With a Twist by Deirdre Martin Page B

the doorway of this building if he wanted. She was dissolving in his arms, drowning in a whirlpool of need and desire and lust. He was, too. She could feel it in the urgency with which he pressed his body against hers, heat matching heat. Which was why it was such a jolt when he abruptly tore himself away.
    “I think we should call it a night,” he said gruffly. He appeared to be trying to regain his breath. Natalie nodded dumbly, trying not to stare at his mouth. She’d never noticed before now how sensual his lips were. And now that she knew the pleasure they could give, it was even harder not to want more.
    “I suppose you’ll go home now and roll around in your clothing to rumple it a bit,” Natalie ribbed. “Actually, I feel honored that you made an effort to dress up for me.”
    “It wasn’t for you. Didn’t you see the No Wrinkled Clothing sign posted in the window?”
    “Ah. I seem to have missed that.”
    “Distracted by my handsomeness.”
    “Oui.”
    “So, how would you like to go see the New York Philharmonic next week?” Quinn asked.
    Natalie’s breath caught. “Really? Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto?”
    Quinn rocked on his heels. “Yup.”
    Natalie clasped her hands together excitedly. “Oh, I would love to see that. He’s one of my favorite composers.”
    “Mine, too.”
    “What’s your favorite piece?”
    “The Second Piano Concerto, of course.”
    “I love Prelude opus twenty-three, number three.”
    “Another favorite of mine.”
    Natalie was intrigued. “You’re really full of surprises, aren’t you?”
    “I’m going to try not to take that as an insult.” He smoothed a stray lock of hair off her face. “We can talk about the concert at the Hart the next time I see you.”
    Natalie nodded. She felt somewhat cheated; the night had passed by so quickly. “I had a wonderful evening.”
    “See? I’m not such a crude jackass once you get to know me.”
    “At least not all the time.”
    He put his lips softly to hers. “See you in a few days, Nat.”
    She smiled shyly. God help her, she was starting to like him calling her that. It was like his own private nickname for her. She watched as he ducked into a cab, and then she went upstairs to her—Bernard’s—apartment, the memory of their kiss a small torture. Vivi had been right all along.
    Quinn directed the cabdriver to the Hart. If he went home, he’d be forced to admit just how much Natalie got under his skin: enough to make him lie about liking classical music and ask her out on a date to see a concert that might be sold out, for all he knew. When had he become so pathetic? Answer: the second he saw how easily Natalie was entranced by Mason Clement. He’d never gone out on a limb like this for any woman, and it scared the shit out of him.
    Entering the pub, he was shocked to see Mason Clement perched on his usual seat at the bar, talking to PJ Leary. Clement? On a Sunday? Maybe the drongo thought he might catch Natalie filling in for Megan. Quinn hated that Mason was now a regular, well-known enough to be on cozy chatting terms with the old-timers. Catching sight of Quinn, Mason raised his pint glass to him. Quinn ignored it.
    “Unusual to see you here on a Sunday night,” Quinn observed dryly after asking his eternally glaring brother to get him some Jameson. He didn’t have the energy to deal with two assholes tonight, so he just let it go.
    “Came over after work.”
    “Since when do you work seven days a week?”
    “Much like you, O’Brien, I’m always working. You should know that by now.”
    Yeah, working on turning the Sent into a rag . “So, what’s on tomorrow’s front page? A story about a secret army of dogs that keeps the secret army of cats in check?”
    Clement ignored the barb. “The actress Geraldine Carr has cancer. Rumor has it she only has weeks to live.”
    “That’s the fucking front page? Jesus Christ. Liam, make that a double, will ya?” he called to his brother. He