by G. K. Brady
They gathered up what she needed, and he obediently took a seat on a stool in his bathroom. Like old times.
“How short?” she asked.
He stared at himself in the mirror, and for some reason the word “junior” played tricks in his mind. “I’m ready to ditch the flow, Mom.”
Her eyes widened. “You sure?”
“I’ve been wearing it this way to impress the ladies, which suddenly seems like a really stupid reason, especially since it’s a royal pain in my a—rear.” He nodded at her in the mirror. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
“Okay, son,” she giggled. “No more lettuce for you.”
He winced with the first few snips, watching each strand float to the floor, but then he relaxed. He was a little kid again, and he reveled in the feel of her fingers working over his scalp. “You like your blue hair, Mom?”
She paused to check herself in the mirror. “Yes. It’s fun. Like Sarah. She’s fun. I like having her around. How about you?”
Confusion swirled inside him. Did he like having Sarah around? She made him crazy in so many ways—some good, some not. He merely hmphed in response.
After several beats, his mother said, “You two remind me of your father and me.”
The scissors nearly flew from her hands when he swiveled his head to look at her. Somehow he managed to avoid getting his eye poked out. “What does that mean?”
“Trying to out-challenge each other. It was the same for your dad and me. Never knew a man who could push my buttons so easily. I loved it.”
“So why aren’t you together anymore?”
Her eyes stayed focused on her work. “We’re just taking a very long break.” A wistful smile curved her lips. “But oh, I miss the teasing! He gave as good as he got, and we fed off each other. It was exhilarating for a long time.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “So why did you guys … Why the long break? Could he not deal with the Parkinson’s? Was he …?”
She caught his eyes in the mirror. “Unfaithful? Not before he left. Since then? I hope not, but I don’t know. Three years is a very long time.”
Her tone told him the separation had been a long one for her too. “Yeah, but you haven’t …”
“No, I haven’t.” She flashed him an unreadable look. “I think our being apart has more to do with how convoluted our lives became after the accident, how little we communicated, and how hurt and angry we both were. Between our demanding lives, my disease, the trouble with Ronan—” Her eyes went wide, and she came to a standstill.
Suddenly, she had all Quinn’s attention. “What do you mean, ‘the trouble with Ronan’?”
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” She bent back to her work.
“No, Mom. What about Ronan? I know he’s your favorite—it’s no secret. Dad wanted him to break into the NHL, but then he got hurt. I know Dad was disappointed it ended up being me instead, so you won’t hurt my feelings by talking about it.” I’m a big boy now. I think.
She stopped again, and he wondered if she was going to get through the entire cut or if he’d end up with lopsided locks. Then she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Is that what you think? Oh, Quinnie. Ronan is not the favorite.”
A few silent beats went by before he screwed up the courage to ask his next question. “Then why all the special treatment for him? Is it because I was too much to handle and you couldn’t deal?” In Quinn’s memory bank, his parents had thrown all their attention at Ronan, letting Quinn fend for himself, especially after Ronan’s hockey hopes had come to a screeching halt.
Now his mother rested both hands on his shoulders and her chin on his crown. “Quinnie, trust me when I say Ronan needed … help, even before the accident. You didn’t. Yes, you were high energy and drove me crazy at times, but you were capable of standing on your own, unlike your older brother. You have a good head on your shoulders about most things. And your dad and I … Well, let’s just say it was all hands on deck, and that deck was almost always Ronan. And then the accident. Your dad …” She let out a little sigh. “Well, I always worried we cheated you, but you were so good-natured and seemed to roll with whatever … Gosh, Quinnie, I’m so sorry.”
And she was. He could read it in her misty eyes.
He sat in stunned silence while she finished cutting his hair. Finally, he spluttered, “So Ronan’s not your favorite?”
She offered him a wry smile. “No, honey. I don’t have any favorites, but if I did, it wouldn’t be your brother.”
Blown away couldn’t begin to describe his state of mind after her revelation. He’d have to chew on it a while before digesting it. In the meantime, his chest felt about a hundred pounds lighter.
His mom grasped both sides of his head and squared his face to the mirror. “What do you think?”
Though it wasn’t the professional job he was accustomed to, and the short length would take some getting used to, he gave her his honest answer. “Best haircut I’ve ever had, Mom. Thank you.” And it had nothing to do with his hair.
Sarah removed her heels from her pinched feet and quietly slipped inside the house from the garage. Quarter after eleven, and everything was dim. Good. Liz and Quinn were in bed then, which was where she would head. After an evening of polite conversation, she was exhausted. But where was Archer?
She padded the length of the hallway that led to the kitchen, and her question was soon answered when Archer rounded the corner, his tail swiping back and forth at full throttle.
She dropped into a crouch to pet him. “Aw, I love how you say hello. But you’re not much of a guard dog, are you? I could’ve lifted the family jewels by now and—”
A figure loomed out of the dimness, startling her, and she fell on her ass.
“You okay, Sunshine?”
She stared up at Quinn’s silhouette. Something didn’t compute, but the voice was definitely his. He reached down and clamped a big hand on her arm, hauling her upward. A glow from the kitchen illuminated his face. “Have fun tonight, toots?”
“Oh my God! Where’s your hair?”
“My bathroom floor,” he quipped and took a few steps back.
“Why?” The question came out plaintive, whiny.
He shrugged his rock-hard shoulders. “I was tired of it. Why? Thought you didn’t like it?”
“It’s not that … It’s just … It was your hair. Your identity was wrapped up in that hair.”
“Not really.” He walked into the family room, where the TV flickered. She followed. The volume was so low she barely heard it, but she recognized the show about ancient aliens.
“So you’re like Samson now,” she blurted.
He picked up a mostly full beer bottle and tipped it to his lips. “I’m what?”
“Samson. Delilah cut off his hair, and he lost his strength. Not good if you’re a hockey player.”
Cocking his head, he stepped closer. “Are you drunk? You shouldn’t drink and drive. I would’ve come—”
“No. Just in shock.” She kept her eyes fastened on his face, scanning, taking him in as she adjusted to the gloom. Solid cheekbones seemed more prominent, and his clean-shaven jaw appeared a little more squared off. The youthful, I’m-all-that persona had retreated, eclipsed by a confident … man. A powerful, mature man. Could a haircut be responsible for the transformation? No. Thoughts of the accident—how it had impacted Quinn’s life, his entire family’s life, how his father had left, what Jennifer and Ronan had done—had been running roughshod in Sarah’s brain all night, and once again she’d found the axis on which she’d pinned her opinion of Quinn Hadley tilted. In fact, it listed so far to one side she was considering scrubbing her initial impression and rebuilding what she knew of him from scratch.
Quinn arched his eyebrows. Even that was a different look—far more rugged and appealing.
Sarah blinked a few times, then swallowed, trying to coat her suddenly parched throat. Is the hair having this effect?
“You’re making me nervous here, Suns
hine.” His honeyed voice was low, and it resonated inside her, skittering delightful shivers along her spine and limbs. Arm and neck hairs lifted, electrified, standing at attention.
“Sorry. Your new look might take some getting used to.”
“What’s your initial verdict?” he said casually.
“You remind me of a grown-up instead of an overgrown, messy kid. Does it feel weird?”
“Having you stare at me like that? Yeah. Really weird. Wanna beer?” Without waiting for her answer, he turned and went to the fridge, fished out a bottle, uncapped it, and brought it back to her. He stood at arm’s length—just close enough to hand her the bottle—and frowned. “Did something happen tonight?”
Yeah. Someone grew up and got a whole lot sexier while I was gone. She took a long, cooling drink. “No. We just sat around, had dinner, and talked. I haven’t spent that much time around T.J. The guy’s hilarious.”
Quinn hmphed and muttered something she didn’t quite catch. He raised his bottle to her. “So you had a nice time. Good.” He took a slow pull, watching her intently over his bottle. “What did you think of Drew?”
Wait. Is that what this is about? Is he … jealous? She answered as honestly as she could, in a sudden and inexplicable rush to put him at ease. “He’s a nice guy. We had a good time, the four of us. It just felt like friends hanging out. Which it was.”
“You gonna see him again?”
“I doubt it. Unless it’s at a big get-together. We’re not … He’s interesting, but not my type. I don’t think I was his type either.”
Quinn was wearing the T-shirt she’d given him, and it hugged the hard planes of his shoulders. Those shoulders visibly eased. “So what is your type?” Another tip of his beer bottle. As he swallowed, she was transfixed by the ripple of muscle along the column of his neck.
His hooded eyes were watchful as he waited for her answer. The air had been sucked out of the room, and electricity crackled between them. Without warning, she’d grown jumpy, parts of her igniting as her nerves danced.
She took another sip of her beer to calm her somersaulting tummy. “I don’t know that I have a type.”
But if you keep looking at me like that, you’re gonna be my type.
Chapter 24
Things That Go Bump in the Night
"How about a poker rematch?” Quinn heard himself say. And he was lucky he had enough brainpower to come up with that much. He’d been out of his fucking mind the entire time she’d been gone, imagining things she might be doing with another man. On a skate’s edge, watching, waiting in the formal room at the front of the house, anticipating the sweep of her headlights ever since his mom had gone to bed.
When he’d finally seen the yellow beams illuminating the long drive, he’d blown out a gust of relief. The fact that it was only a little after eleven had made him relax even more. From there, it had been a matter of beating feet back to the family room and arranging everything so it looked as though he’d been sitting there the whole time and couldn’t have cared less whether she was home or not. And now that she was facing him in that purple top and jeans that caressed her curves? He didn’t want to let her go. Playing poker with her wasn’t his top choice, but he’d settle for it.
Sarah perched one hand on her hip, her heels dangling in her other hand. “You’re ready for me to beat your ass again? You are a glutton for punishment.”
“Hardly. I’ve been holding back. Now I’m ready to take the gloves off and beat your cute little ass.”
Her head rocked back slightly. Yeah, he’d said it. But it was true—she did have a cute little ass. If she had a problem with it, she got over it, and soon they were seated at the coffee table. And she was beating him again.
“This is a stupid game.” He threw down his cards, fully aware how much he resembled a bratty five-year-old.
Sarah made a big show of collecting them, sass quirking her mouth and shining in her eyes. “Not so sure it’s the game, Sparky.”
She was probably right. His mind wasn’t on poker. At. All. He rose, intending to grab their empties. “Want more?”
“What? Beer or ass beating?” She rose too and parked her fists on her hips.
“You’re funny,” he chuffed. His eyes locked on hers. Dark green pools caught and reflected the light glowing from a table lamp. Shimmering, mesmerizing, pulling him into their depths. Green-gold fire glass. The most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.
Stop. Just stop. He tore his gaze from hers but didn’t move.
“Hey, are you okay?” Her voice drifted toward him, laced with concern but soft and musical at the same time. So feminine. She took a step, then another, and reached up to brush her fingertips over his bicep. Her touch electrified, and his hands shot out and cradled her face. Astonishment flashed in those eyes, but she didn’t resist, and he took it as the invitation he was craving, pulling her mouth to his with urgency. That one burst, that one swift movement, and the hunger that had been building up inside him uncoiled in a cascade. His lips were on hers, moving, exploring, tasting. He couldn’t recall a kiss that had ever started like this one, and it caught him by surprise. She responded instantly, sweetness and tenderness on the surface, but beneath it ran an undercurrent of passion that he longed to delve into.
While his libido might be impulsive, his body was not. He controlled it, leashed it on the ice and in the bedroom, but something more powerful was taking control of him, like a fast-moving wave about to swamp him. When his tongue met hers, it took every fiber within him to hold himself back from the edge, to keep from plunging in. More, more, more screamed in his brain as he froze on the brink of devouring her mouth. Much as he wanted to lose himself, to plunder at will, one last tether held him back.
He tore his lips from hers and peered at her, his hands still holding her face, his breathing ragged. Wide hazel eyes peered right back, and her hands slid along his forearms. Her voice came out choked. “Why did you stop?”
Oh hell yes! Of all the things she could have said, she’d said what he wanted to hear … before he knew how desperately he’d wanted to hear it.
He tried to keep the shallow breaths from his voice, pausing to swallow. “Because I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to go down this road.” Because I won’t be able to stop myself. “Your brother won’t be happy.”
Her lips tipped up. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she murmured. Her words rocketed to his already stiff cock.
The space between them became charged, as if an invisible microburst of energy pulsed, propelling them into one another. He leaned in, and she matched him inch for inch as his gaze held hers. When their lips touched, gently at first, he didn’t close his eyes—simply kept them trained on her face, every exquisite detail clear as he drank her in. Her skin was smooth, silky, flawless.
Her lips brushed his. “You’re staring,” she whispered.
“Because I can’t take my eyes off you.”
She pulled back with a giggle. “I bet that’s what you say to all the girls.”
Her words hit him like shards of ice, and for the first time in his life, he regretted the casual hookups that peppered his past. He shook his head. “No. I’ve never said that before in my entire fucking life.”
“Oh.”
He was still leaning, his face tilted so his mouth lined up with hers. With a boldness he didn’t feel, he said, “So are you gonna kiss me, or what?”
“You’re not afraid of my brother?”
“Fuck yeah, but he’s not here right now, and all I can think about is kissing you so you’ll shut the hell up.”
With a smirk, she snaked her arms around his shoulders and drew close. “Wow. You are the romantic one.” Her mouth teased his right before she sucked in his bottom lip and softly sank her teeth into it.
Goddamn! Time for gentle was over. He sealed her mouth with his, and she opened, inviting him ever deeper, slicking her tongue over his. Within seconds, they were feasting on each other. She gave as good as she got, an
d sweet Jesus, she tasted like something he could get addicted to. Apples, cinnamon, wine, a trace of her fruity beer, and something sweetly and uniquely her.
Once again, control dissolved faster than sugar in boiling water. Normally when he kissed a woman, he steered them where they’d go and how they’d get there. But this was … He couldn’t keep a straight thought. Tingles raced one after another through his body, each more powerful than the last. It was all primal sensation as he took in Sarah’s fragrance, the feel of her soft, wet mouth on his, the little mewling sounds at the back of her throat, and how her body molded itself against his like a custom-fit leather seat.
Kissing Sarah was like walking into a candy store and putting every possible flavor, every possible texture, every possible color in your mouth at once. An explosion. A kaleidoscope. A full-on, all-sensory experience.
Their tongues entwined and danced together. He swept her mouth, relishing the feel of her moist, warm depths. She pushed back, invading his mouth, and he gave himself over to her to pillage at will, losing himself while she took control of the kiss. Holy shit.
Her arms banded around his shoulders, her fingers plowed through his hair, and her body stretched and shaped itself to him. Pillowy breasts pressed flush against his chest had his hands trembling in anticipation of touching, exploring, learning what made her gasp. Fingers glided to her narrow waist, the top of her ass, caressing as he pictured her enticing dimples, before moving to cup her cheeks and yank her against his steely length. He skimmed his hands upward, under the hem of her blouse, and his fingertips played across her smooth skin until they reached their target. He cupped her breasts, strumming her beaded nipples through lace before working the material down and caressing her flesh. Her nipples tightened into pearls he longed to roll around on his tongue and taste and tease and suck. She let out a moan and dropped her hand between them, stroking him through his jeans. An involuntary low groan rumbled through his chest, and a new thought muscled its way in. Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come.