by Maisey Yates
He would. If he didn’t have to live in this body, he would have peeled his own skin off and escaped years ago.
But you can’t escape your soul. It’s rotten no matter what.
She started working the buttons on his shirt. “I need you,” she said.
“No, Lark.” He shook his head. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Shut up, Quinn,” she said. She leaned in and kissed his neck.
“You can’t need me.”
“Then you need me.”
And he couldn’t argue with that. He let her undo the buttons on his shirt, let her kiss him like she was gasping and he was air. Let her undo his belt buckle and push his jeans to the floor.
Then he followed her out into the bedroom, and he didn’t protest when she pulled him onto the bed with him.
She stopped kissing him for a second, her eyes locked with his, her hands on his cheeks. “You need me,” she said again.
He was shaking with his need for her. Couldn’t deny it. But couldn’t bring himself to say it either. For her. For him.
So he just let her keep kissing him, pouring into the deep, empty spaces inside of him. And he took it, let her try and fill him, even though he knew she could spend all of her life trying and never impact the emptiness.
And he would leave her empty too. Everything spent on a man who would take and take and never be satisfied.
She parted her thighs for him and he groaned, rubbing his cock over her slick folds. He shuddered, pressing his forehead against her chest. “I can’t wait,” he said.
She reached over and grabbed a condom out of the drawer and tore it open, reaching down between them and rolling it onto his length. After she removed her hand he gripped himself and made sure the protection was on as well as it should be. The last thing she needed was a lasting consequence from him.
As if you you’ll leave her without any scars.
He pushed the voice away, and pushed into her, the feeling of completeness, of homecoming, so overwhelming it tugged the breath from his lungs.
For a moment, he felt so satisfied, so complete, he just wanted to stay there, joined to her, forever. He’d never felt so at peace. Had never felt as comfortable in his own body as he was when he was pressed up against hers.
But then she flexed her hips, her internal muscles tightening around him, and his need slipped its leash, roaring through him like a lion, demanding satisfaction.
And he could do nothing but chase it. He thrust into her, deep and hard, and she moaned, fingernails digging into his skin, her breath hot on his neck.
He was lost. In her. Her scent, the feel of her, around him, against him, soft and yielding, the perfect answer to his hardness. Strong where he was weak. Vulnerable where he had no give.
She was perfect for him. His perfect fit.
He let that thought spur him on, push him home. He felt her reach her peak, and he raced her over the edge, pleasure pouring through him, washing over him. Like a baptism by fire.
He lay against her, that last thought echoing through him. She was perfect for him.
“I love you, Quinn.”
For a second, those words filled him with a joy that was so big, so terrible, he thought it would crush his insides.
And on the heels of the joy came the hard, cold bite of reality.
She was perfect for him, because she had so much to take. Because she was beautiful, lovely inside and out, unlike anyone else he’d ever known. Because she looked at him and saw a man with nothing as worth something. Because she tried to see beyond the bad that had been born into him.
But he wasn’t perfect for her. Because no matter how badly she wanted to see a good man, it didn’t make him one.
He moved away from her, his heart pounding, his body still burning from the high of the orgasm, from the high of those three words. Words he was sure he’d never heard directed at him in his life.
And now they were ringing in his head like a damn church bell. A call to salvation he couldn’t answer.
“Get out, Lark,” he said, stumbling away from the bed and going back into the bathroom to get rid of the condom and collect the clothes.
“What?” She followed him, standing in the doorway, her body flushed from her orgasm. “What did you just say? I said I love you and you actually said—”
“Go.”
“Quinn, I told you that I wasn’t going to make you choose. I told you I would take you like you are.”
“Are you stupid? I’m serious. Are you stupid that you would take the nothing I can give you? Lark Mitchell, you could have the whole world, and you just want to take my sick twisted piece of it. Why would you want so little?”
“No, Quinn, the entire world is open to you and you choose to live in a sick twisted place and act like a trapped, scared little boy. That is stupid. I’m standing here holding the door open telling you to walk out and you’re in the corner telling me you’re trapped. Why do you want so little?”
She turned away and he bent down and picked up his jeans, tugging them on and following her out into the bedroom.
“There’s no more to me than this, Lark. I’m an asshole. My own family couldn’t deal with me. None of my parents wanted me. I had one home, and it was in the rodeo. It’s the only point in my life I ever managed to stay out of trouble, and without it? Without it I’m that same worthless nothing that I was before. I don’t love women, I sleep with them, and when I’m done, I never think about them again. You’re not going to be any different.”
Lark felt like she’d been slapped. Quinn was looking at her with eyes so full of blank rage, rage that seemed to turn inward, not toward her, that he looked like a stranger. The lines on his face were hard, every muscle in his body rigid. Even the horse looked angrier, his biceps straining, tension coursing through him.
“I don’t believe that,” she said. Her voice came out a strangled whisper, her throat so tight she could hardly breathe, let alone speak.
“You don’t want to believe any of this, I know. But you made me into a man that I’m not. You lied to yourself. I told you the truth, Lark. You were convenient, honey. And I won’t deny, it wasn’t just proximity. It was a hell of a lot of fun to get your brother so worked up. But this wasn’t more than that, and I never told you it was.”
A tear ran down her cheek, and she was too horrified by it to brush it away. So she ignored it, let it fall. And let the next one fall. And the next.
“You held me last night,” she said. “You didn’t even ask for sex—you just held me.”
He shrugged his shoulders, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Guess I’m not as horny for you as I was in the beginning.”
She could hear him saying all these things. The words coming out of his mouth so ugly, with a grain of truth in them that landed in her sensitive, insecure places, rubbing her raw. But if she really listened, listened to the desperation running beneath the words, she could hear the truth.
“You big coward,” she said.
“What?”
“Quinn Parker, you are the biggest pansy I have ever known. You play so tough, you play so bad, but you are a scared, hurt little boy, and that’s all.” She took a deep breath. “Do you know why I see the scared? Because I know scared. Because I never had a real date or a real boyfriend, because I was too scared. Because I didn’t go to college, or get a job away from home, because I was scared. Oh, Quinn, I know scared. But I’m not scared anymore.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, Quinn, in this instance, I know exactly what I’m talking about. Before you, I was afraid of everything. But now . . . now I love you. And you’re rejecting me. And it hurts like a son of a bitch, I’m not going to lie. But I’m not backing down. I’m not afraid to say it. Because I would rather take chances. I would rather ride horses up to your ridge, and spend
a day away from the computer. I would rather be with the man I want, and have something that I desire with my entire being, than experience a watered down version of desire with an internet connection and no risk.”
She took a deep breath and looked at him, at his face, frozen, hard. She continued. “You think you’re nothing without the rodeo, but I think you’re using that. You feel like you’re missing something, and it’s easier to pretend it’s that. But I think even with the rodeo you’re worried you don’t mean anything. That you don’t have anything. And the truth is? You don’t. As long as you reject anyone who wants to care about you, as long as you refuse to care back, you’re going to be empty inside. You have to love people. You have to let them love you. Even if it’s not me, Quinn, let someone love you.”
He took a deep breath, his chest pitching up and down. “No one loves me, Lark. Not for very long. You might think you love me now, but it’s not going to last. It never does. There’s one place in this world for me . . . and I don’t care if you don’t get that, or understand it. Because I do. And I have to get back to it. Nothing else matters. You don’t matter.”
Lark felt like he’d wrapped his hand around her heart and crushed it into a ball. “Oh, Quinn.” She closed her eyes and felt another tear fall.
And she knew he was right. That Kelsey was right. She’d lied to herself. Told herself she only needed temporary. Told herself she would be fine if she didn’t get him in the end. Told herself she believed him when he said that sex was all it would ever be.
Deep down in her heart, she’d believed he would love her. That he would see. She’d believed, in the truest part of herself, that he would be the man she would marry one day. The father of her babies.
And right now, he was standing there tearing that dream, that beautiful, untouched, half-realized dream, into tiny little pieces. Glitter around her feet. Sparkling, lovely even in its brokenness.
“I need to pack,” she said.
“Fine.” He walked over to the closet and pulled a shirt out, tugging it over his head. “I won’t run into you again. I’ll mail you your check.”
“Don’t,” she said, but before the word was out he’d slammed the door behind him.
She looked down at her bag, still filled with her clothes. She’d never unpacked. She’d just sort of lived out of her duffel. Because he’d never told her to put her things away anywhere. Because he’d never wanted her to stay.
A sob wrenched through her, and she pulled out the pile of lacy underthings and threw them on the bed, spreading them out over the comforter. She didn’t need them anymore. And he could keep them, and remember. Remember that she hadn’t ever had the chance to wear all of them for him yet.
She bent down again and found another thong, slinging it over one of the posts on the bed. And then she saw them—the Superman panties she’d been wearing during their illicit phone call.
She picked them up and traced the S. Just like Quinn had told her to imagine he’d done.
She threw them onto his pillow. Then she pulled on jeans and a shirt, zipped her bag shut and slung it over her shoulder. She surveyed her handiwork. She wasn’t leaving like she’d never been here. She’d be damned if she would leave him without a reminder. If she’d let him forget.
So let him deal with that.
She wiped another tear away and walked out of his room, closing the door behind her. She went down the stairs and out of the house, heading toward her car. And she refused to look back.
She’d spent too much of her life looking back. Being sad. Being scared. That wasn’t her anymore.
Quinn could stay behind and embrace all that fear, but that wasn’t her anymore.
Quinn had changed her. Too bad he’d also left a Quinn-shaped hole inside of her.
Chapter Seventeen
Lark walked up the steps and into her house, every step heavy. She refused to feel ashamed. She refused to feel guilty. But she still kind of did.
She heard footsteps coming from the kitchen and looked up. Cade was standing there with a beer in his hand.
And her resolve broke. “Oh, Cade,” she said, throwing her arms around him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please don’t make me feel stupid. Please don’t tell me you warned me.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “No. I won’t. Lark, I won’t.”
They stood like that for a while, then he pulled away, his arm still around her shoulders. “You know, I was all ready to be really pissed at you.”
She nodded and wiped the tears from her face. “I don’t blame you.”
“I’m not though,” he said. “Come sit down.”
She let him lead her to the couch and she sat, her knees drawn up to her chest. “I left. Obviously.”
“Yeah, you did. Finally get sick of him?”
“He got sick of me.”
“He’s a damned idiot.”
“I . . . I just . . .”
“You’re not the first person to be stupid over sex. You won’t be the last. Hell, I’ve been stupid over it plenty of times. And I can’t hold it against you. Even though part of me wishes I could.”
Her teeth chattered. “Yeah, well, I wish it were just sex.”
He stiffened next to her. “You aren’t . . . I mean you used . . .”
“Not pregnant,” she said. “Just in love.”
“How did you manage to fall in love with a guy like that?”
She looked down at her hands. “Because I know for a fact he’s not a guy like that. I know you don’t believe me. I know you don’t. He doesn’t either, if it helps.”
“Nothing helps. He hurt you.”
“And you really aren’t mad at me?”
“No.” He shifted. “Like I said, you’re hardly the first person to make an ass of yourself for love. Cole made a way bigger ass out of himself than you did. Seriously. Shawna?”
“True.”
“But look, he found Kelsey later. And everything is . . . well, it’s not my thing, but he’s happy. You’ll be happy again someday too.”
“Why isn’t it your thing, Cade?”
“I’m not the kind of guy who’s up for something like that. I’m more of a temporary man. Itchy feet.”
“Cade, I think you have the same problem Quinn has. You don’t really see yourself.” Lark leaned her head back against the couch. “Listen to me; I’m full of advice tonight.”
“Yeah, me too. We could write a book and fill it with our wisdom.” Cade put his hands behind his head. “You can talk about your incredible insight into psychologically damaged men, after one love affair, and I’ll talk about moving on and finding functional relationships. I’ll write most of it from a hotel the next town over while in bed with a woman whose name I don’t know.”
“Sounds legit.”
“As much as most self-help books.”
Silence fell between them, and Lark leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Tell me about dad.”
“Now?”
“My heart’s broken, Cadence,” she said. “Might as well throw another brick on the pile. You can’t break it more. And you can’t protect me from the truth either. That’s how all this started.”
Cade ran a hand over his face. “I know. But I wanted to. I wish you knew.”
“I do. I got . . . I got upset because I felt like . . . like I believed this silly story. Like you were laughing at me, maybe.”
“No. Never that. Nothing about this is funny. But when I found out about dad . . . I was sixteen. And I wished that I could un-know it. You have no idea how much. I just wanted to spare you from that.”
“So . . . it was a long time ago. She’s . . . how old is she?”
“I think probably twenty-five now.”
“So, she’s older than me.” Lark looked down at her hands, expecting more misery. But it didn’t come. It was
just a kind of cold, sick calm. Acceptance. “It just sucks.”
“I know.”
“It’s not her fault though.”
He nodded. “I know that too.”
Lark let out a slow breath. “So . . . so maybe instead of protecting me, and protecting the guy who made the mistake, and who is dead, by the way, we protect the sister who’s here?”
Cade smiled, slow, sad and more genuine than any smile she’d seen on his face in a while. “What was I protecting you from? You’re a lot more grown-up than I am.”
She stood up. “I’m glad you think so. Now, if you could please ignore the very teenage angst coming from my bedroom and think of me fondly as an adult. Look the other way if you hear me crying like a child.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I think you need me, I’m going to be there.”
She sighed. “So annoying. And I love you for it.”
“I love you too.”
“That’s the first time it’s been said back to me all day.” Cade winced. “Yeah, I know, right?”
“Do you want me to kill him? I have to offer. But you know, I’d do it anyway. That he hurt you is just a bonus.”
She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer. I really do. But he has to live with his issues. I think that’s punishment enough.”
***
Why the hell had he quit drinking? He couldn’t remember now. Not now, when he felt like his entrails had been pulled out and exposed. When he felt scrubbed raw inside, his eyes so dry and gritty it was laughable. Especially when he was pretty sure he wanted to cry, but that he’d lost the ability to do it.
If he got drunk, he could probably cry. Probably release the hideous pressure that was building in his chest. Yeah, he could wail like a drunken idiot. An emotionally crippled, drunken idiot. He could curl up on his bed with all those panties Lark had left him and bawl his eyes out.
But he wasn’t going to. Because he had to work today. Because he wasn’t going to let the boys down when he’d promised them more riding demonstrations. Because Lark would be pissed if he drank because of her. Because she would be really pissed if he let the boys down.