“You said you were in a rut,” he said softly, right at her backside, the heat of him warming her. “So why not try something new. Follow your heart and go for it.”
The words drifted over her and made more sense than anything she could remember hearing.
Try something new.
Follow your heart and go for it . . .
“You’re right,” she said softly. And then she did just that, she tried something new. She turned, went up on her tiptoes, and kissed him. Her life was upside down and sideways. More than that, she was feeling way too much, and some of that seemed to be tied to him. So she pressed close and tried to convey that with her mouth, her body. When she stroked her tongue against his, he let out a rough groan and the sound ignited something long dead inside her.
More.
That was her only thought. She needed more, now. So she pulled back and looked at him. She wasn’t the only one who was breathless, a fact that bolstered her courage. She took his hand and led him back to her room, where she nudged him inside and kicked the door closed. Once it was locked, she walked him straight to her bed.
“Quinn,” he said quietly, with reluctance. “You’ve had a rough few days. I’m just here to help.”
She kicked off her flip-flops. “Okay, so help. I need help having fun.”
“I’d be taking advantage of you.”
She pulled off her shirt and heard him suck in a breath at the realization that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Turning to face him, she said, “You’re not taking advantage. If Wildstone and everything in it is my storm cloud, you’re the silver lining. Please, Mick. Stay?”
He let out a short breath and stepped into her, banding his arms around her. “I’m not one to argue with a beautiful woman.”
“Glad to hear it. Consider it one of your best qualities. Even better than your ass.”
He laughed and then so did she, but the breath shuddered out of her lungs when those big work-roughened hands slid up her torso and cupped her bare, aching breasts. Her hands got busy too, sliding inside his shirt, her fingers spreading wide over the smooth, hard planes of his back. He felt big and strong and warm, and she quivered with pleasure, nearly drowning in the unfamiliar sensations, like she was waking up from a long, dreamless sleep.
He cupped the back of her head and held her to him, lengthening and deepening their connection, lazily stroking his tongue to hers until her knees wobbled. “Mick.”
“I know.” But he didn’t hurry, he just kept up the slow, teasing, taunting build, stroking those hands over her until she was whimpering and squirming against him for more.
When they finally broke apart to breathe, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Be sure, Quinn.”
“I am.” She tugged his shirt up, watching with hunger as he took over the task, pulling it over his head and letting it sail through the air behind him. “Now the rest,” she said.
She’d meant his jeans but his hands went to hers. In a blink he had them unbuttoned. He crouched low, easily balanced on the balls of his feet as he slid the denim over her thighs, giving him a front-row view of what he unveiled.
His heartfelt groan told her he liked the commando situation. “I was in a hurry,” she said breathlessly as his hands guided the jeans the rest of the way to the floor. His hands encircled her ankles and then slowly ran up her legs, past her knees, her thighs, not stopping until he ran out of leg. Not stopping then either, lingering to play.
“Mick—”
“Mmm,” he said and she could feel his warm breath brush over her heated flesh, making her tremble, her toes already curling. He just continued his gentle torment, causing an onslaught of erotic need that swept over her. Literally. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself this pleasure, this need . . .
“I can’t stand,” she gasped as she burst and shuddered. Mick rose to his full height and lifted her up against him, fusing their mouths together. Her hands wound their way into his hair, holding him to her as she tried to get as close to him as possible.
Then she was in free fall to the bed . . .
He followed her down, divesting himself of his jeans as he did. Quinn grabbed for the covers but he caught her hand and kissed the palm. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
And she felt it. From the tips of her hair to her still-curled toes. She leaned over him to make him feel the same, brushing her mouth over a wide shoulder, a hard pec. She stopped at his abs and couldn’t help but take a lick as she filled her hands with him.
His groan rumbled through her as he rolled her to her back, his mouth coming down on hers. He’d come up with a condom, which made him smarter than she was. He nudged her thighs apart and she eagerly made room, wrapping her legs around him as he filled her, locking her ankles behind his back to keep him right where she wanted him.
She was already chanting his name when he began to move, rolling his hips with purpose until they came together, even as they fell apart.
As simple and terrifying as that.
They lay there awhile, entangled on the trashed sheets. She’d opened the window earlier, and she could hear the lovely night sounds she’d forever associate with Wildstone. She could also hear the damn sink dripping again, which would drive her crazy. Later. For right now her brain was still nothing but a pleasure button, one that couldn’t find annoyance or irritation to save its life.
It had been a long time, but she knew holy-cow sex when she had it, and it had been exactly what she needed. She opened her eyes to tell Mick so and found him watching her, a pensive look on his face. “Uh-oh,” she said, suddenly feeling very naked. “Regrets already?”
“Hell no,” he said.
There was something in his tone and eyes that she couldn’t name, but it made her both yearn and feel uneasy at the same time. She knew this was a man she could fall for, if she let herself.
She wasn’t going to let herself.
She couldn’t even commit to brunch plans with her parents, much less a relationship. And more than that, aside from what had just happened, she wasn’t ready to feel emotion again, of any kind. Just the thought made her panic.
Mick smoothed a fingertip over the furrow in her brow and smiled wryly. “Regrets already?” he murmured back to her.
She forced away whatever troubles were lurking on the horizon and smiled. “Hell no.”
Chapter 13
There should be a weather app for people with social anxiety, like “Today life will be partly crowdy with a 70 percent chance of having to deal with people.”
—from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”
The next morning, Mick woke up to numb extremities. He instantly saw the problem. Coop lay on his feet, Quinn on the rest of him. She’d fallen asleep in his arms muttering something about needing to get him to fix the damn dripping sink again, and he’d stilled as he’d realized.
She still thought he was the B & B handyman.