Page 11 of Keller

The break is abrupt. She pulls back just enough to look at me, chest rising fast, eyes bright and unfocused. My heart is still thudding out of my chest.

“Not here,” she says. “Not like this.”

The room rushes back in pieces. The muffled music, the voices downstairs, the knowledge that we are still inside a public building with a gala in full swing below us.

I help her legs down, even though every instinct fights it. My body is tight and aching now, my pants unforgiving, pressure demanding relief I am not getting here.

I hold her until she gets her footing, steadying her when her heels hit the ground. My hands stay on her waist longer than necessary, but I don't want to let go.

Her breathing is ragged, matching mine.

Quinn steps to the side first as she smooths her dress down, tucking her hair behind her ear. The flush on her cheeks spreads down her neck, visible even in the low light.

"I should go back." Her voice is steadier than it should be.

"Yeah."

She reaches for her zipper, fumbling with it. I catch her hand, turning her gently. My fingers find the pull and close the silk back up her spine. The intimacy of the gesture only intensifies my hard-on for this woman.

"Thank you." Her voice is soft, almost apologetic.

I retrieve my jacket from the floor, shaking out the dust and wrinkles. The fabric is cool when I shrug it back on. Quinn watches me tuck in my shirt, her expression unreadable.

"This was?—"

"You don't need to say anything. I get it."

She doesn't ask for my number or suggest we meet again. Just nods once and moves toward the door.

I let her go first, watching her slip back into the corridor, her shoulders squared, posture perfect. It's like nothing happened, like she didn't just come undone in my hands.

I count to thirty, palm braced against the shelving, jaw tight. My body is still hard, restless, unsatisfied in a way that has nothing to do with ego and everything to do with restraint.

When I finally straighten and adjust my pants again, the pressure has not eased. It is going to be a long night.

The hallway is empty when I step out. Music drifts down from the ballroom, louder now that my pulse isn't drowning it out. I take the stairs slowly, giving Quinn time to disappear into the crowd before I resurface.

West is exactly where I left him, leaning against the column with a glass of bourbon. Rhodes is gone. He glances at me when I approach, but doesn't comment on my appearance.

"You good?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

He doesn't ask or press. Just takes a sip of his drink and scans the room with that assessing gaze that misses nothing.

I scan too. Habit. Looking for threats, opportunities, anything out of place.

I find Quinn near the senator again. Her dress is perfect. Her hair is tucked neatly behind her ears. She's smiling at something he's saying, her stupid screwdriver in hand.

But I see the tension in her jaw. The way she shifts her weight, like her legs aren't quite steady.

West follows my line of sight. "You know her?"

"Not well enough."

"I know what that means."