Undercover Heat (16 page)

“Do I have to lay you down on the floor and bang you right here in front of all these people to get you to believe it's you I want, Kyra?” Quinn snapped. “Keith Oshard was a dumb fuck,” he added as he snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. He downed the contents in one swallow. “And you need to get over thinking that I am anything like him, because I have to tell you, it's really starting to piss me off. I have plenty enough of my own demons to deal with, without worrying about you comparing me to him all the damn time.”

“I have never compared you and Keith.” She could feel the heat of her flush, working its way up her chest. She looked around for a waiter, needing her own drink to cool the heat rising in her body. “Well, okay, maybe I have. But I promise, you have definitely come out more favorably. In fact, there wasn't even a real comparison.”

He dipped his head and kissed her neck, just below her ear. “That's what I like to hear,” he whispered. “Mr. Happy
really
wants to make you happy tonight.”

“At what point in your life did you name your genitalia Mr. Happy?”

“The first time I managed to get into your pants.”

Kyra laughed. Quinn nibbled on her neck again.

“Goodness. It is certainly getting warm in here.”

They pulled apart at the sound of the female voice, although Kyra appreciated that Quinn kept his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, with his hand resting on her hip.

Despite the fact that she knew she looked good in her understated pale blue gown, it was hard to focus on the job at hand when faced with Whitney's overly ample, perky, high assets. They were all but spilling out of the gown's plunging neckline. When she leaned forward and placed her hand on Quinn's arm, Kyra swore she could see the outer edge of one areola. She sucked air through her teeth and forced herself not to stop smiling.

“You two are so adorable,” Whitney cooed as she stroked the arm of Quinn's tuxedo jacket. “You make me believe there is hope for the institution of marriage after all.”

“Didn't you say you've been married four times?” he asked.

“Yes,” Whitney admitted. “I took them to the cleaners each time. I suppose there is some positive to the institution.” She smiled demurely.

“I suspect there's a lot more than that,” Quinn remarked, his arm still firmly latched around Kyra's waist.

Whitney's predatory smile was for Quinn alone. “Oh, certainly. There are other … benefits, I suppose.” Kyra was plastered to his side, yet she might as well not even been in the room.

“When are you going to turn our little nest egg into a million-dollar retirement?”

Whitney blinked rapidly, as if she didn't quite understand why Kyra was speaking directly to her.

“Well.” The woman in red cleared her throat. “After reviewing your portfolio, I think it would be best if you invested separately.”

Quinn arched one sleek black brow. “Oh?”

“Absolutely. I believe your money will grow better separately, instead of combined.”

Bullshit
.
Everyone knows about compound interest, even lowly FBI agents
.

Quinn must have sensed her agitation, because his fingers were digging into her hip, a silent message to keep her cool. A waiter paused to offer them drinks from the silver tray balanced on his hand. Kyra snagged one and took a healthy swallow of the carbonated liquid.

“What do you suggest we do?” Quinn asked politely.

“I think it's best if I meet with you separately, to discuss how best to invest your money.” She pinned Quinn with her sultry gaze. “I can make myself available day … or night.”

Before Kyra could formulate a scathing response, Quinn said, “We'll have to review our schedules and get back to you.”

You don't stand a chance in hell, honey
.

Kyra was dimly aware that her confidence in Quinn now far exceeded whatever she may have felt for Keith. Quinn wouldn't betray her. She twisted her head, caught his eye, and gave him a radiant smile. He blinked owlishly, clearly not understanding her unspoken signal. But it was okay. She'd make sure he understood later. When they were alone. And maybe she'd even work up the courage to tell him she wanted this to be a relationship. Something real. Something—long term.

Some wealthy local politician who was on the fast track to Washington D.C. stepped up and managed to divert Whitney's attention, and Quinn immediately began maneuvering Kyra toward the door.

“Time to go,” he announced.

“We're leaving?”

“Hell, yes. We've gathered plenty of intel, and I can't take it anymore. At this rate, we may have to pull over to the side of the road.”

“We didn't bring any condoms.”

“Damn it.”

• • •

They were barely inside the door before Quinn was on her, his hands everywhere, his lips on hers, demanding she open for him, give him exactly what he needed. She surrendered, fully and completely.

He gathered the hem of her dress into one hand, discovered the gun strapped to her thigh, and let his fingers wander over highly sensitive areas while he unstrapped the weapon before grasping her thighs and lifting her off her feet. Her silver spiked sandals clattered to the floor as Kyra wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. His mouth never left hers; their tongues warred for dominance.

“Window seat,” he decided as he carried her into the master bedroom. He placed both his gun and hers on the nightstand, while Kyra snagged the box of condoms perched there.

She lifted the box and turned it over. “Only two left.”

“We may have to make a midnight run to the nearest twenty-four-hour convenience store,” he said as he turned and dropped onto the window seat with her in his lap. “This dress is fucking hot. I don't know if two will be enough.”

Her laugh turned to a gasp of pleasure as his fingers slipped into her silk panties and slid through the wetness there.

“Quinn,” she moaned his name as he thrust two fingers into her while simultaneously using his teeth to tug the bodice of her dress aside so he could suckle her nipple. “Oh, Quinn.”

Her orgasm began to well. “I want you. Inside me. You.” She sounded like a bumbling fool, but she couldn't help it. Her brain was too coated with lust to function properly.

He leaned back against the window and she urgently began scrabbling at the fastenings of his pants. “I'm all yours,” he promised. “Any way you want me.”

“Just like this.” She freed his erection and waited impatiently while he sheathed himself. He pulled her panties to the side and she slid down onto him. He was smooth, like a hot knife through melted butter.

“Christ, Kyra,” he said as she found her rhythm and began shifting up and down. “Don't stop.”

“Oh, Quinn …” She opened her eyes to a slit and swore she caught a flash of light. It looked as if it was coming from Whitney's house. She abruptly stopped moving. Quinn's fingers dug into her hips.

“Holy hell, why did you stop?” he demanded, gasping for air like he'd been running for miles.

“Someone's watching us. Whitney,” she whispered, her eyes wide and staring out the window.

He lifted his hips. “Let her watch. I bet it's a hell of a show. Now move, goddamn it.”

“No, I can't. I—” He didn't wait for her to finish her plea. He wrapped his arms around her waist, surged to his feet, and stumbled over to the bed, dropping her onto her back and falling on top of her. She widened her legs and grabbed his face, kissing him as he hammered into her, clinging to the comforter for leverage.

When they were both sated and he was stretched out, still half on top of her, Quinn said, “We're getting blinds for that window. I want to do it on that window seat again. That was fucking hot.”

She chuckled but quickly sobered. “Do you think she really was watching us?”

He shrugged. “What made you think she was?”

“I saw something. A flash of light. I mean, there are so many trees and her house is plenty far enough away that I wouldn't think she could see. But if she had binoculars …”

He didn't discount her fear. Instead, he said, “I've been wondering for a while now if she doesn't have something personal against you. I know you said she didn't know you were the agent who almost caught her in Dallas, but how can you be sure? We know she had inside information. What if Oshard told her?”

“He wouldn't,” she whispered. “Not because of me, but because of the institution. He's been an agent for nearly twenty years.”

“Agents can go bad. It doesn't happen all that often, but it's not unheard of. And he was banging the woman, even though he knew she was your perp. In my book, he'd already gone bad.”

“He didn't tell her,” she insisted. “He just wasn't thinking. He let his lust control his actions.”

“I let my lust control my actions every time I'm around you.”

Kyra rolled her eyes. “Besides, Whitney's never once indicated she knows who I am.”

Quinn wrapped his arms around her waist and twisted so that he lay on his back with her sprawled on top of him. He rolled his hips and trailed his fingers over her satiny dress. She could feel his erection growing, pressing against her.

“Already?”

“I can't help it,” Quinn replied, busy nibbling on her neck. “I told you, the lust controls my actions.”

She believed him. She didn't exactly have a choice.

“I like waking up like this.”

“Like what?” Kyra snuggled more deeply into the cocoon of Quinn's arms.

“With you in my bed. Naked. With a strong opportunity for morning sex.” He kissed her shoulder. “Very strong,” he added as he cupped her ass and pulled her closer.

She giggled. “Sorry, I have to pee,” she said, reluctantly sliding away from his warmth and climbing out of bed. “And we're out of condoms, remember?”

“Damn it.” He rolled out of bed. “I guess I'll go make breakfast and then run to the store. Maybe then I can get lucky?”

“The likelihood is high,” she assured him just before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door.

• • •

They discussed the case as they devoured Quinn's homemade pancakes.

“She's ripe for the plucking,” he said. “We have a massive amount of circumstantial evidence. We just need one solid thing. I can get it.”

She knew his heart was in the right place. He wanted to help. And he was smart enough to recognize that letting Whitney Bianca think she'd lured him into her lion's den was the way to do it. Except—

“She'll eat you alive.”

“She doesn't stand a chance.” Quinn snorted.

“You don't know her as well as I do.”

“I know myself. And I know how I feel about you.”

Instead of arguing her point, she asked, “How
do
you feel?”

Quinn focused on shoveling food into his mouth. When there was no more pancake to sop up the syrup on his plate, he pushed away from the table and focused on carrying dishes into the kitchen. Finally he stopped in the entryway between the rooms and placed his hand on the doorframe, pressing so hard his fingers turned white.

“I don't know,” he said with such stark honesty, she sucked in a breath and held it.

“I … I care,” he managed. “I don't know what else to call it. But there's something there, Kyra. And it's real.”

It's real.

• • •

Quinn and Kyra both went into the office on Monday morning. With FBI case files, there were always mounds of paperwork to be done, even if the case was not yet closed. Plus, Quinn wanted to check on the child-kidnapping ring he'd busted just before getting tapped to help Kyra with her current case. He needed to make sure the prosecutor was doing her job and those bastards would rot in prison for the rest of their lives.

Raquel showed up with her baby shortly after they arrived. Quinn retreated to his desk, but Kyra followed her into Nico's office so they could all make silly faces at the little baby girl.

Quinn sucked down a sixteen-ounce Coke. Too bad it wasn't mixed with Jack. Or rum. Or anything with a little more kick. His life was such a fucking roller coaster at the moment, he didn't know which end was up.

First, there was the whole incident with Kyra answering his phone, talking to his incarcerated father. He wanted to know what the hell they talked about, but he was too chicken to ask, too mystified to bring it up again.

She accepted the fact that his father was a criminal, knew enough about his fucked-up childhood that she should have run screaming for the hills, yet she hadn't. She was still there.

Then, just a couple of hours later, he was faced with Kyra, standing in the middle of the living room, holding a baby in her arms and smiling as serenely as the damned Mona Lisa.

That should have been
his
cue to go running for the hills, but instead, all he'd done was stand there and stare at her, imagining it was
his
baby she was rocking.

What the hell was wrong with him? Quinn Daniels, looking at a woman and envisioning the whole white picket fence concept? Seriously? He really had gone off the deep end. Kyra Sanders was pretty damn amazing in bed—was pretty damn amazing in general—but thinking about a future, about having kids with her?

What the hell
was
wrong with him?

Although in truth, she had her own damn faults, too. Like her refusal to let him lure Bianca into their net by letting the woman believe she could seduce him. Their last conversation about the subject had veered so far off course, he'd ended up confessing he had feelings for her. Despite the unresolved case, they'd headed to the store, giggling like teenagers as they bought not one, but three boxes of condoms. Then they'd retreated back to the house and fell back into bed, where they pretty much spent the next thirty-six hours, other than to eat or use the bathroom.