We leave the club in the early hours. Outside, we get into the back of a limo, Quinn having drunk too much to drive his DB9. In the back seat, I find myself once again in his lap. His hands are on my ass, but we’re not kissing. His piercing blue eyes survey me from where he’s leaning against the headrest.
“I have a thing tomorrow during the day.”
“A thing?”
A sliver of ice crawls over his features. “With Maxwell.”
“Your father?”
A curt nod. “It finishes in the afternoon. I’ll come to you after.”
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“Okay.”
“Good.” The pressure on my ass increases. “Kiss me.”
We make out all the way back to Hell’s Kitchen.
When he leaves me at the door, I’m disappointed, but a little grateful.
Because I know I’m falling in love with two men. And my head feels like it’s going to explode from the pressure.
***
QUINN
I’m in the shower, jacking off—yes, I’m fucking masturbating for the first time in years, to the memory of Elyse’s ass in my hands, her tits, her pussy grinding into me at the back of my limo—when my phone rings.
I turn off the spray. “Answer.” When the voice activation kicks in, “Yes?” I growl
“We have a problem.”
My back knots in tension. “What is it, Nella?”
“Clayton Getty. We’ve lost his trail.”
“Where?”
“Private airport in Reno. He hired a plane. Flight plan said he was headed to Tallahassee. He never landed there.”
My wood dies a quick, merciless death.
36
NOIR
One Week Later
For the first time in forever, I wake up with a smile on my face. I’ve seen Quinn every night for the past week.
Last night was the best night of all. He took me to dinner at a posh restaurant on top of some tower whose name I can’t recall. Our table was the only one on the terrace. And after dinner, we danced under the stars. We ended up at XYNYC after that, of course. He confessed he was part owner and enjoyed going there to relax, which isn’t a bad thing considering I like the music and food there, too. There were fewer paps this time, for which I was grateful.
I replay the previous magical seven days in my head as I bask in my warm bed. Among the many little pockets of awesome, the one I find most precious is the fact that Quinn is willing to give me time, to take things at my own pace.
I’ve never had that. Every significant encounter I’ve ever had to date was on someone else’s terms. What makes it even more special is that I know he wants to fuck the hell out of me. The anticipation alone has my hands moving down my body, wondering how it will feel to have him inside me when the time comes.
My brain rolls through a clutch of superlatives, some of which have me laughing out loud. Until that happens, I intend to enjoy his world class kissing.
Hunger eventually drives me from bed, after which I laze around, watch a movie. The phone stays silent and I breathe an inward sigh of relief as the hours tick by without summons from Fionnella or Q. I don’t know how to take Q’s ominous silence, but by two, I know I probably won’t hear from either of them, so I’m free to spend the afternoon with Quinn as we planned.
Perversely, that acknowledgement slows time right down. I amble listlessly from bedroom to kitchen to living room. Eventually I turn the TV back on, channel surf aimlessly and stop at an entertainment channel. Some celebrity or other is skydiving naked off a mountain in South America. I roll my eyes and am about to flick to another channel when I freeze.
Quinn.
On TV.
My breath rushes out for two reasons.
One, dear God, the man is beautiful. Almost impossibly so. It hurts just to look at him full on.
Two, the look on his face chills my blood. It’s the same look he wore the first time I saw him. The deathly stillness, the soulless stare. But behind it, I see ravaging anguish. He’s standing at a podium of some sort with a group of people. My gaze moves to the man giving the speech, and I note the uncanny resemblance between father and son. I stare at Maxwell Blackwood for a moment before Quinn once again absorbs my attention.#p#分页标题#e#
When his father finishes speaking, he claps, but his expression doesn’t change. Amid the smiles and handshakes, his face remains a rigid mask. He leans sideways as the person next to him, a stunningly beautiful woman with straight black hair and piercing grey eyes, whispers in his ear. He straightens without answering or looking at her, but as they turn to leave the stage, Quinn’s hand slides around her waist.
Then, I watch, stunned, as his hand moves lower to her ass. The squeeze is lightning quick, over before it even begins, but my insides congeal.