Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (23 page)

All-consuming desire.  Just the way it should be. 

And he forgot everything but her.

Sunday

Thirty-One

Ginnie woke slowly, an all-over body ache making her smile.

Smile? Since when does
hurting
make me feel good?

Then she remembered.

Since Quinn.

And a silly, sleepy grin turned up her mouth as she reached across the bed. 

Empty.
  

For a second, a deep sense of unease crept through Ginnie’s mind.  And her heart thumped nervously in response before she remembered he’d been gone the previous morning as well.

For coffee.

God, how Ginnie needed one now.  A hot, caffeinated beverage would soothe away some of the soreness, and to help clear the fog in her brain. 

Though if she was being honest, if the choice was between coffee and Quinn…There was no contest.  Quinn and his sexy smile took that cake on what fuelled her, and she blushed again at how badly she suddenly wanted him.  Was it normal to feel so much desire after already having been so thoroughly satiated?  Because she had
definitely
be satiated.  Repeatedly.  In many ways.  Last night had been a breath-stealing, pulse-pounding, contortionist-worthy workout. 

Her smile widened at the memory, and she winced as even her cheek muscles screamed.  She was going to have to hire a damned physical therapist for sex recovery if it was like this every time.

Every time.

She shivered pleasantly at the possibility of his hands on her body, night after night.  Of his voice, rumbling in her ear as he replied to the thoughts and feelings she shared with him, and he shared a few of his own.

The last thing Ginnie remembered before drifting off, her arms and legs wrapped around him, was a question that held a delicious promise.

“Where would you like to wake up Monday morning, baby? Your place, or mine?”

And Ginnie had told him that she didn’t care.  As long as it was with him.

It was so
easy
to say things like that to him.  To be honest and not worry if it was the right thing or the wrong thing because all that mattered was that it was the
true
thing.

Until that second, she’d never thought about how her crazy obsession with doing things perfectly also affected her ability to do them authentically.  Of course, she’d never considered it
crazy
before, either.  But right then, it seemed far more insane than lying in a hotel room bed picturing a long-term life with a man she’d just met and was already halfway in love with.

Only
halfway
in love?

And even though there was no one around to see, Ginnie colored.  If she thought anything was crazy, it should be that nudging voice
was crazy.  But even the logical part of her brain was jumping up and down with agreement, offering its totally typical, totally reasonable list as evidence.

Palpitating heart?  Check.

Can’t think about anything else?  Check.

Unreasonable wish that he was there right that second? Check.

“Stupid logical brain,” she muttered.

With a self-directed eye roll, she decided she’d better get out of bed before she had a whole wedding planned.  She flung the sheets back, swung her aching legs from the bed and placed her feet on the toe-curling carpet.  Then went still.

What the…

She forced her hand to reach for the partially open nightstand drawer.  She slid it wider, her heart in her throat.

Her phone sat in the bottom of the drawer. 

Very slowly, Ginnie scooped it up.  It felt like a lead weight in her hand.  And the weight was somehow connected to her stomach, dragging it down to her knees.

What was the phone doing there?  Quinn had to have put it inside the night stand, which meant he had to have grabbed it from the bar where Ginnie had given it its ice bath.  But why had he held onto it until now?  And why had he hidden it?

The door squeaked open, and Ginnie’s eyes jerked up as Quinn shouldered his way into the room.  For a second, his face split into a goofy smile.  A no-holds-barred, heartbreakingly sweet grin that was at odds with his tough-guy looks and that made Ginnie’s chest want to burst with joy.  Then his eyes landed on the cell phone and his face changed.  A whole range of emotions played across it, and none of them made sense.  Fear.  Guilt.  Pain.

The feelings were so obvious and so strong that Ginnie had to look at her own hand to see if she held something far worse.  But no…

It’s just a phone.

Except for some reason, she knew it wasn’t.  Not with the way he’d looked at it.  Not with the way he was now looking at
her
as he set down the coffee and cookies on the table
.

The perfect coffee from the perfect man.

And Ginnie’s mind flipped through the last forty or so hours of memory.  Some of them were clear as day, some were muddled with alcohol.  All of them centered around Quinn.  And all of them meant something.  Though she wasn’t sure what.

Just…something.

Quinn, at the airport bar, zeroing in on her as she mentally stripped him.

Quinn, so insistent that he accompany her and protect her and help her.

Quinn, asking so few questions and refusing to answer any of her own.  

One question and its lack of answer, in particular, stood out.

“Why were you going to Vegas?” she asked slowly.

She watched as Quinn tongue darted out and poked at his lip ring, giving away his state of mind.

Definitely something more, then. Something you’re missing.

“You said it was for work,” she reminded him. “I don’t think you
meant
to tell me that.” She closed her eyes, remembering the way he’d covered it by turning the question back on her, and how she’d been too drunk to care. “But you
did
mean it when you told me you weren’t in the gang. So if you’re not in the gang…and you had my phone, and…” Her eyes flew open as she made a sudden mental leap. “It’s
me
.”

“Ginnie…”

He took a step toward her, and she put up a hand.  He stopped immediately.  Like he’d hit a force field.  Or a brick wall.  Which Ginnie felt, too.  Slamming between them, piece by piece, the mortar setting as soon as it landed.

“I’m the job,” she stated, disappointed at how small her voice sounded.

“I can – ”

“Please don’t say
explain
.”
Yes, better. Firmer.
“It’s far too cliché for a man like you.”

“I can – ”

She cut him off again. “Can what?”

“I don’t know.”

Why did the big, tattooed man have to look so vulnerable?  So broken.  So much like he needed her.  And how could the quick tap of his tongue on his lip ring and the sharp tug of his hair make her want to tear down the just-built wall?

No.

Ginnie wasn’t going to give in.  She wasn’t going to be weak again. 

She looked down at her hands so she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. “I should just go.”

“Please, baby. Just hear me out.”

The endearment snaked into Ginnie’s chest and squeezed at her heart and she had to force aside how bad it hurt to know that he could get to her with just a word.  When she’d been nothing but a
job
to him.

And his next words slammed it home.

“Jase just thought you needed someone to protect you.”

Ginnie’s gaze snapped back up.  What the hell did her brother have to do with this?  With Quinn’s work?  And –
Oh. 
One plus one definitely added up to two.

She swallowed. “He hired you to
protect
me.”

“Yes.”

“He told you about me, and how I like my coffee.”

“Yes.”

“And he gave you money.”

“Yes.”

Which meant…She’d slept with a man who was
paid
to do it. 

A wave of nausea hit her, and her stomach dropped down to her knees as she stared at Quinn, trying figure out how she could have been so easily duped.   She watched his mouth work.

He’s still talking.
Why
is he still talking? Why are we still in the same room?

She needed to get out.  But when she stood, she felt like she was moving underwater.  Slow and clumsy and unable to breathe.  Unable to get to the door with any kind of speed.  And that gave Quinn just enough to push through that invisible shield between them and press a hand into her elbow.  His touch seared into her skin, and she jumped away, half-expecting to find a brand where his fingers had been.  Instead, there was just…nothing.  Her arm and her aches.  No other evidence that Quinn had touched her in any way.

The cold tendrils of sickness that took up residence in Ginnie’s gut fanned out through her body.  They became brittle and threatened to crack.  And oh, god, how they hurt.  Threatened to knock her breathless.

She had to get past it.

Strength. Please.

She inhaled. “You can go, or I can go. Either way, one of us is leaving.”

“I didn’t know what was going to happen between us, Genevieve. I couldn’t have known.”

She shook her head. “
Nothing
happened.”

“Nothing? How can you say that? It’s bullshit.”

“What do you
want
me to say? You
manipulated
me. You and Jase both. And I’m just the stupid girl who fell for it.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be manipulation.”

“No? What was is supposed to be?”

“A job. And – Christ, Ginnie.” Pause. Click of the ring. “Can we just start this conversation over?”

“I don’t think so, Quinn.”

He flinched liked he’d been struck, but still shot her a pleading look. “Please.”

Another deep inhale.  And an equally forceful exhale.

“Why?” she said coolly. “So you can tell me how you didn’t
mean
to sleep with me? That it was just a bonus? An expected side effect? Sorry, no. The why and the how don’t even matter. This weekend has been great. But we need to be honest with each other and with ourselves.” The words sounded like a lie, even to Ginnie’s own ears, but she pushed on, certain of what would dislodge the stubborn set to Quinn’s jaw. “I would have had sex with you, either way.”
That,
at least, was true. “I was looking to get wild, looking for an excuse to live outside of my tidy boxes. Desperate, I guess. So if you’d just walked up and
told
me Jase hired you, I would probably have been so mad that I would’ve jumped into bed with you right that second. You didn’t have to hold my phone hostage or keep it a secret or anything like that.” Also true, or close to it. “You know what’s good though?”

“There’s something good about this?” His voice was so very rough, so full of pain.

Ginnie forced a tiny laugh. “Okay, maybe not good. If we’re getting into semantics again.”

“Fuck your semantics,” he snapped.

She ignored him. “Maybe it’s just a relief.”

“What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “It means that it’s over. And
both
of us got the job done.”

Quinn stepped back, hurt making his big body fold in on itself.  Ginnie steeled herself against it.  She had no reason to feel guilty about her word-spinning.  After all,
he
was the real liar.  He was the one who’d
chosen
to keep the deception alive. 

And now it’s time for the nails in the coffin.

She went on. “Now we can get on that plane and head home. I’ll go back to being the girl who used to be married to a doctor. And you’ll go back to being the guy covered in tattoos who once got shot protecting a drug dealer. We could never be anything more than what we already are. There’s no point in prolonging the inevitable. This ending couldn’t be more perfect, right?”

His mouth opened, but just barely.  Then he ground it shut so hard that Ginnie could practically hear his teeth smacking against each other, smashed his hands into his pockets, and spun.

Ginnie waited. 

For him to turn back and get the last word.

For him to plead one more time for her to listen. 

For him to sweep her up and kiss her with brutal need before storming out again. 

But he didn’t.  He didn’t slam the door; he didn’t look back.

He’s gone.

And without his presence to buffer her against the torrent of emotional pain, Ginnie fell to the bed and let a wracking sob take her.