Beyond Me (Quinn and James 1)

Suddenly, her gaze locked on mine. I sucked in my breath as recognition dawned on her face that I had been studying her. She stiffened but met me head-on, raising her chin slightly. I dove deep into a sensual heaven of swirling emotions I craved to figure out. She was so damn expressive, her thoughts flickering over that gorgeous face as she decided what to do next. I waited. Would she smile? Duck her head? Avert her gaze and pretend the connection never happened?

I raised my brow and upped the stakes.

One second. Two. She gave me a dismissing shake of the head and turned her back on me.

"Bro, she just dissed you!" The guys hooted, but I didn't care.

"It's a challenge." The gorgeous, sleek line of her spine begged me to run my tongue down it until I stopped at the sweet spot. "Maybe I'm tired of the same type of women all the time."

Rich hooted with laughter. "Gorgeous, smart, sexy women who want to do anything for you? Yeah, cry me a fucking river. I still think you won't get anywhere with her."

Adam poked my shoulder. "When was the last time you got rejected? It's good for everyone once in a while."

"She won't reject me." The knowledge she was meant to be mine roared in my blood, but it was such a ridiculous feeling I decided to ignore it. She was probably playing games, and once I delved deeper, she'd be like all the rest. I was so sick of disappointment and emptiness beneath the surface. Not that I was any better. In fact, I was probably the worst culprit of all--an empty shell sucked dry of anything real for a long, long time.

"Care to make a bet?" Adam challenged.

"What type of bet?" I asked.

Rich drained his beer and looked triumphant. "Great idea. We bet you can't bed her within the week. We'll give you five days."

"Are we starring in some crap spring break movie?" The crudity of such a bet was disgusting and I waved my hand in the air, dismissing the idea. "I'm not into shit like that."

Rich cleared his throat. "Because you know you can't succeed?"

"Because it's a scummy thing to do. And none of your business."

"What if I put up something you've been wanting for a while?"

I turned my head. Rich seemed pretty confident I'd jump at the offer. I'd known him and Adam since high school. Our parents belonged to the same clubs in Florida and were all close friends. We'd grown up as trust fund babies, given pretty much free reign and anything we wanted. We sailed yachts together, travelled through Europe, and had been kicked out of too many schools. Seemed like a fucking great life until we got older and realized most of America didn't live that way. That there were things like real jobs and consequences and morality. My parents had none of that. They gave to charity because it made them look good, but turned their noses down at anyone who needed to scramble or get a bit dirty. When I hit about nineteen, I figured out they didn't like me much, and as long as I didn't embarrass their public image, they couldn't care less where I went or what I did. I did all the normal shit kids do to get attention--screwing up and trying to make their lives miserable because I couldn't please them. In return, they threatened to pull my money once in a while, and continued to freeze me out.

Once I reached drinking age, their attorney contacted me while they were travelling London. He had me sign on the dotted line, and all of my trust fund money was released, with a legal disclaimer that once it ran out, they weren't responsible for me. I got the big picture. I was on my own.

Of course, I'd always been on my own. I just hadn't realized it.

I jerked my attention back to my friend's proposal. "Trust me, Rich, I doubt you have anything I want that much."

He gave me a smug look. "How about Whit Bennigan?"

I cocked my head. I'd been heavy into art my whole life, but done nothing with it. I calmed my mind by going to museums, studying art history, and immersing myself in the visual world of professional artists. I had a room stocked with my paintings, but no one had seen them. No one really cared to. Whit Bennigan was one of the most famous painters in the south, and was making a name for himself to rival powerhouses. Using an edgy style with bold colors, he was a mix of old and new and was a master when it came to manipulating light. I'd read everything I could on the reclusive man.

"What about him?" I asked suspiciously.

"He's a close friend of my parents. He owes them a favor, and I could collect. What if I was able to score you a private lesson with him?"

I jerked back. "Are you fucking kidding me? One hour in the room with this guy could change my whole approach. There's no way you can bring that, Rich. You're full of shit."

"I'll bring it. You get Miss Snobby Pants into bed within five days, and I'll get you that lesson."

I turned and studied her. Back ramrod straight, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, looking at something I couldn't see out in the distance. I wanted her. Would've gone after her with or without a stupid bet, but at this point, what did I have to lose? I needed to have her, and a lesson with my mentor would be an added bonus. "What if I fail?"

The guys laughed. "We get your bike," they said in unison.

Ah, shit.

My motorcycle was Harley, custom made, and sweet as sugar. It had an engine that revved like a thing of beauty, was badass black and chrome, and had every extra gadget I could squeeze on there. It had taken more than a year for them to make it to my specs, and it was my pride and joy.

"She still worth it?" Adam asked.

Yeah. She was. This was a bet I couldn't lose.

"Are we on?"

I turned to Rich, who'd asked the question. Glanced at the girl. And nodded. "Yeah. We're on."

Without hesitation, I pushed myself away from the bar and headed toward her.

HIS VOICE was rich and deep, and made my stomach flip when I thought of all the things he could whisper to me. Naughty things. I felt my cheeks go pink. Damn that inner voice. Now I looked like some crazed idiot.

"Umm, sorry, I thought you were someone else."

He made a point to look at the empty space around me. "Who?"

I frowned. "Someone," I said stubbornly. "Did you need something?"

He laughed. His eyes were even more spectacular close up, an aquamarine so clear and blue I felt like I could dive in and get lost. His hair was curly, and the color of yummy bittersweet chocolate. The strands fell over his forehead in a messy sexiness that looked made up. Yeah, he was way too perfect. Even his cheekbones and jaw were sharp and definitive, giving him an older, commanding look. Way out of my league. I self-consciously tucked a long strand of my hair behind my ear.

"You're the real welcoming sort, aren't you? What's your name?"

I paused for a beat. Just enough to get my point across--I was in charge of this conversation. My body disagreed as a strange heat pumped through my veins and itched under my skin. "Quinn. Quinn Harmon."

"Hello, Quinn Harmon. I'm James Hunt. It's nice to meet you."

I gazed at him with suspicion from under my lashes. "You too."

"Are you always this open and cheerful on break? I haven't seen you around--do you go to school in Florida?"

"No, I'm with two of my girlfriends for the week. We're from Chicago."

"Ah, the Windy City. I've been there a few times. State University?"

"Yes."

The conversation was painful, but he seemed delighted by my one-word answers. I wondered what his game was. Those full lips quirked slightly upward as if my crankiness made him happy. No wonder I couldn't get laid. I was more comfortable having a conversation regarding misplaced false teeth and what foods had to be avoided because they cause gas. Maybe working in an elderly home in my spare time wasn't such a great idea. Of course, soon I'd move into rehabilitation and be around alcohol and drug addicts. Probably not much better.

"Am I boring you already?"

I blinked. Did my blush deepen? "Oh, sorry."

He waited for more but I stopped. Stared at him. Our gazes locked and a weird, tight tension pulled between us. I forced down my impuls

e to take a step closer to soak up his body heat. He didn't smell of beer or smoke, but the clean scent of pool water and soap. "Are you enjoying the party?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes."

"Did you bring your friends?"

"No, they kind of dumped me this afternoon at the Cove Suites, and this girl was handing out flyers, so I decided to check it out. Don't know who owns this place, though, do you?"

A wicked gleam sparked in those blue eyes. "Some rich kid probably."

"Must be nice," I muttered.

"The Cove Suites isn't cheap. It's one of the most exclusive hotels on the island."

"Oh, my friend Mackenzie treated us. I'm just a poor working student, but she insisted we stay there and get our own rooms. She's pretty generous."

"And your other friend?"