I glance at my phone. One forty-seven am. Quinn should be close to the last stop on Holly’s bar crawl. She hasn’t texted me all night, not like I thought she would, but I wouldn’t mind knowing that she’s okay. Bachelorettes are usually tame in comparison to bachelor parties, but when Quinn told me the theme was burlesque, my thoughts went black. The only thing on my mind was the attention she’d get tonight, and the thought of Quinn getting hit on—or groped—by sleazy guys in the club, set my teeth on edge.

I snatch up my phone.

I hop up off the couch. I feel keyed up, pent up. I need to blow off some steam.

I’m slipping into my running shoes when my phone pings.

My pulse soars. She might be teasing, or she could really be in trouble.

I sigh. Conversations with drunk girls are up there with getting a root canal.

That’s a relief.

I stare at the screen for a moment. Dead guy? Oh. The Dead Poet. Christ, Quinn is drunk.

I walk to my closet, yanking my running shirt over my head as I go. I choose a fresh white t-shirt from the pile and slide it on. My phone buzzes.

I’m already grabbing my keys by the time I get her response.

I snort. Yeah, something like that.

* * *

I park my car in front of The Dead Poet and get out. The sidewalk’s teaming with drunk graduate students falling over themselves on their way to find greasy food. “Nice Benz!” one of them yells.

I nod back and begin pushing my way through the crowd. “I’m meeting someone inside,” I say once I’ve reached the front.

The hulk look-alike manning the door points to the crowd lining the sidewalk. “We’re all full—”

I pass him a hundred dollar bill, and he lets me in without another word.

I’m not even three steps in the door when I spot the bachelorette party. A gaggle of drunk girls in tight corsets—and not much else—is out on the dance floor, grinding away to the deep bass of the latest Big Sean hit. My breath catches when I find Quinn.

What she’s wearing…how she’s dancing…I can’t drag my eyes away. Quinn pulsates to the beat, the deep gyration of her hips tossing out the feathery boa around her waist. She runs bright red fingertips through her long brown hair, tosses her head back, and closes her eyes.

My imagination’s on fire. I picture her like that on top of me, riding me, working me, crying out my name until we’re at the edge.

“Archie!” I break out of my vivid fantasy to see Quinn waving at me from across the dance floor. She pushes through the sweaty throng of people to reach me.

“You’re here!” she shouts, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing herself to my chest. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” she murmurs into my shoulder.

I keep my hands off Quinn’s body. In that tight corset and those fishnets, I’m positive my hands would wander.

“What are you wearing?” I say into her ear. I nuzzle into her hair and breathe in her cherry blossom-scented shampoo. It’s intoxicating.

Quinn leans back, keeping her arms around my neck. “Do you like it?” she asks, gazing up at me with sparkling eyes. My cock pulses against my jeans.

Fuuuck.

“‘Like’ doesn’t quite cover it,” I say, raking my eyes over her full breasts and cinched waist. “Not even close.”

She scrunches up her nose. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not,” I say, holding her close as she tries to push away. “You look…beautiful, East. Sexy.”

Quinn tilts her head to the side. “Sexy?” she repeats in a sultry voice.

I groan. “You’re making it hard to keep this G-rated.”

“Maybe sexy-Quinn is a tease,” she says, driving my thoughts right to my pants.

“You’re drunk—”

She holds a finger to my lips. “Maybe sexy-Quinn wants more from her fake fiancé.”

I fight the urge to take her right there. “You’re drunk,” I repeat, half-reminding myself.

“You’re drunk!” She erupts into giggles.

“What’s going on here?”

I glance up to see Holly bearing down on us, and the look on her face tells me she’s got something on her mind.

I gently tug Quinn’s arms down from around my neck. “Hi, Holly. Big night for you.”

“Don’t try to be nice, Archer,” she snaps. “I heard what you did to Quinn. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Don’t talk to my fiancé like that!” Quinn bursts out. She holds up her hand and wiggles her fingers, sending the ring sparkling in the strobe lights. She breaks out in giggles. “We’re not really engaged, but don’t tell anyone.”

Holly shakes her head. “I thought the bride was supposed to be the drunkest one at their bachelorette, but I think that boat’s sailed… What are you doing here?” she asks me.

“I’m here to pick up Quinn. I got worried that she’d try to take a cab or the subway home.”

Holly purses her lips. “True.” She turns to Quinn. “I think you’ve had enough, darling.”

“I love whipped cream!” Quinn shouts back, smiling at Holly and me.

“Yeah, you’ve had enough,” I mutter.

“Wait…” Quinn frowns at me. “I remember that I’m mad at you.”

Holly and I share a worried look. A happy drunk is hilarious, but we both know what an angry drunk is like.

Quinn sticks her finger out at me. “You hurt my feelings!”

Holly grabs Quinn’s hand. “I think we’re leaving soon. Why don’t you go grab a water?”

Quinn narrows her eyes. “Okay, but don’t leave with out me!”

“You really did a number on her,” Holly says to me once Quinn’s walked away. “What were you thinking?”

“We talked today. She knows I’m sorry.”

“You don’t get it,” Holly says.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you about Quinn’s parents, and how they were never there for her. Did you forget?”

Forget? No way. I’d left Quinn’s apartment that night feeling like a sumo wrestler on the losing end of a match.

I shake my head.

“Then you should know, more than anyone, that Quinn has trust and abandonment issues.”

“What are you? Her therapist?”

“No, I’m her best friend. I actually give a shit.”

Christ. I feel like a total jackass.

“Haven’t you noticed how independent she is?” Holly continues. “It’s hard to accept help when you only had yourself growing up.”

Yeah, I noticed. “What can I do to fix this?”

Holly shrugs. “Don’t ask me. I’m not the one who forced her into a fake engagement.”

Quinn walks up. “I’m ready!” she says, throwing her arms around me again. “Take me home, handsome.”

Holly sighs behind her. “Take care of her, okay?” she tells me.

I nod and wrap an arm around Quinn’s waist. “I will. And Holly? Thanks.”

Holly rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Alright, sweet cheeks, let’s get the show on the road,” I say, leading Quinn to the door. Everything goes smoothly until we get to the car.

“Whoa,” Quinn says, scrambling back from the curb. “Stranger danger!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Whose car is this?” she asks.

“It’s mine.”

“But where’s Tom?”

“Quinn, it’s two in the morning.” I reach around her and open the passenger door. “Will you please get in?”

“Fine…but I’m watching you,” she says.

“I’ll take it,” I mutter, helping her into her seat. I walk around to the driver’s side and get in. “Your apartment?” I ask, firing up the engine.

“Yes…” Quinn sighs, leaning her head against the window. “No, wait!” She snaps her head up. “I wanna see your place.”

“My place?”

“Yeah. I wanna see the lair of the great Archer Stratton.”

I grunt. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” Quinn demands.

“You’re drunk and—” I stop before I say something stupid.

Quinn smirks at me. “Worried you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

“Something like that,” I say, pulling away from the curb.

“I saw you looking at me. This corset has gotten a lot of attention tonight, let me tell you…”

I grip the steering wheel. “Did anyone touch you?” I demand. “Did something happen, Quinn?”

Quinn stares at me, her breath coming in quick pants. I turn and meet her hungry eyes. “I like it when you talk like that, Stratton,” she murmurs.

Shit. We’re definitely not going to my place.

I swallow and try to keep my thoughts away from that damn corset. “Like what?”

“Protective. Demanding. Like I’m yours.”

I work my jaw. “You are mine, East. We’re a team.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she says huskily.

I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on driving.

“I want to see your place,” Quinn repeats. “Tonight. Right now.”

Something in her voice tells me it’s futile to argue. “If you’re sure…”

“Very,” Quinn answers. Then she turns to stare out the window and watch the lights sweeping by.

* * *

Ten minutes later, we’re standing in my Park Avenue penthouse. Well, I’m standing. Quinn is prancing around and bumping into things.

“This is so soft!” she cries, throwing herself on my couch and nuzzling into the soft leather.

I walk over and help her up. “Okay, East—less movement, more water. I don’t want you puking all over my furniture.”

Quinn scowls at me. “Party pooper.” She heads into my kitchen and starts rooting around the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” I ask, following her.

“I’m thirsty.”

I move to the sink. “Then I’ll get you a glass of water—”

“Not for water, silly,” she scolds, “for wine!”

Oh God. “Wine is a terrible idea after what you’ve been drinking,” I say, right as Quinn sees my wine fridge.

“Finders keepers!” she shouts, skipping over to it. I’m distracted by the enticing sashay of her ass, and by the time I snap out of it, she’s pulling open the door.

“Quinn—” I snatch the bottle out of her hands and set it on the counter out of reach. “You’ve had enough,” I say.

She doesn’t like that.

“I beg your pardon?” she demands, putting her hands on her hips.

“You’re drunk, and wine is only going to make you sick. Now, why don’t you lie down—”

“I don’t want to go to bed yet,” she whines. Before I can react, Quinn lunges for the bottle on the kitchen counter.

“Goddammit, Quinn!” I say, yanking her to me and pinning her to my chest.

“Stop yelling!” she shouts, pushing against my chest.

“Then stop acting like a damn child!” I yell back, holding her tighter.

We stand like that for a moment, Quinn glaring at me and me scowling at her, before she lifts herself up onto her toes and plants her lips on mine. I hesitate for a moment, then dive into her.

“Quinn,” I breathe into her lips. I sweep her lips apart with my tongue and explore. She tastes so fucking good; so sweet and sexy all at once. My cock grows hard and presses itself again her hip.

She moans in desire, matching my forceful kisses with an urgency of her own. She tugs one arm free and snakes it around my neck, pulling my lips down harder against hers.

“East…” I whisper, pulling back to gaze in her eyes. “I want you so bad.”

She looks up at me with cloudy eyes. I see lust in them, but something else, too. That’s when I remember Quinn’s drunk. Very drunk.

I push back, unwrapping my arms from around her soft body. “This is a mistake, Quinn,” I pant. “You’re drunk.”

“You said you wanted me,”she says, narrowing her eyes.

I groan. “I do, but not like this.”

“Like what?” she asks innocently.

I meet those sultry eyes. “When I fuck you, East, I want you to remember it.”

Quinn catches her breath, her hand flying to her throat. Her lips party slightly, the full bottom lip begins to quiver—

Christ. I’m going to snap if I don’t get away from the scantly-clothed vixen standing in front of me. I need to get myself under control before I do something we’ll both regret, like taking Quinn into the bedroom, throwing her on to the bed, and giving her what she’s begging for. When I do lay claim to Quinn, it’ll be mind-blowing, not some drunken mistake.

“I’ll be right back,” I mumble, grazing by her. I get another whiff of cherry blossoms and pick up my pace. I slide inside the bathroom and lock the door behind me; I have a horny drunk girl in my kitchen,I’m not about to take any chances.

I turn on the faucet and wait for the water to get ice cold. After a few facefuls, my heart rate slows, and I meet my gaze in the mirror.

Chill the hell out.

I glance down at my tented pants.

You, too.

I give it another five minutes and open the door. Nothing.

I see why the moment I enter my living room. Quinn’s curled up on the sofa, her fluffy boa under her head as a pillow. She’s fast asleep, that dead-to-the-world sleep that only the drunk can have. I watch the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts, the soft serenity of her face, the curve of her legs as they tuck up under her, and I know there’s no hiding from it…

I’m in love with this gorgeous creature. Quinn East has stolen my heart.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, if it was one particular moment or a combination of many, but somewhere in the last three months, my heart ceased to be my own. It is now Quinn’s.

I lean down and scoop her off my couch, adjusting her in my arms so her face rests in the nook of my shoulder. She’s so light in my arms, her boa flowing around her like an angel. How could something so small, so fragile, have such an affect on me?

I carry Quinn into the guest bedroom and lay her on the bed. I slip off her heels, but stop there. The last thing I need is an indignant Quinn waking up, accusing me of being a cad.

I pull the sheets over her and adjust the pillow under her head. I stare down at the woman I love for a moment, then lean down and kiss her forehead with my lips.

“Good night, East,” I whisper.

I can barely make sense of what’s happening inside me, but I do know one thing: I have to make Quinn see how much she means to me, or the next time she throws herself into my arms, I’ll be showing her.