Did Quentin still want kids? She pushed the question away. It wasn’t exactly taking things slow when you were worried about what a family might look like with a guy you’d just started dating. And, so what if they’d met under extreme circumstances and skipped straight to sex. They still needed time to get to know one another properly.
She walked through from the kitchen to the living room. Paused when she caught sight of two framed photographs on a shelf unit. She stepped closer. One was a picture of Quentin and his wife on their wedding day. Their smiles reflected one another’s joy. They were obviously so happy Haley had to blink to fight back the emotion. The next photograph was Abbie, hugely pregnant with her hands clasped over her distended belly. Quentin stood beside her, looking goofy and proud.
Haley’s throat started to ache with the effort of suppressing tears. Tucked just behind the photograph was a small silver frame with the image of a swaddled newborn.
“Thomas. He was stillborn.”
Quentin’s voice made her jolt.
Haley looked up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Quentin tossed a bag and his new wallet on the entryway table. Locked his handgun in a drawer.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind you looking. I always feel guilty that I don’t talk about him more.” Quentin walked over and stood beside her, picking the small silver frame up with one hand and stroking a thumb over the image. “I didn’t know him, but I felt him wriggle in his mother’s womb and saw his heartbeat on the ultrasound. Held him, afterwards… Loved him.” He paused, and Haley felt anguish at the pain he must have endured. “I try to imagine him at each different age, but it’s a meaningless fantasy I seem to construct for no other reason than to torment myself.”
The suffering in his voice destroyed her. “What happened?”
“Abbie wasn’t feeling so great, but she decided to wait for me to get home from work before going to the hospital. She didn’t want to bother me. Her placenta ruptured and the cord got tangled and by the time I found them it was already…bad.”
Quentin’s Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat. “It wasn’t her fault. She always hated to bother me when I was at work, but I never minded.” He sucked in his lips. “I meant what I said today. I love my job, but I’d like a life too.” The catch in his voice pushed Haley over the edge, and she caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek.
“I’m so sorry they died, Quentin.”
He nodded quietly and put the photograph down. “So am I. But it’s been five years now, and it’s time for me to move on.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I won’t ever forget them, but I’m learning to let go.” He tipped the wedding photo facedown, then the others.
“Does the fact I can’t have children bother you?”
His eyes glittered fiercely when they met hers. “I honestly don’t think I could go through that again.” He sounded like someone was ripping out his heart.
“If you wanted kids you could always adopt,” she said carefully.
“As of a week ago, I never thought I’d need to think about it again.” Then he laughed and squeezed her hand. The sensation was as familiar as her own reflection. “So much for me keeping things light. I made you cry.”
Haley wiped her tears. “I can’t imagine how you got through it. And I bet you never let anyone help you deal with it, did you?”
“I buried myself in work.” He went to turn away, to deflect.
She stopped him. “I want to be with you, Quentin, but you don’t have to forget about Abbie or the baby you lost.” She gently put the photographs upright again.
The way his lips pressed hard together she could tell he was still trying not to give in to emotion. Instead he swept her up into his arms. “I’m taking you to bed. It’s a first for me, having anyone here.”
She touched his face. He was so dang beautiful. She thought about her own past and the ghosts she carried. They both needed to adjust to the weight of each other’s baggage.
She wiped at her eyes, makeup running. “I look a mess.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I had great plans to feed you and then seduce the shit out of you. Now I need to fix my face.”
He lowered her feet onto his bedroom floor. The drapes were drawn. Bed unmade which surprised her. She’d imagined he’d be Mr. Regimented, neat and tidy.
He cupped her face, tipped her chin up with an authority that thrilled her. “You don’t need to fix your face. Your face is unbelievably beautiful.” He skimmed one hand down her side and rested it on her hip. “You are ridiculously attractive. I thought that in the bar last Saturday night.”
Jesus, not even a week ago, and so much had happened.
“I thought it when you were dressed in dirt and a blanket on the side of a volcano.” His hand slipped lower and then stroked up her thigh until his fingers found the silk of her underwear. “And I’m thinking it now.”
She shivered as he slowly lowered his mouth to her neck. Making her toes curl as his lips brushed the sensitive skin there.
His fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress, drew it down, and helped the dress fall off her shoulders and onto the floor.
She stepped out of the material and watched his eyes turn black. Her bra and panties were a delicate lavender lace that cupped her breasts and left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
She removed his tie, enjoying the rasp of sound as it came loose. Undid the buttons of his crisp white shirt. Found his belt buckle and unhitched the notch, flicking open the button and easing down the zipper.
He said nothing as she smoothed her hands over his tanned shoulders, outlining the jut of his clavicle, the bulge of his biceps. Dark hair sprinkled his chest, and she traced the downward path until she found him hot and heavy, burning her fingers as she clasped them around him.
“I find you very attractive too,” she said, smiling.
The first time they’d had sex had been about two strangers hooking up—superb, but still just animal lust. The second and third times they’d had sex had been desperate bids to relieve stress and prove they were still alive, still fighting. They’d been frantic, glorious bursts of pleasure in a grim survival situation.
“I want to make love to you in my bed.” His voice vibrated slow and urgent. He made a move to go down on her, but she shook her head.
“I want you inside me. As fast as possible. I can’t wait any longer.” The throb between her legs felt like it might consume her if she didn’t assuage it soon.
His eyes turned to obsidian. She lay on the bed and drew him down with her. He peeled her bra down her shoulder and latched his mouth onto her nipple, suckling her hard enough to have her crying out, but not in pain. He undid the clasp and tossed the garment onto the floor. While his mouth feasted on her breasts, his hand swept lower, easing into her panties and then sliding deep into her slick folds. Every time his fingers dove inside her, the palm of his hand rubbed against her clit. Her feet pressed hard into the mattress as her hips rose. “Please. Quentin.”
“Please what?” He laughed as she stiffened and contorted and spasmed in his arms.
When she collapsed back in a heap, he nuzzled her neck again. “Just taking the edge off.”
She tried to shift positions, to repay him by pleasuring his body. He wouldn’t let her move.
“Not so fast, Cramer.”
“But—”
“I plan on giving you everything you want, but if you touch me right now I’m toast.” He rose up and looked down at her, nudging her knees apart and sliding against her vulva, never dropping her gaze. He rubbed her over-sensitized clit with his cock, and she closed her eyes and groaned at the sensation. “Whereas you,” he kissed her, slowly, deeply before sliding all the way home, “can hopefully get right back on the orgasm wagon for another go around.”
Her fingers gripped his ass tight and hung on as he took her for a long, slow ride. She was completely dazzled. She never wanted this to end.
&nbs
p; Chapter Thirty-Six
They’d made love, eaten, made love again. Now they lay in bed in each other’s arms staring at the ceiling, both of them sated and exhausted and unable to sleep because of body clocks that were set to the other side of the world.
Haley smoothed her hand over his chest, playing with his flat nipples. They fascinated her but not a fraction of the amount hers fascinated him.
“It’s funny how the people to come off best out of this are you and me. And Chris Baylor, I suppose.”
“What about Tricia Rooks and Grant Gunn?” Quentin queried.
“Neither of them gained a lover or a multimillion-dollar contract out of it. And poor Tricia is still intubated in the hospital.”
He frowned. “Chris got a big contract?” He hadn’t mentioned it. He liked to brag, although Quentin had taken his friend off guard with his reappearance, and they generally didn’t talk business.
“Yeah, although rather him than me.” She shuddered. “Wenck decided to renew the security contract he had with Bay-Kar for another couple years. I heard they jacked the price and stiffed the bastard. Couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow.” Her hand paused over his heart. “I’m going to try and bury the hatchet with Chris. I know he’s important to you. I want to be mature enough to at least be able to coexist cordially with him.”
“I appreciate the thought, but you don’t need to put up with bullshit from anyone on my account.” Quentin hugged Haley close and kissed her forehead.
Thoughts kept whirling around and around in his brain, and he couldn’t sleep. He waited an hour for Haley to drift off. Something was bugging him. He got out of bed and opened his new laptop, began to slowly trawl through some of the autopsy and ballistics files from the night of the attack.
* * *
Haley blinked awake even as fatigue dragged on the edges of her consciousness and tried to pull her right back under. Light slanted through the closed blinds, suggesting it was later than she usually woke. The bed was empty. She looked for a clock and found one on the chest of drawers.
Nine AM. Crap.
She stood and stretched, wondering where Quentin was. Then she spotted a note on the pillow and picked it up.
“I love taking it slow with you. Have to go into work this morning. Sorry. Meet me for dinner?”
Part of her was irritated that he’d gone to work on the weekend, but last night had been so amazing, and neither of them were exactly nine-to-five people. She barely resisted hugging the paper to her chest. She was pretty sure she loved him. Nothing else could account for the giant-sized waves of giddy emotion she was riding.
Her cell buzzed.
Dermot wanted her to come up to D.C. to spend the day with him.
She really didn’t want to go, because she wanted to stay here, which scared the hell out of her. She stood naked in Quentin’s bedroom and thought for a few moments.
She texted Dermot telling him to book a lunch table at her favorite restaurant in D.C. She didn’t need to choose between her friends and Quentin. She was lucky enough and flexible enough to be able to have both.
She wanted Quentin to have both too. As much as it irked her, she would make it a point to reach out to Chris Baylor even if the only place she really wanted to bury the hatchet was in the man’s thick skull. But Chris was important to Quentin, and she wouldn’t make him choose.
She texted Quentin telling him she was going to D.C. but would be back this evening if he still fancied dinner—unless he wanted to meet her in the city. Then she decided to crawl into the shower before heading to D.C. Maybe Alex and Mal would want to come too?
She texted them both with the invitation. Hell, she felt like throwing a party.
She wanted to tell him.
She wanted to tell Quentin she thought she was falling in love with him. Even though it was so damn scary. But if she was scared of being hurt, she could only imagine how he must feel…to put himself out there after already losing everything once before.
He was incredibly brave.
She wrote a note for him before she could change her mind. Added an “I love you” with a little heart over the top and placed it on the pillow. Her own heart banged painfully against her ribs. He’d never know it was the first time she’d written those words. Or maybe he would.
If anyone seemed to understand her, it was Quentin Savage. She was just grateful the bad things were behind them now, and they could look forward to the future.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Quentin drove through the security gates of the Bay-Kar compound at ten AM and parked in front of one of the square block buildings that housed their offices.
“Look who it is!” Nick Karlovac came out to meet him, wearing jeans and a dark t-shirt and combat boots. “Twice in a couple of days! To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Quentin smiled, wishing he was anywhere but here. “Do I need an excuse?”
“Hell, no, but we’ve been here for four years, and I think this is only the second time you’ve stopped by.” Nick’s thick arms were crossed over his chest. “What’s up?”
“I was driving up to D.C. and figured I’d drop in. Apologize to the asshole for punching him.”
“He deserved it.”
“Where is he?”
Nick canted his head to one side. “Driving down from D.C. We’re prepping for a job, and he had to pick up some supplies.” He checked his watch. “Should be here in the next thirty minutes unless he stops for breakfast on the way. What is it? You want me to be best man again?”
That shot a zinger across Quentin’s heart. “Ha. A little early for that.”
He didn’t want to talk about Haley. He scanned the compound. There were several secure outbuildings, cameras and motion detectors set up around the perimeter. Made sense considering the line of work these guys were in.
Quentin eyed his friend. “I’m worried about Chris. He looks like shit. I take it he’s been under a lot of strain lately?”
“I’ve told him to get his heart checked and cut down on the cigars, but he doesn’t listen.” Nick shrugged. “We’ve both been stressed.” His expression fell. “Turns out we’re better at kicking ass than running a business.”
“Running a business?”
“Yeah,” Nick huffed out a laugh and glanced around. They could hear the traffic on the nearby road but couldn’t see it due to all the trees surrounding the compound. “We almost went bust but now…” Nick planted his hands on his waist and seemed to come to a decision. “Look, I know it’s awful, the way things happened, but with all the other firms being in turmoil and our firm already up and running over in Indonesia…”
“You’re saying that without the hotel massacre, your firm would have folded? It’s understandable you feel this is good news.”
“That’s right.” Nick nodded. “Now we have a chance to get back on course and set things straight.”
“That must have been an unsettling time for you and Michelle.”
“Michelle didn’t know.” Nick swallowed tightly. “The idea of losing the house and going bankrupt was pretty goddamn humiliating to be honest. It’s all good now. Sorted.”
“That must be a big relief.”
Nick smiled. “You being alive is an even bigger relief. If you want to come onboard and run the business side of things here, you’d be welcome with open arms any time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. You still carry a SIG?”
Nick frowned as he glanced down at his shoulder holster. “Yeah. Why?”
“And Chris. He uses a SIG not a Glock, right?”
“You know as well as I do, Glocks are pieces of shit. We both prefer SIGs.” Nick stared pointedly at Quentin’s service weapon, a Glock 22.
Quentin hadn’t come here to argue the finer points of weaponry. “The thing is—”
“Let’s grab a coffee,” Nick interrupted. “I’m barely awake.”
Quentin followed. He hoped to hell he was wrong about his suspicions. The room was sizeable and op
en with a big worktable in the middle and a couple of desks pressed up against the wall. Large windows provided pretty views of the surrounding forest and plenty of natural light.
“Truth is, I’m facing a dilemma.” Quentin rubbed his sternum as if that would ease the burn beneath his ribs.
“About what?” Nick looked concerned.
Quentin had to be wrong. There had to be some reasonable explanation. “I was going through ballistic reports from the terrorist attack.” Hundreds, if not thousands, of rounds had been fired, and the work was still ongoing. “It appears one of the tangos went around putting a bullet in each of the victims to guarantee they were dead.”
“That’s cold.” Nick walked over to the coffee pot, grabbed two coffee-stained mugs and put them down on the counter. One mug had “Best Dad” written on the side. He pulled out his cell, checking a message. “Michelle is asking me what time I’m gonna be home. Fancy coming over for a BBQ later?”
“I’d love to catch up with Michelle and the kids. See what everyone has been up to. What time?”
“I’ll ask her.” Nick texted and tossed the cell on the countertop. “You and Chris were lucky to get out of that hellhole alive.” He folded his arms and leaned against the sink.
“We were, but also maybe not.”
Nick frowned. “What’s that mean?”
What Quentin was about to say felt like a betrayal. What he was doing here made him sick to his stomach, but this was his job. More than that, it was the essence of who he was as a person. “The execution-style shots all came from a Glock.”
“And?”
“Chris was carrying a Glock when I found him.”
Nick’s smile dissolved, then his upper lip curled. “Then he took it off one of the tangos before you got there,” he snarled.
Quentin watched Nick, looking for signs of deception. “Chris told the agent who interviewed him after the attack that he brought the weapon with him from East Timor.”
Nick slammed the mugs down so hard coffee spilled all over the counter. “He had a concussion or your guy misunderstood him. One of the terrorists could have used the Glock, and then Chris picked it up. You know how confusing things get in a firefight.”
Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2) Page 31
