Accidentally in Love With the Biker (What Happens in Vegas) (8 page)

“Quinn, my lady parts are feeling neglected,” she finally gasped. “Please, can we—”

He laughed against her breast and raised his head, quirking a brow. “Your
lady parts
?”

She shoved at his shoulder, affronted. “You know what I mean. Please—”

He ran a hand along the divide between her legs from her knees upward, stopping just short of touching her there. “You mean your garden of delights?” He kissed her. “Your love shack?”

“Quinn…” She parted her legs, in no mood for teasing, about to die of arousal.

“Your
lotus of love
?”

She laughed, and he finally touched her, slipping his fingers against her folds, easing the throbbing by creating a new tension.

“I got that from
Her Shanghai Prince
. Do you prefer
purple passion petals
?” he murmured against her lips, tracing his fingers around her, soothing and arousing at the same time.

“Purple?” she breathed. “That sounds dangerous.”

“I read that in
Love’s Greatest Heartache
.” He tilted his head at the nightstand, where a pile of classic historical romances had landed.

He left her mouth and kissed down the center of her chest.

“You read a lot of romance?”

“Research,” he said. “I took a couple home with me this morning.” Then he tongued her stomach, trailing over her belly button, dropping kisses until he was poised between her legs. “There’s purple, pink, rose, dusky rose, flushed red…”

“Quinn…” Kellie could barely breathe, he was so hot and large, holding her thighs apart and staring down at her body.

“But you? You’re definitely hot pink,” he confirmed, grinning up at her. “And your
pleasure bud
is calling my name.”

“Quinnnnn…” She thrashed under his weight, while he kept her legs apart.

“I got you, babe.” And he did. He covered her with his mouth and licked along her entrance, up to her clitoris. Hands stroking over her thighs, he worked her with his tongue.

Between the raspy texture of beard stubble and focused attention of slick lips and tongue, she filled with tension, tighter, and tighter, and the heat built.

“Quinn, oh my gosh, Quinn,” she panted. Hands in his hair, she tugged at his head, needing him to stop, terrified he wouldn’t. As she shattered, he continued to stroke her with his tongue, and his hands moved on her thighs, easing her body.

She missed his touch when he moved away, but after a moment he rose above her, standing and pulling her toward the edge of the mattress. He placed the condom-covered head of his erection at her still pulsing entrance, and in one smooth move, entered her, filling her completely.

“Omigod, omigod,” she chanted, as he began to thrust. He put one hand under her backside, tilting her pelvis so that he rocked against a spot inside that felt so good, the orgasm that had ebbed rebuilt into something new, deeper, tighter, pleasure that made her heart beat so hard she thought it might stop.

He hovered over her and pinned one of her legs with his hand so that she was unable to move her hips. Restricting her movement—which made his thrusts that much more intense.

Her hands were free, and she stroked his chest and stomach, reveling in the way his muscles flexed under her fingers.

As the level of her pleasure evened out, she was able to watch him, see his face. His eyes were closed and he bit his lip as a drop of sweat slid from beneath his hair over his sharp cheekbone.

The naked power in his expression was one she’d keep with her long after she left this town, one she’d pull out late at night to remember and savor.

Opening his eyes, his stare said he knew this, was going to give her even more. He slid one hand toward where their bodies met and began to stroke her clit again, but it was too much and she shoved his hand away.

“You. I want you to come now,” she said.

He paused slightly, then he smiled, and said, “I can do that.” As his pace increased, he lost some of his rhythm, and when his mouth dropped open to groan out his pleasure, Kellie came again anyway, just little pulses this time, so she was able to feel him grow inside her and throb, and hold on to him when he collapsed over her.

Oh dear. Although her imaginary hero Zeus was pretty amazing, he wasn’t nearly as incredible as Quinn.

She realized she might just have put more on the table than she could afford to lose.

Chapter Ten

“Hello?”

Quinn’s voice was groggy, and he spoke softly, but Kellie must have been primed to respond to the vibrations he emitted, because she was fully awake by the time the voice on the other end of the phone squawked.

“What the hell is this?” it shrieked.

“Hi, Ma,” he said, rolling to his side and reaching a long, tattooed arm out to pull Kellie toward him. He was
warm and smelled like sex and sleep. “What’s going on? Everything okay?”

She wanted to rub her face against him, to get more of his scent all over herself, but then his mother spoke again, her voice as clear as if she were on speaker.

“Everything is
not
okay. I suppose you have yet to see this morning’s webisode of
So Very Vegas
.”

“No, can’t say that I have.” He tucked his head down enough to roll his eyes at Kellie, then stroke her hair. He slid a foot between hers, nudging her with his knee.

She relaxed her thighs, allowing him to tangle his legs with hers and pull her hips closer. She already felt her body softening and yearning toward his. Amazing, considering they’d had sex for hours last night. After that first fast and hard round, there had been another, longer, slower bout that wore them both out.

But unlike last night, she felt the clock on their little love affair ticking. If he was going to disappear into the sunset—or sunrise, as it were—she was going to make sure she had as many memories of him as she could make.

She reached toward him, stroking down his bare chest, to the boxer briefs he’d put back on sometime in the night. He was hard, the head of his penis stretching the fabric forward, a little damp spot already showing her how much he wanted her again.

“Well, you might want to take a look, because your father is not too happy right now. I thought you’d want to know before you got here for dinner today.”

“Okay.” He winced.

“You forgot?” Kellie mouthed.

He nodded.

“Damn it, Quinn, the last thing this we need is for you to shame this family by being photographed dancing—or whatever it was you were doing—with a stripper!”

“What?” Quinn rolled away, just as she pulled her hand back and sat up.

“Why does everyone think I’m a stripper?” she asked without thinking.

“Seriously Quinn? She’s there right now? You should know better!” His mother’s voice had gone up a few decibels. Brae would be calling to complain about the noise soon.

“She’s not a stripper,” Quinn ground out.

“Is she a prostitute? Oh Lord, son. I don’t care if it is technically legal, it’s still immoral. Get her out of there before—”

“She’s a children’s bookstore owner.”

“Of course she is,” his mother sneered across the line. “I’m sure she’s a very respectable girl.”

He took the phone away from his mouth and looked at Kellie. “You got plans for dinner?”

The light in the room dimmed, and she got a slight case of tunnel vision. “Am I coming to meet your folks?”

He grinned and turned back to the phone.

“Yay.” She hoped he detected the lack of enthusiasm in her voice.

His mother was still yammering into the phone, something about the neighbors and his grandmother.

“Hey, Ma!” He interrupted her tirade. “Set an extra place for dinner. I’m bringing my girl.”

There was a gasp, but no comment.

Kellie couldn’t have spoken, either. It sounded so different when he said
my girl
—like that—than when she’d introduced him as her boyfriend to Brae. Maybe because it felt like he meant it more now than she had two days ago.

“Mom? You still there?”

This time Kellie couldn’t overhear her response.

“Yeah. Her name’s Kellie. Yes. Children’s books. Like a librarian, yes. Practically a Sunday school teacher. You can ask her all about it when you meet her, okay? Okay.”

By the time Quinn disconnected the phone and put it back on the nightstand, Kellie had managed to compose her features out of the shape of
omigod he called me his girl to his mom
and back into
two-night stand sex kitten
—or at least she hoped so.

He didn’t quite meet her eyes at first—but then he did. Shrugging, he spoke around the elephant that had just appeared in the room. “I know you’re leaving soon, but you’re my girl this weekend, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Was she ever. And she pulled him back down so that he was lying beside her again. “And as your girl, I have certain rights. One of those is to trace every one of your tattoos. With my tongue.”

…

“What time is dinner at your parents?” Kellie asked, as Quinn kissed the line of her spine, from the back of her neck down. God, he could spend the rest of his life in this bed and not get enough of her. He veered to the left to sink his teeth into her left butt cheek.

“Ow!” She turned over and swatted at him, laughing, and he tried to redirect his mouth toward her crotch, but she squirmed away, pulli
ng the sheet over herself.

“Don’t be modest now, sugar. I’ve seen it all.”

“I’m protecting you from distractions. I asked you a question.”

“Umm…”

“What time is dinner?” she repeated. “Or more importantly, what time do we have to be ready to leave here?”

“Oh.” He looked at the clock. “Well, it’s more of a late lunch thing than dinner. But we’ve got another half hour. Come here.” He tried to drag her back toward him, but she was out of the bed in half of an instant, slamming the bathroom door behind her. “Where are you going?”

“Half an hour?” she shrieked. “It takes me forty minutes to blow dry my hair!”

“It’ll dry on the way…it’s a twenty-minute ride on my bike—it’ll be dry before we hit the city limits.”

The bathroom door opened slowly, and she stuck her head out. “Your bike?”

“How else we gonna get there?” He laid back, arms behind his head.

“My rental?”

“No way am I riding up to my folks’ house in that.”

She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. Seeming to come to some sort of conclusion, she nodded slowly. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle. If I fall off and die, will you call my mom and tell her my last words were about her, even if they weren’t?”

“You’re not gonna die.”

“Promise?” She seemed to be asking about something more than the drive over.

“Cross my heart.”

She stared at him for another beat, probably remembering that they’d met when he’d run his bike into the back end of her car less than two days go, but she finally pulled her head back into the bathroom and shut the door.

With Kellie on the back of his bike, he’d be more careful than he’d ever been before. He couldn’t promise she’d survive meeting his family, however.

He felt guilty for insisting that she accompany him—he wanted to take her partly as a buffer—but with company, there might be less drama than usual. He also wanted his family to see that he could attract a perfectly lovely woman who didn’t mind that he was a bike mechanic.

As Quinn zipped his pants—his own pants—someone knocked on the door.

He peered through the hole in the door, and then opened it to admit Brae, who breezed in as though she’d spent the night in a spa, not passed out drunk in bed.

“Well. Good morning, handsome.” She trailed her skinny fingers across his chest as she passed. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Brae. How are you today?”

“Good, good. Heading down to have coffee with some readers; I wanted to see if Kellie wanted to come with me. Someone canceled, so there’s a slot for another reader.”

How very…condescending of you
, Quinn thought.

Kellie came out of the bathroom in a nice, prim-looking skirt and a top that didn’t show enough cleavage. Which made her look that much hotter.

“Oh. Hi, Brae.” She shot a questioning glance at Quinn.

He understood what she was asking, but shrugged. Did she really expect him to have figured out what happened to Toby and the long-term implications to her friend’s love life in the past thirty seconds?

With an exasperated shake of her head—which sported a finished,
dry
hairdo that would impress even his mother—she greeted Brae.

“Want to come to my coffee with an author event?”

Quinn couldn’t shove the insensitive skank out into the hallway, so he dived in to verbally protect Kellie from having to come up with a polite response. “Oh, sorry. We’re heading out to brunch right now.”

“But you’ll both be back for the Banging Books Readers’ Party later, won’t you?”

“Unless there’s an earthquake, or something,” Kellie said. It was a good thing that Kellie wasn’t in Vegas to gamble, because she was a lousy liar. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I knew I could count on you. Of all of my fans, you’re the best.”

Realization that her friend didn’t think of her as a writer crossed Kellie’s face right before resignation. But she said, “Well, that makes me pretty darned important then, doesn’t it? I’m the best fan of the best writer here.”

Once the door shut behind Brae, Kellie’s frustration was evident.

“You’re a writer, too,” he pointed out.

“I don’t know. Maybe not. Shall we?” She picked up her key card and shoved it in her microscopic purse.

“Yeah.” But he wanted to make her stay, make her sit down and finish her book, and to love it while he fed her coffee and chocolate, or whatever it was she lived on while she worked.

If Quinn sent only one impression home with Kellie, he hoped it would be that she should keep following her dreams—she should stay on the path she wanted to be on, and ride it however she wanted.

…

Kellie didn’t open her eyes until the engine on the motorcycle cut out. She’d tried at one point, about five minutes into the ride, but everything was going by so fast that she’d gotten seasick, so she just shut ’em, held on, and prayed.

And tried to look forward to a peaceful lunch with Quinn’s family. They must be salt of the earth people to have raised such a laid-back, easygoing son, right? His mother was probably very overprotective, which was why she’d reacted so strongly to seeing the photo of Kellie and Quinn dancing.

A hand patted her fingers.

“Unclutch me,” Quinn said. “You have to get off first.”

“I don’t think I can,” she said, finally looking up and finding herself in the middle of a big driveway.

A big,
curving around a naked baby fountain
driveway. Like the McMansion version of a hotel.

“I thought we were going to your parents’ house?”

“We are.”

“But this is—”
Sort of Southfork. Slightly Stately Wayne Manor. Mini Mount Vernon
.

“My parents’ house.”

What the heck? Quinn was a motorcycle mechanic. His parents were regular old
people
, who lived in a tidy ranch—or even a double-wide trailer. Not fancy people who lived on the edge of a golf course. This wasn’t who Quinn projected he was. He said he was a motorcycle mechanic, not the spoiled son of upper-middle-class country clubbers, not someone who played at his motorcycle hobby when he felt like it.

Quinn was supposed to be the opposite of all those guys from Smyrna Springs—opposite, as in…honest. And struggling bike mechanics didn’t come from wealthy families.

Kellie ran through her options. She could get mad and insist Quinn take her back to the hotel. She could get mad and call a cab. She could get mad and…suck it up like she always did, and make the best of things.

She got off the bike and tugged her conservative floral skirt into place, and prepared to make nice with Quinn’s family.

It was only for a couple of hours—then he’d take her back to the hotel and she could tell him to kiss off. Or she could make some big excuse about coming down with Ebola so she couldn’t see him anymore.

Quinn swung his leg over the seat and tugged at his khakis, straightening the crease. He did look nice. Different—like he went with the house—but nice.

“Is something wrong?” He took her hand.

“Nope. No. It’s a lovely house. Big.”

A trio of late-model sedans were lined up at the edge of the drive, and Quinn cursed when he looked them over.

She pushed her own discomfort aside. “What?”

He sighed. “Nothing. My brother’s here. Which means—”

“Quinn!”

Camilla Parker Bowles had opened the door and come on to the front porch.

Kellie tripped over her own feet and sprawled on the driveway.

Quinn turned to help her up, taking her hand.

“Quinn? Does your little friend need medical attention?”

Camilla’s voice was a little more slurred than Kellie expected from Prince Charles’s consort. Swaying down the porch, a tumbler to her lips, the woman wasn’t quite as polished as she supposed Camilla to be. For one thing, her blouse was misbuttoned and her lipstick was smeared.

“Shit,” Quinn muttered low enough that she heard, but not his mother. “She’s already hammered.”

He released her hand and turned to hug his mom, diverting the glass of amber liquid before it spilled on Kellie’s head.

“Mom, this is Kellie Dalton,” Quinn said, gesturing. “Kellie, this is my mom, Angela.”

“You have lovely lingerie, dear,” Angela said, giving her fingertips a limp touch.

She was grateful that she had on good underwear—and that she’d worn it today—because her skirt had flipped up over her thighs. As she pulled the fabric down and took Quinn’s hand to get to her feet, another five people had come outside to see the display of her nether regions.

His mouth quirked and he whispered in her ear, “It’s a good thing you neglected my commando request. My dad has a heart condition.”

Feeling her face flush six shades of embarrassed, she straightened her clothes and put on her best children’s lit lady face to meet his family.

If she’d learned nothing else from years of dealing with parents and kids at her store, it was to act like she knew what she was doing—99 percent of the time, no one would be the wiser.

“Look who’s here, honey.” Angela waved at Quinn. “And his little friend Kelsie.”

“Kellie,” he corrected stiffly. “Hullo, Dad.”

A man in his late fifties stepped off of the porch/verandah/thing on the front of the house and shook Quinn’s hand. He was, impossibly, an inch or so taller than his son, with nearly silver hair. He was very distinguished and handsome, but wearing one too many large gold rings around his elegant fingers to be quite honest-looking.