by Jaycee Clark
“The blue was too . . .” she started, coming closer. “Blue.”
Quinlan grinned and nodded. “Purple is a bit different, but you are as well.” It didn’t bring out the blue of her eyes as much as the blue had. Now her eyes looked darker, more greenish, the amber flecks near the center more prominent.
She just looked at him until he pulled himself up to his feet and held the market bags out. “I come bearing gifts.”
She stopped at the bottom of the stoop. He watched her take a deep breath. What if she wanted him to go? If she did, he’d probably go. After he tried to talk sense into her. They were married . . . as stupid and impulsive as that had been, they were married.
Brody would have lots to say when he learned about this trip, but Quin didn’t care. He’d called his cousin a couple of days ago and fessed up, sent him copies of the marriage certificate, listened as Brody had yelled and ranted at him for thinking with his dick and not with his brain.
Personally, he was so damned happy his cock worked—and very well at that—that he didn’t care what he’d been thinking with.
He hadn’t planned this, but as she’d told him the day he met her, plans often went awry, so what were they going to do about it?
“Bless your heart, thanks. Now I don’t have to go shopping. What did you bring? Come on.” She motioned to him and he followed her around the corner of her house and into the courtyard. They used the kitchen entrance and she held the door open for him as he carried in the bags. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder with extra jeans and a couple of shirts. “So?”
“So,” he said, setting the groceries on her wooden countertops. He turned and looked at her.
Her grin tugged at him and he stepped closer, leaning his cane to the side. She didn’t move back.
That’s one thing he liked about her. She went toe to toe with him, or at least he remembered her doing that.
“I missed you,” he whispered as he leaned down and kissed her.
Her sigh wafted across his mouth. “I missed you too, even though I knew it was stupid. And I tried like hell not to.”
“Maybe not stupid.”
“Oh, sugar, stupid on so many levels.”
He kissed her, kissed her again, so happy to have her in his arms. “Maybe I like being stupid, consider it living a little,” he told her, remembering something she’d told him in Vegas.
“Why are you here? Didn’t you get my note?” She pulled back. “Oh my God, you didn’t get my note, did you?” She shook her head.
“Yes, I got that lovely bit. Which reminds me, how did you get home? Did you get the money? Did it cover your ticket? You could have ridden home with me, Ella. I was worried and didn’t know if you got home okay.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Yes, I received your note and the money, which I didn’t need.”
At his narrowed look, she added, “But thank you.”
He tugged her closer. “I have a confession to make.”
“What? We’re not really, legally married?” she asked, her eyes hopeful.
Well then. He could only laugh, though what was funny, he wasn’t sure. Maybe the fact he’d spent years loudly proclaiming his aversion to the matrimonial state and here he was married to someone who clearly would be happy to not be married to him. The irony wasn’t lost.
“Oh, honey, we are very,” he said, leaning down and kissing her, “very much married. Really, really married.” He nibbled on her lip. “And I’m told very, very much legally.”
She sighed into him. “This’ll never work. I’m here, you’re . . . wherever you’re from.” She kissed his jaw even as her fingers went to work on his shirt, her fingers cool as she slipped them beneath his T-shirt.
“D.C. Washington, D.C.”
“I’m not the politician type of wife.”
He picked her up and walked to the bedroom kissing her all the while, all but ripping her shirt off of her. “Great thing I’m not a politician then. I’ve thought about you all damned week. And the week before that. About this. About us.” He slid a hand beneath the waistband of her yoga pants and grinned as he kissed his way down her body, tasting, savoring, enjoying. He stopped at the dragonfly tattoo and kissed the winged creature no bigger than an inch in fading shades of green, blue and purple. Trust. He traced the letters with his tongue.
Her hands tugged him up and back to her mouth. “Now. You can play later.”
“I want to play now, honey.”
She hooked her ankles in the small of his back. “Later. I want you now. You’re not the only one who missed this, missed us, thought about it all this week.” She arched up, trying to come into contact with him. “And all last week.”
He grinned down at her. “Nice to know you missed me. I’ll make sure you always do.”
He took them up quickly, the fire between them already out of control and burning them both before he’d known what had happened.
They lay there shuddering after, the room cool without the heater on. He huffed out a breath and fell to the side of her, pulling her closer to him.
He still had his jeans on. Damn. And they hadn’t used anything. Hell.
“Ummm. Condom. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking and—”
She shook her head. “The pill, we’re good.”
He sighed and pulled her to him, kissing her forehead. “Next time we’re going slow and easy . . .”
“Who the hell wants slow and easy when our way is so much more fun?” she quipped.
He laughed and kissed her long and deep.
• • •
One month later
“What are you doing?” she asked herself in the mirror. She had to tell him. She just hadn’t worked up to it yet. About the time she thought she wouldn’t have to, he’d surprised her for dinner one evening, having flown in for the weekend. What the hell did she say to that? He came every weekend for the last three weeks. This was the fourth weekend.
Not that she wanted to say much of anything. She liked spending time with Quin. It was great. They’d talked and laughed, spent time at the shelter. She’d watched as he’d sketched the kids in caricature, bringing smiles where before there had only been wariness.
They talked of expanding homes, of music, of their work.
Work.
“Tell him,” she told herself in the mirror before tugging the towel tight and opening the door.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “You know we really need to figure out what we are actually doing,” she muttered as she hurriedly dressed. Steam wafted out of the bathroom from their hot shower, where he’d already left her.
He laughed as he buttoned his shirt. “Babe, if you need to figure out what we were actually doing, I’ll be more than happy to—”
She threw a pillow at him and he batted it away.
“That is not what I mean and you know it.”
“I think going along as we are is working just fine.”
She sighed and fiddled with her T-shirt before pulling it on.
“What?” he asked. “What are you going to say this time?”
“What I’ve said before. This isn’t going to last, Quin. Not you and me. We’re from different worlds.”
Who could just fly into New Orleans for a lunch or dinner? Just because? The weekend she could understand, but every weekend since the first time he’d shown up on her stoop with food, not so much.
How did she . . .
“Look,” he told her. “I don’t want to end this.”
“Ending ‘it’—this—whatever it is between us or isn’t—”
“Is,” he said, staring at her with a look she already knew as stubborn. Quinlan was incredibly laid-back and pretty easygoing, but on some things he was as hardheaded as they came.
“It’s the smart thing to do. Ending it, that is. Come on, be honest, have you even told your family yet?” She stopped breathing, and for one stupid second hoped.
“Not yet, no.” He raked a hand through his hair.
She waved her hand and swallowed the surprising sting of disappointment. “See, that’s my point. We both know this isn’t . . . meant to be or whatever. We’re a fun time to each other. The smart thing to do is to get this annulled or whatever we need to do.” She already knew that his eyes tightened whenever she brought up divorce. Why, she had no idea. It wasn’t like they had a real marriage.
He nodded and zipped his carry-on. “Maybe it is the smart thing.” He turned to her then. “Honestly, though, I’m kind of tired of always doing the smart thing. It’s what I’ve done all my life, Ella. I want . . . I want . . .”
She cocked a brow. “Your leg back. I know, I’ve heard of all the things you can’t do. Ski. Run. Marathons. Tennis. Poor you. Get over it. You are beyond blessed, stop worrying about what you see as limits and see what you can accomplish.”
He narrowed his gaze at her. “That’s not what . . .” He raked a hand through his hair. “I can be pissed at my limitations, they’re mine,” he snapped. Then he shook his head. “Look, my leg is beside the point, we have something between us. Something special, and I want to see where it goes.”
“Yes, it’s called lust, Quin.” She hurried around her room, grabbing up stuff and hurrying into the hallway. He had to leave this alone.
“Why do all your yoga pants hug your ass? Not that I don’t enjoy the view in tie-dyed black, but I don’t like that everyone else gets to see it. Can’t you change at the studio?”
Really? That was a concern? “Sugar, I’ve dressed like this for years and haven’t been accosted once.”
Okay, that wasn’t exactly true, there was that one time, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to mention that now.
“You take cabs to the studio? Or gym or whatever?” he asked as she walked past him and into the kitchen.
She muttered to herself as she jerked open the fridge in the small kitchen and filled up her pink water bottle.
“What?” she asked at his mumble.
“Do you take a cab to your yoga thing?”
“Thing? You mean my job? For most of us, jobs are not ‘things’ but necessary parts of life.”
He took another breath and held up his hands. “Fine. Do you take a cab to work?” he asked precisely.
Her head tilted and she just looked at him. “Protective much? Quin, I survived just fine before you. I’m fine.”
“You know when you get all snappy it turns me on.”
“Everything turns you on.”
“I’m a guy, where you’re concerned that’s the truth. So that’s a no, you don’t take cabs?”
“Not always, why?”
He opened his mouth, thought better of it and shut it. She just stared at him.
“Fine. I don’t like it,” he blurted.
“Excuse me? Don’t like what? The fact I work?”
“You want to pick a fight, don’t you?” he asked, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine with you working. I don’t like the idea of you walking the Quarter by yourself. Please take a cab.”
“Honey, you worry way too much.” She shoved the water bottle in a multicolored bag she always carried. “No one will hurt me. Everyone walks here.”
He walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I know you are independent and used to being on your own. And though we don’t know where we or us will be tomorrow . . . for now, you are mine.”
His?
Her eyes flashed, but she didn’t say anything.
“I protect what’s mine.” He leaned down and kissed her softly, just a press of lips against hers. “Always.”
She stared at him for a moment and he wondered what she would say.
Finally, her breath huffed out. “Fine, if it’ll keep your sensibilities aligned I’ll take a cab.”
He didn’t smile.
“This time,” she had to add. “It’s amazing I managed in life until you ran into me.”
He smiled behind her as she went back to the bedroom.
“Are you staying another day or not?” she hollered from the room.
He was already packed, and honestly, he probably should get back to D.C. But he didn’t really want to.
“Tomorrow. Don’t worry, I have things to check on at the hotel here.” She came back into the living room, her bag slung over her shoulder.
“You can stay there with me tonight if you want.”
She shook her head. “I like my own space. Hotels are so . . .” She scrunched up her nose. “Sterile.”
They gathered their stuff and she grabbed her keys. He waited while she locked up and looked up and down the street. Granted, there were not many people out now. Too early in the morning, but still . . .
He caught the glance from the corner of her eyes. “Look, why don’t we compromise. You can walk me to the studio, call a cab and go to the hotel?”
He supposed that was as good as it would get. “Yes, I’ll beat any would-be muggers off with my cane.”
“Oh, I know you would. And I could”—she skipped ahead of him and whirled her bag around—“beat them with my bag.”
He smiled, innocence flashing briefly in the midst of this place.
She waited for him. “You know, it’s Monday. You could go with me tonight to the shelter.”
“Sure. Railey Anne’s mom find a job yet?”
“No, not yet.” She released a breath he hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Okay? Just like that?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Her eyes ran over him from the top of his head to his shoes. Businessman that he was, he knew he also fit in here, morning or night, on these streets.
“I still get surprised to see you helping out at the shelter, I don’t know why. Stupid, I know, but you don’t exactly look like the shelter type.”
So he hadn’t been in a while, that was true. “It’s not like I haven’t ever been to shelters or helped out. Mom used to take us over our holiday breaks.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I hear the snobbery in that one word.”
She shrugged. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Mom gave medical care where she could. Kids need care and they don’t always go to the clinics near the shelters, even if they are free. Mom has a way with people, they just sort of trust her.”
She chuckled and he laced their hands together. He didn’t think about the fact she didn’t pull away. He was just glad of it.
“So what did you do there while she did her nurse thing?”
He didn’t correct her assumption that his mom was a nurse, as he hadn’t told her his mother used to be a pediatric surgeon. She already shied and dropped hints about the differences in their economic brackets. Stupid as hell is what it was.
Intelligent was intelligent. Beauty was beauty and chemistry was chemistry.
Married was married.
“Drew. Colored. Painted,” he admitted. It was the only time he did any of those things after Susy died when they were seven. “Whatever. I usually drew with the kids. Brought some paints a few times. Easier though to just do stuff with markers and pencils and whatnot.”
She tilted her head again, the sun glinting off the purple strands. He sort of missed the blue. Cotton candy, Aiden called her.
He smiled.
“I have yoga at the senior center late this afternoon.”
“I know, I remember. And tomorrow morning at the nursing home.”
She pulled on their joined hands until he leaned down.
“You are really short,” he muttered.
She kissed his cheek. “You are just used to a family of giants.”
“Fe fie fo fum . . .” He waggled his brows. “And you make a pretty princess.”
She shoved him. “Hurry up. I’m going to be late.”
“My fondest wish . . .” She glared at him.
• • •
The night grew quiet around them as they sat on the couch. Dinner was done and the kitchen straightened up. His flight was in the morning.
She shifted
again beside him.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he finally asked. She’d acted off this morning, but he just wrote that off as her running late. Lately though, she was quieter, and that just wasn’t like her; he’d come to realize she shared her thoughts, opinions, hopes, dreams, whatever was on her mind. This weekend, though, she’d been too quiet.
Finally she turned to him and took a deep breath and then another.
His stomach tightened. He reached over and picked up her hand. “Just tell me.”
“Before I met you, I applied for a job.” She shrugged. “I’ve been thinking of moving for some time and well . . .” She blew out a breath. “Confession. I got the job and accepted it.”
He sat there for a minute and then another. Finally, he stood up. “Okay. Where’s the job?”
For one stupid moment, he wondered if she’d say in the D.C. area. Of course not.
“New Mexico. Taos, actually.”
He strode to the window. “New Mexico. What kind of job?”
“Well, a yoga instructor like I am here.”
“What’s wrong with here?”
He heard her sigh, but he didn’t turn around. “Nothing, but I’ve never been one to plan my choices around a man. I did that once and it ended badly.”
He turned and looked at her. “When? What happened?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind, I guess it’s none of my business.” She’d never mentioned a job or a possible move, but then why would she? She’d been adamant from the beginning about what she thought of them together, of their marriage.
“Quinlan, I’ve tried the rich boy marriage before, and trust me when I say it would not work. Not for the long haul.”
He shook his head. Married. She’d been married before. “You never said you’d been married before.”
“Like that would have made a difference. We went to Vegas, we got drunk as college co-eds and visited a twenty-four-hour marriage chapel, for God’s sake!” She stood up and started to pace. “Can we just leave it at the fact that Lance and I did not work? He chose his very important family, very prominent family.”
“Over you? Man was an idiot.”
She raked a hand through her hair. “He knew we were from different worlds before I did.”
