We were shown to a beautifully set
table for two along the perimeter of the
room, and Quinn waited for the host to
seat me before lowering himself into his
chair. (Later, when I excused myself to
use the bathroom, he stood when I got up
and when I returned as well. I’m the
least romantic person I know, but I do
find that kind of old-fashioned courtesy
attractive—especially when I know the
dirty mind behind the courtly manners. It
was like another little game, a secret we
shared.)
We dined on calamari, beef
Wellington, and grilled vegetables,
polishing off a bottle of Barolo in
between delectable bites. When the
dessert plates had been cleared—we’d
devoured something called Chocolate
Cartier, which included strawberries
covered in chocolate, my favorite way to
eat fruit—Quinn reached into his suit
jacket and pulled out a small white box.
Since it was flat and square, I felt no
rising panic that I’d somehow led him to
believe a ring was a good idea. Instead,
I smiled at him.
“What’s this?”
“A present.” He set it on the table.
“This meal was my present. And I
loved every minute of it.”
He nudged the box toward me.
“Open it.”
Giving him a suspicious look, I slid
the box closer and took off the top. “Oh
my God!” I gasped, putting my hands to
my cheeks, which felt hot beneath my
fingers. “Quinn, it’s beautiful. I love it.”
It was a silver circle pendant, about
one inch in diameter, attached in two
spots to a delicate silver chain so it
would lie flat on my collarbone.
“I’m glad. It’s nothing fancy, but I
saw it this week and thought of you. I
noticed you don’t wear a lot of jewelry.”
“I don’t at all. This is perfect—a
little sparkle, a little elegance. I love it,
really.” My throat felt tight, and I
swallowed hard.
“It came with that little card that tells
about the symbolism of it.”
I picked up the card the necklace
was resting on and read aloud. “Karma.
What goes around comes around… Wear
your necklace as a reminder to keep the
circle positive, peaceful, and loving.” I
met his eyes.
“I thought it was a nice message.
Hope you don’t think it’s too sappy.”
“Not at all. I think it’s a beautiful
message. Should I put it on?”
He looked pleased. “If you want to.”
Carefully undoing the clasp, I
lowered my head, placed the necklace
around my neck and fastened it. When I
looked up, he was taking a picture.
I laughed. “Really? Right now,
during this nice, private moment?”
“Not sorry. You look happy and
beautiful.”
“I feel happy and beautiful,” I said
honestly, touching the circle with my
fingertips. My entire body hummed with
warmth. It almost felt like being a little
drunk, but I knew it wasn’t the wine.
“And I’ll wear this often, Quinn.”
“Good. It looks perfect on you.” His
eyes dropped to his coffee cup as he
toyed with the handle. “And I think it’s
true, the idea that you get back what you
put out there. Since my mom died, I’ve
thought a lot about what I’m, you know,
putting out there. And what I want back.”
“Yeah?” I rested my chin on my
hands, elbows on the table.
“She put such pure, selfless love out
there. Worked so hard and always took
pride in what she did, whether it was
cleaning someone’s house, cooking at the
restaurant, or raising a son on her own.”
“She was very proud of you. Nothing
made her happier than talking about
you.” I sighed, thinking of my own
mother. “I have no idea what makes my
mother happy beyond her work. What
she wants to put out there or get back. I
don’t think it’s love.”
Quinn looked up at me. “No?”
“Actually, I don’t know. That’s
terrible, isn’t it? That I don’t know my
mother well enough to know what makes
her happy?”
“Some people are hard to know.”
“Yeah, but she’s my
mother
.” I sat
back, dropping my hands in my lap.
“And other than her job, I have no clue
what makes her excited to get up in the
morning. What’s she passionate about?”
“Maybe it’s the research she does.
That helps a lot of people.”
“I guess. That’s just so
in her head
,
you know? It doesn’t connect her to
anyone. She seems so…closed off
sometimes. Just sharing a roof with my
father and living in her own little world
by herself. They don’t even share a
bedroom.”
Quinn looked at me for a moment.
“Are you worried that she’s
un
happy?”
“Maybe.” I thought for a second,
words on the tip of my tongue. “Or
maybe I’m worried about turning out like
her.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know. Forget I said
anything.” Suddenly self-conscious, I
fussed with the knot of hair at my neck.
“No, come on.” Quinn leaned
forward on his elbows. “Talk to me.”
God, he was so handsome. And he
was
good
to me—I wasn’t an easy
person to get close to, and he tolerated
all my quirks, made me feel beautiful
and sexy, respected my boundaries even
after a month had gone by. He deserved
more of me, and he was asking for it.
I bit my lip. “Do you think I’m too
closed off? Too unaffectionate? That I
might end up alone and unhappy because
I won’t let anybody in?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I
think,” he said slowly, “you’re a very
loyal person who shows love in her own
way, on her own terms.”
“But what about the way I don’t like
all the mushy romantic stuff or talking
about feelings or being touched all the
time? Am I cold-blooded? Just weird?
Am I too in my head? Why don’t I
believe in love like other people do?
Why do I feel like it’s me who knows the
truth and everyone else is deluded, yet
everyone else is destined to be much
happier than I’ll ever be?” By the time I
stopped talking, I was a little tearful, and
Quinn reached for my hand. I let him
have it.
“First, I
know
you’re warm-blooded.
In fact, I’d venture to say your blood
runs downright scalding sometimes. And
I love that about you—you might keep
your cool all day long, but then it comes
out of nowhere, this intense heat.” He
squeezed my hand. “I can’t get enough of
it, and I’m not saying that to make you
feel bad—I mean it as a compliment.
When something is in short supply,
there’s always high demand.”
I couldn’t resist. “Is that a short
joke?”
“No. It isn’t.” He squeezed my hand
again. “And you’re not weird. Plenty of
people don’t like sappy stuff or want to
be in constant physical contact.
Everyone has a different comfort level
with physical affection. Yours and mine
might be different, but that doesn’t mean
yours is wrong. Do I think you’re too in
your head sometimes? Yes. Do I think
that means you’ll wind up alone and
unhappy? No.”
“Thanks. I think.”
He smiled. “As for love, I don’t
know why you don’t believe. Maybe you
won’t let yourself.”
“What?” My skin prickled with
gooseflesh.
“Maybe you’re so good at being in
your head that your rational mind has
entirely overruled your emotions, and
that suits you just fine.”
His words jogged my memory.
“Margot said something like that to me
about a month ago, when I was
complaining about how you wanted to
date me.”
He looked amused. “Oh?”
“Yeah, she said I don’t let myself
enjoy sex with men I date because I
don’t want to have a reason to give them
a real chance. And that I use great sex as
a reason to avoid dating them at all.”
“Like you tried to do with me,” he
said, his eyebrows rising. “Very astute.
She knows you.”
I frowned. “She does. But what does
all this mean? Have I just been lying to
myself all this time? Sabotaging my own
chance to be happy with someone?”
“Hey.” He took my fingers and
wiggled them. “No frowning. The point
of the gift was not to give you an
existential crisis. It was to give you a
pretty little thing to remind you that what
you give is what you get, and what I
want to give you right now is an
orgasm.”
Yes.
That was enough to turn my
worry into a different kind of tension—
one I knew how to deal with, one that
could be easily and joyously relieved,
one that made me ache to get my hands
on him. “Chances are good you’ll
get
one, too.”
“Just one?”
I lifted my shoulders playfully.
“We’ll see what happens.”
We paid the bill and picked up our
coats, and after he slipped mine onto my
shoulders, he spoke low in my ear.
“Your ass in that red skirt has me so hard
right now.”
Giggling, I pulled on my gloves and
spoke softly over my shoulder.
“Patience, Mr. Wolf. Give a girl a little
time to frolic in the woods before you
grab her ass.” I turned to face him and
rose on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.
“Want to come home and frolic with
me?”
He grabbed my wrist and yanked me
toward the door without another word.
TWENTY
JAIME
HE LOOMED over me in the dark as I
shivered on the kitchen floor.
“Nowhere to run, little girl,” he said,
his tone dark but delighted. “I’ve chased
you all through the woods. I’ve chased
you out of your pretty clothes. I’ve
chased you right onto your knees.” He
was naked and hard, and now he took his
dick in his hand, stroking it while I
watched, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
“Now what am I going to do with you?”
On my hands and knees, I sat back on
my heels. “What do you want to do with
me?”
“Eat you, of course. Tear you apart.”
He worked his hand slowly up and down
his cock, and I felt my nipples tingling.
“But I’m a patient wolf, and I’m not
completely without a sense of decorum.
Any last requests?”
I licked my lips. “Yes. One.”
“Which is?”
“I want to watch you.”
“Watch me?” Surprise colored his
words, but I thought it might be pretend,
since he kept his fist tight around his
shaft and jerked hard a couple times.
“What do you mean, little girl?”
Fuck
, he was hot. My eyes had
adjusted to the dark enough to appreciate
the gorgeous lines of his body in the
dark, the swell of the muscles, the
motion of his arm. I’d given him a hand
job before, but I’d never watched him
(or any other guy) do it to himself, and
suddenly it seemed like the hottest thing
ever. I’d felt his orgasm inside me, heard
the gasp and groan of it, tasted it on my
tongue—now I wanted to
see
it. “I want
to watch you do that.”
His hand slowed again. “You know I
like you to be specific. Tell me exactly
what you want or you won’t get it.”
Quinn never let me get away with
skirting around my dirtiest desires.
If
you think it, you should say it,
he said.
Believe me, I want to hear it.
“I want to see your hands on your
body. I want to watch you lose control. I
want to watch you make yourself come
while you look at me.”
His chest hitched with rapid breaths.
“You’re such a naughty little girl.”
He didn’t know the half of it—there
were all kinds of things running through
my mind right now.
“I am,” I said, getting to my knees,
running my hands up my thighs.
“Because I’ve thought about it before.”
“Yeah?” His eyes were glued to my
hands, which roamed over my breasts,
down my stomach, between my legs. He
moved his thumb over the shiny tip of his
cock, and my clit throbbed.
“Yes. When you first moved in, I’d
imagine you in bed below me getting
yourself off while I did the same in my
bed.” I slipped one fingertip inside
myself and rubbed the wetness over my
clit.
“I probably was. Fuck.” His hand
moved faster over his cock, which was
thick with veins and darker than the skin
on his thighs.
“Did you think about me?”
“Yes,” he rasped. “Fuck yes, I did.”
His ab muscles flexed as he jerked his
fist up and down in quick, tight motions.
“Are you wet?”
“Drenched.” Filled to bursting with
the desire to please him, to do things
with him I’d never done with anyone
else, I pushed my finger in deeper. “Want
to feel?”