Not My Spook! Page 8

  “Excuse me? Oh, you mean what I bought.” His reluctance was palpable. “Yes, sir. Of course.” He went to the chair that held his bags, still avoiding looking at Sweetcheeks.

  I walked out. His private life wasn’t my concern.

  VII

  MY PRIVATE life, on the other hand, was working out damned well, I thought the next morning. I’d fucked Quinn the night before, three and a half times.

  I grinned cockily. The half was when he’d fallen asleep. I’d worn him out.

  I’d been too much a gentleman to continue without him. Besides, I’d no sooner pulled out of him and disposed of the condom than I’d fallen asleep as well.

  And not once since he’d first mentioned it had he brought up fucking me.

  “Another cup, Mark?” Quinn brought over the carafe of coffee and refilled my cup. I raised it to him in a silent toast and sipped appreciatively. This was good coffee, freshly ground from the beans, not like the canned brands I stocked up on when I was home. I could really get used to this breakfast with a lover stuff.

  Jesus, what was I thinking? I put the cup down, snapped the newspaper, and raised the section that I’d been reading to conceal my expression. Quinn took the edge between his fingers and pulled it down. I made sure I had a mocking grin curving my lips when I met his eyes.

  The sneaky CIA spook kissed me!

  He licked at my lips, and when I parted them, ready to welcome his invasion, he drew back. “I have to get dressed now, Mark. I’m usually ready to leave to meet Mother by this time.”

  “Oh, yeah? What held you up today?” As if I didn’t know. We’d gone after each other so many times that when we fell asleep that last time, we’d slept longer than either of us had intended.

  Quinn grinned at me and leaned forward, and I thought he was going to brush a kiss against my mouth again. Instead he nipped my earlobe. “Smartass,” he whispered into my ear, his breath warm and tantalizing. He was gone before I could think of a clever retort to that.

  The newspaper was open before me; I stared blindly at the print, feeling as if I’d been knocked on my ass. What was wrong with me? I never let anyone get to me!

  He was back before I realized it. “I should be home by half past two at the latest,” he said as he straightened the sleeves of the black, short coat he’d pulled on over a black vest. “I’ll shower off the smell of horse, and then we can go to the museum.” He wore beige jodhpurs. Sleek boots covered his calves, stainless steel spurs at his heels, and he dangled a helmet by its chin strap from his fingers. Under his arm was a riding crop.

  Quinn turned away to walk out of the room, and he looked so good my cock leaped to attention. I say we strip those fancy-ass clothes from his body and fuck him until he knows he’s ours! I stared down at my lap in irritation. Please?

  “Don’t whine!” I growled under my breath. I got up to follow that ass.

  “You say something, Mark?” He was retrieving his keys from the basket where he had placed them the night before.

  I needed to distract myself. “Uh…. You intend to use that thing?” I asked, gesturing to the short whip.

  His face lit up with humor. “I wouldn’t dream of it!” God, he looked so young, so relaxed. “Testament would toss me on my ass and step on me if I tried something like that with him.” He laughed at my expression. “How about dinner at Raphael’s after the museum?”

  I licked suddenly dry lips and somehow managed to drag my mind away from images of his ass. “Sounds good. And… uh… I promise not to go snooping around your house.”

  He frowned in exasperation, but then the expression melted into another grin. “Mark, I’m sure you know as well as I do where everything is!” I cocked an eyebrow at him, and he laughed outright. “And don’t work too hard, all right?”

  Quinn thought he knew me well enough to second-guess my activities?

  To prove otherwise, I shrugged and told him, “I’m just going back home to finish packing.”

  He sobered. “Is there anything to salvage of your video and book collections?”

  “Probably not.” I shrugged again, as if it didn’t matter, although in a couple of instances, it did. One of those books had belonged to my father, and God alone knew how it had survived all the moves my old lady had made. It was just a yellowing paperback, but….

  I wondered if I could dry it out in the microwave.

  And then there was the art book The Boss had given me. If he knew I was getting sentimental over it, he’d probably—

  Something else struck me. “Quinn, what will you tell her?”

  “Mother? The truth, if she asks.”

  Was he out of his fucking mind? “You’d tell her we’re—”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Contrary to your belief that I’m a mama’s boy, I don’t go running to her whenever I take a new lover. Not that I take one very frequently.”

  I never believed…. Wait a second. He saw us as lovers? The corner of my mouth kicked up in a pleased grin.

  When I realized what I was doing, I wiped all expression from my face.

  Quinn was continuing, so he probably hadn’t noticed. “I’ll simply tell her your apartment was damaged, and you’re staying with me until you can find another place.”

  I gave him a look. Portia Mann might not object to me running loose in her son’s house, but how would she feel if she learned I was sleeping with him?

  “Don’t worry about it, Mark.” Quinn curled his hand around the base of my skull and pulled my head down. His lips were warm as he touched them to mine. Then he stepped back. “Have a good morning.”

  He pressed the button that would open his garage door from inside the house and left.

  Within minutes, he was back.

  “Miss me already?” I grinned, but he scowled at me. “What’s wrong? Is there a flock of ninjas out there?” I could deal with that with one hand tied behind my back, but something else occurred to me, and I tensed up. “Change your mind about trusting me?”

  “Would you stop being such an ass, Mark? I need you to move your car. You’re blocking the drive.”

  It was my turn to laugh, although I was the only one who knew how relieved I was. I went upstairs and dressed quickly, then hurried outside, backed my car out of his driveway, and parked it at the curb.

  Once he had driven off, I went back into his town house, retrieved my cell phone, and called the head of R&D.

  “Romero.”

  “This is Vincent. How is that little project coming along?”

  “Hey! Vincent! Glad you called. Got it all set to go! Like I said, it just needed a little fine-tunin’. Of course, the heavy pollen count we been havin’ lately will work in our favor. I monitored a bunch of pharmacies, and there’s a big demand for prescription refills for this medication.”

  “Good work. I’ll pick it up first thing in the morning.”

  “Sure thing. It’ll be ready for you! And Vincent, work this fast, this good: it’s gonna cost you, big-time!”

  “Why am I not surprised?” I groused good-naturedly. “The usual fee?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’ve got it. See you tomorrow.” Everything was under control.

  Being a good guest, I straightened Quinn’s bed, paid a quick visit to his bathroom to make sure it was in order and to leave some supplies there for later, then cleaned up the kitchen and locked up his house before I left.

  I really didn’t have any intention of driving back to my apartment. Quinn had removed my clothes, and I’d taken the sword yesterday. There was nothing else worth salvaging.

  Instead, I got in my car and drove to the Smithsonian Zoo. I’d kill a few hours there.

  And since I passed WBIS headquarters on the way, I’d just stop to see if there was any response from the Mossad.

  VIII

  WHEN Quinn returned from his ride with Portia Mann, he hung up his riding clothes and promised he wouldn’t be too long getting cleaned up.

  “No rush, Quinn.” I grinned, even
though he couldn’t see me. I had plans for him. I peeled off my clothes and followed him into the shower. The warm spray beat down on both of us.

  “Mark, what…?” Those were his last coherent words as I pushed him up against the tiled wall, dropped to my knees, and proceeded to blow his… mind, among other things.

  My cock was hard as it jutted out from my groin, and by the time I’d swallowed his come I was even harder. He slid down onto my lap, his legs on either side of my thighs. While I held him as he’d been moaning and shivering, I’d managed to turn off the taps and wrestle on a condom I’d stashed in the enclosure, then reached for the lube I’d placed there also and slicked up. I parted his ass cheeks and nudged his hole with my cock. His arms were wrapped around me, his fingers digging into my shoulders as he impaled himself on my cock, and he just held on. I tried not to move for as long as possible, but the heat and the tightness of his back passage drove me over the edge. I rocked up into him four, five, six times, and came hard.

  After I caught my breath, I knotted the condom and chucked it over the top of the enclosure, and then used the shower attachment to rinse us off.

  Once we got out, he needed some help getting dry. I used my mouth as much as the towel.

  Quinn looked absolutely stunned. “I’ve—I’ve never done this before!”

  “Coulda fooled me.”

  He gave a little laugh and tried to cuff my shoulder, but he didn’t have the energy and just leaned into me. “That wasn’t what I meant!”

  “No?” I was supremely satisfied.

  I’d never fucked in the shower, either, because… well, I just never had. As far as I was concerned, I’d owed my partners nothing more than a satisfying fuck. We would come, I would encourage them to dress, and we would go our separate ways.

  Quinn, on the other hand, had grown up in a world that was different from the one I’d been raised in. His mother loved him, and he could trust a person enough to have a relationship with them.

  So why hadn’t any of his lovers done that for him?

  Because none of the assholes, including that French kid who was probably a fat drunk by now, had known how special he was?

  Because none of them had been me? I liked that idea.

  I realized just how much I liked that idea, and I stopped that train of thought immediately.

  I’d been holding Quinn all that time, and I let him go and stepped back.

  Fortunately, Quinn had no idea. “Good thing the museum is open until six on Sundays,” he murmured.

  “Uh…. Yeah.” It was just sex. That was all it was.

  We went into the bedroom and began to dress.

  “You sure you still want to go?” I grinned—that grin always stood me in good stead—and gestured to the bed. “We could….”

  “Oh, no, Mark!” he said sharply. “You’ll think I’m easy. I mean, how many times is it that you’ve fucked me now? Before we know it, you’ll start taking me for granted, and the next thing I know, you won’t bring me flowers.”

  What the fuck? Had he hit his head in the shower and I hadn’t realized?

  “Quinn, I’ve never brought you flowers.” Was he confusing me with someone else? But he’d said my name….

  “There, you see! It’s started already!” His mouth was tight and his face was flushed. I’d never seen that expression on it before.

  “Quinn, listen—” But what could I say? I’d never take him for granted? I’d always be there for him? The odds I’d live to see forty had been slim to none, and yeah, I’d surmounted them, but….

  He turned away from me, and his shoulders shook. Oh fuck, what was going on?

  It was only when I heard the muffled sounds coming from his mouth that I realized he was struggling to contain laughter.

  “You’re fucking teasing me?”

  He was, and it was my turn to be floored. Jesus, the man was making me nuts! My reputation was such that no one had ever dared tease me before. Not that I would have killed them or exacted dire punishments in retaliation, but no one had wanted to push their luck. No one had even tried, not even Pretty Boy.

  To my surprise, after those first stunned minutes, I found that I liked Quinn being playful. But just the same I scowled and poked his shoulder. It wouldn’t do for him to think I was easy.

  He stole a quick kiss. “Come on, Mark. Let’s get dressed.”

  IX

  WE WENT to the museum and wandered through the East Building, which housed the exhibit Small French Paintings. Viewing them always relaxed me, and I found myself more at ease with Quinn than with anyone I had been with in ages. And then I realized I hadn’t ever been with anyone like this, ever.

  Before I could begin to get nervous about that, he pointed out his favorite Matisse and Degas, distracting me. I preferred the Cézannes myself. Time passed quickly, or maybe it was just the company. We were arguing the qualities of Impressionist versus Post-Impressionist when a security guard approached us. “We’re closing, gentlemen.”

  Quinn glanced at his watch. “We’re going to have to hurry, or they won’t hold our table.” He smiled a thank you at the guard. “I called for a reservation before I left the club,” he told me as we left.

  He had insisted on driving, and we went to the garage where his Lexus was parked. And damn, that was one fine car. Maybe it didn’t have the pickup of my Dodge, but for a foreign car, it was sweet.

  Traffic was light, and we made good time driving to the restaurant. I sat with an arm over the seat back, watching as… as my lover competently handled the powerful vehicle. We were lucky enough to find a space not too far from Raphael’s and walked into the softly lit restaurant. Quinn gave his name to the maitre d’ and we were led to the alcove where we had dined for my birthday.

  He had asked for the same table? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that and decided I’d think about it later, after I’d fucked him again.

  We sat down and examined the menus. Raphael’s was one of those restaurants that didn’t think it was classy to have the prices on the menu. Not that it mattered. I had a trio of Benjamin Franklins in my wallet. This dinner was going to be on me.

  The waiter took our order, and then returned to place a basket of breadsticks on the table. The wine steward presented Quinn with a vintage he seemed happy with, and he poured our glasses.

  As we waited for our appetizers to be prepared, we chatted desultorily about this and that, and somehow the conversation came around to the 1980 Olympics.

  “You would have participated?” Apparently he hadn’t dug deeply enough into my files. Which was good.

  “You don’t have to look so surprised.” That was the year the US boycotted the summer games in Moscow because of the bullshit that was going on in Afghanistan.

  “Do you regret not being able to try for the gold?”

  “What do you mean, try? I’d have taken it for sure!” I reached for a breadstick, but before I could bite off the tip, Quinn grabbed up one himself.

  “En garde!” He grinned, holding the breadstick as if it were an épée, and I remembered that he had been on the Pentathlon team, where fencing was part of the program, for the ’88 Olympics.

  “Oh, baby, you don’t want to duel with me!” I wanted to kiss that grin off his mouth.

  “Don’t I, Mark?” He made the first move, and I countered smoothly. Remise, riposte, beat-and-attack….

  We subsided and laid down our “weapons” only when our waiter brought out the appetizers.

  For starters, Quinn had oil-poached shrimp and squid. His lips closed over a shrimp and drew it slowly off his fork, his tongue neatly catching a drop of the sauce. In helpless mimicry, my own tongue swept over my lips. I nearly moaned from how aroused his action made me.

  “Want to try some, Mark?”

  I cleared my throat. “I don’t eat anything that has more arms than I do.” I started in on the grilled littleneck clams. My appetizer came with toasted garlic bread. I slipped a couple of points onto Quinn’s plate; I didn�
�t want to be the only one with garlic breath.

  After the first course had been cleared away, Quinn picked up his breadstick again, and I shook my head.

  “Humor me, Mark.”

  “You won’t win, you know.”

  He grinned again and moved unexpectedly, tapping my wrist. “Touché! Concede!”

  “Not in this lifetime, Mann!” I switched the sword—breadstick—to my left hand. “En garde!”

  Only part of my concentration was focused on the moves; the rest was focused on Quinn. His eyes dancing with pleasure, he was so fucking—

  I shook my head and tried something I’d first seen done in the swashbuckling movies one of my old lady’s men had introduced me to, and which I’d practiced a long time to get right. I tangled my breadstick with his, gave a sharp, sideways motion, and Quinn’s weapon went flying across the room. He stared after it.

  The waiter brought our entrees. “Scusi, signori. The management requests that you do not play with your food.”

  I raised my napkin to my mouth to muffle my laughter. Quinn flushed. “Sorry.” The look he sent me promised retribution later.

  “I told you, you didn’t want to fence with me, baby,” I said softly, so I wouldn’t be overheard. “I’m the best!”

  His eyes grew hot, and it felt as if he were stripping off my clothes. “Yes, you are. I’ll know better next time.” Quinn took a sip of his wine, then picked up his fork and began to eat.

  He had ordered roasted wild spring salmon with asparagus. I was having grilled rack of lamb and roasted eggplant stuffed with lamb confit. It came with garlicky spinach, but I thought I would leave it, and none of Quinn’s teasing could get me to change my mind.

  “I don’t mind a little garlic, Mark.”