Broken (11 page)

“You’ve talked to me all of three times and you think you know enough to say that?” he demanded.

Sara shrugged. “Well, you know me well enough to know that I’d probably punch a guy before I’d slap him. And you know me well enough to know I’m not an on-demand crier.”

Seconds ticked away as he stared at her. His nostrils flared as he dragged in a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. His lids drooped over his eyes and he tore his gaze away from her.

“You don’t know what kind of man I am,” he said.

“No, I don’t . . . but I think I know what kind of man you aren’t. You aren’t the kind of man who’d intentionally harm a woman, Quinn. So stop acting like you put me in the hospital or something.”

She leaned in, acutely aware of the fact that he had tensed up. The heat of his body warmed her through her clothes, and the scent of him, warm and male, flooded her head. Brushing her lips against his cheek, she settled back on her heels. “I’m going to head in . . . stay out here and beat yourself up if it will make you feel any better. But it’s not necessary.”

Turning on her heel, she hurried inside before she could talk herself into staying.

He was bad, very bad, for her state of mind.

S
ARA was in one lousy ass mood.

Somebody had seen the bruise on her wrist, despite the fact that she’d made the attempt to hide it under a collection of colorful bangle bracelets, a couple of chain bracelets, and a cuff of hammered silver. It had resulted in Annette, one of the café owners, cornering her in the bathroom and offering to listen if Sara needed an ear.

No. What Sara needed was peace and quiet and the ability to block out unwanted thoughts.

Because Annette’s offer had brought back memories, and those memories were never very far from her mind.

That
sort of man was one Sara was all too familiar with. She’d seen that kind of man up close and personal, and Quinn definitely wasn’t one of them.

Stalking down the sidewalk, her hand resting on her purse, she tried to blank her mind, but she just couldn’t.

Another voice kept playing in her memories. Over and over. This one low, husky, rough with tears.

The next voice was cynical and flat, but nothing could hide the rage that lurked just below the surface.
“Don’t I? He’s the kind of man who’d beat a woman. That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement of his character.”

Can’t.

No matter what happened.

Guilt wrapped a fist around her heart, and when she hit Theresa’s street, she was all but running. Too bad she couldn’t leave the memories behind as easily as that. She’d become a world-class marathon runner if she could outrun the memories. Outrun the past.

She bolted up the stairs of the private exterior entrance and as soon as she was inside started stripping out of her clothes, belt, shoes, jeans, T-shirt. They smelled like food and coffee, desperately in need of a washing. Tossing her belt and phone onto the futon, she left the clothes lying in a puddle on the floor as she made for the bathroom.

A shower. Long and hot. She let the water pour down on her muscles, let it soak her hair, pound against her tense spine. It wasn’t until the water started to chill that she climbed out.

But still the memories lingered.

Brooding, she muttered, “It’s his damn fault.”

His
. . . Quinn’s. Because she couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much she told herself she needed to. There was a mile-long list of reasons she needed to avoid him and all those reasons were tied to her past.

The more she tried not to think about
him
, the more she found herself reliving that past.

SHE liked being outside.

It was something Quinn had noticed about her over the past few days. Sara liked to sit outside in the evening and stare up at the sky. No matter how late she got off of work, she always came out to the deck and sat there for nearly half an hour.

On Monday, he’d gotten in around midnight and been heading out of the garage when he caught sight of her on the deck, gazing up at the sky. And now here she was again. It wasn’t so late tonight, not quite ten thirty. Her hair was wet, so he figured she’d worked and then come home, taken a shower.

He’d been out in the backyard, telling himself that he was just enjoying the cool night after how hot the day had been, but he wasn’t quite buying it. He was out here to see her. Lurking in the shadows . . .

“Man, you need to get a grip,” he muttered.

No, what he really needed was to get laid. Maybe if he could relieve some of the frustration trapped inside, he could stop mooning over his sexy neighbor. Problem, though. He wanted
her
.

He rubbed a hand down his jaw. Stubble scratched under his hand and he grimaced, raked the thick growth, and tried to remember when he’d shaved. Yesterday. He thought.

He was about to go back inside when she yawned, stretching her arms over her head. Then she shifted on the padded bench and sighed. For reasons he didn’t understand, the sound of that sigh, soft and sad, wrenched at his heart.

His feet had already taken him halfway across the yard before he realized he was moving. Moving toward her—when what he needed to be doing was moving in the opposite direction.

She jerked a little as he mounted the steps, her eyes widening, then narrowing as recognition settled in. “You need to wear a bell or something,” she told him, a scowl wrinkling her forehead. “People aren’t supposed to be that quiet.”

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.