Midnight Lies: The Wildefire Series (10 page)

Glazed, bloodshot eyes popped open as if he hadn’t been asleep at all. With a sweet,
almost goofy grin, he said, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. Can you eat something?”

He grabbed the hand on his shoulder and tugged, pulling her down into his arms. “Oh
yeah, I definitely have an appetite for something.”

The instant his mouth settled on hers, her mind went blank. Masculine, scotch-flavored
lips moved powerfully, insistently, with a devouring need she didn’t want to resist.
It felt so good to be in his arms again, to feel the strength of his embrace, his
body hard and warm against hers. Groaning with pleasure, Samantha let desire control
her thoughts. Need overwhelmed all the
events of the past week. In Quinn’s arms, reality disappeared.

A large, strong hand glided up the outside of her thigh, moved between her legs, and
pressed against her mound. She arched into his hot hand, moaning at the throbbing
need only this man could quench.

“Oh, Quinn,” she whispered, “I’ve missed you so much.”

His answer was a dry, raspy laugh. Before she could consider why the sound bothered
her, she heard a small ripping noise and then his fingers plunged deep inside her.
Samantha gasped at the abrupt intrusion. Quinn soothed her, muttering incoherent words
in her ear. Whether it was his fingers, his sexy voice, or both, she didn’t know,
but suddenly she found herself on the edge of an orgasm. Awash in a soft, delicious
heat, she plummeted toward a dark, velvet abyss and then soared upward into ecstasy.
Only with Quinn had she ever reached such glorious heights.

As shudders of the aftermath quaked through her, she said huskily, “Let’s go to bed.”

“Here’s fine,” he muttered.

“But I—”

Effortlessly lifting her, Quinn settled her over him so that she straddled his hips.
She didn’t know when or how he’d unzipped his pants, but before she knew it, he was
pushing her down and driving deep inside her.

“Quinn?”

As if she hadn’t spoken, his hands grasped her hips and his fingers dug deep into
tender skin as he lifted her up, then pushed her down, repeating the motions over
and over.

Her mind might be in shock at his unusual lack of finesse, but her body knew what
to do. Arousal zoomed through her like a rocket. In the throes of another impending,
explosive climax, Samantha gazed down
at Quinn’s face. The dispassionate, blank expression wasn’t what she had expected.
The coolness in the depths of his blue eyes made her wonder if this was more about
punishment than pleasure. He was still angry. They should have talked before making
love. But she had been so happy to be back in his arms, she had pushed aside her real
purpose for coming here.

An instant later, rational thought disappeared. Like lightning, orgasm struck with
swift, piercing intent. Her thoughts glazed with mindless bliss as her body rode another
wave of exquisite pleasure. Quinn’s thrusts became deeper, more forceful, and then
he stiffened. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her down for a hard kiss as his release
flooded inside her.

Samantha’s forehead was leaning against his shoulder as breaths shuddered from her
body. He’d never taken her so carelessly before, and while a sober, still-tender emotion
told him he should feel guilty, he refused to acknowledge it. She had come here for
one purpose and he’d given her what she wanted. They’d both gotten off. That was it
and nothing more.

“Quinn?” she whispered.

He should tell her to go home. He’d said he wasn’t fit company and he’d just proven
that. But no, he wanted more. Hell, he deserved it, didn’t he? After what he’d been
through this week? After what she’d done to him? Didn’t he deserve a few hours of
peace inside her beautiful body?

He pushed her off him and stood. Then, lifting her in his arms, he carried her to
his bedroom. With a sexy feminine groan of approval, she wrapped her arms around his
shoulders and pressed kisses to his neck. She was telling him she wanted more, too.

Bracing her against the edge of the mattress, he stripped
the dress over her head and gazed down at her breasts. Samantha had a beautiful body
and she used it to her best advantage. Cupping her breasts in his hands, he pressed
them together and bathed them with his tongue. At her gasping “Yes,” Quinn covered
a gleaming nipple and sucked hard. Sam’s fingers threaded through his hair as she
pressed him deeper against her … her purring moans of pleasure sent him to the edge
of explosion.

Everything she did said she wanted him as much as he wanted her. There was no point
in making her time here a waste. Pulling away, he pushed her onto the bed, stripped
quickly, and was nude in seconds. Crawling onto the bed, he was on top of her and
in her again, where he planned to stay for as long as he damn well pleased. He ignored
her beautiful, glowing face, the glittering emotion in her soft green eyes, the delicate
hands skimming over his shoulders and back. This was sex for fulfillment and nothing
more.

Covering her mouth with his own, he devoured her sweetness, taking everything she
was so willingly offering. The small, soft whimpering sound she released as she wrapped
her arms tighter around him barely penetrated the haze of lust. This was what she’d
come for, wasn’t it?

Warmth and light hit her face, waking her from the depths of a dreamless sleep. She
rolled over and reached out for Quinn. What she found was a cold, empty space.

Hearing a noise, Samantha sat up and then swallowed a soft gasp. Quinn stood at the
bedroom door, already dressed for the day. Her black dress was draped over his arm;
ripped, minuscule panties hung from his fingers.

She smiled hesitantly at the feminine, fragile-looking things in his large, masculine
hands. She whispered
softly, “Good morning. I—” but broke off her words the instant she looked at his face.
Never had he seemed so cold and emotionless.

“Quinn? What’s wrong?”

He threw the dress and panties onto the bed. “Your shoes are on the floor. Get dressed.”

“What?”

“I said—”

“I heard what you said. Why are you acting this way?”

“What way?”

“Like you hate me.” She breathed a silent, shaky breath. “Look, I know you’re still
angry … we should have talked. I shouldn’t—”

“Angry? Hell, Samantha, you’ve never seen me angry, and believe me, you don’t want
to.”

“Last night you—”

“Last night was about one thing only and you know it.”

A lead balloon of dread lodged in her stomach. She knew the answer even as she said,
“And what was that one thing?”

His shrug was casual, uncaring. As if every single word from his mouth weren’t ripping
her heart to shreds. “We were both horny. You got what you came for. And baby, you
came plenty.”

A tidal wave of hurt and humiliation washed over her. How incredibly stupid and naïve
she had been. Of course Quinn hadn’t forgiven her. She’d never even had the chance
to offer an explanation. He had taken what he wanted because she’d shown up looking
like she was ready to give him anything he desired. And she had.

Quinn had used her and she had let him. She had no one to blame but herself. How could
she be so incredibly stupid?

Unfortunately Samantha wasn’t sophisticated or experienced enough to pretend anything
less than complete
devastation. “Quinn,” she whispered, “you never gave me a chance to explain. To tell
you how sorry I—”

He turned his back to her. “Let yourself out. I’ve got to go.”

She sprang out of bed. Grabbing her dress, she held it in front of her as she hurried
after him. Yes, he had hurt her, but she had hurt him, too. She had to make him understand.
“Wait. Please. Let me explain.”

He turned at the door, his expression one of such cold arrogance and disgust, she
stumbled to a stop. Never would she have thought the man who had so tenderly and fiercely
made love to her these last few months could look at her like he hated her.

“What is it you’re going to explain, Samantha? That you believed I was a murderer
but the moment you realized I wasn’t, you came back to me?”

“It wasn’t like that …” She closed her eyes. This wasn’t how she had planned to tell
him about her father, but he was giving her no choice. “I’ve never told you this but …”
She swallowed hard and said, “When I was a little girl, my father got drunk and killed
my mother. No one would have ever expected that of him. I guess I wondered if you
could be like him and I just hadn’t seen it.”

Instead of offering sympathy, which she didn’t want anyway, his mouth curved into
a mocking smile. “Again, my dear, thanks so much for your faith in me.” He opened
the door and said over his shoulder, “Leave the key behind when you leave.” The door
closed, leaving her speechless and alone.

Fury like she’d never known before surged, washing over her body with an intensity
that had her sweating from the heat. The anger was good and healthy. It would sustain
her until she could get away from here. Then and only then would she allow the pain
to consume her.

She dressed quickly, not even bothering to look in the mirror. Besides, who the hell
cared what she looked like anyway? She opened the door and, releasing a shuddering
sigh, took the key from her key ring and threw it on the hall table.

Without a backward glance, she walked out the door.

Quinn finished the last suture on a patient and stepped back out of the way, allowing
a nurse to finish up. He was through for the day and a thousand miles past tired.
Problem was, would he be able to sleep any better tonight than he had for the last
few months? He already knew the answer was no. Not since before Charlene’s murder
had he slept for more than a few hours at a time. Insomnia and exhaustion were the
new norm for him.

Disposing of his gloves in the receptacle beside the door, Quinn stepped out of the
exam room and breathed a sigh heavy with disgust. He was tired of it all. The not
knowing who killed Charlene, the knowledge that while suspicion was no longer on him,
the stigma of doubt remained.

And his own paranoia was almost as frustrating. Every time a patient came into the
ER and gave him an odd look, he immediately assumed they were wondering if he was
a murderer. Every sly glance from the hospital staff made him want to turn around
and snarl that he was innocent. Each whispered word he couldn’t
make out had him wondering if it had been about him. He was fucking sick of it all.

And Sam. Oh holy hell, Sam. That was the worst part. The way he had treated her continued
to pound into his conscience even months later.

The incredible hurt on her face had been real. How many times had he picked up the
phone to call her? How many nights had he lain awake, aching for her? He hadn’t contacted
her and wouldn’t. Yes, he felt like shit for the way he treated her, but that didn’t
negate what she had done to him. Having her believe he was a killer was bad enough,
but as soon as he was cleared, she had come to him expecting things to be forgotten
and forgiven. That was way too reminiscent of his entire marriage to Charlene. Sometimes
sorry just wasn’t good enough.

She had come to his apartment to seduce him. The way she had dressed left no doubt.
And she had gotten what she wanted—they both had. But he had been rough with her … rougher
than he’d ever been with any woman. He felt like shit for that. Still, the forgiveness
she apparently thought would be automatic wasn’t there. He doubted it ever could be.

Her explanation for doubting him might well have been true, but that didn’t lessen
the hurt. Everything they’d had before Charlene’s murder all felt like a lie.

Why the hell did it matter anyway? He doubted he would ever see her again. Atlanta
was a big city. She might be a cop here, but as long as no one else committed a murder
around him, they should never cross paths again.

He ignored the aching, hollow feeling in his gut. He would get over it … eventually.
He had no choice.

As was his usual routine, Quinn updated the patient’s family. After answering their
concerned questions, he did what he had been longing to do all day. He grabbed
his keys and jacket and marched out the door. Settling into the plush leather of the
car seat, he contemplated a late night run in Centennial Park. Nothing was stopping
him, other than sheer mental and physical exhaustion, that is. The ringing cellphone
beside him interrupted his grim thoughts.

“Braddock.”

“Dr. Braddock, this is Detective Murphy.”

Despite the knowledge that he had basically been cleared of Charlene’s murder, Quinn
couldn’t help but stiffen. He hadn’t heard from the detective in months. Any communication
between him and Detective Murphy went through his attorney or Paul Haney, the private
investigator Quinn had hired. And even though the PI hadn’t dug up any new suspects,
he was at least a good buffer between Quinn and the police department.

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I’m just calling to let you know that we still haven’t identified any new suspects.”

“That’s what I’m hearing from my investigator. Why did you—?” And then it hit him.
“You’re closing the case?”

“No, we’ll never close the case until it’s solved, but unfortunately we can’t expend
as much energy on it as we have been.”

Which, to Quinn, meant the same thing. The man who had cold-bloodedly murdered Charlene
was never going to be caught. And the suspicion surrounding him would remain.

“I appreciate you letting me know, Detective. I’m going to keep my investigator on
it. If he learns anything new, I’ll have him contact you.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find the killer, Dr. Braddock.”

“I am, too.”

“It cost us a damn good detective, too.”

“Who’s that?”

“Detective Wilde. She left the force. I thought you knew.”