Broken (44 page)

Why in the hell did that suddenly ease his shattered nerves? He didn’t know. But it did. When she came close enough, he reached out and caught her arm, hauling her against him. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he slid his free hand into her hair and tugged her head back, forcing her face up to meet his.

He might be a little less nervous, but still, forcing the words from his throat wasn’t easy. “You care about me, right?”

“Care about you?” she echoed. “Hello, I’m standing here, aren’t I?”

A grin tugged at his lips. Lowering his head, he pressed his brow to hers and whispered, “The first day I looked into your eyes, I knew I was in trouble. I saw you—even though you tried to hide from the world, you never really hid yourself, Sam. And that’s who I fell in love with.”

“And if I go and put thirty pounds on? Fifty?” she demanded. But her voice was shaking. Something gleamed in her eyes.

“What if all my hair falls out?” He grinned down at her.

She reached up and pushed her fingers through his hair. Pursing her lips, she said, “Does baldness run in the family?”

“Nah.”

She smiled at him, but it was strained around the edges. “That’s not much of an answer for me, Quinn.”

He knew she wasn’t talking about his hair, though.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make this any easier. There were words in his mind, but they danced around in a jumble, not a single clear thought in his head. Taking a slow breath, he said, “There’s only been one woman who ever really mattered much to me—but I couldn’t ever tell her that I loved her. Because I just didn’t know. But I know how I feel about you, Sam. It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with anything but you.” He cupped her face in his hand, forced her reluctant gaze back to his. “Just you, Sam. I didn’t fall in love with an illusion. I fell in love with the woman, and there’s a hell of a lot more to you than the way you dress, what you do with your hair, and whether or not you’re a size eight.”

Her eyes glittered, a pink flush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m a size ten,” she told him.

“Ten. Eight. Who gives a shit? They’re just numbers.” He had to kiss her. Had to. Quick and hard, and then he lifted his head and studied her face. “So what’s going on here, Sam?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” She kissed him back, soft and light butterfly kisses that did an awful lot of damage to his self-control. Along his jaw, up to his ear. She kissed him there and then whispered, “We really don’t know each other, Quinn. We know we’re attracted to each other—”

Tightening the arm around her waist, he rocked his hips against hers. “Attracted—yeah. But it’s a hell of a lot more than that, and you know it. You feel it, too. You can’t tell me you don’t.”

“You’re right. I can’t. But is it enough?” Rising up on her toes, she rubbed her cheek against his and then eased back. “What if the things we want in life are totally different?”

Quinn toyed with her hair and said, “And what if they’re not? What if we figure out a life that we want together?”

“What if I tell you I want to live in Chicago?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. One city is pretty much like any other as far as I’m concerned.”

“Okay—what if I want to move to the country?”

“Are you trying to make this difficult?” He kissed her, slanting his mouth over hers and giving in to just a little of the hunger ripping through him. “I lived on a ranch in Wyoming for seven years, out in the middle of nowhere. I still go back there every now and then—it’s where my dad is. It’s where home is. The country, the city, I don’t care. Not if I can have you with me.”

A smile curled her lips. “Really? You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t serious,” Quinn whispered. He wrapped both arms around her, tucking her close and tight against him. That ache in his heart—it was spreading, rolling through his body in hot, pulsing waves.

Hope—Quinn wasn’t much for hoping. Hope was even worse than trust. It was too damned dangerous. But he couldn’t stop it. Not this time. Not now.

“One more question.” She studied him solemnly.

He waited.

“What if I say I want kids?”

The ground threatened to drop out from under him. Reflexively, he clutched her closer, staring down into her face while his heart jumped into his throat. “Ahh . . . kids?”

Sam shrugged, the movement disjointed, lacking her normal grace. “Yeah. I don’t mean right now, but . . . well, I’ve kinda always thought I’d want kids.”

Kids—
the thought terrified him. Images flashed through his mind, nights when he spent hours hiding in a closet while his mother drank herself into oblivion or screwed her way into scoring some drugs. The times she’d hit him—the times when he’d wondered if he wouldn’t be better off dead.

A hand touched his face. “Where did you go?”

Quinn swallowed and made himself look into her eyes.

“See what I mean?” Sam said gently. “You say you love me, but something like that . . . I don’t know if I want to hook up with a guy who doesn’t like kids.”

Quinn caught her hand. “Doesn’t have anything to do with not liking kids.” Hell, he didn’t know if he liked them or not. He’d gone out of his way to never spend time around kids. Even when he’d been one himself, he’d steered clear. “It’s . . . shit, Sam. I’ve got a whole hell of a lot of bad shit inside me.”

“No.” She shook her head, staring at him somberly. “You don’t. I’d say you’ve gone through some bad shit—I can tell that just by looking in your eyes. But all it did was make you into who you are.”

She leaned against him, working her arms around his waist. “I really kind of like who you are.”

Closing his eyes, he tried to breathe past the knot threatening to choke him. “Is this something we could kind of work up to?”

Sam laughed. “Well, I’ve got to be honest . . . it was kind of a test.”

“A test?” He lifted his head and gaped at her.

She looked at him from under her lashes. “Yeah. I’m being difficult, I guess. I get like that when I’m worried, too. Mean. Difficult. Maybe I’m just trying to chase you off.”

“You don’t make a lot of sense sometimes, Sam. First you show up here, then you tell me you’re trying to chase me off.”

She made a face at him. “I frequently don’t make sense.” Then she grimaced. “Okay, I’m being a bitch. Look, I’m just . . . nervous.”

Rubbing a thumb over her jaw, he asked, “So does that mean the kid thing was just a test?”

“Well, not exactly.” She grinned at him. “I was kind of curious how you’d handle that. I said the words
kids
and you didn’t take off running screaming in the other direction.”

No—it had been close, but not for the reasons she probably thought.

“Does that mean you don’t want kids?”

Sam shrugged. “No. It means that I might want them.” She gave another one of those restless shrugs and added, “Maybe I’m just trying to muddy the waters. I don’t know. I told you I’m nervous.”

“Yeah. Maybe now you can tell me
why
you’re so nervous.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and then rested her hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt down. “Maybe because I’m getting ready to tell this guy that I love him—and if it doesn’t work out, I think it just might break me.”

“What?” he croaked.

Sam pressed her lips to his and smiled. “Let’s go back to your place, Quinn.”

IT was less than ten minutes from Imo’s to the apartment, but ten minutes could drag on endlessly.

Especially when he was alone on his bike, while Sam followed along behind in a snazzy little red BMW convertible. “Not mine,” she’d told him. “But I can’t leave it here—Alison would kill me.”

By the time Sam had squeezed the little car into the garage next to Theresa’s car, Quinn was a mess. A complete mess. He needed to get his hands on her. Needed her to come right out and say it, say the words he needed to hear.

Kicking a leg over his bike, he strode into the garage, meeting her as she climbed out. She looked at him, her dark eyes so warm and soft, her lips curling in a smile. “Quinn—”

Crowding her against the car, he crushed his mouth to hers. “Say it,” he rasped against her lips as he came up for air. “If you really feel it, damn it, then tell me.”

Sam gazed at him solemnly.

Quinn boosted her up and planted her butt on the trunk of the car, leaning down until they were nose to nose. “Sam . . .”

She reached up and traced his lips with her finger, a smile curling her lips. “I love you.”

For a second, Quinn thought his legs were going to give out from underneath him. Bracing his hands on the trunk of the car, he buried his face in her neck and blew out a harsh, shaking breath.

Sam combed her fingers through his hair, cupping the back of his head and cradling him close. Quietly, she murmured, “I don’t know how this happened—I kept telling myself to stay away from you. I think some part of me was afraid this would happen and that was why I needed to stay away.”

“You still afraid?”

“Oh, I’m terrified.” She laughed, the sound a little wild. “What about you?”

“Terrified.” He laid a hand on her calf, gathering up the material of her skirt. “But I think I know something that might make me feel better.”

Sam reached down and caught his wrist as she looked over his shoulder. “The garage door is open. The lights are on. Anybody could—”

He reached out blindly. Straining, he managed to reach the button to close the garage door. It came down with a creak and groan. Then he hit the light switch, plunging the garage into darkness. “Lights out, door down,” he muttered. “Now lift your hips.”

He shoved the black cloth to her waist and eased back, staring down at her. Moonlight filtered in through the small, high windows, just enough for him to see that the black boots she wore reached up over her knees, clinging to her legs.

“Fuck,” he whispered, tracing the tips of his fingers over the top edge of one boot. Then he slanted a look up at her. “Sam . . . I love the boots.”

Her laugh caught in her throat as he traced his fingers higher and higher. “So glad to hear that.”

He brushed his fingers over the lace that covered her heat, hissing out a breath as he felt the moisture there. “You’re already wet.”

She fell back, bracing her hands on the truck. “Touch me,” she demanded, spreading her thighs. “Please.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. He stroked her through the lace, seeking out the hard bud of her clit and teasing it until she was rocking to meet his touch. “More,” she pleaded. She reached down, caught the edge of the lace, tugged it to the side, baring the slick, heated folds.

Quinn pushed two fingers inside and twisted them. “More like that?”

Sam whimpered. Bringing her legs up, she curled one around his hips and tugged him closer. “No . . . not enough. Make love to me, Quinn. Please.”

She must not have trusted him to listen, though, because she sat up and went to work on his jeans. Quinn rested his hands on her thighs, staring down at her pale fingers busily freeing the button, then dragging the zipper down. He groaned at the kiss of cool air on his flesh, and then almost immediately, started to swear. “Damn it, I don’t have anything with me.”

Sam smiled at him and reached for her purse. She pulled out a rubber and then tossed the bag back down. It slipped off the trunk. Change, a pair of sunglasses, more condoms, and her cell phone fell out, but neither of them noticed. “I believe in the power of positive thinking.”

“Good way to think,” he muttered, grabbing the rubber and tearing it open. His fingers shook. Hell,
he
shook. All over. If he had ever been this nervous, this desperate to touch a woman, he couldn’t remember it. He rolled the slick rubber down over his cock and then tugged Sam close. He pulled her panties off, swearing as his normally nimble fingers fumbled with the lace. “Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered as he leaned into her.

When he pushed inside, they both groaned. Seeking out her mouth, he kissed her as he sank deeper and deeper inside. Through the condom, he could feel the hot silk of her pussy, gripping and squeezing him, drawing him in. “Not enough,” he rasped, leaning back and grabbing the hem of her white shirt, shoving it up over her breasts. The soft, pale curves strained against ivory silk. He shoved the cups down, forcing her breasts higher. With a growl, he dipped his head and licked one nipple, then sucked it into his mouth.

Sam cried out and reached up, fisting a hand in his hair. She arched against him, her movements frantic, desperate . . . an echo of everything tangling inside of him.

She tasted so good, soft and female, vanilla and spice. He nipped her nipple, using his teeth and grinning against her flesh as she shivered and held him closer. “I love you,” he muttered, straightening up and staring down into her face.

A smile, hot, sweet, and female, curled her lips. “I love you. Now stop talking . . . it’s been way too long.”