Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (Knitting in the City) (17 page)

“
I got some on your sleeve…” He was frowning at me and I followed his gaze to the upper arm of my white shirt. His hand had left a greasy imprint when we’d collided.

“
Oh,” I said again then returned my attention to his face. He was staring at the stain, and he looked frustrated and angry.

On a sudden impulse, I leaned forward and
pressed three kisses onto his white dress shirt—one on the collar and two near the placket of buttons. I leaned back to study my lip-work, pleased that I’d chosen to wear a shocking shade of pink that morning.

“
There,” I said, touching the new stain near his neck. “Now we’re even.”

He glanced down at himself, his eyebrows pulling low, then
he lifted just his eyes to mine. I was pleased to see that the earlier frustration had ebbed. However, in its place his gaze had grown sharp with a familiar intensity. My heart and stomach tried to out-flutter each other.

Quinn
nodded once, slowly. Other than his eyes, his expression betrayed nothing. But then his hands came to my hips, and he walked me backward into the lavatory.

And I let him.

Once we were inside, he closed the door behind him and turned me so that my bottom was against the sink.

“
What are we doing?” I asked, all at once breathless, even as I reached for the front of his pants and unbuckled his belt.

Quinn brushed his lips against mine as his hands slipped under the hem of my skirt and hiked it to my waist.

“We’re having make-up sex,” he growled.

Then he kissed me.
I moaned because it felt so good and right, and we hadn’t kissed in over twenty-four hours—not since before the ball for the phantom charity, not since we’d gone lingerie shopping.

H
is mouth separated from mine. He licked and bit a path over my jaw to my ear. I tried tilting to the side to give him better access, but my head connected with the paper towel dispenser.

“
Were we fighting?” I asked, though I had no idea how he was going to answer because I was violently pressing his face into my neck—because I just could not get enough of his mouth on my skin. My other hand reached into his boxers and gripped his length, my hips rocking forward in answer to his arousal.

He gripped my waist and lifted me on
to the counter. This caused the button for the faucet to be pressed which caused the water to turn on. I felt the spray against my backside and I squeaked.

He lifted his head from my neck, his eyes dazed and questioning, his breathing labored
. “What? What is it?”

“
Nothing. Kiss me. And take off your pants.” I reached for the band of my white cotton underwear and wiggled my bottom until I could pull them down my legs.

Quinn took a step back and pushed his pants to the floor
. I reached for him as I tried to rid myself of sensibly breathable fabric and caught him smirking when he spied granny panties around one of my ankles.

“
Nice underwear, darling,” he hissed, likely because I held his erection in my hand and I was stroking it, stroking him, coaxing him toward my center.

“
Thank you. It’s also a socially responsible choice, if you recall.”

Quinn lifted his eyes to mine and his face split with a smile, which quickly ebbed and became something else entirely—something beautiful and visceral and reckless—as he
entered me. He sucked in a breath, his forehead resting against mine, his hands gripping my bottom, his eyes closing as though he were overwhelmed by his senses.

“
We’re getting married,” he said. It sounded like an order.

I nodded.
“Yes,” I said, my legs wrapping around his, my breath hitching.

He opened his eyes and moved his hips,
setting a slow, tortuous rhythm. “And when we get home, you’re going to put on that corset from last night, and I’m going to take you over the sofa.”

I moaned at the image his words conjured, tried to encourage him to increase his pace, but only succeeded in getting myself h
ot and bothered and breathless.

“
Say you love me.” One of his hands slipped into my shirt, under my bra, and cupped me, squeezed, kneaded in time with his thrusts. I didn’t care that his hands were making me dirty.

“
I love you.”

This earned me an increased tempo and a pass of his thumb over the center of my breast.
“Tell me you trust me.”

I felt my brain clear as our eyes met and I stroked my hand down the side of his face; he turned his lips into the palm of my hand and kissed
it.

“
Quinn, I trust you.”

“
Tell me I make you fearless.” He whispered, still holding my gaze.

“
You make me fearless.” I didn’t hesitate.

My fingers reached around his neck and pressed against the back of his head until his mouth fit over mine.
My legs trembled with the beginning of my orgasm and I arched my back while my hips simultaneously tilted forward. He must’ve sensed I was close, because he shifted his position, giving me more of himself.

My heels
pressed ruthlessly into his thighs, my nails dug into his jacket over his shoulders, and he captured my scream—because I was a screamer—with his mouth.

Then, as I tumbled back to earth and he came with a tense groan, I returned the favor and worshiped his mouth with mine.

I tried to impart with my kiss and with the eagerness of my body all that I felt for him. I hoped he knew that I believed in him, that I believed in us.

Quinn and I stayed like that—wrapped in each other, kissing—for as long as possible. But then, the inevitable knock sounded at the door
accompanied by a polite clearing of the throat.

“
Mr. Sullivan…uh, sir, we’re almost ready to take off whenever you, uh, and…whenever everyone is in their seats.”

I recognized the voice of
Donna, the flight attendant, and heard her retreating steps. Both sounds pulled me back to reality and brought my surroundings into focus. A substantial blush instantly claimed my chest, neck, cheeks, and ears. I was sure the top of my head was bright red. Good thing I wasn’t bald.

Before Quinn
could speak, Dan’s voice whispered from the other side of the door. “Just so you know, we’ve all formed a high-five line outside the bathroom.”

I buried my face in Quinn
’s neck and moaned my mortification.

I felt Quinn
’s rumbly chuckle and his kiss on my hair before he responded to Dan. “If you try to high-five me, I’ll punch you in the throat.”

“
The high-five line is for Janie, not for you, Dummy.”

Quinn pressed his lips together to keep from laughing
, and I was sure that if no one had died yet from awkwardness, then my autopsy report would be the first of its kind.

“
I’m kidding. I can feel her embarrassment from out here.” Dan continued to whisper. “Listen, I have new clothes for you both hanging just outside the door along with two towels, and I’ve drawn the curtain so you can’t be seen when you open the door. I just spoke to the pilot. They’ve moved us back in the take-off queue. You’ve got fifteen more minutes, and you’re welcome.”

I closed my eyes, sent up a silent prayer that Dan
would find someone worthy of his awesomeness, and snuggled closer to Quinn’s body.

This always happened when we made love. I alwa
ys seemed to forget where I was. I didn’t think of myself as an exhibitionist, nor did I take any pleasure in the possibility of being caught. Rather, when I was tangled up in Quinn, I existed in a blissful alternate universe, and everything else just…ceased.

Quinn
grabbed several paper towels in quick succession. He shifted away, but continued to support my forehead on his shoulder. He pressed the paper towels between my legs and waited until I took over, then he threaded his fingers through my hair.

As usual, they got stuck in the curl
ing snakes, and he used the leverage to lift my face from his neck. His eyes skated over my features before pinning me in place, and I saw that his expression was dreamy and content, one of wonder and worship.

“
How do you do that?” His question was quiet, reverent.

“
Do what?”

“
How do you make everything better?”

My forehead wrinkled as we studied each other.
“What did I make better?”

“
After last night, I thought you….” He exhaled, frowned, shook his head. Then his mouth pulled to the side in a barely there smile. “You make me better.”

I returned his smile and leaned forward
an inch to kiss his nose. “Quinn, we’re going to settle this. Tomorrow, at home, we’re going to discuss everything until we both feel good about it. And then, you’re going to help me decide what shade of ferns we’re going to use for our centerpieces.”

He blinked.
“Ferns?”

“
Yes. Ferns are much more environmentally friendly than flowers. Also, there are hundreds of varieties, and they come in a vast array of colors.”

My smile grew
because his eyes widened with alarm.

It was Tuesday
night, and nothing was settled.

We arr
ived home late Sunday night. He carried me from the limo to the apartment to the bed, and undressed me while I lay complicit and dozing. I awoke Monday mid-morning to the chiming of my cell phone. Quinn must have found it in my luggage, charged it, and placed it on my bedside table at some point.

I gave the noisy device a dirty look and cursed it. Neverthel
ess, I glanced at the screen then bolted upright in bed. The alert was for three text messages from Quinn. The initial texts sent back-to-back at 9:00 a.m. made me smile.

The thi
rd message made me frown.

Part of me wondered if the New York trip was just a way to avoid discussing the wedding plans. On the flight home
, his eyes had glazed over whenever I tried to show him pictures of centerpiece ferns and groomsmen tuxedos.

Regardless,
Quinn had called briefly from New York on Monday night, just long enough for me to determine that he was dead tired and needed to go to sleep. He also texted then called me Tuesday morning for a quick
I love you
and
I miss you
that made my knees weak and my brain witless.

Therefore, nothing was resolved.

Yes, we’d attacked each other in the bathroom of the airplane.

Yes, the oxytocin it released into my system had gone a long way toward re-affirming our bond within my brain. At some point I would have to sort through how much of the bond was brain chemistry and how much of it was corporeal. For now, I was going to assume it was mostly corporeal.

But, no, we hadn’t yet talked through the ramifications of Quinn’s admission about the private clients.

Instead of obsessing over whether or not I
’d displayed good judgment by seducing my fiancé rather than talking through our issues
then
seducing my fiancé, I decided that I would focus my energy on sorting through the situation as it currently stood and define a list of action items.

First, I was going to write down all of my concerns and questions related to Quinn
’s admission and our impending marriage.

Then, when he came back from New York, we were going to sit down and review all
the concerns and questions.

After that, I was pretty sure
I was going to seduce him again.

And, lastly, I was going to force him to go through an entire wedding magazine and discuss whether the cake should be white with white frosting or chocolate with white frosting.

One thing I was sure of based on every wedding cake picture I’d seen was that wedding cakes should have white frosting.