The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

It was the clearing of a throat that managed to interrupt the floating nothingness in my head.

Not enough to stop kissing him back, but enough to be aware we probably needed to move our activities to somewhere with a door. Maybe even a bed.

“I am going to need you to get your hands off of her,” a voice said.

I knew that voice.

I knew that voice as well as I knew my own voice.

Hearing it was an ice bath to my overheated system.

Because it didn’t belong here.

In this world.

In this new, secluded, private, blissful world I had come to know and love.

It belonged in my other world. One that was fulfilling, but painfully status quo.

Christopher seemed to regain his full composure just a second before I managed to do so, lips and hands releasing me, turning so fast I could barely catch the motion, every muscle in his body tensing at the unfamiliar voice as he used his body as a shield for mine.

If I wasn’t so completely and utterly shocked, I might have been able to appreciate just how sweet that was.

But all I could seem to think was: What the hell was Quin doing here?

“Quin?” My voice croaked out of me, making Christopher half turn, looking over his shoulder at me, brows pinched.

“Quin?” he asked.

“My boss,” I agreed, giving him a nod.

His body didn’t lose its tension. If anything, it got even more rigid as he moved to the side, allowing me to look across the room, finding Quin standing there in a slightly rumpled blue suit, eyes purple-smudged from lack of sleep.

“There the fuck you are,” he said, shoulders relaxing a bit.

The guilt was overwhelming, strong enough to damn near buckle my knees right there.

Because he looked tired and worried and rumpled because of me. Because he realized I was missing. Because he had no idea where I was, what could have befallen me. For as many friends as I had made in my life, I had racked up quite a few enemies as well, ones who would be happy to catch me, rip me away from my life.

And Quin, being the man he was, would have felt responsible for recovering me. He wouldn’t have been able to eat, to sleep, to think straight until he got a lead.

While I played house.

While I never once asked Christopher for the ability to call home and tell them that I was okay.

God, I was such an asshole.

“Quin…” I started, not sure what I could even say, what words there existed that could excuse letting them all worry themselves sick about me.

“You’re okay?” he asked, voice a little raw.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, taking a step forward, feeling Christopher’s hand snag me at the wrist, stopping me.

And Quin? He didn’t miss that.

His body stiffened, gaze moving over Christopher, appraising him.

If it came down to these two men, I had no idea who I would put my money on.

“What did I say about putting your hands on her?” Quin asked between gritted teeth.

“You are trespassing on my property, and you think you can tell me what to do?” Christopher asked, voice low, lethal.

“Okay, okay,” I said, breaking free from Christopher’s hold, moving into the center of the room, directly between both of them, arms raising like I could actually hold them off if they decided they wanted to go a few rounds. “I think there has been a misunderstanding.”

“There has been a fucking crime,” Quin corrected.

“I mean, we all know how Bellamy is,” I started, watching as his gaze cut to me.

“I’m not talking about fucking Bellamy, Miller,” he corrected, gaze moving back to Christopher.

“Alright, wait,” I tried again, wondering where the hell my trusted negotiation skills were hiding.

Probably somewhere getting nice and rusty, I decided, as no good ideas came to mind.

“Don’t try to tell me he hasn’t held you against your will,” Quin shot at me.

“Okay, well, maybe.”

“Maybe?” he asked, voice a hushed whisper. “Are you fucking with me? How is there any maybe about that?”

“Well, I mean, Bellamy drugged and kidnapped me. He brought me to Greece with Fenway…”

“Fucking Fenway,” Quin grumbled under his breath, making my lips curve up. Fucking Fenway. I’d heard that phrase more times than I cared to remember.

“Yeah, but those two sort of… ran off as soon as we were on the shore in Santorini. Where Christopher and I… had a discussion.”

“A discussion?” he prompted when I didn’t go on.

“I had a business proposition for Melody,” Christopher piped u[.

Quin visibly shocked back at the sound of my name, his gaze shooting to me.

He knew it.

Of course, he knew it.

He was my boss.

He knew all my details.

But he never used it.

And no one else ever did either.

I never offered it to anyone.

So, obviously, he was starting to put the pieces together.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to hear this story from Melody,” Quin said, gaze holding mine, daring me not to tell him the whole truth.