The Sweet Under His Skin (56 page)

It was true, too. Quentin stayed the night mostly to wait for the plan on how Clark Davidson was going to be of use to them. A few beers turned into tequila turned into him falling asleep on the sofa. He felt bad, but he also didn't want to call Arielle and let her know he wasn't coming home in case she was sleeping.

Shit. He should have called this morning, but he got distracted. Just more proof that he was shit and the club stuff when having a life of his own, and shit as the life-of-his-own stuff when involved in club business.

"And you were alone last night?" she asked, voice small like she was scared of the answer or the reaction to her question.

Quentin set his hand on the bar, raising his eyebrows. "Arielle, you gotta stop worrying about that shit. There hasn't been anyone else since you, I swear to Christ."

"Sorry," she replied, looking at her feet, hands sliding into the back pockets of her jeans and forcing her chest outwards.

Fuck, focus man. "Don't be sorry. Just stop asking me that."

She took a step back. "I'm just on edge with all this surveillance. And everyone telling Bishop my every move. I don't like that, Quentin. If you want to know where I go and when I get home I'll happily call and tell you. I don't like this."

He nodded. "I know. And I didn't know about it."

"Did you ask Bishop why he's doing it?"

Quentin shook his head. "Nah. I asked Flynn, and he was told to report to Bishop where you girls went on Saturday. No explanation, and it's really not up to us to question things."

Arielle crossed her arms. "Can you ask him why?"

Quentin met her eyes, his guilt hitting hard again. "Yeah," he said softly. "When I get a moment alone, I'll ask him. But until this Reuben stuff is done—"

"Is that when life comes off pause? This mythical date when a drug dealer I've never met finally fucks off?" she was getting shrill and it made him frown, then she was stalking to the door.

He caught up with her eventually, getting hold of her arm as gently as he could. "Hey, talk to me, babe. What's going on?"

Arielle wiped at her eyes, and he was pissed off she wasn't talking to him but upset enough to actually cry.

"I can't read minds, babe."

She sniffed, looked up and finally went soft on him again, tucking her face into his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. He hugged her back, kissing the top of her head and rubbing circles on her shoulder. "Arielle?"

"I'm pissed off. I wanted a few nice, quiet days before…before Wednesday."

His grip tightened a bit. "I know, Arielle. I wanted this wrapped up weeks ago. You know that."

"It's not your fault." She let him hold her for a while, then asked, "Did you pick up Clark Davidson?"

"Yeah. He's tied up in the ring." He studied her for a moment, believing her next run of treatments had her worried. Hell, he was worried, too. He hated that she was going to get sick again. "Okay, babe. I'll get Calvin for you today."

She shook her head. "No, Calvin's got a project he wants me to help him with. It's a surprise."

Quentin frowned. "What?"

She sighed and looked away. "I can't tell you. It's a surprise."

"For who?"

"For you."

"Why?"

She became exasperated, slapping both hands down on his chest. "For your birthday. Don't let me wreck it any more than I just did."

Quentin had no answer. His hands were on her shoulders and he had to swallow, gather his thoughts. "Charlie's making me a surprise birthday thing?"

Arielle smiled, watching his face. That's when he knew he probably looked like a total sap. "Yeah. He's so excited. So…leave us until about six tonight?"

Quentin's very guts went all mushy on him, and he felt himself smile and pull her in for a tight hug. "I'll stay away until after supper. I'll nap here for a bit."

"Okay. Sorry, but he wants to surprise you."

He nodded, giving her a quick kiss. "I get it. I love it."

"Arielle, good, you're still here," a voice declared behind them. They both turned, Quentin keeping his arm around his girl as she said a quick hello to Mandy.

"Supper tonight, our place. Bring the munchkin," Mandy said, almost all in one breath before letting the clubhouse door bang shut again.

"I guess we'll have to hurry up on Calvin's surprise," Arielle said wryly, and Quentin chuckled. Yep, his girl was learning the life alright. Not arguing with Mandy was a survival instinct.

Arielle looked up at him, prompting him to kiss her again. The little tart snuck her tongue out, which made him clamp onto her tighter, meet her tongue and get her gasping again.

"Babe," he growled, walking her backwards away from the clubhouse door and towards the dorms.

"Quentin," she giggled, still kissing him back. "I thought you needed a nap."

"This negates sleep," he threw back at her, stopping and ducking to grab her behind her knees and heft her over his shoulder.

"Q!" she squealed, and since she usually did that when he was making her come he went from half to full-mast in a half second.

"You're asking for it, woman."

"Miss Mandy's house is nice." Arielle reached out, rang the bell, and smiled down at Calvin.

"You think so?"

"Yes."

She was laughing as the door opened, unexpectedly by Colton. "Hey Arielle," he said warmly, leaning over and kissing her cheek. This group was big on cheek-kissing, she realized.

"Hi Colton," Calvin piped up.

"Hey Calvin. You good?"

Calvin nodded emphatically as they entered the foyer. "Yeah."

Mandy appeared at the kitchen entry, grinning and reaching out for the bowl of oil and vinegar coleslaw Arielle brought along. "Thanks, doll," Mandy said with an arm squeeze. "And how's Calvin?"

"I'm fine Miss Mandy," Calvin said politely.

Mandy's eyebrows went high. "I can't scare the manners out of you, can I?" Calvin shook his head. "Everyone's at the kitchen table," Mandy started, and Arielle felt bad.

"Oh no, are we that late?"

"Nah. The guys had an impromptu meeting. They just haven't moved their asses yet." Mandy dropped her eyes to Calvin. "Can I trust you to help us at supper?"

"Sure."

"They're in the living room, right over there," Mandy explained, and Calvin was off like a shot, making Arielle grin as she shut the inside door behind her.

"He likes to be the helper," she remarked.

Mandy nodded and led the way to the kitchen. "Thank God for kids like that."

"What can I help with?"

Mandy set down the 'slaw, then turned back with two bottles of wine. "Take these into the dining room. Time the meeting broke up. I'm fucking starving."

Arielle laughed and did as told, entering the dining room around the large louvered dividers that split the kitchen from the eating area. There was some masculine chuckling going on, Colton taking his seat again as she set the bottles down. There were a couple bottles of JD on the table and from the volume of things that meeting had been over for a little while.

"How lovely, Lady Arielle is here," Dillon slurred, and she found herself chuckling since he was clearly inebriated. She even forgot her discomfort from earlier that day learning about her sister spending time in his dorm room.

"Hello, Dillon," she said agreeably as other, familiar hands took her by the waist and pulled her into a waiting lap.

Before she could act outraged Quentin had her face in his grip and gave her a hell of a kiss, holding her so tight she couldn't get away, even as she shoved at his arms and kicked her feet a little bit.

The table broke into cheers and catcalls, but Arielle was mostly aware that she was blushing again and that Quentin tasted and smelled of bourbon. When he finally let her go he was grinning wickedly, rubbing his nose up along the side of hers. "I felt I owed you that for this afternoon," he said low enough for only her to hear, and she felt her face get warmer still.

"Quentin," she snapped, pretending to be annoyed. But now she was remembering that afternoon as well, bringing back the throbbing but slight discomfort between her legs. He'd been enthusiastic with her, fast and rough, but she could not have minded that much if her three orgasms were any indication.

"All right, Arielle brought coleslaw. Colton, go get the chops off the grill. T-bone, come help me get everything else?" Mandy rattled off standing next to Bishop's chair before leaning over to give him a kiss. "You need a beer?"

Bishop nodded, and as his blue eyes came down to rest on Arielle again she gulped. Every time that man looked at her she could swear he was reading her mind and found it amusing.

"Can I take my seat now?" she asked Quentin, finally getting out of his grasp and standing up.

"Next to me," he ordered, kicking out the seat next to him. As she sat he dragged the chair closer to his. That was fine with her. It felt better to have him between her and Bishop.

"Oh God, Quentin—"

"Get it babe, Jesus."

Arielle leaned away from him slightly, angling her hips, resting her weight on her hands which she clamped on his thighs. He was sitting upright, holding her around the back with one arm, her breast in his hand, eyes on her face as her head lolled back, mouth open.

"Quentin, that's it!"

"Don't tell me, babe. Show me."

One thing had to be said; when his girl let herself go she really rode him with abandon. He just held on, enjoying the show a hell of a lot, feeling the smile. She was so fucking beautiful. He didn`t want to say or do anything to ruin it.

"So good," she was whispering, and his eyes ran down her body, her shift in position giving him a great view of where they were joined. Even with her this undone and wild she was tight as fuck, forcing herself onto him in a way that was dangerous to his control.

"Fuck, Arielle."

"Quentin!"

"Babe."

Then she got silent, still, and he felt the grin right before she brought her head forward, tucking her face into the side of his neck, sinking her teeth into him while she squealed.

He waited until her trembling stopped, then traced his fingertips up her back lightly. "You sore, babe?"

She leaned back. "Just a little. From this afternoon."

"We should stop then." He hated to think she was hurting, but he'd felt her cringe when they started up again.

"No," she said immediately, kissing him with everything she had.

"Arielle, I don't want you hurting, babe."

She fell still, taking his face between her hands. "This hurt I'll gladly take, honey."

He grinned. "I love it when you call me: honey."

She kissed him at that, then pulled away and moved her hips again.

On a hiss he reminded her, "You're hurting."

"I want to enjoy this as much as I can," she whispered. "In a few days you won't even want to hug me, I'm sure."

He frowned. "What’re you talking about?"

"Once I'm sick, throwing up again. You don't want to be around that."

He brought his hand up to cup her jaw. "Sickness and in health, babe."

She inhaled, falling still. "Careful. That's a wedding vow, honey."

"I know." Her eyes locked on his, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "For better for worse."

"Don't."

"Richer or poorer."

"Quentin, please—"

"As long as I live, babe. I'll take care of you."

Her bottom lip quivered, so he kissed her softly, twisting his torso and rolling her to her back so he was on top of her, still connected, only moving again when she kissed him back, her hands clutching him tight. The need to fuck her mindless was gone. As he slid in then out he was slow, attentive, as much about the kissing and caressing as anything else.

They finished together, sweetly, not screaming-intense, but shuddering and whimpering into each other's mouths, not wanting the kiss to end. Something had been broached there, something deep that made him say that shit and not even freak out as he did it. Her admitting, somewhat, that she was scared. Not just of being sick, but losing him.

Him.

This woman thought there was anything better for him that the absolutely perfection she was. She was out of her goddamn mind.

"Wow," she whispered when he raised his head, her hand running from his shoulder, down his neck to his chest.

"Wow," he agreed, reluctantly parting from her and rolling to the side of the bed to clean up. When he came back she was asleep, curled on her side, still naked, tucked in a ball, wig still on.

Quentin grinned, carefully raised her head and slid it off. He approached the wig form with that grin wavering, but he put the wig on it backwards so he couldn't see the face and slid into bed next to her, turning off the light.

He snuggled Arielle into his side, her breathing not hitching in sleep, and he knew she was out dead. So he felt absolutely safe as he said softly, "I love you, Arielle."

Chapter Thirty-One

A clanging woke Quentin from the dead of sleep and he jackknifed upright, taking Arielle with him and startling her awake, too.

"Shit, babe. I'm sorry," he muttered, rubbing his eyes as she rolled to her back and gazed up at him, looking sweet and sleepy and…yeah, fuckable. Like always.

"Happy birthday," she whispered, and his goopy reaction to that was something he'd rather ignore. Especially since she looked fuckable.

Letting that thought take over he ducked his head to kiss her shoulder. She giggled, then he lowered his mouth to her scars, teasing and tickling with tongue and lips, making her gasp. Then the loud noises sounded again from the kitchenand he raised his head. "What’s going on out there?"

Arielle rested her hand on his head, smiling. "Calvin's making you breakfast."

He blinked a couple times, putting it together. "For me? Is that what you guys were preparing yesterday?" She nodded, and Quentin felt a weird jolt run through his chest. He sniffed, looking away from her, his eyes burning for some weird reason. "Charlie's making me
fancy
birthday breakfast?"

Her hand kept playing with his hair. "He didn't know what to get you for your birthday. So he said he wanted to make you waffles."