“Why?” Quinn hated the note of whine in her voice. She hated asking most of all. Was it her? Something she’d said or done? Or was it her lie?

The corners of Owen’s mouth quirked up. His lips were glossy, and some of the red-tinted balm was on his cheek and chin.

“I’ve thought about kissing you for a while.” Owen’s gaze was entirely focused on her, an act that wasn’t always comfortable. Now, it felt as though the world were shrinking, until everything was contained in this one room.

“Oh...” Quinn exhaled, her mind blanking.

“Here’s the thing, though, I know I’m attracted to you. But...”

Quinn swallowed. He was? To this walking disaster?

She was speechless.

“I’m not sure if I’m what you really want. Let’s face it, I don’t have a lot to offer right now.” Owen glanced away.

“I’m a secretary,” Quinn blurted out. “Business Manager, technically, but really, I’m just the secretary.”

“Oh...” It was Owen’s turn to blink at her.

“You said earlier... I... My life is a hot mess. I don’t know what you think I have to offer that you don’t, but...” She shrugged, the threads of her thoughts drifting away from her under the intensity of Owen’s gaze.

“You seem like you’re holding it together pretty damn well to me.”

“Boy, do I have you fooled.” Quinn chuckled and pushed her hair over her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean... This isn’t a contest about whose life is messier. What I’m trying to say—and failing—is that I like you. It’s that simple. And if you aren’t...receptive—”

“I’d be fine if we kept kissing.” Was that too forward? Maybe it was. She kept looking at his mouth, remembering his touch and wanting more.

Owen’s smile spread into a grin.

At least it wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever said.

“You want to think about that?” he asked.

“Not really. I just said that out loud. If I start to think about what I said I’m probably going to crawl under this stool and not come out.”

Owen chuckled and stepped slowly around the corner of the counter again, closing in on her. There was a predatory way to his walk. Instead of feeling hunted or caged, though, a thrill shot through her veins.

“Was this Chloe’s plan?” Owen leaned his hip against her knee and his elbow on the counter.

“I think plan is giving her too much credit. She’s more a wind it up and let it go sort of person. Confiding in her is often a double-edged sword.” Quinn bit her lip to force herself to stop talking.

“I see. Still want me to kiss you?”

The word yes stuck in her throat.

Quinn leaned forward.

Owen laid his finger across her lips.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Owen slid his hand to the back of her head and edged closer. He leaned down, kissing her with a slow sensuality that soaked into her bones, chasing the tension away. She leaned into him, curling her hands around his waist and shoulder. His lips moved over hers. There was nothing hurried about the way he touched her. In contrast, a knot of need grew inside of her—the urge to be closer, to wrap herself around him.

She wrapped her calves around him, pulling him closer, until every breath, each shift, was a full-contact interaction.

He’d kissed her for the first time today, and yet she wanted him. In a way that wasn’t entirely sane or normal. She simply needed him.

“Owen,” she groaned his name, his lips still on hers.

He slid his hands down to her hips, his fingers digging into her ass, and pressed against her. She whimpered and cupped his face, wanting more. To feel him inside of her, to drink in that intoxicating sense of being alive. Was Chloe right? Or was this something else?

If she allowed herself to stop and analyze what was going on, she’d retreat to her safe corner. Alone. Without his kisses or his touch.

What was there to think about? He liked her, he’d said so himself, and if he was lying to get into her pants, why dig deeper? She wanted him, too, so why not take this opportunity? What did she have to lose?

Quinn slid her hands up under his shirt, feeling the hard ripple of his muscles against her palms. Owen’s very person was a tool for doing good: catching bad guys, protecting people like her. She fisted the soft material and pulled it up. For a moment, the kiss paused and they stood there, his arms around hers, lips locked and his shirt bunched up under his arms.

She leaned back a fraction of an inch, breaking the kiss.

Owen straightened, and without a word, grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head.

He had a tattoo?

She gaped at the ink curling over his shoulder.

It was so...weird! Straight-laced, follow the rules Owen, with ink was a new and fascinating concept.

Quinn slid to her feet in the brief moment he was otherwise occupied, pushing the stool back.

If she didn’t act now, she’d lose her nerve.

Owen lowered his arms, his shirt in hand.

She’d never seen him shirtless. The tattoo. Or, oh god, she’d never seen his scars.

Quinn reached out and traced them. They were just over Owen’s heart.

“I was young and stupid.” He covered her hand with his. She could feel his pulse, strong and steady.

He could have died. This moment could have been stolen from them before she’d even known who he was. There were plenty of things in life Quinn regretted. If she tried counting them, she might never stop. She didn’t want to look back and lament what she hadn’t done.

But not here, in her parent’s kitchen. She might technically own the house now, but this would always be a family space.

She took his hand in hers and stepped past him. He turned with her, following her down the hall.

Quinn pushed her bedroom door open and swallowed.

She’d never brought a man home. Even someone she was dating. But Owen was part of their lives, not just hers. If anyone had earned being allowed in her private sanctuary, it was him.

The bedside lamp and the reading light in the corner were still on, bathing the room in a dim glow. It helped her forget the glaring water stain on the ceiling or the collage of her life on the walls on pin boards and in frames.

She let go of Owen’s hand and pulled her top off over her head, tossing it in the general direction of the hamper.

“Quinn, we don’t have to—”

“I want you.” She managed to not break eye contact, which was one small victory.

“I’m not going anywhere. We can take this slow.”

“Slow gives me the chance to overthink and convince myself something will go wrong.”

“I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

“Me neither, which is why, I don’t want to wait, unless—”

Owen took a step, nudging her slightly off balance and wrapped his arm around her. She gripped his arms, the bare skin of her stomach sliding against his.

“Stop right there.” His smile was warm, playful. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

He dipped his head, kissing her without rush. She pressed her toes into the worn rug and slid her hands up to his shoulders to lift up on tiptoe and kiss him deeper. He slid his other hand up under her bra, twisting his hand around until he captured the clasp between his fingers. She sucked in a breath and held it, his lips still, the moment drawing out.

The elastic around her ribs stretched tight, then lost all tension. She swallowed and pulled her hands back, letting the bra straps slip down to her elbows, and off one arm until she tossed it somewhere in the general direction of the arm chair in the corner.

Owen flattened his hands over her stomach, sliding them up until he cupped her breasts. They were small, not overflowing his hands, and yet he stared at her chest like a man enthralled. She could feel the heat of him emanating through her body from each nipple.

He bent his head, pressing a kiss to the top of each breast.

Her mouth was dry. She could barely move. Watching him was her new favorite activity, especially since she was involved. Or at least her body was. Her mind had stopped, nothing resembling thought taking place.

Owen took a step, forcing her back. One step, two, until the mattress hit her calves.

Oh, thank goodness.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d have been able to stay upright.

“Lay down.” One side of his mouth hitched up.

“Why?” What was he planning? She wasn’t sure if she should trust that look.

“Because I want to undress you.” He cupped her breast again, swiping his thumb over the stiff peak.

“Oh.” The word was more of a groan than a reply.

She leaned back, willing to hand over control to him. She smirked into the darkness. This was probably not what her mother intended her advice to be used for, but it still worked.

“What’s that smile for?” Owen grasped the front of her cutoff jeans, tabbing them open with a flick of his thumb.

“Find the right person for the job.” She peered up at him.

The mischievous curve to his mouth deepened, flashing her the white of his teeth. He didn’t glance down. He hooked his fingers in her panties and jeans, and pulled them down.

Owen stood next to the bed, staring at her.

The way he looked at her, the heat in his gaze, she knew this was the right choice. He was right for her, in this moment.

He planted his knee on the bed next to her hip. There was no going back from this, only forward. He leaned down, kissing her sternum, the tip of her left breast. His hand splayed over her stomach, somehow making her feel smaller, more delicate. She held her breath, unsure where to put her hands or what to do without his lead.

Owen kissed her other breast, the one closest to her. She gasped, her whole body going liquid and warm. He slid his hand down over her mound and between her legs. She fought the urge to press her thighs together. A little at a time, she forced her knees apart.

He stroked her labia while his mouth made love to her breast. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the feeling of him, his touch, what he was doing to her. Warmth unfurled within her, driving any excess thought from her mind, filling her with baser, carnal urges. She shifted her hips, seeking a deeper, more personal touch.

His teeth scraped her nipple and she gasped, her head spinning. She opened her eyes and caught him staring up at her, need written in the lines of his face.

Quinn opened her mouth, but her words turned into a groan.

Owen pressed his fingers to her pussy. Her arousal eased the entrance, making the penetration easy. She bit her lower lip and fisted the sheets.

His palm pressed against her mound, giving her something warm and hard to grind against as his fingers pumped in and out of her. She shifted her hips, moving with him.

She could orgasm like this. Easily, in fact, but she didn’t want to.

Quinn wrapped her hands around his wrist, holding his fingers inside of her. She turned toward him, seeking his mouth with hers. He kissed her without hesitation, his tongue thrusting past her lips as he curled his fingers within her. She whimpered and dug her nails into his skin.

“Owen—stop.”

He froze.

“I want you inside of me,” she whispered.

For the longest second of her life, they stared at each other.

He slowly pulled his hand out from between her legs and grasped her wrist. He guided her hand to the front of his jeans, pressing her palm against the bulge there.

“I’d like that.” His words were strained, as though polite speech were difficult.

She bit her lip, her attention on his face, studying it. She stroked him through his jeans, watching the way his features seemed to grow sharper, more defined.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. He flexed his hips, pressing harder into her hold.

No regrets.

She grasped the catch on his belt and worked the tail through until she could get it unfastened.

“Fuck,” Owen said. He sat up, pulling away from her, and braced his hands on the edge of the bed.

“What?” She pressed her knees together. Was it her?”

“I just realized... I don’t have protection.” He hung his head forward.

Oh... dear...

“I didn’t plan, crap.” He twisted to face her, his expression pained. “I’m sorry, I should have...”

“I think I have condoms.” She chewed her lip. How old were they? Did they go out of date?

She pushed to her feet and crossed the small distance between the bed and her closet. She flipped the hook catch free and opened the folding doors. Necessity had made her figure out a way to lock her sister out of at least one area of her room after the vibrator incident.

Quinn grabbed a plastic bin from the top of her closet and pulled it down.

Once, ages ago, she’d bought a small package but never used them. It seemed like a thing she shouldn’t throw away. She snagged the strip out from the bottom of the bin and peered at the date printed on the white packaging.

“They’re out of date.” Inside she screamed at herself to ignore it, but that wasn’t the responsible thing to do.

God, she hated being an adult.

“Let me see?” Owen held out his hand.

She gave the strip to him and stared at the floor.

“They’re three months out of date. They aren’t old enough to break. They might not be as lubricated though. I could go get some.”

“No.” She wrapped her arms around herself. If he left, if she had a moment by herself, she’d reason a way out of this, why it was a bad idea, something.

“We could...”

“You could pull out, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do that, then. I probably won’t orgasm, so...just pull out when you’re going to.” She swallowed. There. It was all out there.

“Quinn?” Owen stood, and not that they were too dissimilar in height, but he still towered over her. “If I do one thing, I’m going to make you come.”

“It’s—”

“If you are about to quote a statistic at me, don’t. Blake is a trivia nut, and I’d really rather not think about him right now.”

Quinn snorted a laugh.

He knew her too well.

“Come here.” He slid his hand around her waist and pulled her toward him. “We could do something else.”

“I want to feel you, though.” And she didn’t want to wait. There were risks she was well aware of, but if they were careful—

“Do you want to do the honors?” He lifted the condoms.

“No.” She didn’t trust herself with that much responsibility.

“Any other requests?”

“No.” Should she?

“Well, I have one.”

“Oh?” That sounded ominous...

“Lay on the bed.”

That was easy enough.

She turned toward the mattress, glancing once over her shoulder at him. Was this a trick? She didn’t think so.

Quinn crawled onto the bed to the sound of Owen’s zipper and the rustle of denim. His belt hit the floor with a clank. She lay back on the cushions, her comforter and sheets still rumpled from last night.

Owen stood in the sphere of light from her lamp, naked, his cock in one hand and the condom in the other. Her stomach knotted up, anticipation and anxiety warring with each other. A month ago, she’d have thought this scenario impossible, but Owen had proved that he wasn’t just a fair weather kind of guy. He wasn’t kidding when he said he intended to look out for them. He’d earned her trust with one good deed after another.

He glanced up at her, his gaze snaring hers.

Oh, dear...

How was she supposed to do this, with him, and go on with her life?

She didn’t know how, but right now, she wanted to focus on the moment.

He planted a knee on the mattress, then the other. He kissed her knee, her thigh, his big body slowly covering hers, becoming her world.

“Quinn?” He cupped her face.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” The corners of his mouth quirked up.

“You were about to ask if I’m serious, or something.”

“How do you know that?” He dipped his head, kissing her chest, a nipple.

“Because you have that look.” She dug her hand into his hair, holding him at her breast, and closed her eyes. He obliged her by suckling the stiff peak, his tongue stroking the sensitized flesh. “That—I’m a super patient, understanding guy, and I’m going to check in with you and make sure you really want me—and I do. Stop asking. I already have enough self-doubt, without you prompting me to question myself.”

He chuckled, the vibrations rippling through her body.

Owen shifted, placing one knee then the other between hers, wedging her thighs open.

Thank goodness.

She slid her hands down over his shoulders, losing herself in the sensation of skin on skin. His fingers caressed her folds again while his mouth laved attention on her breasts. In these moments, she was his focus. She could feel and do without second guessing herself.

The blunt head of his cock pressed against her. She dug her heels into the mattress and lifted her hips.

“Look at me,” Owen said.

She parted her lids, but it did nothing to protect her from the need painted on his face. He leaned forward, flexing his hips. She gasped and tightened her grip on his shoulders, vision going hazy.

This—these first few moments—that was what she loved the most. The joining of bodies, feeling the heat of a man inside of her. The connection.

Owen thrust and dipped his head, their lips almost brushing. He stared into her eyes as he worked his way deeper inside of her. As though he, too, craved more than a joining of bodies and a few feel-good moments.

He pressed his pelvis to hers. She squeezed him with not just her arms, but her vaginal muscles as well. He dropped his head, breaking the eye contact, burying his face against her neck. He kissed her skin and flexed his hips, not enough for a true thrust, but it did rub their bodies together in a smooth, sensual glide.

She lifted her hips, moving with him. He cupped her ass, helping her find the right rhythm. She groaned, digging her nails into his skin.

Owen lifted his head and watched her face.

She could feel the flutter of her pulse in her throat.

“Quinn, you feel so damn good. Fuck.” He muttered more words, most of them lost against her cheek, her lips, her throat.

Owen levered up and spread his knees. He pulled back and thrust in earnest.

Quinn gasped, little lights blossoming behind her eyelids.

“That’s it,” Owen chanted.

She moved with him, seeking more. Little tremors of pleasure snaked through her, driving conscious thought from her mind and creating a thing of need.

“Come on, Quinn.”

She groaned, her back arching off the mattress as pleasure rippled through her.

“Yes,” Owen hissed.

All too soon, he pulled out.

She knew it was coming, it had to, but she still whimpered at the loss of his warmth, the press of his weight his touch.

He grabbed her hand and pressed his cock against her palm. She wrapped her fingers around him, still hungry for the feel of him. He pumped his hips, his erection sliding through their fingers. Her orgasm-weary thoughts were sluggish. She wanted this to be good for him, too.

She cupped his balls with her other hand while he continued to guide her grip with the other.

Quinn peered up at him, watching their conjoined efforts, fascinated by the single-minded drive toward mutual gratification. She sat up, breaking his stare.

Owen kissed her and released her hands. She twisted her palm around his cock until she could more easily pump him.

“Quinn!” His voice was strained. He drove his hips forward and his cock twitched in her hand.

She held still. He dropped his head to her shoulder, breathing heavily.

“Did you...?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled and flopped on his side. He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each knuckle. “You came?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Good, I figured, but...” He grinned, a sleepy, sated sort of smile. “Was that okay?”

“Yes.” She lay back down beside him.

“I kept thinking about how good you felt, then when I pulled out, all I could think about was being back inside you.”

“That was...surprisingly erotic.”

“What? Jerking me off?”

“Never mind”

“Kidding. Hey, come over here.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

She liked this part, too, though it wasn’t as familiar. She let him pull her close, wrapping herself in his warmth. He cupped her cheek, swiping his thumb across her chin while his gaze searched her face for something. What, she didn’t know. She was almost scared to find out.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking.”

“It was very good sex.” She must still be drunk on the endorphins. Usually, she wouldn’t be able to say a line like that without blushing.

“Next time, I’d like to come inside of you, with a condom of course. Though you might not want a next time.” He mock-winced.

More sex meant more of this. Being together. The vulnerability.

Once was bad enough. More?

She was setting herself up for a fall. Still, it’d not only felt good she’d orgasmed.

“Maybe we can. I’ll have to check my schedule.” She lifted a shoulder.

Owen frowned. Because of her flip response?

“Quinn, talk to me.” He laced their fingers together.

“What is there to say? We had sex. We could have more sex later.” She swallowed and tried to ignore the heat crawling up her neck.

“Let’s be real honest, here.” Owen stared at her, his gaze sober, serious. “You aren’t the kind of girl who sleeps around, and not because I’ve been here enough to get to know that about you. It’s just—you. And it’s fair to say that I am not that kind of guy either. It’s fine for some people, more power to them, but that’s not you or me, is it?”

Quinn swallowed.

Busted.

She blinked rapidly in an attempt to fight off the prickling sensation behind her eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Owen cupped her cheek and kissed the tip of her nose. “What I’m trying to say is—I like you. And I’m cocky enough to think, at this point, that you like me, too.”

“Okay.” Her voice strained around the one word.

“I have some old-fashioned ideas about what it means to kiss a girl.” He tugged on her hair until she’d look at him again. “Maybe I should have insisted we go slower, but I don’t regret being here with you.”

She swallowed, words escaping her.

Owen leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. He spoke between kisses.

“This is where you should agree with me, tell me I’m amazing and that you want to be with me, too.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Quinn prodded his shoulder with her finger.

She did agree with him, but on principle, she couldn’t admit it. If she did, he’d steamroll right over her with those adorable smiles. She had to stand her ground, even if they both knew she was lying.

Owen grinned at her, and damn him, she was so screwed, though she might like it.

A shrill beeping sound broke the moment.

Owen’s eyes went wide.

Quinn sniffed.

The oven...

Owen rolled away from her, vaulted off the bed and sprinted out the door, buckass naked. She scrambled to her feet, not quite able to move as fast. She snagged her nightgown, tossing it on just in case she’d forgotten to close the blinds, and hustled into the kitchen.

Owen pulled the charred egg rolls out of the oven and set them on the stove.

“Oh, yuck.” She pressed her hand to her nose.

The smell.

“That’s it. I’m ordering take-out.” He tossed the potholder on the counter. “You pick the place, I’ll go grab it, and while I’m out, I’ll get condoms.”

Quinn buried her face in her hands.

This was really happening.

Hansel took a bite of the apple and watched the figures moving on the screen. He’d gotten the cameras up just in time for the real action. Thank god those two had moved on from tea parties to screwing. It at least made for more interesting watching.

The key, that was still a mystery though. Where did she keep the key?

Killing them would be easy. It was the key that was the difficult part.

He shifted, trying to find a way to sit that didn’t make his ass numb. The tree house was rustic, to say the least, but solid and dry on the inside. It made for the perfect, close-quarters perch.

Owen would suspect out-of-place vehicles, so a van or car was out. Hansel couldn’t stand on the sidewalk, Owen would recognize him. The tree house provided a nice alternative, without having to be inside the house with them. Not that Hansel couldn’t do it. The attic wasn’t that cluttered. He could hunker down there, but this way he could come and go as he pleased.

How would he do it? The job.

What would cause Owen the most pain?

He clearly cared for this woman.

The old lady wanted her gone. Fine. That’d be easy enough to accomplish. But he’d draw it out. Make Owen sweat.

The woman would die, and Hansel would make sure Owen knew it was his fault. He’d taken away Hansel’s brother, now Hansel would take away someone Owen cared about.

What would his first move be?

He’d familiarized himself with their routine. They led ordinary, predictable lives.

Where did she feel safest? How could he make her fear for her life when the average person would go about their day?