Yours at Midnight

by Robin Bielman

  His other hand cradled her head. He deepened the kiss. Her hands slid around his shoulders, down his chest, and lifted his shirt so her fingers could run over his abs before settling on his back. She clutched him, and hell if he didn’t want to take her right then and there.

  “I like your muscles,” she managed to say on a quick breath.

  “I like your everything,” he said against her mouth.

  She opened her eyes. The kiss turned more tender as they gazed at one another like two people desperate for this to be more than just a physical connection.

  Quinn relished the familiar feelings that stirred, and devoured her again. Her tongue mated with his in a duel for dominance. He let her win, following her every stroke and flick until he was mindless with sensations so good, he backed off. If he didn’t stop, he’d strip her from the waist down and push inside her.

  Her eyes dipped to his hard-on. She dragged her pointer finger down his chest. “I think I made the wrong decision,” she said.

  He chuckled. “I’ll forgive you. Tomorrow. Right now I’m going to go take a cold shower.” He took a step back.

  “So, uh, that means I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely.” He retreated another step.

  “How about tomorrow night? I’ve got to bake for the party, and might need a taste tester.”

  “Only if I get to taste you, too.”

  Her cheeks reddened. Her nipples, already quite visible against her T-shirt, peaked. “Umm…”

  Two strides and he had her pinned against him again. She let out a breathless sigh. “I’ll be here—ready and at your service. Make sure we’re not interrupted.” He kissed her. Quick. Possessive.

  Something for her to think about until he showed up tomorrow, ready to ring her bell.

  Chapter Seven

  Quinn knelt at his brother’s headstone. Four years tomorrow. Myriad emotions surged through his bloodstream. Four years that sometimes felt like fourteen. Four years that sometimes felt like no time had passed at all.

  The sun did little to warm his back. Drab, dark clouds flitted across the sky in patchwork with the somber blue.

  He didn’t expect to feel solace this morning, but that was the only thing he could think of to explain the newfound quiet in his head. The past few days—of taking himself less seriously and getting a few things off his chest—had helped.

  Lyric had helped.

  She’d reignited that foolish dream of his—the one where he woke up every morning with her in his arms. With her effortless warmth and compassion, she’d given him the one thing he never thought he’d get back: hope. Her forgiveness fueled his own.

  He’d tried talking to Francesca once—two years ago on New Year’s Eve—but she’d been more concerned with her cocktail dress than his feelings about his dead brother.

  Probably why he’d picked her. No risk of heart damage there.

  “Quinn?”

  He stood and turned. “Julia?” She’d cut her long brown hair so it hung at her chin now, but there was no mistaking her big round eyes. Seeing her brought back a slew of emotions.

  “Hi. Wow, it’s good to see you.” She hugged him.

  “Good to see you, too. It’s been a while.”

  His brother’s old girlfriend looked happy. Her smile reached the corners of her eyes; her face glowed like she’d just returned from a tropical vacation.

  She glanced down at Oliver’s grave. “Yeah, it has.” She bent and placed a small bouquet of daisies on the long blades of grass intruding on his brother’s marker.

  “What are you doing here? I mean not here, here. But Oak Hills,” she asked. “The last I heard, you were in New York.”

  “I’m still there. Just home for the holidays.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he shoved them in the pockets of his jeans.

  “Your parents must be thrilled.” Had she kept in touch with his parents more than he had? Probably. In the days after Oliver’s death, Quinn’s defense mechanisms had gone up, while Julia had opened her heart even wider.

  “They are.” He didn’t want to get into the whole passing in mid-air thing, so he said, “Do you come here often?”

  “Once a year, always on the thirtieth. I’m just too heartbroken on the thirty-first, and never wanted to visit Oliver feeling so sad. This is the last time, though.”

  “How come?”

  “I’m getting married next week.”

  He smiled, but his stomach knotted for reasons he couldn’t quite identify. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. You married?”

  “Not yet.” Tie another one in his gut. What the hell was wrong with him? Yet? When had he ever thought about marriage?

  Julia looked around the cemetery before her serious eyes settled back on him. “You staying at your parents’ place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you seen Lyric?”

  He rocked back and forth. Why did her question surprise and baffle him? “I have. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve kept in touch with her?” She watched him for a few seconds, her head canted to the side.

  Julia had this way of making those around her drop their defenses and talk. She’d always genuinely cared, and had some truth serum vibe going on.

  “No. I haven’t kept in touch with anyone, but now that I’m here I’m fixing that.”

  She pulled her wool jacket tighter as a cloud blocked the sun. “That’s good. Your brother would be happy to hear that.”

  A chill moved down the back of his arms. “He would?”

  “Definitely. He worried about you keeping to yourself so much.”

  Oliver had worried about him? His brother had never let on he cared about Quinn’s social life.

  “You should tell Lyric,” Julia said.

  “Huh?” His forehead wrinkled. He pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together to get rid of the gooseflesh.

  “That you’ve always had a thing for her.”

  His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t swallow. It took him a minute to respond. He thought he’d done a pretty good job of keeping his feelings for Lyric hidden. “How did you know that?”

  “Oliver told me. That’s why he never let her infatuation with him go anywhere. He knew you loved her, and hoped that eventually you two would find a way to get together.”

  His legs almost gave out. “Mind if we sit?” He motioned to the concrete bench a short distance away.

  “Sure.”

  Somehow he made it to the bench without tripping over his own feet. Hearing that Oliver knew how he felt about Lyric put a whole new spin on his feelings for his brother. He’d never shared his jealousy or desires, not with anyone, but he should have known his twin could figure it out.

  “I didn’t know he knew.”

  “He said he always did, even back in high school. But you know Oliver. He thrived on attention—so while he didn’t have those kinds of feelings for Lyric, he didn’t discourage her affection, either.”

  “He treated her like shit and she never saw it.”

  “So did you, and it’s all she saw.”

  Every muscle in his body clenched. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why do you think that is?”

  “Ask her.”

  …

  After leaving the cemetery, Quinn headed straight to Lyric’s. He couldn’t wait until the evening. He needed to see her now.

  He parked the car in the driveway and hightailed it next door. A crash, followed by “shit” sounded inside the guesthouse. He rushed in—and ice ran through his veins when he saw her.

  She sat in the middle of the room, white gauze around her head, a container full of medical supplies spilled all over her lap, Teddy licking her chin. A natural disaster that tugged his thoughts in all sorts of directions—protector,
partner, lover.

  “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”

  She looked up, her eyes wet with tears. She wiped her palms across her cheeks before dropping her gaze to the mess.

  Finally his feet moved. “Lyric, answer me. Are you hurt?” He got down on his knees beside her.

  She shook her head. Relief thawed the cold fear inside him. “Please, just go away.”

  “You didn’t bump your head again?” She hadn’t finished the wrap job; the gauze was unraveled, and trailed halfway across the room.

  “No. I was practicing before I went to my appointment. I went to medical school for a year. I should be able to do this.”

  “Want to practice on me? It’s probably easier on someone else.” She needed help, and he wanted to be the one to give it to her. Hell, he’d let her ace bandage whatever body part she wanted if it brought a smile back to her face.

  “I don’t have time.” She yanked the gauze off her head and started putting everything back in the white plastic basket. Her jerky movements kept him at bay.

  Teddy put his head on Quinn’s shoulder. Quinn reached up and scratched behind his ears. “I know. She’s fierce when she’s mad.”

  Lyric glared at him and stood up. “You two can go home now.”

  “Is that up for debate?” Because he really didn’t want to. No matter Lyric’s mood, he wanted to spend what little time he had in Oak Hills with her.

  She pointed toward the door before turning her back on him.

  Okay, he’d go. But only because she was heading out, too. When he stepped outside, though, her muffled cry stopped him in his tracks. He didn’t give a shit if she wanted him gone; he wasn’t leaving her alone. It took him two seconds to turn around and pull her into his arms.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, smoothing his hand down her hair.

  She rubbed her nose against his chest and fisted his shirt in her hands. “I’m afraid I’m doing everything wrong.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t understand what Mrs. Garcia is telling me and I’m worried I’m not meeting her or her son’s needs. I’m barely making ends meet and can’t afford to make mistakes. And I gave my RN the week off because I thought I could handle it and because she’s had no time off. And I swore I wouldn’t call her, and my physical therapist is out of town, too, and I can’t go to the office because it’s closed this week for air duct cleaning and fumigation and Ella thinks I’m an idiot and you think I’m a mess and Teddy won’t leave me the hell alone. And—”

  “Stop,” he said gently. “Let’s tackle one thing at a time.” He lifted her head in his hands and cradled her face. “Mrs. Garcia speaks Spanish?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you didn’t think to ask for my help?” He ignored the ache in his chest.

  She shook her head.

  “It’s okay to ask for help, you know.”

  “I don’t like to.”

  He understood that. And he admired her for it. She was trying to be successful on her own. Fight her own battles. Not be a burden.

  Raise a son.

  The urge to kiss her overwhelmed him, but she didn’t need to be rescued that way and would only resent him for it. He let go of her face and stepped back.

  “Let’s go. You drive.” He picked the basket up off the dining room table. “This all we need?”

  She gave him a weak smile. “I think so.”

  “Great.” He pointed at Teddy. “You stay. Lyric, you come.”

  “You did not just say that,” she said, her authoritative voice back in full force. He inwardly grinned. “You are not the boss of me today or any day.” She picked up a tote bag with CARE stamped on the side. “When we get to the Garcias, you follow my lead. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She passed him on the way out the door. “It makes me sound old.”

  “You carry wrapped hard candies in that bag?” He nodded at her tote.

  “Yes.”

  “Old.”

  “They’re not for me!” She slugged his arm. “A lot of our patients are elderly and like them.”

  “That’s very nice of you, then.” He opened the passenger door and got into the car.

  “I’m a nice person,” she said, getting behind the wheel.

  “You’re much more than that, Lyric.”

  She blushed—and that made him even more nuts about her.

  They got to the Garcia house thirty minutes later. It sat on a nice street lined with tall trees and inviting front yards, each with holiday lawn decorations on display. A group of boys played basketball at the end of the cul-de-sac.

  “What’s the deal with the Garcias?” Quinn asked as they stepped up the walkway.

  “Care is usually on an intermittent basis, but the past two weeks have been a little more difficult because Joseph, Mrs. Garcia’s son, developed an infection. I’ve been here twice already this week and that’s why I’m worried. I thought everything was okay, but obviously I’m not understanding things because Mrs. Garcia keeps phoning for help.”

  “Joseph is the patient?”

  Lyric cast a quick, concerned glance at him. “Yes. He was in a car accident.”

  He stiffened. Shit. He knew it was inevitable he hear about or maybe even be involved in another car accident, but after spending time in the cemetery this morning, he didn’t exactly have a clear head. “Okay.”

  She stopped and put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you wait in the car? I appreciate you coming with me, but I really can do this without you.”

  “Don’t even think about it. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.” Her eyes softened, and he was tempted to do what she asked because of her concern. But for some reason he’d been led here, and the things happening were happening for a reason. He needed to meet Joseph Garcia.

  “You’re right. But I’m still going in, and later I’m going to need someone to take care of me. Know anyone?”

  “Don’t think that playful look is going to score you any points.”

  “Speaking of points, where am I at?”

  One hell of a sexy smirk lit up her face. “Can’t tell you until I see your translation skills in action.”

  “Let’s do it, then.”

  The front door was ajar. Lyric frowned and pushed it open. “Mrs. Garcia?”

  A woman, probably in her fifties, hurried around a corner. Her face brightened when she saw Lyric.

  “Hello, Mrs. Garcia. This is my friend, Quinn.” She gestured to him. “Is everything okay? The door was open.”

  Quinn returned Mrs. Garcia’s nod and smile.

  “Si, Miss Lyric. It’s the lock.” Mrs. Garcia tried to close the door, but the lock got in the way.

  “It’s probably something to do with the strike plate,” Quinn said. “I can fix that for you.”

  When Mrs. Garcia looked at him quizzically, he repeated himself in Spanish. She clapped her hands together and grinned.

  He caught Lyric staring at him. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice held something. Something that sounded like appreciation. “Let’s tend to Joseph first, okay?” She turned and led him down a hallway.

  Joseph sat asleep on his bed, pillows propped behind his back, a handmade blanket draped over his shoulders. A large bandage covered most of his head, dipping underneath his chin so only his round face was visible.

  “Joseph?” Lyric said sweetly.

  He opened his eyes and pushed himself up. “Hey, Lyric.”

  Quinn ran his hands down the sides of his jeans. He took a deep breath. A fresh scar stretched across Joseph’s right cheek. Bruising and swelling marred the other.

  “Hi there. This is my friend, Quinn. He’s here to help me today.”
She sat down on the side of the bed. “I understand you’re still throwing up.”

  “Yeah. I think it might be the medicine.”

  Lyric peeked over her shoulder at Mrs. Garcia. “I’ll get it figured out with your mom before I leave. Let’s change your bandage first.”

  “Okay.”

  She stood and delicately started to unwrap the gauze. She nodded for Quinn to stand on the other side of the bed to help. “Is there anything else going on? I want you to tell me if there is, okay?”

  Quinn marveled at Lyric’s calm, reassuring disposition. Warmth and compassion radiated from her, and Quinn watched Joseph’s entire demeanor change as she worked. The kid’s tired, dull eyes brightened.

  “My neck’s been a little stiff.”

  “That’s normal,” she said.

  “What happened?” Quinn asked, turning the gauze over in his hands and passing it to Lyric. He went around the forehead. She went behind the head.

  “Some guy ran a red light and I smashed into him. I went through the windshield.”

  “Christ,” Quinn said.

  “Joseph suffered a closed and open head injury,” Lyric said. “Plus his face took a beating.”

  Shimmering red lights, broken glass, and mangled metal flashed through Quinn’s thoughts. He’d never get the images of that night out of his head. He flinched. “How’d the other guy fare?”

  “He didn’t,” Joseph said, barely above a whisper.

  Lyric put a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “The driver was drunk, and he’d already been cited for two DUI’s.”

  The last stretch of gauze unraveled. Quinn stifled a gasp. Joseph’s shaved head looked like a road map, scars neatly aligned and numerous. Other flesh wounds were still raw.

  “You feel guilty about that?” Quinn asked, suddenly feeling protective of Joseph.

  Joseph looked up at him in surprise. “I killed a guy.”

  “No. He killed himself and almost took you with him.”

  Lyric stared at him. Her beautiful eyes looked into his, like her heart was reaching for him…and she understood. “No one else has put it that way.”

  “Maybe because no one else has been in an accident like Joseph and I have.” He moved his gaze to Joseph and sat down next to him. “I lost my twin brother in a car accident. He was driving. I was in the passenger seat.”