Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (6 page)

“Incredibly believable. Actually…I feel like I should’ve bought you dinner first.”

Ginnie flushed.  She couldn’t decide whether to be insulted, or flattered.  The only thing she was sure of, was that she was glad he didn’t seem to have noticed her own intense, momentary break with reality.

Thank God.

“You ready to face the masses?” Quinn wanted to know.

“You think they heard it?”

“I think they heard it. And I think the men are wishing they were me and the women are wishing they were you.”

Definitely a compliment.

Ginnie inhaled. “Okay. I’m ready.”

She started to slide to the floor, but Quinn stopped her.

“Wait. One more thing,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Your underwear.”

Ginnie frowned to cover the blush that crept up her cheeks. “What about them?”

“Take them off and give them to me.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Why?!”

Quinn smiled crookedly. “Because I’m going to go out first. And I’m going to drop those underwear on the floor directly in front of your former husband’s seat.”

It was brilliant.  And devious.  And the perfect climax to their little revenge plot.

Well.
Second
most perfect climax,
she corrected mentally.

The only problem was…The underwear in question were thoroughly soaked from her not-so-fake-after-all orgasm.

She couldn’t do it.

“Ginnie?”

“Yes?”

“If you don’t take them off yourself, I’m going to take them off for
you.”

Ginnie’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

But she knew he would.  Maybe he even
wanted
to.  God knows just minutes ago she would’ve been happy to let him.

“Better hurry,” Quinn warned.

Quickly, Ginnie jumped from the counter to the ground and pulled the panties down to her knees without even lifting her skirt.  Then she shimmied them down to her ankles, kicked them off one ankle, and angled the other foot up awkwardly to slip them off.

“Here,” she muttered as she handed them over.

She was ridiculously glad she’d opted for a pretty pair of panties.  Pink.  New.  Hole-free. 

And lacy as hell.

But Quinn barely glanced at them.  If he noticed their embarrassing dampness, he didn’t say.  He just balled them up in his meaty fist, making them disappear completely.

“Thanks, baby,” he said teasingly.

“You’re welcome. I think.”

Quinn leaned in, kissed her lips with easy familiarity, and swung the door open.

“Remember. It’s fine if you’re blushing. It’s fine if you look a little guilty. We
were
naughty, after all.” He winked. “Just keep your head up when you hit
his
seat. Make sure you smile at him. See you in a minute.”

Ginnie watched Quinn’s receding back as he disappeared up the aisle, admiring its impressive width.  In spite of her recent release, warmth crept up between her thighs again anyway.  It got even worse – or was it better? – when she remembered she was panty-less.  And the fact that those panties were in his hand…

She shook it off, and moved after him, walking slowly, hyper-conscious of her commando state.

She had no problem with the first two things he’d mentioned – the blush and the bit of shame.  Her face was hot with embarrassment, and the heat doubled when a retirement-age couple gave her a knowing nod.  And when a young mother with a toddler in her arms shot her a dirty look, her shoulders dropped guiltily too.

But when she hit Lawrence’s row, she couldn’t work up the nerve to even look at him.  And she almost got past him without having to.  Until his hand shot out unexpectedly and grabbed her wrist, giving her no choice but to face him.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded in a whisper.

Ginnie gave him and his question a cursory assessment.

He looked and sounded mad.  Confused.  And very, very jealous.

Yes! Quinn was right.

And Lawrence’s other hand was closed tightly around something.

Her underwear.

Her former husband’s hand was nowhere near as big as Quinn’s, so the pink lace poked out everywhere.

“Ginnie, explain this!” he ordered.

She felt no compulsion to comply.  In fact, his voice – and his touch – did nothing for her at all.  They evoked almost no emotion, and the only physical reaction was something that bordered on revulsion.

Even the girl he was with – who currently had her head resting on Lawrence’s shoulder and her hand right on his crotch while she snored away – didn’t make Ginnie feel a thing.

I was in love with him, just three months ago. Wasn’t I?

“Ginnie!”

Now she did meet his eyes, as she shook off his hand and replied coolly, “What the hell was
what
?”

“That display.”

Ginnie bent down, making sure that Lawrence, and Lawrence alone, could hear her reply.

“I believe that’s what they call
getting fucked.
”

Then she smiled a very sweet, very genuine smile, stood up again, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and flounced straight to First Class without looking back.

Eight

As Quinn waited for Ginnie to make her way back to the seat beside his, he didn’t know if he was pleased with himself, or disappointed.

Probably both.

Okay, it had been his goal to get her genuinely going, but he was surprised at his success anyway.  Quinn was damned sure that Ginnie’s sweet, shuddering orgasm – created by his
words,
for God’s sake
– had been far from fake.  Not that he couldn’t dirty talk with the best of them.  Hell. He’d received more than a few compliments on his abilities in the bedroom in the past so he knew he was a more than passable lover.  A virtual orgasm with almost no touching at all, though?

Except for the end, when the plane propelled her forward and straight into his waiting body.  She must’ve felt it.  Realized how badly turned on he was.

I should still be in some kind of book of records,
Quinn thought.

Then he shook his head. 

She was either so tightly wound that an explosion like that was inevitable, or she was one hell of a faker.

Her mouth open just that little bit…Her eyes closed and her head thrown back.  Utter release.

No one is
that
good of an actress,
he thought.

Those gasps.  Those moans.

Who the hell had she been picturing as it happened?

Quinn wished he hadn’t planted the idea of using her celebrity crush as a source of eroticism. 

Yeah, because
you
want to be the one she was thinking of.
You
want to be the one making those soft, sexy panties all wet.

There wasn’t even a point in denying the internal accusation.  The response was a resounding
hell yes. 
He did want those things.

And there isn’t anything wrong with that,
he told himself.

He was a red-blooded, woman-loving man.  Who hadn’t seen any action in quite a while.

And Ginnie…

Well.  Under that slightly prim, put-together appearance, she was hot as hell.  Sexy, toned thighs.  Perky breasts, pressing against the thin material of her blouse.  Soft skin, soft hair, and soft, plump lips, made for kissing.  Made for sucking.

Quinn adjusted a little uncomfortably in his seat. His erection – which hadn’t seemed to subside since the second he laid eyes on Ginnie, if he thought about it – pressed insistently against his zipper.

Yeah, he wanted her all right.  His body was a clear indication of his insistent need to set her free.

As though he could sense her entrance, his eyes flicked up to the divider between First Class and the rear of the plane just as she walked through.  Her hair was still down, slick over her shoulders, and crowning her head like a halo.

Quinn sighed and muttered, “And
that’s
what makes it wrong.”

She had a bit of sass, but what Ginnie really
oozed
was niceness.  Goodness.  Politeness.  Qualities which were probably compounded even more when she was in a normal state of mind and not led astray by Quinn and his bad habits and not-so-nice ideas.  Qualities which Jase had hired him to protect.

He studied her as she paused to smile at and speak to one of the flight attendants, the brightness in her eyes evident even from where Quinn sat.  The flight attendant nodded at Ginnie, and she looked to Quinn.  She was full of post-imaginary-coitus sparkle.  In fact, her face was glowing, and she even shot Quinn a happy-looking wave.

Jesus.

The orgasm he gave her shouldn’t have been like that.  It shouldn’t have been kiss-free, hands-free…It shouldn’t have happened for the first time in a bathroom stall, thirty-five thousand feet above ground.  It shouldn’t have happened because she wanted to punish her ex-husband.  Ginnie sure as hell shouldn’t think that’s all there was to it.  To him.  She shouldn’t be looking at him like he’d done something
nice
for her.

A lot of “shouldn’ts”,
Quinn thought, his tongue reaching for the comfort of his lip ring.
When what she needs are a lot of “shoulds”.

Like she
should
be with some guy who was planning on sticking around for more than a weekend.  Who was capable of it.

“I’m an asshole,” Quinn muttered as Ginnie got closer, and he saw that she was carrying four miniature bottles of champagne and two glasses gripped in her delicate fingers. “A really big asshole.”

“It worked!” she announced gleefully.

She balanced the drinks on the wide armrest, then strapped herself into the seat, talking excitedly as she got settled and popped the bottles open.

“Lawrence – that’s his name, I can’t remember if I told you before – was royally pissed. Hopping mad. In all the time I was married to him, I don’t think I ever saw him so angry. Not even when I destroyed the three-thousand dollar rug in his home office.”

Who the hell had a three-thousand dollar rug?

Quinn forced a casual smile. “So he was jealous?”

Ginnie took a triumphant sip of champagne, and handed him a glass too. “
So
jealous. I had my doubts, but you were right
Quinn. He even kept the underwear.”

Quinn almost spat out his drink. “He
what
?”

“Kept them.”

“Why’d you let him do that?”

Ginnie’s face became quizzical. “Was I supposed to ask for them back?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because…” Quinn trailed off, not sure what to say.

Because I don’t want that prick to be walking around with your panties,
while true, seemed…inappropriate.  Possessive.  Inappropriately possessive.  Which was totally unreasonable on every level.

Ginnie was already moving past it, and she waved a hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t wear them again anyway, not now that the two of you have manhandled them.”

“Right,” he muttered. “Manhandled panties are the worst.”

Internally, Quinn gritted his teeth.  He hated that she’d lumped him in with the douchebag.  Even as a joke.  Then he gritted them harder, annoyed with himself for letting it get to him in the first place.  Clearly, his desire for the girl sitting with her knee pressed casually against his was clouding his ability to think straight.

“You know what?” Ginnie said, still smiling. “I know someone who would
love
this. He’d probably even
pay
to see it.”

He?

Another prick of jealousy stabbed at Quinn, and even though he forced it aside, Ginnie picked up on his consternation immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Was he that easy to read?  He’d always thought of himself as good – better than good – at assessing his audience, finding the right way to blend in.  Hiding his true feelings.

Yeah, because you’re good with drug dealers and scumbags. Not so much with pretty doctor’s wives.

“Quinn?” she prodded.

Quinn tried to relax as he shot back his reply with a wink.
“Nothing’s wrong, baby.”

“You’re a liar. And I told you not to call me baby.”

“You told me not to call you
hun
. Baby you seemed fine with,” he corrected. “And I’m not sure what makes you think I’m lying.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Every time your tongue hits that lip ring of yours, I know you’re thinking hard about
some
thing.”