Perfect Pairing (20 page)

Hal groaned but miraculously dropped her hand. “Fuck me.”

She picked up her pace, going deeper. “Like this?”

“Yes,” Hal hissed. “God yes.”

“What else?”

Hal looked down at her and bit her lip again.

“Come on, Fryboi,” she coaxed, twisting her fingers upward. “We both know you want to beg. Let go.”

“Quinn.”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

Hal's hands clenched so tightly the skin went white.

No, she couldn't go back into her fortress of control. Quinn licked her again, quick and hard. It was time for her to unravel. Stroking her harder from the inside, she pulled her forward. “Tell me, Hal. What do you want?”

“I want, I want you.”

She rewarded the admission with the push of her thumb. “How do you want me?”

“I want . . . you to do everything to me . . . all at once.” Hal threw her head back and growled. “I want to hold your head down on me while I come.”

Now it was her turn to gasp.

“Please, Quinn. I'll do anything. You can do anything, just, God, let me touch you.”

The wave of arousal overtook Quinn, filtering everything through a lens of red and bright white. She took Hal's balled-up fist, untangled her fingers, and placed a hot, wet kiss on her palm before guiding it to her head. Hal needed no more encouragement and quickly added her other hand to the back of her neck. The pressure wasn't oppressive, but direct, and Quinn bowed to it, taking Hal in her mouth once more.

She probably should've fought against the idea of someone else taking the wheel, but you didn't test drive a Lamborghini at thirty miles per hour, and she wouldn't stop short of putting the amazing body before her through all of its paces. Hal succumbing to her desire was one of the most enthralling things she'd ever been a part of.

Surrendering her need for control to the moment that control had wrought, she let Hal's hands steadily guide her as she set both the pace and pressure. She was no longer certain who was fucking whom, and she didn't care. The muscles of Hal's thighs and ass contracted. Then a jagged, incoherent shout shattered the rasping silence of the room. Hal held her firmly in place as she thrust up off the couch, but she wouldn't have let go for anything. She wanted to experience every second of this ride until the very end, and then she wanted to ride it again.

How strange for her to want more even in the moment of having everything. She was greedy while getting and starved even while consuming. Hal's plea to do anything and everything inspired only the same in her, and as the shaking muscles and trembling fingers fell away, she knew with all the certainty her racing heart could muster that they were far from finished.

Chapter Thirteen

The faint rays of sunlight streaming through the blinds told Hal it was probably time for her to go. Sully had no doubt noticed she hadn't come home, maybe Ian had too, but that was very different from him walking in and finding her clothes mingled with his sister's on the living room floor. They weren't in a relationship. They hadn't even dated. They were just really good at fucking.

She grinned. Damn, they were good, but that's not a conversation she wanted to have with Quinn's younger brother, so she needed to get out of the bed they'd finally made it to only a few hours ago.

Okay. She had to leave now. She'd made up her mind. Time to get up. And yet . . . nothing. Her body refused to comply. Complete mind-body disconnect had become a recurring theme around Quinn, only now it wasn't driven by lust. She couldn't have lasted another round if she'd wanted to, and she knew this because she had wanted to last night or earlier this morning. They had stopped only when their muscles had given out. She never wanted to stop with Quinn. Another problem. Surely this would end. Everything ended, and in their case, Hal knew the smarter option was to end things sooner rather than later.

She rolled slowly onto her side and faced the sleeping woman next to her. Could she really be even more beautiful in the early morning light than she'd been the night before? Not possible, and yet, with her face serene and her long, blond hair flowing freely across the pillow and her fair skin disappearing beneath a thin white sheet, she was undeniably gorgeous. Hal's heart rate accelerated in a new way, not the click and whoosh of a gas flame, but the slow, surrounding warmth of an oven, the kind that heated everything evenly, all encompassing.
The kind of heat she'd never had access to and, therefore, never let herself crave.

She rolled onto her back again and stared at the ceiling, hoping if she looked away, the craving would pass.

It didn't.

Was that craving, the one from her heart rather than from her body, the real reason she couldn't extract herself from Quinn's bed? If so, she had found problem number three. The third strike was also the most dangerous. She and Quinn were good together in bed, or on couches or tables, but the connection ended there, it had to end.

Everything ended.

“Hey,” Quinn whispered. “You okay?”

Hal buried her musing and pulled up a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby: soundly, but only for about two hours.”

Quinn's sleepy smile pulled at the parts of Hal's heart she wanted to keep protected. “Me too.”

“I should go, let you get back to it.”

“You're leaving?” Quinn's blue eyes widened, fully awake now. “I mean, sure. Whatever you want.”

Too late. Hal had heard the surprise, the desire, the disappointment in Quinn's voice before she'd caught herself. The initial impulse had been the same as her own. Could they both be fighting the same fight? Did it matter? Should she admit her own confusion or try to use her own defenses to help bolster Quinn's? Quinn had given her an emotional out. She should take it. The desire to leave might not be real, but the other options were more complicated. And yet, when she opened her mouth to say goodbye, somehow those honest emotions slipped out instead.

“I just thought you'd want me gone before Ian got home. I wanted to respect your privacy.”

“Thank you. You're probably right.” Quinn nodded seriously but then pursed her lips, and Hal waited to see if she'd lose the same battle within her. “But I thought, I mean it occurred to me, one of the perks of sleeping with a chef might be breakfast in the morning.”

Hal laughed. “I thought you didn't like the idea of breakfast in bed.”

“I don't,” Quinn admitted, “but breakfast with you, in my kitchen, maybe barefoot, I think I might find very appealing.”

“Sounds like the jury's still out. Maybe we should explore that option just so you know for sure.”

Quinn kissed her lightly on her lips. “I concur. Worthy research, Chef.”

At the feel of Quinn's mouth against hers, a different kind of energy began to stir, pulsing through a region much lower than her heart, but she quickly pulled away. The lady had requested breakfast, and exploring that option seemed so much safer than any of the others currently on the table.

“You need a sous chef?” Quinn asked, not really wanting to help. Every muscle in her body ached. All she really wanted was to snuggle into the crook of Hal's arm and fall back asleep. Alas, spooning wasn't on the agenda for them yet. No, scratch that. Spooning wasn't on the agenda for them ever. The lack of sleep, on top of hours of earthquaking sex, had thrown her equilibrium off balance. They needed to get back onto solid ground. Food provided them that and some much-needed nourishment. “I can help.”

“No.” Hal pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. “You get to sit. You get to watch. You can even moan if you need to, but you do not touch.”

Heat spread through Quinn's core at the images flashing through her mind. “And if I don't agree to those rules?”

One corner of Hal's mouth crooked up into a half smile. “Then you don't get to taste.”

Her mouth went dry, her cheeks flamed, and she knew that Hal knew she'd landed the first point of the day. “Well played, Fryboi.”

Hal found her fridge contents largely lacking, so she made a run to the truck and returned with a few staples, which she promptly spread across Quinn's kitchen counters. Now with Quinn in her
designated place, she set to work. She got two large skillets over a medium-high flame and unwrapped what appeared to be bacon, and yet not. The product in the plastic wrap looked darker and left a thick residue on both the casing and Hal's hands.

Quinn's curiosity was piqued. “Am I allowed to ask what you're doing?”

“Sure,” Hal said, still focused on the stove. She settled a couple pieces of buttered bread in one of the pans. “I can talk and cook at the same time. I'm multitalented like that.”

Quinn rolled her eyes at Hal's back, but if pressed she'd have to admit she liked this cocky side of her. She personally found modesty highly overrated, especially in women. “What is that you're using now?”

“It's bacon rubbed with coffee grounds and maple syrup.”

“Are you kidding? That's a thing? How did I not know that was a thing?”

“Well, people put all kinds of rubs on cured meat, so yeah, it's a thing. But this particular mix is one I invented.” Hal dropped the bacon into the sizzling hot skillet.

“You made it up?”

“Yeah. The bacon was good, because, you know . . . bacon.”

Quinn nodded at the completely sufficient explanation.

“But I wanted all the best parts of breakfast in one sandwich. Hence, coffee.”

“Good call.” When Quinn listed her best friends in the world, coffee always made an appearance on the list.

“Wait, are you feeding me bacon that's been left in a truck overnight?”

“Yeah, totally. That's safe, right?”

“Sure seems legit.”

Hal snorted. “I have a small ice chest for cold storage of leftovers. It's not a long-term food storage solution, but it can handle twelve hours, no problem.”

“And you just drive around with twelve hours worth of bacon at all times?”

“Doesn't everyone?”

“Only people who are winning at life.”

“Go me.” Hal flipped the bacon and then the bread. “I've got bacon, maple syrup, coffee, and toast here. Then we add eggs.”

“Makes sense,” Quinn said, leaning forward in her seat. It was just a breakfast sandwich, but with finishing touches that had the potential to set it well above the standard McMuffin.

“What's this one called?”

“The
Wake 'n' Bake
.”

Genius
. “Way to cater to the hangover crowd.”

“I know my audience.”

She did. She had an amazing sense for what appealed to people, not just any people, but her people, their people. The people who would be part of Buffalo's base and its revival.

Oh no, the business part of her brain spun again. Hal had talent. She had drive. She had a creative, innovative mind, a great sense of the market, and a genuine love of her job. Just because she had also spent some time recently having rather amazing sex with Quinn didn't mean she should have to stop being the best candidate for other job openings in Quinn's life. Sure, mixing business with sex generally spelled doom for both, but they were adults. They could keep their business relationship separate from whatever other kind of relationship involved sleeping together occasionally.

“Earth to Quinn,” Hal said, setting a plate on the table in front of her. “Order up.”

“Right. Wow. Thanks.”

Hal brought over another plate with an identical sandwich and took the seat next to her. “You were someplace else. Or maybe asleep sitting up?”

“Probably. Someone kept me up pretty late last night.”

“Oh, I thought you were the one in charge last night.”

Quinn smiled at the image the comment inspired but chose to take a bite of her
Wake 'n' Bake
before answering. The moment she did, all other thoughts left her brain as every sensory receptor in her body diverted to her taste buds.

“Oh my God,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Hal tried to hide her pleasure, but she did a terrible job. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I could kiss you, but my mouth is busy,” Quinn said, completely unconcerned by the unladylike aspects of talking with her mouth full.

“I'm not sure the recipe is perfected yet.”

“If this sandwich got any better, it'd be illegal,” Quinn said before snapping off another bite. If Hal had intended to combine all the best flavors breakfast had to offer, she'd succeeded. And all the flavors blended together perfectly without any one overpowering the others. The same held true for the textures. Each thing unique but working in harmony. The sandwich was damn near symphonic.

“We need to talk.”

“Uh-oh,” Hal said, “that's never a good thing.”

“No, it's probably not,” Quinn admitted. She fully expected to regret it soon. “But this thing we've got going on, whatever it is—and I am not asking for a definition here—it's amazing. It's fun and very satisfying. And as hard as it is for me to admit, I don't really want it to stop.”

“Okay,” Hal said, as if bracing herself for whatever bad news would surely come next. “But?”

“But I still want to build a restaurant from the ground up. I still want it to be the best. I still want something unique and valuable and successful that I, and the city, can be proud of. And I want it to be with you.”

Hal should've seen this coming. And part of her had. Quinn hadn't got where she had in life by giving up or allowing distractions to consume her. No amount of sexual tension or blurring boundaries could erase her drive. And honestly, Hal would've been a little disappointed if she'd allowed it to. Part of Quinn's appeal lay in her tenacity, especially since Hal had learned more about her upbringing. She'd taken a broken home, in a broken city, paired with several broken people, and had still managed to make something good. Of course she wanted to build something lasting. Of course she wanted to be part of something that worked. Those impulses made sense, given who she was.

But Hal wasn't that person. “I get it,” she finally said. “I understand what you're after.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I didn't at first, but I do now. I even respect it.”

“But?”

“I'm not the chef for the job.”

“Hal.” Quinn set her sandwich down and reached across the table for her hand. “Please know I'm trying here. This isn't easy for me, but I'm not good at taking no for an answer, especially when I think it's a very bad answer.”

Hal laughed. “I appreciate that.”

“Help me understand.”

“You believe you can build something to last, and I hope you're right. I know life works that way for some people. But I'm not one of them.” She squeezed her hand. “I'm not the person who puts down roots. I can't believe in something like permanence. Especially in something that's not mine. It would always be your dream and your business. I'd always be waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Quinn exhaled slowly. “I understand the worry, and I understand where it comes from, but I have to call you on one little detail I think you got wrong.”

“What's that?”

“I think it is your dream. You're made to command a kitchen. You were born to entertain. You were born to bring people together. I handled everything about the pop-up wrong, and I'm sorry. But even under those circumstances you shined. You belong on that stage.”

Hal's chest tightened. She wouldn't argue. She'd knocked it out of the park, and she'd loved the kitchen, the food, the crew, the customers. She'd connected with every aspect of the pop-up . . . but at what price?