She stared at her lover, his insolent smile chipping away at the happiness she had experienced only a few minutes ago. Even so, she couldn’t look away. Sprawled in her bed, he was the epitome of erotic excess. Sin incarnate. The man with the tender grin and gentle touch had been replaced by a hard-edged billionaire bad boy.
This was the image she had run from two years ago. The hints of darkness inside him had both attracted and repelled her.
The Quin who made love to her tonight was a shock. In a good way. He had been passionate and demanding, though at the same time, protective. Warm. Affectionate.
In trying to guard herself, her words and actions had wrought a terrible change in him. He had withdrawn to a place that suited his lone-wolf personality—a place where he could be in control.
She shed the robe and approached the bed. Quin’s unpleasant sneer faded. He blinked as a dark flush of red rode high on his cheekbones. “God, you’re gorgeous, Katie Duncan.” He reached for her without warning, grabbing her wrist and tumbling her onto the bed.
When she was breathless and pinned beneath his weight, his mood softened. “Hell,” he muttered. “I can’t stay mad at you. Women have always been a mystery to me. What they want. What they don’t want.”
“It’s not so terribly complicated,” she whispered. When she cupped his cheek, his skin was stubbly and warm. “All I want is for you to make love to me over and over again.”
The planes of his face grew taut. His eyes glittered. “Lucky for both of us, we’re finally on the same page.”
She had expected harshness after their conflict. Instead, he gave her aching tenderness. It was like he was two different men. Carefully, he lifted her astride him, but didn’t join their bodies. When her hair swung loose and shielded her face, he wound handfuls of it around his fingers and pulled her head down, so he could kiss her.
Her breasts pillowed against his hard chest. The contrast between their bodies, male and female, was both arousing and astonishing. How could two people so different in every way be so perfectly attuned in bed?
He smelled amazing. Warm male skin and the hotel’s shower gel. It was a heady combination. She nipped his chin with her teeth. “How many condoms did you bring?” she asked, the question breathless.
“Not nearly enough.” He sighed audibly, amusingly crestfallen. The kiss deepened. He slid his tongue between her lips, tasting, seducing.
Her bones turned to water. She wanted to climb inside his skin and occupy the same space, breathe the same air. Behind her, his considerable erection bumped her bottom. “You seem to have a problem, Mr. Stone. May I help you with that?”
He was panting now, his fingers bruising her skin where he clenched her ass. “Can’t. Reach. Condoms.”
“Hang on, Quin. I’ll do it.” Easier said than done. He was holding her so tightly, there wasn’t much room to maneuver. When she bumped her elbow on the corner of the small bedside table, pain shot up her arm. Still, she persevered. At last, the small packet was in reach.
She held it up in triumph. “Got it!”
This reunion was still new enough that she didn’t feel comfortable performing such an intimate task. Quin must have sensed her unease. He set her aside for a moment, dealt with the necessary protection and then rolled onto his hip to face her.
She felt the hot color that stained her cheeks.
Quin chuckled. “I can’t believe you still blush.”
“Not all of us are as world-weary as you are, Quin Stone.” She sniffed. “And not all of us have a hundred notches on our belt.”
One masculine eyebrow went up. He traced her nose with a delicate touch. “You’re not wearing a belt, Kat. And for the record, your impressions of me are way off base. I told you I haven’t been with a woman since the accident.”
“But that’s—”
He put a hand over her mouth, silencing her startled reaction. “I really don’t want to waste this condom. Can we talk about this later? At a less critical juncture?”
She glanced down at his erection. Despite the momentary pause in the action, Quin was still locked and loaded. “My apologies. Carry on.”
“So it’s all up to me?” He rolled onto his back and slung one arm across his forehead. “Maybe I want you to take the lead.”
She was skeptical. “Then maybe we put the condom on too soon,” she said tartly.
“You’re a creative woman. Oral sex isn’t the only thing men like. Surprise me.”
“But won’t your...” She waved her hand in the general direction of his straining, swollen sex.
His grin was tight. “If you’re concerned that I might deflate before I get inside you, don’t be. The way I feel right now, I might be hard till Labor Day.”
Nine
Quin loved teasing Katie. She rose to the bait so beautifully.
Her eyes rounded. “Labor Day? That’s a weird holiday to pick.”
He took her hand and put it on his chest. “Please, Kat. I can’t wait much longer.”
It was true. His sex throbbed like a damned toothache. When she caressed his taut belly, his skin broke out in gooseflesh. This was a gamble on his part. Perhaps he had never let Katie feel the power she had over him.
“Do whatever you want,” he croaked. “I’m all yours.”
It was true he regretted donning the protection too soon. He’d been intent on penetration at all costs. At the last minute, he had backed off. Getting Katie to trust him meant letting her take the wheel now and then.
Her expression was endearingly intense. Her light caresses were almost as arousing as if she had taken him in her mouth. They would get to that. He hoped. For now, though, he was her willing subject.
Katie touched every part of his body. Almost. When she bent and kissed the arches of his feet, he almost came off the bed.
“Too much?” she asked, her expression guileless. Big brown eyes dared him to complain.
He shrugged. “You startled me. That’s all. I’m ticklish.”
“Ah.” She worked her way back up his body. Shins. Knees. Thighs. Mostly kissing. Sometimes biting. His fingers clenched in the sheets. Sweat beaded his brow. Her scent filled his lungs.
When she bypassed the part of him that needed her most, he wanted to cry and curse. She had taken his challenge and run with it. Even if it killed him, he was determined not to crack.
She stroked his rib cage with two hands. Then she cupped his face between her palms and kissed him deeply. It was her tongue in his mouth this time. He would never have described Katie as a passive lover in the past. But unwittingly, he had unleashed a wild, sensual temptress tonight.
He couldn’t decide which was worse. Eyes open, or eyes closed. He was breathing so fast the risk of hyperventilation was real.
“Katie,” he said. The single word was all he could manage.
“Yes?”
He gulped air. “Enough, Kat. Please.”
She had been leaning over him, her body pressed to his chest. Now she straightened and lifted up onto her knees. “I knew I could make you cry uncle,” she said teasingly. But there was no smug triumph in her words. Her gaze was soft and affectionate.
He was enjoying himself. What red-blooded heterosexual man wouldn’t? But some hazy discontent niggled at his composure. Something about the earlier conversation. Three weeks. Convenient. Temporary.
Maybe there was more. Maybe he wanted more.
He had lost his father and almost lost the use of his leg. He’d had to give up competitive skiing with no real possibility that he might ski again at all, thanks to his reckless behavior. Couldn’t the Fates be kind? Couldn’t Katie be his consolation prize? The one perfect, happy part of a screwed-up life?
She scooted backward and carefully lowered herself onto his erection. The slick friction and tight squeeze of her body on his was nirvana. Only the fact that he had
come so recently allowed him to fully enjoy this next act. Watching Katie was almost as exhilarating as being inside her.
He deliberately maintained his passive role. When she hesitated, he urged her on. “Take what you want, Kat. Give us what we both need.”
Her languid movements accelerated. She rode him well, though her technique was endearingly unpracticed. He lifted into her, thrusting upward to meet her descent. Suddenly, he was consumed with the need to know if she had done this exact ballet with another man.
An earthquake of fire burned jagged fault lines through his body without warning. He’d thought he had things under control. Apparently not.
“Sorry,” he groaned, rolling her beneath him. He lost it. Completely.
The room disappeared. He locked eyes with the woman beneath him. “I don’t want it to end, Kat.” He meant the current frenzy, but he could have been talking about the big picture. Blindly, he drove into her. In some dim corner of his brain, he heard the echoes of Katie’s climax.
He went deeper. Harder. He felt invincible. As if he were standing at the top of a mountain he’d wanted to scale for far too long. And then it happened, that intense, shattering moment of joy when he slipped over the edge and let himself fall.
Katie wrapped her arms around him. “Yes, Quin. Yes...”
After that, silence reigned but for the beating of his heart in his ears and the ragged unison of their breathing.
It might have been minutes or hours before he was himself again. He honestly couldn’t say.
Katie had reached out at one point and awkwardly pulled the covers to their shoulders. The AC was highly efficient. Neither of them had thought to adjust it before now. Cool air bathed their damp bodies in currents of icy chill, drying the sweat on their skin. The quiet hum of the unit masked any noises outside.
With the drapes still open, the lights of the city shone red and gold and green and white and every color in between. Most people were home by now, but he knew the streets in some parts of town still teemed with activity on a Friday night. Around the Carlyle, the neighborhood was quiet.
At last, when he could function, he lifted himself off Katie and stumbled into the bathroom. When he returned, he found her sound asleep. As he stood in the doorway watching her, his heart clenched in his chest. She was right. By every metric, they were an unlikely couple.
He shut off the unpleasant thought, determined to live in the moment.
Katie was his for now. That would have to do.
* * *
When Katie woke up in the middle of the night needing to pee, she glanced at her phone. It was 5:00 a.m. Quin had made love to her again somewhere around two thirty. Now he slept like the dead, one heavy arm slung over her waist as if trying to keep her prisoner.
Drowsy and sated, she lingered in bed, not wanting to give up such perfection. Outside the window, lights from tall buildings created a warm, comforting glow. If New York was the city that never slept, a person could feel safe knowing that somebody somewhere was keeping watch.
At last, she eased free of Quin’s unconscious embrace and padded to the bathroom. Her muscles were stiff, and her sex was puffy and sore. When she pressed a cold washcloth between her legs, she sighed.
This was the memory she had tried so hard to suppress. This smugly happy feeling of repletion. She hadn’t been a virgin when she and Quin first hooked up. But her few relationships hadn’t prepared her for the hurricane that was sex with Quin. He was rough and wild and intensely arousing.
He never did anything to hurt her. He was endlessly tender. But that same tenderness was wrapped in masculine determination, carrying her to a place of physical bliss so deep and so wide, she nearly lost herself.
Sometimes she wondered if she broke up with him not because of the money squabbles, but because the feelings he invoked terrified her. She didn’t want to always be teetering on the edge of insanity. It was a dangerous place to live.
When she slipped back into bed, the breath from his disgruntled muttering warmed her chilled skin. He wrapped two big muscular arms around her and pulled her close. The man’s body radiated heat like a furnace. She burrowed into his side and soothed herself by listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.
He was so alive, so willing to tempt fate on the slopes, to live life on his terms.
As she drifted off to sleep, she prayed that she would have the strength to leave when it was time to go.
* * *
When she woke again, it was morning. Clouds had rolled in. Though the day was gray, nothing could dent her euphoria. She rolled over to see if Quin was awake. Her heart stopped when she saw a pillow with only the indentation of his head. The sheets were cold.
Then she saw the tiny white note. He’d torn off half a sheet from the hotel notepad.
Katie—
Gone for coffee, condoms and croissants. Back soon...
Quin
Her smile grew. With no idea when her lover would return, she dashed into the bathroom and bundled her hair into a towel. Then she grabbed a quick shower to freshen up for whatever might come next.
She had just finished getting dressed and was gathering her hair into a ponytail when the door to the corridor opened without warning. Quin burst into the room, bringing with him the irresistible aroma of hot coffee and freshly baked pastries.
He tossed the smallest of the white paper bags on the dresser. Waving two large cups, he grinned at her. “Breakfast is served, madam.”
She cocked her head and returned the smile. “You do know we’re staying at the Carlyle? I’m fairly certain room service would have delivered anything and everything we wanted.”
“Not condoms,” he said, smirking. “Besides, I needed a walk. And I happened to remember a great little patisserie a few blocks over on Third Avenue. The real deal. Almost like being in Paris. You hungry?” He waved the bag in front of her face.
The scent of breakfast made her stomach flip. “Oh yeah.”
Before she could claim her share, a discreet knock sounded at the door. Quin checked the peephole. “Ah. Reinforcements.”
Apparently, as he had entered the hotel, he had paused to order fresh-squeezed orange juice, perfect strawberries and two extra pots of coffee. Along with a serving trolley draped in white linen and laden with heavy silverware and a single rose in a crystal vase.
Wow.
Quin tipped the uniformed hotel employee and shut the door. He pulled two small chairs to flank the table. “C’mon. I’m starving. I expended a lot of calories last night.”
Her face heated. “On my way.”
When Quin held out her chair, he bent to kiss the side of her neck just below her ear. The tantalizing caress sent shivers down her spine. He was so relaxed, so natural.
She felt vulnerable and unsure. How did a woman and a man follow a night like last night?
Apparently, Quin believed the answer was food. He ripped open the large paper bag and waved his hand, wafting the smell in her direction. “Croissants. Baked this morning. Chocolate-filled. Plain, with plenty of butter and orange marmalade. And my personal favorite—a lemon, raspberry and ricotta combo. We can cut them in half if you want to try them all.”
Katie’s stomach rumbled audibly. She tore off a piece of the chocolate-filled croissant and stuffed it in her mouth. “Oh. My. Gosh.” The flavors exploded on her tongue. Like Mrs. Peterson’s crème brûlée, almost better than sex. Ha! Not even close.
Quin poured their coffee, preparing Katie’s the way she liked it without asking. Did it mean anything if a man remembered one sugar, no cream after two years apart? Maybe not. In recent weeks she’d been drinking English breakfast tea at his house in Maine. So the memory was an old one.
She took a sip of coffee. The fabulous elixir was still surprisingly hot enough to make her tongue tingle. “How often are you in Paris?”
He had to chew and swallow before he could answer. “Three or four times a year. Stone River Outdoors owns a flat in Montmartre. We do a lot of business in Europe, so Paris is a great hub for us.”
A flat in Montmartre? Good grief. He said it offhand, the same way she might refer to a Taco Bell in Portland. Again, her doubts surfaced. Of course, if all of this was only temporary, why was she worried at all?
They devoured the half dozen croissants in short order, Quin’s four to her two. He reached across the table and caressed her chin. “Marmalade,” he said soberly. But his eyes danced.
She grabbed his hand and held it to her cheek. “What’s in the other bag, Quin?”
He shrugged. “Possibilities. For later. Right now, we’re going to play tourist. That’s why I brought you to New York.”
She shook her head slowly. “No. The museums can wait. I want you for breakfast.”
His eyes flared, those extraordinary irises sparking with heat. “Are you sure, Kat? This weekend is my gift to you.”
“I thought this trip was about your cabin fever.”
He shrugged, sheepish at being caught out in a lie. “I wanted to get away. That much is true. But when Zachary offered us the Broadway tickets, I thought it would make you happy. I like making Katie Duncan happy.”
Those last six words were uttered with such raw sincerity it would be hard to fake. “This room is expensive,” she said. “I think we should get our money’s worth. You know how I like to be thrifty.”
“I do know,” he said wryly.
“Then come to bed with me. All that coffee has me hyped up. I need to work off some energy.”
* * *
As it turned out, they didn’t leave the suite until dinnertime. Quin was insatiable. So was she. If living in a fantasy was wrong, then her punishment would come later. For now, she was committed to enjoying the moment, a moment that was impossibly wonderful.
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