Chapter Twenty-Three

The office was darkened when Adam Quinn stepped back in. The only light in the room came from the two televisions hung on the wall, side-by-side, showing two different channels. Neither one had the sound on; closed captions ran across the bottom with obvious errors visible from the moment that he stepped into the room.

The light fell on a ring of couches, illuminating a young woman, sitting there. She was attractive, Adam had to admit. Unusually attractive for a woman in her line of work.

"Linda. What are you still doing here? What time is it?"

"Late," she said softly.

"You should be at home. Asleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."

"I need to get the debrief on the interview with Ellen," she answers. The televisions click off. The light from the hall spills in, just enough light to see by, but only barely.

"It can wait until the morning."

"Or you can let me do my job and tell me what I need to be getting ready for."

"It went great. You'll love it. Perfect."

"That's good, but I'm going to need more than that."

She smelled good. Like a woman should, he thought. She was close now, as he walked deeper into the dark room.

"Is Tom still here?"

"I talked him into going back to his apartment."

Two more steps would close the distance between them, now. She'd fit easily into his arms. She'd feel good there, too. It was what he wanted, and he generally got what he wanted. Generally took it.

"Then we're alone."

"I suppose so," she says. Something about her attitude rubs him the wrong way.

"Is everything alright?"

"Fine," she says. He can barely make out her face in the darkness, but she doesn't look like everything is fine.

"You look distraught."

"I'm not. I'm fine."

He took a step, and the space between them closed halfway.

"Are you sure?"

"What's with the third degree?"

"You're right. My mistake." He took another step, and now he was close to her. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulled her in close.

She stiffened at his touch. She didn't pull away, though, and there was a difference.

"What?"

"We can't."

His lips found the sensitive skin of her throat and pressed themselves against her. She leaned into it a little, and he knew that he had her in his grasp.

"We can," he told her. "Nothing's going to stop us."

Her breathing was ragged, caught a little bit in her throat, and he could almost hear the edge of arousal building up in her.

"We shouldn't."

"We should," he responded. His lips moved to the other side of her throat, his teeth nipping along the line of her collarbone as he moved across.

He pushed her a little, stepping into her space until she was forced to step back and make room. Until she was pressed against the foot of a sofa and the only place she had to go was down onto her back.

"I don't think this is a good idea," she repeated.

"Fuck good ideas," he answered. His hands found the hem of her skirt and fished her blouse out of it. His fingers dashed under almost immediately, tracing the taut skin around her waist.

"I don't want to get a reputation," she said softly. She put her hands on his arm, not quite stopping him. His hand stopped, but his fingers, softly tracing a line across her skin, did not.

"Then don't tell anyone. I won't."

"Word gets out, though," she said. A little bit more force in her voice.

"Then I'll take responsibility."

"No you won't." Her voice is hard, now, and her hand pushes his away. He nibbles her earlobe gently, and he can still hear the edge of need in her voice even as she tells him to stop.

"I won't let you get hurt. I promise."

Her hard edge falters.

"How?"

"Won't know until I have to do it," he says. It's the truth. Linda wouldn't accept anything less than that, and Adam doesn't doubt for an instant that she would be able to hear the lie in his voice.

"Then how do you know you'll be able to do it?"

"I always take responsibility for my messes." He always has in the past.

Her hand doesn't seem to be trying nearly so hard to keep him away from her. He pulls her hips in close to his again, and she doesn't pull away. His lips trace a line back down the thick, sensitive vein of her neck.

"If you tell me you don't want it…"

She doesn't. His fingers start to work the buttons on her blouse and work their way up from her belly-button to her throat, uncovering pale skin as they go. He enjoys the shiver that runs up her spine. Linda's body relaxes and he presses her back further until she falls back onto her butt.

His hands undo the last remaining buttons, and he pushes her shirt back, off her shoulders. She pulls it down her arms and by then he's already pulling her generous breasts free of their confines.

"Do you want me," he growls.

"Shut up and fuck me."

That's the only permission he needs.