Broken, p.8
Broken, page 8
Bracing his hips against the railing, he shrugged. “Sorry.” He’d learned early on how to be quiet. When his mother had been sleeping off a drunk, the last thing he wanted to do was make too much noise and wake her up.
“How’s your wrist?” he asked, forcing the question out before it lodged in his throat.
“It’s fine,” she told him. She lifted her hand and waggled her fingers at him. She pursed her lips and studied him with narrowed eyes. “Are you done kicking yourself over it yet?”
No. But he didn’t say that. He just shrugged.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ ” Sara brushed her bangs from her face and leaned her head back, focusing her attention once more on the sky. “Somehow I get the feeling you spend a lot of time kicking yourself over things.”
He stiffened and had to will himself to relax as her brown eyes cut back to his. Studying. Weighing. Measuring. Quinn had done it to others often enough to know when somebody was evaluating him and trying to pick apart the pieces that made him who he was.
He didn’t much like it. Shoving off the railing, he crossed the deck and settled down next to her, sprawling his legs out in front of him.
“I’m not much for armchair psychologists,” he drawled. “If I spend a lot of time kicking myself, that’s my business. Same way it’s your business if you want to make yourself go for a two-mile run every day, even though you hate it.”
A smile flirted with the corners of her mouth and she cocked a brow. “Point made.”
They lapsed into silence and Quinn leaned his head against the railing, staring up at the sky. The stars were barely visible. It had been a while since he’d spent much time back on his dad’s ranch in Wyoming, but there, the stars were bright, diamond-bright against the velvet darkness of the sky.
“Can’t see much of the stars here,” he murmured.
“You can never see the stars very well in a city.” She sighed, and there it was again, that quiet sadness.
“I used to live in Wyoming. You could see stars there.”
“I’ve never been there.” Then she pushed up off the bench and paced away from him, tucking her hands into her back pockets. “But I’m not really into stargazing. Just trying to relax a little before I go to bed.”
He echoed her movements, rising off the bench.
She turned to face him, her eyes unreadable.
“I’m not really into stargazing, either. I came out here because I knew you’d be here.”
The only reaction was a faint flicker of her lashes. She didn’t smile. She didn’t blush. She didn’t look away. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Other than to see you?” He closed the distance between them, stopping when he was close enough that he could see the faint flutter of the pulse in her neck, beating wildly against her skin.
“No.”
“See me?” Sara cocked a brow at him. “Didn’t you tell me a few days ago I’d be better off keeping my distance from you?”
“Yeah, I told you that.”
“Hard to do if you come looking for me.”
Quinn shrugged. “I don’t see you walking away.”
“I was here first,” she said pointedly.
“So does that mean you want me to leave?”
She scowled at him, her brows drawing together over her eyes, her mouth flattening into a thin line. “I didn’t say that. You’re the one who told me I should stay away, but here you are making small talk about stars and Wyoming.”
“You don’t like small talk?”
She shrugged restlessly. “Seems like a waste of time.”
“Yeah. It does. So maybe I should stop wasting it.” Then he kissed her.
Caught off guard, Sara gasped as his mouth covered hers. Moaned low in her throat as he cupped the back of her neck. Shivered as he rested his other hand on her hip.
His tongue stroked over her lower lip, then pushed inside. A groan rumbled out of his chest and the hand on her hip tightened. Through the thin cotton of her pants, she could feel the heat of his hand, the strength. Leaning into his body, she rose on her toes.
Damn. The feel of all the soft, sweet curves pressed against his body was a sensation so pleasurable, so damned erotic, he almost hurt from it. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice demanded, What in the hell are you doing?
He was doing exactly what he’d wanted to do from the first time he’d laid eyes on her. Kissing her. Feeling that soft, sleek body against his. All those amazing curves lay just inches away and it took everything he had not to let his hands stroke all over her. Everything he had to keep from stripping away her pants, her panties, unzipping his jeans, and then lifting her up, fucking her right there, right on the porch where anybody could see.
She moaned into his mouth and the sound of it, soft and hungry female, went straight to his head. His heartbeat kicked up a few notches. More . . . damn it, give me more . . . He slid his hand into her hair and fisted it in the soft, silken strands. Tugging her head back, he kissed her deeper, harder, driving his tongue into her mouth the same way he wanted to drive his aching dick into her body.
In his arms, Sara shivered. She caught his tongue between her teeth and bit him lightly, then sucked on him.
Mindless, he slid his other hand under her shirt. He caught the full, soft weight of her breast in his hand. Through the thin, silky material of her bra, he circled his thumb around her nipple. She arched into his hand, whimpering in her throat.
Tearing his mouth away from hers, he grabbed the hem of her shirt and shoved it upward, baring her breasts. They strained against the silk and lace of her bra, rising and falling rapidly as she gasped for air. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her. Sara cried out, braced her hands on his shoulders. Her knees came up, hugging his hips.
They both groaned as that action had the ridge of his cock nestling snug against the wet heat gathering between her thighs. He dipped his head and buried his face between the full mounds of her breasts, breathing in the soft, sweet scent of her body. “Fuck, Sara . . .”
He’d wanted to do this from the first time he’d laid eyes on her and damn it, he was tired of not taking what he wanted . . .
“Ahem.” Somehow, that soft, gentle sound managed to convey a world of amusement.
They both froze. Sara jerked her head up, staring over his shoulder. The porch light was bright enough that he could see her blush. Hell, was it a pretty sight, too. It started at the mounds of her breasts, the blush climbing higher and higher until her cheeks were pink with it. She wiggled around and caught her shirt, lowered it over her breasts. Still, her voice was pretty level as she said, “Hi, Theresa.”
He lowered her to the ground, gritting his teeth as her body rubbed against his, a teasing, erotic sensation. Inside the tight confines of his jeans, his cock ached, throbbed. As Sara’s feet touched the ground, she backed away and Quinn had to fight to keep from reaching for her again.
Behind them, Theresa murmured, “Hi, yourself. Lovely night out, isn’t it?”
Her mild tone didn’t do a damn thing to hide her amusement.
Sara was still blushing, her ivory cheeks gone pink. Her eyes darted his way and then she smiled back at Theresa. “Very nice night. A little hot, though.”
Hot. Yeah, hot seems to be the right word. Amused, not entirely sure why, he grinned down at Sara and then glanced at Theresa over his shoulder. “I don’t much mind the heat.”
“No, I bet you don’t.” Theresa lifted a brow at him and then gave an utterly fake, utterly unconvincing yawn. “You know, I’d planned on sitting on the deck awhile, but all of a sudden, I’m exhausted.”
She disappeared without another word.
Left alone with Sara once more, he studied her face.
She dragged her tongue across her lips and Quinn could have gone to his knees. She started to talk and he had to focus just to understand her words.
“I think I’m going to head on inside.”
“Why?” he asked. He slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, watching her.
“Because it’s hot,” she said lamely.
Quinn shrugged. “Wasn’t bothering you that much a few minutes ago.”
“Maybe the heat got to me.” Her gaze dropped to his lips, lingered for a moment, and then she took a deep breath. “I’m thinking a little more clearly now. I really don’t need anything complicating my life.”
“Complications are a pain in the ass.” Something twisted inside him. He didn’t fully comprehend it. Frustration. Need. Longing . . . loneliness. Smiling bitterly, he said, “You’re a smart lady for recognizing that.”
He circled around her, careful not to let their bodies touch. Fuck, he hurt, and it wasn’t just his damned dick, either.
“Quinn,” she called out from behind him, her voice soft and husky.
He stopped at the steps but didn’t turn around to look at her.
“Look, it’s not you—”
Now he did turn. With a bark of laughter, he turned and looked at her. Hooking his thumbs in his pockets, he said, “Please spare me that trite bullshit. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s not like we’ve got any kind of relationship going and you’re trying to give me a nice brush-off. You don’t want anything to do with me. I get it. Just leave it at that.”
“It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with you,” she snapped, glaring at him. She shoved her hair back from her face and then folded her arms across her chest. “My life is enough of a mess as it is—I don’t need to make it worse by getting involved with somebody. It’s a complication I can’t handle right now.”
“Can’t? Or don’t want to?” Even as he asked, he wondered why he was doing it. She’d made herself clear—he just needed to walk away. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not without understanding why.
A sad smile curled her lips. “Oh, I want to. Like you wouldn’t believe. But I can’t afford it.” She didn’t say anything else, just stared at him for a long moment, the air between them hot, heavy, and tense. Then, wordlessly, she slipped inside the house and shut the door behind her.
SIX
“I can’t run away. If I run away, he’s going to hunt me down and find me. He’ll kill me then.”
“And if you stay, he’ll kill you anyway.”
Staying hadn’t been an option.
Running was proving to be a lousy one.
“You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“He wants you dead.”
Sara sat at the small table, hunched over a cup of the strongest coffee she could manage. She hadn’t slept worth shit the night before. It wasn’t unusual for dreams to disturb her sleep, but last night, the dreams had been intense.
Jumping back and forth between dreams of the hot and sweaty variety, featuring none other than the very kissable Quinn Rafferty, to the same nightmares that had plagued her for more than two years.
Troubled, she studied the fading bruise on her wrist. It was still a little sore, and it had that mottled blue and purple rainbow thing going on. Staring at it, she knew she shouldn’t find it so hard to make herself stay away from Quinn.
Sexy brooders . . . they were dangerous. She knew that, and Quinn was redefining sexy brooder.
She barely knew him, yet she found herself dreaming about him. Thinking about him. Wondering what it was that had caused the pain and sadness she so often saw inside him.
He was good-looking, but she’d known plenty of good-looking men. They had spoken a few times and none of the conversations had lasted more than a few minutes.
So why couldn’t she get him out of her mind?
Those erotic, hot dreams from the previous night shouldn’t have her so unsettled.
He shouldn’t have her so unsettled.
“Can’t? Or don’t want to?” Quinn had asked.
Man, if that guy had any idea just how much she’d love to have the complication of him in her life . . . Even if it was just a quick, torrid affair. Hell, a fricking one-night stand, even. She’d been living without the things she wanted, the things she needed for so long, she yearned for the chance to reach out and take, gobble up any and every indulgence she could have.
Spending a night under Quinn Rafferty would be one hell of an indulgence, she already knew.
Too dangerous, though. He was too dangerous. She’d recognized that almost from the beginning. If she’d been smart, if she wasn’t so damned tired of running, she would have already left St. Louis.
Left Quinn behind before he could become a threat.
“Too late,” she muttered morosely. He was already a threat, just not the kind of threat that she was used to avoiding. He was a threat to her sanity, to her heart. He’d gotten to her. The first time she’d looked at him, she’d thought wounded warrior and she’d been right. He had scars on his soul. Wounds that still struggled to heal.
She wanted to help.
Wanted to stroke, comfort, soothe . . . and then she wanted to strip that long, rangy body naked and ride him until neither of them could take any more.
She suspected she could get lost in him.
It was a luxury she didn’t have and some of the darker dreams from last night had driven that fact home hard. Very hard. She squeezed her eyes closed as one of the more vicious scenes from the nightmares danced through her head. Fists clenched. Bruises, blood, and screams. The echo of a low, ugly voice that promised more pain the next time.
Then the knife. She hadn’t even realized she was holding it . . . “What are you going to do with that knife?”
“Use it on you, if you come even a step closer.”
“You don’t have the guts.” He smiled as he said it.
“Take another step and we’ll see if I’ve got the guts or not.”
Her cell phone chirped out a little tune and she was strung so tight, she flinched at the sound. She reached across the table for it and flipped it open, called up the message. It was a phone number. Nothing else. No name.
“Four weeks already?” she muttered, glancing at the date on the phone display. Mentally she tallied the days in her head. Yep. Four weeks. Sighing, she repeated the number to herself, over and over, until she knew she had it memorized. Her memory was nearly photographic and even jumbled in with all the other phone numbers she’d memorized over the past two years, she knew she wouldn’t have any trouble committing this one to memory.
After she’d memorized it, she called the number and listened as a familiar voice came on the line.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Lose the phone soon.” Then, just like that, the phone went dead. Lowering it, Sara sighed and once more huddled over her coffee.
There was another call she needed to make. Reluctantly, she grabbed her phone and dialed.
“It’s me.”
The other voice on the phone was caustic. “I’ve got caller ID. I know it’s you.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “Don’t be an ass. Anything going on?”
“Hmmm. I don’t know. It’s possible. But don’t get your hopes up.”
Sara knew better than that. Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose and said, “Be careful.”
“Always.”
The call ended and Sara was left in silence, sitting in a sun-drenched kitchen and fighting the urge to cry.
She needed to get up and go through her routine. Make herself go running.
But . . . not yet.
Not just yet.
THE second he saw her standing in the yard, doing the same thing she did every morning, Quinn knew what he was going to do.
Hell, he’d been thinking about it all night. He hadn’t slept a whole lot, which was nothing new. But it hadn’t been bloody, vicious dreams keeping him awake.
“Oh, I want to. Like you wouldn’t believe. But I can’t afford it.”
Her words rang in his head and common sense told him he needed to leave her alone. Stay away.
He’d listened to his common sense once before. He’d been listening to common sense when he’d walked away from Elena that last day—common sense, duty, whatever the hell he wanted to call the voice that kept whispering to him that Elena knew what she was doing, that they both had a job to do. He’d listened to common sense, and not his heart, and they’d both paid the price.
He doubted whatever was complicating Sara’s life was anything so extreme, although he had every intention of finding out. But he wasn’t keeping his distance from a woman he wanted, from a woman who wanted him, over a bunch of bullshit “complications.”
Quinn was damn sick and tired of never going after the things he really wanted. He was tired of not listening to his heart. He was tired of being alone. He was tired of living without the things he craved . . . the things he needed. People he needed . . .
If she really didn’t want him, fine, so be it. He’d leave her the hell alone. Then at least he wouldn’t have another reason to keep asking himself, What if . . . maybe and what might have happened.
She’d turned to fire when he’d touched her. She wanted him. Which meant what he needed to do was wear her down.
Quinn had dodged bullets, jumped out of airplanes, lived through knife fights, and helped take down some of the most notorious criminals in the world. He’d had people spit at him, shoot at him, threaten to rip his eyes out, cut his dick off.
He knew how to handle tense situations.
He could handle Sara.
He hoped. He tried not to think too hard about it as he dug out a shirt to throw over the cotton gym shorts he’d pulled on earlier.
His cell phone started ringing just as he headed out the door. It was a familiar ring, and one he’d ignored too much the day before. Guilt had him pausing long enough to grab it and flip it open.
“Call back later.”
“Nice to talk to you, too, brother. Yeah, I miss hearing your voice,” Luke said.
With a snort, he said, “If you want to hear my voice, talk to yourself. We sound the same.”
“Well, at least you’re talking today.”
