Pizza wasn’t even sexy. Orat least, ithadn’tbeen up until the last fifteen minutes or so.
I was halfway through asecond slice, which I’d abandoned because I was too busy looking atQuinn.
He didn’t seem tonotice.
He’d perked right up once he’dtaken a couple of painkillers and had three glasses of water in a row. Now hewas eating like a starved man.
I wanted to kiss everysingle moan out of his mouth. The effort of not pouncing on him was enough tomake my tense muscles hurt.
“This is so good,” he said,oblivious to the way his voice sounded right now.
I swallowed to wet myimpossibly dry throat. I’d been sitting there with my mouth hanging open forquite some time.
“I’m, umm. Glad you’re enjoyingit.”
“I am,” Quinn looked at me,dark eyes soft and relaxed. “Thank you.”
My face was suddenly hot.
Get a grip, Fox.
I’d been around pretty boysbefore. Couldn’t I handle one of them having a good timewithoutjumping on him?
The problem was that hedidn’thave a good timeall that often. Something as simple as a few mouthfuls of fat, salt, andprocessed carbohydrates with dubious nutritional value was enough to make himglow like he was enjoying the greatest possible decadence.
I wanted to throttle VincentO’Rourkefor what he’d done to this wonderful, bright creature. I’d watched him in hiselement, and I’d seen him at his most vulnerable, and this was the first I’dseen himhappy.
Not allowed to eat junkfood. He wastwenty-three.An adult by any set of standards, and asuccessful one at that. He deserved better.
“You were in the army,right?” Quinn asked after a few long moments of silence.
“Yes,” I said. “SAS.”
Quinn looked at me like I’d startedspeaking a foreign language.
“Special Air Services,” Iclarified. “WhichisArmy, not Air Force.”
“Like, umm. Like a Marine?”he asked.
Clearly, this wasn’t an area ofexpertise for him. Not that I expected it to be.
“I’d back myself in a fightagainst any Marine you care to throw at me,” I said.
“I feel like you shouldn’tsay that in front of them,” Quinn said.
He was right, but Ihad,and I’ddo it again.
“Shouldn’t,” I agreed. “ButI do a lot of things I shouldn’t.”
Quinn smiled, turning hisattention back to his pizza. “I kinda guessed. I wish I had your… I don’t evenknow what it is.”
“Confidence,” I said. Quinnwas a lot of things—sweet, charming, very easy on the eyes, even professional.But notconfident. “And a bit of awicked streak.”
“I might have a wickedstreak,” Quinn said. “Buried deep.”
I believed that. There was aglint of mischief in his eyes, like he’dliketo get up to nogood, but couldn’t quite take the leap into doing so.
Not that it was my place,but I would have liked to see him do it. Be a little irresponsible for once. Dothe wrong thing and not turn around and apologize immediately.Live.
