Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (Knitting in the City) (3 page)

Of course, I felt immediately bereft without him, his body against mine.
I opened my eyes and found him glaring at me, his jaw tight. This was not unusual, especially after a kiss in public. I had to wonder at the saneness of his perpetual, self-imposed frustration.

However, at present—and of particular note—a perceivable undercurrent of something else
flashed behind his eyes, something that startled me. Yes, he usually glared at me and/or parts of me for several seconds after separating us from our public displays of affection. This time he looked like he wanted to speak but was holding himself in check. His lips were pressed together in a tight line. He swallowed twice.

The light sound
of my somewhat labored breathing was interrupted by a burst of laughter from the restaurant. His eyes flickered to the sound, and I could tell he was looking without seeing. I recognized that he was lost in his thoughts, and they appeared to be of the stormy sort.

“
Quinn?”

“
We need to leave. Dan will grab your things.” His attention moved back to me as he spoke, and I was surprised to find his expression guarded. Not giving me any time to respond, he released one of my arms, turned, and used the other to pull me after him toward the exit.

“
Wait!” I glanced over my shoulder, saw Dan and my other guard emerge from the shadows, and gave him a small wave. “I’d like to say goodbye to the knitting group, and I need my jacket.”

“
He’ll get your jacket. I made reservations and we have…” I heard him clear his throat before he continued, “…things to discuss.”

“
We’re going out?” I blinked at his back; usually, after post-public-kiss-frustration, we would go back to his apartment—or, since we were in London, the hotel room—and attack each other for several delicious hours.

“
Yes.”

“
In public?”

He hesitated before responding,
yet his steps never faltered. My legs were long. His were longer. I was forced to move in double time to keep pace.

“
More or less.” He said.

“
More or less?”

“
Yes. It’s a place where the public goes.”

I grimaced at his back.
“This is you being purposefully vague.”

He stopped suddenly and spun around. I
tripped on my own feet and Muppet flailed into his arms—which he’d opened to embrace me, as though he knew my movements would be markedly ungraceful.

No sooner had I lifted my chin to chastise him for his sudden stoppage
than Quinn brushed his lips against mine, his hands smoothing down my form-fitting dress of his choosing until they rested on my backside. I may have made a small noise resembling a whimper when his fingers dug into my bottom.

“
Sometimes…” Quinn whispered against my lips, his voice both painfully seductive and sweetly teasing, “…it’s fun to be surprised.”

I was surprised
.

I
’d expected Sir McHotpants Von Grabby Hands as soon as the limo door was closed. However, what I got instead was Sir McCoolpants Von No Touchy.

One minute into the car ride and I deduced that
he had plans for our evening that didn’t include limo groping. I surmised this fact when he didn’t make an attempt at getting me naked.

Actually, he sat apart from me on the bench and faced the window
, giving me the back of his head. His hand rested between us, his arm stiff and straight during most of the very short ride to our destination.

I hadn
’t yet grown accustomed to riding in limos; I didn’t know if I ever would. It felt extravagant and elitist. Taxis would do just as well, or even better, public transportation. The Tube would certainly have been a more fuel-efficient method of transportation.

But I tolerated the limo because it meant alone time with Quinn. Alone time with Quinn was precious. Therefore, I
kept glancing between him and the surrounding streets, waiting for him to make a move and not hiding my confusion.

Mansell Street became Shorter Street
, and when the car stopped, I knew where we were.

“
The Tower of London?” I bounced a little in my seat. “We’re going to the Tower of London?”

A big black bird swooped upward from the stone wall
in the prolonged dusk of late spring. My eyes followed its path as it circled above the imposing structure. The bird was a raven.

This was impossibly exciting and explained why I
’d been cajoled by my guards into going everywhere in London other than the Tower. Along with the British Museum and the Globe Theater, the Tower was on my list of must-see places during our visit.

I glanced back
to Quinn as the limo slowed then stopped, and found him watching me. His face was an impassive mask, but this didn’t bother me. I knew him well enough now to know that impassive-mask-face was his baseline. What bothered me was how the usual mischief in his eyes had been replaced with an air of guarded distraction.

“
Are you okay?” I covered his hand with mine, wanting the physical contact. This was an action on my part that would have been remarkable six months ago as I’d never been one to seek or give physical touches as comfort. But with Quinn, touching and being touched felt as natural and essential as breathing or reading comic books.

“
Yeah. Fine. You?” His eyes searched mine, but they were cagey and distant.

I frowned at him for a moment before speaking my thoughts
. “I feel like there is something wrong—with you—and you don’t want to tell me, or you’re waiting to tell me. Is it work? Does it have something to do with why I have three guards with me everywhere I go?”

“
Why do you think there’s anything wrong?”

“
Because you’re McCoolpants Von No Touchy since we entered the limo.”

One of his eyebrows arched, his cool expression wave
ring.

“
What’s this? A new nickname?”

“
I hope not. But it’s the most efficient way I can think of to describe how strangely you’re behaving.”

“
What’s strange?”

“
You haven’t made any attempt to take off my clothes. In fact, you haven’t even reached under my skirt. Based on historical data, this behavior is strange.”

He gave me his slow, sexy grin
—made even more potent by our semi-touching closeness. “It was a short ride.”

I shrugged.
“That’s never stopped you before.”

“This is good news.” His voice was barely contained mirth.

“
What is good news?”

“
I now have your expectations calibrated to expect sex every time we ride in a limo.”

I blinked at him with wide eyes, considered the veracity of this assertion then nodded at the accuracy of his statement.
“You’re right. Although, more accurately, it’s not sex that I expect. I expect groping at a minimum and an orgasm at a maximum.”

“
Just one?”

“
No need for me to be greedy, although it’s always nice when you exceed my expectations.”

“
You know how I love to exceed your expectations.”

“
The feeling is mutual.”

We smiled at each other for a beat, all of the earlier distracted aloofness evaporated from his eyes and expression.
We shared such a lovely moment of silent staring that my mind cleared, I stopped thinking, and all I felt was warm and loved.

The sound of a siren in the distance brought me back to the present. I shook myself, blinked at him.
“Wait, what are we talking about?”

His smile grew.
“How you’ve come to expect, at a minimum, groping in the limo.”

“
Yes, right. Those are my expectations. Congratulations. Very nicely done.”

“
Thank you.” He tipped his head in acknowledgement of my praise. I had the distinct impression that he would have bowed had we been standing. In truth, I had a sudden desire to applaud.

The do
or to the limo opened, pulling our attention from each other and to the chilly spring evening. Quinn exited first then held his hand out for me.

Sure enough, Dan stood just outside and handed Quinn my jacket, which Quinn immediately placed on my shoulders. He was always doing this kind of stuff—holding my coat while I shrugged it on, helping me take it off, holding doors, pulling out chairs—and it had take
n me some time to get used to.

Sometimes it felt nice, and sometimes it felt antiquated and annoying. I couldn
’t entirely explain why, not even to myself, but his stringent display of gentlemanly manners made me feel like a hypocrite, which then pissed me off.

When, in western civilization, women were the weaker sex, when they needed protection, the
ladies first
rule of etiquette made sense. It was an acknowledgement of our place; by placing us first, it was really the patriarchal society’s way of telling women they were fragile and incapable, and that men, through good manners, recognized our feebleness of abilities and were displaying honor by allowing us to precede them.

It
’s polite to hold the door for a child or the elderly. It’s good manners to give up your seat on public transportation to someone who is physically disabled. It’s honorable to assist those in need.

Weakest first.

By allowing Quinn to hold my doors and take my hand and help me in and out of my jacket, wasn’t I passively admitting that I was weaker in the relationship? Wasn’t I ceding power every time he displayed chivalrous deportment?

But, dammit, I liked it most of the time. I liked it so much
that I let him do it, and I’d never talked to him about my cognitive dissonance on the subject. Hence my constant self-directed irritation and feeling like a hypocrite.

Ruminations runn
ing rampant were interrupted by a very pleasing female voice.

“
Hello, and welcome to the Tower. You must be the Sullivan party.” The owner of the voice was a very cheerful looking woman in her mid to late fifties. She was dressed in a black and red tour guide costume, complete with a funny looking hat and a red appliqué crown at the chest. Her eyes were a bright blue, and she wore her brown hair pulled away from her face.

We
’d walked all the way to the entrance, me tucked under Quinn’s arm and against his chest while I stewed in my feminist guilt. But her voice and expression were so pleasant, I immediately forgot about the inner turmoil.

Quinn nodded to her and I reached out my hand. Her engaging smile made me smile as she gave me a firm shake
. “I’m Emma,” she said. “Pleased to meet you both. Is this your first time with us?”

“
Yes,” Quinn said.

I added,
“I’m Janie; it’s lovely to meet you, and I’m really looking forward to seeing the ancient torture device room as well as where Anne Boleyn was executed.”

Her smile widened and she released my hand.
“That’s excellent. You know, however, that most of the executions did not take place within the Tower itself.”

I nodded, licking my lips as a precursor to my enthusiasm.
“Yes. Historians agree that there were only seven deaths at the Tower itself, and only for those who might incite a riot if executed publicly. The majority of the executions took place on Tower Hill.”

Emma giggled at my recitation
, and I liked her even more. “You’ll pardon me, but most young ladies are more interested in seeing the Jewel House than the torture device room.”

“
Ah, I’d forgotten that the Crown Jewels are also here.” It definitely had slipped my mind. I wasn’t opposed to seeing the Jewel House, but it wasn’t the highest on my list of priorities.

Quinn fit his hand in mine and gave it a squeeze as he addressed our guide
. “I trust all the preparations have been made?”

Emma responded,
“Of course, sir, just as you instructed.”

I only half listened to this interaction as I was distracted by the remains of the Lion Tower drawbridge pit.

Emma turned toward the Tower, called over her shoulder, and waved us forward. “Let’s get out of the cold. It looks a bit like rain, doesn’t it? Come on. We’ve a lot to see and only a few hours to see it.”

***

Quinn wasn’t irritated
, and he wasn’t upset. However, all of his earlier aloof detachment was back, and I was trying not to notice.

Presently we were in the Jewel house standing on a people mover that wasn
’t currently moving. During the day, Emma had explained earlier, tourists would stand on the conveyor belt and gaze at the glittering jewels within the thick glass cases.