by Amanda Cowen
Her eyes go a little too wide, and her lips go a little too fine. “Right. Of course you can’t. You’ve made your decision I guess.”
And this is when I know Aiden has told Vaughn the real reason I’m in Santa Anna. “Vaughn it’s not like that.”
“No. I think it is,” she says point-blank. “Your loss.” She forces a smile at me, and Fisher shifts his gaze awkwardly between us.
I let her words settle in for a minute. Clearly Vaughn is talking about Aiden—her best friend—and I can tell she is far from pleased with me. I care about Aiden too, but I’m super confused, and I need to somehow sort through my feelings.
“It was nice seeing you both,” I say.
“Enjoy your night, Quinn,” Vaughn replies meaningfully
I exit Annie’s Teahouse a tea in my hand, and my heart in my throat. Am I making a huge mistake? Is spending one extra night with Cash in Santa Anna a terrible idea? Am I subjecting myself to jumping back into his chaotic life? I’ve always wanted to be with a stable, educated, and trustworthy man. But most guys who check all the boxes fail to measure up, where Cash has always fit the bill.
_______________
Clearly Vaughn ratted me out to Lyndsey, because just as I step into Cash’s building my phone beeps with five new text messages:
Quinn! WTF r u doing???
Why r u in Santa Anna???
Don’t even think of lying. I know u aren’t with Dad!!!
I KNOW YOU ARE WITH CASH!!!
R u out of your mind???
My heart slams in my chest. There are too many reasons I don’t want to talk to Lyndsey. Every word to potentially come out of her mouth would make complete sense. And I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need to be lectured or reminded right now, and especially not from her. I need to work through this on my own. Angered, I tap out a quick response to Lyndsey’s text message.
I know what I’m doing. Yes, I’m with Cash. I need to do this. I’ll talk to you when I’m back in Boston.
I walk through Cash’s front door, and I feel like the breath is kicked out of me when I spot him. He stands in his living room, in front of what looks like a giant blanket fortress with a floor of pillows. The lights are dim and candles are lit everywhere. The smell of something warm and delicious wafts its way from the kitchen and into my nostrils, making my stomach involuntary growl. When his eyes find mine, I take a few seconds to drink it all in. Especially him.
Navy suit, white shirt, red tie. His hair is swept to the side, perfectly styled and his face is clean shaven. And although I like him with facial hair, I like seeing his dimples again. A knowing smile spreads across his face, and he hooks a finger at me, beckoning.
When I take a step closer, he finally lets out a breath. “Hey.”
Hearing his raspy voice causes my smile to grow a little as something aches beneath my ribs. “What is all this?”
My hesitation clearly catches him off guard. “I figured since I can’t take you out, I’d take you in.” He recovers with a bright smile. “Would you like to come into my blanket fort?”
I nod, oddly nervous despite the rush of heat that spreads across my skin. I can’t believe he did this all for me. I glance quickly into the fort and see his coffee table is set with two plates, two forks, two knives, and two glasses, with a single candle as a centerpiece. Pillows are scattered all over the floor for seating.
“It looks very inviting,” I mumble, turning to lead us inside when he presses two subtle fingers to the small of my back.
“Hold on,” he says, leaning forward to whisper, “there is a strict dress code for those who enter my blanket fort.”
I raise a brow trying to suppress a laugh. “Really?”
He nods down at his suit. “Formal wear only, Mittens.”
I laugh. “Sorry, but I didn’t pack a ball gown.”
“I’ve got you covered. I had my agent’s executive assistant pick you up a little something and drop it off. He put it in the spare room.” He winks at me. “You’re welcome, of course.”
“Of course,” I repeat.
He leads me toward the spare bedroom and I follow him, admittedly paying more attention to the fit of his jacket across his wide shoulders than too much of anything else.
He stops and turns to smile at me. “I’ll be waiting.”
I take a deep breath and wonder what Cash has planned and what all of this means. And more importantly what the heck did he have his agent’s executive assistant buy for me to wear?
I must look unsure, because Cash laughs softly beside me. “Relax,” he says, placing a hand on the door knob. “It’s tasteful. I promise.”
I step into the room and see a shimmering red floor length gown draped over the bed. I pick it up by the hangar and stare at it in awe. It is the most beautifully sexy dress I’ve ever seen. It has a dangerously low V-neck and when I admire the back side I see crisscrossed spaghetti straps to expose my bare back.
“I’ll be waiting.” Cash smiles and closes the door behind him.
When I slip on the dress, I smile at myself in the mirror, and I most certainly don’t care that I’m half hoping Cash will eventually ask me to take it off.
Cash puts down a large platter in front of us, with assorted Chinese take-out dishes. This is the sweetest and thing anyone has ever done for me. We are sitting on oversized pillows in an adult-sized blanket fort, wearing formal attire, eating pot stickers and chicken fried rice with sparkling water in wine glasses. As strange as this is, it couldn’t be more us.
“Take a chicken pot sticker and tear it in two. Then put the sweet and sour sauce on the inside for optimal coverage,” Cash says, tearing a pot sticker apart and demonstrating.
I watch him drizzle the sauce over his chicken, pop it in his mouth, chew, and then smile at me. I smile back at the glob of sauce on the side of his mouth.
“What?” he asks.
“Umm…” I say, pointing. “Your mouth.”
“You like my mouth?” His tongue slips out, sweeping across the corner of his lips, and then he lifts his glass and takes a deep drink of sparkling water.
He makes me feel more than alive. He makes me feel unsettled, reckless. I curl my hands into fists beneath the table, running through the fantasy of asking him to rip off this dress, take me to his bedroom, and touch me. Other than the kiss we shared this morning, he’s barely touched me all night. I’m thinking it’s intentional. He’s trying to respect that I asked for space. But it’s driving me crazy. Because seriously, as much as I know it’s better not to complicate things, I want him.
I blink, looking down at my plate, and then do what he just demonstrated: tear apart a pot sticker, drizzle it with sweet and sour sauce, and take a bite. The chicken is sweet, warm, and delicious. I haven’t eaten Chinese take-out in, well…six months. I close my eyes and hum. “So good. I forgot how sinfully delicious this can be.”
I can feel him watching me, and when I look up, he smiles.
“What?” I ask.
“I want to be with you, Quinn.”
Uneasiness nips at my stomach, and I force down the bite of food. “It’s not that easy.”
He leans back in his chair, watching me. He looks so serious, almost perplexed. “I know I can't change the past, but I can fix it.”
“Fixing something doesn’t suddenly mean everything is okay. The cracks are still there.”
He blinks away. “We both know you’re no stranger to loving someone with cracks.”
“Which is exactly why I know once something’s broken it’s hard to put it back together.” When his face falls, I relent. “But I’m not saying it isn’t impossible.”
He looks back at me, thick, dark lashes pressing to his cheeks as he closes his eyes, thinking. He’s so gorgeous. My pulse takes over my entire head, hammering inside my skull like a drill.
Opening his eyes, he says, “Tell me we’re not done. Tell me once you go back to Boston that this isn’t it.”
I look away, feeling a litt
le deflated. I don’t want to talk about the old us or the potential of a new us or us after tonight. I want to be in the moment. I search wildly for a new topic.
But he speaks before I can come up with anything. “You know why I’m so in love with you?” he asks, pouring me another glass of sparkling water. “Because all of the fame and all of the applause in the arena couldn't fill the void you left in my heart. And I’m tired of hiding who I really am and the woman I love. I want to be somebody who’s going to be good enough to be seen with you. I want to be able to take you out for dinner, hold your hand in public, and tell people you’re mine. I want to have pictures of us splashed over social media, the internet, and the tabloids. I want the world to know how much I love you. I’m tired of hiding behind every lie I’ve ever told about my past. And it’s all because of you that I want to be a good man. Someone you can be proud of.”
“I am.” I move closer to him, lifting my chin to bring my eyes level with his. “I am so proud of you.”
I know he’s a broken, wild mess, but I feel my heartstrings tugging and pulling at the mere sight of him, and I can’t stop it. I can’t keep my hands to myself, and I place them on either side of his face, brushing my thumbs along his cheeks. “I love the blanket fort. I love this red dress. And I love that you ordered Chinese take-out.”
I stare at him, watching his expression morph from confused, then curious, to slightly elated. And maybe it’s that expression, or maybe it’s the quiet pulsing music. Maybe it’s that I’m seeing Cash in such a new way—with real flaws, and a history of family and people he loves and tried desperately to keep close to his heart. Despite everything, I still want to be closer to him.
“We didn’t get to finish what we started earlier.” I feel my heart speed up at the feel of him holding me in his arms again.
I lean forward and kiss him, and his hands move to the straps of my dress. And then everything in the moment becomes about the feeling of his mouth on mine, and the feeling of his hair in my hands, his tongue moving over me, his lips pressing words into my skin. I feel every breath he takes and every small sound he makes. I can feel his mouth get hungrier and more urgent as he moves down my body. Slowly, he presses two fingers inside me, and I toss my head back moaning.
I only ever want to feel him.
“Are you sure you want this?” he murmurs, cupping a breast in his hand.
I nod, unable to speak real words with his fingers inside me.
“Good,” he replies, reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his head. I lift my hands to make it easier for him and he pulls my shirt off too.
“Damn, Mittens. I’ve missed you so much,” he admits before looking up at me through his lashes as he pulls a nipple into his mouth.
“Oh,” I moan and grab his head to hold him there. With each tug of his mouth my clit throbs.
Having him touch me like this again, makes that wild reckless girl inside me want nothing more than to claw her way out. I reach for his buckle and start unfastening his jeans. I want him inside me.
“Not yet.” He smiles against my lips. He pushes my dress up to my hips and disappears between my legs. He sucks and moves his fingers inside me, urging me to come. When I finally moan out in deep satisfaction, clenching all around him, he crawls over me and kisses me deeply.
“It’s crazy how much I’ve missed you too,” I say, as he kisses down my neck.
He runs his hands down my leg until he hooks his arm under my knee and hitches my leg up. “Not being able to be with you like this, was pure torture.” He pants as his arms tremble from holding back. “Am I what you want?”
I whisper, “Cash, you know what I want.”
I reach up and drag my nails down his chest, urging him to be inside me, to get what he needs, to feel everything he possibly can. I don’t want to torture him anymore. My hands move of their own accord, roaming and scratching, pulling him closer and pushing him back so I can see him when he reaches between us to position himself against me. I tickle down his stomach, feeling his muscles clench underneath my fingertips.
He groans, exhaling as he lowers his body over mine and pushes into me fully. The sensation is astounding—everything all at once—the feeling of his chest on mine, of his face against my neck, of my arms around his neck and hands diving into his hair, of his hands pulling my thighs around his waist, of his hips pivoting as he moves in me.
God, I’ve missed him. I don’t ever want this moment to stop.
I throw my head back and lift my hips. He feels amazing. I didn’t think our sex could get any better. “Oh God, you feel perfect,” I manage to say with a strangled cry.
Cash groans and plunges deeper inside me. We are out of words, and we are covered in sweat, and I’m hit with the realization that, this is what it’s like to make love. He watches my face until it’s almost too much, too intense, and I let my eyes close as I feel him moving inside me, forcing myself to clear my head and feel every ounce of this connection between us.
Cash becomes wilder now, my thighs pressed up in his hands, and his brows pinch together in concentration. He moves in and out of me, our bodies slick with sweat and hearts pounding together. Cash calls out then grabs my face and kisses me with a fierceness that sends me over the edge. Crying out in his mouth, I shake as we both find our release together. He holds me tightly, tasting me and sucking my tongue into his mouth. He falls over me, heavy. His mouth moves to mine and we hold them open against each other, breathing in hard silence.
He moves his parted lips over my mouth. “Fuck, you were wild. I couldn’t hold it any longer. God, Mittens, I want to do this all night long.”
I bury my face in his chest and laugh. I had been a little out of control. “Who said I wasn’t planning on it?”
Chapter 14
Cash
Any doubts I have about Quinn not wanting to be here, that maybe she’s just going through the motions to please me, are put to rest by the next morning. We made love a second, third, and fourth time last night before she collapsed on me grinning, then curled up at my side and fell asleep in my arms.
I look down at her now in the late-morning sun, all sleep-warm and cheek pressed into the pillow, her curly hair a tangled mess around her head. My eyes move over her body, along the side of her bare breast and down the curve of her spine, to where the sheet rests just at her hips. She’s my everything, with only the soft, measured sound of her breathing right next to me. I imagine if I wasn’t such a fuck up, this would be my morning every morning, and I’d be the luckiest man in the world.
Except the problem is, I am a fuck-up. And without her I’m a wreck. I’ve been watching her sleep peacefully for the past thirty minutes, etching every sacred inch of her into my memory, because I’m scared this will be the last time I’ll be with her like this.
She slept by my side all night long like her body depended on my warmth to survive. Her leg is still slung easily over my hip and practically every inch of her bare skin touches practically every inch of mine. And when she shifts in her sleep, she tightens her grip on the sheet at my waist. It’s almost enough to distract me from the fear of her leaving me again, to tempt me into waking her up and wearing her out one last time.
Having her in my bed like this, makes every mistake, every drink, and every woman I’ve ever been with disappear into a dark dormant part of my brain. Quinn has this incredible way of making my heart feel whole again. I have no idea how I ever lived without her, but I also know I’m not good enough for her. She doesn’t deserve my baggage and it’s more than unfair of me to weigh her down. I need to severe Daniela from my life for good. Which is why I had my lawyer serve her with divorce papers the day Quinn decided to come with me to Santa Anna.
It’s a quarter after eight now, and I trail my finger down her arm, not wanting to wake her, certainly not wanting her to leave.
The sound of a fist pounding heavily on the door causes Quinn to gently stir, but not wake. I sit up, panicked. Tossing the sheets off my body
, I leave Quinn’s side, put on a pair of underwear and slide on a t-shirt. I stumble out into the living room and pull open the front door.
“Is this some sort of sick joke?” Daniela stands on the other side of the door, a frown on her lips and fire in her eyes. She holds out a stack a papers, waving them in my face.
Shit. Fuck.
I step out into the hallway and close the door behind me. The last thing I want is Quinn to wake up to this.
“What are you doing here?” I ask through gritted teeth. “Aren’t you supposed to be halfway across the country?”
“The second I was served by your lawyer, I booked the next flight to Santa Anna to tell you to go fuck yourself,” she hisses.
She tosses the divorce papers in my direction. They smack against my chest and drop to the floor, scattering at my feet. I run a hand through my hair, reminding myself that reaching out and strangling her would not help the situation.
“Go. Fuck. Yourself,” she shouts.
I look at her and wonder if she’s about to lose her sanity, because I’m pretty sure I’m close to losing mine, too. The sight of her lip trembling, eyes wet with unshed tears, and body quivering makes me feel like I might throw up. The hurt in Daniela’s voice tugs at me. I never wanted to hurt her. The past four and a half years I’ve done everything in my power to not have her hurt anymore. But I also need to accept her happiness is not my responsibility. Especially if it hurts Quinn.
“Have you forgotten your obligation to me? Did you suffer some sort of memory loss when that defender knocked your ass unconscious? I’m working off a green card, Cash. I can’t apply for permanent residency if you up and divorce me. You promised me five years. You. Owe. Me. Doesn’t Cory mean anything to you anymore?”
How dare she throw Cory in my face. I swallow down the taste of bile, fighting every muscle in my face to stay as stoic as possible. Daniela knows she has the power to guilt me into anything when it comes to Cory. She’s been doing it for the past four and a half years without a hitch. And I know Cory will always be my weakness, but what she doesn’t understand is she no longer holds my guilt in the palm of her hand.
