“Lasagna?” Quinn backed her against his vehicle. “You’d make lasagna for him?”
“Well, yes. You’ve tasted my pot roast. It’s not always the best, but my lasagna—”
He grabbed her upper arms and shook her, his body practically vibrating with anger. “You make lasagna for no one, but me. Do you hear? Me.” As if the emotional force behind his words registered, a pained expression narrowed his eyes and pinched his lips. “Dammit, Cassie, you’re killing me here.” His head slowly inclined. “Killing me,” he groaned. “Surely,” he kissed one corner of her mouth. “Fucking,” he kissed the other side. “Killing me.” His lips made contact with hers and all the moisture in the upper half of her body dropped to the apex of her thighs.
Fingers that had dug into her arms seconds earlier now forked into her hair, holding her head while his lips molded and seduced hers, sipping, tasting, taunting.
Cassie backed farther into the metal of the Jeep as if she could absorb some of its steely strength because her legs were quickly turning to jelly. All these years, she’d jokingly called him hot lips, but she’d had no clue. Dear God in heaven. This is better than I ever dreamed.
His tongue brushed across the seam of her lips twice. “Open for me, angel.” His deep voice sent sensations up her spine like the stroke of a lover’s hand.
She did and his tongue swept in to lay claim, as if she hadn’t always been his. He tasted of beer and lime and sexual potency. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he stepped closer until their thighs touched, the heat from him nearly frying her brain cells.
His lips left hers and moved across her cheek to her jaw, where he kissed, bit and soothed with his tongue. Warm lips trailed down her neck, sucking, pulling moans from her throat. “When I saw you with that other guy, I nearly went insane. I wanted to get twenty kinds of possessive, no matter what I told you earlier. You’ve got me so freakin’ tied up in knots I can’t think straight. All I know is, at this moment, I want to mark you like some wild beast so no male will ever approach you again.”
“Yes, Quinn!”
As if her exclamation had carried a bucket of ice water, he broke contact and his hands lifted in a stop gesture. He stepped back and shook his head. “I did not say that.”
Her heart beat so fast, she could barely breathe. “Yes…yes, you did.” No way was she going to allow him to recant those words. She’d been waiting for three long years to hear them.
“This,” he motioned with two fingers from him to her and back again, “is not happening. I’m not…we’re not…” He spun and inhaled loudly as if to purge something from his body. “Fuck.”
She grabbed his arm and spun him around. Having two brothers, she knew how to get in a guy’s face. “Why not? Give me one good reason, because this running hot and cold thing you’re doing is driving me nuts.” She jabbed her index finger into his pecs. “One minute you tell me you’re not interested.” Her second finger-jab was harder and his dark eyebrows rose. “Then you show up here and kiss me senseless.” A firmer finger-jab made Quinn grunt. “The next minute you’re pushing me away again.” She curled her fingers into a fist and bumped his pecs—and God knew how she loved them. “You know what, Quinn Gallagher? I think, when it comes to me, you’re chicken shit.”
He grabbed her fist and wrenched her hand behind her. “Damn you, Cassie.” His other hand fisted in her hair, jerking her head back. “Stop pushing me.” His handsome face morphed into a mask of dark scowls. “Can’t you get it through that pretty head I don’t want more than friendship from you?” He leaned his forehead against hers. “God sakes, don’t do this to me. To yourself. I adore you,” he exhaled a ragged breath, “but as a friend, a jogging buddy, someone to hang out with.” He stepped back. “Nothing more.”
She took in his tortured expression. Which one of them was in denial here? What the hell was his problem? Her arms wrapped around her waist as if to shield herself from any more emotional blows. She knew what her problem was. It was loving six-foot-three of finely corded muscle with zero capacity for deep emotion. “You can put away your spear now. You’ve wounded me twice in one evening with the truth according to Quinn Gallagher. I can’t take anymore. I’d ask what you’re doing here, why you aren’t at the station, but what the hell does it matter?”
He slid fingertips into the front pockets of his faded jeans, the muscles of his shoulders and arms shifting under the cotton material of his shirt. “I took some personal time. I need to apologize for the things I said to you. I hurt you and I’m sorry. It was all uncalled for.”
“Wolf made you come, didn’t he?” This had her brother’s imprint all over it. He’d been doting on her since the fire that took their parents’ lives. Tears burned the back of her throat and pricked her eyes. “So you took off work to ease tensions with your jogging partner. My feelings as a woman meant nothing.” She could play the guilt card with him. Hadn’t Misty told her to make him feel like an ass for hurting her? A car pulled into the parking lot, drawing her attention for a beat before she looked at his tense face again. No, playing emotional games was never her thing. “Look, it’s obvious I can’t hide the way I feel about you. Maybe it’s best if we stay away from each other.”
“Cassie.” There was a deep strain in his voice.
Twin tears spilled over and tumbled down her cheeks. “You can’t have it both ways. You can’t keep me around for a buddy and then reject my feelings.” She tugged her cell from her purse and scrolled through her contacts. “I’m calling a taxi to take me home. Go on back to the station.” A hot bath, comfy sleep clothes, a quart of chocolate brownie ice cream and a few hours of crying and maybe…maybe she could make it through the night.
Quinn unlocked the door. “Get in. We’re not done talking. When we are, I’ll take you home.”
She couldn’t endure one more minute with him, not when she knew how he really felt about her.
“No. We’re done. Have a good life, Quinn.” She’d made two steps before his arm banded around her waist and lifted her.
“I said we’re not through talking, dammit. Now, get your sweet ass in my Jeep.” He plopped her on the seat and buckled her in. “If you want me out of your life, my friend, fine. But before I walk away, I have some things to teach you.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “You don’t have a damn thing to teach me. Although I am a little intrigued how you knew about hot wax play. Isn’t that some BDSM shit? Beyond that, we have nothing to discuss.”
He shrugged. “We watch the occasional movie at the station.”
She glared at Quinn, sauntering in front of his vehicle. So he enjoyed watching dirty movies. What guy didn’t? Was that what made him disinterested? Her innocence? She glared out the passenger window and swiped at a tear. Hell, the closest thing she knew to sex games was Spin the Bottle—and if that wasn’t damn pathetic, what was?
He settled behind the steering wheel and clicked his seatbelt. “How about a walk on the beach?”
“How about you telling me why I don’t do it for you?”
“Peanut.” His voice was almost a moan of remorse.
“Don’t you peanut me. Am I so ugly, so immature, so annoying?” She lifted her open hands in a helpless gesture. “What? I’m good enough to hang out with, to jog with, to go see a movie with, but not date. Why? You’ve already humiliated me today, so fess up. Tell me why the thought of our being a romantic couple makes you want to throw up.”
He started the engine and shoved the Jeep into reverse. “I never said that. You’re overreacting.”
She punched him. Once, twice, three times in the arm. “Overreacting? After all you’ve put me through today? You arrogant asshole.” She slapped his arm again and shifted in her seat so her back was toward