Quinn's Woman. Susan Mallery
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she told herself. Any reaction she’d felt had been brought on by exhaustion or adrenaline or a spider bite.
“Why does your silence sound so guilty?” Rebecca asked.
D.J. did her best not to squirm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I believe that.” She flicked her long hair over her shoulder and shook her head. “If he’s so special, can’t you just date him? Does every encounter have to be a battle?”
“I asked him to teach me some things, but he wasn’t interested. I even offered to pay him.”
“Not exactly the best way to win him over.”
“I don’t want him to like me.”
“Why not?”
It was an old conversation and one D.J. wasn’t about to start up again. Rebecca had never understood her reluctance to get involved with a man. She didn’t get that caring meant vulnerability. Danger lurked in most relationships. Men were bigger, stronger and, for the most part, meaner. Not all of them, of course, but D.J. wasn’t taking any chances.
“I don’t want a boyfriend, just an instructor,” she said. “Don’t try to change my mind. Just tell me how to convince him to help me out.”
“I will, but under protest. You need a good man in your life.”
D.J. rotated her wrist, motioning for Rebecca to get on with it. Her friend smiled impishly.
“There’s only one way to get a man to do something he doesn’t want to do.”
Finally, D.J. thought. Information she could use. “What’s that?”
“Give him the one thing he really wants and can’t get any other way.”
Chapter Four
D.J. hovered in front of the hotel room door. She hated to think of herself as someone who hovered, but there was no other way to describe her actions. She reached up to knock once, then took two steps back and shoved her hands into her jeans pockets.
This was crazy, she told herself. She shouldn’t even bother. She wouldn’t, either, except she really wanted Quinn to teach her a few tricks. But would he agree?
Rebecca had said to find something he wanted that he couldn’t get any other way and offer it to him. Great advice, except she didn’t know what would interest him. Except for something he’d mentioned while he’d been her prisoner.
He’d teased her about taking advantage of him, joked about her searching him more thoroughly and had wanted to kiss her. She might not have a date with a different guy every Friday night, but she knew something about the male of the species. The way into a man’s frame of reference wasn’t through great cooking, witty conversation or a sparkling personality. Nope, guys were more basic than that. Something she thought she could use to her advantage.
She stalked up to the door and raised her hand again. This time she knocked, then wished she hadn’t. Planning to make a deal with Quinn was one thing, but going through with it was something else. She didn’t usually offer to pay for things with sex. In fact it was something she’d never done. But desperate times called for—
The door opened.
D.J. had already come up with several opening lines. She didn’t like to get caught unaware. But all her prep work hadn’t prepared her for the impact of seeing Quinn again.
As a rule, a man was a man was a man. A few she liked, a few she wished were dead and the rest rarely made an impact on her life. She considered herself sensible, autonomous and rational. So why did the sight of Quinn standing in the doorway to his hotel room suddenly made her chest go tight?
Nerves, she told herself firmly. She didn’t usually allow herself to feel them, but obviously they were bothering her. A few deep breaths and she would be fine. Really.
Quinn stared at her for several seconds, then smiled. As the corners of his mouth turned up, he leaned one forearm against the door frame and shifted his weight to one leg. The other was slightly bent at the knee. He looked relaxed…and predatory. Big, tall, powerful.
His physical resemblance to the Haynes brothers eased some of her tension, but not all of it. He might look like them, but could he be trusted like one of them? Did it matter?
“Afternoon, D.J.,” he said. “This is a surprise.”
“I’m sure it is.”
He studied her, his dark eyes taking in every detail of her appearance. Once again she had the ridiculous urge to make sure no strands of hair had pulled loose from her braid.
She returned the appraisal, checking out his blue short-sleeved shirt tucked into jeans. His feet were bare and his hair tousled. It might be the middle of the afternoon, but he looked as if he’d just gotten out of bed.
He pushed off the door frame and stepped back. The invitation was clear. Come on in.
She stepped into the room, showing a confidence she didn’t feel. Familiar statistics filled her mind—the number of women attacked in hotel rooms each year, the number of women date raped in hotel rooms, the number of—
She drew in a deep breath and consciously cleared her mind. Quinn wasn’t going to attack her. She’d come here on her own. No one was drunk, no one was going to get hurt. Perspective, she told herself. If nothing else, she could stomp the hell out of him and make her escape. He might have fifty pounds of muscles on her but his bare feet were no match for her heavy boots.
“Have a seat,” he said, motioning to a chair by the window.
She took in the plain room, the large bed, a desk with a straight back chair, the low dresser with the television. There weren’t any personal effects lying around, with the exception of a hardback mystery propped open on the bed. No pictures, no wallet, no dirty socks.
Instead of taking the seat he offered, she grabbed the chair from the desk and turned it around. She was less than ten feet from the door. When Quinn sat on the edge of the bed, she had an unrestricted escape route to either the door or the window. Not that she planned to need either.
When he was settled, she tried to remember what she’d wanted to say. Somehow she’d forgotten all of her carefully constructed opening lines. So not like her. She would have to improvise.
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