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He pressed a hand against the strings, stopping the music abruptly. “Do you want one?”
Was his voice suggestive? She couldn’t tell.
“Sure.” A breeze slid through the railing and she shivered, running her hands up and down her arms.
He picked up his beer. “Cold?”
“No, it’s a tic.”
He laughed softly, then moved the guitar off his lap. He wasn’t quite holding his arms open for a hug, but the invitation was there. He clinched it when he said, “Want to sit with me?”
Quinn studied him in the near darkness for a long moment.
She remembered their conversation about the lion earlier. Right now she felt like she was climbing into a lion’s cage. Or rather, his lap.
Another gust of wind gave her all the urging she needed. She eased into Tyler, finding him warm and solid. He smelled like cigarettes and beer and something warmer, more inviting, like cinnamon or vanilla or both. His arms came around her, dragging the guitar into her lap. He shifted, moving her slightly. It put her face almost against his neck, his breath against her hair-line.
She suddenly wasn’t cold at all.
“I don’t think there’s room in this chair for the three of us,”
she said softly.
“Please,” he scoffed. “As tiny as you are? Plenty of room.”
Tiny. Tiny! Quinn almost fell off his lap. Maybe he couldn’t feel her crushing his femurs.
But then he started to play, his fingers spilling across the strings, picking out a quick-yet-slow rhythm. His arms were warm and strong, caging her in his lap, and Quinn closed her eyes.
When he began to sing, it took her by surprise. His voice was low, rough and raspy, carrying a tune effortlessly. She didn’t know the song, but it felt vaguely country, with lyrics about pretty girls and apple trees. Her cynical mind wanted to mock it, to mock him, because he was being gentle and kind and it threw her off balance more effectively than when he’d physically dragged her out of her apartment building.
But damn, he had a sexy voice. Quinn felt drunk on the sound, like he was playing her body instead of the strings.
His fingers eventually went still, and he dropped a kiss against her temple.
She shifted in his lap, turning, rising up to kiss him.
For an instant, she almost panicked and drew back, thinking of the night she’d spent with Nick, when she’d kissed him and made an absolute fool of herself.
But Tyler was kissing her back, setting the guitar against the wall, using both hands to catch her waist and slide under the tank top. She was suddenly straddling him, and even though she’d gone all the way with boys before, this felt like more, like she’d been playing Little League all her life, and all of a sudden she’d been dropped in the middle of a Major League game. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
He grabbed her h*ps and pulled her against him, and Quinn gave a little gasp.
Then his mouth was on her neck and his hand was under her shirt. When his fingers discovered that she wasn’t wearing a bra, he made a low sound in his throat. His thumb stroked over her breast again, and Quinn felt the touch all the way through her body.
“God, you’re good at this,” she gasped.
He laughed, and she felt the sound roll through his body. His hands pulled free of her shirt to stroke up the lengths of her arms. “Are you still cold?”
She shook her head.
He brushed blond hair out of her eyes, tracing a finger down the side of her face. It was the first time she’d ever known him to be gentle. “You know I didn’t invite you here for this,” he said softly.
“Careful,” she whispered back. “I might start to think you’re nice.” She reached down and grabbed his beer, then took a long sip.
She watched his eyes follow her movement, and she had a pretty good idea what he was thinking when she put the bottle to her lips.
Then his eyes narrowed, just a fraction. “How old are you?”
