Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (Knitting in the City) (10 page)

I was careful to keep my steps quiet as I exited the elevator that opened directly int
o our suite. I paused, listening for the shower, and heard only silence.

I removed my shoes
and strolled to the bedroom, smiled even as my body readied with anticipation of her soft submission.

The door to our room was ajar
. I pushed it slowly open. It made no sound. I leaned inside to see where she was, my eyes scanned the master bedroom. I found her squatting on the floor in the same white, terry cloth bathrobe from before.

She was next to my bag.

She was going through my bag.

She was digging, searching.

I could barely believe my eyes and spoke her name automatically. “Janie?”

She bolted upright, jumped away from my luggage, and stared at me with stunned alarm.

I glanced at my suitcase, the spot where she’d been rummaging, then back at her. “What are you doing?”

“
Nothing.” Her eyes were wide, plainly rimmed with guilt and alarm.

I stepped into the room but didn
’t cross to her.

“
Janie.”

“
What?”

“Are you going through my things?”

She shook her head; then she offered a delayed,
“No.”

My
gut flooded with displeasure and something else—something like fear. I stared at her, waited for her to tell me the truth.

When I said nothing, she added,
“I wasn’t. I promise I wasn’t going through your things.”

I ground my teeth and focused on keeping my voice soft and level because the fear was starting to resemble panic.
“You’re lying.”

Did she suspect? Or did she know already
about the private clients? Did she know how I’d built my business? What was she looking for?

No. If she knew for sure she
’d have left already, or she’d likely be looking at me now with suspicion instead of guilt. Just the thought made my breath catch.

“
No, Quinn, I promise I was not going through your stuff. Really.” She started to move toward me, reach her hand out, but then quickly halted and hid something behind her back. “Really, I swear.”

I forced myself to
stay calm, study her, and listen to her words instead of jump to conclusions. She was ashamed, but her words and expression were honest. She was telling the truth. Yet the fact remained that I’d just walked into our room and found her crouched over my suitcase digging through it.

I subdued
the spike of adrenaline. “Then what were you doing in my suitcase?”

“
Nothing.”

That was a lie.

Her neck and cheeks were red. She was blushing like a pole-dancing virgin.

I stalked slowly toward her.
“Why were you going through my bag, Janie?”

She
shook her head, obviously torn, her face a grimace. “I…I don’t want to tell you.”

“
Tell me.” I stopped three feet from her, close enough to catch her if she tried to run.

Abruptly she blurted,
“As able consumers we must be accountable for our purchasing practices. It’s not just enough to buy local; we must also be certain that farmers employ responsible techniques, both in the use of labor and the land itself.” She shut her eyes, her hands still behind her back, hiding something.

She was hiding something from me.

Panic, a new kind of panic, coiled in my stomach and chest, the kind that drives a man insane, the kind that is fueled by jealousy.

I worked da
ily to suppress my baser instincts. But I couldn’t yet control my selfish nature or the accompanying possessiveness.

I knew owning a person wasn
’t possible, but I wished it were, because I would have given anything to truly own Janie. I wanted every part of her—all her love, loyalty, fears, secrets, desires—even if that made me a bad guy.

I allowed my voice to betray some of my concern and lack of patience.
“What’s going on?”

“
Seven hundred and eighty million dollars a year spent on chemical products that can cause devastation to ecosystems and….”

My patience snapped and I charged her, took advantage of her closed eyes
, and reached for her wrists.

She sucked in a breath,
and her eyes flew open just as I wrenched the hidden item from her grip. My other hand pinned her in place, crushed her against me. She landed against my chest with such force that an
oof
escaped her lips. I lifted the item out and away from her reach.

I looked at it.

I blinked at it.

I frowned at it.

I rubbed my thumb over it.

What the hell…?

I glanced down at Janie and found her head bowed against my chest. I could tell that she was holding her breath.

“
Janie, this is underwear.”

“
Yes,” came her muffled reply. She sounded downright despondent.

I stared at the top of her
wet head. My panic dissipated. I required several seconds to find my next words.

“
Why were you trying to hide underwear from me?”

Her hands now gripped the front of my suit as though she was afraid I
’d leave her.

“
Gah!” was her response.

I glanced at the underwear again. It was white cotton, surprisingly soft, modestly cut. I could f
ind nothing nefarious about it.

“
What is going on?”

She suddenly lifted her head
, but her hands still held my jacket front. “I just love it so much.”

“
The underwear?”

“
Yes! The underwear! The cotton is organically produced in North Carolina. It’s so soft, and it only gets softer each time I wash it, which doesn’t make any sense! How do they do that?”

“
But….” I searched her face, my brain, the room, the ceiling; I was so confused. “What does that have to do with my bag?”

She heaved a defeated sigh.
“When we packed for this trip, I hid several pairs in your bag, in the zippered compartment I know you don’t use. I’ve been….” she paused, chewed on her lip, “I’ve been putting them on after you leave in the morning. I’ve been changing out of the lace panties and wearing the white underwear instead. Then, before you get back, I put on the sexy panties again.”

“
But, why there? Why my bag?”

“
Because I suspect that you go through my stuff—which, honestly, I don’t care if you do and I’ve accepted this strangeness about you because I love you—but I knew you would never search your own bag. And, I want to be sexy for you, I want you to think of me that way, not as someone who is always wearing granny panties. And, dammit Quinn, you have a deplorable habit of hiding my underwear!”

I stared at her anguished face, her golden, pleading eyes, and I couldn
’t think of a single thing to say.

God, how I loved her.

*Janie*

Steven wanted
high tea.

He
’d heard of this boutique hotel near the British Museum that had
absolutely fabulous
high tea.

Therefore, after
our specs meeting with Grinsham Banking and Credit Systems, Steven and I left Quinn with Dan and we took the Tube. We could have taken a car, but it felt ridiculous when one of the world’s best public transportation systems was at our disposal.

Despite his self-proclaimed dislike of people,
Steven displayed a good deal of enthusiasm when I proposed the idea of riding mass transit.

My
three guards dutifully surrounded us, though they looked less than happy with our choice. It would have been nice to walk freely, without the escort, to experience London like a native or even a typical tourist. Alas, Steven and I sat quietly, exchanging glances instead of talking, while my guards continually swept the train.

We didn
’t have any real privacy for conversation until we were seated in the tearoom of the hotel.

The hotel was quite small, but it was lovely—exactly the kind of place
I would have wanted to stay had Quinn and I been in town for pleasure rather than business.

The lobby was petite, but decorated in black and white. The floor was black and white marble
, and four high-backed chairs were covered in black and white fabric with a scrolling flowers design.

A sitting room off to the right was appointed with luxurious antique furniture
and red velvet upholstered chairs and sofas, and the wooden floor beneath creaked its welcome as we were ushered up four stairs to the tearoom.

The
tearoom was really just three small wooden tables and ten richly upholstered damask chairs in a well-lit space. It jutted out into and looked over a moderately sized garden, and reminded me of an atrium, but not quite. The ceiling was normal and enclosed. Since all the walls were glass, it gave me the sense of sitting in the garden itself, but without the frigid temperature.

Spring flowers were just starting to show signs of life. A stubborn looking pale pink rose bush positioned just beyond the
windowpane nearest our table proudly displayed five giant blooms. The yellow rose bush next to it was larger, yet contained only three buds.

“
We’ll have the Empress tea, please.” Steven winked at me as he ordered for both of us. It was a running joke between us that I’d forgotten how to order for myself.

“
And what champagne?” Our waitress smiled prettily at Steven. Her accent told me she was from Eastern Europe. “We have Monet Chandon and….”

“
We’ll take a bottle of Henri Billiot, because I think we’re celebrating a momentous event.” Steven wagged his eyebrows at me then winked again. Wagging eyebrows plus a double wink meant that Steven’s excitement was nearing critical mass.

I was actually surprised he
’d held it in all through the client meeting, Tube ride, and walk to the hotel.

No sooner had she left us than Steven reached for my left hand—without permission—and pulled it
to his side of the table for intense scrutiny. “Egads, Sugarplum! That’s what I call an engagement ring!”

I laughed at his abrupt focusing of the conversation.
“Yes, it’s just so….”

He interrupted me.
“Give me all the details—inquiring minds want to know. How did he do it? Are you pregnant? Should I not have ordered alcohol? I can’t believe it! It seems sudden, but then the Boss never takes very long to make up his mind. Damn, he has good taste. But I already knew that.”

“
I’m not pregnant, and….”

“
But you will be.”

“
Steven….”

“
I’m serious. Quinn Sullivan is a hunter-gatherer. I’ve known him longer than you have. I’ve seen how he is in business—and that’s just money. How do you think he’s going to be with the woman who is his
wife
?” Steven
tsked
and released my hand. “My guess is that he’ll be at least as domineering and protective about you—I mean, have you seen that ring you’re wearing? Already marking his territory. Has he peed on you?”

“
Steven!”

“
You’re right, it’s none of my business.” He held up his hands, then reached for his napkin and shook it with a flick of his wrist before laying it on his lap. “You two are going to have the tallest and best looking children. They’ll be supermodels, and basketball players, and Navy SEALs.”

My stomach warmed wi
th the thought of little Quinn Navy SEALs running around the penthouse, causing mischief and throwing taciturn tantrums. Perhaps executing covert ops to extract cookies from the kitchen. “We haven’t discussed that yet.”