Free Honey House by LAURA HARNER

him on the floor in the entry. It was the only time I saw him until I found him on the path.” I added shakily, “That didn’t count because I didn’t even recognize him there.”
    Quinn’s eyes sparkled for a minute. “Did you really hit him?” His voice held a hint of something. Laughter? Disbelief?
    “Hard enough to knock him out. I’m in pretty good shape, you know,” I said. I knew better than to volunteer information to the cops, but I hated it when men assumed any woman was a weak, fragile thing.
    Quinn stroked his finger lightly down my arm, tracing a path along the definition of the muscle in my biceps. “I noticed,” he said, and something about the smoky richness in his voice made me shiver.
    “Do you know whose dog it was?” I blurted, needing a distraction. I’m not sure why it mattered, except I felt vaguely responsible, since it was found on my back porch.
    “Not a dog, a coyote,” Quinn said. “It wasn’t someone’s pet, didn’t belong to anybody, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    I nodded, not exactly trusting myself to speak. Then the tears started. Shit. What was wrong with me?
    “Are you all right?” Quinn asked. He slid across the couch and gathered me in his arms, offering temporary comfort where none was expected.
    Without thought or reason, I pressed my chest against him and raised my mouth to his.
     
     

Chapter Seven
    Quinn’s lips were a wonder, perfectly shaped, made for kissing, for tasting. I’m not sure which of us was more surprised when my mouth found his, but neither of us turned away. It started as a gentle brush of lips and Quinn stayed very still. Not as though he found it distasteful, more as though he was waiting to see what would happen next. I needed to feel the heat of his tongue, taste his sweetness, hold his breath against mine. He relaxed his mouth against my kiss, and when his lips parted slightly, I pushed inside.
    When my tongue found his, Quinn’s stillness exploded into a firestorm of desire. He growled at the contact, cupped my face in one large hand while he twisted his fingers roughly into my hair. His desire took control of the kiss and stole my breath. I had a moment to think it was the most extraordinary of kisses before I thought no more. I experienced. I felt. I surrendered.
    The dance of our tongues was heated. He plunged into my mouth, sliding against my teeth, my palate, my tongue. I held his tongue with gentle suction, promising acts to come. I followed him back into his own mouth and tasted the whisky, the spice of him, the flavor of us. I wanted more. He pulled his mouth from mine and ran kisses along my jaw line, and then returned to trace my lips, biting gently.
    Quinn’s tongue followed the line of my collarbone and up the sensitive skin of my neck. He bit down so hard I knew it would leave a mark, but all I could do was arch my neck, make it longer, give him more. His mouth on my neck sent shivers down into the very core of me. I shuddered with anticipation.
    I leaned into him at the same time my hands found the buttons on his shirt. I wanted to feel his skin against mine. Now.
    I unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it from his jeans, and pushed it off his wide shoulders. Quinn leaned forward and wriggled his arms enough to give me room to maneuver. As soon as I bared his chest, I slipped my own shirt over my head and threw it behind me.
    His chest was broad, with a patch of dark curls nestled between small coppery nipples. I pulled him back into a kiss with one hand while the other splayed across his chest, nails scraping against the hair. He rubbed his hands against the bare skin of my back, leaving me with the illusion for the briefest of moments that I was driving our pace. Then with a movement so fast that I never saw it coming, he threw me on the couch and stretched out long and hard on top of me.
    I felt the grin on my face a second before his mouth claimed mine in another mind-numbing kiss. I liked it a little bit rough, and