“Quinn?”
“Sorry. You were saying?”
DB’s grin wasn’t pleasant. “Apparently my contact isn’t too fond of Vincent.”
I laughed shortly. “Is anyone?” I wasn’t about to let DB see how much this disturbed me. “Why did he establish contact?”
He shrugged. “My best guess is he wants Vincent’s ass, and he’s willing to go to bed with us to—are you all right, Quinn?”
God knows what I must have looked like. The sudden image of Mark Vincent, naked and in bed, his cock hard and glistening while my cock was buried balls-deep in his ass, had lodged itself in my mind, abruptly and for no apparent reason. Why? He was a good-enough-looking man, with light brown hair and hazel eyes, but the operative word was “man.” I hadn’t taken a man to my bed in more years than I wanted to consider.
I licked my lips and shook myself out of my reverie. “A top WBIS agent is compiling a file on me, DB. Of course I’m concerned. Is this source reliable?”