Romeo (Payne Brothers Romance Book 6)

by Sosie Frost

  He leaned close, and the unresolved tension from our touches, our kisses, and the desires, yet unquenched, sizzled between us. A fierce heat willed our bodies together. I resisted touching him. Somehow. Digging my fingers into my dress to avoid pressing tight against his hard chest.

  “What do you want to know?” His words roughened, abrasive and sharp. “The only layers I have are clothes, and believe me, I want to get them off as badly as you do.”

  “There’s more to you than that. I know it. I see it.”

  “Wanna find out?” He rested his forehead against mine. His breath warmed my lips. “Say the word, Ladybug. I’ll tell you every secret you never wanted to know. I’ll fuck you as hard as you want to get fucked. And I’ll show you what it’s like to share a bed with a man who has nowhere to go but deeper inside a woman.”

  He took me with a ravenous kiss, unsatisfied by the brief, teasing touches that had so nearly united us before. This man consumed me. Enthralled me. Delighted me with every naughty and terrible desire I was afraid to admit.

  But even as his hands cradled my cheeks, even as his body pressed against mine, I could see him clearly now.

  It was an act.

  It was all an act.

  “Sex is a defense mechanism for you,” I said. “But I don’t know why you’re fighting.”

  His voice strained. “What if I told you that I didn’t know either?”

  “I’d say you’re a bad liar.”

  His fingers traced my lips. “And I’d say your way too interested in me.”

  That was the truth. And it damned me as much as it ruined him. I was nothing but a hypocrite. I demanded answers from him, yet I couldn’t dream of telling him the truth about my own feelings.

  But I wasn’t sure he’d believe me even if I offered more than just my body.

  “Maybe I’m tired of saving myself?” It was as close to the truth as I dared tempt. “Maybe I’m tired of being an innocent virgin. Waiting, hoping, protecting myself from every normal human experience.”

  “What are you waiting for, Lady?”

  “The right man.”

  Quint held my gaze. “I am not the right man.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He pulled me close, his lips gently teasing a path from my mouth, over my jaw, and along my neck. He nibbled in the soft hollow between my throat and collarbone and hummed as my body warmed for him.

  “I’m not right for anyone.”

  “And as long as you believe that, you’re always going to be alone.”

  And maybe he wanted it that way. Quint smirked.

  “And as long as you’re waiting for that perfect man, you’ll be as alone as me.”

  I wanted to reveal everything.

  Every part of me screamed to tell him how wrong he was. To speak the truth as it pounded my mind and tore at my heart. But though my feelings for him threatened to conquer my every inhibition, a new, unthinkable worry pricked my soul.

  Even if I told him I’d fallen in love with him…

  Quint would never believe me.

  “We could always be alone together,” I said.

  Quint didn’t like that option. His hands rose, gripping the rungs above me. His muscles tensed, and though I wished he would simply push himself over me and take what we both wanted, he remained strong. Reserved.

  “And then what?” The thought pained him. “Then I would be doing the same thing, night after night, only I’d be hurting you as much as I hurt myself.”

  “I never knew you were hurting.”

  “You don’t know how fucked up I am.” He laughed, but he took no pride in the confession. “I go out after dark, searching for nothing. Hoping to get off. I destroy myself at night so I can live through the day. And I like that. That’s me. That’s all I want.”

  My stomach twisted. “I don’t believe you.”

  “What the hell do you want from me?”

  I wasn’t answering that. “I want you to be honest with yourself.”

  He refused. “Why are you trying so hard to heal me when I’m not even hurt?”

  “Just because you’re not bleeding doesn’t mean you’re not hurt.” I hesitated, gesturing toward his foot. “Actually…you are bleeding. We should probably get that looked at.”

  Quint shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Said the man with a gaping wound in his foot from an alpaca’s mouth. “You don’t want it to get infected.”

  “I don’t feel it.”

  “Don’t be a tough guy. That’s a pretty bad bite. I didn’t even know alpacas could bite.”

  “Lady. I don’t feel it.”

  I found that hard to believe. The bite had even bled through his sock. This wasn’t a time to be macho. At least we were on the farm. The Paynes always had some sort of cut, bruise, abrasion, laceration, broken bone, amputation, or other serious complication. If any family in Butterpond had a first-aid kit, it was his.

  But Quint didn’t let me off the ladder. He trapped me between the wood and his body. His expression twisted. Aching. Frustrated.

  “Lady.” He stomped the injured foot against the ground. “I don’t feel it. I can’t feel anything in that foot.”

  The truth slammed into me.

  Oh no.

  “You’ve lost feeling in your foot?” I hated even voicing the words.

  He nodded.

  “…Because of the diabetes?”

  He nodded again. Slower.

  “Quint—”

  “Forget it.” He braced himself as if he wanted to push away. But instead he surged back upon me. Stealing my kiss. Forcing our bodies together. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re only twenty-three years old.”

  “You think the disease cares?” He gritted his teeth. “You want to know why I live the way I do? Why I go out every night? Why I’m trying so goddamned hard to ignore every other aspect of my life?” He pointed to his foot. “That’s why.”

  “Because you’re afraid of getting sick?”

  “I’m not afraid of getting sick. I am sick. Every fucking day. I get up, I check my sugar. I get a shower, I check my sugar. I eat breakfast, I check my sugar. I try to live my life, and I check my sugar. No matter what I do, no matter what correction I give myself, no matter how carefully I eat, every reading is the same.” He swore. “It’s always getting worse.”

  “Have you told anyone?”

  “What would it matter? Sooner or later, I’ll get hooked up to a fucking pump. A machine that will control whether I live or die. I’ll deal with even more doctors, bills, illnesses, problems. This foot isn’t the end of these complications. It’s a vision of the future, and it’s not a good one.”

  “But lots of people have Type I,” I said. “It’s not a death sentence.”

  “It’s not an easy life either.”

  “So, you choose to ignore it?”

  He shrugged. “Is that so wrong?”

  “Why don’t you tell me when you lose feeling in your other foot?”

  He didn’t even react.

  My heart broke for him. He’d taken the illness harder than I thought. Despite having it for so many years, he had managed it alone. Refused any help. Feared for a future that promised only hardship and sickness.

  Instead of planning his life, he avoided everything that wasn’t immediate pleasure and reward.

  And it was all a distraction. A way of denying the truth to himself.

  “Why don’t you ask for help?” I said.

  And it destroyed me that he looked so confused.

  “Who would I ask?” he said. “I’m alone in this.”

  If I knew one thing about the Paynes, it was that they were all rat bastards, troublemakers, and less than reputable men. However, they all loved each other very much. Even if they never said it, showed it, or did more than harass each other, they had a bond.

  And it was sure as hell stronger than anything the Barlows could imagine.

  Or possess.
>
  He let me pull him closer, but he didn’t touch me, even as I tangled my fingers in his shirt. I held his gaze, fearing how dull and lifeless his green eyes had become. Were the dark circles new? Or had he always had them? What about the thin worry lines just beginning to crease his forehead?

  It was like the first time I’d seen this man.

  It only made me love him more.

  “Ask your family for help,” I said. “You have to talk to them.”

  “What the hell would I say?”

  “Tell them about everything you’re feeling.” I glanced down. “Everything you’re not.”

  I didn’t expect his laugh. His smile returned, colder than ever.

  “Do you really expect me to talk to my family about this? Let me just go sit Marius down and have a nice conversation about how my foot’s gone numb.” His voice hardened. “What do you think the war veteran will think when we swap stories? I’ll tell them that my toes have gone a little tingly from too much sugar, and he’ll talk about how his leg was blown off by a bomb and he nearly bled out in the dirt.”

  I quieted. “It won’t make a difference. Marius still cares about you.”

  Quint clutched the ladder so hard I feared he’d split the wood. “Don’t be naïve. What am I supposed to say to them? That I’m afraid of the future? That I’ve been terrified about what happened to me? Do you really think I can tell the minister that? The one we feared would kill himself during his two-year long depression? The one who has finally rekindled his faith and assumed his role in the church again?”

  “If anyone would understand, it’d be Varius.”

  “You’re goddamned right. But I’m not going to burden an already burdened man with that shit.” Quint shrugged. “Why would I tell any of my brothers about my behavior, shitty life, or this dark-fucking-shadow that follows me everywhere? Who would understand? Tidus? It’s not like I can have a heart-to-heart with the man who spent the majority of his adult life injecting whatever he could get into his veins to avoid spending a minute in reality. Why would I bring this bullshit on him now? He’s finally healthy. Happy. Sober, for once in his life.”

  He didn’t understand.

  “Who would know what you’re feeling better than Tidus?” I asked.

  “No one. But I won’t be the one who drags him back into that darkness just so I can whine about my life. I’m not that much of a monster. I know my place in this world. I’m not looking for any special treatment or life-changing opportunities.”

  “What if you have those opportunities now?” I asked. “And what if you lose them?”

  “And who would understand that best? Jules? Like he’d give a damn. He lost millions of dollars because of that fucking back injury. He could’ve been playing football with the Rivets. Could’ve made enough money to turn this farm from a pile of dirt into a thriving, profitable business. Why would he care about my mistakes when he’s still paying for his own?”

  I couldn’t believe him. Didn’t recognize the sadness and frustration which consumed this man. This wasn’t the Quint Payne that I knew. This was somebody who hurt, who had nowhere to turn, and felt that he was alone in the world.

  “Your family loves you. Even if you don’t talk to them, there’re other people…” My words stopped short, but I forced them out anyway. “There’re other people who do love you. Who want to help you.”

  “Is this when you tell me I should go out, find a nice girl, and settle down?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not the relationship type.”

  “Only because you’re afraid to be.”

  “And who would I talk to about that?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Cassi? Christ, she lost the love of her life when Rem left town, and she lived through a broken heart for five years. Now she has her happiness. She’s planning a wedding. Helping Rem to raise his nieces. Why would I ask her advice when she’s got so much good finally happening in her life? I’m not gonna take a moment of that away from my baby sister.”

  “You won’t ruin anyone else’s happiness,” I said. “This is what family is for.”

  Quint interrupted me, his voice as sharp as I’d ever heard it. “The whole point of family is putting the people you love first. No one is ever going to convince me otherwise.”

  I shrugged. “Then what will you do?”

  “What does it matter?” He paused. “I’m serious, Lady. So I have a crippling, life altering disease. So fucking what? The only thing that matters is that everybody I love is finally getting everything good that they deserve.”

  “And that means you have to suffer alone?”

  “That means I’m not going to be the one who destroys the only good luck this family has ever had,” he said. “You have no idea the shit my family’s endured these past five years. First, we lost our parents. Then we nearly lost the farm. And if things had turned out a little differently, we would’ve lost each other. No one was happy. Fuck, we couldn’t even stay in the same room with each other. We fought about everything, including if we wanted to sell the farm and be rid of each other.” He stepped away, arms extended. “And now look at us. I’m an uncle. Twice. Cassi is getting married to a good man. Jules kept us together and managed to score a beautiful wife who gave him a son. Marius overcame the amputation, fell for an amazingly weird woman, and just became the scariest fucking baby daddy in all of Butterpond. Varius finally went home to the church, and you should see how much he loves Glory and Lulu. Tidus is healthy, which is its own goddamned miracle. And because he’s doing well, Spencer is finally on a good path. This is it, Lady. This is what my family deserves.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you need to isolate yourself. It doesn’t mean you can’t be happy as well.”

  “This means I am happy, in my own way. It means I have everything I’ve ever wanted. A family. Weekly dinners. Big Christmases. Hell, I’m even going to church now. It’s boring as hell, but at least the whole family spends some time together.”

  I brushed my hand along his cheek. “You have so much love to give, Quint. Don’t be afraid to show it. You’re a good man.”

  “I’m not, and I won’t be if I let you stay this close.” He savored my touch as if it’d be the last. “We can’t do this, Ladybug. Sex doesn’t mean the same to me as it does to you. And I won’t be the one responsible for ruining your first time.”

  “Even if I’d give that part of me to you?”

  “That’s the last thing you should do. You don’t want that.”

  Who was he to tell me what I wanted or how I felt?

  “You have no idea how honest I’m being right now, Quint.”

  His kiss grazed my lips for only a brief moment.

  “Don’t ask me again, Lady.” He growled the words, scaring both of us. “I don’t think I’ll have the strength to say no.”

  “Don’t worry about that…” My heart crashed, shattered and broken. “Next time I won’t let you push me away.”

  11

  Lady

  Forgetting the man of my dreams would’ve been easier if I’d only stopped thinking about him.

  But that was as impossible as falling out of love with Quint Payne.

  I stared at my ceiling, counting the seconds after the lightning crashed outside my window.

  One…two...

  Thunder shook the house and rattled the windows. The storm rolled in, heavy and violent. Whipping winds. Pounding rain. Flashes of lightning so quick the clouds created their own daylight.

  I’d miss these summer moments the most. During the day, Butterpond had suffocated in heavy humidity and blistering sunshine. Now, at night, the rumbling storms relieved the oppressive heat with pounding downpours and gusts of wind, broken tree limbs and tangled windchimes.

  Sure, London would have its share of dreary days, but nothing compared to the wild nighttime storms that swirled into existence over Butterpond.

  I should have savored my last week in town. Instead, I couldn’t wait for it to be o
ver. The days passed quickly enough, but the nights plagued me with a grueling slowness that altered the definition of soon from optimistic promise to dreaded uncertainty.

  Who could’ve guessed that the trip of a lifetime would make me so unbelievably miserable?

  A pebble cracked against my window.

  I’d expected him. But I’d also hoped I could ignore him.

  A second plinked off the glass. Then a third.

  Then a shoe.

  I slipped from my bed, wrapping the sheet over my shoulders. The lightning flashed, and a shadow appeared in the tree, dead set on climbing the tallest oak on Grandma’s property in the middle of the summer’s fiercest storm.

  What an idiot.

  I tucked the blanket closer. Reluctantly. My room had been stifling before bed—sticky hot. The sort of uncomfortable I could only tolerate while wearing just a t-shirt and panties. Hadn’t been brave enough to go nude, though that would have served Quint right. He deserved nothing less than a front-row showing of everything he’d missed out on tonight. One quick wave in front of the window, and then I’d slam the curtains on him.

  But…it was storming.

  And he did carry his own lightning rod in his pants.

  Figured. I already sweated. The last thing I wanted to do was invite that beast into my home.

  Especially after all that had happened.

  …And everything that didn’t happen.

  I flicked the window’s lock and stepped aside. Quint tumbled into the room. The rain followed, saturating my curtains and the carpets under his muddy feet. I didn’t bother attempting the lights. The storm had rattled the town hard enough to lose power.

  Lightning flared, illuminating the man for the briefest of heart beats.

  And that was all I needed. Just that quick and furious vision. A pure moment of energy and excitement and irritation and desire all transformed by the violet bolt of electricity.

  Quint stood before me. Tense. So very strange for a man who wore a smile just as casually as a pair of jeans. His jaw had clenched…as did the rest of him. His wet t-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, stretching over his straining pecs as he crossed his arms and nearly ripped the tight material over his biceps.