Sarah ruffled Archer’s furry neck. “Of course I’ll miss him, but I’ll manage one night. As for security, I think everything finally got worked out with the alarm service.” She darted her eyes to Quinn, who flinched. Paige had resolved it, but Quinn had missed the last step: activating his own account. Damn it! With the insanity of recent days, he’d completely spaced it, though he wasn’t worried—he’d hired a security company to track Wolf’s whereabouts. Through them, Quinn had learned that the jerkoff had engaged a Denver defense attorney and immediately split for Seattle, holing up in the house occupied by his wife and kids, no less. Inwardly, Quinn shook his head, bemused why this woman would let her cheating, lawbreaking husband move back in. Oh well. Not Quinn’s problem. All he cared about was that Wolf was states away from Sarah.
After the Buick disappeared down the drive, Quinn took Sarah’s hand in his and led her inside. He gave her a devilish grin. “Gee, we have the place to ourselves. What do you want to do, Sunshine?”
She flashed him a sultry smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Reorganize the kitchen? Catch up on laundry? Play hide-and-seek?”
His eyebrows inched up his forehead. “Hide-and-seek? Sounds interesting.”
Inside the foyer, he locked the front door and hit a keypad that closed the front gate to the estate. Safe and secure. No interruptions. Then he tugged her to him and ran his hands up and down her sides. “What are we hiding, Sunshine?” His mind zipped to hiding his favorite body part inside her.
She giggled. “I hide, and you have to find me.”
“And what do I do with you once I find you?” Fire traveled from his abdomen south.
“Anything you want.” She nipped his neck and danced out of his hold. “You count to twenty—no cheating—while I hide.”
“Wait! This place is huge. I might not find you until next week. We need some rules.”
“Such as?” She bounced in place, her grin spreading and eyes twinkling. Today the weather was warmer, and she was dressed differently, in a short denim skirt and a top that tied behind her neck. It was made of white, flowy material that swayed with her movements. The top bared her shoulders, but she’d thrown on a short navy sweater that covered them. What she couldn’t hide was the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra. The top was made up of layers of sheer material that obscured but were nonetheless flimsy. He licked his lips. Maybe if he lunged at her right now, he could shorten the time it took to get his hands on her.
Instead, he reined in his libido. “Such as you can hide anywhere inside two wings—yours and mine. The rest of the house and outside are off-limits.”
“Deal,” she squealed. “Now go lock yourself in a pantry and count.” She pivoted, glancing between entries to the two wings.
“One …”
“Not until you’re in the pantry!” she laughed.
He spun away and headed toward the butler’s pantry. “One and a half …” A covert glance over his shoulder told him she was poised to duck into her own wing. “Two …”
When he hit twenty, he set off toward his wing. She’d probably tried to throw him off, the little minx. His logic paid off when he entered the ridiculous huge-ass walk-in-closet and spotted one of its many mirrored doors ajar. A flash through the gap had him grasping the handle and opening it wide. Anticipation danced in his veins.
Sarah nearly fell out of the closet compartment in a fit of laughter when Quinn whipped it open. He smirked, not looking the least bit surprised. She hadn’t wanted to make it too tough on him—she wanted to be found after all—but she’d hoped to make it more of a challenge than she had.
He tugged her out and closed the door, and she twirled in place slowly, taking in the garish finishes. “Holy … I still can’t get over the size of this room!”
“Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “Totally impractical.”
“Unless you have thousands of clothes and shoes.” The space reminded her of a lavish ladies’ fitting room from an old movie—one where the guy relaxes in a cushy armchair and drinks a martini while the woman he’s buying a wardrobe for models every piece of clothing he’s selected.
Surrounded by one mirrored surface after another—even the drawers and end panels were covered in mirrors—the space boasted a white marble floor shot through with gray veins and covered in furry white area rugs, decadent crystal chandeliers suspended from high ceilings, and a white leather ottoman large enough for two people to lie side by side. Wow!
Quinn looked around the closet—scratch that—salon. A slow, sly smile curved his lips. “Since I found you, I get to do anything I want with you, huh?”
Nerve endings fired, and she suddenly felt shy. “What did you have in mind?”
He reached for her and turned her in his arms so they both faced their reflection in a mirror. Oh so languidly, he slid her sweater off her shoulders and down her arms. “You know,” he began in a deep, thick, chocolate-syrup voice, “I thought this closet was an architectural eyesore and an extravagant waste of space.” He pulled the sweater completely off and tossed it on top of a mirrored dresser.
He ran his fingertips lightly up her arms, his gaze holding hers in the mirror. Goose bumps erupted under his touch, and tingles shot to every extremity like a haphazard cluster of exploding fireworks.
“And now?” she rasped.
“Now I see the real reason they built it, and I think it’s the best room in the house.”
She paused to clear her throat, but it betrayed her when it came out in a breathless quaver. “What, do you suppose, is its real purpose?”
His hands glided to her hips, hiking her skirt up a few inches, his fingers teasing her hem, and he nuzzled her cheek. Darkened with lust, his espresso eyes shimmered in the reflection. “Watch, and I’ll show you,” he murmured.
Then his
