Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
On her way to the chair, Jo glanced out the window and saw Fred climb in the truck with Emmy Lou. So that’s what Emmy Lou had in mind, Jo thought with a smile.
“What’s going on out there?” Quinn asked.
“Emmy Lou’s taking Fred to town.”
“No wonder she didn’t want you along.”
“Yeah.” Still smiling, Jo sat in the chair and punched the remote to restart the movie.
“But Benny’s still around?”
“Oh, sure, and he’s great with the horses, if you were worried about Clarise and Stud-muffin being alone down there. And if Betsy goes into labor, I’m sure he’ll come up and get us.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Now watch the movie, Quinn.” Her pulse wouldn’t settle down.
She didn’t think for a minute that he was worried about who was watching Clarise and Stud-muffin or whether Benny would alert them when Betsy went into labor.
He wanted to know exactly how alone they were and how much temptation lay before him.
She wasn’t about to explain that although Betsy was due any day, she showed absolutely no signs of going into labor.
Benny wasn’t the type to pop into the house for no reason, and Jo was sure Fred had told him to stay in the barn and keep an eye on the new baby.
The chances of Benny showing up before lunch were practically nonexistent.
She knew how alone they were, and it made watching the movie very difficult.
“I don’t sound exactly like Hastings,” Quinn said after a while.
“No, you sound better.” Whoops. She hadn’t meant to say it like that.
“What do you mean, better?”
Now she’d done it. “I happen to like a deeper voice on a guy, that’s all.”
“Oh.” He sounded pleased with her answer.
“I don’t think it’s a problem that your voice is a little deeper than his. Nobody’s mentioned your voice being different. In fact, they’re all so gaga they don’t notice anything different. They’re prepared to believe you’re him.”
“I guess so.”
But Jo could already tell big differences, and the advantage was in Quinn’s favor.
His eyes were a deeper blue, and his mouth had a more sensuous curve to the lower lip.
And she liked Quinn’s hands better. The fingers were longer, the back of his hand broader.
Of course that was probably because Quinn was taller, bigger all over.
And then she wondered if he was bigger all over. Her mouth grew moist.
The movie was quickly approaching the famous scene in the mining shack, the one that had made Eloise Doobie break her promise that she wouldn’t look at another man’s naked parts.
The heroine, played by superstar Cheryl Ramsey, had already taken refuge in the shack while a terrible storm raged.
She was conveniently in the process of taking off her wet clothes by candlelight while sitting on a cot.
“He’s going to show up, isn’t he?” Quinn said.
“Yep.” Jo was becoming embarrassingly aroused being in the same room with Quinn during this sexy movie. She was so glad she wasn’t a man. The poor guys couldn’t hide their sexual interest at all.
“We’re getting down to it, aren’t we?”
“Yep.” She didn’t dare look at Quinn to find out if his sexual interest was beginning to show, but she’d bet it was. She could hear him breathing, and he kept shifting on the seat cushions. She wondered if getting an erection was painful after the punishment of his morning ride. “Are you okay?”
“How do you mean?”
“Um, are you... uncomfortable?”
“Yeah.” His voice was dry. “Any suggestions?”
“I could get another ice pack for your—”
“No, thanks.”
Jo tried to concentrate on the movie instead of the state of Quinn’s private parts. Cheryl Ramsey was quite beautiful and quite naked. Jo really didn’t like Quinn looking at her, but it couldn’t be helped.
Brian Hastings opened the door of the shack. The woman glanced up. The look that passed between the two of them made Jo quiver. Then, without saying a word, Hastings unbuttoned his shirt.
Jo remembered thinking he looked pretty damned good when she first saw the scene, but that was before she’d been treated to Quinn Monroe in his briefs last night.
Still, watching Hastings peel off his shirt and reach for the buckle of his belt reminded her of the joy of watching a well-put-together man undress.
Quinn had been right about Dick’s physique—he was soft in the middle.
She gripped the remote as Hastings, standing partially in shadow with his back to the camera, took off his jeans and his underwear in one movement.
No wonder the Ugly Bug Garden Club closed out their meeting with this scene.
Her gaze was riveted to the screen. But she’d wager that Quinn’s behind looked even better than this.
Hastings walked over to Cheryl and sank to his knees before her.
That simple, knightly gesture was the sort of thing that had made Brian Hastings number one at the box office, in Jo’s estimation.
She held her breath as Hastings kissed Cheryl — her mouth, her throat, her breasts. Jo’s breasts felt tight and feverish.
As the music swelled, Hastings guided Cheryl to the cot, and the soft light illuminated their bodies as he moved over her.
Jo moaned softly and gripped the remote.
The scene froze in place.
“Did you mean to do that?” Quinn’s voice was strained.
“No!” Jo glanced at the remote and punched it, but her hand was shaking so much she kept missing the play button.
“Fast forward through that scene, dammit,” Quinn ordered tightly.
“I’m trying!” She stood and pointed the remote at the VCR while she stabbed at the buttons with trembling fingers.
“I’ll do it.” Quinn half rose from his seat and made a grab for the remote in her hand.
“I’ve got it!” She backed up and stumbled. The remote flew out of her hand and plopped between the cushions of the sofa.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Breathing hard, Quinn dropped to one knee and started fumbling for the remote.
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” Jo sat on the sofa and shoved her hand in the space.
He pushed her hand aside. “Get out of there and let me. This cushion is the deepest—” The VCR clicked and whirred.
“You must have hit something. I think it’s rewinding!”
“We’re sure as hell not going to see that again!”
“Whoops, now it’s going forward. Whoops—”
“Move your tush so I can reach under here and—damn, but leather is slippery. You paused the tape on purpose just when they were doing it, didn’t you? You’re just like those garden club ladies.”
“No, I swear! It was an accident!”
“Quit jiggling around. Okay, I’ve got it.” He leaned forward, and his cheek bumped her breast.
“Oh.” She couldn’t help it. She was on fire.
Quinn went very still. Slowly he lifted his head and looked into her eyes while the movie rewound behind him. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured.
“How?” She drifted closer to him as if pulled by an invisible string.
“Like you want me to rip your clothes off.”
“Oh.” She was breathing hard. “Okay, I won’t.” She closed her eyes.
“Dammit, that’s worse. Open your eyes.”
She did as he asked.
He groaned. “No help there.”
As her gaze shifted to his sensuous mouth, she couldn’t seem to help the downward tilt of her head, bringing her closer and closer. “It’s because of the movie. We’re just worked up because of the—”
“Speak for yourself.” He cupped the back of her head and kissed her.
But she couldn’t speak for herself when he kissed her like that. She couldn’t even think for herself with her heart pounding so loud. Vaguely she heard a click and whirr as the movie surged to fast forward again. Quinn must have abandoned the remote, leaving it to fend for itself. As if she cared.
A girl couldn’t be worried about remote controls when being kissed by a man who knew how to use his tongue the way Quinn did.
When he started unbuttoning her blouse she let him do it.
She even helped with a button or two. When he fumbled with the front catch of her bra, she pushed his hand away and unhooked it herself.
After all, a man who could kiss like that would know what to do when presented with a woman’s aching, needy breasts.
Quinn knew.
Jo arched her back and moaned as he showed her the full extent of his knowledge.
After stroking her for several delicious moments, he slid up on the sofa and leaned her back over the armrest. She’d never been caressed so fully or with such murmured appreciation.
She barely noticed as the movie switched from rewind to fast forward with every abandoned movement she made.
She began to respond in other ways, becoming very moist at the point where the denim seam of her jeans started to pinch.
The tender spot cried out for his attention.
He was panting by the time he kissed his way back to her mouth. He plunged his tongue in deep, letting her know what he wanted, and then slowly drew back. “I’m in agony,” he said, gasping. “We need a decision, here. Either unzip my jeans or button your blouse.”
She cradled his face in her hands. “I’m in agony, too.”
His smile looked strained. “Yeah, but you weren’t bouncing on a horse for an hour this morning.”
“Oh! Poor Quinn.”
“Poor Quinn is right.” He slid his hands under her bottom and fit his erection tight against her. “I’m being tortured here, Jo.”
“Oh, Quinn.” She pressed closer.
He pushed back with a groan. With a whirr and click the VCR reversed direction.
She rocked against him and closed her eyes. Whirr, click. “I don’t know if—”
“I know I’ll be permanently impaired in another minute. God, Jo.” He shoved harder. Another click from the remote was followed by a loud snap and a frantic spinning noise from the VCR.
Quinn turned his head toward the television. “What the hell?”
Jo stared at the snow on the screen. “I think we killed the movie.”
“We didn’t touch it!”
“But we bounced on the remote, Quinn. We pushed its little buttons, back and forth, back and forth, until snap! It came apart.”