I enjoyed the tortured sound he made and once again met his gaze, which had darkened considerably.

Another smolder. I tried to keep my face straight.

“Then there is the distinction between extrinsic and intrinsic musculature of the tongue-”

“You need to stop talking.” Quinn grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back, claiming my mouth with his and ending my involuntary bubble of laughter.

When he lifted his mouth I whispered, “Most of the tongue’s blood supply comes from the lingual artery.”

He kissed me again and again.

If I’d been listening to our ensuing kiss-sloppy conversation, been an observer rather than a participant, I might have rolled my eyes and shook my head in judgmental exasperation. Admittedly, it was improbable that peer-reviewed medical research citations and correlative studies of human anatomy could get a person, let alone two people, hot and bothered. But, there we were, pawing each other with mounting urgency as I recounted theories linking the amount of hair on earlobes and genital arousal.

By the time the limo stopped we were, rounding up, half dressed and the buttons of my shirt were scattered all over the floor. Naturally Quinn had ripped the shirt open with a growl when I mentioned mammary glands.

I frantically pulled away and grasped the useless edges of my shirt, “Oh shit!”

Quinn was still somewhat lost in a fog of lust and moved his hand further up my inner thigh, his mouth seeking mine again. I swatted him away despite the fact that everywhere he touched me protested like the other 99% against Wall Street and mortgage lending practices. Nonsensically, I tried to smooth my hair, tsking when my shirt opened again.

“What am I going to do?”

Quinn, finally drawing away from me, pulled a sweater over his bare chest with not a trace of hurry. He lifted a single eyebrow as he adjusted his pants, zipping his fly. The sound made my back stiffen and I realized how close we’d just been to copulating in the back of a car.

“I think you look good just like that.”

I stared at him for two seconds before I smacked him on his infuriatingly well-muscled shoulder.

“My shirt is ripped open and…” I frantically twisted in my seat and may have shrieked, “Where are my underwear?!”

There was no amusement in his voice when he responded, “Someplace safe.”

My eyes widened further and, I knew, my mouth hung open dumbly. I was about to lose my mind.

“Give them back-”

“You don’t need them-”

“-to me right now-”

“-and you should try new things-”

“I am not leaving this limo while commando!”

The passenger door on Quinn’s side opened and I yanked the skirt I was wearing back to my mid-calf. I didn’t miss his dark smile when it was clear that I was not likely to push the underwear issue further until we were in private. And, by then, it likely wouldn’t matter.

Quinn reached for his leather jacket and draped it around my shoulders, zipping the front up to my neck. I swam in the largeness of it; but at least I wasn’t going to be walking around with my shirt hanging open. He exited the limo then held his hand out to me at the threshold. I moved and stood as demurely as possible. When he cleared his throat I met his gaze and he winked at me, surreptitiously yet suggestively licking his lips.

I followed where he led.

Sometime later, near midnight, Quinn gave me my underwear back on the promise that I would wear only underwear until sunrise. The only other option was my birthday suit as he’d confiscated all my other clothes and hidden them someplace within the massive penthouse he referred to as home.

Of course he lived in the penthouse.

It was the same building where ‘the boss’ had purchased five floors for Cypher Systems staff. At first, when we arrived, I thought we were headed to the apartment he’d shown me before; my imagination filled with images of us Tubinn together in the giant bathtub. Quinn’s tub, as it turned out, was far superior.

As was the view. And the kitchen. And the bedrooms.

Although, it was nearly as sparsely decorated as the unfurnished and unfinished apartment downstairs we’d previously toured weeks ago. There was no couch or chairs in the living room, no table in the dining room, and only a single dresser and bed in the bedroom- box springs and mattress on the floor, no frame. There were no pictures either.

I had a sheet wrapped around myself and, turning away from him, I glanced down at my underwear. They were white cotton and, as I contemplated it, not at all sexy. Most of my undergarments were chosen for comfort, cost, and practicality. I eyeballed him as I pulled on the granny panties, keeping the sheet in place to nonsensically preserve my modesty.

“Why did you hijack my underwear?”

Quinn was lying on his back, his long form stretched on the unmade bed, his hands behind his head, watching me.

He was completely naked. No sheet for him. Nope. No modesty for Quinn. He appeared to be entirely, mindlessly, at ease in his own skin. I envied his unabashed ability to Just. Be. Naked.

I also appreciated it.

“I hate them.” His gaze swept from where the sheet covered my bottom to my bare shoulder then back to my hidden thighs; the way he perused my body made me shiver.

I snapped the elastic at my waist beneath the sheet, “Is it because they lack frill?”

He shook his head lazily, “No. I don’t care what they look like. I hate all your underwear.”

I frowned, “So you’re an equal opportunity underwear hater?”

“Only your underwear.”

“Underwear serves a critical purpose.”

“I don’t want to know.”

He sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and reached for me by moving aside the edges of the sheet and hooking a finger in the band of the much discussed panties. He brought me to his lap, encouraging me to straddle him, then peeled the sheet from my under my arms. He kept his eyes on mine while extracting the material then crumpled it, tossed it away from us. I shivered. He wrapped his arms around my middle so that his arms crossed behind me and his hands warmed the skin of my sides and stomach, my front against his.

“You’re staying with me tonight. No escape.”

I spread my palms over his bare biceps, “You haven’t given me much of a choice, you’ve even taken my sheet. I can’t go home clothed only in granny panties. It’s supposed to be cold tonight.”

He nuzzled my neck and tightened his grip, pressing our chests together. Although I was thoroughly mussed and mollified from our evening of marathon love making, my heart skipped in at the contact.

“It’s supposed to be cold tomorrow too. Why did you leave your coat at work?” he asked the words against my skin, kissing a path across my collar bone then biting my shoulder.

I was really and truly enjoying physical contact to the point of craving it, yet I did not allow myself to wonder at this inexplicable transformation. My spoken reply was an automatic, thoughtless, breathy sigh, “I didn’t, Jem took it.”

Quinn immediately stiffened and his movements stilled. Abruptly his hands moved to my forearms and he pulled away even as he held me in place, “You saw Jem?”

I met his astonished glare and my mouth struggled to make sound. I squeaked once or twice before I managed to respond, “Yes.”

His eyes seared and scorched, pinning me with an accusatory stare; “When? Where?”

“I- I- I saw her last night. She was- at my- she was waiting for me at my apartment.”

“Damn.” Quinn clenched his teeth, his jaw and temple ticking, and pulled me abruptly against him in a fierce hug. “Damn it, Janie. You should have called me.”

“She didn’t stay long.” I held on to him tightly even though I didn’t precisely understand the ferocity of his reaction.

We held each other for a long moment. My encounter with Jem had been weighing on me like a squatting Sumo wrestler all the previous night and through the morning; but I hadn’t thought about her since Quinn showed up in my office with his greasy lunch offering.

I moved my hand in a slow circle over his bare back, a motion I hoped would sooth the unexpected shift in mood; I kissed his temple then whispered, “I don’t understand why you are so upset.”

“Because Jem is dangerous.” I felt his chest expand; he sucked in a capacious breath as though greedy for air, “I don’t want her anywhere near to you.”

I leaned back, forced him to meet my gaze, “She would never hurt me.”

His eyes only narrowed, “You’re wrong. She would.” His voice was like steel, “I really think you should move into this building.”

I pressed my lips together but didn’t respond.

His hands moved to my face, giant palms cupping my cheeks, long fingers pushing into my hair behind my ears and at my temples, “Please. You don’t have to stay here forever. Just please show Elizabeth the apartment and think about it. Think about staying until this Jem business is resolved.”

“Quinn, I-” my hands moved up his biceps and settled lightly on his forearms, “You are my boss. You are also the guy I am dating and now you want to be my landlord?”

He winced then gritted his teeth, “It’s not like that.”

“Just one of those things, relationships, can complicate, does complicate interactions between two people. You can’t be everything to me. I have to stand on my own.”