Abigail

Ten minutes with Quinn is enough to make it crystal clear that he’s nothing like his brothers.

He’s funny.

Clever.

And he goes back and forth between charming and broody just enough to hint at a darker side without making me feel like he’s a bottomless pit of despair.

Despite myself, I feel my defenses go down when he starts with the big words. Aside from the English Literature geeks in high school, I haven’t been able to share my love of language with anyone else. I doubt he’s an aficionado or anything like that, but it’s obvious he’s smart.

And, God, so sexy.

I’m milking my banged-up head for all it’s worth. If he just drops me off, it’ll be over.

When will I run into him again?

Granted, it’s a small town. But we’d both go back to a neutral zone. All the progress we made with the witty banter goes out the window.

So, no, the window will serve a better purpose tonight.

He grabs a white and red case, sets it down on my lap, and takes great care to examine the spot where I hit my head with a light touch. When I’m certain he won’t meet my eyes, I watch his work and try to keep from sighing.

He makes eye contact with me, which immediately has me averting my gaze and blushing.

Damn it.

If he’s the kind who likes the chase, the only reason he’s been so nice and flirtatious with me is that he enjoyed a girl not lapping up his attention and subconsciously sending out signs that she’ll jump through hoops for him. I thought for sure that he knew about my crush on him, but since he has no recollection of me in high school, that theory is a dud.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” he says, a hint of uncertainty seeping into his voice. “Where did you say it hurts again?”

“Right here,” I say, feeling around my head. There’s only some residual pain, but I exaggerate anyway, and wince.

“Usually the area would be red…”

Quinn takes a little flashlight and beams it down on my head, mortifying me. Why do I have such a weak game? Why is my answer to everything to take the worst possible route to get what I want?

It’s no wonder I’m a virgin who’s never been on a real date.

Cupping one side of my face, he turns my head so he has a better field of vision to the half of my scalp that’s supposed to hurt. It’s not going at all like I imagined it would. How do pretty girls do this? Do they just let their beauty speak for them?

“Yeah, I don’t see anything.” Quinn throws the flashlight in the first aid kit as I untwist my neck from the unnatural angle he had me in. “But the good news is, there’s no blood or any cuts.”

“That’s great,” I mutter. “Sorry for worrying you. And for allowing my head to potentially put a dent in your-”

“Window?” Quinn chortles. “Don’t sweat it. It wouldn’t be a complete night without some emotions running high and the suspense of a health scare.”

I plaster a smile on my face, one that doesn’t convince even me that I’m as breezy as can be and start to move towards the house.

Quinn’s mountainous frame blocks my way. He doesn’t budge when I gesture for him to let me pass.

“I had a great time tonight,” he says, his lashes on full display again.

What did I say earlier? That I swoon when he does that? Well, this time it threatens to put me in a coma. I’ve never had him up close and personal like this. It makes my head faint and the world spin around me.

“Me too,” I manage to say. “It was unexpectedly great.”

“It was,” he agrees. “We should do it again.”

“Wait, are you asking me out on a-”

Quinn’s answer takes the form of a kiss.

My first kiss.

I don’t know what I’m doing so I follow his lead, starting nice and slow. Then, his lips part and he deepens the kiss. My heart collapses against my chest, and I can hear my blood pumping through my veins.

I can hear it.

That’s how terrified…and mesmerized…and turned on…and confused…and afraid of doing something wrong I am.

A moan. Muffled by our lips, sure, but I’m sure I heard it.

Quinn moaned.

Heat radiates down my spine and travels to the center of my being, lighting a fire between my legs. I finally understand the world’s fascination with lust and how powerless and powerful it makes you feel at the same time.

His tongue touches mine, and it’s a bolt of lightning. My hands take a life of their own, grabbing at his hair and bringing his face closer to mine. My body presses against his, and his hard cock has to have left an imprint on my hip.

“You want to come inside?” I ask, even though the thought simultaneously thrills me and chills me to my bones. “The place is a mess, but if you don’t mind that, it might be more comfortable.”

What are you saying, Abigail?

More “comfortable.”

You won’t seduce an oven mitt with that.

“No, it’s getting late,” Quinn says, pulling back slightly, his expression unreadable.

“Oh.” It has to be the fastest anyone has gone from a thousand miles an hour to a screeching halt.

“Oh, no,” he backpedals. “I don’t want you to think I’m not...” His drags his fingers through his hair. “I’m interested. Very. Interested.” He pulls me closer, his hard-on pulsating white-hot through the layers of clothes between us.

“Then what’s the problem?” Insecurities flutter in my chest.

“I don’t want you to think it was some line,” he says. “I never imagined that this would happen when we left Marty’s. Believe me. You are…You’re amazing.”

I’ve come this far and either he’s just being kind, kissing me so as not to reject me outright, but that’s as far as he wants to take it, or he’s telling the truth about his hesitation. Whatever the case, I don’t see much downside to digging my heels in except for the possibility of me getting my ass handed to me and humiliated three ways to Sunday.

Deciding I can live with that sooner than I can let him drive off when we could do so much more, I kiss him again.

“I want you. Come inside?” It’s a small whimper. Pathetic. But when he nods in agreement, I don’t regret it.