His

by Brenda Rothert

  “Why did you leave your life?”

  She furrows her brow and looks away. “I thought it was for a good reason, but now I wonder if maybe I was wrong. I just didn’t feel like I had any other choices. I was desperate.”

  I lace our fingers together and hold her gaze. “I know you’re afraid to trust me, but if I knew all your truths, I’d keep them locked up forever.”

  Her smile goes all the way to her eyes. “You’re so much more than I was expecting.”

  “You, too.”

  I put a hand on her back to pull her close, leaning in at the same time. I kiss her slow and easy at first, but soon I can’t hold back. I take her hips and slide her onto my lap, my tongue brushing across hers as I pull her against me.

  “Let’s take a trip,” I say against her neck as I kiss it. “Anywhere in the world. I’ll drop everything to go. Just tell me where.”

  “Anywhere,” she says. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

  I slide a hand into her hair and kiss her hard, wishing like hell we weren’t at my mom’s house. I want to be closer to Quinn right now. I want to chase away all her self-doubt and sadness and just revel in how she makes me feel. So alive. I’ve never felt so alive.

  “I don’t care what your reasons for leaving your old life were,” I say, holding her tightly against me. “None of that matters to me. Only you matter. I’ll protect you from anything and everything, Quinn.”

  She slides her hands around my neck and kisses me, moaning softly into my mouth. I want to consume her in this moment; make every inch of her a part of me.

  A sharp knock sounds at the door, and we both turn as it opens.

  “Oh,” my mom says, looking both scandalized and pissed at the same time. “What is this? You spend ten seconds with our guests and then sneak away for a groping session?”

  “Ah . . . it wasn’t intentional,” I say.

  She gives me a skeptical look.

  “We’ll be right back in, promise.” I smile at her. “Almost done groping.”

  She closes the door, and I squeeze Quinn’s ass, groaning softly as my erection presses against her.

  “Stop, she can hear you,” Quinn whispers frantically in my ear.

  “I’ve made no secret of my feelings.” I kiss her neck again.

  She slides off my lap and walks to the mirror to fix her hair and straighten her clothes.

  “You’d rather be out there than in here?” I ask, adjusting myself as I stand up.

  “No, but we can pick this up later.”

  “We most definitely will.” I approach her from behind and wrap my arms around her, cupping one of her breasts and reminding her again that I have a raging hard-on for her.

  “Let’s go,” she says with a smile in her voice.

  Mom and her friends are passing trays of hors d’oeuvres when we walk into the kitchen.

  “Dinner will be done in about ten minutes,” Mom says.

  She always has her cook prep the side dishes in advance, and she heats them up and makes the turkey herself. I slip on oven mitts and take a dish of sweet potato casserole from her as she pulls it out of the oven.

  “Dining room?” I ask.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Let me know if I can help,” Quinn offers. My mom doesn’t respond.

  “Mom,” I say sternly.

  “Hmm? Oh, I think we’ve got it covered,” she says to Quinn.

  I give my mother a pointed look and take the casserole into the dining room. Her table is about the size of a football field, and it’s decked out with a cloth tablecloth and napkins, floral centerpieces, and china. Classical music is playing over the apartment’s sound system.

  When I walk back into the kitchen, Gloria is shaking her head and looking at Quinn.

  “I don’t know what it is,” she says, “but you are just so familiar to me.”

  Quinn shrugs and smiles. “Maybe you’ve seen me around the city.”

  Gloria draws her brows together. “Did you ever intern at MAC?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “And you never went to NYU?”

  Quinn shakes her head. “Just the University of Iowa.”

  “Have you done any work with the Center for Abducted Children? I’m on the board there.”

  The color drains from Quinn’s cheeks. She clears her throat. “No, I sure haven’t.”

  I go to Quinn and wrap her in my arms. I can feel the tension in her body.

  “Let’s go carve that bird,” I say.

  I rub a palm over her back and pick up the platter my mom has the golden brown turkey on. She left the knife on the table, and I set to work. Quinn leans against the wall in the dining room, still looking shaken.

  “You okay?” I ask in a low tone.

  She nods silently.

  “You want to do some shopping tomorrow?” I ask. “Maybe get some gifts in the mail for a certain someone?”

  “That would be nice,” she says, smiling weakly.

  “Nothing like the day after Thanksgiving in the city. I’ll brave it for you.”

  I take a bite of turkey over and put it in her mouth. “Good?”

  “It’s very good.”

  “When you only cook one thing, you get really good at it,” I say with a wry smile.

  “I heard that,” my mother says from the kitchen.

  I steer the dinner conversation toward mundane topics like the economy and our city’s mayor, making sure nothing comes up that would make Quinn uncomfortable. We stay for a couple hours after the meal, and then I announce we’re leaving.

  We say our good-byes, and I can feel Quinn relax as we step onto the penthouse elevator. I know she wants to keep her secrets, but I can’t stay silent about this.

  “Gloria mentioning the Center for Abducted Children gave you a scare,” I say.

  Her sigh is all the acknowledgement I get.

  “Hey,” I say softly. She turns to me. “Were you kidnapped, Quinn? Is that what you and your sister are running from?”

  The horrors she may have been through are flying through my head. The anger burning through me right now is even worse than what I felt for the men who attacked her.

  She shakes her head and gives me a sad smile.

  “No. I wasn’t the one who was kidnapped. I was the kidnapper.”

  Andrew

  “The kidnapper? What do you mean by that?”

  Quinn swallows hard and looks down at the elevator floor.

  “I took my sister. I took her away from our home.”

  Her voice is so soft I can hardly hear it, but there’s no mistaking the anguish there.

  The elevator doors open into the parking garage of my mom’s building. A couple teenagers are standing there waiting. I take Quinn’s hand and squeeze it as we walk to my Land Rover. As soon as we’re both inside, I turn to her.

  “Why did you take her?”

  She’s staring at her lap. “I was getting her out of a bad situation. Or . . . a potentially bad one. It’s . . . hard to talk about.”

  Her voice is shaking along with her hands. I put my hand on her thigh.

  “Remember what I said? You’ve got my support. Always, Quinn.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s Paul, isn’t it?” I say gently.

  Her head snaps up, and she gives me a horrified look. “How do you know?”

  “You’ve said his name when you’re having nightmares.”

  Tears well in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t think you wanted me to know.”

  She puts her hands over her face and cries softly. Now I’m the one who’s horrified.

  “Hey, no . . . Quinn . . . no, no, no. Please don’t cry.”

  The cries turn into full-on sobs. I freeze for a second, wondering what to do. Should I let her cry or comfort her? The sound of her in pain proves too hard to ignore, so I reach over and pull her into my arms.

  “I haven’t . . . heard anyone . . . say his name . . . in so l
ong,” she says through her sobs. “Out loud. It’s been so long.”

  “I’m sorry, beautiful. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She just cries against my chest for a couple minutes, clinging to my back like her life depends on holding on. I could cry myself, seeing her hurting so badly. Quinn is so strong that I don’t know how to help her when she’s crumbling.

  When she pulls away, her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. She has mascara smeared on her face. I pass her a handkerchief, and she smiles.

  “Thanks. I’m the death of these things, huh?”

  “Who is Paul, Quinn? How did he hurt you?”

  “I can’t talk about that. Everything I’ve already told you is more than I ever wanted anyone to know.”

  I shift in my seat, feeling like a caged animal. “What if I could help you? Whoever he is, whatever he did, if he’s after you . . . I can take care of it.”

  “Take care of it? What does that mean?”

  “It means anyone who hurts you is at the top of my shit list. You’re upset, and I want to take care of it.”

  She stares out the windshield at the concrete wall. “It’s just not that simple, Andrew.”

  “It can be. When I put my mind to something, I make it happen.”

  “What, you mean like killing him?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  She exhales deeply. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this. Can we just go home?”

  “Of course.” I start the car and look over my shoulder to back out of the parking spot.

  I can’t stop thinking about Quinn as a teenager, bringing her little sister to the streets of New York to hide from whoever this Paul guy is. It was a gutsy move. My admiration for her grows even stronger.

  With my resources, I could find out who she is and who Paul is in a matter of a day. I feel a burning urge to do it—and to make sure Paul knows his life depends on never coming near Quinn or Bethy again.

  I have an impossible choice to make: protect the woman I’m falling for or hold on to her trust in me. I want both of those things so fucking badly I can see them consuming me.

  Quinn

  I slept so soundly in Andrew’s arms last night. We watched movies all afternoon and evening, and then he worked his bedroom magic on me twice—once with his mouth and another with his fingers. I felt the stress of the day melting away as I climbed high and came down both times.

  This morning, the smell of cooking bacon and brewing coffee draws me into the kitchen. Andrew looks up from the stove, and I approach him with a smile, wrapping my arms around him from behind.

  “You really know how to take care of a girl,” I say, pressing my cheek to his firm back.

  He puts down the spatula and turns, wrapping his arms around me. “Thanks for letting me take care of you. I know it’s hard for someone so independent.”

  “It is. But it feels good.”

  I reach up and cup his stubbled cheek, then tip up on my toes to kiss him. He tastes like coffee.

  “We’re going to get the dog?” he asks when I pull away. “Or shopping first?”

  “Let’s shop first so we don’t have to leave him here alone.”

  Andrew breaks off a piece of bacon from the plate next to the stove and puts it in his mouth. He scrambles some eggs and then puts them in a big bowl.

  “What do you want to get Bethy for Christmas?” he asks.

  “I don’t know . . . maybe some caramel corn from the place we always liked the smell of. And some books.”

  “How about a car?”

  I look up from the cup of coffee I’m pouring and accidentally overfill it. “A car? She can’t even drive.”

  “Won’t she be learning?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not in school. Maybe Bean will teach her. But a car is . . . a lot.”

  “Would she like it?”

  “Oh, Andrew,” I laugh as I wipe up the coffee I spilled on the counter. “It’s dangerous how that’s your only criteria.”

  “Only when it comes to you. And your sister.”

  I’m so attached to this complex, thoughtful, sweet, sexy, controlling man. Already, I can’t imagine life without him.

  “Not a car,” I say. “But thanks for offering.”

  “Cell phone. So you guys can talk.”

  I nod. “I would love that. But I worry about it being tracked.”

  “I can take care of that.”

  I arch a brow at him. “What can’t you take care of?”

  “Who would track it, anyway? You’re safe here.”

  “She’s not really findable right now. I guess I still am, though.” I lean against the kitchen counter and sip my coffee. “When we first got here, we had a couple hundred dollars I’d saved up. It went fast. We got hungry after that, and we went to a soup kitchen. We were in line, and I looked over and saw a missing children poster with our photos on it. It scared me to death. I grabbed her, and we ran. That’s why I was afraid to go to a shelter or a soup kitchen after that.”

  “Damn. I truly can’t imagine, Quinn. What you’ve been through.”

  “I worried every single day that they’d find us and send me to jail and her back home. That was my nightmare.”

  “You were a minor, though. I don’t know that you can even be charged with a crime.”

  I sigh deeply. “I don’t care about that as much as I care about keeping her safe. She’ll be eighteen in two years, and I have to keep her safe until then.”

  “I can get her a phone that’s not trackable. You guys could talk every day.”

  Just the thought brings a lump to my throat. “If it’s possible . . . I’d love that.”

  “Maybe a laptop, too? Would she like that?”

  “I’m sure she’d love it.”

  My breakdown yesterday was a catharsis. I feel like I released some of the worry, and it was good to get it off my shoulders.

  Andrew and I laugh a lot over breakfast, and then spend a blissful couple of hours shopping.

  We buy Bethy a laptop, a necklace, an e-reader, several paperbacks, and two pairs of shoes. I help Andrew pick out some scarves and perfume to give his mother for Christmas.

  After a quick lunch, we go to the animal hospital. My heart pounds as we walk through the door. I’m excited to see the sweet boy who rescued me that day in the alley.

  A nurse takes us to a room and closes the door behind her.

  “He was lucky to get here when he did,” she says. “He was in pretty rough shape, as you know. We’ve had him on IV fluids and gotten him dewormed. He’s got hair missing in spots on his ears that was probably eaten away by bugs. It’s not likely to ever grow back. We’ve got his diet and meds all written down on here for you. He needs to see his regular vet in two weeks for a check. And that’s about it . . . I’ll go get him.”

  She leaves the room, and I feel like an expectant mother as I wait. I’ve never had a dog, but I know this dog was meant to be mine.

  When the nurse walks him into the room on a leash, I start crying unexpectedly. He’s still skinny, but he’s clean now. He’s a golden retriever, and his hair has been washed, cut, and combed. I see the spots on his ears without hair, but they don’t make him any less handsome.

  I kneel on the floor, and he approaches me slowly.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” I say in a soothing tone. “I’m your mama now.”

  Andrew sits down next to me and reaches for the dog’s ears, but the dog moves back in fear.

  “It’s all right, guy,” he says. “I can’t believe how dirty you were. Never even knew you had that gold coat under there. You’ve got the Midas touch, huh?”

  I smile at Andrew. “Let’s call him Midas.”

  “Yeah?” He offers the dog his flat palm. “You do look like a Midas. King Midas Wentworth.”

  Midas sniffs his fingers. We spend a few minutes getting acquainted before Andrew pays the bill, and we settle into the Land Rover with Midas on my lap.

  “He’s shaking,” I sa
y, running my hands over his back to soothe him.

  “He’ll be better when we get home.”

  “He’s probably not house-trained.”

  “We’ll work on it.”

  I feel a surge of happiness. “Thank you for letting him stay.”

  “He saved you, right? This dog’s gonna live in luxury now.”

  “Hey, about the trip you mentioned yesterday . . .”

  He looks over, brows arched. “You think of a place you want to go?”

  “I think we should wait a couple weeks. I don’t want to leave Midas right now.”

  “Sure, we can wait. And when we go, we can take him with us.”

  “I’d like that.”

  My worries are still there, but there’s also a new sense that everything is okay. Bethy is safe. I’m as happy as I can be without her here. I write her a letter when we get back home.

  Dear Bethy,

  It makes me so happy to know you’re settling in well there. Tell Bean it means everything to me that he’s keeping you safe. I wish I was there on the beach with you. One day I will be.

  Life here is good. Andrew is so much more than I was expecting. We have a dog now, his name is Midas. I know you’ll love him when you meet him. I think you’ll like Andrew, too. He’s a little intense at times, but that’s one of the things I like best about him.

  I started volunteering at a homeless shelter. It feels good to be helping there. It’s hard to see people who need so much and only be able to give them a meal, but it’s something. Women and children get to stay at the shelter, but men can only get food there.

  I got to see a bit of the Thanksgiving parade yesterday, and it reminded me of our times watching it. Lots of good memories, like doing that dance in the alley with you after the parade one year.

  I’m proud of you for learning Spanish and working with a tutor. I always knew you were strong, and it feels good to see you holding your own.

  Please write me as much as you can. I miss you and think of you often. We’ll be together again soon.

  Love,

  Quinn

  Andrew

  Jet lag’s a bitch. I’ve been dragging through the whole flight home, but now that we’re about to land, I’m feeling energized again.