Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (18 page)

“In-fucking-credible enough for a one night stand?” she asked teasingly.

She did a little spin, flinging the skirt up to an unacceptable height, and Quinn couldn’t answer her smile. 

He grabbed her arm and dragged her close.

“My last relationship lasted
six years
,” he told her. “And I’m not even sure I liked the girl. You, Ginnie…I like
you
. And you’re worth a hell of a lot more than a one night stand.”

Her mouth dropped open like she couldn’t quite believe what he’d said – and maybe Quinn couldn’t believe it himself, but he wasn’t going to take it back.

It was true.  The girl in question had been his by virtue of his rank in the gang, but never once had he thought of her as his by virtue of desire.  The moment he’d been jumped out was the same moment she walked away.  Quinn had barely blinked.

Ginnie, on the other hand, was the kind of girl who would never – should never – be a trophy.

He bent down and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, aware that it was more sweet than sexy, then pulled away.

It was
clearly
time to get out of the room. 

Before he could change his mind, Quinn grabbed her hand, slipped his jacket over her shoulders, and yanked her to the door.

Twenty-Three

Ginnie wasn’t sure if the things Quinn had just said to her were supposed to dampen her desire – or even if they weren’t intended to, ought to anyways.  Either way, they hadn’t.

As they walked through the almost-silent hotel hallway, Ginnie felt a little like the bubbles from the wine had migrated from her stomach to cover every inch of her skin. 

Quinn’s coat smelled like him.  Muted cologne and leather and something musky that screamed of masculinity. 

Screamed?  No, not screamed.  Whispered something low and sexy and naughty in her ear.

His strong hand was wrapped around her smaller one, and his words had wrapped around some other, squishy part inside of her that she didn’t want to say was her heart.  Because that was a bit ridiculous. 

But something that was close to that nonetheless.

So no.  She didn’t want him any less.

And her mind was bubbling, too.

It had never even occurred to Ginnie that Quinn might be a relationship-man.  In fact, if she’d had to make an assumption, it would’ve been that he was the
anti-
relationship type.  The rebound type.  That was how he’d described himself, wasn’t it?

But…

Six years, Quinn had said.

The same length of time she and Lawrence had been together.

Not that the two could be compared.  Or even should be.

And you’re not going to think about what a relationship with
Quinn
would be like,
she told herself.

Six years, though.  That was long enough to build a life with someone.  To get married.  To buy a house, or maybe two, and to talk about having kids, or not having kids.

Ginnie cast a sideways glance at Quinn. 
Did
he have kids?  She bit back an urge to ask.  She was the one who’d insisted that they didn’t really need to know anything about each other.

No matter what his past was – no matter what her
own
past was – this was a live-in-the-moment weekend.  Just like she’d planned.  Like she’d told Jase.

But Quinn liked her.  And she had to admit that made her feel good.  Almost as good as knowing that he thought she looked
in-fucking-credible.

Ginnie savored the way the curse-modified word felt.  The way his voice made it sound so damned sexy.  The way it slipped around her body, even tighter than her outfit, even more intoxicating than the wine. 

And even though she was trying hard to believe that their history didn’t matter, she couldn’t help but wonder...What if they had a week together instead of three days?  Would she want to know even more about him?  And would every detail make her plunge even deeper in lust?

She was so busy musing things over that she almost didn’t notice when they bypassed the elevator.  And when she did pause, two feet past it, Quinn caught her puzzled glance at the sliding doors right away.

“No way,” he said.

“No way what?”

“No way am I getting into a tiny, enclosed space with you.”

And of course, as soon as he said it, there was nothing she wanted
more
than to get into the elevator with him.  She pulled on his hand.

“You’re safe,” she promised. “There’s probably a camera.”

“This from the girl who wants to make pornography.”

Ginnie flushed. “I said
watch
it, not make it.”

“I don’t think you specified.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

Now he tugged on
her
hand. “I forgive you for your lack of attention to detail.”

Ginnie snorted.  If there was anything about herself she knew to be absolutely true, it was that she paid attention – too much of it probably – to details.  Like right then.  Quinn’s brow was furrowed like he wanted to keep saying no, but she saw
his eyes flick to the elevator, noted the dilation of his pupils, and she was damned sure he’d rather be saying yes.  So she refused to be pulled along.  She dug her spiked heels into the hotel corridor carpet.

“You realize at some point you’re going to
have
to get into that elevator with me,” she said.

“Not unless you break a leg while we’re out.”

She let out an exaggerated sigh. “When we’re coming
back
, you’ll be walking behind me up those stairs.”

“And?”

“And what do you think’s riskier? Getting in the elevator, or getting a full view of my ass?”

Without warning, Quinn let go of her hand, and the tug-of-war ended, sending Ginnie stumbling backwards.  She caught herself on the wall behind her, but barely managed to get her footing before he was on her, his heated gaze pinning her to the spot.

“What do
you
think’s riskier?” he asked. “Teasing a man like me, or being
taken
by a man like me?”

Ginnie felt her lower lip drop.  He did look dangerous then, with his gaze grinding into her and the full size of his six foot plus height standing over her.  One bare arm flexed, just a little, drawing her attention to the dancing ink.

Shit. You forgot.

It only took a moment for Ginnie to make sense of the thought. 

In the closed quarters of the hotel room, with his confessions and his refusal to jump into bed, and his role play as the naughty school boy, he’d seemed softer.  A milder version of the tattoo-covered man who’d kissed her when she wasn’t just a stranger but a
complete
stranger, who’d given her an orgasm with words, who was now staring at her like he might devour her.

“Quinn – ”

He cut her off. “Threaten me again.”

“I – What?”

“Threaten to show me that sweet little ass of yours.”

Right.

Her body told her to do it.  Dared her
not
to.  But her mind was kind of whimpering in the background, reminding her about fire and burning and being careful what you wished for.

Quinn took a tiny step forward.  And he was twice as big.  Twice as intimidating.  And a hundred times as appealing.

Ginnie lifted her chin. “I can’t help it if the sight of my ass is more than you can handle.”

His hand shot out, dove under the far-too-big coat she wore, and slammed into the small of her back.  He forced them into the wall and crushed her to his chest, and Ginnie tipped her head up expectantly.  His lips were already close enough to warm her own.  But instead of kissing her, he spoke to her.
“What you said earlier about control? It's true. A hundred percent. I like control. Live it. Use it. Wield it like a fucking sword if I have to. But I can adapt, and I can handle most curves that are thrown my way.” His voice was the very measure of that control – burning desire carefully bridled. “The curve of your ass, though, is a different story. Could I handle it? In a way you can't even imagine. But control? With you? Not a fucking chance.”
With each sentence, his fingers found a different spot to rub.  To caress.  To bring to life.  The swell of her hip.  The dip between her shoulders.  The length of her thigh.  And with each familiar stroke, Ginnie's breathing quickened a little more.  Her chest rose and fell at a distinctly not-fit-for-public rate, her breasts slamming into Quinn's chest, her nipples aching and hard.
Quinn's hand crept across her knee.
"Is that what you want, baby? For me to lose control?"
Yes. Yes, please.
Because Ginnie definitely wanted this side of him, too.  She wanted that edge, that ride with danger.  The man under the tattoos
and
the man showcasing them.
She just couldn't form the words to articulate it.  And the more he touched her, the more he refused to lean down and let their lips meet, the less coherent her mind became, and the more it refused to make her mouth work properly.  Thankfully, as his palm skimmed over once again, her body spoke for her.
Her arms lifted and her hands clasped the back of his neck.  She stood on her tiptoes, trying to drive them closer.  When that wasn't quite enough, she lifted one knee and hooked her leg over his hip.
She was aware that she was more than a little exposed.  Any second, someone could walk by.  Ginnie didn't care.

She could feel every hard inch of him through his pants, and she could feel his heart hammering against her own chest.
He could strip those pants down, just enough to free himself, and he could take me here and now, and I
still
wouldn't care,
Ginnie realized.
“Quinn,” she breathed.
Then the elevator dinged, and someone cleared his throat loudly, and the big man pulled away as a young father with two kids gripping his hands slid past shaking his head.
“Well,” Quinn said, his voice betraying his raw want. “Looks like we can take the elevator after all.”

“We can?” Ginnie replied hopefully.

“Mm hmm.”

He pulled her – still panting and still full of heightened anticipation – into the elevator. 

Which was disappointingly full. 

An elderly couple and a young family crowded the space between her and Quinn.  They couldn’t even touch each other without jostling someone else.  And by the time they reached the lobby floor, it was clear that Quinn had regained that control he’d been lauding minutes earlier.  His face was a carefully schooled mask of respectability, and even though he reached for Ginnie’s hand as they exited, it was a strictly PG, palm-to-palm deal.

Two more seconds,
she thought irritably.
All I needed was two more damned seconds and he would’ve been dragging me back to the bedroom, caveman style.

Instead, he was pausing, pulling back, and giving her appearance a critical onceover.

“First things first,” he said. “Let’s get you a coat that fits properly.”

“A coat?”

“I don’t mind sharing, but when you’re wearing mine, it looks like you’ve got nothing underneath.”

Ginnie was going to argue, but when she glanced down, she saw that he was right.  The jacket dwarfed her.  It fully covered the short skirt and her legs stuck out from the bottom, and the jewelled high heels on her feet drew even more attention to the flasher look.

Oops.

She moved to shrug out of it, but Quinn’s hand clamped down on her shoulder immediately.

“Leave it on. At least for now.”

Ginnie frowned. “But you just said – ”

“I know what I said. And what you’ve got underneath there is
worse
than nothing,” Quinn told her.

She was still going to protest, but he spoke again, and his voice was rough.

“Please, baby.”

And Ginnie could tell that in spite of his expression, the lid on his passion was still close to snapping off.

“All right,” she said sweetly. “I’ll let you buy me something pretty.”

Quinn grabbed her hand again and grumbled, “I’m actually hoping to buy you something hideous.”

Ginnie laughed, but two minutes later, she found herself standing in the boutiques shops adjacent to the hotel lobby, shaking her head vehemently at a hot pink parka.  A very hideous choice.

Twenty-Four

Quinn lifted his hand to his mouth to cover his smile.  He knew he didn’t stand a chance in hell of convincing Ginnie to buy anything that came even close to resembling the ski jacket in front of them, but he figured if he started with the worst possible suggestion, she might be willing to go with something reasonably conservative instead of something as provocative as her current outfit.  Which was clearly designed to kill him, bit by bit.

He had to admit he was also enjoying the horrified look on her face as she ran her fingers along the silver-stranded fur collar.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

“There’s a snow storm out there,” Quinn reminded her.

“And you think
this
is appropriate snow storm attire?”

Quinn picked up the tag. “I think it’s a waterproof, down-lined jacket, good up to twenty degrees below zero. With a five-year warranty.”

“It’s
pink
.”

“So were your underwear.” He raised an eyebrow. “And now, so is your face.”

“Shut up.”

Ginnie lifted the jacket off the rack like she was actually considering it, and Quinn bit back another smile as she held it up to her body.

“You actually think
this
is going to make me look less like I’m naked underneath?” she asked.

“It will once you put on the matching pants.”

“That is
not
happening.”

She slammed the hanger back onto the rack and strode away from the ski jackets toward the back of the store.

Quinn watched her go, admiring the way her swift, irritated pace made his jacket ride up.  His admiration disappeared quickly, though, when he noticed another man giving her legs the same appreciative stare.  Quinn’s mood darkened immediately.  He shot the man a glare, and the ogler jumped and hurried away. 

Just to be sure, Quinn followed the man’s flight until he was out of the store and had disappeared around a corner.

Yeah, that’s right, buddy. Find some other girl to mentally undress.

Then he turned back to Ginnie, who was standing on her tiptoes, trying to grab a coat hanging just above her head.  Her ass was practically hanging out.  Again.

With an exasperated exhale, Quinn crossed the length of the store in four strides, positioned himself behind her, and placed his hands on her hips.  He forced her to flatten her feet to the floor.

“Are you completely unaware of your general effect on every warm-blooded man in a ten-foot radius?” he said into her ear as he reached around her to pull the jacket down. “Or are you deliberately tormenting all of us?”

She leaned into him for a second, then snapped the coat from his hands and pulled away. “You could very easily end the destructive path I’m on. Just take me back to our room.”

“Or you could let me buy you the hot-pink parka.”

She shot him a dirty look. “Buy one for yourself. It’s not as though
you’re
hard on the eyes, either.”

“Every woman that walks by isn’t thinking about what
I’m
wearing under my jacket.”

“Because you’re not
wearing
a jacket. Speaking of which…Hold this?”

Ginnie slid his coat from her shoulders, and just the beginning of bare skin was enough to remind Quinn that he was thinking about what was under the coat himself.  His hands shot out to stop her from undressing any further.

“You’re half-naked under there for real,” he said. “So let’s just leave it on.”

Ginnie rolled her eyes. “I can’t exactly try on the other jacket if you won’t let me take off this one.”

“I’ll buy you one in every size and you can put on the one that fits when we get somewhere…darker.”

The suggestion was ludicrous, and the moment it was out of his mouth, Quinn knew it.  He still meant it.  He waited for Ginnie’s responding sarcasm, but she just took a step forward, which loosened his hold on the jacket.  It fell to her elbows, and she tipped those oh-so-green eyes up at him.

“What is it, exactly, that you’re scared of?” she asked teasingly.

Scared?

Quinn opened his mouth to scoff it off, but the briefest hesitation gave him enough time to consider that it might be true. 

No. 

That it
was
true.

He was scared shitless.  Afraid that the draw he felt to her had more meaning that it should.  Or worse…That it had
less
meaning that he thought it did.  Scared of hurting her.  Scared that a day ago, they hadn’t even met, but today, it made him crazy just thinking about some stranger checking her out.  Scared that he wanted to share personal things with her, things that were true instead of some façade created to keep the undercover operation in play.  Hell, he was even worried that he wasn’t capable of being that real.

“Genevieve…” He trailed off as he realized she wasn’t even looking at him anymore; her eyes were trained to his left, and her expression was pained.

Quinn turned sideways, already knowing what he’d find.

Dr. Douchebag. And his groupie girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit,” he muttered.

The fake-tanned asshole was swaying a little on his feet, and Quinn knew the man was drunk.  Not in a nice, shared a bottle of sparkling wine with a pretty girl tipsy way, but wasted as hell.  He tripped and bumped into a woman, and the man beside her righted the jerk and shook his head before moving on again.  The doctor stumbled and took two steps nearer to Quinn and Ginnie.

Fight or flight.

Quinn wasn’t entirely against the first, but he knew there was sometimes a need for the second, too.

“We should go,” he said quickly.

“Too late.”

Ginnie was right.  Her ex had spotted them and was weaving in their direction.  He was already close enough that Quinn could smell the liquor.

Fight it is.

As he got even closer, a sales clerk – the first one Quinn had seen since they came in – darted her nervous gaze from one man to the other, then took a miniature step toward them.  Quinn shot her a quick headshake, then turned himself all the way around, making a wall between him and Ginnie just as the doctor stopped directly in front of them.

The other man’s hand sought a clothing rack for stability, missed it once, then twice, then managed to grab it on the third attempt. 

“Can I help you?” Quinn asked coolly.

“You have something that’s mine,” came the slurred reply.

Quinn’s temper flared.
Like hell she’s yours.

Except a heartbeat-long assessment told him that the doctor wasn’t referring to Ginnie at all.  He was talking directly
to
her, his glassy-eyed glare sliding right past Quinn.

“Give them back,” he ordered. “You’re fucking with my
life
.”

He made a stumbling lunge past Quinn, but Quinn’s hand shot out and closed on his arm.

“Hey!”

Quinn ignored both his cry and the way he cringed under his grip.

“Lawrence, is it?” he asked.

His voice was calm, but on the inside, his blood was moving through his veins at a slow boil.

Seriously. How had Ginnie
ever
been married to this guy?

“What’s it fucking to you?”

“Second time you’ve caused a problem for Ginnie. I just want to make sure I’ve got your name right when your girlfriend comes crying to me and I have to apologize to her for kicking the shit out of you. Speaking of which…Shouldn’t you be attending to her instead of hassling us?”

Dr. Douchebag didn’t take the not too subtle hint.  He tried to shake off Quinn, and when it didn’t work, he glared up sullenly.

“I need to talk to my w – to Ginnie. Alone.”

“Not happening.”

“She’s got stuff that belongs to me.”

“Still not happening.”

“Shouldn’t
she
have a say?”

Quinn’s preference would’ve been to flatten Lawrence outright, but the man had a tiny point.  Ginnie was an extremely capable woman.  She could tell him to go fuck himself on her own.

And if she doesn’t?

Quinn gritted his teeth at the idea.  Then he’d find a different excuse to knock the other man on his ass.

He stepped back, just enough that both of them had a view of Ginnie, who’d pulled Quinn’s coat tight around her body.  Whose face was more emotionless than Quinn had seen it.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Lawrence,” she stated, her voice a match to her expression.

“There you go,” Quinn said, his own tone full of satisfaction. “Go back your girl and leave mine alone.”

“Ginnie isn’t your goddamned girl,” the other man growled. 

It was all Quinn could take.

Fight or flight.

Own or be owned.

Kiss or kill.

He spun toward Ginnie, slid his arm around her waist, and pulled her close.  He didn’t give her a chance to react.  He just slammed his mouth into hers.  He dug his palm into the small of her back and forced her lips open with his tongue.  Very quickly, he forgot why he was doing it, forgot that he’d stolen the kiss to show up the man who’d once been married to the woman in his arms.

Ginnie melted into him, her fingers creeping up the back of his neck and finding purchase in his hair.

She was so damned sweet-tasting.  So damned sweet-feeling.

She moaned a little against his mouth.

Quinn pulled back, turning the kiss tender.  He ran his fingers under her coat, up her spine, then back down again.  He dragged his mouth from her lips to her chin, then along her throat.

My goddamned girl.

That’s what he wanted.  Even if it was just for the rest of the weekend.

And he needed her to know.

He brought his hands up to her face and poured that need into their contact.  When he finally eased away, they were both breathing heavily.

“I’ll take you back upstairs,” he offered softly. “If you still want me to.”

“We can go out,” she replied, her words just as low. “If that’s what
you
want.”

“We can go back upstairs,
then
go out.”

“Compromise. I like it. But it might mean we have to miss out on a little fake-Vegas action.”

“For fuck sake!” Lawrence snapped, temporarily breaking the spell.

Quinn reined in another urge to send the other man to the ground.

He let out a thick breath and said instead, “Their bag
is
up in our room.”

“So I guess we
have
to go up there anyway then? Fake-Vegas or not…”

“I guess we do.”

“Compromise
and
sacrifice. We should hurry.”

Quinn turned and shot Lawrence a smirk. “I’d say I hope you can keep up, but what I’m really hoping is that you’ll fall flat on your face, break your nose, and spend the rest of your weekend in whatever passes for a hospital here in Asscrack, Colorado.”

Then he slid his fingers between Ginnie’s, pulled her from store, and didn’t bother to look and see if Lawrence was behind them or not.