Untouched (9 page)

Quinn was a living, breathing man who had the power to increase pressure at will, decrease, tease her by tracing the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue, nip her softly, show her exactly why he’d been so preoccupied by biting.

And when she was sure she couldn’t take any more, he gave more. And he kept giving more until her legs were shaking, until her breasts ached and she was wet between her thighs. She was so close to coming it was embarrassing.

He hadn’t even touched her body except for the hand on her back, and one was still cupping her face. Still, each flick of his tongue sent a lightning bolt through her, igniting the dry tinder and stoking the fire.

She arched against him, desperate for more, for him to take it further.

Taking her cue, he tightened his hold on her and dipped her low. She followed the movement, bending her knees and going down to the grass softly, with Quinn over her, still kissing her.

He was kneeling above her, not pressing against her like she wanted. She wanted to be tangled in him. Wanted every inch of his hard body against hers. She wanted to ride his thigh so that she could ease the ache between hers.

She was so close to falling right over the edge. So close to release she was shaking.

She wanted to put her hands on his skin. Beneath his shirt. She wanted to trace the horse tattoo on his bicep.

And that thought stopped her cold.

Horses. Quinn.

Cade
.

Hearing her brother’s name in her head was like being dunked in a river.

She wrenched her mouth away from his and scrambled away, gasping for breath, getting to her feet as quickly as she could, tripping and stumbling before finally straightening. She was trembling from the inside out, and she still felt hollow. Unsatisfied. Angry and frightened.

Sick to her stomach.

How had she done that? How had she forgotten? How did she even begin to justify this moment? She felt like everything inside of her had been grabbed by big masculine hands and shaken hard, jumbled up to the point where she couldn’t sort any of it out.

One thing she did know, though. Quinn was Cade’s enemy. And what she’d done had been nothing short of a betrayal. Of the man who had stepped in and helped support her, in so many ways, when she’d lost her parents.

Her brother, who was part of her last remaining family.

Brothers were always important, family was always important. But she knew it, understood it, better than most. Because she knew what it was to lose it. And she’d lost enough of it through no fault of her own. Had lost enough of it just because life sucked and not because she’d done something to push them away.

If she lost Cade because of her own actions, she could never forgive herself. Ever.

“How dare you?” she asked, the words, unplanned and angry, coming out low and unsteady.

“How dare I what?” he asked. “Kiss a woman who clearly wanted to be kissed?”

“No! Stop. Don’t oversimplify it. How dare
you
kiss
me
. Knowing who I am, and who you are. And what you did.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing to your family, Lark Mitchell. It’s a tired refrain, but I’ll play it again if I have to.”

“Just shut up,” she said. “I can’t . . . I can’t deal with this. Maybe I can work for you, and maybe . . . maybe part of me can even believe you, but I cannot kiss you.”

Panic spread through her, at the realization it was too late, she had kissed him, and mostly at the realization that she couldn’t do it again. Ever.

But she wanted to do it again. No matter how bad it was to want it, she did.

“That’s a damn shame,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“Because I liked kissing you.”

She breathed out and put her shaking hands on her hips. “Yeah. Well. Of course you did. Lots of men do.”
Lies
. “But you can’t. Not again.”

He chuckled. “You sure are cute when you’re imploding.”

“I am not imploding.”

“Looks like an implosion from over here.”

“Well, I’d invite you to come take a closer look, but I don’t want you to get close to me again.”

“Afraid you’ll kiss me again?”

“Kiss
you
? You kissed me!”

“It’s hard to remember the fine details, but it seemed like you were enthusiastic enough.”

“
You
did.
You
did it.”

“And you didn’t kiss me back?”

“Ir-freaking-relevant! I had a natural reaction to a marginally attractive man pressing his lips to mine, but the minute I could think, I didn’t want to kiss you. And I never, ever would have started it!”

Lark’s face was burning, her entire body quivering.

“You think I’m attractive?” He asked, a smirk spreading across his maddeningly handsome face.

“Marginally.”

“Whatever.”

“No, not whatever. I don’t want your head getting too big for your Stetson.”

“Nice of you worry about me, Lark, but your concern isn’t necessary.”

She snorted and walked back over to her horse, swinging herself up onto his back with one clumsy motion. “I have work to do. And I don’t need you to lead me back down the trail, so why don’t you just stay up here and enjoy your view.”

“I like the view better when you’re here,” he said.

She pursed her lips and decided against saying anything else. Instead she just urged her horse on and left him there. If only she could leave all that pesky desire behind too.

Chapter Seven

Lark drew her knees up to her chest and looked out the window. She was sitting on her bed, sleepless, and pouting like a child. Over her own actions.

Guilt was like a wild animal, eating at her. She’d never experienced anything like it before. Not on this level. Vague guilt over doing the wrong things as child. A little bit of silly, adult guilt over her sexy chat time online.

But not this. Not this intense, unending pain that made her feel heavy, tired and yet unable to sleep.

So she was just sitting there, in bed, wide awake and angry. At Quinn, at herself. Because she still wanted him. She wanted more of what they’d shared, more of the fire and need and lust that burned so hot she was sure it had left scorch marks on the bottoms of her shoes. But it was impossible.

She hated that she wanted it. She hated that she couldn’t have it.

She was just unhappy in general.

She scooted to the edge of the bed and planted her feet on the floor, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. She was such a mess. She stood and crossed the room, hesitating at the door before turning the knob and walking out into the hall. There was no one around. Cole and Cade’s doors were firmly closed and the lights were off downstairs.

She sighed and went down the stairs, not sure why she was doing this instead of playing a video game until she passed out. Maybe because stupid Quinn had made her conscious of the fact that she did so much inside. Maybe because he’d made her hungry for different tastes, different textures. For touch.

At least outside the air would be sweet like hay, and the breeze would blow across her skin. Maybe that would take some of the intense pressure off of her chest. Maybe it would make her feel less restless. Bring her some satisfaction. She doubted it, but it was worth a shot.

She pushed open the front door and walked out onto the porch, breathing in the cool air. Nope. It didn’t do a thing to satisfy the ache inside her. Didn’t give her the sensory experience she was seeking.

The porch swing creaked, and Lark whipped her head around. There was a pale, person-shaped shadow sitting there that she couldn’t place.

“Kelsey?”

“No, sorry. Jill.”

“Oh,” Lark said.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just . . . I’m hiding, so it’s best to be quiet when you’re hiding, right?”

“Who are you hiding from?” she asked.

She heard the other woman shifting. “My husband, actually.”

“Oh.” Lark leaned over and flipped a switch by the wall that turned on a string of rope lights that lined the perimeter of the porch. “Sorry, I know you’re hiding, but it would be easier if we could see each other.”

“That’s okay.” She smiled—a thin smile, like all the smiles Lark had seen on her face.

“So . . . why are you hiding from your husband?”

“We had a fight. Last night. We’ve been avoiding each other all day, and I was in the mood to keep up with the avoidance.”

Lark sighed and sat in a chair opposite the porch swing. “I’m trying to hide from me, but unfortunately, it’s not really working.”

Jill laughed. “Now that you mention it, I think I’d rather hide from me than from Sam, but like you, I’m stuck with me, so it can’t happen.”

“Why do
you
want to hide from you?”

“You first. I already confessed I’m hiding from my husband of twenty-three years. Next embarrassing confession is all you.”

“I kissed a man I shouldn’t have kissed,” she said, her heart thundering in her ears. “And it can’t happen again. But I want it to happen again. I can’t stop thinking about him, but I should.”

“Why is he a wrong choice? Is he married or dating someone else?”

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong with him?”

“It’s . . . my brothers wouldn’t approve. At all. In fact, I can kind of see it ruining my relationship with them, and I don’t want that. It’s . . . complicated.”

“Do you love him?”

“No,” Lark shook her head. “No. I just . . . want him. And maybe that’s wrong. I don’t even know if I like him.”

“But you want him?”

“Yes,” she said, her face getting hot. “And I’ve never . . . I don’t have experience with this. With men. With wanting men. I don’t understand how I can want him when I know I shouldn’t. When I know I don’t like him.”

Jill let out a long sigh. “Love is complicated. It’s not magic. Not a thing you just fall into and stay in forever because you felt it once. It’s something you have to work at. It’s something you have to remind yourself to do, because it’s not just a feeling, it’s an action. But . . . sex is magic. It can be. Sometimes you meet someone and there’s a spark, and it doesn’t matter if you like them or even know them. The man you want isn’t always the man you should want. Sometimes sex brings people together and sometimes it tears them apart. It’s one of the strongest connections two people can have. And when it’s not there, it can start . . . breaking down everything else.”

Lark got the feeling Jill was mainly talking to herself, but in there, she heard words she needed to hear. Sex was a force that was bigger than reason.

“Is there a man you want that you shouldn’t?” Lark asked.

Jill shook her head. “No. There was. About twenty-five years ago. A cowboy. And my mom warned me that he would break my heart. I was eighteen when I met him, and I didn’t know him, but I wanted him. With every bit of myself. We had nothing in common. Except that we couldn’t bear to be apart.”

“You married him though, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “Yeah. And that’s the moral of that story. Sex can make you fall in love, too.”

Lark recoiled. “I don’t want that.”

“That’s one of the hazards of good sex.”

“Well, maybe he’s not any good.”

Jill laughed. “Are you actually hoping he’s not?”

“I told you, I don’t want to fall in love.” She bit her lip. “Did you like Sam when you met him? More than just . . . sexually.”

Jill nodded slowly. “I didn’t at first. Because he was arrogant and dumb, and he drank beer from a Solo cup. But then he smiled at me and things changed. I thought the sun rose and set on that smile. And then . . . well, then I slept with him. My first time, incidentally. And my world felt . . . changed. I thought there had never been a funnier, more gentle man created. Well, then I liked him a lot.”

“Well, I don’t like . . . the man I kissed. So maybe my odds of falling for him are low.”

“Maybe.”

The corners of Jill’s mouth turned down, the lines that bracketed her lips deepening. Lark looked down at her hands. “I’ve never had anyone to talk to this stuff about, so I’m sorry I’m attacking you with my questions.”

“That’s fine. I have a daughter who’s about four years younger than you. And honestly, if she were asking me these questions, I’d put her in a turtleneck and send her to an all girl’s school, but . . . but with you maybe I see more of myself. And now . . . after being married as long as I have . . . I’d sort of kill for the chance to have a wild fling. But my fling days are over. My big fling turned into a husband who hogs the covers and thinks ‘New sweater?’ is a compliment.”

“Another point against love.”

“I’m sort of the Scrooge of love at the moment.” She grimaced. “Bah humbug, and things like that.”

“I’m Scroogey re: love, too,” Lark said. “I’m just . . . in the throes of that magical sexual attraction thing. Inconvenient.”

“Yeah, it can be. Love is a choice; attraction is like getting hit by a train. But you can ignore it if you have to.”

“And I have to.” Lark paused for a second. “So, Sam was your big fling, huh?”

“He was.”

“Do you mind telling me what happened? I mean . . . what happened to bring you to hiding on my porch swing near midnight.”

Jill shook her head. “The thing is, it wasn’t one thing that happened. I think . . . I think he stopped smiling as much. That smile that used to make me feel like he was holding my heart. And then I stopped looking for ways to make him smile.”

“Forgive me, because, frankly, virgin here. But sex made you fall in love, right?”

Jill laughed. “Um, yeah, it was a part of it.”

“And . . .”

“And we haven’t had it for a while. It’s been even longer since we’ve had magic sex.”

“Maybe you need magic sex?”

Jill stood up and stretched. “Maybe. But you don’t really want to jump a guy who doesn’t seem that interested anymore. And especially considering how pissed he was at me last night, I’m not getting any anytime soon.” She paused. “Thanks.”

“For?”

“For asking,” she said. “Not very many people want to talk to an old married lady about her problems. My friends back home certainly don’t. They just want to pretend they don’t see my problems. Because if they did, they might see theirs in there somewhere.”

“Thank you for talking to me.”

“No problem, Lark. Good night.” Jill headed down the porch steps and disappeared into the darkness, and Lark stayed in the chair on the deck.

Sometimes you meet someone and there’s a spark, and it doesn’t matter if you like them or even know them.

Yep, that’s exactly how it was with Quinn. It was that little touch of magic that transcended common sense. Damn man and his magic hands. And lips. And body. That was why. He was just too hot to be real. And she had a bad case of lust.

But unlike Jill had been, she wasn’t eighteen. She wasn’t naive. Not completely. Sure, she was a virgin, but only physically. She’d really steamed up the computer monitor with Aaron. She knew stuff. Desire, and orgasms and stuff.

She hadn’t fallen for Aaron. She had, in fact, been quite annoyed with his trying to make small talk when all she’d wanted was a little bit of an illicit thrill. So there. She’d sort of technically already used a man for only sex.

Her brain replayed the day’s kiss in her mind, a heady reminder of just how different, how much more intense, a simple kiss had been in comparison to a virtual shag.

She stood and let out her breath in one big gust. Didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to do anything about it. And she wasn’t going to feel guilty either. She was just a victim of the magic of sexual attraction, that was all.

Like Jill had said, she couldn’t help that she’d been hit by it, but she didn’t have to chase after it. So she wouldn’t. She could ignore it. She could keep on working with Quinn like it had never happened.

Maybe. Probably.

Definitely. Because there was no other choice. She was still locked into a contract, and there was no way in hell she was ever, ever, ever kissing him again.

***

Jill opened the door to the cabin and closed it quietly, just in case Sam was asleep. She flipped on the lamp that was on the desk and started taking her sweater off.

“Hey.”

She looked up at the sound of her husband’s voice, rough, loud in the silence of the room. He was sitting in the chair by the bed, full dressed, still in his boots and hat.

“Hi,” she said, straightening.

“I have something I need to say to you.”

She felt the world tilt under her feet, felt like reality was breaking into little pieces and falling away slowly. And she knew that in a moment there would be nothing left to hold her up, because in that moment, that long moment of silence, she guessed what his next words would be.

He wanted a divorce.

Her worst fear. The reason she’d never confessed how bad it was for her. The real reason she’d never wanted to talk about their problems. For fear he would decide they were just too big. For fear it would make him want to give up.

And it was about to happen.

“What?” she asked, her lips cold.

“You are so fucking sexy.”

“What?” She’d never once heard her husband say something like that before. Ever.

“It’s the honest truth,” he continued, “I don’t know how I missed telling you that, every day, from the moment I met you. But I did. One day, honey, I forgot to tell you. And then I just kept on forgetting, and even though I thought it, even though I never thought differently, I didn’t tell you. So I’m telling you now, because I’ve made a damn mess of this. Of our life. And I want to try and clean it up.”

“Sam . . .”

He stood up and crossed the room to where she was standing, his slate-gray eyes burning into hers. And she saw, not the boy she’d fallen in love with, but the man he’d become. The man she hadn’t looked at closely in years.

If she met this man in a bar, she wouldn’t be able to say no to him. In that way, she hadn’t changed. Not since she was eighteen.

“No, I have to say it. You need to know. You need to know that I regret the distance between us. That when I’m on the road I lie awake at night hard as hell thinking about you, about being in your arms. And being where we’ve been the past couple of years? With this distance between us even when we’re in the same room? It’s like an endless hell. To come home to you and still not be with you.”

“Y . . . you . . . I didn’t know . . . how come you didn’t—”

He pulled her up against him and kissed her. Deep and hard. Thorough. The kind of kiss that she’d consigned to a box of memories. It was so full of longing, of regret, of intense, dark need.

And she fought against it. Because they weren’t this close anymore. Because it had been so long. Because she didn’t know him anymore.

“Kiss me, baby,” he said, his voice rough. He cupped her face, tracing the lines around her mouth with his thumbs. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

She closed her eyes tight, tears leaking out and rolling down her cheeks, and kissed him back. Kissed him with all the truth he was asking for. With all of her anger and frustration, all of her desire.

And when they parted, she was breathing hard, shaking. “Shouldn’t we talk first?”

“We can talk,” he said. “We can talk about how beautiful you look. How hard you make me. How much I want to see you naked, suck on those gorgeous breasts of yours.”

She blushed. She honest to goodness blushed in front of her husband. “People . . . people like us don’t say things like that.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. Because damn it, woman, you thought I didn’t want you. You had to get your compliments from another man. When I’m done, you’ll know how much I want you. And his emails won’t mean anything.”