his neck, a kind of fuzzy electricity licking down his spine.
“Your beard is all silky.” Her fingertips stroked along his jaw to his chin. “I thought it would be pricklier.”
He had no idea what to say to that. But then thinking, let alone formulating a response had suddenly gotten very difficult. Her touch was light and he could feel it everywhere, and his dick was abruptly pressing hard against the front of his jeans, wanting those light, cool fingers wrapped around it instead of his damn beard.
“Duchess.” He was unable to keep the husk from his voice. “You should stop touching me.”
“Why?” Her lashes had lowered, her fingers pausing at his chin, stroking the whiskers there. “It feels nice.”
“Because you’re drunk and I don’t take advantage of drunk women.”
“Oh? Are you going to take advantage of me?”
“I don’t know, you tell me. Or have you forgotten already about our encounter in your office.”
Her lashes lifted and she looked into his eyes, her fingers pausing. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”
He stared straight back, conscious of the pulse of heat inside him, of the desire clawing at his insides. The need to pull her over the bar and take her down to the floor behind it, deal with their insane chemistry once and for all.
But he wasn’t going to do it. He’d been managing himself around her for months now, and he’d continue to manage himself. Sexy little Lily Hammond drunk and flirty would not be the death of his self-control.
“Actually,” she said, as if she’d reached a decision. “I think you should t
ake advantage of me. I’d never do this if I hadn’t drunken all that whisky. So, now’s your chance.”
Fuck.
Something inside him growled and stretched out its claws, and for a second he wavered. Because he was only human and she was temptation incarnate. But then reality righted itself again, and he wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist, pulling her hand away from his chin. “Not tonight, baby.”
She got that pouty look again, making him wonder what she would do if he bit that lush lower lip of hers. Just a small nip. “But, why not? I might not want to later.”
“Which is exactly why I’m not going to do it now. Because when you’re sober, you’ll regret it.”
She frowned, trying to tug her hand from his grip. “So? I don’t regret it now.”
“No,” he repeated, holding onto her. “But I will.”
Duchess stopped tugging and frowned. “Why? You don’t want me after all?”
Her skin was soft and warm beneath his fingers, the bones of her wrist delicate. “Oh, I do. But when I get you beneath me I want you to be absolutely fucking aware of every single thing I’m doing to you. And Duchess…” He found he was stroking her sensitive inner wrist with his thumb, utterly unable to stop himself. “I’m going to want you to be sober when you beg for it.”
Six
The whisky sat warmly in Lily’s stomach and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so relaxed. She couldn’t recall when she’d touched anything as soft as Quinn Redmond’s beard either.
You’re drunk, fool.
Of course, she was drunk. She’d known it the moment she’d downed that first glass and felt delicious heat move through her veins like wildfire.
Holding her liquor had never been something she could do and it had been a very definite mistake to knock back all that whisky. But she couldn’t bring herself to regret it right now.
She hadn’t wanted to tell Quinn about Mason, not when he’d probably ask her a million questions and want all kinds of details.
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