Untouched Read online

  He thrust into her, hard. She gasped and he covered her mouth with his, his pace demanding, intense, and she did her very best to match him. Lust, desire, rose up inside of her, along with a feeling of connection, of love, so bittersweet, so filled with imperfection and desperation, so overpowering it made her want to weep.

  “Sam,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say. She said it over and over again as he moved inside of her, as she kissed his face, his mouth.

  “Yes, baby,” he said, his voice rough. “Yes.”

  And for the first time in two years, they were on the same page. They rode the wave together and went over the edge into oblivion.

  ***

  It was a freaking embarrassment. Quinn Parker was lying awake in bed with the hard-on from hell, and it was all Lark Mitchell’s fault. Lark Mitchell and her clumsy kisses that spoke of a woman who had less experience than he’d initially imagined.

  A woman who might be more easily wounded than he’d imagined. A woman who, inexplicably, in spite of her fumbling, seemed to have a power over him he couldn’t harness or define.

  Damn.

  She’d seemed shocked when he’d slipped his tongue between her lips. And then she’d melted into him. Clung to him. Kissed him back with an enthusiasm that was so raw and genuine it had nearly brought him to his knees.

  Hell, in the end she had brought him to his knees. He’d been ready to strip their clothes off then and there.

  He swallowed and cursed his dry throat. Another discomfort to add to the ones he was already struggling with. The woman was a menace. She should come with a list of side effects tattooed to her forehead. Lark Mitchell: Known to cause sweating, dizziness, erections lasting longer than four hours and dry mouth.

  Even then, he had a feeling he would have ignored them. And he’d be in the same hell he was in now.

  After another hour, he gave up and consigned himself to the inevitable. If he couldn’t have Lark with him in bed for real, he would have her in his fantasies.

  His last hazy thought as he wrapped his hand around his cock, before losing himself completely in arousal, was that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to want her like this.

  That wasn’t what this kind of seduction was about. It was about giving himself another weapon. Giving himself more power.

  But as he shuddered out his release with her name on his lips, he didn’t feel like he had more power. He felt wholly unmanned. And so satisfied he would wait until morning to feel any regret.

  Chapter Eight

  Lark was determined not to seem affected the next time she saw Quinn. Because he didn’t deserve her blushes. He didn’t deserve her wanton fantasies and desires. And yeah, he had them, but as she’d discussed with Jill, sometimes that sort of thing just happened.

  But she was going to make a conscious decision to make sure it didn’t just keep happening anymore. Because one kiss was enough. More than enough.

  Had it only been one kiss? It had seemed like a lot more. Did you count kisses in the amount of times a man leaned in? Or did you count it by length of the kiss? Did each thirty seconds roll over into a new one? She had no idea.

  But, even with her limited knowledge on the subject she was determined to be cool. Which was why she could have cussed a blue streak when she saw him the next day and felt her face get hotter than blazes.

  All intentions of playing it cool were totally not noted and followed by her body. Little slutty betrayer. Her body was in full-on skank mode, and no matter how much she scolded it, it just shook its tushie and kept on with the lurid thoughts.

  She hadn’t known her inner hussy was so intense.

  “Mornin’, Lark.” Quinn rested his hand on one of the desks, an infuriating grin on his face. Infuriating, because he was doing the “playing it cool” thing, and she was sure she was brighter than a road flare.

  “Good morning, Quinn,” she said, schooling her voice so that it came out level and calm instead of shaky and filled with all her inner flail.

  “And how is your Great Firewall shaping up?”

  “Great,” she said. In spite of yesterday’s interruptions. “Things are starting to form. We’ll be ready for the boys soon, I think.”

  “Great. And when you’re done with that, it’s time to start working on setting up the staff stuff.”

  “Joy.”

  “Beyond that, you think you’re up for doing basic computer things with the boys?”

  “Didn’t I tell you I know all about men? Guess what? Teenage boys aren’t any different.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  She tapped her temple. “That’s what I know.”

  “Tell me what you know,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest, leaning back against one of the desks.

  She put her hand flat on the desk she was nearest to and leaned against it, trying to look casual. She had a feeling she was walking right into a trap, but she was too stubborn to back down. “I told you yesterday that men are predictable. And then you proved to be predictable.” Oh, that’s a nice bear trap there, why don’t I just walk right into it?

  “I was predictable?” He arched a brow. “Women have called me a lot of things, baby, but predictable isn’t one of them. Except for yesterday—you called me that yesterday. But no other women have.”

  “Maybe because they care about your ego and I don’t?”

  “Possibly. Continue.”

  “Well, you went for the obvious. You went for the physical. That’s how men are. It’s how they are from the time they’re thirteen and they never change. I was raised by my older brothers, like I said. And that means I’ve seen a whole lot of that ‘male’ thing. And I’m neither intimidated by it nor impressed by it.”

  “But you are turned on by it.”

  She sputtered, then recovered and tried to affect a casual posture. “Eh . . . pffft. Whatever. Not . . . no.”

  “I didn’t turn you on yesterday when I kissed you?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “So you put your tongue in my mouth for fun?”

  “Well . . .” She pushed off from the desk and put her hands on her hips, trying to ignore her burning cheeks. “It’s not . . . it’s a . . . biology . . . thing. And . . . just like men are programmed to look at boobs and go for the kiss, women are programmed to respond to the kiss. And yes, be . . . turned on, if you will, but it’s not anything to pitch a tent over, Parker. Nothing flattering.”

  He chuckled. “You’re edging into protesting too much, Mitchell.”

  “Just don’t get all chest beat-y over the fact that I kissed you back for, like, a flipping minute. It’s just that natural man-woman thing and you know full well it can’t happen again and why.”

  “You really want to hate me, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “But you don’t.”

  She turned to face the computer she’d been working on and tapped mindlessly on the keys, ignoring his statement.

  “Careful, Lark, I might take your lack of stating you hate me with a fiery passion as a compliment.”

  “I hate you,” she said, fully aware there was no venom in her voice.

  “Once more, with feeling.”

  “I hate you, you jackass. Now can I get back to work?”

  “In a minute.”

  She tapped her fingers on the desk and shot Quinn the evil eye, while trying to keep him out of focus so she wouldn’t be assaulted by his good looks. “Is there something I’m not doing to your satisfaction?”

  “No, I’m just enjoying talking with you.”

  “Why? I’m insulting you and generally being a jerk. You should want to leave.”

  “But I don’t. That could be because I’m predictably male and enjoying the way your ass looks when you bend over the desks.”
r />   She whipped around to face him fully, her eyes wide. “That’s it. Inappropriate times a billion. Not okay. Did I not make it totally, and completely clear that you were never, ever, to kiss me again?”

  “Did I kiss you?”

  “No! But you said things. And you know that that’s off-limits, because the only reason for you to say anything would be so that you could kiss me again.”

  “If that’s what you think . . .”

  “What? You’re going to try and say I’m full of myself?”

  “No, I was going to say your imagination is sadly lacking if all you think I’m after is a kiss.”

  Her mouth opened, then snapped back shut. She couldn’t think of what to say. “You know?” she said finally. “I am attracted to you. Fine. So I admitted it. Great. I am attracted to you. But I have the decency to keep it to myself, rather than bleeding it all over you.”

  “Maybe I want it all over me.”

  “But I don’t!” she said. “And you know why.”

  “Because you think the worst about me.”

  “Because no matter what you did, my brother would see it as a betrayal if I were with you. And frankly, I don’t want to be with a man who might have done the things he thinks you did. Or the man who did the things you freely admit to. So there.”

  “You have a lot of opinions about who I am.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Are any of them based in reality?”

  “Um . . . yeah. Yeah, they are. You told me you’ve done bad things. And I believe your assessment of that. So now, in addition to that, I know you tricked me into taking a contract with you. And then not only did you do that, you’re one grope away from a sexual harassment lawsuit, and also . . . you’re . . . you’re . . .”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Stuff. I don’t like you. I just don’t.”

  His eyes traced her figure, so noticeably she felt it like a physical touch. “You look at me a lot for a woman who doesn’t like me.”

  “Your looks aren’t as disagreeable as your disposition,” she said, sniffing.

  “Nice to know,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’m disagreeable?”

  “Yes. For all of the aforementioned reasons—and plus, we’re not compatible.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  He shifted and rubbed his chin with his hand. “I’ll take a list of reasons why.”

  “Fine. You . . . you don’t look at relationships the same way I do.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, are you even going to pretend you haven’t gotten off with every buckle bunny who ever batted her lashes at you?”

  “Nope. Not for a second.”

  “See, there’s my point. I don’t do sex for the sake of sex.” She felt her cheeks burn, because the statement was misleading on many counts. The first being that she’d never had actual sex, the second being that she’d had cybersex simply for the sake of getting off, so she was a fake prude and a hypocrite.

  “Really? Never?”

  She shook her head, digging her heels right into her lie. “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” she said. “Because . . . because I just don’t behave that way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Unlike some people, I don’t go around looking for rewards via bad behavior, okay?”

  A grin turned up the corners of his mouth. “Is that so?” He pushed off from the desk and started to walk away from her, heading toward the exit. Then he paused and turned back to her. “Well, let me know if you’re ever looking for a reward for bad behavior. Because if you give me about fifteen minutes . . . I bet I could reward your bad behavior twice. Maybe even three times.”

  Her face went up in flames. “You think awfully highly of yourself,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Nope. I’m just sure of the chemistry we have between us.”

  “Chemistry?”

  “You know, like when you put baking soda and vinegar in one of those papier-mâché volcanoes?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s you and me, baby.”

  “You’d be the vinegar.”

  “Sure,” he said. “But that’s beside the point. We’re . . .”

  “Combustible.” She finished his sentence without thinking.

  “Glad you agree.”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  He tipped his hat and stepped out the door. “See you later.”

  “I don’t agree!” she shouted, even though he wasn’t there anymore. “I was just finishing the thought on your lame metaphor.”

  She turned back around and face the computer, grumbling and blushing furiously. Well, this had not gone at all well. Nope. Not well at all.

  So much for playing it cool. In her defense, it was too hard to play it cool when the guy was so darn hot.

  She blew out an exasperated breath. She just had to get over it. Stick her head in a bucket of ice or whatever she had to do in order to ignore it.

  Because ignore it she would. Yes, she would.

  ***

  It was getting dark when Lark emerged from the computer lab again, and there was no one around. The kitchen was empty, the other parts of the school were empty. The cabins were empty. She could just leave. She didn’t have to go and let anyone know she was heading out.

  And so she wouldn’t. So there. Problem solved.

  She walked down the path and toward the parking area and stopped, frozen. There was a tractor parked in front of her car, and a truck parked behind it.

  “Awww, man.” She grimaced and looked around. There was no one out there. No one around at all. She knew the truck belong to Kevin, one of the work hands, but she hadn’t seen him anywhere.

  And she had no idea who was responsible for the big-ass tractor.

  She looked around again, feeling helpless and annoyed. She was blocked in, and there was no one readily on hand. And that meant she would be taking a trek to the big house. To see the boss man. Who she badly wanted to avoid because, gosh darnit, he was driving her insane with his smirks and his knowing looks and his sexy pecs, which she was so freaking aware of, even when he wore a shirt.

  That image of him on that first day, half naked with his muscles so very, very there, and his tattoo, so enticing and only serving to enhance the look of his bicep, was burned into her brain, and she couldn’t seem to excise it.

  No. In fact, it had become a watermark over her vision. So that when she was looking at Quinn, even while fully clothed, that was what she saw. Hell, when she was looking at other things entirely it seemed to be what she saw, and the whole thing was driving her insane.

  She was a traitor of the most epic proportions.

  She forced all erotic Quinn-based images aside and stalked toward the main house, praying that someone who wasn’t Quinn would be around, and that they would be the one to answer the door.

  She took a deep breath and knocked, waiting, her stomach tightening more and more. Each passing second injecting her with more adrenaline, more ridiculous nervousness—she wouldn’t call it excitement—over who was going to answer the door.

  And when the door did swing open, and it was Quinn, shirtless and in low-slung jeans that showed those lines, whatever they were called, the ones that formed into an arrow, pointing right down to a point of extreme interest, the lines that turned smart girls stupid. Yep, those lines. And then, beyond them, abs. That chest.

  And she suddenly forgot how to talk when she came to the tattoo again. The tattoo that seemed to be the embodiment of him. A horse. Its mane flowing in the wind, the expression on its face one of terrible fury. It was anger, and wildness. It was Quinn.

  And when she looked into his eyes, she saw all of that and more.

  “I . . . I’m block
ed in,” she said finally, wondering how much time had passed between when he’d opened the door and when she’d finally spoken.

  He looked her over quickly. “You don’t look blocked in.”

  “Not me,” she said. “My car. I can’t go anywhere because there’s a truck parked in my way.”

  “Whose truck?”

  “Kevin’s.”

  “I thought he left a long time ago. After dinner. About the same time as Sandy.” A smile crossed his face. “Yeah, I’m betting they not so sneakily left together.”

  “Argh! Well, what am I supposed to do? What about the tractor?”

  He arched a brow. “What tractor?”

  “The one that’s in front of me. My car is the meat in a hillbilly sandwich. I’ve got Ford behind me and John Deere in front, and I can’t go anywhere.”

  “I probably have the keys for the tractor.”

  “Well, can you move it so I can leave?”

  “I could.” He stood there still, a big wall of muscle, unmoving.

  “Well, will you?”

  He smiled. “Sure, darlin’. Come on in while I get the keys.”

  “Darlin’, my ass,” she muttered as she waited for him to move away from the door, then stepped inside the house.

  It was truly a thing of beauty. There was some furniture in it now, a big sectional with slatted wooden details on the side that matched the beams on the walls and the vaulted ceiling.

  She stood with her hands behind her while Quinn went down the hall and rummaged around for a while.

  “The place looks nice,” she said, feeling the need to fill the silence so it wouldn’t get all full of awkward.

  “Thanks,” he called back. “It’s starting to shape up, anyway.” He came back from where he was and into the kitchen. “I won’t be living here, not once things get going. I’ll be hiring someone to live here full-time. Oversee, caretake. But not just yet.”

  “It looks like the kind of place you would live,” she said.

  “You think?” he asked.

  He was still shirtless. And it was all distracting.

  “Well, yeah. It’s rugged and . . . outdoorsy.”

  His lips quirked up into a half smile. “You think I’m rugged and outdoorsy?”