Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) Read online

  Mile High Weekend

  (Opposites Attract, Book 1)

  By Melinda Di Lorenzo

  Copyright 2015, Melinda Di Lorenzo

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Image courtesy of Viorel Sima | Dreamstime.com

  Congratulations! You purchased Mile High Weekend during its debut week! For a chance to win a $50 amazon GC, check out the link at the end of the book. (Valid until July 12th, 2015.)

  Other books by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  Snapshots By Laura

  Long Way From Home

  Tattoos and Tangles

  Bad Reputation

  Pinups and Possibilities

  Deceptions and Desires

  Trusting A Stranger

  MILE HIGH WEEKEND

  Friday

  One

  Ginnie Silver sat at the airport bar, staring forlornly into her half full gin and tonic.

  “Half empty,” she muttered at the drink, annoyed that her positive brain managed to somehow override the irrefutable negativity of her situation.

  Because there sure as hell wasn’t anything good about being glued to a stool inside the first class lounge when you were actually supposed to be glued to your hot-doctor-husband on your way to Vegas for a what-happens-there, stays-there long weekend.

  Ginnie twirled the swizzle stick in her drink, stabbing at the lemon slice, wondering how the hell she’d let her best friend – who was also her adoptive brother – talk her into taking the trip anyway. The seat beside her was notably empty, just as the seat on the plane would be. The hotel reservation included a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  I can’t do this.

  Ginnie lifted her drink to her lips, determined to finish it and be on her way. But the second she slammed the empty glass down on the counter, her phone lit up with the embarrassingly loud, embarrassingly techno-fied version of the theme song from some now defunct hospital-themed TV drama.

  Lawrence’s ringtone.

  Given how bad he left things – how bad he left her – Ginnie would like to have let it just go to voicemail. Should have let, in fact. Except she couldn’t, and not just because ten pairs of fellow airport bar-hopping eyes were already turned her way in response to the noise. She had dedicated all four of her college years to Lawrence. Held his hand when his first patient died on the operating table. Let him teach her everything she knew about what it meant to be a woman. She’d waited for him – the perfect man – her whole life. So no matter how much she currently loathed him, she couldn’t shake the faint, vain hope that he was calling to tell her it was all a big misunderstanding. That the humiliation hadn’t been real.

  Weak.

  Ginnie slid the phone on, wondering if she should be more concerned about love than embarrassment, and issued her greeting with what she wished wasn’t quite so much quiet desperation. “Lawrence.”

  The responding groan on the other end didn’t belong to her ex at all. “Jesus, G-dog. Could you sound more pathetic?”

  Ginnie’s face screwed up, midway between tears and fury. “You are the worst brother in the world, Jase.”

  “I’m just a fake brother. And the worst? That’s debatable. There has to be someone out there who’s worse.”

  Ginnie rolled her eyes. But she was also smiling, which was probably Jase’s goal. He had been friend and confidant since, at twelve years old, the two of them were taken in by – and later adopted by – the Silver family.

  “What do you want, Jase? I mean, besides to torment me.”

  “I want to know why you didn’t delete the douchebag’s ringtone the second he stomped on your heart.”

  Ginnie gritted her teeth. “It was on my to-do list. Right after telling mom where you keep your dirty magazines.”

  “Haha.”

  “Why do you have Lawrence’s phone, anyway?”

  Her brother sighed. “I don’t, Ginnie. I just reprogrammed all your ringtones so mine would come up as the stupid song.”

  “What? Why?”

  “To prove a point.”

  “That it’s easy to become a spectacle in an airport bar?”

  “No. That you need to get to Vegas and get that asshole out of your system for good.”

  “Jase…”

  He sighed again, louder and even more emphatically. “Did you even look when the phone rang? Or did you just grab it, hoping it was him, thinking that just maybe he was going to give you one more chance to prove you weren’t like a…what did he call you? Right. Like a repeat virgin in bed, with a hymen that magically regrew each night.”

  Jase’s words stung, and Ginnie wished – not for the first time – that she hadn’t got drunk and revealed every detail of her and Lawrence’s breakup to him.

  Their closeness, with none of the boundaries of flesh-and-blood siblings, was the epitome of what it meant for something to be both a blessing and a curse. She shared everything with him, even when she didn’t want to.

  “Do you know how gross it is to hear you say the word hymen?” Ginnie asked.

  “Do you know how gross it is to know that you had one?” her brother countered.

  The bartender set down another gin and tonic and walked away before Ginnie could even manage a headshake. She’d had enough. More than enough, probably. She wasn’t really much of a drinker. Not before meeting Lawrence, or during the time she was married to him. Though she was making a damned good show of making up for it now.

  “Let me ask you something, Ginnie,” Jase said.

  “Hang on.” She grabbed the second, unwanted drink, and gulped half of it down, then spoke again. “Okay. Go.”

  “What were you about to do, right before I called? And don’t lie. I’ll know.”

  Ginnie wished her brother’s statement wasn’t true, but she knew it was, and there wasn’t much point in being dishonest anyway.

  “I was about to leave the airport.”

  “Which is exactly what you promised you wouldn’t do.”

  “Which is exactly what you knew I would do.”

  “Ginnie…”

  “Ja-ay-se,” she said back mockingly.

  “Do something for me,” he replied.

  “Do what?” Ginnie knew the suspicion in her voice was well-warranted.

  More often than not, every time Jase asked her to “do something” for him, it involved illegal activity. Or covering up illegal activity. After this many years, Ginnie knew she just had to brace herself and hope it was something that wouldn’t get her arrested.

  But what came out of his mouth was much, much worse.

  “I want you to look around the bar and find a guy to sleep with.”

  Ginnie’s face went red, and she buried it in her drink, sure that someone must’ve heard the inappropriate suggestion.

  “Ginnie?”

  “Dammit, Jase.”

  “I didn’t mean that literally.”

  “Somehow, that doesn’t help.”

  Her brother chuckled. “I want you to look at all the men in the bar, and pick one who you wouldn’t hate to jump.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Lawrence made you think of yourself as an asexual being. I want you to f
eel like you can get some action.”

  Ginnie gulped down her gin and tonic, then lied, “I’ve had plenty of action.”

  “You can’t do it, can you?”

  “Of course I can!”

  “You can look around the bar and completely objectify each and every man in there? You can reduce him to the sum his physical parts and imagine him naked?”

  “I can. I just won’t.”

  But it was too late. Jase had planted the seed in her head, and now Ginnie’s alcohol-infused gaze was roaming the room, resting briefly on each man seated throughout the bar, taking stock.

  Ten years too old.

  The right age, but dressed ten years too old.

  Too intellectual.

  Too pretty.

  And then.

  Uh oh.

  Ginnie’s eyes landed on him just as he swung open the frosted-glass door. And she couldn’t look away.

  He was tall enough to attract notice in any crowd, and his shoulders were wider than a linebacker’s. Even if those two physical attributes hadn’t made him stand out, the rest of him was equally attention-grabbing. Especially inside the otherwise conservative bar.

  Him, she thought. That’s a guy I wouldn’t mind jumping.

  His jeans were faded and well-worn, and not in an artful way. They hugged his thighs, but rode loose across his hips, and when he lifted a hand to stop the door from swinging back, Ginnie caught a breathtaking glimpse of his perfectly sculpted abs and the sexy ‘V’ that dipped under his belt.

  As his off-white, short-sleeved dress shirt slid back down, Ginnie dragged her eyes up to his chest. Its breadth was as impressive as the rest of him, and through the shirt, she could make out the taut lines of his pectoral muscles. He’d left the top two buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a tattoo that crept from his collarbone to his throat then wrapped around to a spot right between his hairline and his earlobe.

  Unconsciously, Ginnie leaned forward, trying to get a better view of the ink. Was it something tribal? Something Celtic? Or maybe a completely unique piece of art. He looked like the kind of guy who’d have something specially designed.

  And his lips. They were full and even, just a tad less ruddy than his strong jaw, and a glittering ring looped through on the left side of the bottom one. When he flicked out his tongue to tap the piercing in an absent, habitual way, Ginnie’s mouth watered. She could practically feel the cool metal against her own mouth.

  Dear god.

  She was so engrossed in her own perusal of the man’s finer assets that she almost didn’t notice his gaze had found her as well.

  Busted.

  Embarrassed, Ginnie cast her eyes down into her drink. But she was too flustered to make a full recovery, and as she tried to keep her senses in order, she fumbled with her phone, dropping it to the bar-top counter with a clatter. She looked back up, hoping desperately that he hadn’t seen her clumsy mistake. No such luck.

  From where she sat, she could see the deep caramel color of his irises. Framed by dark, make-a-supermodel-jealous lashes, they rested on her for a long moment, making her heart beat at triple time and sending her imagination into overdrive.

  Boxers or briefs? Or better yet…Commando? How far down did that tattoo go? Did he have more?

  And then he looked away, glanced down at his phone, and moved across the bar.

  Ginnie’s whole body sagged as she exhaled a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding.

  What the hell are you thinking? she asked herself. That guy is nothing like what you need. Bones jumping or otherwise.

  He wasn’t even the kind of guy she’d normally bother checking out. Too broke-the-mold-and-I’m-proud-of-it. Too rebellious.

  Too dirty-hot.

  Abruptly, she became aware that her brother’s irritated voice was still carrying through the line.

  “Hey!” he was yelling. “You there, or what?”

  Ginnie snatched the phone back up and pressed it into her ear. “Yeah, Jase. Just taking your advice.”

  “You mentally undressed a guy?”

  He sounded like he didn’t believe her, and Ginnie narrowed her eyes.

  “I didn’t just mentally undress him,” she retorted, determined to shock him. “I stripped him down, spanked him, and put my lips on his – ”

  Jase let out a strangled cry. “Stop!”

  Ginnie grinned, pleased with herself. “Your idea.”

  “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” her brother accused.

  “For the love of God! You’re the one who told me to let loose – ”

  He cut her off again, this time gleefully. “Aha!”

  “What?”

  “You can take orders,” Jase stated. “So hang up the phone, stick it in whatever drink you’re not finishing right this second, get on the goddamned plane, and pretend you’re anyone other than Ginnie Silver, former wife of Dr. Lawrence Michaels. Or so help me, I will find every nude, childhood photo of you Mom kept, and I will post it to my one thousand, two hundred and eight social media contacts.”

  Then there was silence on the other end, and Ginnie knew she’d been schooled.

  Stupid brother.

  With a scowl she wanted to think was as rebellious as Mr. Lip Ring himself, but knew probably couldn’t pass for more than cute, Ginnie downed what was left of her beverage, then signalled the bartender for another.

  Two

  Quinn cursed his own stupidity and kept his eyes on his too-frothy beer.

  It was her. He knew it, even though the blurry picture Jase had shown him didn’t do those green eyes of hers any justice at all.

  Button-up blouse. Check.

  Severe skirt, each calf-length pleat pressed to a perfect fold. Check.

  Polish-free hands, closing on a third – at least from what Quinn had seen – drink. Check.

  “She’s not supposed to be here,” he snarled, just loud enough that a man two tables over jumped.

  Quinn shot him a toothy grin, and the guy quickly looked back at the cellphone in his lap.

  Yeah, sucker. Go back to your Internet porn, Quinn thought snidely, then sighed.

  The job was supposed to be easy – find Ginnie, keep a distance, keep her safe.

  He was tempted to hurl most of the blame at Jase’s feet. From everything his friend had told him, he’d assumed a bar was the last place he’d find Ginnie Silver.

  Sweet. But painfully straight-laced.

  Those were the exact words Jase used to describe his adopted sister. Yeah, she had that look. No makeup, no pretension.

  When she looked at him, though, Quinn was damned sure that ponytail was just begging to be set free, that those soft, pink lips were just begging to be kissed. A nice, clean woman who needed to be messed up. Badly.

  The way she’d examined him, bottom to top…It hadn’t had any of the detachment he would’ve expected. It wasn’t even as though she was just undressing him with her eyes.

  No.

  It was more like he was a glass of water, and she hadn’t had a drink in a week.

  By the end of her slow, almost ravenous surveillance of his body, Quinn’s mouth had gone dry and his pants were a little too fucking tight. When her eyes hit his, he’d had the sudden feeling that if he grabbed her right then and there, and tossed her across the bar and hiked up that pleated skirt, she would’ve welcomed it.

  All that, and she hadn’t even spoken a word.

  Christ. Why the hell did I take this job?

  The simple answer was that Quinn was bored. Retirement at twenty-nine was surprisingly uneventful. He had a lot of time on his hands, and while hard partying didn’t interest him much, neither did lawn bowling or backgammon. A little bodyguard work on the side seemed like a good distraction. The fact that he was guarding Ginnie’s body secretly…That was just a bonus. Quinn liked working undercover. It’s what he was used to. What he’d been good at.

  So the complicated answer to why he’d taken the job was…Well. Complicated.
r />   When Jase – one of the few people who knew the ins and outs of the double life Quinn had been leading for the last ten years – had first approached him about keeping an eye on Ginnie, Quinn’s instinct was to say no. The last thing he needed was to get straight back into the game. Any game, however innocuous. As Jase talked about her, though, something gave Quinn pause.

  His two-bit criminal of a friend actually cared about the girl. Yeah, she was legally his sister, and yeah, the guy seemed to think of her as flesh-and-blood, but there was more to it than that. It was like Ginnie gave Jase a softer, kinder side.

  Quinn was envious as hell. Which surprised him. He’d never wanted a damned thing to do with being soft. It didn’t matter if it was family, or relationships, or work. Soft equalled weak.

  Quinn’s last girlfriend moonlighted as a call girl, and it hadn’t bothered him in the least. Not in the whole six years they were together. When he’d walked away from the Black Daggers and lost her along with them, he’d barely blinked.

  His job – his life – was about deception, riding that line between what had to be done and what was the right thing to do, and they were rarely the same.

  As far as family was concerned, Quinn had none to speak of. Nothing about him was soft. But suddenly he wondered if there were parts of him that could be.

  So whether he chose the simple reason or the complex one, it didn’t matter. Both landed him here in this bar, watching as the girl slammed down another drink, looking mad and sweet at the same time.

  Quinn’s phone chimed, and he yanked it from his pocket and found a message from Jase.

  We still on?

  Quinn’s finger moved slowly across the touch screen, cursing the need for this particular medium of communication. He hated the damn thing. Hated texting and talking and doing things virtually in general. There was something to be said for face-to-face, and his calloused hands were made for tasks far less delicate than this one. He took so long to type his reply that another message came through from Jase before he even finished.