Page 39 of Playing with Fire

A half-naked Quinn had kissed me in his kitchen, and all I could think about was how I wanted him to do it again. Not only did I want him to do it again, if he didn’t, I was seriously considering rubbing up against him until he cooperated in some fashion or another.

Then I remembered he hated me. He hated me so much he had trapped me against his kitchen wall and kissed me. What was wrong with him? Or me. Or both of us, together. There was definitely something wrong with us.

There was definitely something wrong about how much I liked his mouth on mine.

“But you hate me.” There. I managed to get the right words out instead of blabbering about how I’d really like him to keep me trapped against the wall so he could do whatever he wanted. I really wouldn’t mind a single bit. “Those pictures I took!”

Why was I stupid enough to mention the man’s ex-wife when I might be able to get him to kiss me again?

Stupid, stupid me.

“Yes, I hate you so much I want to strip you out of that little dress and make you like it.” He growled, and I longed for him to make the sound again. “That dress on you should be classified as criminal. There’s a crime being committed in my kitchen, and I’m pretty sure it’s my job as a law enforcement officer to uphold the law and stop crime.”

A hundred and one thoughts crashed through my head, and three in particular stood out to me: yes, please, and I was a virgin.

“I’m a virgin,” I blurted.

Crap.

It turned out it wasn’t actually possible to die from embarrassment, although I was sure I came close. Why couldn’t I have said “Yes, please!” instead? Then I’d have a decent chance of taking my virginity out back, clubbing it in the head, and leaving it to die in a ditch while I did things with New York’s prime stud, single-because-of-me Chief Quinn, who I had dreamed about far too often. Instead, I guaranteed myself a lifetime of mockery the instant anyone found out.

“It seems I was right. There are definitely multiple crimes being committed in my kitchen. That also explains your offer to introduce me to some of your questionable friends.”

I whimpered at the reminder of what I’d said to him. “I never should have said that.”

Something about the way Quinn smiled warned me he had the upper hand and knew it. “I have you figured out, Bailey Gardener. You have no idea how to tell me how badly you want me, so you say the first stupid thing to pop into your head, hoping I won’t guess the truth.”

Oh my God. I had to be dreaming, hallucinating, or dead. Maybe I had died and gone to heaven, a heaven where Chief Samuel Quinn wanted to kiss me and fully intended to end my days of being a virgin, ripping my dress off in the process. There had to be a rational explanation for the situation.

“Am I dead, drugged, or dreaming?”

Quinn sighed, leaned forward, and banged his head into the wall before sighing again. “Obviously, this is going to be even more difficult than I thought. This explains so much. How can one woman be so incredibly dense?”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“I’m going to put this as simply as possible so there are absolutely no misunderstandings. I am absolutely furious you tried to get yourself killed. I want to bend you over my knee and spank you until you swear never to do that again.”

“Yes, please.”

Crap. Why couldn’t my mouth stop blurting whatever the hell first came to mind?

He straightened, stared down at me, and blinked several times. The realization I’d just asked him to spank me sank in, and we stared at each other for a long time in utter silence.

I wanted him. I wanted him so much my entire body ached.

A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips. “Well, then. Since you asked so nicely, how could I possibly refuse?”

Chapter Eleven

How haven’t I tired you out yet?

I didn’t lose my virginity. ‘Lose’ implied I wanted it back, cared it was gone, or would otherwise miss it. I liked to think we took it out back, clubbed it to death, lit it on fire so it’d never bother me again, and gave it a nice funeral. But now I had a new problem, a very big one: Quinn.

With one taste of him, I never wanted to let him go—or let him let me go, as the case currently was. He trapped me against him, cuddled close, and kept nibbling on the back of my neck. He had exhausted me, made me feel way too much, and somehow left me wanting more.

Unfortunately, I had a second problem: I needed to pee.

Where was the bathroom, and how was I supposed to reach it when every muscle in my body protested even the thought of moving? I ached in places I hadn’t known I could. Worse, I wanted more. I wanted Quinn over and over again.