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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?”
he said.
She shifted against him, leaning closer, beginning to stroke a hand against his neck. “Does it matter?”
He caught her hand. “Yes.”
Quinn froze and looked at him. “Eighteen,” she said. “Too young for you?”
He visibly relaxed. “For a second I was worried you were going to tell me you were sixteen or something.”
A month ago, she had been sixteen. “Yeah, that would’ve been crazy.” She laughed and took another long sip of beer.
Tyler watched this, then snatched the bottle out of her hands.
He took a long drink and finished it off. “Jesus,” he muttered.
“You are sixteen.”
“Seventeen,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes and banged his head back against the chair. Several times.
“Trying to get the blood flow back to the head that matters?”
she said.
