His Page 8

  I just sigh deeply, knowing anything I say will prompt an argument.

  “Andrew,” Mom says, “Dahlia Donelson is looking for you. I told her you two could sit together at dinner.”

  The Donelsons are friends of my mother’s, and she’s been trying to fix me up with their daughter, Dahlia, since we were in high school. And finally, I’ve got a good excuse for avoiding her.

  “You misspoke,” I say. “I’ll be with Quinn all night.”

  Even in the dim of night, I see the flash of aggravation pass over my mom’s face.

  “Are you coming inside with us?” I ask her.

  She says nothing and strides past us, her heels clicking against the pavement. A surge of anger rises in my chest. Quinn is nervous enough without my ice queen mother adding another layer.

  I’m walking too fast, a bad habit of mine when I’m pissed. Quinn is rushing to keep up with me, and I’m about to slow down when a photographer locks eyes with me and arches his brows in question.

  “Quick photo, Mr. Wentworth?” he asks, lifting his camera.

  I hear Quinn suck in a nervous breath beside me. Holding up a hand to the photographer, I let go of Quinn’s hand and wrap my arm around her shoulders. With her tucked against my side, I get us safely inside.

  “No photographers allowed in here,” I say as she slips my huge coat off her shoulders. I take it and pass it over the coat check desk in the lobby of the upscale hotel.

  “There you are!”

  I tense at the sound of the high-pitched voice of Dahlia Donelson. She’s talking to me. Every time I hear her voice, she’s trying to sink her long, bright-red claws into me.

  “Save me,” I mutter under my breath to Quinn.

  She’s giving me a confused look when Dahlia appears, arms outstretched, grinning and glittering in a flashy red dress.

  “Where have you been, Andrew?” Dahlia says in my ear.

  Her hug is too long, and I feel every inch of her body rubbing against me like a fucking stripper on the job. As soon as she steps back to look at me, Quinn slides her arms around my waist.

  “I’ve been keeping him pretty busy, if you know what I mean,” she says. I have to look down to confirm the confident, sultry-sounding words came from her mouth.

  “Is that right?” Dahlia’s smile stays plastered in place, but like the rest of her, it’s fake.

  “I’m Andrew’s girlfriend, Quinn.” She holds out a hand to Dahlia, and they shake.

  “Girlfriend?” Dahlia practically chokes on the word.

  “I convinced him to come out tonight, but he wanted to stay home,” Quinn says, staring up at me with stars in her eyes. “I’m telling you, he’d keep me in bed around the clock if he could.”

  “Is that right?” Dahlia says again.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.” Quinn gives Dahlia a conspiratorial smile.

  I’m hard. I should be more concerned about it than I am, considering we’re in the lobby of a hotel with a lot of other people, but all I can think of in this moment is Quinn’s warm, soft body pressed against me. Even her insinuation that we’ve slept together makes my balls ache with desire for her.

  I can’t help seizing the opportunity to slide my palm down to cup her ass. It’s firm and slightly rounded. She inhales sharply, and I sink my fingertips in farther.

  “Andrew,” she says in a mock scolding tone, “you just can’t ever get enough, can you?”

  “Of you?” I make no effort to hide the open lust I’m feeling for her. “Never.”

  I lean down and kiss her forehead. Her skin is smooth. It’s all I can do to make myself pull away instead of tipping her chin up for a real kiss.

  “Well,” Dahlia says, clearing her throat dramatically, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  She heads for the hotel’s ballroom, and Quinn gives me a questioning look.

  “How’d I do?” she whispers.

  “Amazing. Thank you.”

  “You were good, too. I actually thought I felt . . . you know, something against my thigh when I side-hugged you.”

  I laugh and squeeze her ass again. “No pretense here, Quinn. You excite me.”

  “I do?”

  People are walking around us, and I realize we only made it about twenty feet into the lobby before Dahlia found us.

  “We should go in,” I say. “Do I have to take my hand off your ass?”

  “That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

  A silent moment charged with sexual energy passes between us before I answer.

  “No. It’s always up to you.”

  Her lips curve up in a smile. “I think your mother will be scandalized if we walk in there like this.”

  “I thoroughly enjoy scandalizing my mother,” I admit. “And I’m thoroughly enjoying your ass right now, too.”

  Her cheeks are pink. I want to walk back out the front doors of the hotel and take her home. I want to find out what her ass feels like without the fabric of her dress in my way. What I really want is to have her ass in my hands while she rides my cock. I want her tits in my face as I bury myself deep inside her.

  If I could just get her to want sex, I know I could fuck away all her tension and worry. I’m not great at making women feel good with words, but with my cock, I can make them incoherent.

  Quinn deserves to feel that good. She deserves to be able to let go of all her doubts and fears and let someone else take over. As long as that someone is me.

  We’re walking into the ballroom when a business associate of mine greets me and holds out his hand for a handshake. I’m forced to move my hand away from Quinn.

  She’s like a different person in here, offering everyone we talk to a warm hello and a gorgeous smile. People are looking at us, and I know what they’re all wondering.

  Who is she?

  It’s unusual for a woman as beautiful as Quinn to appear on the social scene as a complete unknown. Usually, someone knows a little something about everyone who appears at these fundraisers. They’re for the wealthiest New Yorkers, who attend just for the prestige of it.

  We’re deep in conversation with a US Ambassador when my phone buzzes in my pocket for the third time in less than five minutes. I see a slight flash of nervousness in Quinn’s eyes when I excuse myself to check my phone, so I murmur in her ear.

  “Be right back,” I promise, brushing my lips lightly past her earlobe.

  Christ, I want her bad. The coconut scent of her hair lingers in my mind as I step outside into a vacant conference room to check my phone.

  I sigh with frustration when I see who’s been calling. An entrepreneur I’m buying a company from is getting cold feet ahead of signing our deal next week. I’ve already spoken to him about it several times in the past few days. But I don’t want to lose this deal, so I have to call him back.

  He answers the phone and launches into a monologue about how hard it’s proving to sell the business he built from the ground up.

  “Have you reconsidered, then?” I ask, staring down the long, dark table in the conference room.

  “Well, not exactly . . . I’m just wondering if maybe we need to renegotiate.”

  I rub my temple and mentally count to three. I’ve never had the patience to count to ten when I’m pissed.

  “The deal’s drawn up,” I say. “At this point, it’s either yes or no.”

  He sighs deeply and goes back into the monologue. I consider setting my phone on the table and going back out to Quinn, but that fantasy is short-lived.

  I’m aware of every passing minute. I told Quinn I’d be right back, and this call is taking forever. Since I’m mostly on the receiving end of the conversation, I walk to the ballroom where the fundraiser is being held and search for Quinn. Given how little she’s told me about herself, I’m concerned about her ability to hold one-on-one conversation with anyone without me there as a buffer.

  I finally find her, and my moment of excitement upon seeing her long, lean body is cut short when I see wh
o she’s talking to.

  Hell. It’s my mother.

  Quinn

  “What did Andrew say your last name was?”

  Gina Wentworth is staring at me like a detective conducting an interrogation.

  “Jones.” I sip my champagne and glance around the room.

  Where the hell is Andrew?

  “And who are your parents?”

  I meet her steely blue eyes and hold her gaze for a few silent seconds before answering.

  “The Joneses.”

  Her laugh is humorless. “So you’re self-made, then? What is it you do, exactly?”

  I shrug. “I have to finish school before I can do much of anything.”

  It’s true. I just don’t plan to mention I need to pick back up with my sophomore year of high school.

  “Ah.” Her brows arch with interest. “My son is dating a college student? How interesting.”

  She says the word “interesting” like it’s some sort of communicable disease.

  “And where did the two of you meet?” she asks.

  “Dawson introduced us.”

  “I see.”

  A passing waiter holds out a tray of food, and I reach out to take something but then pause.

  “What are these?” I ask.

  “Bacon-wrapped dates, ma’am.”

  “Wow.” I give him my most interested look. “What sort of dates are they?”

  “What . . . sort?”

  “I mean, are they . . . American dates or imported ones?”

  I’m desperate to shake Gina Wentworth’s questions, even if it means looking like a jackass with a pronounced interest in dates.

  “I think, um . . . local, maybe?” The young server’s brow is furrowed. “I know the chef tries to source local ingredients as much as he can.”

  “Does he? What kinds of local food does he use?”

  A strong arm slides around my waist.

  “Hey.” Andrew’s deep voice sounds against my ear, making me shiver slightly. “Sorry about that.”

  I take a bacon-wrapped date and thank the server, who looks relieved as he turns away.

  “So how are you, Mom?” Andrew asks. “Been busy with work?”

  “Oh, you know me. Always busy with work.”

  She looks between the two of us as though she’s trying to figure something out.

  “It’s rather embarrassing when my friends are asking who my son is here with, and I don’t know a thing about her,” she says lightly.

  “Feeding the gossip mill has never been my thing, Mother,” Andrew says. “It’s never been yours, either.”

  She purses her lips and says nothing.

  “You ready to go?” Andrew asks me. I nod, trying not to look too eager.

  “Already?” his mother asks, sounding outraged. “What about dinner?”

  “We stopped by, and I made my donation already.”

  “Well, at least I got to see you for a bit.”

  I can see her stab of guilt hitting home with Andrew.

  “Why don’t you come by for dinner soon?” he says to her.

  “Is it still just your home?” Gina fires back.

  “Excuse me?” Andrew’s brusque tone makes me stiffen nervously.

  “Dahlia said your friend made a comment about convincing you to leave home tonight.” She speaks in a low tone but makes no effort to hide a sneer in my direction. “Does that mean she’s living with you?”

  Andrew takes a step closer to his mom, and she cranes her neck to look up at him.

  “I rescind the dinner invitation,” he says in a level tone. “And you wonder why I don’t want you to be more involved in my life.”

  He takes my hand and leads me away. I can feel tension radiating from him, and his eyes have taken on the dark blue cast of an approaching storm.

  Andrew sends Roy a text, picks up his coat and drapes it around my shoulders again, and we wait outside in silence for five minutes. As soon as the SUV pulls up to the curb, Andrew opens the door and offers me his hand so I can slide in.

  After he gets in next to me, he says, “Home” to Roy and then quiet fills the air around us again.

  “You okay?” I ask after a couple minutes.

  He turns to me. “I’m fine. I’m sorry about my mother.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “The way she treated you was inexcusable. And you were already nervous, I’m sure she could see that.”

  I laugh and pat his knee. “Did I look like a deer in the headlights all night?”

  He smiles, and I like knowing I brought him out of his funk just a bit.

  “Not at all. You did great. But my mother knows when she’s been an intimidating . . .” He sighs. “I’m not going to say it. I’m just sorry she treated you that way.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I think she and Dahlia were just . . . caught off guard by me.”

  Andrew arches his brows, still smiling. He takes my hand.

  “That was fun,” he admits. “Seeing the look on Dahlia’s face . . .” He laughs, and the sparkle comes back to his eyes. “I can only imagine the look on my mother’s face when Dahlia ran to give her the full report.”

  I give him a sly wink. His thumb slides up to my wrist, slowly stroking my skin.

  “You hungry?” he asks.

  “Yes. I was hoping that bacon-wrapped date wasn’t my dinner.”

  “What about pizza? There’s a great little pizza parlor not far from here.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Roy drops us off, and I can’t help noticing the man sitting on the sidewalk not far from the door of the pizza parlor. He’s wrapped in a ragged blanket, and his greasy black hair hangs in sections around his bearded face.

  I have to stop. I’ve got nothing to give him, but I want him to know I see him.

  “Quinn?” Andrew says softly from next to me. He’s lingering in front of the door to the pizza place.

  “You okay?” I ask the man on the sidewalk.

  He shrugs and offers a wry smile. “Been better.”

  I sigh softly, trying not to think about the cost of the dress and shoes I’m wearing right now. I’d take these shoes off and give them to him if they’d help.

  Suddenly, I remember the coat. It’s not really mine to give, but . . .

  “Do you want this?” I shrug it off and hear Andrew exhale through his nose next to me. Is he aggravated? This is probably an expensive coat.

  I feel his hand on my lower back then, and I know without any words that he’s not upset about it.

  “I got a coat,” the man says, lifting the blanket to show me his gray canvas work jacket. “But thanks.”

  I see movement from Andrew, and I turn to him. He took his wallet out of his pocket, and he’s peeling a few twenties off a roll of cash. When he passes them to the man on the sidewalk, the man’s eyes light up.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Sure.”

  Andrew opens the door to the pizza place, and one corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. I’m warm all over, and it’s not because of his coat.

  “Take care,” I say to the man. He salutes me and wraps back up in the blanket.

  Andrew and I draw stares when we walk into the small storefront with a black-and-white checkered floor and a strong smell of pepperoni. Everyone else is wearing jeans, so we stand out in our formalwear. We’re at the end of a long line, so I’m betting the place has amazing pizza. Just a whiff of garlic makes my stomach growl.

  “What sounds good?” Andrew asks, leaning in close to me.

  The only answer coming to mind is the faint scent of his cologne and the feel of his firm upper arm against my shoulder. I look up into his eyes, wishing I knew how to put into words how I’m feeling right now.

  My hand slowly makes its way up to his cheek, and I tentatively reach out to cup it in my palm. His dark stubble feels smooth against my fingers.

  He’s so still as I brush my hand across his skin. But within a few seconds, I feel him moving cl
oser. He wraps his hands around my waist and tilts his face down.

  When I feel his warm lips near mine, my heart races with awareness. His lips are soft, and he tastes faintly of chocolate. I don’t care that we’re in the middle of a crowded pizza place; I slide my other hand up to the back of his neck, my fingertips brushing across his hairline.

  I feel a soft groan from him as he moves one hand up to my back, pulling me closer. His tongue gently touches mine and wow, I really like it.

  After just a few seconds, he breaks the kiss and I’m staring up at him, breathless. His hint of a smile is back. At the sound of a very loud throat clearing, we both turn. The man behind us in line is looking at us sternly over the top of his glasses, pointing at the huge gap in front of us in line.

  We step forward. I have to press my lips together to keep from breaking out in a grin. Why was I worried about not liking that? Not only did I like it, I want more.

  While waiting for our pepperoni and extra cheese pizza to be brought out, we sit down at a high table with two tall chairs. I fold Andrew’s coat before putting it across the back of my chair so it won’t touch the floor.

  “So,” he says, still smiling.

  “So.” I feel myself blushing. It’s kind of funny, really. I always thought I was made of steel when it came to everything but Bethy. And here I am, acting goofy over a simple kiss.

  “I have to go out of town in the morning,” Andrew says.

  That wasn’t what I’d been expecting him to say.

  “Oh.” I sit up straight and pull myself together. “Okay.”

  “Yeah, that call I had to take at the event was a guy getting cold feet over selling his company. I’m going to Hong Kong to meet with him and sign the paperwork before he can change his mind.”

  I nod. “Sounds like a good plan.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “It’ll be a quick trip. Probably three days.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let me have your hand,” he says, holding his hand palm up to the middle of the table.

  I put my hand out, and he takes it in his, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “Will you please let Roy drive you where you want to go?”