Quintessentially Q

All the best,

Tess.

From: Brax Cliffingstone

Time: 9:35p.m.

To: Tess Snow

Tessie,

I’m so glad to hear you’re in a better place. And it gives me peace of mind to know you’re with a man who adores you. As he should.

Heal and be happy. :-)

Catch you around,

Brax

Three weeks passed while I found my way back to wholeness.

Q put Frederick permanently in charge of Moineau Holdings and stayed home with me. A few terse conversations with the local police and they never bothered him again about my kidnapping, or what Q did to find me.

He never talked about work or what happened behind the scenes of Moineau Holdings, and I wasn’t ready to bring it up. I didn’t want to know if I was the cause of his reputation being slandered.

We never left each other sides. Our closeness cured each other.

We fixed our maladies, became each other’s healing balms. We grew to know each other in those days of soft reprieve. Chatting softly, asking questions about simpler things like our favourite ice-cream and seasons.

Suzette and Franco forgave me for everything I’d done to Q. Franco pretended to run in fear anytime I came close—until Q told him to piss off.

Suzette offered her ear anytime I needed to talk, and I might share my tale one day, but not now.

The guilt was still too sharp—the nightmares far too real. But just knowing she understood made me love her like a sister.

Q and I played cards and listened to music. We read in love-filled silence and touched each other with lingering caresses. Everything between us was sweet and healing—knitting more than just our bodies, but our minds too. We became intrinsically linked like never before.

However, Q withdrew into himself for the first two weeks. He brooded, never admitting to what ailed him. I’d catch him watching me with a turbulent look in his eyes, only for it to disappear whenever he saw me staring.

He treated me like spun glass even though something dangerous lurked within him. I knew he suffered with what I’d done. It lived in every action, every memory flitting across his face. I’d taken something fundamental from his grasp and feared he’d never be the same.

My heart healed in one moment and broke in another with the knowledge I might be the cause of his ruin.

Every day we were never far from each other’s side, but we never moved past a gentle kiss or stolen touch.

We never attempted to have sex.

I think we were both too fragile, still repairing ourselves with sticky tape. After allowing myself to feel again, I’d never taken anything for granted. Even the lingering ache in my plier-snapped finger meant something—it proved I was strong enough to survive. And Q knew just how to bring me back.

Q healed fast physically. If anything, he became sexier, more alive and real to me. Once the stitches were removed from the deeper lashes on his chest, his tattoo looked darker, full of pain and misfortune, but also freedom. The puckers of scars only added to the detail.

The gunshot scar in his bicep had a horrible way of linking me back to what happened. Q earned that hunting for me, killing for me. I’d never look at it without reliving the past. Without remembering how my mind was turned against me. How I lived with history that I couldn’t even recall thanks to the haze of drugs.

But it was his face that made my heart squeeze every time I looked at him.

His perfect, unmarked skin now glistened with tiny scars. Day by day, they muted from pink to silver and only added to his perfection. A constant reminder of what I did and what he gave in return.

Q looked up, smirking. “I can feel you undressing me with your eyes, esclave.”

My tummy somersaulted and I laughed softly. “I must admit, my thoughts are heading to dirty.”

Q’s nostrils flared and the gentle companionship between us turned to lust-laden. For the first time in three weeks, chemistry sprang to a fever.

Leaning forward in the deck chair where we’d taken refuge on the patio outside the lounge, Q murmured, “I miss you.”

The late afternoon sun was warm, but the chill in the air meant we had tartan blankets over our legs. I could imagine my life, fifty years from now, with Q as a distinguished old man and me by his side. Never again would I think about leaving. No matter how bad things got, I would never switch off or forget Q was my reason for living.

My eyes darted behind him to look into the lounge. Nobody was there. All the women from Rio, including Sephena, had been returned home to their loved ones, and for the first time in months we were truly alone. Even Mrs. Sucre, Franco, and Suzette had gone to the village, leaving us to our own devices.

The house was empty, but I knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Q would find more survivors; he would bring them home and heal them. Just like he’d healed me against all odds.

My heart squeezed and I thanked every entity that he’d brought me back. I never wanted to live with such emptiness again.

Q’s face darkened and he looked away. “I have something for you, but I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.” He sat straighter, dog-earing the page of the property file he was reading. “I wanted to wait a bit longer, but I don’t think I can.”

Curiosity and the delicious sensation of arousal made me hyper-alert. Placing my sketchpad on my knees, I scowled briefly at the jumble of buildings and how squibbly my lines were. My finger had healed, but it lost the function to bend fully and it kept getting in the way.

Q stole the sketchpad, throwing it onto the patio, along with his property reports. He stood, holding out his hand, a dominating air surrounding him.

“What is it?” I smiled. “What’s so urgent?”

He shook his head, plucking the blanket off my legs, adding it to the one on the floor. “I want to show you before I lose my nerve.”

Placing my hand in his, he hauled me up in one yank. I coughed and his eyes narrowed. Even after weeks of healing, my lungs still acted as if I’d been a smoker all my life. But Q didn’t rush me. He took such exquisite care of me. Not once did he ask anything that I wasn’t ready to give.

The one and only time I’d tried to kiss him, hoping for more, he’d pushed me away saying he needed time. Needed time to see me as the strong woman I was and not the invalid I’d been. He said he loved me, but the twisted part of himself needed me healed and capable of withstanding what he required, before he let me back into his bed.

I understood. I accepted it as part of him and didn’t push, but I never stopped wanting him.

But now, with his strong fingers wrapped around mine, I hoped we’d finally be able to put the past behind us and make new memories.

Q didn’t say a word as he guided me through the lounge and up the midnight blue carpeted stairs. When we got to the top, he jerked me close. I gasped as his lips pressed hard against mine. His hands dropped to my hips, pinning me in place. “I want to do something to you, esclave.” His dark voice wrapped around me, making me eager, wet.

I kissed him back, opening, encouraging him to kiss harder. He broke the connection, dragging me down the corridor.

My heart squeezed painfully as we passed the room where I’d almost killed Q. As far as I knew the room no longer existed. A demolition crew had been in and Q had banned me from ever stepping foot in there again.

We didn’t stop until we headed into the west wing, passing multiple doors.

My stomach tripped in anticipation as Q finally slowed and placed his hand on a knob.

He breathed hard, as if he’d planned this for a while but only now had the courage to go through with it. For Q to be afraid meant he wanted to do something drastic.

I tensed, waiting for the over-whelming fear of pain. The lesson White Man taught me to avoid it at all costs still had a hold on me. I lived with ghosts of what I’d done, unable to avoid the occasional spasm of regret and horror.

“I won’t force you. You can say no,” Q said, opening the door and pushing me through.

My mouth plopped open as he guided me inside and locked the door.

“You did this?” I whispered.

All around us was a massive, intricate birdcage. The walls were painted with silver bars, a giant silver bell dropped from the ceiling as a chandelier. Mirrors hung while oversize spray-painted branches loomed overhead. There were even real metal bars pressed deep into the carpet.

We were effectively trapped, imprisoned just like his beloved birds.

He cleared his throat, burning a hole into me with the intensity of his gaze. “I wanted a room that symbolized us. The cage is a promise.” His body tensed, drawing need from me to him, building rapidly until my heart flurried. “You said you’d let me do this once. I’m hoping you won’t refuse.”

He captured my cheeks with harsh fingers, reminding me he might’ve been gentle and kind the last few weeks, but he wasn’t truly that man. He’d kept the anger, the darkness away from me, carefully guarding whatever thoughts he entertained. “I told you I couldn’t let you into my bed again until I was able to see past what happened. You know I need someone strong, unbroken, courageous.”

I nodded, my pulse thudding thickly in my veins.

“I see the old Tess. For the first time in weeks, when you looked at me, I saw her. And I want her. So f**king much.” He crashed his mouth against mine, sending my need for him spiralling out of control.