Neanderthal Marries Human (Knitting in the City #1.5)(34)
Author: Penny Reid

He shook his head. “No.”

“But…but we….”

“No. We didn’t. I did.” He kissed me quickly then slid his nose along mine. “The bet was that you had to last, but we said nothing about me lasting.”

My frown deepened. “Wait—perhaps I don’t understand the terms. You mean…you mean…what do you mean?”

“You still haven’t touched me,” he said simply, then added in his kitten voice, “but I couldn’t go another minute without touching you.”

I sighed despondently even as I shivered, a lovely involuntary response to his tone and words. “That’s not equitable,” I said. Actually, it might have been a whine. “The bet should be over.”

“Nope. Wedding is still on, unless….”

“Penetration.” I supplied the word, scowling at him.

I wasn’t angry with Quinn. I was annoyed with myself because I’d been happy to hand my decision-making reigns over to his capable hands—no pun intended. Quinn, being Quinn, handed them right back to me. This should have made me feel empowered. Instead, I felt irritated.

But then, just as suddenly, I felt grateful and…certain.

Quinn and me were always going to be Quinn and me. I could go through the motions, but the end result was going to be the same. Postponing the inevitable was making me miserable, and being miserable wasn’t okay with me anymore.

In fact, I wasn’t okay with being just okay anymore either, not when I could take a simple action and grab happiness by the scrotum.

As Fiona had said, happiness doesn’t have to be fleeting if you accept it. I think in a lot of ways, I had difficulty allowing myself to be happy. Maybe I thought I wasn’t deserving enough to be happy, that I hadn’t earned it. Maybe I thought it wouldn’t last, and I was frightened of one day facing the end of my happiness. Maybe I associated it with selfishness, because my mother always seemed to choose her own happiness over everyone else’s wellbeing.

More likely, I didn’t think it was possible to just be happy.

Just…happy.

No one else was in the wings, suffering because I was happy.

No rigorous minefield of proof was necessary.

No litmus test of worthiness.

No secret handshake.

My eyes were open. I was in love. I wanted to be happy.

I didn’t surrender to it. I grabbed the reigns. I loved Quinn without condition.

I chose happy.

I jumped off his lap.

“Take your pants off.” I motioned to his pants with a flick of my wrist, straightened my skirt and underwear.

Quinn lifted a single eyebrow at me, a cautious smile pulling at his lips. “Janie….”

“Take them off.” I whipped my shirt from my arms, tossed it over my shoulder, and unhooked my bra, casting that aside as well.

Quinn’s eyes immediately went to my br**sts and I thought I heard him growl. He reached for me, brought my bare chest to his mouth, and lavished my skin with hungry bites and kisses.

“Pants. Off,” I repeated, arching against him and slipping my hands down his stomach to his belt.

“Why, Kitten? What are you going to do?”

I smiled, kissed him quickly, sank to my knees, and said, “I’m getting married.”

***

Suffice to say, both Quinn and I were very relaxed when the plane touched down in Boston.

He was smirking. It was the worst kind of smirk, too—a smug, arrogant, proud smirk, and I didn’t mind one bit. Yes, I’d abandoned my plans for a big wedding. Yes, I would have to break the news to Marie that all her good advice was for naught. Yes, I was a quitter.

But I didn’t care, because I was happy.

I did feel sorry for our flight attendant, however. If anyone was waiting in the wings suffering due to our happiness, it had to be Donna. Technically, she wasn’t in the wings; she was in the galley. I found her there just before the plane landed.

When I apologized profusely, she was very gracious about it, said that she was happy for us, and then she also apologized. I suggested we work out some kind of signal, like the seatbelt sign on commercial airlines, for future trips. She seemed to think this was a good plan.

Pragmatically, I knew this flight was not the last time Quinn and I would be intimate on the plane. As such, I would have to work on my loud sex noises.

I also thought noise-cancelling headphones would make a great gift for her birthday and made a mental note to pick up a pair.

The plane landed. We changed clothes. Dan was waiting for us in the limo.

As soon as Quinn saw him, everything about his demeanor changed. The smirk disappeared, his eyes shuttered, and a coolness seemed to radiate from his pores. It was like someone had yelled “I need a tampon” in a sports bar.

Scootching farther on the bench seat, I glanced from Quinn to Dan then back again.

“Hey, Dan the security man,” I said, giving him a half wave as the car pulled away from the airport.

“Hey, Janie,” he responded, a tight smile on his face, then he turned his eyes back to Quinn.

Quinn met his gaze and held it for a few moments, and something passed between them that I didn’t understand. It was some secret guy code or telepathy. At length Quinn moved his attention to the window and the landscape beyond.

The limo was basically silent during the entire ride.

At one point I said, “Boston is fairly unusual because it’s the most populated city in Massachusetts and also the state capital. Very few state capitals are also the most populated city in the state.”

Quinn glanced at me as I spoke and for a few beats afterward. Then, with no change in his expression, he returned his gaze to the window.

Dan grimaced. I thought I heard him mutter, “Fucking Boston….”

Where Quinn looked ambivalent, Dan looked uncomfortable.

I began to understand why Steven didn’t like riding in limos with Quinn. I thought back to a conversation Steven and I had had some months ago, the day I learned Quinn was The Boss.

Since I was nervous and the interior of the car was completely quiet, my mind began to wander with complete abandon. Therefore, when the limo pulled to a stop and the engine cut off, I was a little surprised that we’d arrived.

“Are you ready to do this?” Dan’s eyes were narrowed on Quinn, and I heard the faint sound of the driver’s side door shutting.

Quinn stared at his friend, and for several seconds made no outward sign that he’d heard Dan’s question, then shrugged his shoulders. “Sure.”

Something like frustration or worry cast a shadow over Dan’s expression, and his eyes shifted from Quinn to me.

“Call me if….” He started, stopped, gritted his teeth. “Just call me.”

I nodded. The back door to the limo opened revealing a sidewalk, a black wrought iron gate, and cement steps leading to a blue-gray row house with white trim.

As usual, Quinn exited first. He’d changed into a new suit on the plane after I’d annihilated our bet. It was dark gray, his shirt was white, and his tie was a gradient of black to gray with a single red, diagonal stripe. I liked this tie. It was strange to think that I would have an opinion on a man’s tie, but I did.

On top of his suit, he wore a black, cashmere overcoat. He looked quite dashing.

He held out his hand. I took it then held on to it as the driver closed the door behind us. I glanced at Quinn and saw him conducting a sweep of the street, his eyes taking in every detail with his typical aloof precision.

My attention was drawn to the three-story row house in front of us, the potted plants that lined the steps, and a cluster of new tulips giving the otherwise cold, gray day hope for the approaching spring.

“Is this where you grew up?” I studied the house in front of us. It was old but well maintained. The white trim was newly painted, as was the red door.

He nodded, still glancing around the street.

I briefly wondered if he were actually still surveying our surroundings or just postponing having to face his childhood home.

Eventually, I was the one who took the first step toward the house, tugging him behind me. “Come on. It’s cold out here.”

I was nervous.

I was a tad nervous about meeting Quinn’s mom and dad in person. I worried a little that they wouldn’t like me or would think I was strange. I’d conducted a self-examination of these feelings and believed they were typical reactions to meeting one’s new in-laws. These feelings weren’t overwhelming; just present enough to be noticed.

More than that, much more than that, I was nervous for Quinn. He’d shut down every time I’d tried to talk to him about the situation with his parents. I wanted him to be okay. Actually, I wanted him to be happy. I hoped that today wouldn’t undermine that.

If it did, then I would make it up to him. Maybe we would get a puppy, or maybe a new biometric watch that recorded your heart rate, steps taken, and calories burned. Or, maybe I’d go a week without wearing underwear.

Or maybe all three.

I glanced down at my outfit as I climbed the steps, fiddled with the large brass button of my dark navy coat and thought about the average height of steps. Step height—as well as the currently accepted depth and width—were determined in 1927. Humans have grown taller, their legs longer, and I wondered when construction norms would be re-evaluated to account for the increase in stature.