Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (27 page)

Thirty-Six

Quinn took a large sip of his lemonade and pointedly kept his eyes off of the semi-automatic weapon which lay across PJ James’ lap.  He couldn’t help but notice that Lawrence was having an enormous amount of trouble doing the same. 

Since the second PJ had started his little passive-aggressive routine – cold drinks, loaded gun and small talk that revolved around who the man had punished this week and for what – Lawrence had been looking squirrelly enough to set Quinn’s teeth on edge.  Even now, in spite of the cranked up air conditioning, a sheen of sweat laced the other man’s brow.  Every few seconds he
did
manage to look away from the weapon.  But it was no better – Lawrence would pause, lick his lips, then seek the hall which led to the door with his gaze.  Then stare at the gun once more.

Quinn might’ve rolled his eyes at the display if he hadn’t thought it would draw to much attention to the fact that he cared at all what the other man was up to.

He wished he
didn’t
care. 

But you
do
care.

Because Ginnie’s life was riding on the asshole who kept himself disguised as a doctor.

And you need him to calm the hell down before he gives you away.

Hoping Lawrence would take the hint and do the same, Quinn kept his attention on PJ James. 

The man didn’t look much different than Quinn remembered him.  A little gaunter, a little more worn.  He was a wiry blond, fiftyish and maybe looking a bit closer to it.  At the moment, he wore a robe and a scowl, and he bristled with the same intensity as he always had – the one that made the casual observer assume he was dipping into his own stash.  Quinn knew better.  PJ was as sober as they came.  That energy he exuded was simply a result of the man having far too much deviant creativity and always searching an outlet.  Which Quinn had no interest in providing.

He took a breath and started to speak. “PJ – ”

His former boss put up his hand, silencing him.  A bad sign.

“Tell me something, Quinn,” PJ said slowly. “Why shouldn’t I break my no-killing-on-a-Sunday rule?”

At the end of the question, Lawrence flinched, and this time Quinn did roll his eyes.  When he spoke, though, he directed his statement to PJ directly.

“You and I both know you wouldn’t dirty your hands.”

PJ ran his fingers up the gun. “Fine. Then tell me why I’m wishing I hadn’t given my guy a day off for church.”

“There are
so
many things wrong with that statement,” Quinn replied.

PJ leaned back in his chair. “Give me three.”

“What?”

“Name three things wrong with the statement and I’ll consider not ensuring that you two never leave the desert.”

Quinn suppressed an overwhelming sense of defeat.  He knew from experience that PJ was serious.  The man liked his games.

“One. You don’t give guys a day off. Two. Church? Actually, scratch off that thing about days off. Church counts as three by itself.”

At last his old boss cracked a small smile.

Thank fucking God.

PJ nodded toward Lawrence. “Why are you hanging out with this asshole, Quinn?”

Quinn’s eyes flicked in the doctor’s direction.  Then he shrugged.

“It’s nice to make new friends.”

“As I recall, you don’t
have
friends.”

“It’s been two years. A man can change.”

“There’s not enough time in the world to turn you into a friend of
this
guy.” PJ narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me the truth? When you walked away from the Black Daggers, I never expected to see you again. And I would’ve bet my left testicle that you wouldn’t show up here.”

“To be fair, I didn’t walk away,” Quinn corrected. “I took a shot in the chest, got laid up in bed, forcibly jumped out of the Black Daggers, then got marked up by a tattoo artist whom
you
sneaked into the hospital. The walking happened a lot later.”

PJ’s next smile was a little bigger. “See? You haven’t changed that much at all. Now. Tell me about the asshole.”

“It’s simple,” Quinn lied. “He’s doing me a favor and I’m doing one in return.”

“You do favors even less than you do friends.” PJ gave him a considering look. “Lawrence owes me money. I owe
you
my life. So I’m thinking…What the hell is so important to you that you’d be willing to trade on
that
?”

As if in answer to his former boss’s thoughtful question, a chiming doorbell rang through the room.

PJ frowned, then stood up, gun in hand. “I’m starting to think that I
really
picked the wrong day to be here alone. Quinn…Keep an eye on the asshole while I answer the door.”

The second the other man exited, Lawrence rounded on him.

“Don’t even bother,” Quinn said, voice low.

“Don’t bother?” the doctor replied angrily. “You’re sitting there drinking your lemonade and you haven’t said a single fucking word about the prescriptions.”

“I will.” As he went on, Quinn spoke slowly, like he was talking to a child. “But I couldn’t just lead in with,
Hey PJ…It’s been two years, but I need you to forgive this guy’s debt of a half mil…Thanks
. There’s a little more finesse involved in re-establishing trust with man who trusts almost no one.” He paused and smiled darkly. “And hey. It’s working. He asked me to guard you, didn’t he?”

“Very funny. I – ” Lawrence snapped his mouth shut as PJ stepped back into the room.

“Do me a favor, Mcdavid?” the blond man asked.

Quinn gave him a quick nod. “Sure.”

“Stand outside of the spare room while a pretty girl name Liv changes into something more appropriate for our negotiations.” He made the statement keenly.  Expectantly.

Was it supposed to mean something significant?  Was he supposed to recognize the name?

Quinn wracked his brain.

Liv?

No.  Not someone he knew.  So he did a mental shrug, then stood. 

He’d do whatever he had to, to get PJ to listen to him.

But as he came to his feet, he caught a glance of Lawrence’s face, and the quick look told him that whoever Liv was, she sure as hell meant something to the other man.  His sweaty visage had grown pale, and now his gun-hallway-lip-lick routine included an extra-long pause at the hallway.  The bedrooms were down there.

Quinn forced himself to move without looking back, but he knew already that PJ noticed the change in Lawrence, too.  It was evidenced in his slow, dangerous smile and the statement he made as Quinn ducked into the hall.

“All right, doctor. I’m setting my watch. You have exactly fifteen minutes to explain to me why Liv is so eager to discuss both your finances and your relationship with me.”

Shit.

Liv had to be the brunette who’d been hanging off Lawrence on the plane. 

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall opposite the closed door, envy-tinged worry making him tap his lip ring furiously.

Envy? What the hell – Oh.

Liv, the overly made-up, sex toy wielding, lingerie toting Barbie doll cared enough about Lawrence to follow him to a drug dealer’s house.  To fight for him, even if it meant risking her own safety.  While the woman
Quinn
loved sent him packing because of his own history with the very same drug dealer.  Which made him not good enough.

So.  Envy.  Yeah, that made a stupid kind of sense.

Quinn growled, shoved himself off the wall again, and paced the hall.  He itched to knock down the door and demand answers.

Why the hell had the girl followed them?  What did that mean for Ginnie?  Was she okay? 

Seconds later, he got his excuse.  A thump followed by a muffled curse carried from inside the room. 

Perfect.

Without pausing to consider propriety, Quinn swung the door wide.  And there she was.  Ass on the floor, bare feet sticking out from under a bed sheet, hands holding that same bed sheet up in what should have been an amusingly aggressive way.  Except it wasn’t amusing.  Because the girl wasn’t Liv at all.

It was Ginnie.

Oh, fuck.

Christ.  He’d
missed
her.  Six hours had felt like a year.

Almost, he opened his mouth to tell her.  Almost.

She sent you away.

He grabbed onto the mental reminder.  Held it against his heart like a cattle brand.  Used it to steel himself.

Thirty-Seven

Ginnie let out a little yelp, then struggled to scramble to her feet as she stared up at the intruder.

Quinn. Oh, god.

For a solitary second, he leaned forward as though he might help her up.  And for that same second, desire – unwanted but utterly unstoppable – coursed through Ginnie.  Then a half a dozen emotions flickered across Quinn’s face.  And he stopped.  He stilled his movement and his expression, and he let Ginnie stand up on her own.

A crushed-in feeling hit her in the chest.

There was a new raggedness to his appearance, she thought.  His eyes were tight, his lips pressed together in a controlled slash.  The lightness he’d shown all weekend was gone.  He looked…heavy.

My fault.

Guilt joined the ache in her heart, and she opened her mouth to say something – she wasn’t sure what – but Quinn beat her to it.

“What are you going to do with that sheet, Genevieve?” he asked, his voice heartbreakingly cool. “Wrap me up to death?”

Working at
not
flinching, she pulled the offending sheet to her body, fixed him with a glare, and schooled her own tone to an aloofness that matched his. 

“People have been suffocated by less,” she informed him.

“I suppose that’s true. Still. I would’ve pegged you for a poisoner.”

“And I wouldn’t have pegged
you
for a cop.”

His face went deadly still. “How the fuck did – Never mind. Breathe a word of that again, and we’re both as good as dead.”

“So it’s true?”

A short nod. “Doesn’t make a difference, though, does it?”

Crap.

How did he manage to sound so…casual about his own life?  It made her want to reach out and draw him into her arms.

But you can’t,
she reminded herself.
Because you did your best to make sure he wouldn’t want you to.

And there was no time for self-pity about it.  She needed to forget her feelings about Quinn and focus on her feelings about
saving
him.

But it was hard to do.  Especially when he strode across the room to the bed, bent his long legs and sat down.  Like he belonged there. 

Then he rested his elbows on his knees, and his shirt billowed out, exposing that unique tattoo of his, distracting Ginnie to the point of a dry mouth and weak knees.  When he tipped his head to one side and tapped at his lip ring, Ginnie wanted to cry.

In three days, so many parts of him had become familiar to her, so many of his gestures and habits felt like coming home.

There was nothing she wanted to do more than climb into his arms and stay there.  If his face hadn’t been indifferent, she might’ve been unable to stop herself from doing it.

“So,” he said. “You wanna tell me what the hell you’re doing here and why you told PJ that your name is Liv?”

“For Lawrence,” she lied.

Quinn stiffened, but relaxed again so quickly that Ginnie thought maybe she’d imagined it.

“Hmm,” he said.

“Hmm what?”

“I know it’s been a few hours, but from what I understand, you and Lawrence are no longer attached. At the hip, or otherwise. If I’m wrong, correct me.”

Color crept up Ginnie’s face – then down. “You’re not wrong.”

“So cut the bullshit. Why the hell are you here for him?”

Ginnie took a breath and told the one-word story she’d rehearsed ad nauseam on the plane from Huntingdon to Las Vegas. “Money.”

“What?”

“I want my half of Lawrence’s money. And I’m not leaving without it.”

Quinn’s mouth twisted. “Well. That’s just fucking amazing.”

Ginnie blinked as the tears threatened again, then forced herself to speak in a strong voice. “I need you to leave the room.”

“Fat fucking chance.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little underdressed. And I have to get changed. Your boss
ordered
me to.”

Quinn looked at her for a long moment, then glanced around the room.  Ginnie’s gaze followed his.  First, it landed on her T-shirt –
his
T-shirt really – and the pair of airplane-print boxers which she’d left in a crumpled pile on the floor.  Next, it found the pale pink dress had been laid out on the armchair in the corner.  Finally, it came back to rest on her.

And Ginnie realized he
hadn’t
noticed.

She was standing in the middle of the room, the sheet pulled around her body like a shield, and he
hadn’t noticed.

For some reason, that was as upsetting as his meanness and his coldness combined. 

“So if you could excuse me…” she prodded, trying not to sound as annoyed as she felt.

“No.”

“No?”

“PJ told me to keep an eye on
Liv,
so I’m keeping my fucking eye on her. On you. And as it happens, I’ve seen you naked before. So again. Fat fucking chance.”

At his blasé tone – so at odds with his angry-sounding words – Ginnie’s temper flared. “You want to cut the bullshit? Fine. Lose the asshole act and quit dropping the F-bomb every five seconds!”

“This isn’t an act. This is me, showing you just how perfectly I fit into one of those tidy boxes you like so much.”

“Fuck the tidy boxes!” Ginnie cried, so loud that Quinn whipped his head toward the door.

Oops.

She watched him stride to the door, then close it gently.  When he turned back toward her, his face was dark.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of this current situation,” he growled, low and intense.

“Of course I do.”

He took a step closer. “I somehow doubt it.”

“Why do you think I – ” She cut herself off quickly.

“Why do I think you
what
?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what I was going to say.”

He took another step closer. “That’s a lie.”

“No, it’s not.”

Another step. “I call more bullshit.”

He was close enough to touch.  Close enough that she could smell his soft, masculine scent.  Warmth crept up under the thin sheet she held.

Oh, god.

She took a step backward so she could turn and snap up the borrowed dress from the chair.  Pretending she didn’t care, Ginnie dropped the sheet and slipped the pink cotton over her head, then yanked it down firmly. 

“PJ’s waiting,” she stated, her tone even.

“PJ is a killer, Ginnie,” Quinn replied bluntly.

“I know.”

“Then you also know that you need to leave.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

She spun again and moved to go past him.  Instead, one of his hands shot out, grabbed her elbow, and pulled her directly in front of him. 

“You’re right. I don’t get to tell you what to do,” he said. “But if PJ hurts you, I don’t know what
I’ll
do. And quite frankly, I’m feeling a little unstable.”

Ginnie lifted her face, prepared to tell him off.  But the second she met his gaze, she couldn’t do it.  Because any pretence of indifference was gone.  His features were pained, his amber eyes agonized.  Yet somehow…still full of unfathomable longing.

He ran his free hand over his faux-hawk and choked out her name. “Ginnie…”

And him caring…him hurting like that…She couldn’t take it.  Instead of opening her mouth, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed it into his.

As she gave him the gentle kiss, Quinn stood stock still.  So still that Ginnie pulled away, an ache in her heart and an apology on her lips.  But the words never made their way out.

Quinn reached down, slipped a hand to the small of her back, and dragged her close again.  He stared straight into her eyes with wordless emotion, asking a question that made Ginnie’s throat tighten.

Don’t cry,
she ordered herself.

But when she nodded, the first tear slipped out.  And by the time he leaned down, they were pouring freely down her face.  Ginnie didn’t know if they were happy tears, or relieved, or something else entirely.  She just knew that she needed Quinn.  So badly.  She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought she could live without him.

He ran a finger down her chin, tracing the trail of tears.  His lips were so near to hers that she could feel their heat.

Please don’t stop,
she begged silently.

And he didn’t.

Oh, thank god.

This time when their mouths met, his was animated.  Alive.  Warm.  Perfect.

Home.

Ginnie slid her hands to his shoulders and dug her fingers into Quinn’s hair.

And the kiss became urgent.  Almost needy.

Quinn pressed into her, his body enveloping her. 

Almost needy?

No.  There was nothing almost about it.

The hard length of his erection jammed against her thigh, and Ginnie let out tiny gasp.  She was hot.  Ready.

And he’s still not close enough.

She pulled away just enough to slide her fingers to the button of his jeans.  She only fumbled for a second before it sprung open.  The sound of the zipper dropping was somehow deafeningly sexy.  It carried over their sharp breaths and had a decisiveness to it that sent Ginnie’s already spiked heart rate even higher. 

Quinn brought his hands to her thighs, lifted the bottom of her dress, then lifted
her.
  He carried her across the room, and for a moment Ginnie assumed he would take her to the bed.  But he didn’t do anything so delicate.  Instead, he slammed her to the wall, his wide palms both cushioning and silencing the impact.  He held her in place tightly with one hand and she could feel him using the other to slide his jeans down.

She wished she could touch him.  But she sensed that there was no time.  And this wasn’t a sweet and loving release anyway.  It was a desperate meshing of two souls.  Two bodies.

Hurry, hurry.

Like he could read her mind, and without preamble, Quinn thrust forward, penetrating her.  For one second, there was pain.  He drew back, then forward again, and fullness replaced the soreness.  On the third thrust, Ginnie’s body opened to him, wet and waiting. 

Yes.

Quinn’s hips worked quicker.  Harder.

Yes again.

He gripped her with one hand and flattened the other to the wall above their heads, driving himself into her.

And impossible heat ripped through Ginnie.

Soon. Too soon.

But there was nothing she could do to slow it down.

With a silent cry, she tossed her head back and let herself go.  And as she pulsed around every inch of him, she felt an answering throb, deep inside.  Quinn moaned against her throat.

And then he ripped himself away, leaving her empty.