Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You (v1.2) (27 page)

That meant he liked her. She
wasn’t
just a job, was much more than a job. She smiled, unaware that Quinn was watching her, as she suddenly felt very much better.

Still, he did lie to her. He was still lying to her. Just as she was still lying to him. How in the world would either of them ever get past that one horrible truth?

“Shelley? You look as if you’re miles away,” Quinn said, squeezing her hands. He’d kiss her, but his sixth sense told him that something in their relationship had changed since they’d made love. They were closer, naturally, but they were also farther apart.

He couldn’t explain it, even if someone asked him to, but there was a new wariness in Shelby, even as she seemed more physically comfortable in his company. For a man who liked certainty, Quinn was having a real problem trying to figure out this woman he so unexpectedly loved.

“Hmmm?” she answered, still working out problems in her mind, deciding if it was such a terrible thing to make love to a man when both knew the other one was playing a game. If it was a game. What if their relationship had gone beyond games, and rules, and the silly restrictions of the world? And if love had somehow entered the equation…

Still, they were on even ground now, each knowing about the other, even if Quinn didn’t know it yet. That, for the moment, seemed fair enough.

“I said, since you’re going in to work tomorrow, how about we have that picnic on the parkway today? Just the two of us.”

“We could do that,” Shelby said, stepping forward, her mental addition adding up to a loving surrender, at least for the moment, entwining her arms around his neck. “Or we could just stay here,” she added, nuzzling his neck.

Quinn closed his eyes, caught between a sharp, hot stab of desire and the niggling feeling that Shelby might be falling in love with who she thought he was, rather than who he really was. The thought hurt, the truth would hurt, and he should tell her the truth now and then wait for her to either slap or forgive him.

He felt her mouth moving against his bare skin, the tip of her tongue tracing small designs against his throat. Could he push her away, sit her down, tell her that her brother had hired him to watch her? Tell her he wasn’t a writer, that he was pretty much a louse, but he loved her and would she forgive him, please? Take her so-far bad day and turn it truly lousy?

Or should he just go with the moment, hope Shelby really was falling in love with
him
and not the dream, the adventure? Would making love with her a second time be twice the crime, or help her know if what she felt was love, not just desire, or even some kind of physical release after her two recent scares?

“Oh, what the hell…” he said, the questions fading and his mind going mercifully blank as Shelby insinuated her thigh between his, gave a gentle pressure that slammed straight to the one part of him that immediately told him not to think at all, but just to react

He lifted his arms, taking her fully into his embrace. Moved his head, seeking her mouth, finding it. The instant passion he had felt a moment earlier was replaced by this new sensation, so alien to him for all of his life until he’d made love to Shelby Taite.

He felt the passion, surely. The white-hot desire. But there was something else, some subtle, unidentifiable difference in his reaction to the stimuli of her mouth, her body, the sweet scent that was so uniquely Shelby’s.

It was a feeling of protection, of completion, of wanting her pleasure more than his own. A feeling he could only describe as wanting to
cherish
her, make her understand that he would never hurt her, would always love her, could never possibly love her enough, even if they both lived another hundred years.

She still fit against him so well. Perfectly, as if they’d both been exclusively fashioned for each other.

His hands moved on her body, and Shelby moaned softly, welcoming his touch, knowing she had been only half-alive before Quinn had touched her, had loved her. If they couldn’t have forever, if the truths they’d eventually have to tell would tarnish what they now had, was she to be condemned for taking what she could, for giving what she needed to give?

Tears flooded her eyes as, together, she and Quinn slid to their knees on the carpet, their bodies still close together from chest to knee, their hands busy, their mouths busier.

I
want, I want, I want,
Shelby chanted inside her head, eagerly, greedily devouring Quinn’s mouth, even as he devoured hers.

For now, forever. For now… with the hope of forever…
Quinn told himself as he finally lowered Shelby onto her back, looked deeply into her moist eyes, felt emotion begin to choke him, make him clumsy, as if this were the first time he had lain with a woman.

And in a way it was. Their first night had been magical, but this was different. Better. Sweeter. Hotter. More gentle. A memory in the making, one that would go on forever, even if there would be nothing else for them ever again.

Her skin was warm to the touch, the flesh over her ribs quivering slightly as he ran his hands down the sweet length of her, slid his hand beneath her panties, sought and found her with his fingers. Worshiped her.

She rose to meet him with no shame, no regrets, seizing the moment with both hands, taking all that he would give, giving all that she had and more.

They moved as one, touching, stroking, kissing, bothersome buttons and zippers yielding to reveal the hot, straining flesh beneath.

Together they sought release, completion. Together they rode wave after wave of sweet passion, each wave growing higher, higher, their need more urgent.

Shelby dug her nails into Quinn’s bare back and yielded her last defenses, allowing him to take her even higher and send them both racing, dancing toward the shore.

The only sounds in the room for some time were those of heavy breathing and the purrs of Princess as she nudged Quinn a time or two before hopping onto his back, then vaulting onto the couch, where she took up her favorite spot in front of the cushions.

Shelby, who had watched Princess’s progress, giggled, then said, “Do you think we’ve corrupted her morals? Do cats
have
morals?”

“I don’t know. They have claws; I can vouch for that. Have I told you that I love you? Because I do, you know,” Quinn added, pressing a kiss against her forehead as he looked down at her, their bodies still joined, still one, never to be whole without the other again.

Shelby’s smile faltered. Did he mean that? Could he mean that? Damn it, she shouldn’t have made love with him again. She had been thinking so much more clearly before they’d made love again. Because he’d told her he loved her, but he hadn’t told her the truth. He hadn’t told her that he knew who she was, what she was. She’d wanted to fall in love with someone who she could
know
would love her only for herself, and not her inheritance.

“Shelley?” he prompted when she didn’t respond.

He doesn’t even call me by my right name, when he knows it;
he has to know it.
“I’d like to get up now,” she said at last, rather ineffectually pushing against his bare shoulders.

Quinn knew when to push for answers, and when to wait for another time. He knew when he was being stonewalled, and when the person being asked the questions would do anything except give straight answers. Shelby probably wouldn’t give him the right time of day right now, just because he’d asked for it. She certainly wasn’t going to gush “I love you, too, Quinn,” because he had stupidly, clumsily confessed his love for her.

Because, Quinn knew, felt deep in his gut, that she didn’t trust him. He didn’t know why, refused to believe that she might finally have seen through his cover story at this late date, and if he asked her why she’d suddenly turned so cool to him she’d only evade the question, or lie.

Although he might feel better with a lie than with the truth, if that truth was that he had been nothing more than a part of her adventure, if he had been part of something she had to “prove” to herself and, now that she had proven it, he was about to be given the old “Thanks, it’s been fun, let’s hope we can always be friends” brush-off. That was what happened to guys who didn’t play by the rules, who ruined the fun of a fling by saying stupid things like “I love you.”

He pulled on his slacks, avoiding looking at Shelby as she got dressed, knowing that she would feel his gaze now to be an invasion of her privacy. For a loving, giving woman of considerable passion, she was also modest, the sort of woman who believed people should make love in the dark, in a proper bed, and is now appalled at herself for being so wanton as to roll around a living room floor in the buff, without a thought for modesty.

She was his lover, and his lady. Always a lady, even as she turned wanton in his arms. God, but he loved this exasperating woman!

Quinn slipped on his shoes and got to his feet. So many thoughts. So many contradictions. Shelby Taite was a mass of contradictions. The cool blond heiress. The hostess at Tony’s. The woman who’d panicked at the sight of a mouse yesterday, then taken on a possible kidnapper and two hopeful teenage felons single-handedly today. The woman who’d been fire in his arms a moment ago, now turning into the ice maiden who clearly wanted him out of her apartment, now.

She had her back to him as she lifted her hands to her French twist, taking out the few pins that still remained in her hair. “I really… um, that is, I think today would be a good time for me to catch up on… lots of… small chores, yes, chores I’ve been neglecting.” She let her hair fall free, running her fingers through it, then turned to face Quinn. “Is that all right?”

Quinn wanted to tell her no, that
wasn’t
all right. He wanted to take her by the arms and sit her down on the couch and confess everything, even going so far as to tell her she might be in some very real danger—even if he couldn’t bring himself to quite believe that. No one ever killed the golden goose. No one but an idiot, that was.

But if he did tell her? Then what?

Well, first she’d probably slap his face. Which he’d deserve. Second, she’d probably run back to the Taite mansion as fast as she could, and marry Parker Westbrook III, refusing to see Quinn, talk to him, give him a few minutes to grovel at her feet, beg her to love him.

Time. He needed time. Time for Grady to complete his investigations. Time for Shelby to believe that Quinn really, truly loved her. Time to build up enough positives that the negatives would sting only for a little while, then be forgiven.

He pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry, Shelley. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m going too fast, aren’t I? Will I see you tonight’“

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. “I—I really need some time on my own, Quinn,” she said, even as she raised her hand and stroked it down his cheek. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, at Tony’s?”

He took hold of her hand before she could lower it, pressing a kiss into her palm. “At Tony’s, on the moon. Where you are, Shelley, that’s where I want to be.”

“Oh, Quinn,” she said, her voice breaking as she pushed out of his arms, already running out of the living room, toward the safety of her bedroom.

Quinn didn’t need the instincts of a cop or a personal security expert to know that it was time he made his exit. He bent down, gave the purring Princess a quick rub behind the ears, and left the apartment, softly closing the door behind him.

When the knock and called-out greeting disturbed him hours later—Quinn blearily looked at his watch and saw that it was past eight o’clock—he stood up, swaying only slightly, and went to open the door a crack. Then he turned around, aimed himself at the couch once more, and collapsed onto the cushions as he said, “Come on in, Gary; make yourself at home. There’s lots more beer where this came from,” he ended, motioning to the empty brown bottles lined up on half a dozen crocheted coasters.

He was drunk, damn drunk, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still fear Mrs. Brichta if she were to find white water rings on her furniture. Drunk, yes. Entirely stupid, no.

“Wow,” Gary said, heading toward the small kitchen area, “what truck hit you?”

“That bad, huh?” Quinn asked, stabbing his fingers through his hair and adjusting the golf shirt that had somehow come free of his slacks. Unless he’d never tucked it back into his trousers as he left Shelby— at her express request. “Maybe I should take a shower?”

Gary shrugged as he sat down on a chintz-covered chair and picked up the TV remote. “Suit yourself. I can watch the Phillies while I wait. The girls went to a movie, you know. One of those weepy female ones where somebody dies some slow, painful death at the end and they call that
uplifting.
I’ll never understand that. Anyway, they won’t be back until after ten, later if they stop for ice-cream sundaes, which I’m betting they will. Did you eat dinner? No, suppose not. I’ll call for a pizza.”

Quinn stood, vaguely waving his hands in agreement, and left the room, already stripping out of his shirt. He needed company like he needed another beer, but the affable Gary seemed to think he was as welcome as the flowers of May, and Quinn didn’t know how to tell him he wasn’t.

Fifteen minutes later, his hair still damp after a lengthy, mostly cold shower, he returned to the living room to see Gary chugging down beer as he leaned forward in his chair, totally concentrating on the ball game. “A strike?” he exploded a moment later, talking to the television set. “You call that a strike? The strike zone ends at his knees, you jerk, not his ankles!”

Quinn raised both hands to his head, just to check that it was still there after Gary’s impassioned outburst. If a guy wanted to drown his sorrows in solitude in this burg, he’d first have to find an old bomb shelter left over from the sixties, and lock himself in. “Um, Gar? You order the pizza yet?”

Brandy’s fiance of twelve years, going on thirteen, looked up as if he’d just remembered where he was. “Huh? Oh, sure, sure. Be here in another ten minutes or so. You look better. Not much, but better. What’s the matter, you and Shelley have a fight?”