Page 20 of Frequency of Attraction

Quinn cleared her throat. “What’s our plan? How often should we do this?”

He shrugged. His most frequent bodily movement, she’d noted. “Three times a week? You’ll need some recovery days.”

She pressed her lips together. She certainly would, judging by the size of him. Lurid thoughts had been hurtling through her head since Vadim had teased her most intimate area, him pounding into her from behind being most prevalent. The forceful yet gentle way he’d caressed her ass had planted that tantalizing fantasy.

“I’ll tell Tate I joined a darts league at The Saloon.”

She wiggled her fingers in a goodbye and turned to go. Again.

“Quinn.”

Her name, formed with hard Russian edges, echoed in her blood. She looked over her shoulder at the man whose everything affected her.

“Tonight, I’m going to be thinking about your mouth on my cock.”

Her heart crashed in her chest as his fingers brushed himself.

“And next time you’re in my flat, you’ll be naked.”

Oh, Vadim was trouble. And she wanted the punishment.

Quinn was roused out of bed Saturday morning by a light knock on her door.

She struggled to drag a groggy “What?” from her throat.

“Get up, gorgeous. Today is the day you’re going into construction.”

Maddox Case. Her brother’s friend from Washington, who’d been staying with them for the past several days, had also been flirting with her shamelessly since he’d arrived. The man with the dimpled grin and jewel-bright eyes was easy to like, despite the flirting. They all were. Malone, his older brother by one year, was more serious and inquisitive. Even Maisie, their younger sister, was likable, though having another woman around who wasn’t Rosie felt wrong. Tate so badly wanted to surprise Rosie with this building project: a tiny house that she’d designed for the homeless. He’d taken her idea without telling her and ran with it. Sweet as that gesture was, Quinn wasn’t a fan of secrets. She knew Rosie wasn’t, either.

“Fine. Give me two hours.”

“Tate says you’ve got twenty minutes. Your tea is outside the door.”

She dragged herself out of bed, grumbling in French. She snatched her tea from the now-empty hallway, took a quick shower, threw her hair in a bun, and joined the crew out in the back of their property where all the building supplies had been delivered. Only Tate looked excited.

He divided them into work groups. Quinn got put with Maddox, assigned to nailing shingles on the roof. He sauntered over, nail guns in hand. “Let’s get to work, short stuff.”

She liked that nickname even less thanpetite poule, Hadrian’s annoying moniker for her. What Quinn really liked was her given name spoken by Vadim’s talented mouth.

Quinn lost herself in thoughts of the blue-eyed pilot, of what they’d done and had yet to do, as they worked. Vadim acted differently at home. Less cocky. More real. So did she, apparently. She’d swallowed his cock like some kind of temptress. How weird would it be to see him at work on Monday? The draw to Vadim felt like magnetism, of the earth and out of it, not something that could be controlled. She wondered if her first orgasm would cure her of his pull or only make her want him more.

She thought about his daughter, too, and the string of texts that had hurt her heart. How could that woman just ignore the father of her child when he so clearly wanted to be involved?

She sighed. This arrangement of theirs felt complicated after only day one.

“What’s up, beautiful?”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Are you like this with everyone?”

His genial grin slipped and she immediately felt like a jerk.

“Yes,” he admitted.

Quinn dropped the roof shingle. Gladly. Crouching in the dirt, working with rough materials and a loud nail gun, was not her idea of a good time. “Does it usually work? All the flirting?” She already knew she was an anomaly when it came to sexual attraction.

“I can keep a woman’s attention when I want to.”

She raised an eyebrow. “When would you not want to?”

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