Low Tide: Rarity Cove Book Two

by Tentler, Leslie

  “Maybe you should stay at the St. Clair for a while,” her mother said, not looking at her. “I…think maybe it’s best.”

  Standing, Quinn swallowed down her anguish. Nora climbed under the bed’s coverlet and turned onto her side, facing away from her daughter. Turning off the lamp on the nightstand, Quinn left the room on weak legs. She didn’t know if Nora meant for her to leave immediately, but she knew she had to. Humiliation caused her insides to churn. Jake had exposed her to her mother in the worst possible way.

  The guests had gone to their rooms, although all the lights remained on, as if to keep away whatever might be lurking outside. Quinn couldn’t face them in the morning. Going into her room, she changed into jeans and a sweater, then pulled her suitcase from under the bed and began shoving her things inside. The task was all that was keeping her from curling into a fetal position on the floor. Fighting back tears, she lugged the suitcase and her duffel down the stairs and outside.

  A cold rain had begun to fall. Her hair and clothing getting wet, Quinn placed the items in the Mercedes’s trunk, then got into the vehicle with her purse and started the engine. As she neared the police car, its driver’s side window rolled down. Quinn did her best to hide her upset and stopped beside it. She rolled down a window, too.

  “Everything all right, miss?” the officer asked. There was an officer on the passenger side, as well.

  “I’m taking a room at the St. Clair. Please stay here and keep a watch on my mother’s house?”

  To her relief, he nodded and let her go. Quinn pulled from the neighborhood and headed south toward the resort. But a few minutes later, tears clouded her vision. She had to pull over. While rain pounded the car’s roof, she sat there for a time, sobbing. Then, pulling herself together as best she could, she made a U-turn and went north instead.

  It was after two a.m. Still, she took her cell phone from her purse.

  “Quinn?” Carter answered on the third ring, his voice rough with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

  She told him everything.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Carter met her at the door. Rain fell in a solid sheet as Quinn stood on his porch, wet and shivering. Then she stepped inside and into his arms. A hot ache in his throat, he held her against him. He cursed Medero for his torment of her. He cursed Nora Reese, too, in disbelief that she would turn her daughter away in the middle of the night.

  When she finally took a step back from him, he asked, “What can I do?”

  “Pull out that six-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch from wherever you hide it?” Her reddened eyes revealed her anguish. “I want to get drunk.”

  Carter cupped the back of his neck. Maybe a strong buzz was what she needed. “You’re soaked. Leave your things in the car. You can go up to my room for some dry clothes. They’ll be big on you, but they’ll do. Quinn…you’re safe here.”

  She looked at him, damp waves of russet hair framing her pale face. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He swallowed, watching as she went upstairs with Doug trailing her. She could have gone to the St. Clair tonight, to any of the smaller hotels dotting the shoreline, but she had come to him. Carter had looked at the website while he had been on the phone with her, trying to keep her calm enough to drive. It infuriated and worried him, as did the intruder who had come for her. He set the security system and went to retrieve the scotch.

  When Quinn failed to return, he went up to find her still in his bedroom. She was just standing there, absently running her fingers over the footboard of his bed, staring out through the rain-streaked glass wall. Doug wagged his tail upon seeing him.

  “You found something,” he said, making her aware of his presence. She had on the soft plaid shirt he’d worn earlier that day. Its sleeves had been rolled up to accommodate her smaller frame, and a pair of his sweatpants bagged down to her ankles. The oversized clothing made her look even more fragile to him.

  Barefoot, wearing jeans and a V-neck T-shirt—what he’d pulled on after Quinn’s call—Carter held the bottle of scotch by its neck and a single glass in his left hand. He indicated the adjoining sitting room, and she followed. They sat beside each other on the sofa.

  “Did you see it?” Her gray-green eyes appeared stricken.

  Carter leaned forward and poured a measure of scotch into the cut-lead crystal. He wouldn’t lie. “Yeah,” he rasped. Fresh hate for Medero festered inside him. “He has to pay for this.”

  The revealing photo, along with what the ad said, was likely to attract a range of men, from simple sexual deviants to the truly dangerous. And the email correspondence Quinn had told him about had been even worse. He handed Quinn the glass, and she took two large gulps before releasing a shaky breath.

  “Easy.” Sliding the tumbler from her fingers, he had a sip himself and handed it back. Quinn drank again and wiped her fingers over her lips before speaking.

  “The police said if the ad or the emails can be traced to Jake, he could be charged with felony interstate stalking.”

  Carter thought of other, even more serious charges, like conspiracy to commit rape, although Medero had no doubt known how the situation would play out with Nora and her guests also inside the house. Still, his heart thrummed with silent anger. He watched as she took another gulp, then breathed out against the alcohol’s burn.

  “This is going to get better. He’s gone too far this time, and he’s going to get caught.”

  She reached for the bottle and splashed in another generous portion. Drinking deeply, she coughed.

  “That’s no way to treat a twenty-five-year-old scotch,” he chided gently.

  They were turned toward each other, her shin propped against his jeans-clad thigh. She wore a pair of his socks, as well. Her eyes were watery, whether from the scotch or from her tears, he didn’t know. Quinn studied him somberly.

  “What?” he asked.

  She shook her head, a blush staining her cheeks. “You know so much about me. All my dark, humiliating secrets, things I never wanted anyone to know…and I know practically nothing about you.”

  He chuckled lowly. “I’m an open book, honey. A web search can give you every detail of my life. Every woman I’ve dated, my favorite color, what I eat for breakfast. The fact I broke my arm when I was seven, although I’m laying that on Mark and a game of dare.”

  “I mean something real,” she persisted.

  It was the scotch talking, loosening her up, but this turn in conversation seemed to distract her. “Okay.” He blew out a thoughtful breath. “I have a motorcycle in LA—three of them. High-end performance machines. I ride around the canyon at night sometimes, really open those babies up.”

  Taking a sip from the glass, she lifted her eyebrows faintly.

  “No one knows it’s me under that helmet, especially not the paps. My property has a hidden rear gate off the main road, so I can come and go without anyone who might be camped out front seeing me.” He thought of those lone rides, a way to escape the pressures of his career. “Don’t tell Mom, though. She’ll have my hide. She abhors bikes—she calls them donor cycles.”

  When she continued to look at him with serious eyes, he tilted his head at her. “Not good enough?”

  Her fingers traced the cut-lead pattern of the glass she held. She took another drink. “Considering things, no.”

  She was at once familiar and also alluring to him. All his life, he had glutted on women because he could—his looks, the St. Clair money and, later, his fame—had afforded him that. But Quinn was different. He would rather take a beating than see her hurt, he realized.

  “How about this?” His voice was low and husky. “I’m the biggest fool in the universe. All those years ago, I didn’t see how special you are.”

  Her gaze traveled over his face, as if sifting for truth. Then, slowly, Quinn leaned into him, pressing her mouth to his. Carter returned her kiss, the feel of her breasts against his chest causing a slow heat to rise inside him. In one forward movement, she strad
dled his lap, and he settled against the cushions with her, his hands at the small of her back, slipping under the oversized shirt to reach the warm silk of her skin. He instantly hardened as she released a kittenish moan into his mouth. She tasted of scotch, their tongues mingling, her hands threading through his hair. Carter’s hands grazed her narrow waist and moved upward to the sides of her breasts. She wore no bra, having apparently dispensed with it along with her other damp clothing. Quinn ground against him, her breath warm against his face, her beautiful long hair hanging around him like a curtain.

  He wanted her. God, he did. But not like this, he realized with resignation. He didn’t want her decision to be confused by alcohol or careening emotions. For the first time, he wanted to take care of a woman more than he wanted to fulfill his own needs. Reluctantly, he broke their kiss, breathing hard. When he did, she buried her face against the hollow of his throat, sucking at his skin there. He stifled a groan of pleasure. “Quinn. Quinn, honey. No.”

  She straightened, her eyes confused and dazed by lust or alcohol, or both. She panted along with him. Her already full lips appeared swollen from their kissing, and an attractive flush had spread over her porcelain skin.

  “I want you,” he said, voice hoarse. “But not tonight. You’ve been drinking, and you’re upset. I’d be taking advantage.”

  Pain entered her eyes, and he reached for her hands.

  “Quinn,” he appealed to the hurt on her face, but she pulled her fingers from his. She managed to get off him, although she stumbled a bit as she stood, an indicator he had accurately assessed her intoxication.

  “I have to go,” she mumbled, appearing lost.

  Carter stood and followed her across the room. Reaching for her, he ignored the strain in his shoulder and turned her around to him. “You’re not going anywhere. You can’t drive like this.”

  “Just a few days ago, you were all over me.” Accusation shone in her eyes, which shimmered with tears. “And now…now that I’ve come to you, you’re brushing me off—”

  He trapped her face in his hands and kissed her, silencing her. “I want you. But I want you to want me when you’re sober. I don’t want you waking up in the morning with regret.”

  “All I have are regrets,” she whispered brokenly.

  The sound of her muffled sobs against his chest tore at him. He held her and let her cry. The scotch had done a number on her, and he felt guilt for having let her drink so much. He should put her in one of the other bedrooms, but he was worried she might wake up sick or try to flee. He would carry her if he could, but instead he wrapped his left arm around her and coaxed her into his bedroom. The covers were already pulled back from where he’d been sleeping.

  “Move over, boy.” Doug rose from the spot he had taken and moved to the far side of the king-size bed.

  “Get in, honey.”

  Quinn wiped at her eyes and hiccupped. She wobbled as she unceremoniously pushed the oversized sweats down her hips and left them on the hardwood floor. He saw a flash of skimpy panties as she climbed onto the mattress. Thank God she’d left on the shirt, or he would have an even harder time getting to sleep. Carter nudged her over and got in beside her.

  He could tell by the patter on the roof and water running through the gutters that the rain was still coming down. Remaining clothed, he lay beside Quinn, who had turned on her side away from him. Her hair, spread over his pillow, smelled of tangerines and honey. Except for the occasional soft hiccup, her breathing soon evened, and she appeared to already be asleep.

  Total power exchange. No safe words. No limits.

  He swallowed in the darkness, anger again tightening his chest as he thought about Medero’s latest stunt and what could’ve happened.

  He had to put an end to this.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Quinn awoke to the room drenched in soft light, disoriented, a dull throb in her head. It took a moment for reality to crash in on her. This was Carter’s bedroom. She was in his bed with its pillowed white duvet and silky, high-thread-count sheets. Sitting up, she pressed a hand to her face. Last night was murky, yet she recalled how she had kissed him, more than kissed him. She had practically dry-humped him.

  Oh, no. She reached for Carter’s wristwatch that lay on the nightstand. Ten forty-five a.m. Had she really slept that late? Replacing the watch, Quinn felt the sway of her naked breasts under his shirt she wore, its cotton hitched up around her waist.

  The half-closed door to the room opened, and Doug trotted inside, tail wagging. Carter followed, holding an earthenware mug. “Well, you’re alive.”

  “Barely.” Embarrassed, she raked a hand through her hair, then looked up as he handed her the mug.

  “Green tea.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I wanted to make sure you’re up. We have the call with the attorney in about an hour.” He wore the same clothes he’d had on last night. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Probably not as bad as I should.” Holding the mug’s warmth between her palms, she felt her face burn with the question. “Carter…did we…?”

  “You mean you don’t remember how good I was?” He feigned shock before the grooves of his dimples deepened. “Yeah, we slept together,” he confirmed in a gentle voice. “But, no, nothing happened.”

  Not because she hadn’t wanted it to. She had a blurry flashback of him being the one to cool the flames between them and her accusing him of playing with her feelings. Her sober self understood he was being a gentleman. Quinn wasn’t a drinker, and the scotch had clearly won. Another wave of humiliation swept over her.

  “Oh.” He dipped into the back pocket of his jeans, extracting her cell phone. “While I was down letting Doug out, your phone rang. The screen said it was Nora. It looks like she’s called a few times.” He handed it to her, his mouth set in a hard line. “I considered not telling you.”

  “No, I should talk to her.”

  Even wearing yesterday’s clothes, his hair sticking up in places, Carter managed to look casually handsome. Quinn could only imagine what she looked like. He turned to one of the dresser drawers, pulling out some clothes. Then he went into the adjoining master bathroom and returned with his shaving kit. “I’ll give you some privacy to talk. I’ll take a shower in one of the other bathrooms.” Stopping in the doorway, he turned. “Quinn…don’t let her make you feel like any of this is your fault. You’re a victim in this, despite what you think.”

  His words soothed her. But as he departed with Doug following, that feeling soon receded. Things had been terrible between her and her mother last night. Quinn placed the mug on the nightstand. Taking a slow breath, she punched in Nora’s number. She heard her mother’s relief as she answered.

  “Thank God, Quinn. I’ve been calling your cell all morning. When I couldn’t reach you, I called the St. Clair and asked them to ring your room. They told me you never checked in.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up.”

  “I was upset last night, understandably so…” Nora sounded regretful. “But I shouldn’t have told you to go, not when who knows what kind of men saw that terrible ad. I’m sorry, Quinn. I didn’t realize that you’d actually left until I went to your room this morning.”

  Her throat ached. “Are the police still there?”

  “I took coffee out to them earlier. They…told me another man showed up overnight.”

  At the news, she rubbed her forehead. “Mom, after the guests leave today, I think you should find somewhere else to stay for a while.”

  “That’s the other reason I’ve been trying to reach you. Considering things here, the Pickwells and Kents have invited me to go with them to the Keys. They’re awfully nice people, and they’ve been so understanding about all this. I don’t have any more guests booked until late March, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “It’s a good idea. You should go.” Quinn repressed a sigh, wanting to have complete honesty from now on. “And I’m not alone. I’m here with Carter.
I stayed at his house last night.”

  “I thought you might’ve. Quinn, you’re making another mistake—”

  “He’s done more to help me than anyone,” she interjected. Things couldn’t get much worse, so she figured she might as well tell her about the photos. “There’s something else, and I want you to be prepared. The paparazzi took photos of Carter and me last weekend. They’re going to publish them in a gossip magazine next week. The photos were taken out of context.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Carter knows all about Jake. He was trying to comfort me. The magazine’s probably going to imply we’re having an affair, maybe even that he’s the reason for my divorce. These publications and websites thrive on salacious rumors—”

  “Are you sleeping with him? Tell the truth. There’s been enough lies.”

  Face hot, Quinn sat in Carter’s bed, thinking of last night. “We haven’t had sex,” she managed.

  “But you have feelings for him.”

  “Yes.” Although her voice was barely audible, saying it aloud made it more real. Her heart hurt with the admission.

  Nora sighed softly. “Oh, Quinn. I worry about you. Didn’t you learn anything from Jake? You need to find a nice man with a stable job and an ordinary life.”

  She felt a stab of pain. Still, she said, “Have a good time in the Keys. I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too. I just wish you could’ve been honest with me from the beginning, Quinn.”

  Quinn disconnected. She sat there for several moments, trying to swallow the lump that lingered in her throat before noticing on the phone’s screen that she had another missed call. Skipping over the messages from her mother, she listened to the voice mail left by the officer she had spoken with last night. He told her the website had taken down the ad and that both men who had gone to the B&B last night were fully cooperating with police, including turning over email correspondence. Quinn closed her eyes in gratitude.

  Climbing from the bed, she looked for the sweatpants she vaguely recalled kicking off last night but couldn’t find them. Instead, she straightened the shirt so it fell at midthigh. She started to reach for the mug of tea on the nightstand, but instead her eyes again fell to Carter’s watch. It was a high-end designer brand, easily worth thousands. A year ago, he had been the face of the jeweler’s ad campaign.