By five o’clock, Quinn’s patience was shot and her nerves were frazzled. It felt if she spent eight hours being interrogated by the men of Sanctum instead of answering phones and inputting data. When the clock hit five, she practically sprinted out the front door to get away from them and their extreme nosiness, skipping her planned training session with Xavier. She was getting pretty good at kickboxing, so she figured she could take one day off.
Relieved to finally be back in her apartment, Quinn hopped in the shower to rinse off after the guys made her sweat all day with their constant interruptions. If she overheard one more joke about Ricochet Rick being all healed up and ready to bounce from bed to bed, she was going to stab one of them with her huge silver letter opener. Apparently, Dane didn’t bother to fill them in on the fact that she and Rick had hooked up, or that they had a falling out— or maybe he didn’t know. That was fine by her, but listening to the guys loudly plot Rick’s next conquest as if she weren’t sitting right there was pretty damn irritating.
Feeling clean at last, she threw on a light dress, not wanting to get sweaty all over again in the late summer heat. As she was combing out her wet hair, her cell phone rang. Quinn cursed as she dug through her purse to find it, answering right before it went to voicemail.
“Hello?”
“Miss Wallace?” A kind female voice was on the other end.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“This is Linda Fitzgerald. John Wheeler, my colleague at my law firm asked me to give you a call. He said you were in need of a divorce attorney.”
“Oh.” Quinn stopped in the middle of her living room, her wet hair dripping onto the carpet. “Yes. I do need one, a divorce. I mean an attorney for a divorce.”
A friendly laugh came through the phone. “I can meet with you this Thursday at one, would that be alright?”
Quinn knew that Mack would let her take a long lunch or leave early for an appointment so she agreed to meet at the lawyer’s Midtown office. After hanging up, she finished with her hair, quickly drying and twisting it into a loose bun to keep it off of her neck.
Smiling, Quinn decided to work on a plan to get Rick to give her another chance… as friends. She was determined to make this work. Everything else in her life was falling into place. Her dad’s house was on the market and had a potential buyer, her legal name change would go through by the end of the week, and she was about to cut the cancer known as Travis out of her life for good. Maybe once Travis was gone, she could have another go with Rick, make a real effort at a normal, adult relationship.
Now she just had to get Rick to trust her again and everything would be perfect.
“One more set, Rick. Gimme ten more reps and we’ll call it a day.”
Rick glared at Clint from his reclining position on the mat where he was resting between sets of crunches, his hand clamped down on his healing side. “You have no idea how much this fucking hurts, asshole.”
“I think I preferred being called stud to asshole. Now quit bitching and finish up. This is nothing compared to Recon boot camp. If you ever want to get back in the field or hell, even back in the cage training, then you’ll do what I say without complaining like a little pussy.”
Rick’s arm shot out to land a hard punch on the big man’s massive bicep before Clint could react. Clint scowled, moving to punch him back, but stopped when he saw Rick laughing at him.
“Real funny, Rick. Don’t poke a sleeping bear. Especially when you’re not at one-hundred percent.” Clint gave Rick a sadistic looking grin. “Now finish your crunches so I can go home. My wife is making her special lemon chicken tonight and I’d like to eat it while it’s still hot.”
Rick finished his last sit up and grabbed his towel off the mat, wiping the sweat off of his face and neck. “Tiger is making her lemon chicken?” His eyebrows raised and his stomach growled at the thought of eating Mara Paxton’s home cooked meal. That recipe was his favorite and that bastard Clint knew it.
Dickhead, rubbing it in.
“Yeah.” Clint gave Rick an evil smile. “Why, you like her lemon chicken?”
Rick scowled. “You know I do. It’s my fucking favorite.” He grunted, standing up with less difficulty than he had last week when his stitches came out.
“Well, come over then. Mara always makes plenty. She was just saying how she hadn’t seen you in a while.” Clint grabbed his bottle of water, downing half of it in two big swallows.
Rick paused, the thought of having a real dinner with friends and not crappy take-out while sitting on his couch alone was enough to make his stomach growl. “If you’re sure, I’m not going to say no… stud.”
Clint laughed. “That’s better! I’ll see you at seven.” The big man turned and walked towards the locker room.
Rick was more excited than he had been in a while and that was depressing. Chicken was the only thing in his life he had to look forward to? His usual night out of going to a bar and meeting a nameless girl to get laid didn’t have the appeal it used to have.
Shaking his head, he followed Clint, wondering when fun, charming, bed-hopping Ricochet became so fucking pathetic.
Chapter 7
Quinn’s mind was completely preoccupied the entire thirty minute drive over to her best friend Mara’s house. Good thing she’d been there before, or she would probably have gotten lost along the way to their Brookhaven home because her mind was wandering all over the place.
Knowing that Travis had been served with divorce papers today had her stomach twisted up in knots to the point she almost pulled over to throw up. Now he would know where to find her, there was no way around that. He may not have her exact address, but the law office would be listed on the paperwork, letting Travis know she was somewhere in Atlanta and he certainly was aware of where she grew up.
Quinn stopped the truck in front of the Paxton home, sitting in the cab for a moment to calm her racing thoughts. Metro Atlanta was enormous, consisting of over thirty-nine counties and six million people. She convinced herself that there was no way Travis could find out where she lived or worked. Especially with Mack paying her in cash every week.
Quinn shook her head, refusing to worry about Travis tonight. She was here to visit her best friend and have a good meal to distract her from all that crap. Mara planned this dinner specifically so Quinn wouldn’t sit around alone in her apartment freaking out about her divorce. Determined to have a good time, she yanked the keys out of the ignition and headed for the front door.
“Quinn.” Mara answered the door with a tight smile replacing her usual wide grin, her forehead and the corners of her eyes puckered from stress.
“Mara? Is everything okay?” Quinn dropped her voice to a whisper. “You and Clint aren’t fighting or something are you?”
Her normally exuberant friend gave her a stiff hug, whispering in her ear. “I’m sorry Quinn. Clint invited him without asking.”
“Huh?” Quinn knitted her brow, confused by Mara’s random apology.
Quinn was still trying to figure out what Mara was talking about as they entered the great room. It didn’t take long for it to become clear. Surprised, she came to an abrupt halt in the doorway, nearly tripping on her own feet. Before she could think to hide it, her mouth gaped open as her eyes locked with a pair of deep blue-green ones that she knew all too well. Rick.
Christ Mara, this isn’t going to be six degrees of awkward or anything!
“Quinn! Glad you could make it!” Clint broke the obvious tension with his usual cheerfulness, crossing the room to give Quinn a bone-crushing hug.
“Hey Clint. Thanks for having me.” She gave her friend’s husband a weak smile. Her gaze darted back to Rick to find him blatantly staring at her, his face unreadable. Holy uncomfortable. “I–I think I’ll go help Mara in the kitchen.” Quinn turned tail and hurried out of the room like the coward that she was.
Run from my dad, run from Travis, run from Rick, run from my life… I need a new pair of Nikes if this is going to be
my way of dealing with things.
“Mara,” she hissed, “I can’t believe you didn’t at least call to warn me that he’d be here!” Quinn snatched up a glass and the bottle of wine that was airing out on the countertop, poured a healthy serving, and quickly downed a third of it.
“I told you, I didn’t know until it was too late. Besides,” Mara put down the tongs she was using to mix a huge bowl of salad so she could face Quinn, “you would have cancelled if you knew he was here, and you need this to get your mind off of that ass ex of yours. Let it go for just one night. Please?” She put her hands on Quinn’s shoulders, looking her in the eye. “You need to deal with Rick. You work together and you were friends. Good friends. Maybe tonight is the perfect time to fix that.”
Quinn huffed loudly. “He made it quite clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with me, Mar. He even sneaks into work through the back door now just to avoid talking to me.” She took another big swig of her wine.
“T-that’s… ridiculous!” Mara stuttered and started laughing.
Quinn had to admit that it was in fact absurd. Big bad Ricochet Brennan, avoiding tiny little Quinn Wallace because his feelings were hurt.
They both cackled like hyenas until it was almost time to eat.
Mara bumped Quinn’s hip with hers. “Go talk to him while I distract Clint.”
“What?” Quinn’s eyes bugged out. “Are you nuts?” The wine gave her a warm, tingling feeling all over. She may be slightly buzzed but she wasn’t that brave yet.
“No,” Mara scoffed. “Let him know that you’re okay with everything. That it doesn’t have to be so—weird between you.” She waved her arm at Quinn to scoot.
“But I’m not okay with it. I don’t know what I want, Mara.”
“I know that, Quinn. But he hasn’t said anything about what he wants either, right?” Mara pointed at her with a serving fork. “Go.”
“Fine. I hate you.” She put her glass down, giving Mara an exaggerated pout.
“Love you too.” Mara blew her a kiss, before turning to the archway leading into the great room. “Clint? Can you come here, honey?”
She shooed Quinn out of the room, grinning like the devious master-planner Quinn knew her to be.
“I must be insane to be doing this,” Quinn muttered out loud.
“Doing what, exactly?”
Quinn’s head snapped up at the unexpectedly close proximity of Rick’s rich, seductive baritone.
Whoops! Jeez, he always catches me talking to myself.
“Ummmm,” Quinn knew her face must be as red as when she forgot her sunblock and got sunburned in the Bahamas— it blistered it was so bad. She stood motionless, helpless to do anything but stare at the beautiful face she once touched and kissed freely.
“I’m sorry I’m making you uncomfortable, Quinn.”
“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” she responded automatically, her focus drawn to his full lips. Lips she knew to be soft and warm and very talented.
Rick smiled, his eyes lighting up in a disarming way that Quinn hadn’t seen in a while. “That’s why you’re strung so tight it looks like your back is strapped to a wood plank. Because you’re not uncomfortable.”
“I have a lot going on right now. Everything’s not always about you, Rick.” Quinn cringed at the low blow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” She dropped heavily onto the couch. “I really do have a lot going on. I haven’t been myself lately.”
“It’s okay. I guess this is good. Talking, I mean.”
Quinn allowed herself to smile. A real smile. “Yeah, it’s good.” Her eyes dropped to the side Rick had been favoring. “It looks like you’re feeling better.”
“I am. Much better. I almost feel human again.”
Quinn had already gone over Rick’s injury in her mind, knowing it didn’t add up, but no way was she going to push the subject at Clint and Mara’s house.
“Hey guys, ready to eat?” Clint appeared in the doorway with two beers in his hand. He handed one to Rick as they made their way into the dining room.
“Smells unbelievable, tiger. Thanks again for having me.” Rick smiled at Mara, who grinned at the nickname he bestowed on her, and took the seat across from his best friend’s wife.
Listening to Rick use his endearing pet name for Mara made her sad. As much as it had irritated her at first, Quinn found that she missed being called “doll”. When she approached the table she found the only available seat was between Rick and Mara. Mara winked at her husband as he filled her wine glass.
Why do I get the distinct feeling that the very nosy Paxton’s planned this?
“More Quinn?” Clint held the bottle out to refill her glass.
“No thanks. I have to drive home later. I’ll stick to water.” Plus, she didn’t want alcohol to impair her senses tonight and make her say something stupid to Rick. Or kiss his delectable lips. Or run her hands all over his rock hard body.
Shit! Remember Quinn, you need to take care of your baggage first. Divorce, then dating. Rick deserves that if nothing else.
Mara’s pointy shoe connected with Quinn’s leg, causing her to startle. She snapped out of her daydream, realizing she had been blatantly staring at Rick’s mouth… again.
Quinn turned to Mara, mouthing “thanks”, grateful to be saved the embarrassment of being caught gawking.
Her friend’s shoulders shook as she laughed to herself. Quinn was pleasantly surprised that the rest of the meal went off without a hitch. Everyone fell into comfortable conversation, with no awkward silences or weird moments between her and Rick. It was almost like it was before she screwed everything up. When they were close friends and he would drive her to the grocery store. She missed having that with him. How he took care of her, worried about her well-being, her safety, her happiness. Rick went out of his way to prove to Quinn that not every man was a controlling douchebag.
Dinner ended with Quinn volunteering to clean up the kitchen since Mara cooked. She was elbow deep in soapy water when she felt a familiar warmth at her side.
“Need help?”
She jumped, splashing water out of the sink.
“Oops.” Quinn looked down to see dozens of soap bubbles clinging to her shirt.
Rick chuckled, the vibration of his voice going straight to Quinn’s core, stoking the embers of desire she still felt for the beautiful man. “Here, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He took a towel and wiped at the soap, brushing over her sensitive nipples.
Her reaction was instant. Her skin flushed, heat racing through her veins, sparking life into every nerve ending. Quinn’s breath picked up, becoming embarrassingly loud in her ears. Her eyes were once again drawn to Rick’s mouth, the way the pale pink color reddened as he bit his teeth into his bottom lip as he concentrated on cleaning her up.
God she wanted to suck that lip into her mouth and run her tongue over the teeth marks.
At some point, Rick realized that he was basically pawing at Quinn’s breasts with the towel while she gawked at him. She watched as an adorable blush spread up his neck. His hand dropped to his side, clutching the towel in his fist.
“Sorry. Shit. I didn’t mean to—”
The tension was too much for her to bear. Rick squeezed his eyes shut as if he was having the same difficulty as Quinn in controlling his body’s reactions.
“It’s fine. No worries, Rick,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Why don’t you dry for me, since you’re so good with that towel.” Rick laughed, the rich sound immediately dissolving the thick tension that hung in the air. Quinn let out a long breath when her attempt at humor worked.
“I am good, aren’t I?” He grinned, accepting the plate she handed over, quickly drying it and putting it in a cabinet.
They worked in a comfortable silence until all of the dishes were clean and put away. Quinn still felt the energy pulsing across the three inch gap between their bodies, she’d have to be dead not to. But if Rick wasn’t going to say anything, then she wasn
’t either. There was no sense in ruining the moment by vocally discussing their very obvious lust for each other.
Just get your divorce, Quinn. Then you can act on it if he’s still interested.
Quinn dried her hands off, hanging the small towel on the handle of the oven door. Rick was leaning with one hip against the countertop, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the ground.
She could practically see his brain working. His sharp mind piecing together whatever it was that he wanted to say. Quinn decided to pretend she didn’t notice Rick’s struggle, taking a step to move around him towards the great room.
“Quinn.” Rick spoke softly, his normally honeyed tone taking on a soft, gruff vibration that she could feel all the way down to her toes.
She stopped, not wanting to turn around, but ultimately respecting Rick enough to face him head on. Quinn nearly broke at the sight before her. This proud, strong, fearless man looked broken and lost. Eyes that had sparked with humor during dinner now shone with despair. His seductive lips were turned down in a pitiful grimace. Rick opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he tried again and still nothing came out.
The true extent of what she had done to this man weighed down on Quinn heavily. Or maybe he just had his own demons he was facing. Either way, it seemed that Rick was just as tortured and confused as she was. Reaching out, she took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Rick,” she swallowed loudly, her heart thrumming in her throat. “I—I have to fix myself, things… things about me.” Quinn inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself enough to speak. “I’m sorry. I am. I want to be with you, I just—” Confessing her need for him was probably a mistake but Quinn couldn’t help it. Her feelings were too strong and her resolve was too weak. She sniffed, her lip trembling as she held back the tears that made her vision blurry.
Ricochet: Friendly Fire Page 6