He buried his face in her hair with a sigh, and it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps he’d wanted this as well, that maybe it comforted him too. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her ear. This man had always symbolized strength and protection to her, and she wondered what she represented to him.
The moments stretched on, and neither of them spoke. They just leaned into each other in a warm cocoon where the outside world couldn’t touch them. She found herself wishing it could last forever.
Then, suddenly, he lurched away, a look of horror on his face. “I’m sorry, milady. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m dead on my feet, I’m afraid. Not thinking clearly.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she hastened to reassure him. “I needed it too.”
They stood there, locked in their embarrassment until he cleared his throat. “Well, I’m afraid I have to get back to work. Do you mind if I tell your brother you’re all right?”
She nodded, knowing the moment had passed and having a sinking sensation she might never catch him so off guard again. “That’s fine. I didn’t mean to worry him. I just think it’s time for me to find a place of my own. I don’t want to be under his thumb forever.”
“He loves you,” Quinn told her. “You’re lucky to have someone who cares about you in such a way.”
She swallowed thickly, knowing he was right, and remembering that Heather had said nearly the same exact thing. Not everyone had grown up the way she had, and despite Roger and her mother, she’d had plenty of people who cared about her and kept her safe. She wondered suddenly what kind of childhood Quinn had had.
“Tell him I’ll be in touch shortly.” She started to turn to go, but something on his desk caught her gaze. A photograph...
For a moment, she wasn’t quite certain what she was looking at, but then the figure took shape in front of her. Bare skin. A naked woman. The word whore scrawled across it in red ink.
Polly.
“What is this?” Before he could stop her, she leaned forward and grabbed it, looking at it with a strange mix of horror and fascination. “Why do you have this?”
Quinn took it from her hand with a groan. “That wasn’t meant for you to see.”
“Obviously... but... where did you get it?” Embarrassed heat flushed her cheeks, and her heart raced uncomfortably. She’d never known such things existed.
“It was in Polly’s room,” he said with a sigh. “But you can’t tell anyone about it. It’s one of the few leads we have to work with, and I’d hate for the press to get wind of it.”
“Did she... did she know that someone was taking it? Did they force her?” she asked, trying to piece it together in her head. Why would someone do that? Let someone else take a picture of them naked?
“Oh, I don’t think anyone forced her.” The inspector briefly flipped the photo around, blocking Polly’s naked body with his hand but leaving her face exposed. Her coy smile seemed to show her willingness, and her eyes sparkled even through the sepia tones.
“But... why?” She wasn’t even certain what she was asking.
“Polly probably made more posing for this photo than she did working a month in that factory,” he said with a sigh. “And I don’t think I care to explain to you why such things are made in the first place.”
Her cheeks burned even brighter. “Please, Quinn. You’re the only person who has ever been straight with me in my whole life. I’m not a child.”
There. Now they’d both used each other’s first names.
He leaned back against his desk, gazing down at her with a pensive look for a long moment. She could tell her words had gotten to him, that he was considering it.
“It’s a bloody shame to take a woman like you and keep her in the dark about everything of a sexual nature, then sell her into marriage and expect her to know how to be a wife and lover,” he said, at last, a peculiar look on his handsome face.
She laughed nervously. “Well, I have no intention of ever marrying. But should that stop me from knowing even the basics about what happens between a man and woman in the bedroom?”
He frowned and tapped the back of the photo with his thumb. “This has little to do with what happens in a marriage bed.”
“Then what does it have to do with?” she asked breathlessly.
He scrubbed a hand over his beard-stubbled face, looking exhausted and embarrassed and wholly reluctant to be having this conversation. “Are you aware that men sometimes... pleasure themselves?”
No. I most certainly am not. She swallowed thickly, the words making something take flight in the pit of her stomach. “Go on,” she whispered.
“Well, men are visual creatures. A picture of a beautiful woman, unclothed, can arouse us greatly.” His voice sounded a bit strangled, and he couldn’t meet her gaze.
“So, these pictures are sold to men... and they use them to....” She trailed off, still uncertain of what it was exactly that a man did to pleasure himself. Her eyes widened. “Do you do such things, Quinn?”