Low Tide: Rarity Cove Book Two

by Tentler, Leslie

  She could have filed sexual assault charges against Mike. Quinn thought about it often. But the media frenzy that would surround such an accusation against a San Francisco Breaker—made by the wife of another player—was more than Quinn believed she could bear. Not to mention, if Jake thought he could punish her for not returning to him, there was no telling what he might say about her in a courtroom.

  Nora’s a fragile thing. I wonder how she’d like knowing what her little girl is really into.

  Sitting up in bed, Quinn wrapped her arms around her shins and hung her head. The sexual things she had done, the kinks she’d agreed to, had been done to please Jake, private things between a husband and wife. And now Jake was taunting her for the very thing he had inducted her into. She thought of her gradual descent into bondage and submission—the spanking, the humiliation and use of sex toys that melded pain with pleasure. None of it had been enough for him. Jake had planned to share her, as if she were a thing.

  Quinn startled as her cell phone rang inside her handbag, which lay next to the cushioned dog bed on the floor. At the sound, Doug lifted his head and tilted it inquisitively. Quinn had taken the phone off mute on the drive back from the beach house in case Mark called—she had anticipated he would to apologize for things not working out. Fearing the caller was Jake, she climbed from the bed to check the cell’s screen. It showed only a number, not a name, but she recognized the area code as Los Angeles, not San Francisco. Uncertain of what to do, she answered.

  “Quinn…it’s Carter.” At his low, hesitant voice, her pulse kicked up. “Mark gave me your cell number, and I…” She heard his release of breath. “God. I’m being thoughtless again, calling so late.”

  The clock on the nightstand indicated it was nearly midnight.

  “It’s all right. I wasn’t sleeping,” she said, although her tone was cool.

  “Look...” he stammered. “I’m sorry about tonight. For walking out on you. And for my harshness. I’m not excusing myself, but the pain meds pretty much obliterate my internal filter.”

  Quinn held the phone against her ear, waiting for whatever else he planned to say.

  “I haven’t been the most level-headed person lately, so I hope you’ll forgive me. I’ve also been thinking about it since you left. If you’re still willing to work with me, it’ll be weird, but maybe we should give it a try, at least. I know Mark’s already discussed a rate for your services. I’d self-pay, so we wouldn’t be dealing with insurers.”

  Quinn was dumbfounded by his change of heart. After Jake’s surprise appearance, she had been considering packing up and leaving Rarity Cove, moving somewhere else where it would be harder for him to find her. She had been too easy to track to her mother’s. The only problem was, she didn’t yet know where somewhere else would be. Despite her renewed reservations about working with Carter, her practical side thought again of the income and how useful it would be.

  “You were pretty adamantly against this,” she said as she walked back to the bed and sank down on its edge. “What changed your mind?”

  “Your willingness to let the past stay there, I guess.” The airwaves stretched out between them, until he rasped, “I know I was a jerk to you back then. I was a self-centered, immature idiot who couldn’t think past his own...” He stopped himself, clearing his throat. “If you can set that aside, I suppose I should be able to, too.”

  Quinn thought for a long moment, running a hand through her bed-mussed hair. “If we do this, we’d need to get started as soon as possible. No more lost time. You can’t afford it. And no diva behavior, either, Carter. I won’t put up with it.”

  He gave a strangled laugh. “It sounds like you’re planning to live up to your slave-driver reputation. Should I be afraid?”

  “You should be prepared to work. I won’t put you through anything you aren’t ready for, but some of it won’t be easy. You’ll have to trust me.”

  “So how do we start?” he asked seriously.

  “I’ll need to confer with your care team. We’ll also talk about the level of pain you’re experiencing. And I’ll have to put you through some endurance and muscle testing in order to get a baseline.”

  “I’ll get a meeting set up for you in Charleston for Monday morning. I sort of have VIP status with the doctors.” He hesitated again. “I’ve also been thinking, Quinn. Since we’d already be working together, I could use your help with some other things. Mercer’s leaving tomorrow, and I’ve been leaning on her pretty hard. I don’t want to be a burden to my family any more than I’ve already been. Mark’s got his hands full with the St. Clair, and Mom—”

  Quinn stirred uneasily. “What kinds of other things?”

  “Driving me to doctor appointments, running errands, whatever I need. You could sort of be on call to me.”

  “You want me to be your personal assistant?”

  “It wouldn’t go that far. I know what I’m asking is way below your credentials, but I’d pay you the same hourly rate as I would for therapy.” He must have taken her silence as indecision, because he added, “I can find someone else, but like Mark said, we trust you, and you’re family.”

  Carter’s sternal precautions had ended after eight weeks, but Quinn knew his injured shoulder didn’t have the strength or range of motion for driving. Not to mention the pain medication he was taking. She felt a tightness in her muscles, thinking that if she accepted, it would mean spending even more time with him than she’d anticipated. But it would also mean additional pay.

  “Mark said the car you were driving tonight is Nora’s.”

  “Transportation won’t be an issue. I can rent something.” Quinn had flown here from San Francisco and, even there, her Lexus coupe—a gift from Jake for her birthday—was in his name. She had returned the car, leaving it in his driveway when he had been on the road with the team. Since their separation, she’d been relying on the Bay Area’s cable cars, mass transit and Uber to get around. “The only reason I haven’t leased something here yet is because I wasn’t sure how long I was staying.”

  “I’ll arrange a car for you.”

  “That isn’t necessary—”

  “Consider it a job perk. I’ll provide you with a credit card for expenses, as well.”

  Quinn rubbed a hand over her eyes, not completely sure of the wisdom of what she was getting into.

  “All right,” she agreed finally. “But I’ll have to bring Doug with me for our sessions.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Feeling as if she’d just taken a blind leap off a cliff, Quinn sheathed her inner anxiety. “I’ll wait to hear from you about the meeting on Monday.”

  “Good. It’s, uh, settled, then.” He sounded nervous, too. “I’ll leave a message with the hospital’s answering service and have someone call you with a time.” A long beat of silence passed between them, until he spoke her name. Quinn pictured him, perhaps lying in his bed, just as she’d been in hers. The image was disconcerting.

  “I’m sorry about your marriage not working out…and other things. I should’ve said that tonight.”

  It didn’t surprise her that he knew. After all, Mark knew. Quinn thought of the small-town gossip that was rampant here, as well as Jake’s televised interview that had brought her miscarriage to the forefront. She had already moved out of his home, but Jake had acted in front of the cameras as if they were still together, a couple heartbroken over a baby that would never be. His emotional discussion of it had been shown in clips on the sports news shows. Quinn regretted ever telling him, but despite everything, she’d thought he had a right to know.

  “It’s okay,” she said softly.

  “We have something in common, Quinn.” The cadence of his famous voice washed over her, as familiar as a pair of broken-in jeans. “Growing up, neither of us could wait to get the hell out of Rarity Cove. I hightailed it to New York after graduation. You took off to San Francisco…”

  “And now we’ve both come home to lick our wounds.” As she
finished his observation, a small ache filled her. She said good night, although she sat with her cell phone still in her hand long after she had disconnected.

  Chapter Eight

  “You can’t pass this up. Diane loves you, and she’s hot for your comeback interview.”

  Using his left hand, Carter clasped the back of his neck, tension radiating through him as he sat on a teakwood barstool at the kitchen island, his cell phone in front of him and Elliott on speaker. He stared blindly at the closed plantation shutters blocking out the late morning sunlight.

  “You won’t even have to fly here—her team will come to you. They want to film it this week and air it during February sweeps.”

  Carter’s breath sawed silently out of him. He fidgeted with an olivewood salt box that had been left on the counter. “No,” he said quietly.

  “I won’t accept that—”

  “You’ll have to.” Carter knew what Diane would want from him. To open up for the cameras. To tear himself apart as they talked about what happened. About Bianca. He swallowed heavily, not wanting his emotions on display.

  Through the airwaves, he heard the rattle of ice cubes, as if they were being dropped into a glass. It gave him a bad sense of déjà vu. Agents weren’t immune to the pressures of Hollywood, and Elliott had done a brief stint at a Malibu rehab center a little over a year ago to get in front of a problem. Carter knew he was in no place to be lecturing anyone. Still, he asked carefully, “What time is it there, Elliott? Before eight? Tell me you aren’t drinking on a Monday morning—”

  “If I am, it’s because you’ve driven me to it,” Elliott half snapped before backpedaling with a tight laugh. “Relax, it’s just a Bloody Mary. I had a tough night. I can handle it.”

  Carter had been the one to drive Elliott to New Beginnings. His voice lowered in concern. “What about the coke? Are you handling that again, too?”

  “God, no. And don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you. Let me give you some advice, Carter. You may not be back to your former eye-candy self, but it’s better to let the public see you through a medium we can control—a little makeup, the right lighting, some shrewd editing. We don’t need another Starglazer situation bent on showing you at your worst.”

  Carter closed his eyes, wishing Elliott would stop talking. The scent of praline pecan rolls, something Samantha had brought over from the café that morning, hung in the air. They sat under a glass dome, untouched.

  “Can I appeal to your business sense, at least? They’re offering two million freaking dollars for a one-hour exclusive. That’s fifty thousand a minute, in case you’re wondering—”

  “I don’t care about the money.”

  “That’s why you pay me to care about it for you.”

  Carter squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Tell them no.”

  Elliott cursed softly. “I love you, Carter. How can I not love a star whose last movie netted over three hundred mill worldwide? But you’re killing me, you know that?” He paused as if to bring himself under control. “You’ve got to understand. I just want you back. We all do. You’re an industry. And I’m sorry, but you won’t be refusing interviews at the press junket in March. Those you’ll be doing for free under the terms of your contract. I talked to the studio, like you asked. Short of another hospitalization, they’re holding you to it.”

  Once the call ended, Carter dragged a hand through his hair. His chest hurt. On impulse, he shoved the phone away. It sailed over the island’s edge and landed on the tile floor with a clatter.

  “Carter!”

  The reprimand had come from Jolene, who stood inside the kitchen’s arched entryway. Even with the slosh of the dishwasher behind him, Carter had nearly forgotten her presence. The St. Clair’s head of housekeeping, Jolene was in her fifties and had been with the family business since before Carter was born. She had started coming by on Monday and Thursday mornings to take care of household chores before heading to the hotel to oversee staff. Hands planted on her ample hips, she eyed him critically from beneath short dreadlocks, muttering in lowcountry Gullah before returning to English. “I swear you haven’t changed since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. Only now you’re tossin’ around expensive cell phones instead of toys.”

  “Sorry, Jo,” he mumbled and looked away, embarrassed she’d witnessed his outburst.

  “Let me tell you, this pretty child could throw some tantrums in his day. All that drama—even then, I knew he was going to be a star.”

  Jolene was talking to Quinn, Carter realized, heat sweeping over his skin. Not a good start to her no diva behavior mandate. Dressed in leggings and a hip-length sweater, she must have been in the hallway and had entered a few seconds behind the other woman. The straps of her duffel and purse hung over one slender shoulder. Doug had trotted into the room, as well. He headed to where Carter sat.

  “Quinn Reese is here,” Jolene announced.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” he replied dryly, absently rubbing his chest as Quinn stared back at him, no doubt another observer to his meltdown. He figured Jolene had let her in through the security gate while he’d been on the phone.

  “It’s good to see you, Quinn, honey. You grew up real good.” Jolene gave Quinn’s arm an affectionate squeeze before departing to another part of the house to return to her work.

  “You okay?” Quinn asked.

  He gave a faint nod. Putting down her things, she went to retrieve the phone from the floor.

  “Well, it’s not broken,” she said after a brief examination of the device.

  Carter rose stiffly to face her, his right arm in its sling. Quinn’s wavy, auburn hair hung over one shoulder in a loose, heavy braid, wisps left curling around her oval face. He did what he could to improve his frame of mind. He hadn’t slept well last night, but he was glad he’d gotten up early enough to manage a shower and dress himself, although he wore jeans and an untucked, button-front shirt. He had expected Quinn to come by after her morning meeting in Charleston with his care team. Based on Doug’s presence, she had gone back to her mother’s afterward to pick him up.

  “Hollywood calling?” she guessed, handing him the phone.

  “A reminder I have a press junket coming up this spring. With photo-calls.” His frown deepened. “Attendance is mandatory.”

  “Well, it does give us something to work toward,” she said, although her eyes held empathy.

  He changed the subject. “How’d your meeting go?”

  “Good,” she said, although she appeared somewhat ill at ease. “We discussed the therapy regimen I’ve planned. It got their approval.”

  “And the car?”

  “Delivered early this morning.” She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, her delicately arched eyebrows drawing in a bit as she regarded him. “You really didn’t have to get me something so nice.”

  The car was a top-of-the-line Mercedes with satellite radio and tinted windows. He shrugged as best he could. “I’m going to be riding around in it, too, you know.”

  Doug had been roaming around the kitchen, investigating his new surroundings, but he returned to Carter and placed his front paws insistently on his thigh, seeking attention.

  “Doug, down!”

  “It’s all right.” He stroked Doug’s head, his mood lifting a fraction as the dog rewarded him with an openmouthed smile and thumped his tail against the island’s leg. Carter liked dogs. He would have one himself if his travel schedule permitted. He looked up in time to see Quinn move to the windows, opening the shutters wide. January sunlight flooded the room, bringing the aqua-glass tiled backsplash and ivory walls, the high-end stainless-steel appliances, into sharp focus. He squinted against the invasion of light as she consulted her sports wristwatch.

  “Well, there’s no time like the present.” He noticed again the nervous edge to her voice, and he wondered if she was dreading the session as much as he.

  “Can we go downstairs?” she asked. “I noticed a massage table the
re, which I can use for my evaluation. I need to do some muscle testing and see how well you’re healing. I’ve also talked to Mark about using the hotel ballroom this afternoon.”

  “For what?”

  “A six-minute walk test. We need a large area with a flat, hard surface. It’ll help me gauge your endurance level and give us a benchmark for improvement.”

  Carter’s throat dried. “Six minutes?”

  “It’s self-paced. You can stop to rest as much as you need, and you can use your assistive device.”

  She looked at the cane that lay across the seat of one of the counter stools. Carter reached for it, intending to use it for the trip downstairs, but he accidentally bumped it with his hand, knocking it off and almost losing his balance as he made an unsuccessful grab for it. Quinn steadied him, then knelt to pick up the cane from the floor. As she handed it to him, he nearly winced at the concern in her eyes.

  “I used to spend two hours a day with a personal trainer. Now I can’t walk thirty feet without losing my breath…or without this damn thing.” He placed the cane’s tip on the floor, his face hot.

  “That’s what we’re going to work on,” she said softly.

  * * *

  The ground-level floor featured a view of the covered pool and beyond it, the powder-blue winter sky and lapis ocean. As Quinn had noted before, the space had been well-equipped for physical therapy, with a treadmill and upper-body ergometer for arm pedaling, free weights and a mounted pulley system. Carter sat on the padded massage table as Quinn had instructed while she stood in front of him, helping remove the sling that held his right shoulder.

  “Were you given specific instructions about wearing this?” Made self-conscious by their closeness, she kept her hands busy folding the sling several times before laying it on the table beside him. “I’ve seen you without it—”

  “I warned you this was going to be weird, Quinn. You and me.”