Undercover Heat (15 page)

“What's Quinn doing, renting a tux?”

“Yes.”

There was a deliberate pause, and then Raquel said, “He's a decent guy, Kyra.”

As it happened, she agreed. “Yes, he is a decent guy. More than decent. But he doesn't do relationships.”

“He's doing a relationship with you.”

“He's doing
me
,” Kyra said with a wry laugh. “But the only time he calls it a relationship is when he's drunk. Which is happening less and less frequently.”

Raquel started pushing the stroller again, heading toward a boutique that appeared to cater to weddings and proms. “Maybe you should bring up the subject.”

Kyra's entire body tensed, as if her friend had just suggested she bungee jump off the Mackinaw Bridge. In January. “Um, maybe we should focus on finding a dress for this shindig.” Not the best alternative but certainly more appealing than her mentioning to Quinn that they should define whatever the hell they were doing together.

“Okay, maybe not there,” Raquel announced a short time later, as they rolled out of the store. “Too young or too wedding.”

Kyra agreed. “Maybe you have something I can borrow? We could go to your house and drink wine instead of do this.”

“Nope. First of all, anything I have will be too short for this type of function. Second, you are tall and willowy, whereas I'm a little—”

“More endowed?”

“Curvy,” Raquel corrected her. “Let's try this place.” They stepped into a high-end department store. Raquel guided the stroller to the eveningwear section.

“Here we go,” she said triumphantly, and she began sifting through a rack of floor-length gowns.

A half-hour later, Kyra was ensconced in a dressing room with a pile of evening gowns, while her friend sat in a chair next to the three-way mirror and critiqued each one.

“Why can't I just go with black?” Kyra complained after donning the fourth dress.

“Because Whitney Bianca will be wearing black—or red,” she added as she dismissed gown number four.

“Why does that matter?”

“Our goal with this dress is to impress the hell out of Quinn. While I am sure he will have eyes only for you regardless of what you wear, I know you aren't. So we are looking for the perfect gown that will make you feel beautiful and elegant and sexy and confident.”

“I thought our goal was to find something appropriate to wear to a black tie affair?”

“That too. But impressing Quinn is
my
goal for you.”

When she walked into the house after her shopping trip, she found Quinn sitting in the oversized chair in the living room, facing the fireplace, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and holding a beer in his hand. The television was not on. He looked up when Kyra stepped into the room but did not say anything.

“Hey,” she said.

He nodded and lifted the beer to his lips, his gaze locked on her. He had taken a shower and shaved. His face was passive.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, trying to decipher his mood.

He shook his head, then deliberately placed the bottle on the coffee table and stood. “Let's go. I want to show you something.” He snagged the keys to her Charger out of the dish by the door.

She indicated the shopping bags in her arms. “The fundraiser is tonight. I have to get ready.”

He lifted the long white bag containing her new dress off of her arm and hung it over the coat closet door, pulled the other bags away, and placed them on the floor.

“The fundraiser's in four hours. You would lose your mind if it actually took you that long to get ready for anything. Now, come on, this won't take long.”

He wasn't happy or sad, not angry or depressed. It was almost as if he was—devoid of emotion. Both curious and nervous, she followed him back out the door.

“Where are we going?” she asked once they were buckled into their seats and he shifted the gear into reverse and backed out of the driveway.

“You'll see.”

For about twenty minutes, they drove in silence. She recognized the general direction, as it was the same way they drove to St. Nicholas's, but it wasn't until they literally drove over a set of unmaintained railroad tracks that understanding began to bloom. When the houses started to shrink in size, the lawns became unkempt, the feel of the outside environment desolate, she knew for certain.

“This is where you grew up.” It was a statement, not a question. She didn't need clarification. Not when he pulled the car up to the curb and shifted the gear into park. Outside her window was a small row house, one of many nearly identical houses lining the block. One window was boarded up and an ancient plaid sofa was parked on the sagging front porch. There was an old sedan on blocks in the driveway, and brightly colored children's toys were scattered among the weeds in the front yard.

“We moved a lot in my early childhood,” Quinn finally spoke. “But this was the one I lived in the longest. This is where my mother died.”

“Where he killed her.”

“Yes.”

She turned away from the miserable little house. Quinn's gaze was on her. He'd no doubt been watching her the entire time. He did not need to see this reminder of his childhood. It was burned into his memory forever. He came here today for her.

To give her a choice.

“Did it look like this when you lived here?”

His gaze flicked to the house for a scant moment before shifting back to her face. “The window wasn't boarded up. I didn't have nearly that many toys. But otherwise … yeah.”

“Quinn, you—” Before she could finish her sentence, a loud noise, followed by a childlike shout and then a squeal drew her attention. The front door flung open and three children hurtled themselves onto the front porch and then stumbled down the stairs into the front yard. They looked to be close in age, and not one was old enough to be in school.

One child climbed onto a brightly colored plastic rocking horse and began moving it so violently, Kyra was afraid she would flip the thing and slam headfirst into the ground. But just as quickly as she started, the toddler threw herself from the horse and hurried to play with the next toy. Meanwhile the other two children, a boy and another girl, were arguing over a green and yellow shopping cart. The boy released his hold on the cart and instead began grabbing small plastic renditions of fruit and milk cartons and tossing them to the ground. The girl let out a shriek Kyra was sure could be heard for a mile, at least.

A woman stepped out of the house and stood on the porch, hands fisted on her hips, eyes narrowed. She was plump, with flyaway hair, and she wore a simple V-necked shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Knock off the screaming,” she called out to the kids. Her gaze rested on the Charger for a moment before she yelled something over her shoulder, then herded her kids back into the house. The children complained loudly but complied.

A man stepped into the doorway, then moved to the side to let the three little ones pass. He reached out, ruffled the hair on each head as they trudged past him. He then stepped out onto the porch to stand next to the woman. He placed his hand on her shoulder and they exchanged a few words Kyra couldn't hear, but she suspected they were talking about the car parked at the curb in front of their house.

“Go, Quinn,” she said without pulling her gaze from the couple on the porch. “Before they call the police.”

Once they crossed the not-proverbial train tracks, she asked, “Why did you bring me here?” Maybe she knew, but she wanted to hear him say it.

“It wasn't like that when I was a kid,” he said, instead of answering her question. “I don't have any siblings. I don't think I ever saw my father touch my mother, unless he was hitting her. Or me. I can't remember a single time he expressed affection to either of us.”

“Not everyone has the same experiences, even if they come from the same background.”

He didn't respond for a few moments. Eventually, he said, “Yeah. I know.”

She repeated her earlier question, and watched as he flexed his hands and then tightened them on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“I wanted you to see it. See where I came from. See … what I need to avoid becoming.”

Thank God, he was beginning to accept that he had control over his life, his future, despite his past. Yet she felt compelled to point out, “They didn't appear unhappy. I mean, we don't know, of course, from that small glimpse, but that looked like a happy family to me.”

“The kids were fighting.”

She smiled. “Yeah, siblings do that. I could tell you a few stories from my own childhood. You should see what Thanksgiving is like at my parents' house. We spend half our time making fun of the way we fought with each other when we were kids, and everybody laughs until we're wiping tears out of our eyes.”

“That's what I want.” He kept his gaze trained on the road. “But I don't know how to get there.”

Her heart raced. Raquel had suggested she broach the subject of their relationship, suggest they define it. This was the perfect opening to do so. But Kyra was too damn afraid.

It was as if she couldn't quite clear the hurdles of her memories with Keith. Even the good times hadn't been as spectacular as what she'd had so far with Quinn—and that didn't even include the amazing sex—yet the breakup had been devastating. While Quinn was coming to terms with his demons, and she was honored that he was sharing his revelation with her, she was still uncertain if he wanted that future with—her. Or if she could handle it if he did.

Stupid emotions and self-doubt. Before she started dating Keith, she never felt this way, not about the job, not about her personal life. It angered her that one man could cause her so much internal frustration, yet she had no idea how to stop, how to change and get back to her old, confident self.

“I noticed your driving has improved,” she said, a blatant attempt to change the subject if she'd ever heard one.

“There was nothing wrong with my driving. I just pay more attention to my surroundings now.”

“I'm sorry I answered your phone this morning,” she said, abruptly shifting the topic of conversation again.

He glanced at her for the briefest moment before focusing on the road again. “It's okay.”

“No, it isn't. I knew it was your father. That's the only reason I did it. I never would have invaded your privacy like that if it had been any other number.”

“Then why
did
you answer it?”

“I wanted to … I don't know. Protect you, maybe? I wanted to tell him to leave you alone, stop messing with your head. Let you live your life, like you deserve to.” She blew out a breath, surprised at herself for saying these things out loud. If only she could be so vocal about her desire to define their relationship.

Nothing happened for several painstaking moments. He didn't look her way or change his posture in any way. His breathing remained even, and his hands continued to grip the steering wheel. His jaw was clenched, but then again, it had been since they crossed the railroad tracks the first time.

Then, finally, he reached across the console and cupped her thigh. “You don't have to protect me. I'm fine.”

She opened her mouth, intent on protesting, when he added, “Now.”

• • •

“Quinn, why do you keep touching me?”

“Ostensibly because we're newlyweds and that's what newlyweds do. But in reality, it's because you are so fucking hot in that dress and I haven't seen you naked in more than twenty-four hours.”

After they had returned to the house and Kyra escaped upstairs to get ready for the gala, she'd half expected to walk back downstairs to find Quinn in his cups, turning to the bottle like he had so many times before in an effort to escape his demons. But he hadn't.

He was sitting in the living room, watching some sport on television. The look in his eyes turned hungry when she came downstairs and he'd taken in the pale blue satin gown, her hair pulled back into an elegant twist at the base of her neck, her nails painted a pale, shimmering pink. Her eye makeup was dark and smoky, her lips glossed and shiny. She staggered and nearly tripped over her own feet, and had to grab the railing for balance. Not exactly sexy and sultry.

He leaped to his feet, offered his hand, and kept her steady as she descended the last few steps. “You look breathtaking,” he had managed in a hoarse whisper.

Kyra had giggled because it was such an un-Quinn-like compliment. Now, she had no choice but to believe him. He really did seem unable to stop touching her.

She ducked her head and smoothed her hand over the front of the icy-blue satin gown. “If I'm naked, you won't get to see the dress anymore,” she teased.

“We're doing it with the dress on tonight,” he said, mock sternly. “In fact, we could right now, if you want. There's a hallway right over there, and an empty banquet room not twenty feet away.” He tugged on her hand. She rolled her eyes and did not budge, so he pulled her back into his arms and resumed running his hands up and down the gown.

“Where's your gun? I know you would never leave home without it. But this dress doesn't exactly offer many hiding places.”

She smiled demurely. “I'll leave that to your imagination … for now.”

His eyes flared and his hands began a more urgent perusal of her dress.

Kyra laughed. They were having fun, which was a nice change from the past twenty-four hours. What a relief—the Quinn she was coming to adore was back.

It lasted until Whitney Bianca breezed into the ballroom, wearing a red-sequined gown that fit like a second skin. The neckline dipped to her navel. The back was bare. Nearly every man and a handful of female guests all clamored for her attention.

Quinn stayed at Kyra's side. He didn't appear to notice the vision in red as she worked the room. Kyra didn't believe it for a second, and she tried to call him on it.