The Best Part of Me

by Jamie Hollins

  The man's arm snaked around her lower back, blocking her from taking another step.

  It looked like she was mistaken.

  Chapter 6

  People nearby were staring. Quinn felt like she was in a vacuum and the white noise of the pub was drifting away. The man on the stool grinned down at her and pulled until her hip slid up against his thigh. She couldn’t stop staring at his eyes, which sat so close together at the top of his long, bulbous nose. She’d never seen anything like it before. It was so distinguishable that she’d be able to pick him out of a police lineup without any hesitation. And something told her that the menacing man might be very familiar with police lineups.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  Quinn said nothing. She leaned away from him, pushing on the bar to break his grip on her waist.

  “None of your goddamn business,” Ewan growled. If this guy was smart, he’d leave the pub quickly.

  The lecherous man tilted his head to get a better look at Quinn and sneered, “Ah, she is a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Those lovely legs and this long, thick hair.” He licked his lower lip. She was able to tilt her head way before he touched her hair.

  Sean moved around the side of the bar and grabbed Quinn’s hand. Luckily, the man dropped his grip on her but not without trailing his nasty fingers across her backside as Sean pulled her away.

  Bile rose in the back of her throat.

  Quinn looked over to where her friends were sitting, and all their eyes were glued to the scene unfolding around her. She gripped Sean’s hand hard as he led her toward where Ewan stood.

  Once they cleared the end of the bar, Sean positioned himself in front of her. The man with the bushy eyebrows was still leering at her, and she could only imagine the awful thoughts creeping through his mind. Even with the distance, his gaze still made her feel like there were roaches crawling all over her skin.

  “Get the fuck out of here. All of you,” Ewan said to the men as he moved to stand beside Sean. The side of Ewan’s jaw twitched, and she knew that if these guys didn’t leave soon, things would get ugly.

  In unison, like they’d rehearsed it before they got there, all four men slid down from their seats. Their stools screeched on the dull wood floor, and the shrill sound rang in Quinn’s ears. A hush had fallen over the pub, every eye glued to them.

  Before she could process anything else, Ewan turned, grasped Quinn’s shoulders, and pushed her toward a nearby open door.

  “Go through this door and lock it. Don’t come out here, do you understand me?” he whispered harshly in her ear. He pushed Quinn inside and slammed the door behind her, not waiting for an affirmation.

  On autopilot, she quickly turned the deadbolt as she was instructed. She looked around and realized she was in a stairway that led up to the second floor of the building. Wanting to put as much distance between herself and the door, she followed the stairway up and sat on the top step.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  Loud cursing shouts were followed by the brain-numbing squeals of fifty chairs being vacated at once as the entire pub collectively began to vacate. The sound of breaking glass mixed with yelling, and the dull thuds of bodies colliding seemed to shake the stairs as if a herd of wild buffalo were stampeding on the other side of that door. Quinn hugged her knees and closed her eyes as the sounds of the fight came up the stairwell. Several times something or someone hit the door, and she jumped at the sound.

  Her blood pressure rose, and Quinn tried desperately to remember the tips her therapist had told her for when she faced a panic attack. She hadn’t had one in months, but as she sat by herself in that lonely stairway and listened to the brawl downstairs, the familiar feelings of helplessness swam all around her. Her breath started to run away, and the faster she tried to catch it, the less air she could pull in.

  Something heavy hit the door below.

  Belly breathing. That’s what her therapist had told her to do. She’d practiced it a hundred times.

  Quinn quickly placed her right hand on her stomach and her left hand on her chest. She released a sigh, forcing her muscles to relax. She paused at the bottom of the sigh for a couple seconds, then slowly pulled air into her lungs.

  A glass shattered against the wall. Quinn opened her eyes in time to see a few shards scoot under the door and hit the bottom step.

  She quickly closed her eyes again and concentrated on the feeling of her lungs full of air. Wonderful, powerful air that fueled her blood with oxygen. Blood that ran through her veins and arteries to sustain life in her body. Her body, which was strong and whole.

  A man roared on the other side of the door.

  She winced but forced herself to gently release her breath. She felt her heartbeat begin to slow, her shoulders relax slightly, and the muscles under her hands unclench.

  As if someone flipped a switch, all the noise from below stopped.

  She knew it was absurd to feel personally responsible for what had happened in the pub. All she’d done was sit at a barstool. It wasn’t like she’d thrown any punches or dumped a drink on someone to incite a riot. Yet her anxiety was racing at the thought that maybe her being there at that time had forced Ewan to be defensive.

  God, if she thought the man hadn’t liked her before, he was bound to loathe her now. She found herself saying silent prayers.

  Please let Ewan be okay. Please let his pub not be in ruins.

  After what seemed like forever, she saw a shadow pass under the door. She nearly jumped off the top step when someone pounded loudly on the other side.

  “Quinn, open up,” someone yelled.

  She quickly went down the steps but hesitated at the bottom.

  “It’s Sean. Open up.”

  She decided to trust her instincts and unlocked the latch. The door opened, and Sean was standing there with a smirk on his face. He didn’t look beaten up, but his shirt was torn at the neck and his hair a mess. She tried to look around him to see the pub, but his large, broad frame blocked her view.

  “Are you okay?” Quinn asked.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” he snickered, bracing his arm against the doorframe.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He shook his head. “You should see your face. You look downright terrified.”

  Annoyed that he found any enjoyment in the situation at all, she chose to ignore him.

  “Is Ewan—”

  She didn’t have time to finish her question. The door swung open and slammed against the pub wall. Ewan came around Sean, and as soon as he locked eyes with Quinn, all the breath left her lungs.

  He was seething mad.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

  Ewan pushed past Sean and grabbed her arm right above the elbow, pulling her up the stairs. Sean chuckled and slowly closed the door behind them.

  She was trying to keep her balance, but Ewan was climbing so fast that she was having trouble keeping up. He blew through the door at the top of the stairway, stormed into a tiny apartment, and finally released her arm. He slammed the door shut and turned his angry eyes to Quinn. She couldn’t breathe, and she was slowly backing away from him. The back of a sofa stopped her retreat, and she braced herself for whatever came next.

  Instead of following her, Ewan stalked into the tiny kitchen and pulled down a bottle of whiskey from above the refrigerator. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig straight from the bottle before slamming it down on the counter. His back was to her, his hands braced on the counter in front of him. His head hung low as she watched his shoulders rise and fall with each breath.

  Quinn stood quietly in the doorway of the kitchen, feeling as if she should say something, anything. It was one of the few times in her life that she didn’t have the courage to make a sound. Even though she couldn’t claim she knew him, something about him told her that he wouldn’t hurt her.

  At least physically.

  He wouldn’t have dragged her up there if he didn’t
have something to say. So she just waited. After what felt like hours, he finally straightened and put the cap back on the bottle. He turned, and she noticed a cut at one of his temples.

  “I’m so sorry.” She took a step toward him instinctually but stopped when his eyes simmered as he stared at her from across the kitchen.

  His breathing rate was increasing again as his chest started to rise faster. His mouth was pressed into a straight line, and his nostrils flared.

  In two long strides, he was in front of her. His hands grasped both sides of her head, and before she could blink, his lips were pressed hard against her mouth. His kiss was hungry and demanding. The heat from his mouth caused hers to open with a gasp. His hungry tongue pressed between her lips as he greedily stroked the inside of her mouth. The feeling was sensational.

  He walked her backwards, still caressing her mouth with his tongue. Her back pressed flat against a cold brick wall. Desire shot from her mouth all the way down to between her thighs, and she could feel herself getting wet. In response, she wrapped her arms around his neck and began to move her mouth against his.

  His kiss grew harder. He pressed the entire length of his body against Quinn and moved one of his hands into her hair. Instinctually, she began to move her hips against him, feeling his erection through his jeans. He growled, sending shivers through her body.

  Just as she started to melt into him, he suddenly pulled his lips away, tightening his grip in her hair so she had no choice but to look up at him. Her vision was hazy, her lips swollen, and she sighed aloud at the loss of his mouth. She longed for him to continue as his dark blue eyes stared intently into hers.

  “I don’t know if I want to spank you or fuck you,” he gritted as he touched his forehead to hers. His voice was coarse, and his Irish brogue was more noticeable than she’d heard before. He traced her bottom lip with his thumb. Anger and lust danced across his face, and immediately her desire increased. She brazenly fisted her hands in his shirt and drew him closer.

  Quinn quietly cleared her throat. “I don’t think I care for the first option.”

  He closed his eyes. “Quinn, those men—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “They are very bad men.”

  She reached up and ran her fingers gently against his cheek. “If I in any way started any of that downstairs, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to say hello to you and—”

  He released her and pushed himself away from the wall, running both hands through his hair. He leaned against the back of the sofa, his hands gripping the edge of the upholstered backing. He was staring at the floor in deep thought, his face etched with exhaustion.

  She stepped toward him hesitantly. She had no idea what he was thinking about, but she could still feel his warm lips pressed against hers. Her fingers itched to touch him.

  “Ewan, are you hurt?” She raised her fingers to his temple, where some blood had dried. He turned his head into her touch and closed his eyes.

  “No, I’m not hurt.”

  “Is the pub badly damaged?”

  “It’s had worse done to it,” he said with a sigh.

  Quinn slowly ran her hand through his black hair. It was as soft and silky as she’d imagined. His eyes opened, and he studied her as she let his strands slide between her fingers. She rounded her hand to the back of his head.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that.” His deep voice rolled through her like a warm ocean wave. It was one of those statements where you said one thing but you meant the opposite. She lightly stroked the back of his neck, her touch moving along his taut muscles.

  “Quinn, stop.”

  Her eyes shot up to his face, and she quickly drew her hand away. She had been tracing her fingers along his neck and shoulders like he was a shiny new sports car. The memory of how she’d felt when that awful guy had run his unwanted fingers along her butt flashed in her head, and she immediately felt ashamed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He looked thoughtfully at her. As if he read her thoughts, he replied, “If you keep touching me, then things are going to escalate.” He inhaled deeply and steadied his gaze on her. “I want you. God help me, I want you badly.”

  Quinn’s heart leapt into her throat. He briefly touched her cheek with his fingertips. Her pulse pounded at the way his eyes drew her in like he had some sort of gravitational pull. The way her skin heated under his touch.

  Questions started flooding her head as she watched him study her face.

  Was she ready for this? Could she be with him?

  There was no denying that she wanted him. She hadn’t realized it until now. She yearned for him so much that her legs were shaking. She had no idea when her feelings for him had gone from annoyed disapproval to all-consuming desire, but she didn’t really care. Even when he was acting like an ass, she had to admit he was gorgeous. Add that to the memory of his mouth and hands on her, and she knew that things might have already tipped past the point of no return.

  It had been a long time since she’d slept with anyone. And at that moment, she realized that she didn’t want anything more than for him to pick her up and carry her to his bed.

  Just as she was about to lean into him, he let his hand drop. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

  Momentarily speechless, she watched him walk to the front door and pull it open. He looked back at her expectantly.

  She blinked at him. She was an intelligent woman. She had graduated in the top ten percent of her high school class and magna cum laude in college. She considered her common sense relatively adequate. Yet she was having trouble wrapping her mind around what was happening.

  “I thought—” She stopped, blinked in confusion, and tried again. “You said—”

  He gently shut the door and shook his head.

  “You thought since I said I wanted you that we’d fuck?”

  She winced at his crudeness and at the hint of amusement in his voice.

  He exhaled slowly. “Believe me when I say that it’s probably for the best that we stopped when we did. I’m not right for you.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll have to trust me on that.”

  She frowned at him. “Why don’t I get to decide what’s right for me?”

  He shook his head. “I could never give you what you want.”

  “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, isn’t it? What makes you so sure you know what I want?”

  He approached her slowly, his head tilted to the side as he regarded her. “Because I know your type. You’ll be fine with fucking for a while. But eventually you’ll want more. A commitment. A promise. Something that would tie us together. I don’t do commitments, I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let any woman tie me down.”

  She stared at him with her mouth open. She wanted to call him a coward. Tell him he was an ass. How dare he be so arrogant as to think he knew anything about her type? About what she wanted?

  What she wanted was for people to stop telling her what was best for her. For the past year, people had been telling her what to do and how to feel. She was sick of it.

  She tilted her chin up and stepped around him before yanking the door open.

  She paused and looked back. “Suit yourself. Your loss.”

  Then she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

  ###

  Ewan crouched down and swept the last of the broken glass into a dustpan. It had taken him a little over an hour with Sean and Jenny’s help to clean up the place. Overall, the damage wasn’t all that bad. Several broken glasses, a few broken liquor bottles, and one busted barstool. All things considered, it was almost an average night.

  Keith Hardy and his boys had gotten what was coming to them. Although nothing more serious than a bloody nose or a split lip. It was a wonder any of them still had jobs with the Madigan Family since none of them could fight worth shit.

  Sean and Jenny started pulling the chairs off the tables and back onto the floor. Whenever som
ething like this happened, it majorly disrupted the evening. Most people left and didn’t come back that night. Some regular patrons who wouldn’t know what else to do with themselves if they weren’t at the pub would wander back in after cleanup was over.

  Ewan ran his hands over his face. Normally something like this would not have escalated into a fight. But it had been the look on Hardy’s face when he saw Quinn that had set Ewan off. That leech had stared Quinn down like she was a piece of meat.

  Ewan’s protective instincts had kicked in, and all he’d thought about was getting Quinn out of there. His possessiveness had reared its ugly head, and if anyone had hurt her, he would have ripped their arms off. He’d been seeing red at that point and could’ve taken the entire pub on if he had to.

  He ran his tongue along his lower lip and swore he could still taste the sweetness of Quinn’s mouth. Her lips were so soft, and she was seriously skilled in the art of kissing. Fuck, if that’s what she could do with her mouth, it might be worth the trouble to see what she could do in the bedroom.

  Jesus, get a grip. Let it go.

  But no matter how much he tried to wash it from his mind, he couldn’t.

  After he had come upstairs with Quinn, he was breathless, anxious. He was so rattled by what had almost happened to her that he’d hidden in the kitchen. He’d had a swallow of whiskey that had done nothing to calm his nerves like he’d hoped.

  Alcohol was a last resort for him. As volatile as he was, throwing alcohol into the mix was a bad idea. He saw what it did to people on a regular basis. He usually chose to stay away.

  When he’d seen Quinn standing in the doorway of the kitchen, he’d lost it. Lust had been flowing out of him in waves. He’d wanted to devour her, to greedily take her lips and run his hands all over her body until she begged him to fuck her. And when she’d rocked her hips against him, it’d taken everything in him to break their kiss.

  Quinn was different. The women he’d gone for in the past were quick and easy lays. He didn’t want anything from them, even if they wanted more from him. But Quinn… She wasn’t the type of woman you just fucked. Her spirit was alive and bright, and her innocence was too pure to destroy.