Love?
His heart hammered against his ribs. He stared at the ceiling for God knew how long. He did love her. He loved her strength, her commitment to her daughter. Hell, he even loved the way she rolled her eyes—just like her daughter—when he flirted with her. She was knockdown gorgeous, even if she didn’t know it. And he’d been her first lover. Ever. Some strange proprietary hold came over him. She was his and nobody else’s. He hardened again and shifted in the computer chair.
His eyes closed as he remembered her soft skin under his hands. She might have been inexperienced, but she hadn’t been lacking in any way. He’d have done more to make sure it was as enjoyable and memorable as possible had he one inkling she was that inexperienced. If nothing else, he would rectify it the next time he made love to her. And he was damn determined there would be a next time—as soon as possible—if she ever spoke to him again after the way he’d treated her.
She was everything he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. Now if he could just convince her…
Gillian shoved her purse under the desk and flipped through the receipts Manny had left for her to file. She hadn’t slept well. Between making love to Quint and then all but being accused of yet another fire… Her stomach had been up and down more than when she’d taken Heidi to Six Flags in Missouri and they’d ridden that damn roller coaster three times in a row.
If she’d had a little more money saved up, she and her daughter could move on. The thought seized her chest. For the first time in years, they had friends. People who cared about them. And there was Quint. She didn’t know how to categorize what he meant to her. He held onto the little part of her heart she’d been saving. And regardless of what happened, when they left, he’d always have it.
He’d hurled some nasty—however not entirely incorrect—accusations at her. She’d given back just as much, telling him he didn’t know what responsibilities were. Heat crawled through her cheeks. Once Quint left the fire he was probably thanking the fact he got out when he did. She had piles of baggage and he wouldn’t even know when or where another load would be added to the heap.
She sighed and snagged the tire pressure gauge from the desk drawer and stuffed it into the end of her cast to get at an itch.
“You’re not supposed to do that.” Quint stood in the doorway holding two steaming cups of coffee.
She dropped the gauge back down to the desk. “I can’t help it. It itches.” Her pulse raced. The man was hands down sexy. Despite how things ended the night before, she wouldn’t be opposed to a repeat performance—maybe they could leave off the for-real flames at the end. That could get old.
“Thought maybe you could use a pick-me-up.” He held out one of the coffees to her.
“Thanks.” She took the cup and set it in front of her. “Is it that obvious?” She ran her fingers under her eye. Still puffy. Great. “Sit?”
Quint shook his head and lowered himself to the guest chair in the corner. “You look fine, but you were a little harried when I left. I’ll bet you didn’t get any sleep.” He took a sip of his coffee then scrubbed at his neck and right shoulder.
“You okay?”
He grunted and his cheeks reddened a bit. “Fell asleep at my computer. Neck’s killing me this morning.”
She set her coffee down. “You want me to take a look at it?”
“Can you? I mean with your arm all jacked up?”
“One’s better than a tight shoulder all day.” She smiled.
“Knock yourself out then. Where would you like me?”
Spread over the desk. The second the words popped into her head she banished them. Last night was probably a fluke not to be repeated. She cleared her throat. “You’re fine where you are.” She stood and walked around the desk and behind Quint’s chair. “Where exactly?”
He pointed to his right ear and motioned to his shoulder. “All the way down.”
She stood at his side and settled her hand on his neck. “Dang, you got yourself a pretty good knot there.” Her fingers itched to work more than a knot out of the man’s shoulder. She tried to ignore the want burning in her belly, but just being near Quint, breathing in his unique musky scent, feeling the warm of his skin through the denim shirt, all of last night flashed through her mind.
Gillian was in deep, deep trouble.
After a few minutes, he stilled her hand. “Good enough.” When she went to go sit down, Quint held fast to her hand. “I need to talk to you.”
Whatever burning had sprung in her belly turned leaden and crashed with a hearty thud that jellified her knees. He’d been angry and had called her a liar—which she was, but it wasn’t deliberate. “About last night.” She swallowed hard. “I should have told you before…before we…I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to deceive you. And once we started, it seemed too late to bring it up.”
Quint, still holding on to her hand, shifted in the chair as he set his coffee on the desk. “I’m sorry I overreacted.” He clasped her hand in both of his and kissed the back. “If I’d known, I would have been much gentler, made it more special.”
Gillian sighed and pulled her hand free to cup his face. “It was perfect. I wouldn’t have asked for anything different.” Emboldened she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. His hands snaked around her waist and pulled her down to his lap.
Against her lips he said, “I can’t tell you what you do to me.” He deepened the kiss.
Quint tasted of coffee and a hint of cinnamon. His hands were everywhere all at once. Touching her. Teasing her. Her body quickened at the memory of the night before. He’d been everything she’d always imagined. And more. So much more it scared her to the very core.
She hadn’t “waited” to have sex for any particular reason. Well, she had in high school because she’d seen how torn up Becca had been and the consequences of one careless moment. She couldn’t fault her sister entirely—she’d been in love with her boyfriend, and vice versa. From that Heidi came to be. If Heidi’s father had been too immature at the time to handle everything, it was his loss.
Once Gillian had settled into a rhythm for motherhood, raising a child—one who went through years of therapy after witnessing her mother’s death—wasn’t conducive to dating. Too many questions were asked about ages and timeframes. It became easier to avoid it all together. It was surprisingly easy to not date. She had her daughter and she had a job she enjoyed. Then the years had slipped by so fast and truly she didn’t feel as if she’d missed anything.
Until last night.
Had she ever known the passion she’d experienced with Quint existed for real… It shook everything she’d walled up inside herself. Shook her to a core she’d buried so deep behind the walls of never-will-happen. He’d given her many firsts. First awakening of passion. First sense of having power over a man. Even her first hickey. She’d discovered the abrasion on her breast as she’d showered that morning.
She giggled against his lips.
“Something funny about my kissing?” His hand tightened over her butt.
“Nope. It’s perfectly perfect.” She delved her tongue inside his mouth and threaded her fingers into his hair. Let the soft curls pull through her fingers. He was rock hard against her hip and she wriggled in his lap. His groan fired up her remaining self control.
Gillian slid her hand down between them and cupped him through his jeans.
He bit down on her lower lip; let his kisses trail across her chin and over her neck to nuzzle at the hollow where neck met shoulder.
The peal of the bell alerting of a vehicle entering the empty garage bay broke the pair apart.
“I have to, um…” Gillian fought to catch her breath as she stood and motioned to the doorway. She moved quickly, too quickly, almost tripping over her own feet as every inch of her blazed with want. She patted her lips, still swollen from his intense kisses. She glanced back at Quint. “You okay?” He had a bewildered look on his face.
Quint nodded. “Fine.” He cleared
his throat. “Fine. I’m gonna sit here a minute.” He snagged his cup from the desk and raised it. “Have a drink.” He grabbed an auto magazine and thrust it over his lap with a sigh.
She didn’t have time to examine what had just happened. She turned and walked into the garage. “Good morning, Mrs…”
Gillian’s voice faded as she walked out of the small office. Quint had come to confront her—bearing coffee to soften her up before he demanded some answers. Demand, no. He’d try to cajole, pry the truths from her that she didn’t seem inclined to share. He’d ask her to let him in, to let him help her. It scared him shitless to think of what she and her daughter had endured. He couldn’t do anything about what had already happened, but he’d damn sure do anything and everything in his power to help her from here on out.
Her haunting words the night he’d played nursemaid became crystal clear after his internet search. She’d asked him to protect her daughter, keep her safe, if anything should happen to her. He’d blown it off as the drugs and the accident talking. It was, on the surface, a simple request but in light of Richard Damon’s release and her running for the past year… His hand tightened around his coffee up and almost crushed the paper cup—hot coffee and all.
His intentions were to get her to talk, but merely seeing her sitting there, his desire had spiked. His resolve wavered. Then, when she had touched him, any and all thought fled. All he wanted to do was drag her to him, make her his all over again and block out the rest of the world.
No woman had ever driven him to distraction. Then again, no woman had ever tempted him to get down on bended knee and commit to happily ever after.
He took a long, hot sip of coffee hoping to ward off amorous thoughts. Good thing, as Mrs. Edwards came in and sat in the chair next to his. “Morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning, Quint.” She set her little leather purse in her lap and smiled at him.
“Car trouble?” The last thing he wanted was small talk.
The beehive atop the woman’s head bobbed as she nodded. “The Cutlass has a knocking noise under the hood. I asked my son to look at it next time he’s up from Cheyenne, but with this summer heat, I didn’t want to take any chances. Can never be too careful.” Her wrinkled smile grew as she leaned forward. “I’ve been meaning to call you. My granddaughter is coming up for a visit next month. I was hoping to have you out to supper.”
Coffee roiled in his stomach.
The women of Paintbrush had been trying to fix him up from day one. He’d happily gone along and had free meals here and there. Most of their granddaughters, nieces, and friends of friends hadn’t been any more interested in dating than he’d been. No harm no foul. At the same time, his heart had never been fully vested in any one person. Until recently.
Not that he and Gillian had a “relationship”. Truth be told, he’d learned more about her from the internet search the night before than anything she’d shared with him.
“She’s the sweetest thing.” Mrs. Edwards wrinkled up her nose. “Much better than that old biddy Red’s granddaughters. She’s had you out four times in the last year. My Shelley makes those girls pale in comparison.” She held tightly to the purse in her lap and waited for a reply.
As non-committal as possible he said, “You do make the best apple dumplings in all of Wyoming.”
“Alrighty then.” Gillian skirted her desk and sat. She never quite made eye contact with Quint as she snapped up a pen from the desk and tapped it repetitively on the fake wood top. “Did you need anything else, Quint? Or did we finish covering the services rendered?”
The frost to her words sat Quint up straighter in his seat. Where the hell had that come from? He frowned and tossed his half-empty cup in the trashcan next to her desk. “Yeah, we’re good. For now.”
He bid his goodbyes to Mrs. Edwards and headed out to his truck. Manny pulled into the lot next to him.
“Hey, Quint.” The mechanic eased his heft from the truck. “You having trouble with your truck?”
“No.” He flipped the keys over in his hand. He blew out a breath, and tried to relieve some of the tension that had settled in his chest after Gillian’s cold words.
Manny eyed him for a long moment. “You’re sweet on her.” He didn’t ask a question.
“I don’t—”
“I’ve seen the way you look at her. I don’t blame you one bit. If I was thirty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money, son.” He shut the door to his truck. “Just be careful with her. She’s more fragile than she’ll ever let on.”
Quint didn’t respond. He only stared after the man as he walked into the garage. Had Gillian opened up to him? Had she confided in Manny? A powerful jolt of jealousy rocketed through him. He had no claims on the woman. If anything he should be relieved she’d let at least one person in to her life.
It scared him, though, how much he wanted that person to be him.
Chapter Fourteen
Gillian kicked off her shoes and had just lain on the sofa when someone knocked on the door. Heidi was out with Ryder and Hank, gone to ride at the Bowman’s ranch. Gillian snagged a pillow and put it over her face. Whoever it was could just go away.
The knocked sounded again. “Gillian, I know you’re in there. Your car’s sitting in the driveway.” Quint’s voice softly came through the front door. He rattled the knob. “I have a key.”
She groaned and sat up. “I’m coming. Hang on.” She tossed the pillow onto the sofa and got to the door as Quint was inserting his key into the deadbolt. “I told you I was coming.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Yeah, but I wasn’t sure if you actually were.” He tucked the keys back into his pocket. “May I come in?”
“It’s your house.” Gillian waved her arm in a sweeping motion.
He shook his head and laughed as he looked around the room. “You’d never know two people, much less of the female persuasion, lived here. I’ve never seen two more tidy, less frilly gals in my life.”
You tend not to unpack much when you’re ready to run at any moment. She wanted to say the words. Felt them burning the back of her throat trying to get out, but then there would be many questions she wasn’t ready to answer. “That reminds me. I have something for you.” She walked over to the kitchen table and rooted around the stack of papers she’d left on the corner. She turned back to Quint and handed him an envelope.
“What’s this?” he asked as he opened it. “Money?”
“Rent.” Her stomach balled with nerves as she waited for his response. When he did nothing more than stand there she continued. “It’s not much. Yet. We don’t have many expenses here so I am hoping to have more to you by the end of the month. Manny pays really well.” She rambled on and shifted from foot to foot.
“I don’t want your money.”
What a shock. Nothing she did meshed well with Quint—except when they made love. She turned and walked back over to the sofa then plopped down. She lifted her feet to the edge of the scarred wooden coffee table. “My feet hurt too much to stand there and argue with you.”
He tossed the envelope next to her propped up feet. “There’s nothing to argue about.” He sat at the other end of the sofa. “I didn’t ask for rent. I will not accept rent.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Like I said when I offered you the house, you’re doing me a favor staying here. It doesn’t do the house any good to sit empty all the time.”
He patted the cushion between them. “Here. Give me those feet.”
“I don’t…” Gillian scrunched up her nose. “Thanks, but no.”
“C’mon. What are you afraid of?”
She snorted. “You don’t scare me.” She shifted on the sofa and plopped her feet into Quint’s lap. Scared of Quint Walters? Terrified was more like it. He made her think things and feel things she hadn’t given herself permission to feel. But for just a little bit, it was nice to be tempted.
Quint slid off her shoes and dropped them to the floor. “Manny’s wor
king you pretty hard, huh?” He rubbed her feet.
Gillian fought back a moan. She’d given more massages than she could ever try to recall, but no one had ever given one to her. She didn’t want to explore the different emotions whirling around and through her. After the cold shoulder she’d given Quint that morning she was surprised he showed up on her door step at all. Between that and the town trying their darnedest to settle him down with one of their relatives, she couldn’t imagine why he wasn’t busy having dinners and romancing the different Paintbrush generations.
“You didn’t answer me.” He shifted under her legs and propped his own feet up on the coffee table. “Is Manny working you too hard?”
“Naw. This is a piece of cake.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’ve had some pretty crappy jobs.”
“Huh. Like what?”
“In high school, I worked at the movie theater and got to clean the floors after every movie. Do you know how nasty that is?”
Quint chuckled. “I can only imagine.”
“I doubt it.” Gillian settled her casted arm over her stomach. “I had really long hair back then. Like down to the middle of my back. No one bothered to tell me I should wear it up.” A shudder ran through her. “My second night working, there was something stuck to the floor. I shoved at it with the broom but it wasn’t going anywhere. I bent over to get it and…” She trailed off as a yawned ripped through her.
“And?” Quint wiggled her foot.
She peeled one eye open and looked at Quint. “My hair stuck to the floor.”
“Ugh.”
“I yanked it back up but had no less than three pieces of gum stuck in it. Got a nice new bob.” Gillian slid her eye shut again.
“How long did you work there?”
“A little over a year. Then I went to work at a grocery store for a while. Had to clean the bathrooms every other day. Much cleaner than the theater floor. Let me tell you.”
Wrong Turn, Right Cowboy: Paintbrush, Book 2 Page 17