Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (15 page)

Saturday

Eighteen

Quinn made his way back to the hotel room, coffee and cookies in hand.

Out of habit, he’d risen early, then headed downstairs to see if he could get some information about their flight to Vegas.

And the news was bad. 

Or good, depending on how you look at it.

They were stuck in the bowels of Asscrack, Colorado for at least another twenty-four hours.  And he kinda thought Ginnie wouldn’t be too pleased, so he decided to soften the blow with a little caffeine and a little sugar.  Now that he was almost back, though, he was doing his best to keep quiet.

If last night was any indication, Ginnie needed a good rest.

He grinned.

Minutes after offering to share his sandwich with her, Quinn had found himself prying the last piece of it from her limp hand as she nodded off, mid-chew. 

He’d never been so ridiculously grateful for – and ridiculously resentful of – a food item before. 

He’d seen the look in Ginnie’s eyes right before that door flew open, and there was open invitation there in those wide green irises of hers.  He thought it was probably a damned good thing that his prescheduled interruption came when it did.  No way would he have been able to hold back.

The sandwich saved her.

Instead of ravaging her the way he wanted to, Quinn had tucked her into the bed.  She hadn’t even fought him as he did it.  Hell, she hadn’t even bothered with a clever retort when he teased her about wearing her out so easily. 

Then he’d climbed in beside her, more for a need to torture himself than actual rest, because he’d thought there wasn’t a chance he would fall asleep himself.

Except Quinn
did
fall asleep.

In fact, he’d had the best sleep he’d had in years.  Maybe since the day before his senior training officer pulled him from a class and asked him if he’d ever considered the fact that he had no family and few friends a blessing.  Less than twenty-four hours later, he’d been on the street, hocking his falsified experience as a low-level dealer to a recruiter for the Black Daggers.  It was a successful sell.

And no. The eight years following that weren’t restful at all.

“It’s done now,” Quinn muttered.

When he realized he’d almost walked past his own room he balanced the cups, one on top of the other, and opened the door.  Then he froze in the frame.

When he’d left, the room has been swathed in darkness.  Now the sun, still on its ascent, peeked through the curtains and hit the edge of the bed, lighting up Ginnie’s hair.  The tight bun had managed to come loose – this time all on its own – and fanned out across the cream-coloured pillow in a shiny array of gold and blonde.  Her eyes were closed and her lips sealed and her whole body was peaceful. 

That right there,
he thought absently,
might be the best view in the world.

As Quinn stared down at Ginnie, the big man – tattooed, pierced, and who considered himself pretty fucking clueless about every part of living a normal life – felt a little piece of his heart shift.

Was there a chance that this was
right
?  That
he
might be right for her?

Ginnie exhaled in her sleep and rolled a little so that one foot stuck out from the blanket, and Quinn noticed that the nails had been painted a shimmery shade of pink.

Had she treated herself to a pedicure before leaving for her trip?

No nail polish.
It was at the top of Jason’s this-is-how-down-to-earth-my-sister-is list.

Maybe she kept her toes covered around him.

Quinn winced a little.  He really owed his friend a call.

As if on cue, a buzz and a muffled bit of music drifted up from somewhere in the room.

Shit. Ginnie’s phone.

Where the hell was it now?

It rang again, and Ginnie stirred.

It’s under the bed.

Quinn set the cups on the table and dropped to the floor. 

Under
Ginnie’s
side of the bed.

“Of course,” Quinn muttered.

He stuck his hand underneath, trying to keep his body from bumping the mattress.  The sparkly case was just out of reach.

C’mon, Mcdavid. You used to be a cop. Cops retrieve guns from floors. They use gum attached to coat hangers to do it. They do it from inside closets. In rooms full of gangsters. You shouldn’t have a problem getting a phone out from under a bed.

The phone rang a third time, and Quinn finally managed to get a hold of it.  He dragged it out from under the bed, pressed the
off
button hard, then slid open the night stand drawer and dropped it inside.

“Quinn?”

He jerked his head up.

Ginnie was leaning on her elbow, her wide green eyes blinking at him sleepily.

He forced a grin. “Morning, baby.”

“Quinn?” she said again.

“Yeah?”

“Are you on the floor?”

Quinn looked down, then up, then dropped her a cheeky wink. “Appears so.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to let you have the upper hand for a minute.”

She yawned. “I think you might be lying.”

Shit.

“Lying?” he replied innocently.

“Mm hmm. You would
never
let me have the upper hand on purpose.”

“Well,” Quinn teased. “I wasn’t going to
tell
you about it. But then you woke up.”

“What
were
you going to do, then?”

“Kiss you.”

“Kiss me?”

This time Quinn’s grin was real. “If you insist.”

He came up to his knees and grazed his lips over hers quickly, then pulled away.

“Quinn?” Ginnie murmured.

“Uh huh.”

“You taste like coffee.”

“Probably.”

“I want coffee.”

He chuckled. “You want coffee, do you?”

“Yes.”

“More than you want another kiss?”

“It’s a tough call.”

“Let me see if I can sway your decision.”

He grabbed the edge of the bed with the intention of pulling himself up and tackling her.  Instead, he gripped the sheets a little too hard, and without warning, the blankets and Ginnie both came sliding forward.  With a little shriek, she slammed into him.  Quinn toppled over.  The blankets twisted around their legs binding the two of them together.

Ginnie wriggled on top of him like she was trying to get away, but the harder she tried, the more they stuck together.  And the more they stuck together, the harder
Quinn
got.

Christ.

He clearly had no control.

“Stop,” he said with a groan.

“What?” She wriggled a little more.

“Stop,” Quinn repeated.

“But we’re stuck.”

“And what you’re doing is
un
sticking us?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

She put her hands to the ground and held herself up.  If she was trying to put some space in between them, she failed.  So badly.  There were only a few inches between their faces.  There were
no
inches between the rest of them.  She moved up and…
Jesus. 
There was also no chance she couldn’t feel what she was doing to him.

“Ginnie…”

Her eyes widened and she finally stopped moving. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Sure as hell
not
unsticking.”

“What’re we going to do?”

Quinn had a few ideas.  “Is that a real question?”

“We can’t stay like this all day.”

“Actually…” he raised an eyebrow suggestively.

A blush crept up her cheeks. “We’ll miss our plane.”

“Right. About that.”

“What about it?”

“You want the good news, or the bad news?”

“Bad,” she replied immediately.

“The storm’s picked back up and the planes are grounded. They figure we won’t get out until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

“So we’re
extra
stuck?”

“Mm hmm. No Vegas for us.”

Her face fell. “And the good news?”

Quinn forced one of his arms out from the tangled mess of bedding and cupped her cheek with his palm.  He ran his thumb along her lip, watching as the bottom one dropped open and she tried to cover her quick inhale and failed.

“The good news,” he said softly. “Is that there are
no
extra rooms available in the whole hotel.” He pulled her lips open a little more. “Or anywhere close by.” He moved his thumb to the edge of her tongue, then used his fingers to close her mouth overtop of the digit. “So we’re stuck
together
.”

She sucked on his thumb gently and it was Quinn’s turn to draw in a breath.  He pulled his hand from her mouth, freed his arms, then planted both palms on her hips.  He held her there for a long moment, revelling in just how good she felt, even fully covered.

“Ask me again what we’re going to do, Ginnie,” he suggested in a thick voice.

“What’re we going to do, Quinn?” she whispered.

“We’re going to make our
own
Vegas.”

“We’re going to…Oh.”

Quinn chuckled at the poorly disguised disappointment on her face.

“What were
you
hoping for?” he teased.

“Nothing.”

He moved swiftly, flipping them over so she was pinned underneath him. “Have you
been
to Vegas before?”

“No.”

“Well I have. My old boss had a big, sore thumb of house out in the desert, so I got to spend plenty of time in the city. And it’s full of naughtiness,” he said. “Trust me when I say you’re going to enjoy my version of it. It’ll be right up your good-girl-gone-bad alley.”

“Is that what you think I am?”

He bent down and closed his lips on hers, dragging her mouth open and flicking his tongue ring across the roof of her mouth.  When he pulled away, she shivered.

“
Isn’t
that what you are?” Quinn asked.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m a self-improvement mission, not a self-destruction mission.”

“And you’re self-improving by making out with me on a hotel room floor?”

Her blush deepened. “Everything’s a learning experience.”

“Spoken like a true good-girl,” Quinn joked.

“I’m not that good,” she insisted.

“Is that right? Tell me then…What would you be doing right now if you were at home?”

“Drinking coffee and watching pornography.”

Quinn burst out laughing, then rolled off Ginnie and pushed himself to his feet.

“Well. I can help you with the first thing right now. But the second thing may have to be worked into the fully customized, Huntingdon-Vegas experience I’ve created for you. Maybe between the poker and the strippers.”

He picked up her coffee, waited for her to seat herself on a chair, then handed it over.  She took a sip, and Quinn wondered abruptly if she would notice that it was made exactly the way she liked it.  Another Jason-fact.  Ginnie pretended to drink it black, but secretly added a package of raw sugar.  Quinn had made it that way automatically, not thinking anything of it until right this second.

If she does notice, will she be suspicious?

Quinn watched her savor the mouthful of coffee. 

It was another opportunity to tell her the truth.  His tongue flicked to his lip ring nervously as he waited for her to say something about it.

Either she kills you now, or Jase kills you later,
he reasoned.

But she just took another sip and shot him a thoughtful look. “You know what? We can easily fit in the pornography if we make a
tiny
adjustment.”

“What’s that?”

“Turn the poker and the strippers into
one
activity instead of two.” Ginnie shot him a sweet smile that was perfectly – sexily – at odds with her suggestion. “So. Let’s see this list of pseudo-Vegas activities.”

Nineteen

Ginnie squirmed a little as Quinn reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper scrawled with messy handwriting.  She should’ve been disappointed that she was going to miss Vegas.  She should’ve been gritting her teeth at the fact that she wasn’t going to get to stick it to Lawrence by using the non-refundable ticket that
he
had paid for.  Maybe she should’ve been wondering if she was being punished for making the decision to go, for deciding that hell yes, she was going to spend Lawrence’s money – the little bit she’d managed to secure before he cleaned out their joint accounts – while she was there. 

Instead, a little bubble of elation was growing inside her. 

She was
excited. 
Thrilled that rather than spending her Saturday surrounded by ka-chinging slot machines and girls in glitter and drunk newlyweds, she was going to spend it surrounded by Quinn.

Or he’s going to be surrounded by you.

Her body tingled at the deliciously naughty thought.

They were going to share this hotel room again.  A bed.  And this time it was deliberate.

It was crazy.  Far crazier than Vegas alone.

And last night had been…Was there a word for the way he’d made her body hum?  For the way he’d swept away lucid thought?  For the way he’d made her feel sexy and raw and powerful and wanted?

God, how she wanted it again.  Wanted more.

So does he.

That little thought made her squirm almost as much as the jumble of excitement percolating just under her skin.

She made him…
Hard.

She
did.  Genevieve Louise Silver. 

This sex-in-a-tattooed-package man definitely wanted her.  She’d felt it – literally – this morning when they’d been tangled in the sheets.

So why doesn’t he just
take
you?
she wondered, a tiny bit of insecurity slipping back in.

An answer was fast on the question’s heels.  And there was nothing shy about it.

Who cares about
why
? Just seduce him. Make it impossible for him not to follow through. Make him take those big, messy-looking but oh so adept hands of his and put them all over you. And maybe his mouth, too. Or maybe his –

“Ginnie?”

She flushed, and her head snapped up. “Yes?”

“Coffee’s that good, huh?”

She realized a little belatedly that her breathing had sped up and that she was holding the paper cup in a death grip.

“It’s perfect,” she agreed quickly.

Which was true, anyway.  Just the way she liked it.  Black with a hint of sweetness.  What were the odds?

Quinn is outside the odds,
she reminded herself and forced her mind back to what he was saying.

“Tell me what you’d planned for Vegas. Besides copious amounts of pornography, I mean,” he teased.

“I don’t know,” Ginnie said honestly.

“Okay. What’s the first thing you think of when you think Vegas?”

“Slots.”

Quinn tapped his paper. “Done. There’s a miniature casino at the airport. What next?”

“A show?”

“Also done. This hotel has a resident entertainer on Saturday nights.”

“Entertainer?” Ginnie repeated. “The vagueness of that makes me nervous.”

He grinned. “This is Quinn-Vegas, baby. Ready to surprise and delight.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t even ask what kind of entertainer it was, did you?”

“Nope.”

“It could be a ninety-year old Elvis Impersonator.”

Quinn’s eyes lit up. “I hope so.”

“It could be a male stripper,” Ginnie said. “With a bad case of plumber’s crack.”

“Doubtful.” Quinn tapped the paper again. “A stripper here would create too much competition for the adult establishment just down the road.”

“Huntingdon has a strip bar?”

“Huntingdon has a strip bar that we’re going to,” Quinn corrected.

Ginnie’s pulse skittered, and she forced a laugh. “You’re taking me to see strippers?”

“Yep. I took care of that particular Vegas stereotype, too. Unless you don’t want to go.”

Ginnie licked her lips nervously.  She somehow doubted that Quinn was talking about a
male
revue show.  Which meant pasties and G-strings.  Bumping and grinding.  T and A.

Would it get him all riled up?  Was he the kind of man who liked that stuff?

Is there a man who doesn’t?

“Ginnie? If you don’t want to go, just tell me.”

“No,” she said. “I do want to.”

And saying it somehow made it true.  Really true.  She wanted to sit beside him and watch him watch them.  Her heart actually
raced
at the thought.  It beat so loud in her chest that she could barely hear Quinn’s voice, and she had to make herself pay attention.

“First things first,” he told her as he pried the fully crushed coffee cup from her hand. “You think you can find something in that pile of not-yours underwear that’ll work?”

“Work for what?”

Quinn shrugged. “To wear until we find you something else.”

The all-over her body rush of blood stopped abruptly. “You want me to wear Lawrence’s girlfriend’s underwear?”

His hand slid across the table to squeeze hers. “I just meant some clothes to borrow. Unless you think you can pull off wearing my pajamas to the strip club?”

“Actually, when you put it like that, I think the other girl’s underwear would probably help me fit in better.”

He shot her a very serious, utterly scorching look. “Ginnie…I don’t want you wear
any
underwear. Let alone someone else’s.”

Her heart started thumping at double time again. “Do I need to remind you that I’m
not
wearing any?”

“Trust me,” Quinn said. “I am
very
aware of what you don’t have – and what you
do
have – under those pajamas. And unless you have the world’s biggest box of condoms hidden somewhere that I
don’t
know about, you might want me to keep my mind elsewhere.” He paused and bit his lip ring so hard that Ginnie thought it might break, then asked, “Do you have it hidden somewhere, Ginnie?”

She shook her head.  Because if she answered him out loud, she was going to say the first thing that popped into her head.  And she thought maybe
fuck the condoms
would have consequences she might regret later.

Quinn shrugged at her silent response.

“So,” he said. “In t-minus ten minutes, we go onto Vegas time. Which means
no
time. No watches, no clocks, no – ”

“Shit!” Ginnie interrupted as thoughts of timing invaded her oversexed mine.

“What?”

“My brother.”

“Your brother?”

“I don’t have a watch. I usually check my phone, and thinking about that reminded me that I should’ve called him. But I left the stupid thing at the airport as an act of rebellion.”

“An act of rebellion?”

“I just – Never mind. My point is that now I
can’t
call him now, which mean he’ll freak out. When he freaks out he does dumb stuff,” she explained.

“So…Shit.” Quinn tapped his lip ring.

“Exactly.”

“You don’t think he’d freak out a little
more
when you tell him you’re sleeping with me?”

Ginnie knew he’d dropped the double entendre deliberately, but she blushed anyway. “I wasn’t planning on telling him about you.”

“What
were
you going to tell him?”

She frowned, wondering why he sounded a little tense, then dismissed her worry.
He’s just worried about keeping his own ass safe. Especially since you made it clear how protective Jase can be.

“Just that I’m not dead,” she said.

Quinn’s face relaxed. “All right. T-minus
twenty
minutes then. Use the hotel phone to call your big, bad brother. And
don’t
tell him about the big bad wolf in your room. Then we go onto Vegas-time. Champagne breakfast to start the day off with a buzz. Strippers at eleven. Tattoos at noon.”

“Tattoos?” Ginnie repeated faintly.

Quinn ignored her. “A maybe-illegal poker game at two, followed by an all-you-can-eat buffet. Early bird special is at four-thirty. The ninety-year old Elvis stripper with the plumber-butt issue comes on at seven. Then some dancing. And after that, if we don’t get arrested…” He gave her a lascivious onceover, leaned in, and whispered, “That pornography I promised.”

Ginnie barely heard him.  And she hardly noticed as he placed an order for room service.  Even when he winked at her and told the person on the other line, “She said
yes
,” in that smirk-y, self-satisfied way of his.

She knew she ought to move.  Maybe pick her jaw up off her chest.  Straighten her hair.  Blink.  Argue.  Point out that she hadn’t said
yes. 
She hadn’t said anything.

But she was too busy being one-part stunned, one-part overwhelmed, and one-part dizzy with anticipation. 

Quinn had clearly spent the better part of his morning planning their weekend together.  And there were so many things that went along with those last three words. 

Ginnie couldn’t help but break it down.

Their.

Weekend.

Together.

She didn’t want to read more into that than she should.  But how could she not?

Almost forty-eight more sinful hours with Quinn Mcdavid.  Blissful, mind-boggling, nerve-wracking.

And oh. He wanted to get tattoos.  Or in his case,
more
tattoos. 

Ginnie’s own skin was currently as bare as the day she was born.  She didn’t even have her ears pierced.  Yet.

You are
not
getting a tattoo. Or making porn,
she told herself firmly.

But the other stuff…

She watched Quinn as he moved around the room to the bed.  He reached out and grabbed the sheets from the floor.

He’s
making
the bed
, she realized. 

And Ginnie was pretty damned sure she’d never seen anything so sexy as the thickly muscled, ink-covered man performing the simple domestic task.  Who knew something so basic could be so freaking hot?

Yes, of the emotions fighting for supremacy, it was definitely anticipation that was gaining momentum.

“Hey, baby?” Quinn said as he tucked in a final, near-perfect hospital corner.

“Mmph?”

Ginnie hoped it sounded more like an answer than like a bad attempt to cover the spike in her temperature.  From his damned bed making.

“My stuff’s in the bathroom, so I’m gonna get changed in there. If you want some privacy…” He gestured around the room at the still strewn-about clothes.

“Okay.”

Quinn turned away, stripping off his T-shirt as he moved toward the bathroom, and Ginnie couldn’t bury a sharp inhale as she caught sight of his back.  A wide, star-shaped scar stood out starkly.  The skin there was whiter and thicker than the rest of the surrounding area, and as he tossed his shirt to the bed, it rippled.  Something about it drew Ginnie in.  Cemented her attraction to him.

A perfect imperfection.

“Quinn?” she called, right before he closed the door.

“Yeah?”

“Can you add one more thing to the to-do list for the day?”

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

Ginnie took a breath. “We really need to buy the world’s biggest box of condoms.”