by Lynda Aicher
Marcus took the manila folder, still amazed at their support. “Thank you.” The words were inadequate to express the deep gratitude that humbled him, but his throat was too tight to get anything else out.
“Go.” Vanessa pushed his arm. “Figure it out. There’s obviously something between you two that hasn’t been resolved.”
Marcus nodded, his shock receding behind a purpose. “Right.”
“I’ll send you more info as I get it.”
He scooped Vanessa into an impulsive hug then bolted out the door. He wasn’t surprised to find Tyler and Rock waiting for him at his loft door. “Hey, dicks. Don’t you guys have work to do?”
Tyler shrugged. “We thought we’d throw confetti at the bon voyage party.”
The other men followed Marcus into his loft and then bedroom. “Seriously. What do you want?” He grabbed a duffle bag out of the closet and started shoving clothes into it. He didn’t have time to chat. Not when Quinn needed him. He couldn’t think about anything else.
Rock crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe. The man rarely left the security room, and Marcus wasn’t certain why he had now. “Do you have everything you need to get your pussy back?”
Marcus whipped around, ready to beat the fucker, but halted when he caught the smirk on Rock’s face and the muffled laugh from Tyler. “Assholes,” he mumbled.
Rock’s bark of laughter followed him into the bathroom. The sound was such a rare one that Marcus almost stopped to stare at his long-time friend. What in the hell had gotten into the man?
“Are you okay, man?”
Marcus glanced at Tyler as he jammed his shaving kit into his bag and jerked it closed. “Yeah. Or I will be as long as Quinn is.”
“I tried to get more info,” Rock said. “But the data wasn’t there. I’ll shoot it to you if anything comes through.”
“Thanks.” Marcus grabbed his bag and pushed past the men as he headed back to the door. There was no point in questioning Rock on how he got his info. He just did.
“Hey, wait,” Tyler called out as he caught up to Marcus. “You forgot to pack these.” He shoved a handful of condoms into Marcus’s hand, a cocky grin on his face.
“Ass,” Marcus said without heat. He shoved the items into the side pocket on the bag, grabbed his coat and exited the loft.
“Bon voyage,” Tyler called down the hall in an imitation of Bugs Bunny.
“Where’s the confetti?” Rock asked Tyler.
“Fuck. I knew I forgot something.”
“You could toss condoms down the hall.”
“I’m out and I’ve heard you have no use for them.”
“Fuck you.”
“Already taken, but your manly ass is quite attractive.”
Marcus caught a last glimpse of Rock punching Tyler in the arm before the elevator doors closed. He chuckled and shook his head before his thoughts turned back to Quinn. Adrenaline pumped through his blood, firing him up. He refused to think about if she was hurt or how badly or any of that. He wouldn’t let his mind go there. Not until he saw her.
She’d be fine. They’d figure it out. Those were the only thoughts he allowed himself to have. Everything else was unacceptable.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The low bleep of a machine pinged in a slow rhythm that was somehow soothing instead of annoying. Quinn was curled up on her side, the blankets tucked tight around her chin in an attempt to stay warm. The oxygen tube pressed into her cheek, but it was the least of her discomforts.
Her throat felt raw and abused, and it battled for attention over the razor-edge burn in her lungs. One deep breath, and the fire of pain gripped her chest so tight she thought she was dying again. She blinked back the tears and wiped the stray ones away with the edge of the blanket. She’d finally let them fall now that she was alone.
The clock on the wall said it was after midnight. The lights were dimmed and her mother had left an hour ago to get some sleep. It was what she should be doing. Only she couldn’t stop thinking.
She’d almost died.
Only the doctor had said those words to her. Everyone else tried to downplay what had happened, brush it off and pat her head to keep her quiet, like she was going to blab about it to the press. As if she wanted the attention.
But she’d almost died.
She shivered and pressed her hand to her stomach as she wiped away more tears. This wasn’t right. It shouldn’t have happened. Even if it was an accident, she had no one to blame but herself. For all of it. She never should’ve taken the part, but then she never would’ve met Marcus. And she couldn’t regret that. Wouldn’t change that.
Marcus had brought life into her insular, jaded world and gave her a freedom she’d always struggled to find. He’d seen her, Quinn. Not the child television character, Cici, or the actress Missy Andrews, but her—and then she’d turned that against him when she’d left.
The time ticked by slowly, the consistent beep giving her something to count as she waited. Jewels had told her he was coming, but she wouldn’t believe it until she saw him and she didn’t want to miss him. What if he came and left while she was sleeping? She wouldn’t blame him after how things had ended between them.
He owed her nothing.
She had no idea what she was going to say to him besides she was sorry. She only knew she needed him with her. She’d been empty inside since she left him. Another tear slipped down her cheek and she didn’t bother to wipe it away.
She loved him. Maybe she could tell him that if he wanted to hear it. Was there a chance he still loved her? She hoped so.
Her mother had been surprisingly quiet when she’d asked Jewels to contact Marcus. She’d expected the bombardment of usual questions, but maybe her mother was still in shock from the reality of the day. It didn’t matter, though. Her mother’s opinion didn’t change the fact that she needed Marcus here.
Another glance at the clock showed the hands inching along. His plane should’ve landed long ago. The private hospital provided the secluded quiet that money could obtain, but it was almost eerily silent.
Beep...beep...beep. Another tear rolled out and she finally let her eyes close.
* * *
Marcus stood in the darkened room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light after the florescent glare of the hallway. The door clicked softly closed and he set his bag on the floor. The consistent beep from one of the many machines surrounding the bed confirmed that Quinn was alive. The brief updates from Rock and Vanessa had let him know that she was stable with no broken bones and expected to be fine, but they’d been just words. The tight binding that had held his chest captive finally eased at the visual confirmation.
He stepped toward the small bundle hunched up in the big bed—his Quinn. She was curled up on her side, the thin blankets held tight under her chin. She seemed so small. God. He blinked at the stinging in his eyes and put out a silent thank you to the universe that she was okay.
He ached to touch her but was afraid to wake her. The plane delay had gotten him in later than planned and the sleep was good for her. Her pale hair was pulled into a ponytail away from her face, which only seemed to highlight her drawn cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. The oxygen tube ran under her nose and stretched behind her ear, completing the fragile picture.
Very cautiously, he reached out his hand and ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. It was cold. He glanced around the room but couldn’t see another blanket anywhere. The blanket hid her body, yet the way she was bent up in a fetal position gave him a sense of ease. She’d be spread out on her back if something was broken. If Rock’s intel was right, she was here due to asphyxiation, but the details of how and why were missing.
The yawn hit him and stretched his jaw to aching before it ended. He rubbed his eyes then dropped his hand down to scratch his beard. He still hadn’t shaved.
There was a typical hospital chair next to the bed that was sized for someone much smaller than him. It took him two
seconds to make up his mind. He slipped off his boots and coat then walked around the bed. His exhausted brain fought with the bedrail before he figured out how to lower it.
The bed wasn’t very big, but she took up barely any space. He eased down on his side before gently lowering his arm around her waist and tucking her to his front. He shifted his other arm under her head until he had her cradled in arms. She murmured something in her sleep, and he wanted to believe it was his name. His heart hitched and he closed his eyes to savor the feel of her once again.
It’d been too long. Forever. But not so long that he’d forgotten how she fit perfectly against him. The soft curve of her bottom against his groin, the teasing silk of her hair on his skin, the gentle swell of her chest as she breathed—that was all ingrained in his mind.
He placed a kiss on the edge of her jaw then on the soft spot below her ear before nuzzling his nose into her nape. The faint scent of her perfume danced on his senses, triggering a warm flush of belonging and rightness. The urge to squeeze her tight was right there, but he restrained. For now he’d just hold her.
She was in his arms. That was all that mattered. He had her back and this time he was keeping her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
She was safe. That was Quinn’s first thought as she slowly woke. There was the strange sense of being in someplace unknown, yet it was countered by the warmth at her back and the familiar scent that surrounded her.
Marcus. Her mind registered the fact before her eyes opened. He was there. Every bit of tightness and withheld hope sprung free to flood her in a slow wave of release. The tears came again, but this time they were in relief. He really had come.
She held herself still, afraid that if she moved he would leave. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Not ever.
One of his legs was thrown over hers and his breath ruffled the hairs on the top of her head. Each tickling breath was a confirmation of his presence. The skin on his arm was warm under her cheek and his other arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, as if he was afraid she would fall out of the bed.
The beep of the machine and the underlying smell of antiseptic confirmed that she was still in the hospital. The shuffle of feet and voices in the hallway indicated it was morning. Yet she wasn’t ready to wake from this wonderful dream. When she opened her eyes, reality would hit.
“Are you awake, kitten?” Marcus’s voice was low, but the rumble vibrated against her back, making her smile.
“Yes.” Her answer came out on a hoarse croak and she was suddenly aware of how dry her throat was and of the dull ache in her chest.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and the anxiety returned until she felt the gentle press of his lips on her temple. “You scared me.” His breath was hot on her skin, his lips damp. She shivered as it chased the cold away.
She swallowed and tried to clear her throat. The action tore at the tender lining, reminding her of yesterday’s events. “I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper. “I scared me too.”
His soft chuckle was cut off by a brisk hug. “Don’t do it again. Please.”
“I won’t.” Not if she was with him.
He stretched over to pick up a cup from the rolling table. “Here.” Bending the straw, he held out the cup so she could take a sip of the tepid water. Each swallow was painful yet refreshing. She nodded when she was done, and he took a drink before putting the cup back. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore but better.” She exhaled when he lay back down. “Thank you for coming.”
He tucked himself back around her. “You couldn’t have kept me away.”
“Really?” She couldn’t keep the doubt from her voice. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Really.” The instance was reinforced with another squeeze and nuzzle. “God, Quinn. I was terrified when I heard you were hurt.” He paused and she heard him swallow. “What happened?”
She’d known that question was coming, but it still didn’t make it easier to answer. “There was an accident on set, during filming.” It was doubtful that he’d let it go at that, but it was worth a try.
“Asphyxiation. I know that, but how did it happen?” He ran his hand down her arm, his voice gentle when she thought he’d be mad. Honestly, she wasn’t surprised that he knew the clinical facts.
The opening of the door saved her from answering. She blinked at the brighter light from the hallway before giving her doctor a small smile. To his credit, the man didn’t appear fazed by the presence of Marcus in the bed with her.
“Miss Andrews,” he said with a smile in a firm, direct voice. He glanced at the chart in his hand, squinted then patted around his chest until his hand landed on his glasses tucked into the chest pocket of his white coat. He slid them on before looking back at the chart. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Marcus hadn’t moved since the man entered except to tighten his arm around her waist. “Good,” she answered. She didn’t add that it was because Marcus was there.
The doctor removed his glasses and stowed them back in his pocket. With his mostly white hair and long face, he looked like a television doctor. The pressed slacks and expensive tie added to the image and quietly stated that he was used to working with public figures. “I’d like to talk to you about your condition.” He glanced to Marcus then back to her.
“Can you give us a minute, please?” she asked before he continued.
He glanced at his watch and nodded. “I’ll check on my other patients and stop back after that.” He exited the room with a swoosh of the door, leaving them to the quiet beep and hushed softness that settled around them.
She looked at the clock to see that it was just past seven. Behind her, Marcus was still waiting for an explanation. Her stomach flipped and she took a breath through her nose to try and calm her nerves. She owed him one, only she didn’t know where to begin.
Marcus rubbed his cheek against hers and she giggled, hunching away from the prickle of his beard. It felt longer than she remembered him wearing it. A part of her was dying to turn around and see him. The other part was afraid to look back. That was true in so many ways.
“Talk to me, Quinn.” He brushed some stray hairs from her face and kissed her temple again. “I promise I’ll catch you.”
Will he? When he hears it all?
She closed her eyes and hoped he would.
She gave an abbreviated rundown of the set accident, keeping to the basics—the scene, the gag, getting sick, the aspiration and then the hospital. The tension in his muscles increased the further she went into the tale.
“What the hell?” he growled when she was done. “Where were the safety measures? Why’d it take so long to get the gag off?”
He propped himself on an elbow and nudged her shoulder. She gave in to his urging and rolled to her back to get her first real look at him. Wrinkles lined his brow over narrowed eyes, and she itched to smooth them away. The thick beard stubble on his cheeks added to his dark and dangerous appearance and was another thing she wanted to touch. His eyes were that dark chocolate color she remembered and his hair was mussed around his head in a way that countered his glowering frown.
He looked so good. Too good.
She bit her dry lip and reached up to rest her hand on his cheek, afraid he’d pull away. Instead he leaned into her touch and sighed.
“God, Quinn.” He closed his eyes and turned his head to kiss her palm. “You almost died, didn’t you?”
She could’ve brushed it off, but she was done hiding from him. “Yes. That’s what the doctor told me.”
“Shit. I want to kill whoever let this happen.”
The venom in his voice had her believing he might murder someone. She stroked her thumb over the soft hairs on his cheek, using the texture as a distraction. “Then you’ll have to kill me, because it’s my fault.”
“That’s bullshit. You were bound and gagged. I don’t care if it was acting or pretend or what the fuck it was. You trusted them to keep you safe, and they
failed. Period.”
There was such conviction in his eyes, she wanted to believe him. “You never would’ve let this happen. I know that.”
“Never.” He wiped away a tear from her cheek. One she hadn’t been aware of. “You don’t like gags. Why’d they put it on you?”
She shrugged, her eyes drifting down to stare at his chin. “It was called for in the script, and I didn’t say anything. I thought...I thought I could get through it. I was wrong.” Did she dare tell him why? She had to. “But I panicked for a different reason.” She forced herself to look at him. It was too important to hide, even if her wildly beating heart tried to convince her otherwise. But as much as she wanted to tell him, the words wouldn’t budge past her swollen throat.
“Tell me,” he urged. “It’s okay.”
The gentle concern in his voice gave her the courage she needed to continue. “I couldn’t play the part. I couldn’t get past the fact that the actor playing the Dom wasn’t you.” She wet her lips and swallowed. “I belong to you, and everything about the Scene, pretend or not, was wrong.”
His exhale was a long, slow breath. “Yes. You do,” he said before he leaned down and kissed her. Finally. He peppered her lips with small pecks that were like a gentle hello. They were tender, soft and filled with promise. She savored every one, every touch and hoped they held true.
Her stomach churned again as she nudged him back. He leaned away, question in his eyes.
“There’s more.” She had to get this out fast or she’d chicken out. He deserved to know—needed to know—even if she was terrified to tell him. She’d only just gotten him back and the thought of losing him so soon almost had her backpedaling. This could wait. She didn’t have to do it right now. It would be easier to put it off, but she wasn’t doing easy anymore.
With one more low breath that did nothing to steady her voice, she plowed on. “The doctor explained why I’ve been so nauseated and tired this past week.” She fiddled with his shirt collar, rubbing her finger under the edge to feel his skin. “I thought it was just nerves and worry about filming but it wasn’t.”