His (11 page)

So. Fucking. Sexy.
That’s what I want to say, but I don’t think she wants to hear it from me. Not after the argument we just had. And not after the way I’ve been avoiding her since she moved in.

“Ready?” I ask instead, looking at my watch.

She nods and walks over to me, her shoulders squared confidently. It’s a contradiction to the look of absolute panic on her face.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Of course.”

Our eyes stay locked for a few seconds, and I feel my body unconsciously responding to her closeness. My dick begins taking over all the free space in my tux pants, and my muscles tense.

Dawson approaches and breaks the spell between us, reaching for my tie and straightening it. I give him an aggravated glare because my tie was already perfect.

“Car’s waiting,” he says. He lowers his brows at Quinn disapprovingly. “Where’s your clutch?”

“My . . . what?”

He sighs softly. “Your small purse. The black beaded one I set out for you.”

“Oh. I don’t need it. I don’t have any stuff.”

Dawson gives her a look of pity. “Cell phone, lipstick, tampons?”

A blush blooms on her cheeks. “The only person whose number I have is Andrew, and he’s right here, so . . .” She clears her throat. “And I’m already wearing lipstick, and it’s not that time of the month.”

“Still,” Dawson insists. “You’ll need touch-ups.”

“If she doesn’t want to bring it, that’s fine,” I say, settling it.

Quinn arranges the black wrap she’s carrying around her shoulders. Dawson goes over to her and gently pulls her hair out from under the wrap and settles it around her shoulders again. I wish it were me doing it instead of him.

She gives me an expectant look, and I reach for her hand. Hers is shaking slightly when she slides it into mine. I give her hand a small squeeze as I enclose it in mine.

Dawson follows us as we head for the back door of the warehouse. He’s hovering, which always makes me crazy.

“We’re good, thanks,” I say over my shoulder.

He stops walking, and I tell him to have a good night. He mumbles a thank you.

“Don’t be nervous,” I say to Quinn in a low tone as we reach the door.

“I’m not.”

She is. I can see it all over her face and feel it in her sweating hand.

As I slide into my dark wool trench coat, I think about how cold it is. I froze my balls off walking to a meeting a block from my office at lunch today since walking was faster than driving with lunch-hour traffic.

“You have a coat?” I ask Quinn.

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Yeah, in my room. I’ll go get it.”

“Just wear mine.” I wrap it around her and set it on her shoulders before she can protest. “It’s warmer anyway.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Do I look okay? Will I look like everyone else there?”

I lower my brows, confused by her question. “You look more than okay, and definitely not.”

She presses her lips together. “I want to blend in. I
need
to blend in.”

“A woman like you doesn’t blend in, Quinn.”

Her expression falls with disappointment, and my confusion grows. What the hell did I say wrong?

She’s swimming in my coat. I can’t stop looking at her. Even with her sexy dress covered up, she looks incredible right now. I want to pull her close to me. Hell, I
could
. I could do a hell of a lot more than that if I wanted. It’s why she’s here, after all.

But with her, it’s different. From that first night, I haven’t been able to do anything she doesn’t want me to. I’ve paid women for sex before, but when it came time for it to happen, they wanted me. I knew by the way they licked their lips and moaned when my mouth met theirs.

Not Quinn. She wants me to stay the fuck away from her. It’s clear from her posture and the constant look of worry on her face. She’s worried I’m going to jump her for sex, so I stay away from home as much as I can. It grates on me, having a woman think I’d take anything she doesn’t want to give me.

Roy drives us to the event in silence. He’s been working for me a long time, and he knows his job is secure, unlike Dawson, who frets. Roy worked for my parents before my dad died, and he stayed with us and became my driver when I finished grad school and opened my office downtown. He knows I hate small talk. When we arrive at the event, he gives me a nod when I step out of the car after Quinn.

I take her hand and squeeze it again. This event is particularly glitzy, complete with a red carpet. A few people nearby turn to look at us, and Quinn clutches my hand.

“What is it that gives me away?” she asks in a soft tone.

“What do you mean?”

She looks up at me, her eyes brimming with emotion. “Why don’t I blend in? How can you tell I’m homeless?”

I’m taken aback, but I keep my game face on. I lead her away from the crowd, stealing a small space next to the building where we can talk alone.

“That’s
not
what I meant,” I say firmly. “You don’t blend in because you’re so beautiful, Quinn. Stunning. And you aren’t homeless anymore.”

Her lips shift upward just slightly. “If you think that, then why don’t you want me?”

“You think I don’t want you?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. You seem mad all the time.”

I have to laugh at that one. “No. I’m just a serious person. And it bothers me that you look so guarded all the time and wear that knife like I’m going to attack you or something.”

“I hardly know you, Andrew.”

“If I wanted to hurt you, don’t you think I would have by now?”

She sighs softly. “I suppose.”

“Look,” I say, “I’m usually good at reading people, but I can’t figure you out. You look nervous when I’m anywhere nearby, but you’re asking if I want you. Are you asking because you want me to want you, or not?”

She gives me a slight smile. “I’m mostly worried about something else, Andrew. It’s not you.”

“Your sister?”

The smile fades away. “You used that doctor to spy on me, didn’t you?”

“You said you have a sibling, and he said he treated a teenage girl, so I assumed.”

She looks away, a cloud of cold air forming in front of her face as she sighs. “Yes.”

“Anything I can do?”

She shakes her head, staring at the line of dark SUVs and limos waiting to drop guests off at the event.

“We don’t have to stay here if you’re not up for it,” I say.

Finally, she looks at me again. “No, this is good. I’ve been going out of my mind with boredom. This might get my mind off things.”

“You’ve been bored?”

“Turner won’t let me help with anything.”

“What, housework?” I balk. “You want to do housework?”

“I want to do
something
. Anything. I’m not used to not having any purpose.”

I nod, about to answer, when the click of approaching heels makes me turn.

“Andrew Wentworth, why are you lurking over here like a . . .
oh
.”

It’s my mother, and she’s coming closer to get a better look at Quinn.

“I didn’t realize you were bringing someone,” she says crisply.

“Mom, this is Quinn Jones. Quinn, my mother, Gina Wentworth.”

“Nice to meet you,” Quinn says.

“Is she a model?” My mother turns to me now.

“No. We were just about to go in.” I keep hold of Quinn’s hand and start toward the door.

“Well, that’s a fine way to treat your mother,” my mom says in the indignant tone I know all too well.

“You were rude to Quinn.”

“I certainly was not.”

Quinn tenses beside me. I squeeze her hand to reassure her and face my mother.

“You didn’t even acknowledge her,” I say.

Mom arches her brows, still taking in Quinn with her sharp gaze. “Well, I was unprepared to meet her, wasn’t I?”

I just sigh deeply, knowing anything I say will prompt an argument.

“Andrew,” Mom says, “Dahlia Donelson is looking for you. I told her you two could sit together at dinner.”

The Donelsons are friends of my mother’s, and she’s been trying to fix me up with their daughter, Dahlia, since we were in high school. And finally, I’ve got a good excuse for avoiding her.

“You misspoke,” I say. “I’ll be with Quinn all night.”

Even in the dim of night, I see the flash of aggravation pass over my mom’s face.

“Are you coming inside with us?” I ask her.

She says nothing and strides past us, her heels clicking against the pavement. A surge of anger rises in my chest. Quinn is nervous enough without my ice queen mother adding another layer.

I’m walking too fast, a bad habit of mine when I’m pissed. Quinn is rushing to keep up with me, and I’m about to slow down when a photographer locks eyes with me and arches his brows in question.

“Quick photo, Mr. Wentworth?” he asks, lifting his camera.

I hear Quinn suck in a nervous breath beside me. Holding up a hand to the photographer, I let go of Quinn’s hand and wrap my arm around her shoulders. With her tucked against my side, I get us safely inside.

“No photographers allowed in here,” I say as she slips my huge coat off her shoulders. I take it and pass it over the coat check desk in the lobby of the upscale hotel.

“There you are!”

I tense at the sound of the high-pitched voice of Dahlia Donelson. She’s talking to me. Every time I hear her voice, she’s trying to sink her long, bright-red claws into me.

“Save me,” I mutter under my breath to Quinn.

She’s giving me a confused look when Dahlia appears, arms outstretched, grinning and glittering in a flashy red dress.

“Where have you
been
, Andrew?” Dahlia says in my ear.

Her hug is too long, and I feel every inch of her body rubbing against me like a fucking stripper on the job. As soon as she steps back to look at me, Quinn slides her arms around my waist.

“I’ve been keeping him pretty busy, if you know what I mean,” she says. I have to look down to confirm the confident, sultry-sounding words came from her mouth.

“Is that right?” Dahlia’s smile stays plastered in place, but like the rest of her, it’s fake.

“I’m Andrew’s girlfriend, Quinn.” She holds out a hand to Dahlia, and they shake.

“Girlfriend?” Dahlia practically chokes on the word.

“I convinced him to come out tonight, but he wanted to stay home,” Quinn says, staring up at me with stars in her eyes. “I’m telling you, he’d keep me in bed around the clock if he could.”

“Is that right?” Dahlia says again.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.” Quinn gives Dahlia a conspiratorial smile.

I’m hard. I should be more concerned about it than I am, considering we’re in the lobby of a hotel with a lot of other people, but all I can think of in this moment is Quinn’s warm, soft body pressed against me. Even her insinuation that we’ve slept together makes my balls ache with desire for her.

I can’t help seizing the opportunity to slide my palm down to cup her ass. It’s firm and slightly rounded. She inhales sharply, and I sink my fingertips in farther.

“
Andrew
,” she says in a mock scolding tone, “you just can’t ever get enough, can you?”

“Of you?” I make no effort to hide the open lust I’m feeling for her. “Never.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead. Her skin is smooth. It’s all I can do to make myself pull away instead of tipping her chin up for a real kiss.

“Well,” Dahlia says, clearing her throat dramatically, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

She heads for the hotel’s ballroom, and Quinn gives me a questioning look.

“How’d I do?” she whispers.

“Amazing. Thank you.”

“You were good, too. I actually thought I felt . . . you know,
something
against my thigh when I side-hugged you.”

I laugh and squeeze her ass again. “No pretense here, Quinn. You excite me.”

“I do?”

People are walking around us, and I realize we only made it about twenty feet into the lobby before Dahlia found us.

“We should go in,” I say. “Do I have to take my hand off your ass?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

A silent moment charged with sexual energy passes between us before I answer.

“No. It’s always up to you.”

Her lips curve up in a smile. “I think your mother will be scandalized if we walk in there like this.”

“I thoroughly enjoy scandalizing my mother,” I admit. “And I’m thoroughly enjoying your ass right now, too.”

Her cheeks are pink. I want to walk back out the front doors of the hotel and take her home. I want to find out what her ass feels like without the fabric of her dress in my way. What I really want is to have her ass in my hands while she rides my cock. I want her tits in my face as I bury myself deep inside her.

If I could just get her to want sex, I know I could fuck away all her tension and worry. I’m not great at making women feel good with words, but with my cock, I can make them incoherent.

Quinn deserves to feel that good. She deserves to be able to let go of all her doubts and fears and let someone else take over. As long as that someone is me.

We’re walking into the ballroom when a business associate of mine greets me and holds out his hand for a handshake. I’m forced to move my hand away from Quinn.

She’s like a different person in here, offering everyone we talk to a warm hello and a gorgeous smile. People are looking at us, and I know what they’re all wondering.

Who is she?

It’s unusual for a woman as beautiful as Quinn to appear on the social scene as a complete unknown. Usually, someone knows a little something about everyone who appears at these fundraisers. They’re for the wealthiest New Yorkers, who attend just for the prestige of it.

We’re deep in conversation with a US Ambassador when my phone buzzes in my pocket for the third time in less than five minutes. I see a slight flash of nervousness in Quinn’s eyes when I excuse myself to check my phone, so I murmur in her ear.

“Be right back,” I promise, brushing my lips lightly past her earlobe.

Christ
, I want her bad. The coconut scent of her hair lingers in my mind as I step outside into a vacant conference room to check my phone.