Page 20 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
When they drew up in front of her Nana’s house, he killed the engine, and the already charged silence in the car turned expectant. He faced her, his gaze intense, searching her face for any sign of what she was thinking.
“Despite the thing with Vanessa, I had a wonderful time tonight,” she whispered.
“Me, too.” His voice was rough with emotion, and he reached out, brushing his fingers against her cheek and tracing the line of her jaw. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed.
“I don’t want this night to end.” The husky words were roughened with the echo of her release, and slight tremble to them dug under his skin like a hook. Quinten’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. God, that voice. He wanted to bend her over the hood and bury himself in her until she couldn’t say another word.
But she was looking at him with wide, searching eyes, and the raw edge in her tone wasn’t just lust. It was vulnerability.
His heart raced, and his breath was trapped in his throat. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything, but he didn’t want to rush her. He didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t ready for.
“We have all the time in the world.”
The words felt heavier than they should and lodged in the back of his throat. He wanted to pull her closer, crush her against him, and erase the space between them but instead, he threaded his fingers deeper into her hair, holding on like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
Every nerve in his body screamed to claim her right there, now, but somewhere beneath the ache was a quieter voice—one that told him this, whatever this was, had to last.
“We can take this one step at a time.” His libido screamed at him, but his inner gentleman nodded approval.
She sighed, leaning in to brush her lips against his in a hint of a kiss. A hum of regret escaped her. “I should go inside.”
“I’ll walk you to your door.” He opened his door and stepped out into the cool night air.
Chapter Thirteen
Quinten’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he merged onto the empty road, the faint scent of Raisa’s arousal still lingering in the car, heady and sweet. It was the kind of fragrance that snuck up on him to remind him of her coming all over his hand that sent his settled dick back to hard in an instant. Damn. He opened the window a crack, letting the cool night air rush in to clear his head. It didn’t help.
“Focus, Quinten,” he muttered, shaking off the warmth pooling low in his stomach. A distraction. He needed a distraction.
He pressed the hands-free button on the dashboard, the ringing tone cutting through the hum of the engine. Corbin picked up after the third ring.
“Quint? What’s up? It’s late,” Corbin’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Has something happened?”
Quinten glanced at the clock. 11:47 p.m. Late was an understatement. “Oh, shit, sorry bro. Did I wake you up?”
“No, no, actually I couldn’t sleep, and I was binge-watching Netflix.”
“Oh yeah? What series?”
“The Sinner. I’m halfway through season two. It’s awesome.”
“Awesome, huh?” Looking over his shoulder he made a left turn. “Given your preferences, it has a lot of murder and death, right?”
“Right.”
Quinten chuckled. “To each their own.” He preferred documentaries over fiction himself.
“So, what’s up, bro?”
Blinking, Quinten tried to remember why he had called in the first place. “Oh, right. You know that Detective Maloney got hold of some CCTV footage, right?”
Corbin hummed in acquiescence.
“I took Raisa with me.”
“Ah, Raisa.” Corbin’s tone shifted, teasing but laced with a brotherly edge.
Quinten exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forget you’re my brother and teasing is your second job and focus. We watched the footage.”
