CHAPTER THREE
Russel stared at Quinn, wondering if he’d ever seen a woman quite as beautiful. Hair a tangled mess around her face. Eyes slightly reddened. A deep blush coloring her cheeks. She looked so perfectly—imperfect.
Quinn palmed her head, glaring at him through long lowered lashes. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing about this conversation that requires you to yell.”
He smiled. Fuck, she was adorable when she got angry. And there was no doubting she was mad. The way her eyes crinkled as she continued to glare at him… Priceless.
He grabbed a glass of water off the table and held it out to her. “Here. Drink. It’ll help with the headache.”
She groaned, still palming her head. “Again, with the yelling.”
She took the glass, managing half of it before handing it back to him. She glanced at the clock, squinting in an effort to see the numbers.
“It’s almost eleven.”
Her head wobbled as she turned it toward him, as if she was trying to hone in on his voice before her eyes widened. “Did you say, eleven? As in, just an hour before noon?”
“That’s generally how the clock works. First, eleven, then twelve.”
“Shit!” She collapsed against the headboard. “This can’t be happening. Not today.”
Russel frowned. While he wouldn’t question her being upset if she had somewhere to go—not that she’d mentioned anything before she’d passed out in his arms last night. Of course, he hadn’t really asked her too many personal questions. Any, really. Not when he got the distinct feeling she wasn’t looking to share those kinds of details. In fact, he was certain she’d gone to great lengths to keep herself as anonymous as possible. But the way her voice had cracked slightly. The raised pitch and uneven tone. She wasn’t disappointed. She was nervous.
The thought scratched at his protective instincts. There had been several instances during the evening when he’d wondered if she was actually running or hiding from someone. Tidbits of information coupled with her usual residence. Not to mention the part where she claimed she never brought anyone home. Hadn’t asked him anything remotely personal in return, even when he’d given her the perfect opportunity to do so.
He’d grown up in a troubled home. Had been roused in the middle of the night and spirited away into the dark. He’d been too young at the time to appreciate what his mother had done for both of them. Why she’d left everything behind in a desperate attempt to escape. But he’d clued in as he’d gotten older. Had watched her try to adapt to a life spent looking over her shoulder—always wondering if his father would show up. Drag them back.
While Quinn put up a good front, he’d noticed the slight cracks in her façade. The fingerprint reader on her door—definitely not standard fare. And her apartment lacked any type of personal items—no photos, no memorabilia. Nothing that couldn’t be left behind at a moment’s notice—pretty much the same as his house had been. He just needed to figure out a way to bring it up—see if there was anything he could do to help.
He nearly laughed at the thought. He barely knew the girl. Had spent the night watching her sleep, waking her every few hours in order to check her condition. For all he knew, this was a weekly outing for her, despite her claims to the contrary. And yet…
His years of training—of knowing when guys were lying to him about how badly they’d been hurt in order to stay in the field—told him she’d been completely honest with him. At least about the few details they’d discussed. And he wasn’t about to abandon his instincts, now.
Russel shifted over to the edge of the bed, smiling at her when she wedged one eyelid open. “Late for something?”
“Not yet. But based on how bad I feel…” She managed to sit up, her head still bobbing around a bit. “So, um…”
He groaned. “Fuck. You don’t remember my name, do you?”
Her chin jutted out as she attempted to stare him down, only to close her eyes for a few moments. “Of course, I remember you name. It… It starts with an R…” She looked at him, again. “Russel.”
“Score one for the home team. Now, what about last night? Do you remember anything after leaving the bar?” He frowned at the way she squinted at him. “Do you even remember leaving the bar?”
“Why do you seem to think I’ve got amnesia or something?”
“Because you’re staring at me as if you’ve never seen me before.”
“It’s not that I don’t remember you. Things are just a bit…fuzzy.” She glanced down at herself. “I’ll assume that since neither of us are naked and you were sitting in the chair, we didn’t…” She waved her hand between them.
“Didn’t what? Fuck? No, we didn’t, because I prefer my sex partners to be conscious. Crazy, I know.”
She furrowed her brow. “So, you spent the entire night sitting in the chair? Watching me sleep? I thought you were just going to drop me off then go home?”
“That was the plan until you Peter Panned out of my truck and hit your head on the cement floor. Someone had to make sure your concussion didn’t get worse. Or that you weren’t suffering from a bout of alcohol poisoning. With how much you drank…”
She stared at him, mouth hinged open, eyes wide.
He arched a brow. “Quinn? You okay?”
She opened her mouth wider as if she was going to say something then shook her head and closed it, doing her best to swing her feet over the edge of the bed—wedge in beside him. “Christ. You really are some kind of knight, aren’t you? One of the last few good guys out there.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not bad, just not what I’d imagined.” She glanced over at him. “I suppose this means you’re not an assassin or mercenary?” She inhaled. “Shit, you’re not a cop, are you? Or a fed? Damn, you’re probably a fed.”
He grasped her shoulders when she went to move, keeping her still. “You might not want to stand up that quickly or you’ll just end up back on this bed. And, for the record, I’m not a cop or a fed. Actually, I’m—”
“Don’t.” She held up one hand. “I don’t want to know what you do. In fact, I already know too much.”
Too much? They’d barely talked about anything.
He snorted. “Is that so? You already think you know me?”
She locked her gaze on his. “I know enough.”
“Really? And what is it you think you know about me? Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell you anything remotely useful.”
“I know you’re a man of your word. That you have an insanely strong moral compass. That you know at least some form of martial arts, and you seem to have medical knowledge.” Her gaze dropped to his arm, a hushed curse lighting the air. “You’ve got a tattoo? One that looks like…”
She didn’t finish, choosing that moment to push to her feet. She took a couple of staggering steps away then turned to face him. “Thank you for bringing me home. For watching over me. But… I have somewhere I have to go, so… If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to attempt a shower.” She stumbled over to the adjoining bathroom door, glancing at him over her shoulder. “It was nice meeting you.”
Russel watched her grope her way into the bathroom before closing the door. He waited until the shower turned on then made his way to the kitchen. She didn’t have much in the way of food, but he managed to toast them both a bagel and make some coffee before returning to the bathroom. He’d been standing outside the door for a couple of minutes when it opened and she nearly crashed into him as she barreled through.
He caught her, somehow avoiding spilling coffee on her skin as he waited for her to regain her balance before releasing her.
She blinked, frowning at him. “You’re…still here.”
“You need to eat something. Here.” He handed her the bagel. “I’ve got some pain killers in my bag. I’ll grab a couple for you. But they’ll just make you nauseous if you don’t eat.”
She stared after him, one hand fisted around her towel as the other held the plate with the bagel. “Your bag? When did you have time to bring in a bag?”
“You’ve been passed out for nearly twelve hours. There was plenty of time to go to my truck and grab my kit.”
“You have a kit?” Her eyes widened when he retrieved the smaller of his medic bags from the hallway. “Christ, this is crazy.”
“Crazy is not being prepared.” He unzipped it, then grabbed one of the bottles. He shook out a few pills, closed everything up, then walked over to her. “Take these.”
She arched a brow at him.
He chuckled. “Seriously? You’ve been unconscious all this time—completely at my mercy—and now, you think I’m going to drug you or poison you or something?” He offered her the pills, again. “It’s just some Tylenol and some Naproxen. Trust me. It’ll help with the hangover and any residual pain from that lump on your head.”
She studied him for a few more moments then took the pills, downing them with a swig of coffee. “Thanks. And how did you know what to put in my coffee?”
He shrugged. “You wouldn’t have flavored coffee creamers if you didn’t use them. And no one keeps a small sugar bowl unless they use it for things like tea and coffee. I played the odds that you’d like it similar to mine.”
She snorted. “Great, now, you’ve got me thinking you’re a spy. And no. I really don’t want to know if you are.”
“Wouldn’t spy trump assassin or mercenary?”
She smiled, and his damn heart gave a painful thump. “I suppose it would.” She headed for the closet, pulling some jeans and a sweater out as she looked over at him. “Not to sound ungrateful, but… Is there a reason you’re hanging around? I realize I pretty much threw myself at you once we got here. And it’s not like you’re not tempting, but…”
“You have somewhere to go.”
The lines around her mouth deepened as she pursed her lips. “Yeah.”
He didn’t miss the way her pulse fluttered faster at the base of her neck or that her breathing had increased. “You don’t sound too happy about it.”
She lifted one shoulder then broke eye contact. “It’s…complicated.”
“That seems to be the definition of your life.”
She looked over at him, and he turned in order to give her some privacy to dress. Soft rustling sounds drifted across the room, followed by the dull thud of the towel hitting the floor.
Russel steeled himself against any unwanted thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to imagine her swaying his hips back and forth to get into her jeans, or how smooth and pale her skin had looked above the edge of the towel. He’d already switched into PJ mode. Not quite full on, like in the field. But enough he was shutting off the other parts of him—the part that still felt her lips molded to his or her sex pressed against his aching dick. But it wasn’t because she was avoiding his questions. It was what he’d glimpsed in her eyes before she’d looked away. He’d didn’t need his years of training or endless missions in enemy territory to recognize fear. And Quinn had it in spades.
Footsteps.
He twisted as she walked back over, going for her purse, which he’d placed beside her bed. She thumbed through a few things then turned to face him.
Small creases furrowed her brow, and she seemed hesitant. “Bet you’re regretting coming to my rescue, now.”
“Nope. In fact, best decision I’ve made in a while.” He took a step closer. “This place you have to go, is it the reason you were drinking last night? The thing you needed to figure out?”
Her eyes rounded for a moment, and her face paled. “Shit. I really need to respect my limits. And trust me. The less you know, the better.”
He moved in front of her when she went to walk past. “I realize we barely know each other, but… I’d have to be blind not to see that you’re in some kind of trouble. Maybe I can help?”
She snorted, waiting until he’d moved before heading for the hallway. He grabbed his bag then followed her out, watching her gather a few things before sitting on a chair to tug on a pair of boots. Her phone jingled, and she muttered a curse when she read whatever message flashed on the screen.
Russel leaned against the wall. “I’ll go out on a limb and say you’re not happy about that message you just received, either.”
She huffed, zipping up her other boot. “Not really.”
He handed over her coat once she’d stood, slipping on his. “At least let me give you a ride. You said your car’s in the shop, and it’s too damn cold for your bike. Not to mention the fact you’re probably still over the limit.”
“I’ll call a cab.”
“On a Sunday morning? In this neighborhood? Are you nuts? It’ll be at least thirty minutes before anyone shows up. And you already said you were late.”
“I said, not yet.”
“Pretty sure we’ve passed that point, judging on the scowl you gave your phone a minute ago.”
Quinn groaned, dragging in a few deep breaths before chuckling. “If I’d known good guys were this hard to get rid of…”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He waved toward the elevator. “After you, sweetheart.”
She rolled her eyes but headed out, strangely quiet as they rode down to the garage then got into his truck. Even after he’d backed out, she hadn’t spoken a word.
Russel gave her a gentle nudge. “Where to?”
She scanned the area, looking as if she might have another option just waiting for her, before sighing. “There’s a funky little café down on Western Ave. It’s only open to the public in the evenings, but… They allow private gatherings. Just get me within a block or two.”
He frowned, wondering if there was a reason she wasn’t telling him the name or why she didn’t want him to drop her off at the door. “Okay.”
He looked up the street on his phone, memorizing the route, then drove off. Quinn sat rigidly beside him, staring out the window as the buildings rushed by. This was definitely a different woman from the night before. This Quinn was focused. Distant. Her hands gripped her purse, and she looked ready to jump out of his truck at a moment’s notice.
Russel gave her some space, winding his way to their destination. Unfortunately, they were closer than he would have liked. Not nearly enough time to question her the way he wanted. Especially when her phone kept jingling. She ignored it, but the way she repeatedly clenched her jaw suggested she knew who it was—what the texts would say. While he didn’t expect her to open up to him, he hoped she’d let something slip, and he’d know whether or not her life was in danger.
Music played softly in the background before his patience waned. He took a deep breath then glanced at her, once again, nudging her arm. “How’s the head?”
She shrugged. “Not as good as I’d like it to be, but the drugs are helping. If I manage not to puke for the next hour, I’ll consider myself extremely fortunate.”
“If you’re not feeling well, maybe you should cancel? I’m sure whoever you’re meeting would understand.”
She laughed, the sound hollow. “Trust me. Canceling is not an option. He’d only send some of his colleagues to check up on me, and that would be far worse than eking my way through brunch.”
“This guy sounds…dangerous.”
Quinn froze, as if just now realizing what she’d said out loud. Her breathing sped up, that fluttering pulse throbbing at the base of her neck. She peered at him, eyes wide. He didn’t move, didn’t talk, just kept driving, glancing over at her whenever he could.
Silence stretched between them for a while before she sighed and collapsed against the seat. “It’s not what you think. I’m not in any danger—not from him. But the men that work for him…”
He didn’t miss the shiver that shook through her before she managed to draw herself up—regain the stiff posture she’d had when she’d first jumped in. Not in danger his ass. All he had to do was glance at her, and he could see the fear etched in the smudges beneath her eyes. The firm line of her jaw. Regardless of what she claimed, the girl was scared.
“If you’re nervous, I could come in with you.”
She coughed, as if she’d been in the midst of swallowing, then spun to face him so quickly, he half expected her to knock her head on the side of the chair. “You’d what?”
“I said, I could come in with you. Have your back. So, you didn’t feel as vulnerable.”
“But…” She shook her head, mouth hinged open, eyes overly wide. “Why would you offer to join me when you don’t even know what you’d be walking into? That’s…insane!”
“I can handle myself. Whatever the situation.”
“Even if that’s true… No. Just, no.” She pointed to the next stop sign. “You can let me out there. We’re pretty close.”
Russel pulled over to the curb, twisting to face her as he reached for her hand. “I mean it. Outnumbered. Outgunned. Doesn’t matter. I don’t scare easy, and I don’t back down.”
Quinn stared at him, chest heaving, her fingers clamped around his arm. She seemed torn between wanting to push him away or press into his touch. A few minutes passed before she finally released an audible breath. “I knew you were trouble the minute you walked over to my table. My damn heart skipped when you smiled. I never should have asked you to sit. Guys like you… I doubt there are any other guys like you.”
She shuffled closer, moving in like she had the previous night. She lifted one hand then thumbed his jaw, sliding her fingers back along his neck until she could palm his head as she brushed her mouth across his.
Russel tugged her closer, snaking one arm around her waist as he kissed her back, licking his way inside. Warm velvety softness filled his senses, the sweet taste of her pounding the blood in his ears. The loud beat echoed inside his head, drowning out every other sound until Quinn moaned into his mouth.
He felt that moan all the way down to his toes. Deep. Gravelly. As if she’d had to rip it out of her chest. He responded in kind, letting her suck in a quick breath before angling his mouth over hers, again.
This kiss was harder. Much like the one they’d shared on her counter before she’d all but begged him to make love to her—fuck her, he reminded himself. And he’d come damn close. The medic side of him had been appalled. The girl was drunk. Concussed. And yet, he’d wanted her. Had barely been able to pull himself back enough to make his proposal. And, damn, he’d been rooting for her. But he’d known, as soon as she’d tripped against the chair, she’d be lucky to make to the hallway.
She’d surprised him and gotten a few feet in before she’d tanked—keeled off to her right. He’d been ready. Had caught her long before she’d been at risk of hitting the floor, because he was not going to let her get hurt, again. He’d fucked up getting out the truck. He’d witnessed how unsteady she’d been walking out of the bar, falling into his arms several times before reaching his vehicle. He should have guessed she wouldn’t make it down from the high step without incident.
Thankfully, it hadn’t been more than a cosmetic injury—a small raised bruise the only proof of his failure, now. And she’d done a good job of hiding it behind some kind of makeup. She’d used more to hide the smudges under her eyes—the redness across the lids. Not that he thought she needed it. Her kind of natural beauty didn’t need enhancing. But he suspected walking into this “brunch” as she’d called it, wouldn’t have gone over well with a visible mark on her head. Or obvious evidence that she’d been out on a bender. She’d told him point blank that she’d gone somewhere she didn’t think anyone would find her. And he suspected she wanted to keep it that way. Meeting up with this guy looking hungover would have raised suspicions. Maybe have his “colleagues” searching around for where she’d been.
Shit. The more he ran it over in his head, the more he realized this was way worse than he’d thought. He just hoped she’d let him help.
Quinn stared up at him when he finally let her come up for air. Green eyes nearly black, her lips swollen and wet from his kiss. Her chest heaved against his with every frantic inhale as her fingers scratched at the back of his neck.
He nuzzled her nose, wishing he could turn them around—take them back to her apartment. Then, he’d keep his promise. Spend the rest of the day—the night, too, if she’d let him—learning every sexy inch of her body. All the ways he could make her fly apart.
She must have recognized the predatory look in his eyes because she inhaled and held it, releasing it in a shaky exhale as she swallowed with effort. She closed her eyes for a second before smiling up at him. “Damn. You really are something else.”
“Then, let me help you. Or let me take you home. Or wherever is safe. I—”
She silenced him with one delicate finger. Her eyes grew watery as she sighed. “I can’t.” She shook her head when he tried to talk around her finger. “Russel. You need to listen to me. I’m not…”
She huffed out a breath. “I’m not like other women. I try to be. Do everything I can to pretend I’m someone else, but the truth is… My family’s dangerous. If you hang around, you’ll get hurt. And that’s just not something I’m willing to risk. I… I like you. You’re the kind of guy I’ve always wanted to date. To get serious with. Fall in love with, so…”
She cleared her throat, moving decisively back and out of his immediate reach. “So, I won’t risk it. Please don’t ask me to.”
She grabbed the handle and stepped out before he could register anything past the hard pulse of desire fogging his brain. The one focused on the shade of her skin and how it felt pressed against his.
He shook off the shock, reaching for her, but she was already standing on the sidewalk, the door held in her outstretched hand. “Quinn. I can help you. I’m not a normal guy, either. I’m—”
“I know. But it doesn’t matter. He’s got too many connections. And, if his right-hand guy ever discovered I had someone special…” Tears pooled in her eyes. “You need to go. Drive off and don’t look back. Please.”
“That’s not who I am… Quinn!”
But she’d closed the door and stepped back.
Russel opened the window. “At least tell me your last name.”
She smiled. “Just in case you were wondering, drunk or not, I never would have regretting spending the night with you. Never.” She took another step back, motioning him on. “Goodbye, Russel.”
Russel growled, his hand already on the handle when her phone rang. Her face paled, and she reached in, answering it. He couldn’t hear what she said, but it obviously wasn’t a pleasant call. She nodded then ended it, once again, waving him on.
She sighed. “Please. I don’t want them to see your truck. Lying to them is…risky. I’m fine. The only thing that will put me in danger is if you stick around.”
Anger burned beneath his skin, and it took every ounce of training he’d had to give her a curt nod then pull away, instead of jumping out of the truck and staying by her side. But endangering her life without knowing what she might face wasn’t doing her any favors. And it was evident from the way she clutched at her purse—back straight, chin held high—she was determined to go in.
He considered parking a short way off and waiting for her, but if she really was part of something dangerous, the organization might have men watching—waiting to catch her in a lie. And that wasn’t something he’d risk. The same applied to her apartment. Without a car, one of these “colleagues” might insist on driving her home. And, if they’d somehow spotted his truck, seeing it, again, at her place could put her in serious jeopardy. He’d taken an oath to help people, not screw them over by making rash decisions.
Russel slammed his hand on the steering wheel. This wasn’t the military, and he didn’t have any intel to fall back on. But, if she thought he’d walk away—forget her—she had a hard lesson coming her way. He still had resources—had already agreed to join Hank’s team at Brotherhood Protectors. And Russel would bet his left nut that Hank could unearth more information.
All Russel needed was a bit of time and some patience. And, once he was armed with the details, he’d be back.