Quinn's Woman (13 page)

“I agree.”

The waitress appeared then and took their orders. She replaced the empty carafe with a full one, brought another mug for Austin, then left them alone.

“We were talking about D.J.,” Travis said. “Quinn had dinner with her last night.”

“I’m surprised,” Austin said. “Normally she likes to chew men up and spit them out before breakfast.”

His knowledge implied a level of intimacy that made Quinn uneasy. He tried to define the tightness he felt inside. Annoyance? Jealousy?

He studied the man across from him, and Austin met his gaze. Apparently Austin read the concern there because he said, “D.J. is good friends with my wife. They couldn’t be more different, but Rebecca says that’s what makes the relationship interesting.”

“D.J.’s an interesting woman,” Quinn said.

Austin glanced at Travis. “Should we be worried?”

“Not about me. I’m one of the good guys,” Quinn said.

“Are you?” Austin sounded surprised.

Quinn supposed it was a fair question. There were almost no circumstances under which he would describe himself that way. Except for this one. He had agreed to give D.J. what she wanted, and he would. In the process he was unlikely to damage her heart.

Travis leaned forward. “Quinn, you’re family now, and we all look out for each other. The thing is, we look out for D.J., too. I guess we’re going to have to trust you to respect that. Fair enough?”

“Sure.”

Quinn agreed easily, but he had a bad feeling that life had just taken a turn for the complicated.

By morning D.J. had herself under control. She’d put the kiss and her reaction to it in perspective and decided she would forget it ever happened. Yes, she’d reacted to the man, but so what? Her life had very specific priorities, and being the best was the primary one, Quinn had information she wanted and she was going to get it. End of story.

As for payment for future lessons, they would have to negotiate that when the time came. She was opposed to any more dates. They were –

The front door to her office opened, and the man in question strolled in. Whatever she’d been thinking flew from her mind, like a flock of sparrows frightened by a stalking cat.

But the mental hiccup wasn’t nearly as annoying as her visceral reaction to his large, male presence. The second he walked in, her mouth went dry, her palms went wet and her thighs caught fire. It was damned annoying.

“Morning,” he said cheerfully, as he shut the door behind him. “You know what they say - ‘When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.’ Here I am. You’d better be ready.”

She tried to smile at his humor, but she was too caught up in how tall and broad he looked. The shorts he wore emphasized his long, powerful legs. His T-shirt stretched over muscles that could probably bench-press the weight of half a cheerleading squad.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, lying through her teeth.

He looked calm and rested, as if he hadn’t been bothered by their kiss. Fine. If he could play that game, so could she. Better than him in fact.

He crossed to stand next to her, then put his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Fine by me.”

As she turned toward the back, she casually shrugged off his touch and raced into the workout room. She hated the heat that lingered on her skin and the heaviness she felt low in her belly. The irony of the situation was that she was far more worried about her sexual reaction to him than by his potential to physically hurt her. Most women, if they knew the truth about what he did, would have been terrified to simply be in the same room with him. D.J. could trust his professionalism while they worked out. It was his guyness and sensual appeal that made her sweat.

Once in the back, they went through a series of warm-up exercises and stretches. Like Quinn, D.J. wore shorts and a T-shirt. She’d pulled her hair back in a French braid. She wanted to be free to move, but she didn’t look forward to a lot of skin-on-skin contact. Telling herself she wouldn’t react was one thing. Remembering what had happened the previous night and knowing the potential for sexual disaster was another.

Before they walked to the mats, they both tugged off their shoes and socks.

“We’ll take this slow,” Quinn said as he moved into the center of the mat. “You remember what we did last time?”

She nodded. They’d been working on a frontal assault.

“I showed you how to counteract it,” he said.

“You showed me, but it didn’t work.”

He grinned. “I’m really good.”

“Quit bragging. This session isn’t about you.”

“Fair enough. So let’s go.”

He faced her and waited for the attack. She moved in and mentally braced herself for his response. Seconds later she landed flat on her back.

“I remember this part,” she grumbled as she scrambled to her feet.

“We’ll take it slow,” he told her. “Watch me.”

Forty minutes later she was making progress. She could count on a draw about 20 percent of the time and victory about 30 percent of the time. Which meant the other 50 percent of the attacks could leave her dead.

“This is why you get the big bucks,” she said as she once again sailed through the air and landed on the mats, staring at the ceiling.

“You know it.”

He stuck out his hand to pull her to her feet. The movement was familiar enough that she barely hesitated before taking the offered help. When she was standing, she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Quinn, of course, still looked morning-shower fresh.

“I’m going to come at you from behind,” he said, moving in close. “There are several traditional attack positions.”

His body pressed against hers and his arm came around her throat. Her attention split neatly down the middle. One half reveled in his heat and the large hand resting on her waist. Even as her bones began to turn to liquid, the rest of her fought against a powerful fight-or-flight response.

“You can easily get away from this hold,” Quinn said. “Keep your chin down and go for leverage. A more controlled and deadly attack will put pressure here.”

He shifted until his hand cupped her throat. Instantly her fear escalated until she desperately wanted to break free and run. The second he pressed in with his thumb, her stomach rolled and adrenaline flooded her system.

“The difference between stopping blood to the brain long enough to knock someone out or kill them is all a matter of degree,” he said, sounding amazingly conversational.

She drew back her arm to elbow him in the mid-section. From there she would grab his arm and pull him over her –

He released her and stepped away. “Now you try it on me.”

The panic faded as quickly as it had appeared. There was only the chemical aftermath that left her feeling shaky and slightly light-headed.

Ignoring the sensations, she stepped behind him and raised herself on tiptoe so she could wrap an arm around his throat.

“We have a height problem,” she muttered as her breasts flattened against his back. “This would be easier if you were shorter.”

“Hey, nothing worth having is easy.”

“Thanks for the bumper-sticker-level psychobabble.”

She tried to squeeze his neck with her hand, but she couldn’t get a good grip. The warmth of his skin and the scent of his body didn’t help her concentration, nor did the fact that her hands were small. She felt inconsequential and feminine. Neither reality thrilled her.

“Can’t I just shoot you?” she asked.

“It would shorten our lesson time,” he said, and bent his knees. “Is this better?”

She was able to grip more firmly. “It helps.”

“Don’t get used to it. Once you’ve mastered the technique, you’ll have to deal with me at my full height. You can’t always be sure your assailants will be shorter than you.”

She was about to agree with his point when she heard a familiar voice calling out her name. A quick glance at the clock showed her it was nearly ten-thirty. Time had flown.

“Back here,” she called, and stepped away from Quinn. “I guess we’ll take our break now.”

He turned toward the doorway and raised his eyebrows when Rebecca entered. D.J. followed his gaze and nearly groaned.

Just perfect, she thought, heading for the small refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water. She was hot, sweaty and badly dressed. Rebecca was feminine perfection in a white summer dress, perfect makeup and tasteful pearl earrings. Tiny flat sandals exposed the pink polish on her toes. D.J. had never been jealous of her friend before and refused to start now. What did she care if Quinn thought Rebecca was the perfect woman? Not only wasn’t she interested in him, her friend was happily married and hadn’t looked at another man since meeting Austin nearly ten years ago.

So why did D.J. suddenly feel like a “before” picture in a magazine makeover?

“You have company,” Rebecca said. She had a carafe in one hand and a box of Krispy Kremes in the other. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all.” D.J. jerked her head at Quinn without actually looking at him. She didn’t want to see him drooling. “Rebecca, this is Quinn. He’s teaching me to be a better fighter.”

“That statement begs a thousand questions,” Rebecca said as she set the doughnuts on a table and put the coffee next to them. Then she crossed to the mats and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Quinn.”

“Likewise.”

Despite her best intention, D.J. glanced at the two of them. They seemed to be caught up in a staring contest... and still clasping hands, she thought glumly. Not that she cared. Men like him didn’t interest her. No men interested her. She didn’t do the romantic, boy-girl thing. Remember?

“I met your husband this morning when I joined Travis Haynes for breakfast.”

Rebecca pulled her hand free and sighed. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

D.J. took comfort in the fact that if Quinn had been blown away by Rebecca’s feminine charms, he’d just received a dose of reality. She might be pretty enough to have her portrait in the National Gallery, but she was a one-man woman. And Austin was her man.

“‘Wonderful’ isn’t how guys describe each other,” Quinn told her.

Rebecca smiled. “Good point. Would you be willing to describe D.J. that way?”

He turned his gaze on her. D.J. drank from her water bottle and tried not to care. “Maybe.”

“I think that’s secretly a yes.” Rebecca linked arms with him. “I stop by in the morning a couple of times a week. I bring fattening food and coffee. D J. and I do girl talk and get a sugar high. Harmless fun, but we like it.”

They walked out of the workout room, leaving D.J. to grab the doughnuts and coffee and trail after them.

“What do you do?” Quinn asked. “Mostly I’m a wife and mother, but I work part-time at the Glenwood Orphanage. I used to run it, but after I married Austin and started having babies, there wasn’t time.”

“You’re very traditional.” “I suppose so.”

When D.J. reached her office, Rebecca and Quinn had already pulled up chairs around her desk. She sank into her seat and slapped the doughnut box in front of them, not sure why she was irritated. So Rebecca was talking to Quinn. What did that matter? Wasn’t it easier than D.J. having to talk to him?

Rebecca winked at her, then turned her attention back to Quinn. “Don’t let the modest offices fool you. Our D.J. is very successful. She flies all over the country, sometimes all over the world, rescuing children. She gives lectures and demonstrations.”

D.J. grabbed a doughnut. “I’m still in the room you know.”

Rebecca smiled. “Of course you’re here, but I doubt you’ve been talking about all your accomplishments.” She glanced back at Quinn. “D.J. can be very modest.”

D.J. bit into the doughnut and rolled her eyes.

Quinn reached into the box. “She mentioned that she helps when kids are abducted.”

“Yes. There’s a lot of danger, but she goes right in. She looks tough, but the kids are never scared of her. I guess they sense she only wants to help.”

This was as painful as dental surgery, D.J. thought. She didn’t like being talked about.

“Let’s change the subject,” she said brightly. “Let’s talk about Quinn. Guys like to be the center of attention.”