Read Online Dances With Demons - A Phoenix Chronicle Novella by Lori Handeland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lori Handeland
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bitter, sad woman, but she isn’t the only one who’d think badly of me for—”
“Who cares what anyone thinks?”
“I have a business to run. A small business in a local neighborhood.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It might be the twenty-first century, but it isn’t really.”
He spread his hands. She wasn’t making any sense.
“We might be living in a more enlightened age, but it still wouldn’t be good for business if it gets out that I’m banging the help.”
“We’ll be quiet.” At her obvious confusion, he continued. “We won’t bang about at all.”
One short, sharp laugh escaped before she quelled it. “I have small children.”
“They aren’t that small,” he muttered.
“Quinn.”
He sighed. “I’d marry ye—”
“Whoa!” She held up a hand. “I don’t even know you.”
He let his gaze travel from the tip of her curly red head to the toe of her well-worn shoe—not that long of a trip, but an enjoyable one—then lifted his brows.
“That’s not what I meant. We can’t continue this...” She waved a hand toward the still rumpled bed visible through the open door into the bedroom.
“I understand. Back there you have children, the business, your friends and... his.”
“Back there,” she echoed, and her gaze went to the bed, stayed there a while. She licked her lips, and he wanted to do the same, even before they curved and her blue eyes met his. “In Milwaukee this ends. But here... “
“Here?” he repeated, both hoping she was saying what he thought and fearing it.
“Here I don’t have anything else to do.” Her smile broke free. “But you.”
She took the few steps that separated them, bumping her breasts against his chest. His hands clenched. The burn throbbed. He throbbed.
“All right?”
He knew what she was asking. He also knew what he must say. He might be able to explain away a single night in her bed as an accident, bad judgment, a mistake. But a dozen? Even half that?
Liz Phoenix would kill him.
He opened his mouth to refuse but the words that came out were, “All right.”
Chapter 8
I couldn’t believe I’d suggested what I had. Sex for the sake of sex, no strings, the relationship would end when we returned to Milwaukee.
I wasn’t fool enough to believe that we could “bang” away for two weeks, then pretend we never had. Either he’d quit when we returned, or soon after. If he didn’t, we’d be in for awkward exchanges. We might get past that eventually, then again we might not. And what if he found another woman—he would, just look at him—would I be able to be happy for him and move on? I hadn’t been able to move on from Max. Then again, Quinn Fitzpatrick wasn’t the love of my life, and walking away wasn’t the same as dying.
Suddenly Quinn was right there, so close his breath brushed my hair. “You’re thinking too much.”
I looked up, and he kissed me. I forgot what I’d been thinking, saying, feeling. I forgot everything but this, but him.
Poor, pathetic, sex starved, older woman.
“Shh,” I murmured into his mouth.
“Didn’t say anything, love.”
“Shh,” I repeated and reached for his hand.
He winced and I realized I’d taken the hand I’d cut. “Sorry.”
I lifted it to my mouth. Kissed the part that wasn’t wrapped, tickled the base of one finger with my tongue. Next thing I knew he’d snatched my free hand with his and dragged me where I’d wanted to go in the first place.
His bed.
I pulled off his shirt, pressed an open mouthed kiss to his chest. He tasted so good I tried a nipple, the jut of his collarbone, then his hip.
The top button of his jeans gaped open. Convenient. I ran my tongue beneath the waistband, caught the tip of his—
He cursed and lifted me away with a fingertip to my chin. “I’ll be no good to you if you keep that up.”
“You’ll be fine if you keep that up.” I wiggled my brows. He laughed, then seem surprised by it. “What’s wrong?”
“Love is
“Who cares what anyone thinks?”
“I have a business to run. A small business in a local neighborhood.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It might be the twenty-first century, but it isn’t really.”
He spread his hands. She wasn’t making any sense.
“We might be living in a more enlightened age, but it still wouldn’t be good for business if it gets out that I’m banging the help.”
“We’ll be quiet.” At her obvious confusion, he continued. “We won’t bang about at all.”
One short, sharp laugh escaped before she quelled it. “I have small children.”
“They aren’t that small,” he muttered.
“Quinn.”
He sighed. “I’d marry ye—”
“Whoa!” She held up a hand. “I don’t even know you.”
He let his gaze travel from the tip of her curly red head to the toe of her well-worn shoe—not that long of a trip, but an enjoyable one—then lifted his brows.
“That’s not what I meant. We can’t continue this...” She waved a hand toward the still rumpled bed visible through the open door into the bedroom.
“I understand. Back there you have children, the business, your friends and... his.”
“Back there,” she echoed, and her gaze went to the bed, stayed there a while. She licked her lips, and he wanted to do the same, even before they curved and her blue eyes met his. “In Milwaukee this ends. But here... “
“Here?” he repeated, both hoping she was saying what he thought and fearing it.
“Here I don’t have anything else to do.” Her smile broke free. “But you.”
She took the few steps that separated them, bumping her breasts against his chest. His hands clenched. The burn throbbed. He throbbed.
“All right?”
He knew what she was asking. He also knew what he must say. He might be able to explain away a single night in her bed as an accident, bad judgment, a mistake. But a dozen? Even half that?
Liz Phoenix would kill him.
He opened his mouth to refuse but the words that came out were, “All right.”
Chapter 8
I couldn’t believe I’d suggested what I had. Sex for the sake of sex, no strings, the relationship would end when we returned to Milwaukee.
I wasn’t fool enough to believe that we could “bang” away for two weeks, then pretend we never had. Either he’d quit when we returned, or soon after. If he didn’t, we’d be in for awkward exchanges. We might get past that eventually, then again we might not. And what if he found another woman—he would, just look at him—would I be able to be happy for him and move on? I hadn’t been able to move on from Max. Then again, Quinn Fitzpatrick wasn’t the love of my life, and walking away wasn’t the same as dying.
Suddenly Quinn was right there, so close his breath brushed my hair. “You’re thinking too much.”
I looked up, and he kissed me. I forgot what I’d been thinking, saying, feeling. I forgot everything but this, but him.
Poor, pathetic, sex starved, older woman.
“Shh,” I murmured into his mouth.
“Didn’t say anything, love.”
“Shh,” I repeated and reached for his hand.
He winced and I realized I’d taken the hand I’d cut. “Sorry.”
I lifted it to my mouth. Kissed the part that wasn’t wrapped, tickled the base of one finger with my tongue. Next thing I knew he’d snatched my free hand with his and dragged me where I’d wanted to go in the first place.
His bed.
I pulled off his shirt, pressed an open mouthed kiss to his chest. He tasted so good I tried a nipple, the jut of his collarbone, then his hip.
The top button of his jeans gaped open. Convenient. I ran my tongue beneath the waistband, caught the tip of his—
He cursed and lifted me away with a fingertip to my chin. “I’ll be no good to you if you keep that up.”
“You’ll be fine if you keep that up.” I wiggled my brows. He laughed, then seem surprised by it. “What’s wrong?”
“Love is
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