Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (11 page)

And finally…the room felt comfortable. 

“Genevieve?”

“What?”

“Now that you’ve got me where you want me...What are you going to do with me?”

Thirteen

The arrogant son of a bitch. 

He’d left her alone in the airport, where she could very well have wound up on the unpleasant end of a rubber glove. 

He’d accused her of purposely turning up in his room.

My
room,
she corrected.

And now he was insinuating that she was just going to jump into bed with him – and not only that, but that it was
her
idea to do it.  That somehow, she was calling the shots and this was the result.

Ginnie’s temper flared.

She wanted to deny vehemently that he was where she wanted him.  But she knew that’s what he was waiting for, so that when she
did
deny it, he could turn it around and point out that she’d asked him to put the pants on, and suggest that maybe she wanted him to take them off again.

So she kept her mouth stubbornly closed and stared down at the big man who was stretched out like he owned the place.  And – of course – he thought he did.

Ginnie waited for him to notice her pointed silence, to open his cocky mouth and say something that would incriminate himself rather than her, but he stayed quiet too.  His breathing evened out, and as Ginnie studied the rise and fall of his wide, well-inked chest, she thought maybe the jerk had actually fallen asleep. 

Which was what she was dying to do herself.

Ginnie narrowed her eyes, and considered screaming, just to find out if he really had drifted off.  But she had a feeling that wouldn’t go over so well.  She could picture – far too easily – the tattoo-covered giant overreacting, grabbing her, and pinning her down to prove he was still the one with the upper hand.  And she was a little worried that she might even like it.

She bit her lip and glared at his reposed form.  He was taking up entirely more space than was necessary, even for his big body.
 

So even if you
were
considering winding up in his bed, there isn’t much space for you.

The thought made her blush.  But it irritated her too.  It was supposed to be
her
bed, dammit.

She gave him and his stupid muscles another dirty look.

Clearly, he couldn’t be forcefully removed.  And as far as manipulation was concerned…Ginnie knew full well that she was out her league here.  Quinn held her body enthralled, and the time they’d spent together had shown her that she wasn’t strong enough mentally to overcome that.

You could just give in,
nagged a little voice in her head.
Forgive him. Climb into that bed. See how far you can get. Slip your hand into those jeans, help yourself to more than a handful…But no.

For some reason, she was sure that the second she succumbed to her body’s will, her heart would follow.  And while Ginnie might not know Quinn Mcdavid well at all, she
did
know a few things.  He was the kind of man who knew how to use his sexuality properly.  Who kissed a girl – a stranger – just to shut her up.  Who faked sex in a bathroom on an airplane like it was no big deal.  And who took off the second things got a little awkward. 

Oh, yeah. Let’s call getting held under suspicion of terrorism a little bit awkward,
the nagging voice said to her mockingly, then it asked – a little too acerbically,
Would
you
have stuck around for
him?

She shoved the voice away again.

If he was really interested, he would’ve made a move.  An effort.  And he hadn’t.  All he’d done was make her a promise, then renege on it.

So as much as she might be tempted…Quinn Mcdavid was
not
the guy for her.  Not for a bit of gratification, and not for anything else, either.  In fact, he was the exact opposite of everything she wanted.

Case in point, his ink.

She could see now that the tattoo on his neck – the one that screamed prison-love – was an intricate sunburst.  Below that was a tree, its branches curved below the sun, its trunk dipping down his bicep.  The tree’s roots were visible, too, spreading down to form a cocoon over a small knife, then wrapping around his arm completely.

Ginnie’s gaze moved up the tree again.  At the end of the branches were leaves, so real they looked like they were twisting in the wind as they spiralled down from his pecs to his ribs.

Ethereal.

That’s the word Ginnie would use to describe that particular piece, even if the word didn’t suit the rest of Quinn at all.  The rest of him was the opposite. 

Impossibly solid.

She flushed as the visual
solidity
of him popped to mind.

Part of her wondered how he managed to walk around all day comfortably with
that
impressive display of manliness between his legs.  He’d had a hard-on that would put a Chippendale dancer to shame.

Not that Ginnie had ever
seen
a male exotic dancer.  Or a female one for that matter.  But if she
had
to picture one.  A male one, that is then…Yep.  It would be like that.  Or less like that, she guessed, if averages were considered.

She tried to force her gaze up, but his abs grabbed her attention again before she could stop it from happening.  Chiseled.  Washboard.  Mouth-watering. 

He shifted a little and the unbuttoned jeans – which already hung
so
low on his hips – slipped down ever further, highlighting the sexy ‘V’ that pointed straight from his chiseled abs down to his hard as a rock –

Oh, hell. Bloody, freaking, oh, my
God
hell. What is wrong with me?

She was standing in a hotel room, mentally devouring a sleeping man.  Whom she’d just barely met.  Out of character didn’t begin to describe the silent perusal of his assets.

And.  He
was
still hard.  She could see it right through his pants.

If he didn’t want her…he sure as hell wanted something.  Someone.

It
could
be me.

Ginnie shuffled a little in place as desire made her damp.  Try as she might, she couldn’t make herself
not
want him.

“Genevieve?”

Her name, spoken in the sexy, sweet, ridiculously perfect French accent just about made her jump out of her skin.

So much for being asleep, you big phony.

She swallowed. “What?”

“Tell me something…How’d you get so wet, anyway?”

Ginnie’s face burned. “Excuse me?”

Quinn’s eyes opened, and he shot her a puzzled frown, then chuckled knowingly. “Your clothes. How’d your
clothes
get so wet?”

“Oh.” The blush didn’t subside in the least. “I slipped on a patch of ice. Landed in the snow.”

“Ouch. You okay?”

Did he actually care?  He sounded like her might.  Of course, he’d also sounded like he meant it when he told her he’d sort things out at the airport.

“I’m fine,” Ginnie said coldly.

“Not as interesting a story as I was hoping for.”

“Really? Because my day has been a little
more
interesting than
I
was hoping for.”

“You wanna sit down and talk about it?”

“Um. No. I think I’m just going to go.”

He sat up, looking serious for the first time since she walked in. “Go where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’m going to go anywhere but here.”

“C’mon, Ginnie. You’re soaked. And Chelsea told me this was the very last room available in all of Huntingdon. You’ll just wind up sleeping in the lobby. And I know you’d hate that.”

Chelsea again.  Dammit.  For some reason, hearing the other girl’s name made Ginnie’s throat constrict.  Who was she?  Besides some pretty girl?

Prettier than
me? Ginnie wondered petulantly.

Dammit with a side of ice cream.

And then he did it again. “Let me just call Chelsea and – ”

Ginnie cut him off. “I know I look a little worse for wear, Quinn, and I probably don’t seem like the kind of girl who’s comfortable sleeping in a chair for a few hours, but I’ve spent the night in worse places. Don’t let me ruin your date.”

She turned to go, but only made it halfway up before Quinn was on his feet and on
her
, his warm but vicelike grip clasping her shoulders and spinning her around to face him.

She wished she could shake him off.  She wished the tips of his fingers didn’t send tiny explosions of heat in her skin.  She wished she didn’t have that raw, ready-to-cry burn in her throat.

But her body didn’t care what her mind wished.  It just remembered the feel of the orgasm tearing through her as she’d listened to him talk.

Dammit, body. Get your shit together and start listening to your head.

Even her annoyed, self-directed command didn’t make it easier to cooperate.

“Ginnie,” Quinn said softly. “What
exactly
is it you think is going on here?”

She swallowed and tried to speak without a telltale catch in her voice. “It’s none of my business.”

“I want to hear it anyway.”

“Fine. I think I’m crashing the party, third-wheel style.”

He frowned and his dark-lashed eyes tossed a pointed look around the room. “Little hard for there to be a third wheel when there’s only two of us in here.”

“But when Chelsea gets here…”

“Chelsea? Why the hell would she come in
here
?”

He sounded genuinely confused, but before she could stop herself, Ginnie glanced toward the bathroom and the steaming tub.  And Quinn caught her look.  Of course.  And her drift.

“You thought that…” He trailed off and one side of his mouth tipped up in a sexy, crooked smile. “And you’re jealous.”

“No.”

“No?” The reply was weighted with disbelief.

“It’s fine, Quinn,” Ginnie lied. “I get it. And I’m not jealous. I just don’t want to wreck your night.”

He reached over and grabbed her chin, lifting her face gently so she had no choice but to look him the eyes. “I do
not
have a date, Ginnie. Not with Chelsea. Not with anyone.” 

God.  Why did she want so badly to believe him?  Why did she want to forget that he’d taken off and left her at the mercy of Gilligan and his accusations and just sink into his arms?  Drown in those brown-flecked, amber eyes?  Be seduced by his voice as he continued to speak, his voice dropping lower and lower, sexier and sexier, begging to be believed?

“Hell,” he added. “I haven’t been on a date in two years. The most action I’ve seen in all that time was a little bit of fake Mile High Club, all right? As I recall, you were there for that. And for the record, I was getting into the tub with nothing but my thoughts.”

And Ginnie saw the raw hunger his gaze.  It was evident in the dilation of his pupils and the eager way his tongue touched his lip ring.  It was clear in how he moved closer again, and how his hands scooped away her wayward hair and slid down her throat and across her shoulders. 

He was definitely primed and ready, and his attention was all on her. 

A fan of warmth seeped into Ginnie’s core.  Her heart rate quickened and her breath caught as he inclined his head. 

He was going to kiss her, and this time it was going to be different.  It wasn’t going to be the shut-up kind, or the make-your-ex-jealous kind.  It was going to be something more genuine.  Something potentially amazing.

Ginnie’s eyes drifted shut.  And unbidden, the image of Quinn in the tub floated to the surface again.

He’d been alone.

With his thoughts.

Naked.

Erect.

And looking the tiniest bit embarrassed.

Then Ginnie clued in.

Oh.

He might not have had a date, but he’d been planning a party all right.  For one. 

She pulled away just as his lips brushed hers.  It didn’t matter how badly she wanted this.  She had no illusions about what kind of lover she was – Lawrence had made sure of that.  And she would never measure up to whatever fantasy Quinn had created in his mind.

“Seriously,” she said, smoothing her skirt and working to keep any trace of her desire – or disappointment – out of her voice. “You don’t have to make excuses.”

He moved toward her, reached for her.  And Ginnie put her hands up.  Her breath caught as her palms grazed the hard lines of his chest.  Very quickly, she slid her arms back to her sides and took a step back.  The space gave Ginnie just enough room to breathe.  Just enough room to miss his nearness. 

“Quinn, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Owe you…” He trailed off, shot her a puzzled look, then shook his head and tugged on his hair.