Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (16 page)

Twenty

Quinn shut the door silently, and for a long second after it closed, his fingers stayed on the handle.  Like they had a mind of their own.

He shot them an angry look.

Quit fucking
lingering, he commanded.

It was hard to make them obey.  Especially when he felt like he could suddenly relate so well to a word like
linger.

“Christ,” he muttered as he finally managed to pry his hand away. “Next thing you’ll be doing is
swooning
.”

He spun to the sink, turned on the cold tap as high as it would go, then ducked his head under the punishing stream of icy water.  He refused to come up for air.  He’d stay there until the cold became a burn and actual tears threatened to squeeze from his eyes.

Even crying was better than the weak-kneed feeling that had swept through him when Ginnie had added her little request to the end of his fake-Vegas list.

What the hell was it about that bold comment that made him want to drop and worship at her feet, anyway?  The fact that she was owning her desire?  The fact that saying
condom
made her blush?

As his head started to ache with cold, Quinn shut the water off, but continued to grip the edge of the faux marble sink, watching the water drip from his hair to the drain.  It spiraled down, taking his mood with it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked himself out loud.

Quinn steeled himself to face his reflection in the mirror, half-expecting to see some simpering Bronte sister looking back at him instead of his usual grim exterior. 

He took a breath, and when he looked up, he was almost disappointed to find his plain old self.  His face was rough with a day of stubble, and his reflection glared back at him in the usual way.

He grabbed a towel from the rack, ran it over his hair in a half-assed drying effort, then draped it over his shoulders and pulled his shaving kit from his bag.  He went through the motions, slashing at his own skin, still unable to figure out why he was angry.  Why he was mad because he got his way.

You are
not
going to have sex with Genevieve Silver.

The answering thought came out of nowhere, and Quinn didn’t know if it was a resolution, or simply a realization.

Whatever it is, it’s ridiculous,
he said to himself.

It was his
goal,
for God’s sake.  To make her see how sexy she could be.  How sexy she already was.  Which, judging from her request for condoms, he’d done.

If anything, his quick success should be making him gloat, not goddamned…linger.  Not decide not to follow through.

God knew, he wanted her.  Enough to be pissed off at himself for even
thinking
about not doing it.  But somewhere not far below the surface…he was relieved, too. 
Not
having sex with her absolved him of guilt.

Guilt? Or responsibility?

Quinn squeezed the sink harder.

Both.

He didn’t want to take advantage of her, and he didn’t want to become something she wished she hadn’t done, either.  The thought of doing that – of becoming his one and only friend’s one and only sister’s one and only regret – cut into him like a knife.  A dull, rusty, tetanus-encrusted knife.  That looked suspiciously like the one on his arm.

Ridiculous,
he thought again, and finally released the sink so he could grab a pair of reasonably unwrinkled pants and a long-sleeved dress shirt from his suitcase.

But sliding into the clothes didn’t give him the usual satisfaction of projecting the
Yeah, I should be dressed up, but this is as far as I’m willing to go
attitude.  Instead, he kinda wished he’d packed a suit.  Or that he even
owned
a suit. 

Oh, good,
he thought sarcastically as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and snapped a silver-studded belt into place.
Now I’m an
insecure,
lingering asshole.

Enough.

No sex?  Fine.

Moping?  Hell, no.

He flicked his hair out of his eyes and shot himself a final, disgusted look. 

Then he flung open the door and caught sight of Ginnie.

She was sitting on the bed, her back propped up by a pillow, the phone from the side table pressed to her ear.

She looked…different.

And delicious as hell.

Her eyes were closed, giving Quinn a good long minute to drink her in, head to toe.

She’d left her hair loose, and full, and it framed her face perfectly.  She’d obviously dug out some makeup from somewhere, and she’d rimmed her eyes in a bruised shade of purple.  Her lips, which were moving in hushed conversation, were silver with gloss.

If someone had asked Quinn ten minutes ago if he’d like to see Ginnie made up like that, he would’ve replied with a vehement
no. 
He would’ve said it would wreck the clean beauty of her face.  Now…Shit.  She was a whole different kind of stunning.  A whole different kind of entrancing.

Quinn’s eyes slid reluctantly away from her face to take in the rest of her appearance.

She’d picked a pale pink top, feathery-looking from the waist to the chest, but with a see-through strip of some stretchy material that clung to her cleavage and crept all the way to her throat.

Like a fabric blush.

She wore a shiny black skirt – satin, maybe, or something like it, Quinn wasn’t exactly up-to-date with women’s sparkly fabrics – that barely came to mid-thigh, even when she tugged it down a little.

Below that, on her pink-painted toes, were a pair of leather-strapped, stone-studded shoes that even Quinn knew classified as hooker-heels.

Holy, bloody, goddamned hell.
That
is something to linger over.

“Yes!” she hissed into the phone irritably, then made a huffy adjustment that drove the skirt up even further.

Which reminded Quinn that there was a hell of a lot more he could with her than just have sex.  Things that would fill her with satisfaction instead of regret.

Oh, hell yes, there are.

With a growl that made Ginnie’s eyes fly open and fix their ultra-greenness on him, Quinn strode to the end of the bed.

She mouthed something at him – maybe, “What are you doing?”

He ignored it.

He grabbed each of her ankles, strappy heels and all, and pulled.

Ginnie skidded down the bed and let out a satisfying little yelp.

“No,” she said into the phone. “I’m fine. I, uh, bumped my foot. Stubbed my toes.” Pause. “Yes, all of them!”

She tried to kick away Quinn’s hands.  He ignored that, too, and pulled her down a little further.  She was lying almost flat now, and even though Quinn couldn’t see her face, he could picture it.  Annoyed and nervous and excited, eyes wide, lips pursed.

He chuckled, and she said, “Shh.” Then added, “No, not you. Who? No one. No!”

Quinn brought his mouth to one of her ankles and gave it a nip.  She tried to squeeze her feet together, but he felt her shiver, so he moved his mouth and did the same thing with the other.  A little harder.  Her ankles loosened immediately.

Good.

Quinn dragged his teeth and his tongue up one calf, then down the other.

“Jase,” Ginnie said pleadingly.

Quinn wondered if the tone was really directed toward her brother, or if it was for him.

This time on his exploration up her smooth legs, he opened his mouth a bit wider and took it slower, exploring every inch with a thorough suck.

“Oh!” Ginnie exclaimed, and Quinn knew
that
one was for him. “No, I’m fine,” she added. “I would’ve called you last night if I hadn’t – ”

Her words cut off abruptly as Quinn put his hands on her knees, pushed them apart and slid himself up.  He kissed each of her thighs, just below the skirt hem, then lifted his eyes and found her returning his gaze, her chin pressed to her chest, her expression flushed.

Quinn grinned a sideways grin and whispered, “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” she replied faintly, then let her head fall back and groaned. “No, Jase. I just – I lost you there for a second. I think the snowstorm’s affecting the phone or something.”

Quinn muffled his chuckle in one of her lightly muscled thighs.  He was ridiculously turned on.  Ridiculously pent up.  And he was having far too much fun to stop.

He trailed kisses from her knees to the bottom of the skirt, then back, then again.

Ginnie continued to talk.  Vaguely, Quinn heard her try – and fail at – begging off the conversation.

Quinn just moved up even farther.  He slid the skirt to what would’ve been underwear level.  If she’d had any on.  Which, of course, she didn’t.

Thank you, God.

Quinn gave her thighs a gentle nudge with his palms and they fell obligingly open.

Thank you, God. Times two.

He used his thumb to trace a pattern over her waiting wetness, and her legs parted even more. 

Quinn leaned in and took a tiny taste.

Sweet. Hot.

He wanted more.

So he ran his tongue – and its helpful little piercing – along the length of her, pausing at the top to draw her clit between his teeth.  Very gently, oh-so-carefully, he moved his head back and forth, up and down, then side to side again.

Ginnie’s hips rose to meet the attention, and Quinn could feel the way she quivered.  From the inside out.

He released her swollen clit, used his fingers to spread her open, then let his tongue do the walking.

In and out, around in a tunneling circle.  She writhed underneath him, and Quinn pushed harder.  Deeper.  He drew out the heat; he drew out the wetness.

He heard the phone clatter to the floor, and Ginnie let out a cry, and if Quinn had been thinking instead of doing, he might’ve hoped to heaven that her brother hung up before the sound tore from her.

She tightened against his tongue and he knew she was close. 

Fuck, how he wanted her.  But he wanted
this
even more.

In fact, he could definitely see the appeal of spending the whole weekend
not
having sex with Ginnie.

Just like this.

Quinn brought his mouth back to her clit, then drove his fingers into her as roughly as he dared and – oh sweet lord – he felt her convulse against the attention.  Again.  And again.  And again.

Twenty-One

As the last viciously sweet orgasm rocked her body, then subsided and left Ginnie a panting, sweat-sheened glob of goo, she realized she’d been duped.  Two years of dating – one precious year of
waiting
– then four years of marriage, all of it culminating in an end
she’d
taken the blame for.  Lawrence thought
she
wasn’t good enough in bed.  And she knew that wasn’t just insecurity talking.  She’d seen the look on Lawrence’s face when they were in that boardroom.  He’d claimed “they” weren’t compatible.  But his smug expression said what he really meant was that
Ginnie
wasn’t compatible.

Unfuckable.

But what just happened – what Quinn just did to her – nothing like that had
ever
happened between her and her former husband.

It wasn’t
me
who stunk in the bedroom. It was
him.

The realization was like a percolation of understanding.  A dawning of self-reclamation.

The bedroom was one of the only places Ginnie felt lost, and she’d always counted on the fact that Lawrence was older and more experienced to guide her through it.  And the man had been…What
was
the right word? 

Predictable? 

Formulaic? 

Boring?

All of the above.

What
else
had the fake-tan, high horse doctor misled her about?

“Baby?”

Whoops.

Ginnie flushed.  She’d been so lost in thought that she’d slipped away from the source of her revelation.  Who was currently lying beside her, propped up on one elbow, his dark faux hawk flipping forward a bit and his eyes locked on Ginnie’s face.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hey.”

Quinn.

Whose fingers and tongue had a line straight to her O-button.  Whose sexy, knowing, but not know-it-all smile was making her warm again, even though she’d just been thoroughly sated.

Hmm.

The burgeoning bedroom-confidence made Ginnie want to know what the
rest
of him was capable of.  No.  Not just want to know.  Want to find out, like, now.

Unconsciously, her gaze slipped down.  The cream-colored dress shirt he wore had slipped up to expose a teasing glimpse of his muscular abdomen.  A belt glinted at his waist, just begging to be undone.  And below that, a distinctive bulge.

“Uh-uh,” he said, like he could read her mind. “Any second, that champagne breakfast I ordered is gonna show up, and as delicious as
you
are…I’m still hungry.”

Ginnie inhaled and replied, “I can
see
how hungry you are.”

Quinn’s face split into a grin. “Is that right?”

Her eyes dropped once more, and her hand sought to follow.  But Quinn grabbed her wrist.

“Uh-uh,” he said again.

Ginnie shot him her best approximation of a scowl, which made Quinn laugh.

God, why did even his
laugh
have to be sexy?

He didn’t let go of her arm.

“You won’t let me touch you?” she asked, barely managing to
not
blush.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I think we covered that during the box of condoms discussion.” He brought her hand up to his face and ran the backs of her fingers along his freshly shaved cheek. “You can kiss me though.”

“Anywhere I want?”

“No.”

Ginnie watched as Quinn’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, betraying the answer he wanted to give.

Fine,
she thought.
We’ll just see how that goes.

She tipped her head up and inched forward while he continued to hold her hand in place.  It wasn’t until her lips met his and she caught a taste of herself on his mouth that she recalled where those teeth and that tongue of his had been just a few minutes earlier.  She wondered if she should be squeamish about it.

But she wasn’t.

If anything, it sent a little thrill through, knowing that he’d laid claim to her so thoroughly.

And Quinn let her take her time, touching his lip ring with her own lips, then with her tongue.  He let her suck on it for a few seconds, and when she tugged on it a little harder, his mouth dropped open so she could work her way inside.  She skated
her
tongue over the warm, smooth ball in the center of
his
tongue.  Quinn was almost still as Ginnie kissed him, responding but not taking it any further.

It was remarkably sensual to have him that pliable under her mouth.  Nearly erotic.

He loosened his grip on her hand just enough that she could slide her fingers to his throat.  And she could feel his pulse thudding unevenly there under his skin.

When she pulled away, Quinn let out a groan of protest.

Take that.

Ginnie wiggled her hand from his grasp and brought her fingers around to the first fastened button on his shirt.  And she undid it.  Not as adeptly as he’d undone her pajamas last night, but quick enough that she got to the next button before he slammed his bear-trap hold on her once more.

“Please, Quinn,” she said.

“Bad idea,” he replied.

She opened her mouth to make an argument in favor of letting her touch him.  Or maybe to just outright beg him to let her – at least a little bit – but a sharp rap on the door stopped her.

“Lucky,” she muttered as Quinn jumped to his feet and moved quickly across the room.

He sent her a scorching look as he closed his hand on the doorknob. “Hardly what I’d call
lucky.
”

“You could ignore whoever that is,” Ginnie pointed out.

“I never ignore breakfast.”

Ginnie sat up and watched with narrowed eyes as Quinn took the wheeled tray from the uniformed, female hotel employee, who eyed him up and down with an open appreciation that made Ginnie want to throw her one of her stupid, rhinestone-studded shoes at her.  And her irritation doubled when the girl lifted an arm to brush a loose strand of hair off her face and Ginnie caught a glimpse on some ink in her wrist.  She had a sparkly stud in one nostril, too.

Self-doubt fought to make its way back in.
Maybe
that’s
the kind of girl he’d let touch him.

But as quickly as the discouraging thought came in, it went out again.  Because even as Quinn exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries with the girl, his eyes kept straying to Ginnie.  They rested on her face, or on her breasts, and even on her hands for a moment.  And every time they found a spot on her body, their heat seared into her, leaving no doubt as to where his interest lay.

Ginnie crossed and uncrossed her legs, and yep, his gaze stayed locked on her knees for so long that the hotel girl had to tap him on the shoulder to tell him she was done.

As Quinn handed her a generous tip, the girl sighed and acknowledged Ginnie for the first time.

“You’re a lucky woman,” she said, which made Quinn laugh silently as he ushered her out.

Once the girl was gone, Ginnie half-expected – okay,
mostly
expected – him to pounce on her.  Instead, he began to set up the breakfast at a leisurely pace.  But she was sure food was the last thing on his mind.

So why is he working so hard at pretending it is?

Ginnie continued to sit in silence as Quinn popped the top on champagne.  He filled two flutes almost to the brim, handed one to her and held up the other. 

He winked. “To luck!”

“Very funny.”

She clinked her glass to his, then gulped back half of it, and as the bubbly liquid slid down her throat, a thought occurred to her.

And before she could stop it, it popped out of her mouth. “You’re trying to protect my virtue!”

Ginnie’s face flamed, but surprisingly, Quinn didn’t deny it.  He didn’t even laugh.

“Quinn,” Ginnie said, her blush easing off a little. “You realize I was
married,
right?”

“Actually,” he replied. “Since the marriage was annulled…You
weren’t
.”

Ginnie rolled her eyes. “A technicality. And not my point.”

Though until that second, it hadn’t
really
occurred to Ginnie that the annulment denoted a total redo.  She wasn’t a divorcee.  She wasn’t a scorned woman.  She was, quite simply…single.  And she liked that.  She wanted to
do
something with that singleness.

Ginnie met Quinn’s eyes. “There are a few things the annulment didn’t undo.”

He topped up her glass, drank his own, then filled it again, too.  He straddled a chair, popped a piece of toast into his mouth and chewed it slowly before speaking again.

“How many men have you slept with?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Quinn smiled. “Give some leeway here again, judge.”

Ginnie shook her head, refusing to be sidetracked. “I just don’t see why I should tell you.”

He raised an eyebrow and out came the oh-so-skilled tongue of his to fiddle with his piercing. “Was that a serious statement?”

“Of course it was.”

He slid the chair closer.  So close that his knees brushed hers.

“When you said you want to touch me…” His voice dropped low. “Was it because you were thinking about having sex with me?”

Ginnie thought about lying, then thought better of it. “Yes.”

“And
that
doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to answer my question?”

“What if I asked you the same thing?” she countered.

His eyes twinkled, and when he leaned back, Ginnie knew what was coming before he even said it.

“I haven’t slept with
any
men.”

“Give yourself a chance. We haven’t made it as far as Vegas yet.”

He grinned. “I don’t think I’m going to include that in
my
version of Sin City.”

“Mine either, apparently,” Ginnie muttered, then colored again.

Quinn chuckled. “If you’re not going to answer me…”

“Then what? You’ll force me to
not
touch you some more?”

“I’m just trying to make my
own
point.”

“Which is?”

“Tell me how many, Ginnie, and I’ll get to it.”

His face still held mild amusement, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw, too.

All right. I’ll play along then.

“One,” Ginnie stated.

For a second, the big man had a comically startled look on his face, but he smoothed it out fast. “One?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. Douchebag and one other?”

“No.”

This time, Ginnie noted that Quinn couldn’t cover his surprised expression quite as quickly. “One total? Just your former husband?”

“Yes.”

At her fourth one-word answer, a frown creased his forehead, and Ginnie wished she’d kept her mouth shut. 

She could feel her face growing pink again. “Do you interrogate all of your one night stands like this?”

She’d been half-kidding – maybe trying to deflect the attention away from herself – but Quinn’s expression grew dark, and for a heartbeat, Ginnie thought he was going to throw his champagne glass across the room.  Instead, he set it down slowly and stood up.  He pushed the chair away from his body and stepped toward her.  And unexpectedly, he dropped to his knees and looked up at her.

When he spoke, his tone was a fierce as his eyes. “Is that what you think you want from me?”

“Yes.”

“And if I say no?”

Ginnie hesitated.

No reason to hold back.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to seduce you, won’t I?”

And just like that, she meant it.  She’d do whatever she had to, to get Quinn in her bed.  Even just for the weekend.