Knitting in the City 01 Neanderthal Seeks Human (44 page)

He
licked his lips and, to my surprise, his neck and cheeks tinted slightly hot. “What were you thinking about my mouth?”

“I like it.”

“What do you like about it?”

Without hesitating I responded, “Everything, the shape of it, how big your lips are,
your tubercle, the curve of your philtrum. Did you know that in traditional Chinese medicine, the shape and color of the philtrum, also called the medial cleft, is supposed to be connected to- or, rather- have direct correlation to the health of a person’s reproductive system?”

I noticed his eyes flicker to the space between my nose and mouth, seemingly
without his expressed consent, then quickly back to my eyes, “How about that.”

I nodded, “There are a lot of fascinating and unusual studies out there that link the shape of a person’s mouth- so,
report a correlational relationship- to other parts of the human anatomy and its abilities… proclivities.”

I noticed his breathing had changed. He swallowed, “Like what?”

I traced my finger over the top of his lip, enjoying the fact that I was actually using my knowledge of random facts as some sort of brainy, academic foreplay and that Quinn seemed to like it, respond to it.

“Like the Cupid’s bow, the double curve of the upper lip. A study out of Scotland reported that women with a prominent cupid’s bow are more likely to experience orgasm during sex.”

Quinn’s attention once again affixed to my lips then he promptly groaned. “You shouldn’t say things like that when I can’t do anything about it.”

I enjoyed the tortured sound
he made and once again met his gaze, which had darkened considerably.

Another smolder.
I tried to keep my face straight.

“
Then there is the distinction between extrinsic and intrinsic musculature of the tongue-”

“You need to stop talking.” Quinn grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back, claiming my mouth with his and ending my involuntary bubble of laughter.

When he lifted his mouth I whispered, “Most of the tongue’s blood supply comes from the lingual artery.”

He kissed me again and again.

If I’d been listening to our ensuing kiss-sloppy conversation, been an observer rather than a participant, I might have rolled my eyes and shook my head in judgmental exasperation. Admittedly, it was improbable that peer-reviewed medical research citations and correlative studies of human anatomy could get a person, let alone two people, hot and bothered. But, there we were, pawing each other with mounting urgency as I recounted theories linking the amount of hair on earlobes and genital arousal.

By the time the limo stopped we were
, rounding up, half dressed and the buttons of my shirt were scattered all over the floor. Naturally Quinn had ripped the shirt open with a growl when I mentioned mammary glands.

I frantically pulled away and grasped the
useless edges of my shirt, “Oh shit!”

Quinn was still somewhat lost in a fog of lust and moved his hand further up my inner thigh, his mouth seeking mine again. I swatted him away despite the fact that everywhere he touched me protested like the other 99%
against Wall Street and mortgage lending practices. Nonsensically, I tried to smooth my hair,
tsking
when my shirt opened again.

“What am I going to do?”

Quinn, finally drawing away from me, pulled a sweater over his bare chest with not a trace of hurry. He lifted a single eyebrow as he adjusted his pants, zipping his fly. The sound made my back stiffen and I realized how close we’d just been to copulating in the back of a car.

“I think you look good just like that.”

I stared at him for two seconds before I smacked him on his infuriatingly well-muscled shoulder.

“My shirt is ripped open and…” I frantically twisted in my seat and may have shrieked, “Where are my underwear?!”

There was no amusement in his voice when he responded, “Someplace safe.”

My eyes widened further and, I knew, my mouth hung open
dumbly. I was about to lose my mind.

“Give them back-”

“You don’t need them-”

“
-to me right now-”

“-
and you should try new things-”

“
I am not leaving this limo while commando!”

The passenger door on Quinn’s side opened and I yanked the skirt I was wearing back to my mid-calf. I didn’t miss his dark smile when it was clear that I was not likely to push the underwear issue further until we were in private. And, by then, it likely wouldn’t matter.

Quinn reached for his leather jacket and draped it around my shoulders, zipping the front up to my neck. I swam in the largeness of it; but at least I wasn’t going to be walking around with my shirt hanging open. He exited the limo then held his hand out to me at the
threshold. I moved and stood as demurely as possible. When he cleared his throat I met his gaze and he winked at me, surreptitiously yet suggestively licking his lips.

I followed where he led.

~*~

Sometime later, near midnight, Quinn gave me my underwear back on the promise that I would wear only underwear until sunrise.
The only other option was my birthday suit as he’d confiscated all my other clothes and hidden them someplace within the massive penthouse he referred to as home.

Of course he lived in the penthouse.

It was the same building where ‘the boss’ had purchased five floors for Cypher Systems staff. At first, when we arrived, I thought we were headed to the apartment he’d shown me before; my imagination filled with images of us
Tubinn
together in the giant bathtub. Quinn’s tub, as it turned out, was far superior.

As was the view. And the kitchen. And the bedrooms.

Although, it was nearly as sparsely decorated as the unfurnished and unfinished apartment downstairs we’d previously toured weeks ago. There was no couch or chairs in the living room, no table in the dining room, and only a single dresser and bed in the bedroom- box springs and mattress on the floor, no frame. There were no pictures either.

I had a sheet wrapped around myself and, turning away from him,
I glanced down at my underwear. They were white cotton and, as I contemplated it, not at all sexy. Most of my undergarments were chosen for comfort, cost, and practicality. I eyeballed him as I pulled on the granny panties, keeping the sheet in place to nonsensically preserve my modesty.

“
Why did you hijack my underwear?”

Quinn was lying on his
back, his long form stretched on the unmade bed, his hands behind his head, watching me.

He was completely naked. No sheet for him. Nope. No modesty for Quinn. He appeared to be entirely, mindlessly, at ease in his own skin. I envied his unabashed ability to
Just. Be. Naked.

I also appreciated it.

“I hate them.” His gaze swept from where the sheet covered my bottom to my bare shoulder then back to my hidden thighs; the way he perused my body made me shiver.

I snapped the elastic at my waist
beneath the sheet, “Is it because they lack frill?”

He shook his head lazily, “No.
I don’t care what they look like. I hate all your underwear.”

I
frowned, “So you’re an equal opportunity underwear hater?”

“
Only your underwear.”

“
Underwear serves a critical purpose.”

“I don’t want to know.”

He sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and reached for me by moving aside the edges of the sheet and hooking a finger in the band of the much discussed panties. He brought me to his lap, encouraging me to straddle him, then peeled the sheet from my under my arms. He kept his eyes on mine while extracting the material then crumpled it, tossed it away from us. I shivered. He wrapped his arms around my middle so that his arms crossed behind me and his hands warmed the skin of my sides and stomach, my front against his.

“You’re staying with me tonight.
No escape.”

I spread my palms over his bare
biceps, “You haven’t given me much of a choice, you’ve even taken my sheet. I can’t go home clothed only in granny panties. It’s supposed to be cold tonight.”

He nuzzled my neck and tightened his grip, pressing our chests together. Although I was thoroughly mussed and mollified from our evening of marathon love maki
ng, my heart skipped in at the contact.

“
It’s supposed to be cold tomorrow too. Why did you leave your coat at work?” he asked the words against my skin, kissing a path across my collar bone then biting my shoulder.

I was r
eally and truly enjoying physical contact to the point of craving it, yet I did not allow myself to wonder at this inexplicable transformation. My spoken reply was an automatic, thoughtless, breathy sigh, “I didn’t, Jem took it.”

Quinn immediately
stiffened and his movements stilled. Abruptly his hands moved to my forearms and he pulled away even as he held me in place, “You saw Jem?”

I met his astonished glare and my mouth struggled to make sound. I squeaked once or twice before I managed to respond, “Yes.”

His eyes seared and scorched, pinning me with an accusatory stare; “When? Where?”

“I- I- I saw her last night. She was- at my- she was waiting for me at my apartment.”

“Damn.” Quinn clenched his teeth, his jaw and temple ticking, and pulled me abruptly against him in a fierce hug. “Damn it, Janie. You should have called me.”

“She didn’t stay long.” I held on to him tightly even though I didn’t precisely understand the ferocity of his reaction.

We held each other for a long moment.
My encounter with Jem had been weighing on me like a squatting Sumo wrestler all the previous night and through the morning; but I hadn’t thought about her since Quinn showed up in my office with his greasy lunch offering.

I moved my hand in a slow circle over his bare back, a motion I hoped would sooth the unexpected shift in mood; I kissed his temple then whispered, “I don’t understand why you are so upset.”

“
Because Jem is dangerous.” I felt his chest expand; he sucked in a capacious breath as though greedy for air, “I don’t want her anywhere near to you.”

I leaned back, forced him to meet my gaze, “She would never hurt me.”

His eyes only narrowed, “You’re wrong. She would.” His voice was like steel, “I really think you should move into this building.”

I pressed my lips together but didn’t respond.

His hands moved to my face, giant palms cupping my cheeks, long fingers pushing into my hair behind my ears and at my temples, “Please. You don’t have to stay here forever. Just please show Elizabeth the apartment and think about it. Think about staying until this Jem business is resolved.”

“Quinn, I-” my hands moved up his biceps and settled lightly on his forearms, “You are my boss. You are also the guy I am dating and now you want to be my landlord?”

He winced then gritted his teeth, “It’s not like that.”

“Just one of those things
, relationships, can complicate, does complicate interactions between two people. You can’t be everything to me. I have to stand on my own.”

He studied me, his stare turning hawkish; “You could move in with me.”

I smiled even though my heart felt heavy, “We’ve been dating less than a month and, besides, I can’t afford even one tenth of the rent on this penthouse.”

“
I own this place. There is no rent.”

“Quinn-”

He cut me off with a kiss, turning me- us- until I was lying under him on the bed.

“Just- don’t say no.” He kissed me again, “Not yet.” He kissed my neck, his words and breath were hot and urgent, “I’ll give you the key and the code to the building. Promise me you’ll show Elizabeth the apartment.” He nibbled on my ear and whispered, “And promise me you’ll think about moving in with me.”

I nodded but not mindlessly. I wanted to pacify him so we could get to the good stuff.

He pulled away and his eyes surveyed me, moved between mine, “Promise me.”

I nodded again and lifted my hand to tousle his hair, “I promise.”

~*~

At some point in the last forty-eight hours Quinn had brought my bag from the Vegas trip to his apartment. Therefore, and thankfully, I was able to dress in fresh clothes, ones with buttons, before heading to work.

I learned a bit more about Quinn as a consequence of spending the night at his place; he doesn’t really sleep, he exercises every morning, he eats pastries for breakfast. Quinn was up by five and back from a long run by six thirty.

After his shower he woke me up in the most pleasant way imaginable.

Yes. That way.