by Kris Norris
Quinn glanced at him, her gaze raking up and down his body. “So, Russel…what brings you to Seattle?”
He took a swig of his beer, grinning at her. “What makes you think I’m not from around here?”
“Call it an educated guess. I saw you walk in. You looked…out of place.”
“Funny. The bartender said the same thing about you.”
“Did she?” Quinn sighed. “She’s right. I don’t go out that often. I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Says the woman who’s working her way through another cooler.”
“Like I said. Tonight’s different. And don’t think I didn’t noticed you didn’t answer my question.”
He pushed down the resulting sting. “Let’s just say I’m in the midst of a career change.”
“Ahh. One you’re not happy about. I can appreciate that.”
“Is that why you’re here? Drinking your way to oblivion?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“Most things are.” He arched a brow when she drained the last of her drink. “That didn’t take long. Tell me, how are you planning on getting home?”
A furrow creased her brow as she stared at him, looking as if she was deciding how much to tell him. “Taxi.”
“By yourself?”
“I’m a big girl. I got myself here. I can get myself home.”
“You weren’t drunk when you got here.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. He didn’t want to come across as a sexist asshole, but damn… He wasn’t from Seattle, didn’t know it that well, but even he was aware that the girl was asking for trouble traveling in this part of the city, alone.
She giggled. “Who says I am, now?”
“That giggle to start with. Do you have someone you can call? To meet you or pick you up?”
Those fucking sexy lips of hers quirked, the barest hint of gloss glinting off the overhead lights. “You mean like a boyfriend? No, I don’t have one of those. Besides, I already told you. I’m not helpless.”
She pushed to her feet, swaying unsteadily. Russel jumped up and hooked his arm around hers, planting his other hand on her waist. She leaned against him, and a sweet fragrance filled his senses. He tried not to inhale, but it wove around him, sinking beneath his skin until he was sure it had infused his blood.
She laughed, attempting to push off, only to teeter into him, again. “I guess I shouldn’t have gotten up so fast.”
“The speed had nothing to do with it, sweetheart. It was the half a dozen coolers you drank.”
“I only had five…I think.” She giggled, again. “Or was it seven?”
“Whatever it was, it was more than enough. And it seems to have hit you all at once. Can I take you home, now? Or are you determined to keep drinking until you can’t even stand?”
“But… I haven’t figured it out, yet?”
“Figured what out?”
She shook her head. “I need more time. I don’t know what to do? What’s right?”
“More alcohol isn’t going to help you think clearly. Just… Let me take you home. I’ll see you get tucked safely in bed. And you can think about whatever is bothering you, tomorrow. Okay?”
She glanced up at him. “You’re gonna take me home and tuck me in bed?”
“You said you knew who was safe and who wasn’t.”
“I do, and you are.” She sighed. “I guess I am a bit…unsteady.”
“Is that a yes?”
She tilted back her head until she could lock her gaze on his. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips before they curled upwards. “Yes. It’s a definite yes.”
CHAPTER TWO
Harlequin Scott, or Quinn, as she was known, now, settled into the passenger side of Russel’s truck as he moved in beside her, closing out the wind and rain then starting the engine. The truck hummed to life, accompanied by a blast of cold air through the vents, and the hushed sounds of country music playing over the speakers.
Russel muttered something under his breath as he flicked some switches, deflecting the air away from them. He sighed. “Sorry. It’s gonna take a few minutes to warm everything up.”
“That’s okay. Beats the taxi I was going to take.” She arched her brow. “Are you sure you still want to drive me home? It’s across town.”
The look he gave her answered her question. “Having second thoughts about riding with me, sweetheart? Afraid you might have read me wrong?”
She studied him, trying to ignore the way the buzzing in her head made his silhouette occasionally double. Granted, she’d had a lot to drink—an obnoxious amount, actually. But she hadn’t been lying. Growing up amidst dangerous men, she’d learned quickly how to gauge risk factors—the man’s build, his movements, his hands. If his voice rose or lowered. If he made eye contact. True, Russel outweighed her, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think some fancy moves and a can of mace would be enough to fight him off.
But the longer she stared at him, the more at ease she felt. No tingling awareness at the base of her spine. No raised hairs along her nape. And, while her heart raced whenever he smiled, she suspected it had more to do with attraction than worry.
Of course, accepting a lift home was completely out of character—much like going to the bar in the first place. She never took these kinds of risks. She couldn’t. Not when she couldn’t be certain even a nice guy wasn’t connected to her father’s business. But there was something about Russel—something on an atomic level that reassured her.
She smiled, resisting another giggle. “No second thoughts. You’re…safe. And I’m safe with you.”
He gazed at her for what felt like an hour before smiling. “I am, and you are. But you’re taking one hell of a risk. One, I hope you don’t do often.”
The giggle slipped free, earning her a stern shake of his head. “No. Not often. Actually, never. But even…slightly intoxicated, I still trust my spider sense. And it’s not going off, at all.”
“Pretty sure you passed ‘slightly’ three coolers ago. Okay, where to?”
She rattled off her address, watching him pull into the street then maneuver through the light late-night traffic. Staring at how his hands dwarfed the steering wheel, his long, strong fingers barely gripping the leather wrapping. She’d felt those same fingers pressed against her lower back when he’d guided her out of the bar and over to his truck. He’d had to catch her a few times when her balance had shifted, but if it had been at all taxing, he hadn’t shown it.
Another giggle threatened, but she managed to crush it. God, she hadn’t realized how drunk she was until she’d stood. It was as if all the coolers had waited until that moment to enter her bloodstream, warming her from the inside out and making her feel as if she was moving in slow motion. If Russel hadn’t insisted on walking her to his truck, she doubted she would have made it out of the bar without tripping onto her ass.
More likely, the bartender would have called her a cab and had one of her bouncers carry her out. And the last thing Quinn needed was a scene. She’d drawn enough attention to herself by having Russel ride to the rescue like some modern-day knight. She didn’t need someone snapping a photo of her face-first on the old wooden floor that might end up on social media. She needed a place she could go without worrying anyone would recognize her—would know who her father was. Somewhere no one would ever think to search for her. She’d gone to extreme lengths to remake herself. But it wasn’t something she’d bet her life on.
Thoughts swirled around in her head, muddied by the afterglow of alcohol. She pushed them away, content to worry about her problems tomorrow, then focused on Russel.
The man really was massive. Not outrageously tall, probably six-one or two, but… Damn. He was thick. His barrel chest pressed against his shirt, clearly outlining his chiseled pecs and upper abdominal muscles. His arms were larger than most men’s thighs, matching the wide breadth of his shoulders. When he’d leaned forward to open the door for her, the back of his jacket had ac
tually stretched from the strain of his lats, and she hadn’t missed the way his torso tapered into lean hips and one hell of a sexy rear end.
Quinn drew her gaze up to his face. His square jaw was covered in a thick shadow of stubble—more than just a day or two’s worth of grow. Not quite a beard, but definitely on the way. The dark color matched the chocolate brown hue of his hair, even if it was fairly short. But it was his eyes that she’d noticed, first. Green with flecks of copper around the iris, it had been like looking at spring amidst a brilliant sunrise. And she knew she could gaze at them for hours and still find them mesmerizing.
Russel must have felt her staring and glanced over at her as he changed lanes to take the next exit. “You okay? Do you feel sick?”
“I’m fine. Why? Do I look sick?”
“Your face is flushed, and you were staring at me with this odd expression. Thought it was worth asking. In case you needed me to pull over.”
She laughed, the sound morphing into a snort. God, she really shouldn’t drink. It went straight to her head, every time. “My face is flushed from the coolers, and I was staring at you because I was trying to figure you out.”
No sense telling him she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him, or that her face was flushed because she’d just started to imagine what it would be like to kiss him. To slide her mouth over his full lips—feel his tongue caress hers. She’d never had a lover who was so innately male, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to trace her fingers across his shoulders. Test the strength hidden beneath bronzed flesh. He’d obviously been somewhere warm recently, every inch of visible skin tanned from hours spent in the sun.
For a moment, she thought about asking him what he did for a living—mercenary immediately sprang to mind with his attractive, yet thug-like, appearance and over-abundance of muscles, despite the trustworthy vibes he gave off. Though, she supposed a guy could be both—a mixture of violence and honor. It’s how she’d always rationalized her feelings for her father. He’d never been anything but gentle and loving toward her. The kind of man who had always kept his word.
But she’d discovered there was a darker side to him—one he’d done his best to keep hidden. One she wasn’t sure how to resolve. It was why she’d gone drinking to begin with. Hard problems were rarely solved by easy answers, and she’d needed the liquid courage to contemplate options that not only scared her, but had her questioning her own moral compass. After all, who betrayed their own flesh and blood?
She groaned inwardly, quickly dismissing any line of conversation that might give her more insight into her unlikely savior. The last thing she needed was to get to know Russel better.
This wasn’t the beginning of a relationship. He was driving her home. Sure, she was seriously considering asking him to stay the night—give herself a few hours of sexual bliss. Make some lasting memories she could carry with her, especially with her future so uncertain. She hadn’t been looking for a lover, but she recognized an act of providence when it slapped her in the face. And she’d bet her ass the man was good in bed. If nothing else, she could really get off simply touching every inch of him. Tracing his bulging muscles. Feeling him pressed against her.
But even if he was interested—if she was able to lure him into her bed—it was only for a night.
One-offs were her specialty. No commitments. No strings. Nothing meaningful. If she cared about someone, that person became a weakness others could use against her. A means to get her to comply. And she’d been excruciatingly careful about avoiding anything and anyone her father’s colleagues could ever use to their advantage. Not when she suspected their business was far more gruesome than she’d ever imagined.
Russel turned onto her street, still glancing over at her. “Figure me out?”
She smiled at him. “You know, whether this is the norm for you—driving drunk girls home. Why you chose to step in, to begin with.”
He shrugged, frowning as he stopped in front of what was obviously a warehouse. “I’ve taken a few ladies home when they’ve gotten themselves into dangerous situations. Made sure they got safely inside before seeing myself out. Not that I’d say it’s a norm for me. And I stepped in because guys like those men in the bar are the reason women can’t enjoy a simple night alone, like you wanted. They’re the worst kind of predator.”
He shook his head. “Did you give me the wrong address?”
She looked out at the old brick building, the red tones hidden by the foggy rain. “Nope. This is right. I live in the loft apartment. A friend of mine is a mechanic. He uses the rest of the space to store parts and old vehicles he’s fixing up. It’s actually a great setup. Quiet. Out of the way—”
“Creepy. Not to mention the perfect place for someone to get assaulted. Christ, do the cops even do drive-bys out here?”
“Do you view everything in terms of how dangerous it is?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
Where her family was concerned? Definitely. But she’d never questioned her decision to live here.
“Not everything. Besides, I see this place as safe. No nosy neighbors. No bars or clubs nearby to attract unwanted strangers. The only people who come around here either work here or are—”
“Serial killers?” He scoffed at her huff. “Come on, sweetheart, there are a million ways someone could stalk you here, and you’d be an insanely easy target.” He gave her another stern look. “At least tell me you generally park inside.”
“Of course. And it’s key-coded. As is the old elevator. And my apartment has a security system wired to a monitoring company. Despite how tonight played out, I don’t go looking for trouble, and I know how to protect myself.”
Russel’s frowned intensified, and he scanned the area, again.
She released her seatbelt then shuffled closer, placing her hand on his forearm. Strong muscles bunched beneath her fingers, and she couldn’t stop from wetting her lips as her throat grew suddenly dry. Christ, not an inch of the guy was soft.
Russel glanced at where she touched him then slowly drew his gaze up to meet hers. The green in his eyes had darkened, and she didn’t miss the way his breathing kicked up a notch.
She stayed close as she pointed toward a garage door off to their left. “That’s my spot. There’s a keypad on the post. If you drive up, I can input the code and you can park your truck inside.” She inched closer, pressing her chest against his arm. “Unless you’d like me to get out, here?”
He clenched his jaw, flaring his nostrils before exhaling. “And chance you won’t make it all the way to your door? I don’t do anything half-assed. I said I’d see you safely home. That means locked inside.”
With that, he inched his truck forward, inhaling sharply when she leaned over him to open his window and reach the keypad. He grabbed her around the waist when she lost her balance, one arm grazing her breast as he attempted to steady her. He mumbled an apology, parking his truck beside her motorcycle.
He frowned, again, as he stared down at her, helping her back to her side. “A bike? That’s all you use year ‘round?”
“I have a convertible, but the muffler went on it. My friend’s fixing it for me next week. And, for the record, with the proper attire, you can ride a good ten months of the year out here.”
“Yeah, if you have a death wish.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you worry a lot?”
“Part of the job description, sweetheart. I can’t help others if I get hurt because I didn’t consider every angle. Every possible outcome.” He sighed. “At least, it was.”
She stiffened. There was a wounded edge to him she hadn’t noticed before—one that made her chest tighten. Made it hard to breathe as the interior of the vehicle warmed to the point she felt light-headed. Who was this guy, and why the hell did the thought of him hurting tear at her? Make her want to slide back over and take him in her arms. Smooth out the furrow in his brow. Kiss away the pout curving his l
ips.
She steeled herself against the punch of emotion that welled in her chest. She didn’t want to know any more. Didn’t need to develop stronger feelings for him. Not when every moment spent in his presence felt this…right. As if he was some missing piece of a puzzle that finally completed the image.
She cleared her throat, grabbed the handle, then made a hasty exit. It would have been perfect if she hadn’t tripped getting out. Caught her damn boot on the small step and tumbled onto the floor. Pain blossomed through her head and across her shoulder as the garage did a full three-sixty in her vision before steadying.
“Shit!” Russel was at her side, keeping her from sitting up as he did a visual sweep of her body. “Christ, you’ve got a fucking lump forming above your right eye.”
He placed his hands on her face, pushing and rotating her head as he stared at her. Then, he opened her eyes wider, looking inside. “Are you dizzy? Feeling nauseous? Any double vision?”
She laughed then groaned. “Laughing hurts.”
“Then, I suggest you don’t. Especially, since this isn’t funny.”
“What’s funny is you asking me all those questions. I was dizzy, nauseous, and seeing double before I got in your truck.”
“Which further complicates this.” He leaned forward. “Wrap your arms around my neck.”
“Okay, but… Whoa!”
She gasped as he levered her against his chest then stood, looking as if it was normal to have someone cradled in his arms. He grabbed her purse off the seat then headed for the elevator doors on the far left.
Quinn tightened her hold, wondering how he was going to manage with her arms all the way to her apartment. “You don’t have to carry me. I was just clumsy. I can walk.”
“And have you upgrade your concussion when you fall, again?” The look he gave her clearly indicated that he firmly believed she would fall, again. “Not likely.”
“I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache, but that’s probably from the coolers, too.”
Russel scoffed at her. “You just fell head first onto concrete. I’m going to err on the safe side until I can do a more thorough exam.”