Kelley Armstrong - Made to Be Broken

We went about ten rounds. After I managed to retrieve it from the men's washroom, Jack declared my training was complete… the declaration roughly coinciding with the moment that I started eyeing the Victoria's Secret changing rooms for his turn.

At three, I was in our hotel room, taking a much-needed bath. When I got out, I realized I'd forgotten to bring my clothes into the bathroom. I was going to have to get used to these coed living arrangements again. Fortunately, I was alone, Jack having left on a supply run.

So, towel haphazardly wrapped around me, I stepped from the bathroom and caught a glimpse of a tall man in a ball cap. I backpedaled into the bathroom, looking for a weapon, gaze settling on a can of hair spray.

"Dee," Quinn called.

"Jesus Christ," I said, peeking out. "How the hell did you -?"

He brandished a key card. "I passed Jack as he was leaving. He gave me this, muttered 212, and drove off."

I put the hair spray back on the counter. He stayed there, a foot from the bathroom door, his gaze traveling down me as I realized how small the towel was. It covered everything it needed to cover, but not by much. From his expression, though, he didn't mind. I could have closed the door. Or asked him to step outside while I got my clothes. But I didn't.

After this morning, I understood what was keeping me from taking what Quinn was offering. I'd been holding out hope that somehow I'd missed the signs and Jack felt the same way I did, and if I opened the door to Quinn, I'd be slamming it on Jack.

Well, that door had been slammed. And not by me.

With that possibility gone, I felt once again a shuddering sense of relief. Now I could take what both men were offering, and be happy with it.

Quinn stepped toward me, then leaned against the bathroom doorway, as if waiting permission to cross the threshold. Waiting for me to make the first move. And I wanted to make that move. Yet I stood there, clutching my towel, looking as sexy as a headlight-stunned deer.

I'd read about things like this – meeting your lover in a towel, doing a little tease – and it always sounded sexy and fun. I could certainly see how a guy might appreciate it. But it was like reading about the customs of another culture – I had no idea how to proceed.

Fortunately, the fact that I hadn't run away yet was encouragement enough for Quinn. He covered those last few steps slowly, giving me every opportunity to say no. Then he stopped in front of me, fingers running down the edge of the towel.

"Are you done with your shower?" he asked. "If you aren't, I've had a very long drive. I'm sure I could use one."

"Actually, I had a bath." As the words came out, I mentally smacked myself. Bad enough I didn't know the steps to a dance of seduction. Surely I could follow someone else's lead. I stepped closer, moving against him as I looked up. "But a shower would be nice."

I lifted on tiptoes to kiss him, but he motioned for me to wait. Then he peeled off his cap and wig and turned away, taking out and discarding his contacts. When he turned back, he looked like he had at the lodge, the dark blond brush cut and light green eyes.

"Better?" he said.

"Much."

I reached for the back of his head, his short hair bristling against my fingers, and pulled him down into a kiss. He tried to swing me against the wall, but my foot slipped on the wet floor. He caught me, but awkwardly, and ended up on one knee, holding me before I hit the floor.

"Um, okay…" He struggled not to laugh, cheeks coloring. "So much for graceful."

"The trick is to pretend this is where you were heading the whole time."

I wriggled from his grasp and lowered myself to the floor, then wrapped my hands around the front of his shirt and pulled him down.

His hands went to my thighs, shoving the towel up over my hips as he pushed between my legs. I undid the buttons on his shirt and slid my hands over his chest, feeling his muscles move. I broke the kiss, and traced a trail down his neck with my lips, tasting him, teeth grazing his skin as he arched up, grabbing my hips and thrusting.

He slid his hand between us, finding the edge of the towel. Wriggling to give him room to pull it off, I knocked over the wastebasket. He gallantly pretended not to notice, and peeled the towel -

The doorway darkened, a figure wheeling in, gun barrel swinging my way. I let out a yelp. Jack stood there, gun drawn, eyes widening, lips forming a silent "Fuck," as he tore his gaze away.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ," Quinn swore, scrambling to cover me as I squirmed from under him. "How the hell -? I thought you gave me your key card."

"Gave you Dee's," Jack said. "Forgot to leave it. I said that."

"You muttered something. It's hard enough to figure out what the hell you mean even when I can hear you – "

"Can I get dressed now?" I said as I scrambled up, Quinn moving in to block me while I pulled the towel into place. "Please?"

"And can you lower that gun now?" Quinn said. "Please?"

Jack had looked away, but kept the gun poised, aimed at a spot where Quinn would probably rather not be shot. Jack turned, careful to keep his gaze away from me. He glanced at the gun. Glanced at Quinn. Paused. Then hol-stered it.

"Outside," he said. "Let Dee dress."

I dressed as fast as I could, then fled past them in the hall, murmuring, "I'll be in the lounge." I sat on a bar stool, longingly eyeing the rows of liquor bottles as I sipped my Coke.

Being found making out on a bathroom floor is, I suppose, cause for some blushing. Sure, I was thirty-three and single and we'd had every expectation of privacy, thinking we had the only key – but I'd always been very private in my sex life, so, yes, I'd been embarrassed.

Yet having Jack find me making out on a bathroom floor took the humiliation to a whole new level. Last fall, he'd made it clear what he thought of Quinn's flirting with me on a job. Unacceptably unprofessional. Now that he'd been generous enough to put aside personal feelings and agree to let Quinn in on this case, exactly how long had it taken before we were rolling on the floor?

Jack was pissed. And I didn't blame him one bit.

"Is this seat taken?"

I looked up at Quinn. He'd changed into a new disguise for the evening – a somber jacket and tie ensemble straight from his suitcase, dark contacts, and dark hair.

He waited until I nodded, then slid onto the stool next to mine and ordered "whatever she's having."

"You found me," I said.

"That's my specialty."

I smiled. "I heard something like that."

His brows rose. Then he said, "Jack, right? I should have figured he'd tell you." He took a Coke from the bartender. "So everything's okay? At least you're smiling."

"I'm fine. Just embarrassed."

"Kind of like having your parents walk in on you when you were sixteen?"

I sputtered a laugh. "Exactly like that, now that you mention it."

We sipped our drinks in silence.

"Can I talk to you?" He jerked his chin toward the booths.

I nodded. He led me across the nearly empty lounge to the farthest booth and we slid in.

"About what happened upstairs. I was pushing hard," he said. "Again."

"No, I – "

"You said you needed time. I knew that. I just…" A crooked smile. "Thought maybe I could speed the decision-making process along. Talking is good, and I'm damned good at it, but in some cases words aren't really my best friend. I'm more of an… action guy."

I laughed. "And damned good at that"'

He laughed, but spots of color touched his cheeks, and as he nodded, his gaze dropped, as if that could hide his blush. Sitting there, looking at him, hands wrapped around his Coke, eyes downcast, that fascinating mix of confidence and uncertainty, I wanted to slide over and touch him. I wanted to kiss him and tell him that whatever he felt for me, I felt the same back.