and gentle with the women he’d bedded. None of them had gone away disillusioned. He jammed the key into the door lock and shoved the door open.
First order of business was to clear the room. He checked the closet, the bathroom and beneath the bed. No monsters lurked behind the shower curtain or in the shadow. The sheets appeared clean, if a bit worn. A dresser, nightstand and cushioned chair were the only other furnishings in the room.
Becca entered, carrying the bags of supplies they’d purchased at the truck stop. Once inside, she closed the door and set the bags on the dresser. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”
“Not necessary,” Quentin said. “I’ll be awake most of the night. You might as well get some shut-eye.”
“I’m smaller than you. I can sleep sitting up.”
“Look, I get it that you can take care of yourself. I know you’re used to running ops on your own, but I promised—”
She raised her hand. “I know. You promised Royce you’d take care of me. Fine. I’ll sleep the first four hours. You can have the next four hours. Royce should be in town by then and your commitment to me and Royce will be fulfilled.”
“Deal.” He didn’t tell her that he had every intention of staying with her for the next four days, hoping to find the one responsible for the attempts on Becca’s life. He wouldn’t rest until he knew who had paid the mercenaries to shoot down the aircraft and come after her in his apartment. She might not want him tagging along, but damn it, they’d made it personal.
And he liked her bold attitude and dogged determination to discover the truth behind her father’s murder. In a fight she was a ferocious opponent and a fierce ally. And the more he was with her, the harder it was becoming to keep his hands to himself. Her confidence and beauty made him want to kiss her again and again. More than that, it made him want to hold her in his arms...all night long...skin to skin.
Quentin busied himself unpacking the loot from the truck stop. “Want some beef jerky?”
“No, but I’ll take a bottle of water.” Becca pulled back the bedspread, inspected the sheets and then sat on the edge of the bed, testing the firmness of the mattress. “I think you gave me the bed because you know it will be hell to sleep on.” She smiled. “You can change your mind, you know. I prefer the comfort of the chair for the night.”
“Just go to sleep,” he said, his tone a little harsher than he intended. Sitting on the bed, wearing Sawyer’s shirt and the baggy sweat pants, she shouldn’t look as desirable as she did. Quentin’s ability to resist was rapidly deteriorating. He grabbed a bottle of water out of the bag and tossed it to her. “I need some air. I’ll be outside within yelling distance should you need me.” He started for the door.
Becca jumped to her feet and blocked his path. “Where are you going?”
“Just outside. I need the air.” Balling his fists, Quentin fought the urge to grab her arms and pull her body against his.
“If I’ve made you mad, I’m sorry.” She touched a hand to his chest, her gaze following her fingers. “I have a habit of alienating every guy I know by the stupid things I say. Please. Don’t go. I promise to shut up.”
“It’s not what you say...”
Her palm flattened on his chest. “No? Then why are you about to run out that door like you’re suffocating?”
“Because, if I stay...” his resistance crumbling, he reached for her arms and dragged her against him “...I’ll do this.”
Her eyes widened, and her tongue snaked out to wet her lips.
The motion and subsequent shine of moisture drew his attention to her mouth. With a groan he lowered his head. “And this,” he whispered. He claimed her lips.
Her fingers curled into his shirt and her mouth opened on a gasp.
Quentin swept in and claimed her, caressing her tongue with his. He slid his hands down he arms, across the middle of her back, pressing her closer, molding
First order of business was to clear the room. He checked the closet, the bathroom and beneath the bed. No monsters lurked behind the shower curtain or in the shadow. The sheets appeared clean, if a bit worn. A dresser, nightstand and cushioned chair were the only other furnishings in the room.
Becca entered, carrying the bags of supplies they’d purchased at the truck stop. Once inside, she closed the door and set the bags on the dresser. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”
“Not necessary,” Quentin said. “I’ll be awake most of the night. You might as well get some shut-eye.”
“I’m smaller than you. I can sleep sitting up.”
“Look, I get it that you can take care of yourself. I know you’re used to running ops on your own, but I promised—”
She raised her hand. “I know. You promised Royce you’d take care of me. Fine. I’ll sleep the first four hours. You can have the next four hours. Royce should be in town by then and your commitment to me and Royce will be fulfilled.”
“Deal.” He didn’t tell her that he had every intention of staying with her for the next four days, hoping to find the one responsible for the attempts on Becca’s life. He wouldn’t rest until he knew who had paid the mercenaries to shoot down the aircraft and come after her in his apartment. She might not want him tagging along, but damn it, they’d made it personal.
And he liked her bold attitude and dogged determination to discover the truth behind her father’s murder. In a fight she was a ferocious opponent and a fierce ally. And the more he was with her, the harder it was becoming to keep his hands to himself. Her confidence and beauty made him want to kiss her again and again. More than that, it made him want to hold her in his arms...all night long...skin to skin.
Quentin busied himself unpacking the loot from the truck stop. “Want some beef jerky?”
“No, but I’ll take a bottle of water.” Becca pulled back the bedspread, inspected the sheets and then sat on the edge of the bed, testing the firmness of the mattress. “I think you gave me the bed because you know it will be hell to sleep on.” She smiled. “You can change your mind, you know. I prefer the comfort of the chair for the night.”
“Just go to sleep,” he said, his tone a little harsher than he intended. Sitting on the bed, wearing Sawyer’s shirt and the baggy sweat pants, she shouldn’t look as desirable as she did. Quentin’s ability to resist was rapidly deteriorating. He grabbed a bottle of water out of the bag and tossed it to her. “I need some air. I’ll be outside within yelling distance should you need me.” He started for the door.
Becca jumped to her feet and blocked his path. “Where are you going?”
“Just outside. I need the air.” Balling his fists, Quentin fought the urge to grab her arms and pull her body against his.
“If I’ve made you mad, I’m sorry.” She touched a hand to his chest, her gaze following her fingers. “I have a habit of alienating every guy I know by the stupid things I say. Please. Don’t go. I promise to shut up.”
“It’s not what you say...”
Her palm flattened on his chest. “No? Then why are you about to run out that door like you’re suffocating?”
“Because, if I stay...” his resistance crumbling, he reached for her arms and dragged her against him “...I’ll do this.”
Her eyes widened, and her tongue snaked out to wet her lips.
The motion and subsequent shine of moisture drew his attention to her mouth. With a groan he lowered his head. “And this,” he whispered. He claimed her lips.
Her fingers curled into his shirt and her mouth opened on a gasp.
Quentin swept in and claimed her, caressing her tongue with his. He slid his hands down he arms, across the middle of her back, pressing her closer, molding
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