His Page 3
But I don’t give return invitations.
I shrug off my suit jacket and lay it over the back of a chair. Everything looks to be in order as I glance around the open rooms of my home. A faint lemon scent and a shine on my hardwood floors tell me Turner was hard at work here today.
After a long day of negotiations to purchase a new technology app, I need to unwind. I made a fair offer, but the snotty college kid I’m trying to buy from is greedy. And as much as I want that app, I refuse to pay more for it, even if it means losing it to someone else.
I pull off my navy blue tie and unfasten the top button of my shirt. I’m heading to my bedroom with the tie when a knock at the front door makes me turn. After tossing the tie on my leather sofa, I walk to the wide, solid wood door and press my thumb to a keypad beside it to open it. The deadbolt slides free, and I open the door.
For a split second, I make out Dawson. But my attention is quickly and entirely focused on the woman beside him.
Fuck yes. She’s exactly what I need. Average height, with a slim frame and blond, shoulder-length hair. Her creamy complexion is tinged pink from the cold, matching her beautiful, full lips. She studies me back with huge hazel eyes, and I pick up on her discomfort.
“Hi. Come on inside,” I say, stepping back from the door.
“What is this place?” she mumbles as she follows Dawson in. Her hand rests on her thigh beneath a dark coat that looks new.
“It’s a bit off-putting, I know,” I say. “But I love the Meatpacking District.”
“You live here?” Her gaze moves around the massive, open two stories of my living room and kitchen.
“I do.”
Dawson steps in. “Andrew, this is Quinn. Quinn, Andrew.”
I extend my hand to Quinn, and she hesitates a second before shaking it briefly. She tilts her face up to look at me, and I wonder what she’s trying to determine. Perhaps she’s taken aback by my size. At six foot two, I’m much taller than her, and my broad shoulders match my height. I’ve got a good fifty pounds on Dawson.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
Her skeptical gaze tells me she’s not sure how nice it is just yet. I’ll change that.
“I’m off, then,” Dawson says, locking eyes with me. “Everything’s in order.”
I give him a curt nod of approval. So Quinn’s blood work came back clean and she’s been paid. Now all that’s left is to shake off this long day in bed with her. After I loosen her up over dinner, of course.
Dawson slips out, and Quinn eyes me warily. She must be nervous.
“Can I take your coat?” I offer.
She shrugs off the coat, revealing a simple black V-neck shirt and dark gray linen pants. I can’t help letting my gaze slide over the lines of her. She’s stunning. My big hands will almost span her entire slender waistline. The definition in her collarbone is begging to be kissed and tasted at length.
“I refused to wear any of those dresses Dawson brought to me,” she explains. “I’m not a hooker.”
I hold back the smile quirking on my lips. I like her, and I’m not about to argue about whether wearing a dress or accepting money for sex makes a woman a hooker.
“You look beautiful,” I say instead. “If you’re hungry, we can have some dinner.”
She nods and turns toward the kitchen. I finally see what her hand is resting on, and I can’t help reacting.
“What the hell . . . ? Is that a hunting knife?”
Her gaze snaps back to me. “I told Dawson I’m keeping it. He said it’s okay.”
My heart stirs to life in my chest. Is she scared of me? Doesn’t she realize she doesn’t stand a chance against me with that thing?
“Well . . .” I rub my chin and consider how to put her at ease. “You won’t need that. I’m only into consensual sex.”
“All the same, I prefer to keep it.”
There’s a harshness to her eyes now. I wonder what made this beautiful woman feel the need to strap a knife to her thigh and be ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. Fucking humanity. It’s why I live in this warehouse with multiple layers of security. It’s nondescript on the outside so as not to attract attention. I’m not a flashy penthouse kind of guy. I prefer to wield power in stealthier ways.
“Of course,” I say, leading the way into the kitchen. Quinn follows soundlessly.
“Would you like some wine?” I ask.
“No thanks. I’ll have some water, though.”
I pour her half a glass of red wine and a glass full of Perrier and set both in front of her. I won’t push the wine on her, but clearly she could use a few sips to ease her nerves.
The glass of wine I pour myself smells of apples and peppers. I take a slow sip, lean back against the butcher block kitchen island and let my gaze roam the gorgeous, guarded woman standing before me.
“So tell me about yourself, Quinn.”
She shrugs. “Not much to tell. I’m homeless, but I guess you know that.”
“I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t looking for your pity. I just figured all the women Dawson picks up for you are homeless.”
The edge in her tone pisses me off. Not just because no one talks to me this way, but also because of her innuendo.
“You’re suggesting I prey on desperate women?” I ask coolly.
She shrugs. “Is it preying if they take your offer?”
“Dawson’s offer.”
“Of course. Your hands are clean.”
I clear my throat and remind myself to keep cool. None of the women Dawson’s brought over before has arrived with an enormous chip on her shoulder. To the contrary, they’ve been giddy with excitement.
“Look, Quinn, if you don’t want to be here, you’re free to go. Keep the money.”
She bristles visibly, her eyes narrowing. “No, I made a deal, and I’ll keep it. But I don’t think we have much in common. Conversation will just be awkward. Maybe we should just get to it.”
I arch my brows in amusement. She can’t seriously think I’m hard right now. “Get to . . . ?”
Her cheeks flush. “Eating. And then . . . whatever. Look, I feel like I should tell you I’m really inexperienced. Maybe I should have told Dawson that. I’m hoping a blow job will be . . . enough.”
I can’t hold back a small smile. There’s something about Quinn’s tough façade I find incredibly vulnerable.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Relax. Let’s just have some dinner and talk. ”
“You’re not paying five hundred bucks for my conversational skills.”
I look up at the ceiling. This is like trying to seduce a cactus, her prickly points jabbing me at every turn. “That may be true, but . . . I’m not going to force myself on you.”
Her expression is skeptical. I reach for the buttons on my dress shirt cuffs and unfasten them, rolling my sleeves up slowly. I like the way she watches me, her gaze wandering over my forearms.
I can command anything. My father taught me that. Control doesn’t have to be an unpleasant experience for either party. If I want to relax Quinn and make her smile, I will.
“Sit down,” I say softly. “I’m going to make you a plate of dinner. We’re going to eat and talk. You’re not going to stab me. Okay?”
She nods, the wariness seemingly dissipating, and sinks into one of the wood chairs at my kitchen table.
“This place is amazing,” she says softly. “I’ve seen a lot of fancy houses, but none of them compare to this.”
“Thank you. I oversaw the renovation myself. It’s got an industrial style, so I think it’s just the size that makes it seem luxurious.”
I pull the roasted beef from a warming oven, slice it, and put generous portions on two plates. After adding roasted red potatoes and sautéed asparagus, I carry the plates to the table and set one in front of Quinn.
“Wow.” She looks up at me. “This looks delicious. You made this?”
I shake my head, wishing for a second that I had. “No,
I’ve got someone who cooks for me.”
She looks down at the food, her eyes swimming with emotion. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on. Is she upset? She presses her lips together, and finally, I get it.
She’s hungry. The thought sends a burning sensation to my chest.
“Let’s eat,” I say, sitting down quickly.
Quinn’s utter satisfaction upon tasting the first bite of beef is something I won’t soon forget. Her expression relaxes as she chews and cuts another bite.
I’m eating, too, but all I can think about is feeding this woman. The lithe frame I find so sexy—is it a result of not having enough to eat? The thought makes me feel like a callous asshole.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
She nods. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
I wait until she’s eaten more than half the food on her plate to interrupt her with conversation again.
“Can I ask how you found yourself on the streets?” I ask. “You don’t seem like the type to end up there.”
“Lots of decent people are homeless,” she says with a touch of defensiveness.
I’m silent as she takes a bite of potatoes, studying me. Is she sizing me up, or is she attracted to me? I can usually read people better than I’m reading her right now.
“It was just . . . circumstance,” she finally says. “I needed to get away from someone. It’s easy to be invisible on the streets here.”
“How old were you? How old are you now?”
“I was sixteen when I got here, and I’m twenty-one now.”
She cuts her asparagus carefully. “How did you get so rich? How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-eight. I capitalize companies for ownership interest and buy others outright.”
She nods as she finishes her last bite of food.
“More?” I ask, reaching for the plate.
“I’m full, but thanks.”
Her expression shifts back to nervousness, and she reaches for the wine and takes a tiny sip. I can’t help laughing at her cringe.
“Don’t like it?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not what I was expecting.”
“It’s an acquired taste.”
I clear away the dishes as she downs a few gulps of water.
“So,” she says, standing up, “I’m really curious about why you pay women to be with you. You’re rich and not unattractive. Lots of women would kill to be with you for free.”
“Nothing’s free. It’s not me they want, it’s the money. I prefer to be upfront about my intentions.”
“And your intentions are . . . ?” She looks me over, and I like the interest I see in her pretty hazel eyes.
“Sex. I’m not looking to be tied down. Companionship is good, but I don’t like expectations.”
She nods with understanding. “I can see that. And your work must keep you busy.”
“It does.”
I leave the dishes on the counter for Turner to see to tomorrow. Quinn is leaning against my large kitchen island, and I approach her, my blood pumping harder with every step.
“You are exceptionally beautiful,” I say, feeling a little like a high school kid with a crush.
She smiles, her perfect white teeth adding to her mystery. At some point, she obviously had braces and the best of dental care. It’s not just that, though. It’s also the set of her shoulders and the way she fearlessly holds my gaze. She could be wearing rags, and she’d still have an air of class.
“Thanks,” she says. “It’s just the hair and makeup Dawson’s stylist did for me.”
I step closer, shaking my head. “I have a feeling you’d be just as perfect straight out of the shower,” I say in a low tone. When I reach for her jawline and run my thumb across it, her eyes flutter closed for a split second.
I let my fingertips graze over the creamy skin of her long neck, brushing past her soft, golden waves. Her eyes open wide and she stiffens.
“What?” I ask softly, pulling my hand away. “You don’t like that?”
She swallows and looks up into my eyes. “It’s hard. This is . . . harder than I thought it would be.”
I step back, and she bites her lower lip and furrows her brow.
“My instinct is to react like you’re going to choke me,” she admits. “No one ever touches me there. Or anywhere. Except . . . one person. I only let one person touch me.”
A cloud of jealousy darkens over my field of vision. Who is this person who touches her, and how is he deserving? Clearly he doesn’t take care of her.
“You have a boyfriend,” I say, surprised by how much that disappoints me.
“No. I didn’t mean someone like that. It’s . . . my sibling.”
“Oh.”
I fold my arms over my chest and lean against the island next to her.
“Sorry,” she says softly. “I know I’m not doing this right.”
“Tell me more about your sibling,” I say. “Brother or sister?”
“I can’t.” She turns to face me, tilting her face up until our eyes meet. The swirl of gold and green and brown in her eyes is mesmerizing. “I might feel more comfortable if . . . instead of you touching me first, can I touch you?”
My lips part for just a second at the question. I feel a primal urge to reach for her hands and put them on me, to tell her that fuck yes, she can touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere. I want those slender fingers to explore the body I spend so much time honing in the gym.
But instead, I just nod, trying my best not to scare her off. I don’t even mind this excruciatingly slow seduction. In fact, I’m fully erect in my suit pants right now.
There are secrets in the depths of her eyes. I see pain and vulnerability there, laced with a strength that turns me on hard. Tonight, I get to show this intriguing, incredibly sexy woman that not everyone wants to hurt her.
Quinn
I reach out tentatively, my eyes locked on Andrew as my palm meets his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt covers a taut, muscled chest. My fingers trail up and down, sliding over ridges of muscle.
He’s strong. Fit. Masculine. All the things most twenty-one-year-old women find sexy in a man. And while I notice all this, am I turned on right now? Do I want him to whisk me off to the bedroom and rock my world?
No.
I’m out of my element, wearing these designer clothes and smelling like expensive perfume. How did I fall so low I’m selling my body to a stranger? What would my mom say if she could see me right now?
And Bethy. I’m worried sick about my sister. It’s some comfort that she’s warm and safe in a hotel room right now, but she’s still sick, and I’m not with her. We rarely leave each other’s side. And in the four-and-a-half years we’ve been on the streets, I’ve never spent a night apart from her.
Bean will take care of her. I know this. But still, I find it as impossible as ever to think about sex right now. Like so many other things, it’s a luxury that’s not part of my world.
“You look tense,” Andrew says. His voice, like the rest of him, is all man. It’s deep and commanding.
I shrug, sliding my hand from his abs around to his waist. “I’m fine.”
“When you said you’re inexperienced, how inexperienced did you mean?”
I pull my hand away and sigh deeply. “That’s kind of personal. I’m not asking for your full sexual history or anything.”
His brows arch slightly. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I’m not trying to pry, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable later. You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“So what if I am?”
He exhales his frustration through his nose. “Okay . . . well, I need to know what you’re comfortable with.”
I consider, still looking into his dark blue eyes. “Kissing. Touching . . . and blow jobs.”
The corners of his lips curl slightly. He’s trying not to laugh, I can tell.
“Look,” I say defensively. “Can we just do this? I’m ready.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m attracted to men. I’m just not attracted to pretentious, arrogant ones.”
His amusement is back. “Me, arrogant?”
“Yes, you. Like the only way a woman wouldn’t want to screw you is because she’s gay. Look up arrogance in the dictionary, and you’ll see a picture of yourself with that shit-eating grin on your face.”
“Is arrogance before or after uptight in the dictionary?”
My hand instinctively wraps around the smooth handle of my knife. “Did you seriously just say that to me? Your game needs some serious work.”
“My game’s never been a problem with other women.”
“Other women are probably impressed by your money and swagger. I’ve lived a privileged life before. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
I hold his gaze, my chin tilted up, as I wait for his next comeback. But instead, he just studies me silently.
“Tell me what you want,” he finally says.
I want him to stop looking at me that way. Like what I want matters. Like this is a regular date or something. I want his leather and cologne scent not to smell so damn good. I want his eyes to be less blue and his shoulders not so broad. A man with nearly a foot and probably a hundred pounds on me should have me feeling more cautious than I do right now.
“I want to do whatever I need to so you’re . . . satisfied and I can leave.”
“Satisfied?” He pauses, his eyes still on mine, and I’m wondering how he can communicate such intensity without words. “I’m very intrigued by you, Quinn. What would satisfy me is to learn more about you over a bottle of good wine.”
“The deal was sex.”
He nods. “If you’d prefer that, let’s get started.” He reaches for his belt buckle and unfastens it, pulling on one end until it quickly snakes all the way through the loops on his pants. “Go ahead and get undressed and lay down on the couch. Legs spread. And hold on to your ankles.”