Hatched

Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Maturity Warning** Adult Content**17+**

July 1st, 2021

2200 hours

Quinn stared at the ceiling, his eyes adjusting to the dark room, waiting for his bed partner to fall asleep.

It was his job to know his suspects, and, at times, to know them, intimately. Unfortunately, his job required him to perform less than admirable acts at times in order to acquire information. It was something he was used to; he even prided himself on it. Technically, his art, if you could call it that, was frowned upon by the bureau. However, he had excelled at the art of seduction and as such, the Deputy Director turned a perfunctory eye when it came to Quinn. His results were always sound: thus far his prowess had not failed to provide exceptional results.

This truth plagued him as he laid still, eyes glued to the spider-web spackle on the high vaulted ceiling, the drone of the rotating fan resonating through his disturbed thoughts.

Even if the sex hadn't been good, which, admittedly, it had, he wouldn't have been able to sleep. He had a mission to accomplish. Now, though, Quinn found it staggeringly difficult to concentrate on the subject at hand.

Quinn tipped his head up from the pillow, taking in the pale beauty spread out next to him. Raven hair flowed around her naked shoulders, her milky skin gleaming in the moonlight, the sheet draped around her full curves. He noticed the steady rise and fall of her chest and shifted cautiously away from her still form, perceiving that it was safe to move.

Lynne Ellis was a well rounded beauty: she'd done things to him he'd never experienced in bed, and he had experienced a lot. But, as her sexy hips had rolled pleasurably against his, bodies rocking against the dresser, sweat rolling down his back, his mind was preoccupied.

He hadn't gone to bed with Lynne that night: at least, his mind portrayed the encounter in an entirely different manner. The full figure had been replaced with a thin, athletic, lithe body. Long, tanned legs wrapped around his waist instead of the solid white ones. Slim arms draped over his neck, blonde hair tickling his shoulders in lieu of the dark, curly mane as he thrust ravenously. The dark eyes staring back into his as he climaxed had even taken on a blue hue, the face thinning, the cheekbones becoming sharper, her lips fuller and pinker. The heavy, veined breasts melted away into small, pert ones, the dark nipples hardening as he brushed his rough, pale hands against their perky edges.

Physically, Quinn Jones had fucked Lynne Ellis. Mentally, he had made love to Robyn Bourke.

The later stuck in his mind and his thoughts drifted to those hours previous, specifically the moment involving the look of complete disgust and hatred on her face. He didn't blame her: in retrospect, it was a rather rash motion for him to kiss her like that. She was hopeful, for a brief moment, and he saw it in her eyes. Perhaps that's what undid him: he hadn't meant for that kiss to become so involved. The look on her face as he ravished her expectant lips, the quiver he felt run through her skin where he'd caressed it, the unexpected arousal he felt as she responded to his embrace; that was unprecedented. Quinn never became involved with anybody near or extraneous to an investigation, at least, not emotionally. Sure, he had sex with willing females, to get information from them, but never had he felt such emotional connection to a woman.

Not since his wife died, leaving him a mourning widower. He imagined that perhaps it was this commonality with Robyn that endeared her to him: but then, from the moment her swirling blue eyes had blazed a fiery green with anger at his intrusion into her lab, he'd been entranced. Her hair had been snaking out of her bun that day; the Audrey Hepburn style she'd achieved was becoming disheveled, tendrils of hair escaping around her ears and at the nape of her neck, because of his mere presence. He liked that he had that effect on her, and in that brief moment, with her wayward hair shinning like a halo around her beautifully angry features, he was sprung. She wasn't perfect; Robyn had a fragile temper, raging mood swings, and the infuriating ability to make him feel completely incompetent. He didn't let on that she had that effect on him, but he'd felt so mediocre in that cold exam room, fighting to keep his wits enough to compete with the equally intelligent female before him. He'd managed it, and left her seething, but he had felt a stirring of devilish longing in his loins even then. When her sharp, dissecting eyes met his, he knew his goose was well and truly cooked.