The Mighty Quinns: Ian. Kate Hoffmann
trying to figure out why I want to kiss you so much,” he murmured, leaning closer.
“Is it necessary to have a reason?” she asked.
“Don’t you think it might be dangerous not to?”
“Curiosity,” she said, running her fingers through the hair at his temple. “There’s a good reason.”
“All right,” he said. “Curiosity, it is.”
Closing her eyes, she parted her lips and waited, certain it would be wonderful. The moment his lips touched hers, a wave of pleasure washed over her body. His hands skimmed along her torso, then caressed the curves of her hips and waist. It had been six months since she’d felt this desire, since she’d been touched so intimately by a man. As his tongue dipped into her mouth, Marisol’s knees went weak. What Ian Quinn knew about kissing was a lot more than most men knew, more than any man she’d ever kissed knew.
He was gentle at first and then as she surrendered, his hands began to explore with greater intent. The silk dress was a feeble barrier to his touch, the warmth of his palms penetrating the fabric to leave a brand on her skin.
He drew back, then cupped her face in his hands, running his thumb along her jaw as he stared into her eyes. Marisol held her breath and waited. His gaze skimmed over her face, lingering on her lips, wet from his mouth. With each heartbeat that passed, she wanted it more, just one intense and intimate connection to ignite the spark between them.
“Remember how you said I was afraid to break the rules?” he asked.
Marisol opened her mouth to speak, but the answer died in her throat. Instead, she just nodded.
“Going any further with this would break a lot of rules.”
“They’re not our rules, are they?” Marisol asked. As far as she was concerned, there were no rules when it came to the desire between a man and a woman. They just needed to follow their instincts and let their needs guide them.
His mouth came down on hers again and this time the kiss was desperate and deep. Marisol wrapped her arms around his neck and furrowed her fingers through his hair, lost in the whiskey taste of him. Every tiny movement of his lips and his tongue was meant to tantalize and she couldn’t help but respond.
He grabbed her backside and lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Marisol let the lightbulb drop to the floor and it shattered behind him. But Ian didn’t react, so intent on ravaging her mouth.
He pressed her back against a pillar and then slid his hands along the length of her thighs, from her knees to her hips and then back again. The fabric of her skirt caught between them and Marisol tugged at it until it gathered around her waist.
The touch of his hands on her naked skin was almost more than she could bear. And yet, it wasn’t enough. She wanted to rid herself of the dress, to open her body to his caress and revel in the sensations that his touch elicited.
She was supposed to be invulnerable to a man’s charms, especially after what David had done. But all the promises she’d made to herself had simply vanished the moment Ian had kissed her. She needed to feel the rush of anticipation, the flood of desire and whirl of passion again. It would fill her up with heat and energy and she’d feel alive.
Marisol let her legs relax and slowly, she regained her feet. She reached between them and began to work at his belt. He offered no resistance and instead, bunched the fabric of her skirt in his fists, drawing it back up around her waist.
He nuzzled her neck, then whispered into her ear, “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know,” Marisol said. “But it feels good.”
“Mmm.” The sound was a low growl in his throat as her fingers moved to the zipper on his jeans. His hips pressed against her hand and she could feel the hard ridge of his erection between them. This was all happening so fast, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
His hand smoothed along the inside of her thigh, then back to her hip, brushing against the spot between her legs. The contact brought a moan to her throat and she tugged at the waistband of his jeans, exposing the boxers beneath. Suddenly, it all became so frantic and desperate, as if they were racing against some clock that might unexpectedly signal a return to reality.
Clothes were pushed aside, skin exposed, and Marisol wrapped her fingers around him and slowly began to stroke his stiff shaft. In turn, Ian tugged her thong down and slipped his hand between her legs, his fingers teasing at the soft folds of her sex. She moaned, but then he froze.
“Shit,” Ian muttered, collapsing against her. “I don’t have a condom.”
“You’re a cop,” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to be prepared?”
“That’s the Boy Scouts.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I had one, but I took it out of my wallet.”
“Why would you do such a thing?” Marisol whispered, her fingers still gently stroking him.
“I just didn’t expect to—” He sighed. “It’s a long story.”
And then, the reality alarm rang. She didn’t expect this, either, this wild and irresistible attraction, this dangerous need to feel him buried inside her. “We can’t do this,” she said with a shaky voice. “I—I mean, we can, but we probably shouldn’t.”
He stepped back and nodded. “I usually don’t…I mean, this isn’t the way I…” He raked his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I don’t know what happened here. I’m sorry, but I—”
“No,” she said, holding out her hand to stop his apology. “It was me. All of these things have been building up and I just needed—”
“It was me,” he insisted.
Marisol pressed her finger to his lips. “It was both of us. So there’s no need for apologies.”
He winced as he pushed himself back into his boxers, then zipped his jeans. Marisol smoothed her skirt down along her legs, pulled the straps back up on her shoulders, suddenly embarrassed that she’d let this all go so far. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t, that was the problem. Using Ian Quinn’s body to put David out of her mind wasn’t the smartest move in the world. She’d been desperate to prove she could enjoy sex without an emotional attachment. But the feelings running through her were proof that there was something more than just simple lust at work here.
“I’m going to go now,” Ian said.
“All right.” She watched as he walked to the door, a maelstrom of indecision swirling inside her. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to strip off his clothes and make love to her, to ease this ache that had taken up residence deep inside her. And she wanted to fall asleep in his arms, wrapped in his embrace, and wake up in the middle of the night to do it all over again. “Good night,” she called, a bit too cheerfully.
He reached for the door, then froze. Slowly, he turned. In a few long strides he was back to her, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her again. It came so quickly, she barely had time to react and then it was over, her mouth damp with the taste of him, her lips bruised.
He pressed his forehead to hers and smiled. “This is going to happen between us,” he said. “It’s just a matter of time. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I know.”
He stole another kiss, then walked back to the door. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss Arantes.” He grinned, then disappeared into the night, the door swinging shut behind him.
Marisol drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her thoughts were filled with images and sensations, swirling together until she couldn’t think straight. His mouth on her throat, her fingers wrapped around his cock and the powerful current that had raced between them.
She’d always been comfortable with her desires and her ability