Quinn arched his eyebrows. Even that was a different look—far more rugged and appealing.
Sarah blinked a few times, then swallowed, trying to coat her suddenly parched throat. Is the hair having this effect?
“You’re making me nervous here, Sunshine.” His honeyed voice was low, and it resonated inside her, skittering delightful shivers along her spine and limbs. Arm and neck hairs lifted, electrified, standing at attention.
“Sorry. Your new look might take some getting used to.”
“What’s your initial verdict?” he said casually.
“You remind me of a grown-up instead of an overgrown, messy kid. Does it feel weird?”
“Having you stare at me like that? Yeah. Really weird. Wanna beer?” Without waiting for her answer, he turned and went to the fridge, fished out a bottle, uncapped it, and brought it back to her. He stood at arm’s length—just close enough to hand her the bottle—and frowned. “Did something happen tonight?”
Yeah. Someone grew up and got a whole lot sexier while I was gone. She took a long, cooling drink. “No. We just sat around, had dinner, and talked. I haven’t spent that much time around T.J. The guy’s hilarious.”
Quinn hmphed and muttered something she didn’t quite catch. He raised his bottle to her. “So you had a nice time. Good.” He took a slow pull, watching her intently over his bottle. “What did you think of Drew?”
Wait. Is that what this is about? Is he … jealous? She answered as honestly as she could, in a sudden and inexplicable rush to put him at ease. “He’s a nice guy. We had a good time, the four of us. It just felt like friends hanging out. Which it was.”
“You gonna see him again?”
“I doubt it. Unless it’s at a big get-together. We’re not … He’s interesting, but not my type. I don’t think I was his type either.”
Quinn was wearing the T-shirt she’d given him, and it hugged the hard planes of his shoulders. Those shoulders visibly eased. “So what is your type?” Another tip of his beer bottle. As he swallowed, she was transfixed by the ripple of muscle along the column of his neck.
His hooded eyes were watchful as he waited for her answer. The air had been sucked out of the room, and electricity crackled between them. Without warning, she’d grown jumpy, parts of her igniting as her nerves danced.
She took another sip of her beer to calm her somersaulting tummy. “I don’t know that I have a type.”
But if you keep looking at me like that, you’re gonna be my type.
Chapter 24
Things That Go Bump in the Night
"How about a poker rematch?” Quinn heard himself say. And he was lucky he had enough brainpower to come up with that much. He’d been out of his fucking mind the entire time she’d been gone, imagining things she might be doing with another man. On a skate’s edge, watching, waiting in the formal room at the front of the house, anticipating the sweep of her headlights ever since his mom had gone to bed.
When he’d finally seen the yellow beams illuminating the long drive, he’d blown out a gust of relief. The fact that it was only a little after eleven had made him relax even more. From there, it had been a matter of beating feet back to the family room and arranging everything so it looked as though he’d been sitting there the whole time and couldn’t have cared less whether she was home or not. And now that she was facing him in that purple top and jeans that caressed her curves? He didn’t want to let her go. Playing poker with her wasn’t his top choice, but he’d settle for it.
Sarah perched one hand on her hip, her heels dangling in her other hand. “You’re ready for me to beat your ass again? You are a glutton for punishment.”
“Hardly. I’ve been holding back. Now I’m ready to take the gloves off and beat your cute little ass.”
Her head rocked back slightly. Yeah, he’d said it. But it was true—she did have a cute little ass. If she had a problem with it, she got over it, and soon they were seated at the coffee table. And she was beating him again.
“This is a stupid game.” He threw down his cards, fully aware how much he resembled a bratty five-year-old.
Sarah made a big show of collecting them, sass quirking her mouth and shining in her eyes. “Not so sure it’s the game, Sparky.”
She was probably right. His mind wasn’t on poker. At. All. He rose, intending to grab their empties. “Want more?”
“What? Beer or ass beating?” She rose too and parked her fists on her hips.
“You’re funny,” he chuffed. His eyes locked on hers. Dark green pools caught and reflected the light glowing from a table lamp. Shimmering, mesmerizing, pulling him into their depths. Green-gold fire glass. The most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.
Stop. Just stop. He tore his gaze from hers but didn’t move.
“Hey, are you okay?” Her voice drifted toward him, laced with concern but soft and musical at the same time. So feminine. She took a step, then another, and reached up to brush her fingertips over his bicep. Her touch electrified, and his hands shot out and cradled her face. Astonishment flashed in those eyes, but she didn’t resist, and he took it as the invitation he was craving, pulling her mouth to his with urgency. That one burst, that one swift movement, and the hunger that had been building up inside him uncoiled in a cascade. His lips were on hers, moving, exploring, tasting. He couldn’t recall a kiss that had ever started like this one, and it caught him by surprise. She responded instantly, sweetness and tenderness on the surface, but beneath
