Going back to Lone Star and facing Quinn was the last thing she wanted to do, especially when she didn’t trust herself not to be in complete control of her temper, but she knew that if she didn’t turn up, he’d come searching for her and that would cause more problems than it was worth. There was also the small fact that she needed to stick close to him just in case there was progress on the blackmail issue, and she really, really, wanted there to be progress on the blackmail issue.
She arrived back at Lone Star that evening and once more she heard male voices coming from the direction of the bar as she stepped into the foyer. And she knew she should go and deal with them. Face Quinn. But the anger inside her felt too hot and volatile to withstand a confrontation with him, and she didn’t want to risk setting it off.
Not when the consequences of her temper had always been so bad. Such as her reporting her father to the cops and having him sent to jail, for example. She hadn’t thought through how it would affect her or Rose, she’d simply snapped.
‘Money for college doesn’t come from nowhere, you know,’ he’d told her a couple of days before, when she’d said she didn’t want to help him any more, that she was sick and tired of conning innocent people out of their money.
But there was a part of her that suspected he never had any intention of putting that money going toward her college fund. He’d been using her for years to help with his cons, mostly getting her to act the part of the helpless, lost child, asking people for money to buy food/bus ticket/gas or anything else that took his fancy at the time.
Once, a kind and caring couple had taken her home with them and it was then she’d learned that loving parents took care of their children, didn’t leave them alone for days at a time or forget there was no food in the house. Who understood that kids grew and needed new clothes, and who didn’t shift them from town to town to avoid the law.
Parents who didn’t use their children as a way to earn money, because apparently getting a job and working for a living had never occurred to them.
Parents who were the complete opposite of her father.
That’s when she’d understood he’d never cared about her and Rose, and that he never would. That he’d always put himself and his own needs first. And that’s when she’d snapped, experiencing such an intense burst of rage that she’d called the cops without thinking. She hadn’t meant for him to go to jail, she’d only wanted to punish him. But then he was taken away and social services came, and luckily she was a very good liar and the social worker too tired, otherwise Rose might have been taken away, too.
Yes, it was better she kept a tight rein on that temper of hers, because who knew what would happen if she let it go? Especially with a situation as delicate and tricky as this current one was.
So, she didn’t go into the bar. She went upstairs and no one called after her as she closed the door of Quinn’s bedroom. And no one disturbed her as she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, intending only to rest a bit until her headache had gone away.
However, she must have rested longer than she thought, because when her eyes opened again, the curtains had been drawn over the windows and the light had been turned off, the room in darkness.
Quinn must have put his head around the door and done those things, because she certainly hadn’t. Mercifully, she was still in her clothes, though not feeling any less angry and frustrated and like she was losing control of the situation.
Slipping off the bed, Lily quickly pulled her clothes off, put on her white lacy pajama set, and picked up her phone to set the alarm before she got back into bed.
There was a text on the screen, from a number she didn’t recognize and all it said was:
You shouldn’t have told the Redmonds. Now you have two days to pay. Or else everyone will know what you did.
Quinn had never been able to kick the habit of waking up instantly, no matter what time of day or night it was. Old military instincts died hard and so it didn’t come as any surprise to suddenly find himself wide awake in the darkness.
A small, shadowy figure was creeping past his couch on the way to the door.
He sat up, immediately alert because there was only one person it could be. “Duchess? What the hell are you doing?”
The figure froze. “Oh,” she muttered. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Quinn waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness before focusing his attention on her.
She was standing down the end of the couch, wearing something that looked suspiciously white and frilly, not to mention short. Which was not what she’d been wearing earlier when he’d stuck his head around the door of the bedroom to see where she was, only to find her stretched out on the bed, fully clothed and fast asleep.
She’d been doing a lot of falling asleep in her clothes and he’d debated trying to wake her up to get her into her pajamas, but since the thought of dealing with a warm and sleepy Duchess didn’t do much for his self-control, he decided against it.
Apparently though, she must have woken and changed herself. And considering what she was wearing now, it was probably a good thing he hadn’t woken her earlier.
Especially not given his current mood. Which was pissy.
He’d spent the whole previous day dealing with a couple of work issues, but mostly talking through Duchess’s little problem with West, who’d arrived back at Lone Star after a fruitless night standing sentinel in Duchess’s apartment. Quinn had also sent his brothers out on a couple of intel gathering missions: Rush to put feelers out with his underworld contacts, Zane to see what he could get from any of his fellow bounty hunters. He’d also asked Ava if she’d heard any police talk.
He hadn’t told any of them what the issue actually was, only whether there might be anyone who’d want to move against Duchess Bail Bonds. Of course, even saying that much had gotten them suspicious, but he’d made off-hand comments about grapevines and rumors he’d heard, and he just wanted to make sure everything with his girl was safe. The usual bullshit.
Neither Rush nor Zane had appeared overly convinced by this, but neither had argued with him, Rush pointing out — very sensibly for Rush — that who wouldn’t want to move against Duchess Bail Bonds?
That sadly, was the real question. Duchess had many enemies, just like Lone Star had many enemies. It was part of the job description and that made it tough to figure out just which enemies were after her. And, more importantly, what they had over her.
It was this that was rapidly pissing him off.
She wasn’t telling him the most important part and he was sick of it. He didn’t like strategizing in the dark and unfortunately, that’s what they were having to do right now. Certainly, West had made his position very clear: Duchess needed to tell them what was going on, her feelings about it be damned.
Except, that her feelings mattered to Quinn. God only knew why, but they did. Perhaps the months of her dancing around him, teasing him and baiting him, had finally gotten to him. Or maybe it was hearing about her fucking asshole of an ex and what he’d done to her, seeing the fury glowing in her blue eyes.
He understood that fury, felt the righteous heat of it himself, and that was a mistake, because it only got him even more tangled up with her than he already was. Of course, all of that would be completely fine if he hadn’t wanted to also fuck her brains out. Especially after the kiss downstairs the day before.
The kiss he should never have given her, because not only had it felt like he’d been struck by lightning a second time, but it had also proved to him beyond a shadow of a doubt that telling himself he could handle her, that his self control around her was perfect, was a. Very. Bad. Idea.
Pulling away from her and not simply ripping her panties clean off and taking her right there on the bar had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. And he’d been savagely pleased that she’d listened to him when he’d told her she had to steer clear of him, because God help him, he’d needed some distance.
Except, this really wasn’t
the distance he’d been thinking of, her creeping around in the darkness of his bedroom wearing something white and frilly. While he was naked. Because he never wore anything in bed and he hadn’t expected her to be up and about in the middle of the night.
“I’m a light sleeper,” he said. “Military habit. What the fuck are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”
She straightened. “I didn’t have dinner and I’m hungry. Thought I’d go down and find myself something to eat.”
He might have believed her if she hadn’t been holding her phone in her hand. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have been an issue. People carried their phones around all the time. And maybe she wanted to read something or play a game or something while she waited for her food. But he was a suspicious kind of guy and his instincts were telling him that wasn’t why she had her phone with her.
“And what? You’re going to check your email while you’re down there?”
“Oh? My phone? Uh, yes.” She started toward the door. “Busy day. You know how it is.”
It was dark, so he couldn’t see the expression on her face, but she certainly sounded convincing. Then again Duchess always did; she was a master at hiding her emotions. However, he was starting to understand that when she sounded extra, extra cool — like now, for example — it meant she was hiding something.
“Yeah, I have some idea.” He pushed aside the blanket and got off the couch, reaching for his jeans. “I’ll come down with you. Make you an omelette.”
Duchess made a tiny sound and turned away very pointedly as he pulled up the denim. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can find my own dinner.”
He ignored her response to his nakedness, zipping his fly halfway so that the jeans stayed up, but not bothering with the button since he was sensing that the longer he took to get himself ready, the quicker Duchess would bolt. And he might miss out on whatever was going on, because something was and he suspected her being hungry wasn’t it.
“I don’t think so, baby,” he said.
“Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not hungry anymore.” She sounded even more cool as she turned toward the bedroom. “I might just go back to sleep.”
But Quinn knew this room like the back of his hand, even in the dark, and as she started heading for the bedroom, he put himself in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.
Her face was a pale oval in the dimness, her eyes as dark as the room itself. “What are you doing?” This time, she didn’t sound so cool.
“You’re not hungry, are you?” He stared down into her face, conscious all of a sudden of how sleepy and warm she smelled, and how her hair was loose over her shoulders, which it almost never was. And that the heat of her body was making his dick hard. But that was always the problem with Duchess. She was always making his dick hard. “You’ve got your phone out for a reason,” he said flatly. “Something’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.” Her icy armor was fully in place no matter how warm and sleepy and sexy she looked. “I only wanted to check my email.”
“No, I don’t think that’s why.” The pissy feeling in his gut curdled, his patience abruptly hanging by a thread. “And I’m sick of this dance. I know when someone’s hiding something — you get a sixth sense for it in this business. And you know what I’m getting off you right now? Secrets. That you’re not telling me.” He took a step forward, because he had to break this impasse somehow, and going easy on her wasn’t working. Her trust issues were getting in the way and that couldn’t happen, not when there were lives at stake.
He didn’t know what more he could do to get her to tell him, to trust him, but one thing he was sure of: he was done being Mr. Nice Guy.
Duchess opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but before she could say anything, he reached out and grabbed her phone out of her hand.
“Hey!” She tried to grab it back, but he held it out of her reach.
He didn’t look at it, only stared at her instead. “Tell me what’s going on, Duchess.”
She went still, clearly deciding that grabbing her phone wasn’t going to get her anywhere — smart move. But what he could see of her expression had hardened. Then suddenly she reached out and put her hand on his stomach, right down low, almost into the open waistband of his jeans, her palm pressing like a hot coal against his skin.
The touch electrified him, every muscle he had tightening in response.
“Give me back my phone,” Duchess ordered, low and soft. “Or I’ll make you lose your goddamned mind.”
If he’d been more patient and his control rock solid, things might have gone differently. If he hadn’t spent the past few days fighting a losing battle against his attraction to her, or seen the fury in her eyes and kissed her. If all of those things hadn’t happened, he would have gently removed her hand and taken a step back, putting some distance between them.
But he had no patience left and his self-control was nowhere to be found. And he was sick of fighting his attraction to her. And he was angry. Angry that she didn’t trust him. Angry that she’d let it come to this.
Angry that he wanted her so fucking much he couldn’t seem to handle it.
So Quinn didn’t remove her hand. Instead, he put her phone in the back pocket of his jeans and slowly advanced on her, watching her face the whole time. “Are you sure you want to play that game with me?” he murmured, taking it step by step as she backed away. “Because I should warn you. I’m very, very good at it.”
Her breathing was audible in the silence, and he could see the faint glitter of her eyes. Looked like she was as angry as he was.
“You’re an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, Quinn Redmond.” The cool in her voice was beginning to crack. She had come up against the wall now and there was nowhere else for her to go. But that hand was still resolutely pressed to his lower abdomen and if it went any lower, he was going to be in serious trouble.
Hell, he was in serious trouble now.
“Of course, I am.” He took another step, so she was right up against the wall, their bodies close, her hand an ember searing his skin. “And telling me that you can make me lose my mind… You know what that sounds like?” He put one hand on the wall on either side of her head and leaned in, looking down into her eyes, her warm scent rising and twining around him. “That sounds like one hell of a challenge.”
She said nothing, a pulsing, scorching tension flooding the space between them. Her cool, measured front had always acted as a dampener, like a door closing on a fire and depriving it of oxygen. Making it smolder instead of blaze.
But she wasn’t cool right now. Those blue sparks in her eyes he’d seen the day before downstairs in the bar were back, and they were full-on glowing. Sparks of frustration and heat and fury. And that wasn’t a dampener between them, no. It was a fucking match.
“A challenge hmm?” Her voice was husky and breathless, her gaze glittering. “Try it. See how far you get.”
Oh, she wasn’t just playing with fire. She was dancing on the fucking coals.
He leaned in even closer, his own fury climbing, feeding off hers. Fury with himself for not being able to resist and with her for being such a goddamn temptation. For wanting to teach her a lesson so bad he ached.
It was volatile, this chemistry, and if they weren’t careful it was going to explode.
An hour ago — hell, even ten minutes ago — he would have paused, would have stopped to remember all the reasons he hadn’t been going to go there with lovely, sexy Duchess. But he couldn’t remember what those reasons were.
She’d been leading him around by his cock for months and he was done.
“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” He stared fiercely into her hot blue eyes. “Because, baby, I’m not sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for.”
Duchess bared her teeth, giving him back the challenge he’d thrown down for her. Then her hand slid into his jeans and her cool fingers circled his cock. And she squeezed. Not gently.
All
the breath escaped Quinn’s lungs in a rush. He went rigid, electricity licking up his spine, crackling and scorching every nerve ending as it went, then exploding in his head like a goddamn grenade.
His awareness narrowed, focused. On those cool fingers on his hot skin, the softness of them, the firmness of her grip. On the heat between them and how he was going to make her go up in flames.
“Duchess,” he breathed out, long and slow. “Last chance. Do that again and I’m going to fuck you to within an inch of your life. Are we clear?”
The expression on her face didn’t flicker and neither did the fury in her eyes. “I told you I was going to make you lose your goddamn mind.” There was nothing left of her usual cool in the words. “Did you not believe me?”
Then holding his gaze very pointedly, she squeezed him again.
And the chemistry that had been bubbling away inside Quinn for months abruptly exploded.
She’d chosen her weapon. She’d taken the first blood.
Let the battle commence.
He didn’t answer her this time, he simply closed what little space between them that remained and took her mouth like he owned it.
Duchess groaned, a helpless, hungry sound that vibrated through him, wrapping around his cock and squeezing him as tightly as her hand. And then she was angling her head back, opening up to him, her tongue meeting his as she kissed him back, hard and desperate.
Her mouth was hot and she tasted like she had the day before, sweet, like honey, though without the whisky chaser this time, and yet no less alcoholic. Fuck, he could get addicted to the way she tasted, which would have been a worry if he’d been thinking straight. But he wasn’t thinking straight.
All he knew was that he wanted to punish her for taunting him, teasing him. For not trusting him. For holding back vital information from him. For driving him crazy with want.
He took her face in one hand, gripping her jaw hard, holding her still so he could explore her more thoroughly, pushing his tongue deeper into her mouth, the kiss turning hotter, showing her who was in-fucking-charge. But she only made another fierce, hungry sound and flexed her fingers around his cock, sending white lightning through his veins.
Black Sheep Bounty Hunter Page 12