KNOCK ME OFF MY FEET

  He stopped to stare. He could hardly breathe. She was perfectly formed, opening with desire, dark and lush.

  "Come here to me," he said again, as he yanked the clothing from her feet and reached for her hands to pull her to a sitting position.

  "Quinn, what are you…?"

  "Relax, Homey. I'm going to take real good care of you."

  Audie let her head fall back against the couch, telling herself this wasn't really happening. This had to be some kind of extremely wanton sexual fantasy. In all likelihood, Quinn had just excused himself to go to the bathroom and she was sitting on the couch, alone, making all this up in her head because she was so sexually frustrated. She should be ashamed of herself.

  Because there was no way she was really sprawled on the couch with her shirt up around her neck like this. Stacey Quinn couldn't be bending her legs and spreading her apart like this. His fingers were not slipping into her and she was certainly not squirming against his hand like this or making these sounds in her throat.

  He was not kneeling in front of her with his sun-streaked head between her thighs like this, like he worshipped her, smiling up at her with his green eyes and doing things with his mouth that made her want to believe in God.

  This could not be happening.

  But then his tongue licked into her so long and slow and thorough that she heard herself cry out and she started to pant. When he licked her again, two things became very clear in Audie's befuddled brain—Quinn was, in fact, kneeling in front of her with his tongue and fingers hot inside her. And he would, in fact, take really, really good care of her. He already was.

  Then a third thing occurred to her—the phone was ringing."

  She stopped squirming under him.

  "Don't get it, Audie," he breathed into her, not lifting his head. "Let the answering machine get it." He nibbled along the swollen rim of her.

  "I don't have an answering machine anymore!" she cried out, panicked. "Oh, God, I don't have an answering machine!"

  "I'll buy you one tomorrow. They're a lot more affordable than they used to be." His tongue landed hot and sharp on her erect little clitoris and she grabbed on to his shoulders to pull him closer, then push him away, right as she teetered on the brink of a sharp orgasm.

  "Oh, God, yes! Yes! Wait! Stop! Crap! Oh, hell!"

  Audie forced herself to breathe and forced herself to think. She wormed her way out from beneath him and lunged for the phone on the side table.

  "Russell?"

  Quinn watched in horror as Audie pulled the tank top down over those luscious breasts that he hadn't sucked on near enough and he thought he'd cry when she bent over to find her shorts and underwear and … suddenly she was gone. All of that soft, wet flesh was put away.

  He could hear Russell screaming.

  "Why haven't you called me? Why did you cancel your trip? It's going to totally fuck up your publicity schedule!"

  Quinn collapsed face-first into the couch cushions.

  "Why haven't you messengered the contract over to me? What the hell is wrong with you, Audie? Now we've got less than a week to agree to the terms!"

  "Then get me an extension, because I'm not ready to sign anything yet!" she screamed. "And don't call me at home at … what the hell time is it anyway?"

  "Ten-thirty," Quinn offered helpfully, lifting his head and turning as he plopped down on the floor.

  Audie whipped around to look at him, startled by his appearance. He looked all scruffy and shell-shocked and his mouth was red and wet and he was leaning against the front of the couch like he'd been shot.

  She'd just attacked the man again! And he'd just… "Oh, boy," she whispered.

  "Audie?"

  "What, Russell? Get me an extension and leave me alone—can I be any more direct than that? Jeesh! What is with people? It's like they don't take me seriously!"

  Quinn stood up just then, and it was obvious that he took her quite seriously, because Audie's eyes were drawn to his nylon shorts, now straining around a rather impressive erection.

  "My God, you're huge," she whispered involuntarily.

  "What did you just say to me?" Russell screamed.

  "Oh, crap. Hell." Audie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Work it out, Russell. And don't call me again."

  She slammed down the phone and turned to Quinn, who was slowly advancing toward her, his eyes hot and green and serious. She brought up her arm, bracing it out straight, palm out, and she felt like Diana Ross doing "Stop in the Name of Love."

  "Don't move."

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't want to do this."

  "But I do." He moved a step closer.

  "I'm not ready," she breathed. "Please."

  "Not ready for what?"

  "For you, Quinn." Once again she surveyed everything the man had to offer and she let out a little whimper. "All of you."

  "You sure felt ready a minute ago."

  "My body is. The rest of me isn't."

  He stopped and brought a hand up to his forehead and rubbed furiously. "What are you doing to me, Audie?"

  "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I don't mean to do this. I'm just scared, OK? I'm scared of you."

  His eyes widened and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, aware that he might look a bit … damp. "Why in God's name are you scared of me?"

  Audie stared at him, handsome and sexy and rumpled and hard as concrete. She closed her eyes.

  "Because of who you are, everything you are, everything I feel—everything I'm not very experienced with." Audie's breath was coming in gulps and she dared to look at him again. "I need to be sure, OK? You're different, and I need to be sure. Can you give me one more chance to try to get ready for you?"

  Quinn turned away and crumpled onto the couch. She watched him grind his palms against his closed eyes.

  "Are you OK?"

  "I'm fine."

  "You're not hurt or anything?"

  He laughed, letting his head fall back as his eyes swept over her from top to bottom. "Men aren't physically injured when we can't complete the act, you know. It's just something we tell women."

  Audie put her hands on her hips. "I know. Like 'Size doesn't matter.'"

  He chuckled. "Kind of like that."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be."

  "Why are you being so nice about this, Quinn? If I were you, I'd be calling me names right now."

  Quinn sat up and put his elbows on his knees, staring at her. "Now why in the world would I do that, Homey?" A grin appeared on his stricken face and Audie's heart melted. "See, I want to get in your pants—and stay there—in the worst possible way, so how would name-calling accomplish that?"

  She could see his logic.

  "I'll put up with a bit more torture if I have to. I've already decided you're worth the wait." The grin spread wider. "I'll just think of tonight as an appetizer—a nice juicy appetizer at a restaurant with real slow service."

  She laughed. "I'm pretty tortured myself," she said, smiling down at him, acutely aware of the truth of that statement. She was wet, trembling, and aching inside for him to fill her, but despite all that, he'd just made her laugh! How did he do that? Did he have any idea what a lethal combination that was for her?

  "Everything you need should be in the guest room, Quinn."

  "Not quite everything."

  "I'll see you in the morning, Detective." She wanted desperately to kiss him good night but remembered the good-night kiss on his deck and knew they'd be right back where they started. With a sigh, she headed down the hallway.

  "Hey, Homey?" He saw her spin around.

  "Yeah?"

  "Can I ask you a question?" He peered around the end of the couch.

  Audie laughed outright. "Quinn, at this point I think you can ask me anything, so stop asking if you can ask me and just ask me."

  "Great." He smiled broadly. "I was wondering if you'd come see our pipe band play at CityFest next week, since you're going to be staying in town
now."

  Audie had to giggle at how cute he looked, peeking at her, obviously wanting her to say yes.

  "Sure. I'd be delighted. Kilts and all, Stacey?"

  "Kilts and all, Homey."

  * * *

  An hour later, Audie was still wide awake, trying to sort out why she'd just run away from what had promised to be outstanding sex.

  Did she want a guarantee of some sort?

  No, she wasn't stupid. There was no such thing as a guarantee.

  Did she need to know him better?

  No, not really. She knew he had a kind heart and respected her wishes, no matter how crazy they made him. She knew the things he'd told her that night took a lot of courage. Stacey Quinn was a good man.

  Did she trust him?

  Yes, she trusted him.

  Did she trust herself?

  Bingo—that was the issue right there. It was a foregone conclusion that they wouldn't last long. Nothing ever did.

  It was just a matter of time before he'd want too much from her, before he'd expect something she couldn't give.

  It was only a matter of time before she hurt him, and she really didn't want to hurt Stacey Quinn.

  She liked him too much.

  On the dock the other night, she told him she sucked at relationships, and it was the truth. She was giving him a chance to step away. But he didn't. He pulled her closer instead.

  Why did he do that?

  "I don't know the first thing about love," she whispered in the dark. "You should have listened to me, Quinn!"

  She flipped over on her stomach and groaned with frustration, because that's exactly what she was dealing with here—love—whether she wanted it or not. For the first time in her life, she was thinking of possibly, maybe, trying to love a man, not just have a sexual relationship with him.

  And that was what scared her about Quinn.

  At the same time, Quinn was lying awake in Audie's chic gray-and-white guest room, staring out from the platform bed to the dark windows and the darker sky, wondering just how much longer she'd make him wait. His body hurt. He still tasted her. Everything from the waist down was throbbing and hard and ready.

  Above his waist, in the region of his heart, there was another sensation entirely—a warm one, one that made him smile, one that made him feel like something was locking into place. It felt like that night by the boathouse, when he opened his arms to Audie and she stepped inside.

  Quinn knew he had a tendency to set the bar pretty high for himself—personally and professionally. And he knew he'd always had a clear idea in his head about what love would feel like when it came into his life.

  He wanted what his parents had and he decided early on that he'd settle for nothing less. He wanted the kind of love that was beautiful and resilient and funny. He wanted passionate love. He wanted love that would challenge him, complete him, make him a better man.

  So why was he suddenly wondering if he'd found that in Autumn Adams, a rich, WASPy Cubs fan in the middle of a vocational crisis? A woman who decorated her apartment in the Neo-Landfill style?

  It was so outrageous that he almost laughed out loud.

  Just then he heard her outside the bedroom door. He closed his eyes and lay still, his heart hammering, wondering what was going to happen next. Would she dive into this bed with him, already naked? Would she drag him into her bed, ripping off his clothes on the way?

  Nothing happened. And Quinn waited.

  Audie leaned up against the doorjamb and stared at him in the dim light. His holstered gun rested on the nightstand by his head. His face looked lean and smooth and strong in the shadows, his mouth pulled into a straight line in sleep. He had such beautiful bones at his brow, around his eyes—and she wanted to touch him there, touch that sweetness she saw in him.

  His mouth began to twitch into a smile—a dream, she thought—and she saw the little boy in him again. She shook her head in surprise. All the way back to her room she thought to herself, Stacey Quinn has taken me by surprise.

  Later, when Quinn was satisfied she was asleep, he slipped into his holster and tiptoed across the football field of an apartment. He nearly broke his leg on the running shoes strewn in the middle of the hall, then stopped in front of her closed bedroom door.

  He listened carefully, opened it without making a sound, and looked down at her.

  She lay halfway on her stomach, the covers all twisted up and thrown off, which made complete sense to him. He remembered all the nervous energy he saw in her that first day. Of course she'd be the kind to toss and turn all night, but he'd find a way to live with that.

  He smiled down at her. He'd pictured her in leopard skin, hadn't he? Well, here she was, wearing one of Griffin's old soccer jerseys, the name "Nash" in bold white letters across the back over a big number ten.

  He saw a sliver of white panties where the shirt rose up over her bottom, the same little cotton things she'd worn earlier. No leopard skin there, either.

  Quinn admired the long line of leg tucked up chastely in sleep, her thick wavy hair tousled out behind her head. She was so sexy and vulnerable that he had to hold his breath to suppress a sigh of contentment.

  Damn, he wanted this woman. He wanted everything she could possibly give. And he startled himself with this next thought: Could Autumn Adams ever love him?

  Eventually, he closed the door and leaned against the wall just outside, sinking down into a heap in the hallway. He let his head fall back, knowing there was a silly grin plastered on his face, and fell asleep.

  * * *

  In the morning, Audie woke up, opened her bedroom door, and tripped over something large. She banged her head on the opposite wall and started cussing.

  Quinn had already pulled out his weapon and Audie went scrambling backward down the hall on her hands, like a frightened crab.

  "God, Audie! You scared the shit out of me!"

  "Me? You! You're pointing a gun at me! Put it away! What the hell are you doing in the hallway? Put away the gun!"

  He holstered his weapon and groaned, rubbing a hand through his disheveled hair and over his scratchy beard, trying to calm his heart.

  "I came to check on you last night."

  She blinked at him and clambered to a stand, pulling down on her nightshirt, letting her pulse die down. "You were worried about me?"

  "Yes."

  OK, fine, Audie decided. He could be worried about her if he wanted. She'd find a way to live with that. She took a step forward and offered him her hand.

  "Good morning, Quinn," she said, hoisting him to his feet. "Thanks for keeping me safe."

  "My pleasure."

  "And thanks for not shooting me."

  "I aim to please."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  "Get the hell away from me with those things!"

  Stanny-O backed off, returning the Frango Mints to his upper right desk drawer, eyeing his partner warily.

  "All you had to do was say 'No thanks.'"

  Quinn looked up at him, stupefied. "No thanks? I've been telling you 'No thanks' for four fuckin' years, and apparently you haven't heard it a single goddamned time because every day—every day, Stan—you ask me if I want a mint and the answer is no, I don't want a mint. I don't like 'em and I never fuckin' will."

  "Jeez, Quinn." Stanny-O shoved his hands in his pockets and stared hard at his partner. "Are you hammered?"

  "What?"

  "Well, excuse me, but you don't usually ramble on like this unless you've been drinking."

  Quinn closed his eyes and said softly, "Of course I'm not drinking." Then his eyes flew wide and in a much louder voice he added: "But I'm gonna start slamming heads if you ask me one more time if I want a Frango-fucking-Mint!"

  Stanny-O began to nod slowly and smoothed his fingertips along his goatee, letting the understanding settle over him. He sauntered over to Quinn's desk, taking a wide, cautious berth before he plopped down on the edge.

  "
Not getting any, eh, buddy?"

  Quinn turned to him and glared.

  "I take it she don't want to go there."

  Quinn ignored him.

  "She's a beautiful woman. Hell, she's fun, too, just wonderful. I think I'm in love with her myself." Stanny-O began chuckling. "Want some coffee?" He walked across the room to the coffee island and came back with two Styrofoam cups.

  "You know, Quinn, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven the night Audie and me went for pizza after one of her games. There she was, sitting across from yours truly, easily the prettiest woman in the place—even in her uniform with her hair up all messy the way she wears it—and she had me laughing so hard at one point, telling me stories about what a crazy mo-fo Darren Billings was, I thought I was going to choke to death. I haven't laughed that hard with a woman in I don't know how long."

  Stanny-O sighed. "Did she ever tell you about dating Billings, Quinn? Did she ever tell you what he used to do at the Popeye's drive-through?"

  Still no reaction.

  "Oh, well." He shrugged. "I'm sorry she's making you nuts."

  Quinn grunted.

  "I think she's perfect for you. I really do. And I know it must be really hard to be close to gettin' some but not really gettin' any, if you get what I mean. It's gotta be tough, buddy."

  "Are you done yet, Stan?"

  "No, I'm not done, Stacey. You're going to tell me what's going on."

  "No, I'm not."

  "Sure you are. You're my partner and this is our case and she's our responsibility. So you're going to tell me what's going on."

  Quinn closed his eyes and wrestled with the fact that he was close to having a heart-to-heart with Stanley Oleskiewicz. He trusted the guy with his life every day, true enough, and knew he was in good hands—but his ego?

  "She's driving me completely crazy."

  "What's she doin'?"

  "Being Audie."

  "I hear you."

  "Being goofy and disorganized and sexy and tenderhearted. Being unable to tell a lie without falling over her own two feet. Being vulnerable." Quinn looked up to Stanny-O and frowned. "Did you request the Helen Adams files again?"

  "Yeah. I got 'em. Kerr and McAffee should be here any minute." Stanny-O gave his partner a solid pat on the shoulder before he went back to his chair. "Rick Tinley's the uniform assigned to her until five," he said, tossing a stack of files to Quinn.