Chapter Eighteen
Luke approached a treadmill where a bearded, tattooed lumberjack of a guy sweated through a warm-up. Six months ago, the warehouse manager and one-time high school wrestling champ wouldn’t have survived the first mile. At intake, he’d been sixty pounds overweight, recovering from a heart attack, and afraid of leaving his wife a widow before he’d seen any of their four kids graduate from kindergarten. Today, thirty-five pounds lighter and far more active, Luke noted with satisfaction Dale Metcalf jogged comfortably at a ten-minute-mile pace.
Apparently sensing an audience, the man’s attention wandered from the news program playing on the flat screen mounted in front of the line of treadmills to the mirrored wall where both their forms were reflected. Teeth flashed beneath the Grizzly Adams beard. “Ah, Christ, McLean, you’ve gotten even uglier since I last saw you.”
“I missed you, too, Dale.” He did his best to muster up a kiss-my-ass sneer, but it felt flat. Flying back from Paradise Bay alone with a hole in his chest where his heart should have been had effectively sucked whatever was left of his sense of humor away. Three days back in his normal routine had done little to restore it. He missed her, dammit. Worse, he was about one more miserable, lonesome night away from doing something pathetic like calling Eddie and asking him if Quinn had mentioned him.
Dark eyes assessed him in the mirror and the grin disappeared. “You know, you look kind of bleak for a guy who just got back from a long vacation at a swanky resort.”
“Wasn’t a vacation. I went there for work.”
“Poor you. My work never takes me to an island in the Carib-fucking-bean.” The eyes narrowed. “And yet, you’re wound tighter than my mother-in-law at Thanksgiving dinner. Is it possible you went to a tropical paradise and somehow managed to not get laid? That’s gotta suck. No wonder you’re all tense and shit.”
“I’m not tense. If you want to worry about something”—out of habit, he checked the heart rate monitor readout and noted it was in a good range—“worry about your own sex life.”
Dale laughed. “Are you kidding? The wife can’t keep her hands off me, and since I’ve dropped some weight, we can get up into some damn interesting…ah…positions. She likes this one—I call it the naked skiing accident—where she goes low”—he dropped his hand to demonstrate— “and I go high, and she does this thing with her leg—”
“Consult your doctor to confirm you’re healthy enough for sex.”
“Consult this.” He flipped Luke the bird. “If I can survive running three miles a day, every damn day, I can fuck my wife standing up. The heart doc gave me the okay months ago. The only thing I have to worry about is baby number five, which is going to happen sooner rather than later if we don’t watch it.”
“There are plenty of reliable ways of avoiding surprises, you know.”
“Not when you marry a good Catholic girl. Just gotta watch the calendar and plan accordingly.”
“Good luck with that.” Because he noticed the news had transitioned to an ad for a pregnancy test, he took the remote from the holder on the treadmill and punched up the volume.
“Ha. Good to see your raging case of blue balls hasn’t affected your smart ass. Find me some sports or something. I don’t mind putting in two more miles, but I’d rather not be there for them, if you know what I mean.”
Obliging, Luke flipped through the channels.
“Wait. Back one.”
He tuned the TV to the channel Dale requested, and adjusted the volume. “All Access? Seriously?”
Dale shrugged as best he could midstride. “My wife loves this show. She got me hooked. Besides, where else am I going to see something like that, without ending up in divorce court?”
Luke froze. The camera was doing a slow pan up long, lean legs clad in tight, black leather. The shot continued up toned thighs, slender, curving hips, a narrow waist, high, round, painfully familiar breasts cupped faithfully by supple leather, and cleavage displayed to perfection thanks to a zipper that hadn’t found its way north of her navel.
His gut clenched, even before the camera continued its slow journey to her face. Then his heart tripped, because Quinn Sheridan stood there, framed in the lens. Her blond hair was now a disorienting, inky black, which made her look exotic and dangerous, but her lips curved into the daredevil smile still haunting his dreams.
“She is fuckhot,” Dale whispered, almost reverently.
Luke ignored that, and punched up the volume because one of the “reporters” on the show—an avid-eyed brunette with over-styled hair and a big, shark-like smile—stepped up with a microphone and asked Quinn a question.
“Thanks, Nancy,” she said, apparently responding to a comment from the reporter. Her voice sounded almost the same. Almost as smooth and nuanced as in real life. She ran a hand over her hip. “I worked really hard to get into shape for this bad boy.” Then she gave her ass a smack.
“You’ve definitely succeeded,” the interviewer gushed.
“I didn’t do it alone,” Quinn added. “Or gracefully, to be honest. I was coming off an injury, I hadn’t worked out in months, and I was feeling a little panicked at the prospect of slipping into this costume in a few weeks. So I went to this beautiful resort called Paradise Bay, and worked with a guy named Luke McLean who was amazing. Just amazing.”
“Holy shit,” Dale murmured. “You’ve met her. You’ve touched her. You’re single. She’s single. Please tell me you—”
“I’m not telling you anything, other than to shut up so I can listen.” He bumped the volume another notch.
“…designed a safe, healthy plan for turning me from a couch potato to badass Lena Xavier in less than six weeks,” Quinn said. “He cleaned up my diet, revved my metabolism, reacquainted me with the strong, resilient body I’d taken for granted too long, and maybe most importantly, he called me out on some bad habits I’d developed that undermined my goals.”
“You look amazing,” Nancy replied with over-the-top enthusiasm. “Sounds like more than just a six-week boot camp in preparation for a role.”
“So much more.” Quinn looked straight at the camera. “He didn’t just change my body. He changed me. I didn’t properly appreciate everything he did—and how completely in my corner he was—until recently. I definitely owe him…so much.”
Was there a message in there, or was he hearing what he wanted to hear?
“I’ve seen the ‘Before’ pictures someone leaked—”
Quinn rolled her eyes and let out a little laugh. “Nancy, I feel like the entire world has seen the ‘Before’ pictures. I never dreamed there would be such an audience for shots of me standing around in my underwear. Now that I know, I’m bummed I had to leave before I could take the ‘After’ pictures. I want someone to leak those!”
“I understand the studio executives were concerned, to say the least, when those ‘Before’ shots surfaced. They considered going with another actress.”
“I honestly don’t know if they considered other actresses for the role. I can only say I’m excited to be their final choice and…” She struck a hip-jutting, laser-eyed pose at the camera. “What do you think, people? Am I ready for my ‘After’ pictures?”
The reporter laughed. “I think our Twitter feed is about to explode. I vote yes.”
Quinn looked into the camera again, her expression utterly serious. “Hey, Luke, if you’re watching, come get your ‘After’ shots. Anytime. I’m prepared to bare it all to you.”
Nancy aimed a conspiratorial look at the screen. “This time All Access gets the exclusive first peek.”
The program flicked over to a commercial. Luke stared unseeingly at the screen and rubbed his chest where a dull ache throbbed just from watching her, listening to her, in a stupid three-minute interview.
“Are you still here?” Dale’s voice broke into his haze of yearning. Then a big, meaty fist hit him in the shoulder. “What the fuck, man? That goddess just offered to get naked for you.”
She’d offered a whole lot more, he hoped, because he wasn’t going to settle for anything less than everything.
…
Quinn swung through the door to her trailer, barely waiting for the slam of metal against metal before her fingers felt for the zipper to the cat suit. An afternoon of standing, running, crouching, leaping, and rolling in front of a green screen for the technical team verified one important fact. Leather didn’t breathe. She tipped her head to work a kink out of her neck, and then stopped, zipper halfway to her crotch, when she realized she wasn’t alone.
“Luke?” She stood stock-still, but inside, her system raced in reaction to seeing him there. She tried to drink in every part of him at once, as he sat with loose-limbed grace on the small sofa in the cramped space. His sun-burnished hair tempted her fingers. His intent eyes sent nervous energy licking along her skin. His white button-down shirt stretched across shoulders she knew firsthand were strong enough to hold her while he used his mouth to send her to heaven.
“Hello, Trouble. Eddie let me in. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No.” Despite feeling dizzy, she shook her head, and then stepped a little closer and looked around the trailer.
“He’s not here. It’s just me. We’re alone.”
“Oh.” ‘Oh’? For days you’ve been rehearsing what you would say to the man if he ever spoke to you again, and ‘Oh’ is the best you can do?
“Does that door have a lock?”
“Huh?” Holy shit, Quinn, stop with the flowery speeches. “I…yes.”
“Lock it.”
She did as he asked, and then turned back to him.
“Your fingers are shaking. Are you nervous?”
He’d noticed that small detail from all the way over there. He missed nothing. “No. I’m not nervous.”
She was a nervous wreck. She wanted to see him. She’d hoped he’d come. But now that he was here, all her carefully thought-out explanations and apologies fled, and left her with nothing except…want. Need. Love. What if she just threw herself at his feet, and begged him to give her another chance? “You surprised me. That’s all.”
“I caught your interview on that show. I came to take you up on your offer.”
“‘After’ shots?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
“Now?”
“You said anytime. Strip, Trouble. Down to your underwear.” He sat back, and crossed his arms. “Or don’t you trust me?”
“I trust you, Luke. I do.” Her hand hovered on the zipper. “There’s only one little problem…”
The way his eyes heated when she said she trusted him eased her nerves. Now her hands shook for other reasons.
“As long as you trust me, we’ve got no problems.”
“Okaaaay.” She toed off one of the spike-heeled leather booties, the other, and then slowly lowered the zipper that ran down the front of the costume. It took another couple seconds to peel her arms out of the sleeves, and another still to ease her hands under the leather and prepare to slide it down her hips.
“Christ, Quinn, are you—”
“Uh-huh.” She pushed the outfit down to her knees, and undid the zippers running along the outsides of her ankles. “That’s the problem. I’m not wearing any underwear.” She freed her legs, one at a time, and stepped out of the suit. Slowly, she straightened. “Nothing to ruin the lines of the costume.”
He just stared at her.
The nerves came back with a vengeance. “There’s this, like, nylon body-stocking layer inside, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it sounds. Do you have your phone, or a camera, or…” Shit, she was babbling. She was naked, and babbling, and… “I’m so sorry.” Crying. “I’m sorry I accused you of selling me out. P-please forgive me, Luke.” Good lord. Not just crying. Ugly crying. She turned away and tried to get herself together.
Big hands closed on her shoulders and eased her back against a warm, solid wall of man. “You’re forgiven, under one condition.”
“Anything.” She drew in a deep breath, as strong arms enfolded her. “Any condition. Any consequence, or punishment. Name it. I know I deserve it.”
His low laugh fanned her neck. “Don’t give me any ideas, Trouble. The condition is that you forgive me, too.”
Confusion had her turning in his arms. “Forgive you? For what?”
“For allowing you to believe I lacked respect for your career.”
“It’s okay—”
“It’s not okay.” He tightened his hold on her, and rested his forehead against hers. “I disparaged something important to you. Even at the beginning, before I knew you, I realized your career meant a lot to you. At best, I treated it like a frivolous pursuit, and at worst, called it bullshit. What I should have said, weeks ago, was that I admire you for knowing what you’re passionate about, and following that passion. What I should have said, Quinn, is that I love you, and I want to support you in whatever fulfills you. Will you trust me to do better with that in the future?”
“I do. Trust me, too, Luke.” She pressed a hand to his cheek. “I want to give you the same. I know we met because I needed you to drop everything going on in your life and attend to me, but I swear I’m not that girl.”
“I know.” He cupped her jaw in his hands and kissed her long, and deep. So long and deep, she was battling tears again when he raised his head. But this time they were joyful tears. Still, she blinked them away, fished his phone from his jeans pocket, and stepped out of his arms.
“Trouble?”
She handed him the phone, and then pushed her shoulders back and shook her hair out. “I believe we have some ‘After’ shots to take.”
“We don’t have to. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I know you know I didn’t sell the others.”
“I want you to have them.” Lifting her chin, she sent him a silent challenge. “I’m not the same woman I was six weeks ago. It’s got nothing to do with a flat stomach, or a toned ass. It’s not because of any physical transformation. It’s because I’m in love with you, Luke McLean. That’s the ‘After’ and I want you to see. So take your damn pictures.”
He tossed the phone over his shoulder, and gathered her into his arms again. “I don’t need a picture. I only need you.” Then he lowered his mouth to hers and proved it—until her legs clamped around his waist, his hands gripped her hips, and they both struggled for air.
She stared into his eyes and rocked herself against his hard-on. “I think some parts of you are definitely in need.”
He scowled at her from under his brows. “That’s a consequence of you prancing around naked.”
Laughter bubbled in her throat. “You know, I’m a big believer in consequences.”
“That’s good, because I’ve got a big consequence and it’s all for you.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. McLean?”
“That’s a promise, Trouble. Forever.”
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