Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (21 page)

Twenty-Nine

Ginnie let Quinn pull her through the freezing air, barely noticing that the snow had now turned to a drenching rain, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the goose bumps that rose all over her body.  She was on fire.  The ache between her thighs hadn’t lessened with her release.  If anything, it had increased.

And Quinn didn’t speak.  Not when they climbed into the cab, not when they walked into the hotel again, or when they got in the elevator.

The silence between them was thick.  With tension.  With need.  With anticipation.

And maybe a little bit of fear?
a little voice nudged, and Ginnie acknowledged it grudgingly.
A little, yes.

But she’d wanted to see this side of Quinn.  She’d been craving that undercurrent of danger that ran beneath – or was it alongside? – his rough charm and his sex appeal.  Maybe she was even the one who brought it out with her little stunt with the lap dance.  Had she done it on purpose?  She wasn’t sure.  But she did know that if she
didn’t
get to know this side of Quinn, she would never really know him at all.  And the thought of that made her throat tighten up.

She wouldn’t let herself
not
know him.

Please let me know him.

Like he could sense her longing, like he could feel the constriction in her chest, Quinn tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her close.  She inhaled his scent as his wide, strong arms encircled her protectively.  And Ginnie needed it.  Needed
him.

She’d never needed something – or some
one –
so badly.

And even if there was nothing else, no other glaringly obvious difference between Quinn and Lawrence, there it was. The intense
need. 
Ginnie had never needed her former husband.  Even when she’d been the dutiful, stay-at-home wife, dependant on him financially, she hadn’t thought of herself as needing him.  When he’d walked away from their life together, she didn’t experience a loss.  She experienced a failure.

Oh my God,
Ginnie thought.
Did I even
love
Lawrence?

Love?  She shouldn’t be thinking about love.

Her heart thundered so hard in her chest that she was sure Quinn had to be able to hear it.

So, yes.  Fear.  But perhaps not the way that little voice of hers believed.

The elevator doors slid open, his hand slid down her body to clasp hers.

“Come,” he said, and the word – which echoed his earlier command – made her shiver with desire.

And she couldn’t move her feet fast enough as they hurried from the elevator to their room.  She forced herself to not jump in front of Quinn to drag him along faster.  When they got to their door, he fumbled with the key and dropped it, and Ginnie almost leaped to grab it.  She had to squeeze her hands at her sides to stop from doing it.

Hurry, hurry.

Quinn bent to grab the key, and finally jabbed it into the door with a loud
click,
and the solidity of the sound, the firm, undeniable fit of the shaft in the keyhole…It made Ginnie gasp.  Loudly enough to draw a curious look from Quinn.

Oh, God.

She shook her head. “Just…Please,” was all she could manage to say.

He eased the door open – why the hell was everything taking
so
long? – and pulled Ginnie into the room, then closed it behind them and turned to face her.

For an agonizingly long moment, they stood there in the pitch black, toe-to-toe.

Ginnie tipped her face up, waiting for him to take a hold of her.  But except for his shallow breaths, Quinn was silent again.  And as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw that his face had a guarded, cautious look to it.  It wasn’t the cocky mask she’d seen him use before when trying to cover some emotion; it was something else entirely.

“Am I your fantasy?” he asked softly.

Ginnie blinked in surprise. “What?”

“The bad boy. The one who throws rocks at your window, climbs up the trellis and sneaks in. Is that me?”

It was Ginnie’s turn to be cautious. “Why?”

“I
can
be him. But if that’s all I am, I want to know. Now.”

That staccato beat of her heart started up again as she made her admission.  “No. That’s not what I want you to be.”

Quinn met her eyes. “I need to ask you something else, and it might piss you off.”

She took a breath. “Okay.”

“If he – if Lawrence – came back to you, if he said getting the annulment was a mistake, would you consider going back to him?”

For a second, Ginnie
was
pissed off.  Too mad to even speak. 

How dare he –
she cut herself off, mid-thought.
Oh.

He wasn’t making an accusation or an assumption.  He wanted to know if he was going to get hurt.  This big, indestructible-looking man was insecure.  Because of
her
.  Ginnie might’ve laughed if it hadn’t been so damned achingly sweet.

“
Lawrence
was the fantasy,” she said slowly. “And there’s no chance in hell I’d take him back. When he kissed me, I wanted to bite off his damned tongue.”

Quinn stiffened, then chuckled, finally looking a little more relaxed. “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear, let alone find sexy.”

Ginnie reached up to stroke his slightly stubbled cheek. “In a million years, I wouldn’t trade this weekend with you for a lifetime with Lawrence.”

He put his hand on top of hers and leaned into the caress. “And at the end of the weekend?”

“Whatever you want, Quinn. I’ll do it. I won’t ask for what you can’t give.”

“All I want is
you,
baby.”

She swallowed, terrified of bursting the balloon of elation in her heart. “Me too.”

He bent his head and kissed her.  Far too gently.  Then pulled away.

“That’s it,” he told her, his voice husky.

“That’s it?”

He nodded, his nose brushing hers sweetly. “I want you to take the lead.”

A blush crept up Ginnie’s face. “Me?”

“You wanted to seduce me,” he reminded her with little smile. “It worked. I’m under your spell.”

“Oh.”

She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she took a tiny step away and gave him a shy onceover.  And as she examined him, her shyness dissipated into the dark.

The lead.  Where should she start?

Clothes.

Yeah, those would have to go.

But first…

Ginnie stood on her tiptoes and ran all ten of her digits through Quinn’s still-damp faux-hawk.  It was surprisingly soft.  Even the short sides were like silk.  It felt so good against her skin that she did it again, this time more slowly.  And just as slowly, Quinn’s lids dropped closed, his dark lashes nearly brushing his face.

I want to touch those, too,
Ginnie thought.

So she did.  She dragged her thumbs down his forehead, over his eyelids, along his cheekbones, and down to his mouth.  She hesitated.  But only for a second.  One hand slipped to the back of his neck while the other tripped lightly over his firm lips, circling the warm bit of metal there in a sensual dance.  Her knees grew weak, and Ginnie wasn’t sure if it was from her exploration of Quinn’s features or if it was from holding herself up.

It doesn’t matter.

She was ready to move on.

She dropped back to her heals, putting her eyes on level with the top button on Quinn’s shirt.

Ginnie brought her hands up.  They shook a little as she fought with the button, and it took her three tries to get it undone.  Embarrassed, she glanced up at Quinn’s face.  His eyes were still closed, and just the ghost of a patient smile touched his lips.

All right.

She was determined to be more efficient with the next few buttons, but as she unfastened the second, then the third and fourth, she realized Quinn’s skin was almost icy, and a new idea came to mind.

Ginnie dropped her hand to his and pulled him across the room to the bathroom, glad to see that the bathtub was as big as she remembered.

Quinn’s eyes opened when she flicked on the soft light over the sink, and he shot her a curious look.

“You wanted a bath yesterday,” she said, trying to sound firm instead of questioning.

“It wasn’t the main thing on my mind,” he replied.

“I know.” Ginnie used the excuse of twisting on the taps to cover her blush.

But she couldn’t keep her attention away from him for long.  As the room filled with steam, and the tub filled with water, she turned his way again, and her breath caught.  He was so damned sexy, leaned against the counter the way he was, with his shirt half-open and his muscles and ink on display.  She couldn’t decide what she wanted more – to stare at him like that for a while longer, or to help him take the rest of his clothes off.

There’s a third option.

Ginnie smiled.  And slowly, deliberately, she reached behind her own back and tugged on the tiny tie there.  It came loose with surprising ease – so much ease that without even a nudge, the shimmery top slipped off and floated to the floor.

She watched Quinn’s eyes follow the shirt, then rise up to her chest.  For a moment, she was self-conscious, but when his gaze finally met hers again, it was hungry.

Her smile grew.

She kicked off her heels and shimmied out of her barely-there skirt, and Quinn swallowed. 

Ginnie turned toward the tub, flipped off the taps, then stepped into the scalding water, and faced him again.

“Come here,” she ordered softly.

And even though he’d
told
her she was in charge, his quick obedience startled her.  One second he was beside the sink, the next he was standing so close that she could smell his intoxicatingly masculine scent.  It was her turn to gulp.

“Take off your shirt,” she managed to say.

Without moving his gaze from her face, he undid the last couple of buttons. 

“And your pants,” Ginnie added breathlessly, afraid if she didn’t say it right away, she’d chicken out.

Blood rushed through her body, sending waves of heat through every part of her.  Momentarily light-headed, she dropped her gaze and closed her eyes.  And when she opened them just a few seconds later, Quinn’s clothes were in a pile on the ground. 

She knew was he was completely bare, and she’d seen him that way before.  But last time it was unintentional.  Embarrassing.  Now…she could take her time, perusing his body at leisure.

Her gaze slid up, inch by inch, moving with the beat of her heart.

Solid feet.

Well-muscled calves with just the right amount of dark hair.

Knees, held a foot apart, one lightly scarred, the other unmarred.

His thighs.

Oh, God, his thighs.

Strong and thick with muscle, there was no hiding the power in those thighs.  They made Ginnie tremble.  They made her nipples grow taut and her breath catch.  They made her wet – so slick with want that she was sure she was giving the bathwater a run for its money.

And between those thighs…

Oh, sweet lord.

He was the embodiment of male perfection.

Huge and hard, full-mast and waiting.

Ginnie wanted to put
so
many parts of her body on him.  She wanted to stroke him, taste him, ride him.  She’d never felt a desire so strong.

Patient. Please let me be patient.

Because she wanted to savor him, too.

She forced her eyes to move on.

Was that a six-pack? It had to be more than a six pack.

Her hands itched to run over those abs, to slide up and caress his chest.

As Ginnie’s gaze followed the path in her mind, she gasped.  The beginnings of a mottled bruise covered his un-tattooed shoulder, and she knew immediately it was from the blow he’d taken from the bouncer.  Guilt hit her.

“Oh, Quinn.” Her voice was as miserable as she felt.

His expression filled with concern. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“You’re hurt.”

He glanced down at his shoulder and shrugged dismissively. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You got that because of
me
.”

“I got that because I can’t control my temper,” he corrected.

“All the time? Or just when I’m being ridiculously childish?” She couldn’t meet his eyes, and she tipped her head down, full of shame.

Two swift steps put him at the edge of the tub, and a sweep of his hand brought her face back up.  With her feet in the raised bath and his on the floor, they were almost on level.  He fixed her with an intense, amber-eyed stare.