Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (13 page)

Fifteen

Coherent thought had left Ginnie’s brain, and Quinn had taken up residence instead.  She wasn’t sure what it was that pushed her over the edge – if it was the fierce look in his eyes before he swooped her from the ground, or the raw sexuality in every move he made, or the easy way he tossed out sly smiles and clever banter.  All she knew was that he filled her senses and still she wanted more.

Hurry,
she thought as he carried her to their hotel room.

Their room.

Yes.  It solved the dilemma around whose it was.  It could belong to both of them.

The realization sent further tendrils of warmth through her already aching body.  Her thighs tightened on Quinn.  She loved the way he felt between her legs; she hated the fabric that separated them.  She shifted, trying to push aside the denim of his jeans and the pleats of her skirt.  Quinn drew in a hissing breath as Ginnie succeeded just enough to feel the bare flesh of her inner thigh graze the skin of his hips.

Why was five feet of hallway taking so long?

“Hurry,” she urged, this time out loud.

“Bag,” he replied with a grunt.

“Not mine,” Ginnie murmured automatically.

But Quinn ignored her, and paused to grab the suitcase.  And she forgot about her protest, because when he bent to pick up the bag, she slid down his body and straight into his erection.  For a dizzying second, Ginnie got a glimpse of how the real thing was going to feel.  Her head spun.  Her lips tingled.  Her pulse throbbed.  And all of it drove an incredible awareness, right between her thighs.

She heard Quinn’s remembered voice in her mind.
How’d you get so wet anyway?

She wanted to cry out,
You.
You
make made me this wet.

She bit down on her lip to keep from doing it.  They were at the door now, and Quinn shouldered it open – thank God it wasn’t one that closed and locked automatically – then used his bare foot to kick it shut behind them.

The bed was just steps away.

And thank God for that, too.

“Baby.”

The word was a throaty rumble, like it had been drawn not just from Quinn’s mouth, but from his whole chest.  Or maybe even deeper.  From his gut.  From his entire being.

Ginnie shivered.

“Please, Quinn,” she said, not sure how exactly to ask for what she wanted.  What she needed.

“Yes,” he replied, like he knew anyway.

Then he loosened his grip on her bag, and it fell to the ground.  The soft-sided suitcase landed with a thud, followed by a decisive pop.  A satiny pair of panties, tag still attached, flew upwards, then floated down again and landed on the edge of the bed.  And suddenly the whole floor was littered with lingerie.  Lace and leather and slips of fabric that were far too small to cover
any
thing.

The plastic badge.

And the handcuffs.

Why, oh why, hadn’t she tossed those away?

Then something rolled –
thump, thump, thump –
along the floor.

Oh no.

The blood drained from Ginnie’s face as she watched Quinn look down, puzzlement furrowing his brow.  In slow motion, Ginnie aligned her stare with his, stared at what it was that made him bite down on that lip ring of his.

A big.  Shiny.  Purple.  Dildo.

There was no mistaking what it was, no mistaking its all-too-real shape resting on top of Quinn’s toes.  His quizzical gaze lifted to meet Ginnie’s horrified one.

Good job,
she thought.
You just invented an entirely new level of embarrassment.

And every ounce of abandonment faded.

“This has
got
to be a sign,” she muttered.

“A sign?” Quinn echoed.

“That this is a mistake.”

“Ginnie…”

“Oh, come
on
,” she said, then realized it would be hard to take her seriously while she was still wrapped around him and added, “Can you put me down?”

He set her very gently on the floor. “This isn’t a mistake.”

But being on solid ground stabilized Ginnie’s thoughts even further, and they came tumbling out. “We pretended to have sex on a plane. The plane had to make an emergency landing. We kissed on that plane. I got taken into custody. We do this and…” She trailed off and waved her hand around the room. “The universe is telling us to stop.”

Quinn looked around the room again. “You think that the universe used your underwear to tell us not to have sex?”

“That’s not
my
stuff.”

“Oh. You’re just holding it for a friend?”

“Not exactly. Just – Never mind.” Ginnie sighed. “That stupid bag is what got me detained at the airport.”

“So which is it?”

“Which is what?”

“Is it this
bag
that made Gilligan stop you, or the universe?”

“It’s the same thing!”

Quinn crossed his arms over his bare chest, and his jeans slipped down, and Ginnie had to forcibly keep her eyes on his face.  Especially when he took a step closer and she could see every detail of his tattoos over every detail of his muscles.

“Ginnie,” he said. “The snowstorm wrecked our flight, that bag got you stopped, and as far as sexy panties flying around the room go…Not what I’d call a turnoff on my end.”

Ginnie felt like her stomach was going to cave it. “But they’re
not
my sexy underwear.”

“You were serious about that?”

“Somehow, my bag – which is the Dr. Lawrence Michaels special, apparently – got mixed up with this one. Which must belong to the girl he’s with.” Ginnie sank down on the bed and added bitterly, “On the plus side…At least now I know what I was lacking in the bedroom.”

Anger flashed across Quinn’s face. “You’re not lacking
anything
in the bedroom.”

“Except imagination.”

Ginnie felt ridiculous, arguing with him about it when the proof was spread out across the room.  She sank down to the edge of the bed, then began to shake.  Without the heat of desire dancing through her, she was freezing.

In a heartbeat, Quinn was at her side, drawing the quilt up from the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Did he tell you that, too?” Quinn’s voice had an edge that conflicted heavily with his tender actions.

“N-n-no,” Ginnie replied through chattering teeth. “He d-d-didn’t even t-t-tell me about th-th-this.”

“He didn’t tell you about his fantasies?”

“N-n-no.”

“So he didn’t even give you a chance.”

Quinn muttered it so quietly that Ginnie wasn’t even sure he intended her to hear it.  She answered anyway.

“It d-d-doesn’t matter,” she said.

“Of course it matters.”

Quinn slid backwards on the bed, then pulled Ginnie back, too.  When she resisted, he sighed loudly.

“Don’t fight with me,” he said. “I’m just trying to stop you from getting hypothermia.”

“R-r-right.”

“It’s a choice between cuddling like this and stripping down and using body heat, Ginnie. You pick.”

Her face warmed. “N-n-not much of a ch-ch-choice.”

“C’mon, Ginnie” he cajoled. “You’re wrapped in a grandma-blanket and telling me about your
former
husband’s fantasies. I can’t think of anything less sexy. I should be able to control myself.”

Ginnie opened her mouth, then closed it.  He’d done that thing again.  The one where anything she said could – and would – be used against her.

“F-f-fine,” she conceded, and slid a little closer.

“Let’s not leave hypothermia to chance,” Quinn said, then dragged her up between his thighs, cocooned her in the blanket, and slid her arms around her body. “Better?”

She wished she could lie and say no, but the second her back molded into his chest, her teeth stopped banging together and warmth seeped into her body.

“Much,” she admitted, then added – just to show that she could be adult about him being right, “Thank you, Quinn.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave her a firm squeeze. “See how a little communication goes a long way? You can’t just keep your needs to yourself and expect someone to guess what you want.”

“Easy for you to say. Since you
always
know what you want, apparently,” she grumbled.

“Are you going to try to convince me that you’re shy about what
you
want? Because I’m not gonna believe it.”

“I thought we were talking about Lawrence,” Ginnie replied.

“Were we?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Tell me then… How could you know what he wanted if he didn’t tell you? Maybe you would’ve come through.”

“That might be true. If you happened to be talking about anything other than cops-and-robbers in the bedroom.”

Quinn chuckled. “If he
had
shared his little fantasy with you…What would you have done?”

Ginnie started to exclaim emphatically that she would have complied with whatever Lawrence wanted, but all that came out was a noise that sounded like, “Ugh.”

“That enthusiastic, huh?”

She didn’t even blush.  She was too busy wondering why the mere thought of playing a dirty version of cops-and-robbers with Lawrence had about much draw as…

A grandma blanket and talking about one of
Quinn’s
exes?
her mind filled in.
Wait. Does Quinn have a
lot
of exes? Why does the feeling that he probably does make me want to pick up that shaded lamp and toss it across the room?

“Ugh,” Ginnie said again, this time on purpose.

“So you would’ve told him to take his handcuffs and shove them up his ass?” He sounded thoroughly pleased with her disgust.

“No,” Ginnie replied, the smallest smile turning up her lips. “He might’ve
liked
that.”

Quinn laughed again. “All right. So your fantasies weren’t in line. Still not grounds for being a total douche.”

“I didn’t
have
any fantasies,” Ginnie blurted.

“Everyone has a fantasy or two.”

“Yeah, okay. I had one. To marry a doctor. Look how that turned out.”

Quinn’s chest shook behind her, and she knew he was laughing even harder.

“It’s not funny,” Ginnie told him. “My marriage ended because of this.”

Abruptly, Quinn stopped laughing.  He slid his hand under her knees and spun her sideways, then put two fingers on her chin.

“Tell me one of your actual fantasies,” he commanded.

And something did pop into Ginnie’s head.  But it was embarrassing in its tameness.

What does it matter?
she thought.
Tell him anyway. Twenty-four hours from now, you’ll never have to talk to him again.

“Ginnie,” he prompted.

She exhaled. “Okay. When I was twelve, I moved in with the Silvers. They’d been fostering for years, and they were in their sixties and decided that they wanted to adopt. I spent my teenaged years with them, and they were great. But they were used to having a lot of troubled kids come through, and they picked their battles carefully. One of the things they didn’t care about was letting me have boys in my room.”

Quinn tapped his lip ring. “I’m not sure I want to hear about the boys in your room.”

“Why? You jealous?”

“Extremely.”

Ginnie inhaled sharply.  She’d been expecting him to deny it, and the fact that he didn’t…It made her tingle.

“You have to be patient,” she told him. “I’m getting there.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”

Ginnie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t
have
a lot of boys in my room.”

“Some?”

“Stop that!”

He growled out a, “Fine,” and Ginnie suppressed a sudden urge to make up some sordid details, just to get an even bigger reaction.

“There wasn’t a
point
in bringing boys home, because they didn’t care.”

Now Quinn shot her a lopsided smile. “No thrill?”

“Exactly,” Ginnie said with a blush. “And I guess I always wondered what it
would
be like to have that thrill.”

Quinn’s smile became a cat-like grin. “So…” he dragged out the word, turning it from a single-syllable conjunction into lazy, sexy purr. “You want to know what it feels like to have some hot-bodied, shouldn’t-be-there hunk of man in your bedroom – in your
bed
– while you’re just
waiting
to be caught?”

As teasing as the question was, it sent a battalion of butterflies to flight in Ginnie’s stomach, and the rapid beat of their wings didn’t create a breeze – it created friction.  Hot,
work its way down to her panty-less crotch
friction.