Untouched Page 14

  Quinn ignored the hard rock of disappointment that settled in his gut, right next to the hard rock of disappointment that had been there since last night. Since Lark had run out on him and left him unsatisfied and craving release.

  He shouldn’t be disappointed. This wasn’t emotional. It was making things right. It would have been simpler if he could just prove Cade was the liar, but then, in truth, it had always been a long shot.

  “Fine. So we’ll move on.”

  “What else are you planning?”

  He felt like his biggest chance had just slipped through his fingers, but he couldn’t leave now. He had the ranch here; the boys were coming next week. And he’d been sure—he realized it now, with a blinding flash of certainty—that Cade had just been lying.

  Pointing the finger and collecting the money.

  Yes, he’d told himself it was a long shot, but deep down he’d believed it was true. And now Sam was telling him it wasn’t.

  A heated image flashed through his mind. Lark’s thighs spread for him, her hoarse cries of pleasure.

  Yes. There was still Lark. There was still revenge. If he couldn’t make it right, he’d make it even. Or he’d use Lark to convince Cade to recant.

  He ignored the voice in his head that told him Cade’s punishment was his limp. Fine, but what did it justify his stealing Quinn’s career too? Two of the biggest rodeo stars pulled out of commission over one incident.

  What had happened to Cade, Quinn would never wish on anyone. But there was no reason for him to be dragged into it. He hadn’t done it. He’d paid for someone else’s sins all of his life, and he’d be damned if he’d continue.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That’s a load of BS, Quinn. You know what you’re planning.”

  “How about it doesn’t concern you,” Quinn said.

  Sam shook his head. “I like you, Quinn. Love you like a brother, even. But I sure as hell don’t trust you half the time.”

  “But you know I didn’t do this.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Jill pushed away from the truck and walked toward them. “Quinn, I’ll be honest. I don’t like you a lot of the time, and even I know you didn’t do it. But Cade’s not lying. He’s hurt. He lost his career.”

  “And so did I,” Quinn said. “For no reason except that Mitchell needed to point a finger. And he pointed it at me. He’s the one who brought me into it, and so whatever happens . . . it’s on his head.” He looked between Jill and Sam. “What are your plans now?”

  “Do you still need me here?” Sam asked.

  “Extend your stay at Elk Haven. I need you back, but not until . . . not for a while. If Lark sees you here, she’s not going to be happy.”

  Jill’s expression sharpened. “What does Lark have to do with this?”

  “She works for me.”

  “And?”

  He shrugged. “And nothing.”

  “Quinn . . . If you hurt her, I swear . . .”

  “Got to talking to her during your time at the ranch?”

  “She’s young,” Jill said.

  “She’s a grown woman.”

  “Tell me you aren’t going to involve her in this.” Jill crossed her arms and stared him down, pale gray eyes filled with steel.

  Quinn looked right back. And lied his ass off. “I won’t.”

  “Good. Fine.”

  “So you can either go back home for a while, or you can stay at Elk Haven; it’s up to you. I’m paying.”

  “Elk Haven,” Sam said. “It’s been . . . nice.”

  “Well, good.” Though he was a little nervous about having Jill in Lark’s proximity now. Still, with the way Sam was eyeing his wife, like she was a particularly tempting dessert, he was hoping they would be too distracted by each other to mess with what he had going with Lark.

  Of course, he’d effectively screwed that up last night.

  But it had felt so good. And it had felt an awful lot like self-indulgence. A lot less like revenge or seduction than he’d intended.

  She’d been so sweet. So responsive. Right up until the moment she’d freaked the hell out and told him his touch disgusted her. Though that was, in its way, responsiveness. Just not the kind he enjoyed.

  He’d enjoyed the kind that had come before it. Slick flesh and sweet sighs of contentment. She’d been so tight around his finger, so sweet on his tongue. He wanted more. He wanted it all.

  And he wasn’t sure if she was ever going to come back and face him.

  Well, he did have her car. Although she might consider the rattletrap an acceptable loss, all things considered. But then, he’d threatened to come to the ranch and collect money right from her brother, and he would do it.

  Still. Regardless of what had passed between them. Yes, he was attracted to her, but she was a means to an end. Nothing more. If he got the enjoyment of getting off with her as an added bonus to the justice of getting reinstated in the circuit, then fine.

  But she wasn’t the important thing here. And he had to remember that. Sam was right not to trust him. He wasn’t trustworthy. He’d never sought to be. He was bad blood, from the moment he’d been born, and it wasn’t going to change now.

  There had only ever been one thing good about him. He’d only ever done one thing well. He’d been a damn good rodeo cowboy, and beyond that? He was a bastard. A man whose own mother couldn’t love him.

  Everyone had known what he was the moment he’d come into the world. He might as well prove them right. He’d shock no one, disappoint no one, and get back to the only place he’d ever fit.

  It seemed like it was worth the cost to him.

  He pictured Lark’s face from last night. Her lips parted with pleasure, and then later, dark eyes filled with confusion as she’d walked away from him like he was standing at the mouth of hell ready to drag her in.

  If anything made him question what he was doing, it was her.

  Now’s hardly the time to grow a conscience, Parker.

  No, it was far too late for that. And he’d come too far to go back now.

  Chapter Ten

  “Are you coming in to work tomorrow?”

  Lark opened her eyes and looked at her bedside clock, her cell phone mashed to her ear. Ten thirty. She didn’t usually go to bed this early. And she didn’t usually get calls this late. “How did you get this number?”

  “It’s on your file.”

  Lark rolled to her side and pushed herself into a sitting position. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, really. Don’t act so surprised by the fact that your boss has your number. You’re too smart for that.”

  Well, the thing was that Quinn seemed like something other than her boss. Something other than a client. He seemed like something else altogether. He was, after all, the only man to ever put his tongue in her mouth.

  Among other places.

  Her whole head got hot just thinking about it.

  “I’m not very smart, as evidenced by my behavior over the past few days.”

  “Such as?” he asked.

  “Such as getting in compromising positions with a man I barely know.”

  “I know you a lot better than the women I usually position myself compromisingly with.”

  She blinked rapidly. “Case in point of why we shouldn’t be doing any of that kind of stuff. To me, you’re a stranger. Essentially.”

  “I feel like I know you pretty well,” he said, his voice dipping to a lower register, getting huskier. Sexier.

  He sucked the words right out of her brain, and she found herself completely unable to come up with a response to that. Because she was back in that moment. Fire burning through her, pleasure like she’d never imagined existed . . .

  She tipped over, pressing her face against her pillow, and made a noise that was halfway between
a whimper and a snarl.

  “That good, huh, baby?”

  Mortification coiled in her belly and curdled like sour milk. She couldn’t believe she’d actually betrayed that much. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillow.

  “I don’t need to. Your reaction did that for me.”

  She lifted her head. “Oh, my running away screaming into the night flattered you? You really do have ego issues, my friend.”

  “I’m your friend now? That means I’m not a stranger.”

  “Quinn,” she growled.

  He laughed. “Sorry, Lark.”

  A silence fell between them, and it wasn’t awkward, which was weird. It felt companionable. Comfortable. So strange, because things between them were never comfortable. They were always lightning-charged and combustible.

  “Apology accepted.”

  “So, can I come and pick you up tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And do you promise not to pepper spray me?”

  “Do you promise not to kiss me?”

  “That depends,” he said. She heard fabric rustle in the background, and she wondered if he was in bed too. The idea made her feel even warmer than she already was, and she kicked her blankets down to her toes. “What will you be wearing?”

  “Nothing exciting,” she said. “Jeans and a t-shirt.”

  “No buttons?”

  “No,” she said, teeth gritted. Why didn’t she hang up? Why didn’t she tell him to leave her alone?

  You don’t want him to.

  She ignored the voice in her head that wanted to tell the truth and clung to the misty illusion of Who knows?

  “Damn,” he said, his voice a rough whisper that vibrated through her. “All right, that begs the question . . . what are you wearing right now?”

  The question made her feel like she was standing near the fire again. She was unclear about whether it was the heat of arousal or the flames of hell, coming after her for her betrayal. She shouldn’t answer. She should hang up.

  But she was too curious. Held captive by the possibilities of what might happen next. Of what he might say or do. And with the phone between them, at least he couldn’t touch her. It couldn’t go further than she was ready for it to go.

  And anyway, it might not even go anywhere.

  She looked down at her bare legs, then at the upside-down, to her, image of two dinosaurs talking. “A brown t-shirt. With a Stegosaurus and a Tyrannosaurus. And it says, ‘Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal.’” She was really sucky at this dirty talk thing when she wasn’t typing it and getting a chance to screen her words. She really should have lied and gone with lace. She’d lied with Aaron. She’d said she was way hotter than she was. And she’d claimed to own a thong. And claimed to be wearing said thong. She didn’t own a thong.

  He chuckled. “Sounds like a warning.”

  “Do you need the warning?”

  “I might.”

  Her stomach tightened. “At least you’re honest.”

  “As insightful and entertaining as your t-shirt is, what else have you got on?”

  “Um . . . uh . . .”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m wearing.”

  “Okay. Go.”

  “Black boxers.”

  Her throat dried. “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  The silence worked its way under her skin, made her pulse throb. Her entire body throb. “Oh.”

  “I’m in bed,” he said.

  “Me too,” she said, her throat so dry it felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

  “So now I shared what I was wearing, or mainly not.”

  “You know about my t-shirt.”

  “But the rest?”

  “Just . . .” What was the sexy thing to call underwear? What was she doing? “Panties.”

  A throaty purr shivered down the line and reverberated down to her toes. “What kind?”

  “They aren’t . . .” Lie, damn you, Lark! Tell him it’s a thong. Crotchless. Something. “They’re just cotton. With a superman S on the front.”

  He chuckled. “I like this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know you’re telling me the truth. If you’d said something lacy and see-through I would have called you a liar. But I can picture this.”

  “Are you picturing it?” she asked.

  “Hell yeah.”

  Her heart was thundering. Her breasts felt heavy, and an ache was centered between her thighs, growing deeper and deeper. “And do you . . . like what you’re picturing?”

  “I remember how you look naked.”

  “It was dark.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Your breasts are so perfect. You have the prettiest nipples I’ve ever seen. So perfect I had to taste them. And your legs . . . long and shapely. That’s what I like about you—you’re shaped like a woman. Curves in all the right places. Hips a man can grab onto.”

  “Are you saying my hips are big?” she asked, her throat so tight she could barely force the words out.

  “Perfect. I’m saying they’re perfect. And do you want me to tell you how sweet you taste?”

  “Quinn—”

  “It makes me hard just thinking about it.”

  She moved her hands over the top of her thighs, restless, hot. She should be so mad at him for saying that. “Remember how things got left between us last time?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You were mad at me. I was mad at you.”

  “That’s about right.”

  “I said your touch disgusted me.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a liar.”

  She was a liar. “Even so, I said it.”

  “I’m not touching you now, am I, baby?” But it felt like he was, his words almost as potent as the sweep of his tongue over her flesh had been.

  “No.”

  “So do you want me to hang up, or do you want to hear more about how hot I am for you?”

  That was the question. But she could end the call at any time. It wasn’t like being with him in person. She had more control here. More distance.

  “I’m listening.”

  “If I were there right now, do you know what I’d do?”

  “What?”

  “I’d lift your shirt up, not all the way, just enough so I could see your panties. And I’d trace the S with my finger.”

  Unconsciously, she found herself doing exactly what he described, a hiss escaping her teeth as her fingertip drifted over her clitoris.

  “Did you just do it, Lark?” he asked, his voice low.

  “No,” she lied, heat flooding her face.

  “Don’t lie to me again. Did you?”

  “Yes.” The word came out a rushed whisper.

  “Good. Keep doing that. Do what I would do if I were there.” She could tell him no. She should tell him where to stick it. She didn’t.

  “Okay.”

  “After I did that, I would push your shirt up the rest of the way so I could see your breasts.” He paused. “Did you do it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do it,” he bit out. “Now.”

  She put her hands just beneath the hem of her t-shirt and pushed it up over her breasts. “I did it,” she said.

  “Good. Are your nipples hard?”

  “Quinn. Jeez.”

  “Are they?”

  “Yes,” she said, flexing her toes, trying to excise some of her restless energy, some of her nerves and arousal.

  “Touch them,” he said.

  “Quinn . . .”

  “I would if I were there. I’d tease them. Suck them. Since you can’t do that . . . I’ll let you off just touching them.”

  “Generous of you,” she said, slid
ing the tip of one finger over a hardened bud.

  “You have no idea how generous I’d be if I were there. I wouldn’t just touch you there. I’d put my hands between your legs. Feel how wet you were for me. You’re wet, aren’t you?”

  Arousal pounded through her, an insistent beat. She felt so hungry, for him, for more. And because she knew he would ask her to, she moved her hand from her breast, down beneath the waistband of her underwear.

  “Yes,” she said, an answer to his question, a confirmation of how good it felt to be touched, even if it was just by herself.

  “Remember what I did last night?”

  She bit her lip and nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”

  “Touch yourself like that. In that same rhythm. We both know you like it.”

  She nodded again, sliding her fingers over her clit, a sharp cry escaping her lips. She wasn’t unfamiliar with this act, but having Quinn give the orders, knowing he knew what she was doing, amped it up to a whole new level.

  “Do you know what that does to me?” he asked.

  “Tell me,” she said, her voice shaky. “You touch yourself, Quinn. And tell me about it.”

  She could hear him moving, could hear the shifting of fabric. “I’m hard for you,” he said.

  “I wish I knew how you looked,” she said, her fingers still working over her own body. “It’s not fair. You can picture me, but I can’t picture you.”

  “I’m sure you can use your imagination.”

  Yes, she could. She knew what naked men looked like. But the thing was, she didn’t know what one felt like. So while she could close her eyes and imagine what Quinn might look like naked, she couldn’t get a good idea for how it would feel to touch him.

  Would he be hot? Smooth? She knew he’d be hard. She’d felt the outline of him through his jeans, but she wanted to know more. She was almost desperate to know more.

  But she didn’t want to admit the extent of her inexperience. “Of course,” she said.

  “This is torture,” he said, his voice a low growl. “It’s not my hand I want.”

  “You can’t come here.”

  “Why not?”