Take Me Two Times Read online

  Dimly he realized that she was pulling out his wallet, but by then he had his hands all over her and the primitive side of him took over. How did he say no when her nipples were hardening against his palms? How did he say no when his fingers traced the satiny skin of her smooth, fine ass?

  Hell, who was he kidding—he didn’t want to say no at all. He’d never been able to resist Gwen. He’d wanted her from the moment he’d first seen her lush but just-a-little-prissy mouth under that silver mask in Brazil. Maybe it was that touch of prissiness that got to him. He didn’t know.

  He broke free of her mouth and looked down her cleavage to the shadowy apex of her thighs, which teased him, the flesh softly brushing against him, sliding up and down his cock. Nothing prissy about that.

  Those dark, beckoning, forbidden crevices on a woman were the stuff of fantasies. On her specifically, they were crazy-making. All he wanted was to get inside, into the hot, black oblivion where sanity and identity were lost.

  Her hands wrapped around him, rolling a condom down his length. And then without warning she sank onto him in a single, almost brutal thrust. Quinn’s head fell back with the shock, the intense pleasure of it as she rode him.

  Who was this new Gwen who took over, took him, without permission, really, without so much as a word?

  Was she making love to him, or just releasing tension?

  Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, her face beautiful and yet desperate.

  He struggled with what he felt. On the one hand it was erotic as hell, every man’s fantasy. No cuddling, no fore-play, no big tease. And on the other he felt used, even though there were no complaints down there from a certain part of him.

  He understood that she needed this and that he could give it to her. And yet he felt left out and forgotten. She was somewhere else entirely. And possibly with someone else. Who?

  Gwen’s body tensed and arched as she took him. He could tell it was a matter of seconds before she found her release. Her lovely face was flushed, her nipples ripe, her stomach muscles clenched. Soft moans came from her mouth.

  Why wouldn’t she open her eyes and see that he was here? He found himself almost praying for that as he met her thrust for thrust and his own tension built until it was unbearable.

  Quinn almost picked her up and took over, but he was half mesmerized by what was happening. She started to tremble; her breathing came faster and more shallow. Her mouth opened wider and she bit down on her lip, then released it with a cry. He felt every tremor as she shattered into orgasm around him. It was beautiful—she was beautiful.

  God damn it.

  Quinn hated it, but couldn’t hate her, even as his body betrayed him and wrung him dry. Hell, he hadn’t taken advantage of her. She’d taken advantage of him.

  And he still couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been thinking of another man. The thought made him crazy. Caveman crazy.

  Gwen fell forward against Quinn’s chest without opening her eyes. She loved the smell of him, the slight muskiness, and the tinge of salt on his skin. Still impaled, she rubbed her cheek against the soft mat of dark blond hair and listened to his rapid heartbeat and suppressed panting.

  His big hands were wrapped around her hips, and she found herself not wanting to move ever again. It was too good: the heat, the satiety, the joining.

  But Quinn lifted her off of him without a word and got up to dispose of the condom. She heard water flowing in the powder room, and when he came back in he was wiping his hands on a fingertip towel. “Feel better?” he asked, his eyes enigmatically sweeping her from head to toe.

  “What? What do you mean by that?” The heat of a mortifying flush started at her chest and seeped upward. With two words he’d made her feel shameful.

  “You used me to get off,” Quinn said flatly. “Where were you?”

  She felt as if a fastball had hit her right in the diaphragm. She tried to suck in some air. “I . . .”

  He sat down on the couch and folded his arms, his stare unwavering.

  “Quinn,” she said, closing her eyes again. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  She didn’t answer for a long moment. Finally she said, “See. Don’t . . . please don’t . . . see through me right now.”

  “Where were you?” he asked again. “Who were you with in your mind?”

  “Don’t.” She turned, then picked up her clothes from the floor.

  “Who were you with?”

  “You!” she burst out.

  He shook his head, implacable. “No, you weren’t.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “And you’re also wrong.” Oh, God. He’d been so sweet earlier. She really didn’t want to explain. It would only hurt him.

  But he wasn’t letting her off the hook.

  “Fine. You want to know where I was? I was with you fifteen years ago. Not you now. Not this corporate guy who tells me how much he’s worth financially and owns more luxury watches than he’s got arms and drives the same car as my father and . . .” She shook her head, feeling like a complete bitch.

  Quinn’s mouth had dropped open. He looked as if she’d run him through with a sword.

  “I told you not to push it,” she said miserably. “Because I didn’t think you’d like the answer.” She picked up her drink from the floor and took a huge swallow of it. Then she retreated, naked, down the tiled hall to the bathroom.

  Gwen threw her clothes down in a heap and turned on the shower. While she waited for the water to get hot, she drained the rest of the Caipiroska and set the glass down with a snap.

  She eyed herself in the mirror and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the wink of her diamond belly ring. But she was finished with tears.

  She needed to toughen up or she’d never make it in this job. To be a rookie was one thing; to be a weenie was another. So she’d seen her first dead body. Big deal.

  So she’d just slept with her ex-husband. Big deal. Happened all the time to the best women; it didn’t need to mean anything. Natural to feel an old attraction . . .

  Gwen stepped into the shower and made free with the soap, trying not to get her hair wet. It wasn’t working, so she finally just stood under the spray, let it soak her head, and scrubbed all the makeup off her face, too.

  She wasn’t sure how to react to the knock from outside. “Yes?”

  Quinn opened the door and stuck his head in. “May I join you?”

  She stared at him through the pane of clear glass that separated them.

  He stared back.

  “Why?”

  “Because we need to get to the bottom of some things.”

  He opened a cabinet and pulled out two blue towels, which he stacked on the marble vanity. Then he climbed into the shower and they looked at each other a little warily.

  “Soap?” Gwen offered.

  He took it with a nod and dropped his gaze as he lathered. His mouth twisted. “I feel . . . like an ass. You’re telling me that I was out there getting impossibly jealous—crazy, pickle green, ball-racking fuckin’ jealous—of myself , fifteen years ago?”

  “Yes.” She could hardly look at him.

  “And you’re also telling me that . . .” He swallowed. “You’re telling me that you don’t like the man I’ve become.” His jaw worked. “Gwen . . . I don’t know why it matters to me what you think, but . . . what have I done wrong? Everything I set out to do, I’ve done. I’ve worked my ass off. I’ve made good. I’ve made better than good! How many guys my age become CEOs of multimillion-dollar companies? So why, why do you find me so lacking?” He hit the shower wall with his fist, and she jumped. “What do I have to do to be good enough for you?”

  Finished with tears? She started to cry. “Quinn, you were always good enough. You were the best.” She reached out and cupped his face in her hands.

  “Then why the hell did you leave? Huh?” Raw emotion made his voice gravelly.

  “My leaving . . . it had nothing to do with whether you w
ere good enough. It had to do with—among other things—why you were with me.”

  “Explain, Gwen. Once and for all, tell me what you mean!” Frustration turned his voice rough.

  “I was a trophy to you, Quinn.”

  chapter 22

  Anger flashed into Quinn’s eyes. “You were never a trophy. ”

  “Wasn’t I? You claimed me and I was yours. I became another barometer of the bastard kid done good, like one of your scholarships and awards. ‘Look, everyone! Quinn Lawson got himself a rich, pretty society girl to show off. . . .’” Her voice broke and she turned away.

  “Horseshit.” He hit the shower wall again, and she whirled.

  “It’s not horseshit! You can’t just invalidate what I say, run over it with a verbal tractor. I’m telling you how I feel and what I believe, and you don’t get to contradict that. You don’t get to control my thoughts!”

  He stood there shaking his head, his breathing rapid and labored with denial. “So you really think you were my trophy? Well, let me try to change your mind. Let me tell you my version of things, okay?”

  She nodded.

  “You weren’t a trophy, Gwen. You were . . . a goddess. From the moment I saw you, I wanted to touch you, but I was also afraid to touch you. I was desperate to get inside you—in every sense of the word—but scared shitless that I’d never leave again if I did—not voluntarily. You turned me upside down. Wanna know what that does to a control freak, honey? It fucks him up, every which way. And still, all I ever wanted was to deserve you.”

  Her hands had gone involuntarily to her mouth. “Then why . . .”

  “Why didn’t you know that? Why didn’t I talk to you? Why was I sometimes a real asshole?”

  She stayed mute, so he’d fill the distance between them with these crucial words.

  “You think I wanted to be that in love with you? You think it was comfortable? Well, it wasn’t. It made me mad. It terrified me. It made me feel like a cornered animal sometimes. So I barked. And maybe I bit—when all I ever wanted to do, honey, was guard you. Prove my loyalty. Prove I was good enough for you.”

  He broke off and leaned his forehead against the tile of the shower wall. He banged it once, and then twice. Then he straightened and shifted his gaze back to her face. “And here we are. With the naked truth. I’m stupid enough that I could love you again, if I let myself. But you don’t even like me.”

  The words tore through her; she could only imagine what they did to him. To his ego, to his heart.

  “Quinn, you misunderstand. It’s not that I don’t like the man you’ve become. It’s that I don’t think you like him.” She searched his eyes.

  He averted his gaze.

  “He’s not a happy man, Quinn, despite a lot of pride in his accomplishments. He’s got a Mercedes coupe and a pile of money to prove that he’s ‘arrived,’ but yes, to use that old cliché, he can’t buy happiness.”

  “Yeah, well. Looks like I’ll have to fuckin’ steal that.” His voice was harsh, sardonic.

  “You can’t steal it, either! It’s a blessing and a gift and a state of mind. It’s sharing, Quinn. Not taking everything that life can offer you and keeping score, but sharing it with people you love. I don’t see people in your life, Quinn. Where are they?” Tears ran down her face and body, mingling with the spray of the water, rushing for the drain.

  “People?” His mouth twisted. “People let you down, sweetheart. They fuck you over, as soon as what you’re doin’ or who you are ain’t convenient to them.”

  “Not everyone’s like that.”

  “So I hear. But I’ve got enough experience at getting bent over that it makes me real careful.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “And I don’t like being used, either. You know that old saw, honey: It’s lonely at the top.”

  She wasn’t getting through to him, and it frustrated her, made her harsher than she meant to be. “Then it’s a damn good thing that this missing mask has knocked you to the bottom again.”

  Quinn could have been a piece of statuary being soaked by a sprinkler. He didn’t even blink. The water sluiced smoothly down his shoulders and chest, pooled in his navel, clung to the hairs on his legs. It spattered around his ankles as it hit the marble shower floor.

  She opened the glass door and slipped out, leaving him inside. Running again? She didn’t want to think about it. She wrapped herself in one of the blue towels, went into his bedroom, and curled up in an armchair.

  She heard the shower shut off, the door open and close as Quinn got out. A moment later he appeared, big and half-naked in the doorway, the other blue towel wrapped around his waist. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe this is my reality check.”

  Quinn walked over to her and brushed his fingers over her cheek. She turned her face into them. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms. He traced her mouth with a finger and then kissed her. “You,” he said slowly. “You’re my people. You’re the person I want to share things with.”

  Silly to say her heart turned over. Or stopped. Or beat wildly. But his words undid her. Pure emotion, unnamed, swelled in her throat. Was it love? Was it mounting panic?

  Clearly he was developing feelings for her all over again. But could he share? Was he capable . . . or could he only direct and control?

  Quinn kissed her again. He laid her on the bed. Then he knelt in front of her and pushed her thighs apart.

  His mouth on her erased all thought. The wet heat, the shocking intimacy, the sensation of his tongue, the hot, thrashing pleasure took her over. She was at the edge, climbing, trembling . . . when he stopped.

  “I want to make you come,” he said. “I want to make you forget your own name, honey. But I want it to be me. Me here and now. So if you’re thinking of me fifteen years ago, babe, then we have an issue.”

  “Now.” Gwen moaned. “Oh, God . . .”

  “I want you to sit up. I want you to keep your eyes open and watch me, Daddy’s Girl.” He took her hands and pulled her to a sitting position.

  She was a rag doll, could barely hold herself upright. “Please, Quinn.” Funny how she didn’t mind him being alpha in the bedroom.

  “Watch”—he took a long lick at her center—“me.”

  “Yes,” she managed. And she did. She could see his big shoulders between her knees, his skewed dark blond hair, the shadow of stubble on his cheeks, the way her body masked the lower half of his face.

  She could see his eyes, pupils black with passion, and the satisfaction in them when she struggled for control and lost miserably.

  She watched him react to her reactions and hold her thighs apart as she bucked against his mouth. She watched as he stilled for just a moment and then set off the chain reaction again, sending her into multiple orgasms until she finally begged him to stop.

  And this time she didn’t close her eyes when he crawled onto the bed and slid home all the way. As they spiraled up and fell together, she realized what she’d been missing for fifteen long years.

  Quinn liked seeing Gwen in his big bed. He liked her hair messed up and her eyes all sleepy. Nobody else got to see her this way, without the punk Audrey Hepburn thing going on. She was carefully done for the public, with her smoky eye makeup and the deliberately spiked, sprayed-just-so hair. But this mussed Gwen was all natural.

  He toyed with his diamond in her belly button, flicking it gently with his finger. He didn’t know what the hell they were doing, but here they were, naked in bed and pretty satisfied that way. It was a little unnerving, given their history.

  “I should go,” Gwen murmured.

  He found himself very much opposed to that idea. “Why?”

  She propped herself up on her elbow and traced his knuckles with her index finger. “Things to do, people to see. Esteban Velasquez, for one.”

  He tensed. “Gwen . . . Carlos was murdered. That puts a whole different spin on things.”

  “Yes, it sure does. Why was he killed? Because someone thought he was a
bout to talk? Maybe to me? About who hired him to steal the mask . . . and who’s got the real one?”

  “It could just as easily be a drug deal that went bad.”

  “I don’t think so. I just have a gut feeling about it, and now I want to find his brother. Personally, I still think that Angeline Le Fevre is behind this.”

  “Angeline?” Quinn didn’t know her well. He supposed it was possible. She knew the piece; she had the art world connections to unload the thing.

  “But I can’t prove it. The Nerd Corps checked her bank accounts and there’s no irregular activity.”

  “She could have an offshore account.”

  “True. Or she could still have the mask. But it’s not in her home or office.”

  “How do you know that? You didn’t—”

  “No, Quinn, I didn’t break in. McDougal is seeing her. I had him check.” Not that she trusted McD anymore, but for some reason she held that back.

  “So . . . in the absence of the real mask, we need to keep following the leads on the fake one. They will eventually bring us to the person responsible.”

  Quinn reluctantly nodded.

  “And that’s why I need to locate Esteban Velasquez.”

  He reached for her and pulled her on top of him, crushing her breasts against his chest. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine, Quinn.” She kissed him. “I told you, I can handle myself. And this is my reputation. It’s important.”

  “There are things more important than your reputation—or mine. Your life, for one.”

  “You don’t think I can take care of myself,” she said.

  Dangerous ground he was on here. He tried to be tactful. “I would worry about anyone pursuing this case. It has nothing to do with me thinking you’re incompetent. Somebody put two bullets through that kid’s head. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

  “It won’t.” She swung her legs over the side of his bed and wrapped her discarded towel around herself. She seemed to think that was the end of the discussion.

  He hated to break it to her, but he wasn’t going to be put off that easily. “Gwen, please drop the case. Let the police take it from here.”