The Sweet Under His Skin (29 page)

Now he was thinking. And remembering everything he'd already done that tied him to Arielle and Calvin. And he realized then even his base human instincts had been driving him towards her. He wanted to care for her, support her, protect her. His operating system had turned on him in the end.

Fuck. He was falling for Arielle.

The sound of Harley pipes grew louder outside, and he heard the bike pull into his driveway. He stood from the sofa and left through the front door, turning on the outside light.

Flynn was halfway up Quentin's walkway when Quentin called out to him. "Flynn!"

Flynn turned, switched directions and headed towards him. They met at the fence. Flynn was all business. "Okay. They grabbed your girl’s sister in Woodbourne. She was trying to get away with a grand in ice, stolen from, guess who?"

Quentin was really starting to hate this name. "Reuben?"

Flynn nodded. "Word went out that she not only stole a grand in product from the guy, she owes him almost forty grand. Loans, ice, crank. She's a mess and she sucks as a thief. Well, she sucks at getting away with it anyway."

"How'd she end up here?"

Flynn licked his lips and his face found a new level of stone-cold. "That dealer paid Reuben ten grand for her. He liked her."

Quentin felt his blood temperature rise. "Was she hooking?"

Flynn shook his head, expression unchanged. "Nah. Reuben got one of his minions to shoot her up with heroin and handed her over, easy as you please."

Quentin's whole face twitched. "Motherfucker."

"You can bet she was heavily sedated and used like a teenage boy's tube sock for at least a week before we found her. The dealer likely rented her out, too."

"Who told you this?"

"Joel found a dealer in Ramsfield selling next to Joel's niece's school. He didn't like that too much. Did a little questioning on who Reuben was, and this guy said he'd only seen Reuben once, back when this prick handed over ten large for an ice head bitch."

Quentin felt the prickle of hope at that. "He actually saw Reuben?"

Flynn nodded, cold smile just starting to creep up. "Oh yeah. Gave a great description, too."

Quentin felt some relief at that. But damn..."Shit. This'll kill Arielle."

Flynn's face softened a bit. "How's she doing?"

Quentin waited for the jibe, but it didn't come. "She's lost a lot of weight. It's fucking terrifying."

Flynn was studying him, and Quentin couldn't remember seeing this expression on Flynn's face ever. It looked a lot like concern. "You know, you may not want her to know what you do during your days and nights, but you're doing right by her, man. And that counts for a lot." Quentin felt itchy just from that. "And you should bring her out to meet the guys," he added, turning back for his bike. "If you ever need one of us to look out for her, it'd help if she'd met us before trusting us to take care of her or that kid."

Quentin nodded. "Yeah, I know," he replied, running his hand over his head and down the back of his neck.

Without a word Flynn backed down the driveway and took off the way he'd come, his sage advice ringing in Quentin's dome.

He did need to make a claim on Arielle, it was only fair. She'd told him as much right before she fainted.

When he said I was your girl…I found myself wishing it was true.

Quentin took a deep breath and made himself choose right then and there.

Arielle as his, or Arielle not at all. He chose to make her his.

The other option seemed like a life not worth living.

Chapter
Eighteen

"Quentin?" He heard the voice from far away, thinking he was dreaming again. He rolled away from where it was coming from, content to stay sleeping for the moment. "Quentin?" Now his name was combined with a soft, female laugh. "Come on. Don't make me eat all these pancakes by myself."

Frowning, he cracked one eye open, aware he was on a sofa. The fabric he didn't recognize right away, so he wasn't at his place or the clubhouse. He yawned and swiveled his head to look over his shoulder. Then he couldn't help it, he smiled. "Hey, baby girl."

Arielle's smile was sweet, and she looked away when he called her 'baby girl'. "Are you hungry?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I'm still stuffed with pizza," he joked. "Aren't you?"

She shook her head. "No." Then she grinned and he noticed her eyes.

"Are you high again?"

"I slept so good last night, and I think it's because I finally ate a whole meal. I like…being full," she shared like it was a great epiphany she'd had. He had to laugh.

"You're high," he accused, sitting up. "I created a monster."

"Come on," she said, getting to her feet and pulling on his hands. "I made pancakes."

Quentin had to blink a few times, then rub his eyes. When that didn't help he stood and followed. The change from the day before to now was shocking. "You made pancakes?" Stupid question; he could smell them, and as soon as he did his stomach growled a bit. He stood next to the table, watching her pull a plate of pancakes from the stove where they'd been keeping warm. The table was set already, and she put hot plates at the two place settings as well. "You did all this and I slept through it?"

She grinned. "I think the noise was competing with your snoring."

"Shit, was I snoring? Sorry."

"Don't be. It's not like you woke me up or anything." She crossed to the coffee maker and was pulling two mugs out of the cupboard. Without thinking, he crossed the room to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. She set the mugs on the counter and stilled, head half-turning enough to bring her ear closer to him, not enough for her to see him.

He squeezed her shoulders, and she inhaled. He rested his head against the back of hers, closing his eyes and letting the smell and warmth of her seep into him. "Quentin?"

"Arielle…" he started, not sure what the hell he wanted to say here. "…Colton was right. You are my girl, babe." Her shoulders stiffened under his hands, and he rubbed them, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck and leaving his face there, her skin almost feeling as good as home. "I'm gonna do better, I swear. I'll do anything I can to deserve this."

She was frozen in place, and he could almost hear her mind whirling. He didn't know what to make of the silence. So he just waited, wrapping her up tight to his chest, linking his arms around her stomach. After a long, gut-rolling moment she put her hands over his and relaxed back into him. Something in his chest released, and he felt himself smile as he kissed her neck again.

"I must be crazy," she whispered.

He turned her around, backing her up to the counter and holding her face between his hands. "Yeah. But I really like crazy, Arielle."

She looked worried for a moment. "What if I don't get better?"

"And what if you do?" he replied. "I'm taking the chance of losing you either way. Because I can tell you…I don't wanna let you go. But I'll risk you leaving me."

Her hands gripped his wrists tightly. "Why do you want me? I don't see how—"

"Are you kidding me? We're going back to this?" he teased, and to his relief she smiled.

Her eyes rose to meet his, the color of the ocean, and it struck him how no matter what about her changed, those eyes stayed absolutely stunning. And right now they were warm, heated, and not because she was pissed off. He pressed his lips to her cheek, then turned her head so her lips lined up with his. He didn't have to do anything else. She kissed him, winding her arms around his shoulders and pressing her sweet little self into his embrace. His hands slid down to span her back, and it struck him again how thin she'd gotten. He could feel her ribs and spine.

His concern for her well-being dissolved a bit when her tongue lapped at his bottom lip, and on pure instinct he opened his mouth, pushing her tongue back with his, which caused her to rise up to her toes. Her hips pressed into his, and even without that he knew he was hard already. Having her rub against him was a fantastic although painful confirmation.

She ended the kiss, easing away from him, the heavy lip-lock ebbing away into soft touches. "We, uh…" she breathed, lowering her heels again,"…we should eat breakfast."

He certainly would have preferred her on the table, but he nodded. "Okay. Let's have pancakes, baby girl."

The water reached the perfect temperature. Arielle stepped into the shower, the stream hitting her in the chest, and she closed her eyes, moving up to let it run over her face. She was stuffed with pancakes, and she hadn't been this full in…it felt like years. The warm hazy effect of the pot was like a cozy brain-inhibitor. She was just…happy.

I'm
gonna do better, I swear. I'll do anything I can to deserve this.

Arielle covered her mouth as Quentin's words came back to her, her heart clenching tight. She had no idea why in the world he would think he didn't deserve her, but that oath had given her the first moment of true peace she'd had in a very long time.

She was his girl. Something about that felt so…right. And somehow, it gave her a new zest of life, no longer a ghost on a wayward path but a soul with purpose.

They'd eaten pancakes until they were too full to handle another bite then washed the dishes together quietly and comfortably like it happened every day. She said she was going for a shower, he said he'd go out and mow the lawn for her.

She reached for the shampoo but found herself glaring at the bottle. She knew what would happen once she started lathering up her hair. It would come out in clumps, sticking to her hands and running down the tub to get stuck in the drain. She put the bottle back, washed the rest of her body quickly, then turned the water off, toweled dry and did her standard stare-at-herself-in-the-mirror routine. She ignored the scars on her chest, instead focusing on what was left of her hair. There were no visible bald spots yet, but…it was going to happen. Who knew how long she stood there, memorizing this last glimpse. She hadn't done this when they chopped her hair at the salon. She never got to say goodbye to a lot of parts of her.

She choked on that, hands covering her face as tears sprung to her eyes.
Don't
, she commanded herself.
Don't do this again. Don't go back into that self-pitying spiral.

Arielle wrapped a towel around her chest, left the bathroom and went to the kitchen to get her scissors. As she was heading down the hallway the front door open and she turned, startled.

It was Quentin, and he looked a bit surprised to see her, too.

"I was, uh, getting a drink of water," he stuttered, eyes trailing up and then down her body. It was like she wasn't even wearing a towel. "What—what are you doing?"

"I'm cutting off all my hair," she answered hollowly, holding the towel closed and hopefully camouflaging the missing breast.

"Really?" He didn't sound as surprised by that as she was.

"It started falling out."

He inhaled, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, Arielle."

"No need to be sorry. It was going to happen."

"You're sure you're okay?" He didn't sound convinced and she couldn't blame him.

"Yeah." She started to the bathroom, then turned back. "Actually, could you help me?"

"Me?" He pointed at his own chest.

"I can't reach the back. I can't see it."

"Are you cutting it short?"

She shook her head. "No, I want it all gone."

He rubbed his chin. "Okay. Let me run next door for a second."

She nodded, then headed for the bathroom again. She spread an older towel on the floor, a second one over the sink and vanity. Without hesitation she grabbed a hunk at the front of her head and cut it, about a half inch from her scalp. She grabbed another chunk and did the same. She was halfway back over her head by the time Quentin found her, and he set a straight razor and can of shaving foam on the vanity. Arielle wanted to cry. He wasn't talking her out of it, he was helping. And she appreciated it.

Arielle paid close attention to his face, but he gave nothing away. He just said, "You got clippers?"

"Main bathroom, under the sink."

He vanished again and she kept butchering away as much as she could. Quentin appeared with the clippers, set them down, and took the scissors from her. With a light touch he cut away everything she couldn't see, then plugged in the clippers. "Sit on the tub," he offered.

They moved the towel from the floor closer to the bath, and she stepped into the tub and sat on the edge facing the tiled wall. The clippers buzzed and she closed her eyes as his hand rested on top of her head. After a pause the clippers scraped over her scalp. She could feel the hair as it fell, tickling her shoulders, and she made herself breathe.

"How you doing?" Quentin suddenly asked, and she opened her eyes.

"I'm fine," she assured him.

He squeezed her shoulder and she closed her eyes again. When he turned the clippers off she ran her hands over her head, feeling the fuzz.

"Oh my God," she whispered, breath hitching. But not from panic, oddly enough.

"You sure you want it all gone?"

"Yes," she replied immediately. "This way it's my choice."

Quentin's big, warm hand closed around the back of her neck and pulled her back a bit. She titled her head backward and he kissed her softly, his eyes so warm she had to catch her breath. He smiled. "You're so beautiful, Arielle."

"Really?" she whispered, searching his face for the punch line.

"Baby girl, you have no idea, do you?"

"About what?"

He kissed her again, then tilted her head upright. She sat still while he lathered up her head, then concentrated extra hard on staying still as he set a towel on her shoulder and said, "Here goes." His hands were quick and light, and if she hadn't known what he was doing she'd likely find it incredibly relaxing. Not a single nick or cut, and a mere ten minutes later he was done, wiping her off with a warm, damp towel. "Ready to see?" he asked.

She stood up and he held her hand, helping her step out of the bath. Her eyes were on the ground until she stood in front of the mirror. With a deep breath Arielle braced her hands and stared down into the sink, steeling her nerves.