Wounded Heroes Boxed Set

by Judith Arnold

  Grant fell to his side behind her. She could feel his small fingers pulling as she rotated her wrists, ignoring the pain. She’d been flexing them off and on, trying to ease the bindings. Thank God the man hadn’t been as careful as the night…

  A shiver ran through her. Don’t remember. Pay attention.

  She watched Marsden anxiously, waiting for him to turn back. A flash of color at the open window caught her eye.

  She looked over to see Quinn’s beloved face, his gaze searching hers and glancing anxiously at Grant’s prone body.

  She gave him the barest of nods and smiled briefly, mouthing He’s okay. She could see his relief.

  She was unbearably relieved herself, having him near.

  The man set the glove down, began to turn.

  "Grant, be still," she whispered. "Close your eyes."

  "Did you say something, my only love?" The madman crossed the room. "What’s the matter with the kid?"

  "He’s just tired. Please let him rest a minute." She had to keep the man's attention focused on her, so he wouldn't look outside.

  "I'm sorry—" she said in a rush. "I…I didn't understand, but I'd like to. Would you tell me about yourself?"

  "Like what?"

  She ducked her head shyly, glancing up at him through her lashes. "I've seen you around, of course, but I don't know anything about you. How did you get interested in photography? How long have you been in New York, where you came from…anything you'd like to tell me, really."

  "Seriously?" He dropped to one knee before her, placing a hand on her leg. She steeled herself not to reveal her revulsion at his touch. His fleshy fingers slid up over her thigh.

  "Absolutely." She turned her most melting look upon him, the one Ben said the camera loved. She substituted a camera lens in her mind for the hideous face before her.

  When he squeezed her leg, she fought the urge to be sick but held fast.

  In that moment, the madness receded. Marsden cocked his head, calculating. "I wonder if you mean that."

  "Of course I—"

  "Mom!" Grant cried.

  Quinn charged through the window. Marsden whirled, swinging the knife upward in an arc, catching Quinn across the wrist of his gun hand. His pistol clattered on the floor.

  Quinn went for the arm holding the knife. As they struggled only a few feet away, Lorie wriggled backward. "Stay behind me, Grant!" She worked frantically at her loosened bindings, her heart in her throat.

  Quinn was much larger, but the knife kept him from coming in close.

  He spun and kicked out, sending the knife sailing. Marsden leaped for it and lost his balance, falling against the hay bales he'd used to form his altar.

  Knocking over the lit candle next to her photograph.

  Whoosh! The dry hay ignited. Flames shot high and fast.

  He screamed in triumph. "If I can’t have her, dark one, neither will you." The hay went up like tinder, the breeze through the broken windows fanning it higher in seconds.

  "Lorie, get out!" Quinn roared and raced for them.

  Marsden leaped on his back.

  "Quinn!" Grant screamed.

  Her hands weren't yet free and her ankles were still bound—she couldn't move yet, but she had to make sure Grant got out. "Climb on that bale and jump out the window, Grant! It’s not far to the ground. Hurry! Once you’re outside, run as far away as you can."

  "No, Mom! Come with me!"

  "I’ll be right behind you. Go on!" She almost had her hands free, but she’d still have to get to her ankles. And Quinn—

  She saw him level Marsden with a blow that knocked the man to the ground. Quinn wheeled to see where they were. "Grant, I've got her. Go—now!"

  At last Grant obeyed and scrambled out the window.

  Quinn charged to her, already drawing a knife from his boot to free her.

  Fire scaled the wall behind the altar, spreading to the ceiling. She could hear Grant’s screams outside. The heat scorched her lungs.

  She reached for Quinn, wanting desperately to hold him. He dropped to his knees to slice her bonds open.

  Footsteps pounded behind him. She looked up and gasped.

  Marsden brandished a piece of wood he’d torn loose.

  Quinn turned to see what she was looking at.

  The board caught the side of his head.

  Quinn fell.

  Marsden took up Quinn's knife, then turned to Lorie, eyes gleaming with hatred. "No more chances to woo me, pretty Lorie. No more lies. I immortalized you, and you treated me as nothing—worse, with contempt. I made you famous."

  He swung the knife upward with both hands. "Remember me as you die."

  She fumbled in her pocket as the knife plunged toward her, grabbing the cloth full of ground peppers and tossing it open into his eyes.

  He screamed, clawing at his eyes and stumbling backward, just as Quinn righted himself and plowed into the man’s chest, knocking him backward into the altar.

  Lorie heard the glass over the photograph shatter as it fell to the floor.

  "Lorie!" Quinn whirled to locate her.

  A ridge beam crashed down from the ceiling, pinning the stalker to his altar.

  A sacrifice to an obscene love.

  He screamed, his clothes catching fire as he struggled. Another beam fell, trapping him forever; incinerating him, along with his evil dreams. Lorie clapped her hands over her ears to block him out, but she knew the sight would never leave her.

  Coughing from the boiling smoke, Quinn raced forward and swooped her up as the roof started caving, diving out of the window with her in his arms.

  He twisted to hit the ground first. Her breath whooshed out upon impact.

  Quinn reacted swiftly. In seconds, he’d picked her up and was racing away, shouting Grant’s name.

  "Mom…Quinn! I’m over here!"

  Lorie wrapped her arms tight around Quinn’s neck as he sprinted over, dropping to the ground to pull Grant into his arms, as well.

  "Grant, baby, are you hurt?" The ground tilted around her as she gasped for breath.

  "No, Mom, I’m—I’m okay." But his lip trembled. Quinn slit the bonds on his wrists and crushed the boy into his arms.

  Lorie’s vision blurred from tears of terror and thanksgiving. She couldn’t stop herself from running her jittery hands over each of them, placing quick, grateful kisses on Grant and Quinn in turn.

  Quinn embraced them both, and they clung to each other, the three of them, as the old house burned.

  "Are you all right?" he asked her, his voice rough.

  She stared into his eyes and nodded. "Are you?"

  "I'm fine. God—" He crushed them against him again. "I thought I'd lost you."

  Everything important , Lorie thought. It’s all right here, this man and this child.

  She held her son to her and nestled into the broad chest of the man who'd, once again, saved her life.

  Everything that matters is right here .

  ***

  THE SHERIFF AND the volunteer fire department had finally left. Josh had been brought up to date on the phone. Grant was bathed and in bed, after Quinn had read him a story. It had been pure pleasure to hold him close; Lorie had had a hard time letting him go, and Quinn understood her feelings completely.

  He loved him like the son he’d never have.

  Quinn sat on the porch now, as Lorie soaked in the tub inside. As he gazed at the starlit night, he pondered the meaning of his life.

  Where did he go from here? How did he learn to live without her?

  He couldn’t regret having met her. To do so would negate the most powerful moments of his life. No, he wouldn’t curse fate for having met her.

  But having to let her go…it would be the hardest thing he’d ever tried to do. Already, he could feel the roots being torn from his heart.

  Raw, jagged pain. An ache without end.

  How—that was the question. How to do it in such a way that he didn’t hurt her. Didn’t beg for mercy…didn’
t leave her feeling bad that she had a life that called to her, one in which he didn't fit.

  She wasn’t cruel. He knew that even now she would be worrying about him. Her heart was too kind and open not to care.

  And he’d thought, for a while, that maybe there was a way. That he wouldn’t be asking too much to want her to give up her life back there.

  But nothing had changed. He belonged here, and she was meant for something better. It wasn’t fair to ask her to give up the heights to which she could aspire. She was good, damn good, at what she did.

  He steeled himself to go back inside and begin the process of freeing her. One last time to love her—oh, yes, he’d be that selfish. One last time to savor the way she curled within his arms…the way he felt inside her…how she made something flower that he’d never felt before.

  One last time…surely it was all right to be that greedy. He’d let her go, but first he’d store up a buffer against the pain waiting in the wings.

  He rose to his feet and went inside, turning out lights as he passed. He entered his bedroom and listened to the splashing water in his big tub.

  He smiled…and shook his head. Go away, black thoughts. Give her the joy without the shadows. Every time you’ve been together, that bastard's shadow fell over you. He’s gone now. Give her the sun .

  Quinn crossed the room, casting aside clothing as he walked.

  When he opened the door, she looked up. The same haunted look filled her eyes that lodged in his heart.

  For a moment, neither moved.

  If you love her, give her this night. Then set her free to follow her star .

  He swallowed against the lump in his throat and the ache building up behind his eyes. He cast a broad smile in her direction, and the relief on her face strengthened his resolve.

  "Thought you might need someone to wash your back," he offered.

  Her voice husky, she smiled. "I’d like that."

  Water sloshed over the edge as he sank down. He pulled her around, her back against his chest. He rested his cheek on her hair for just a moment, steeling himself to dig his way out of mountains of wishful thinking.

  At last he reached for the soap and began to glide it over her curves. He stroked every surface, memorizing her body for long nights alone. His fingers caressed, beginning with the delicate curve of her throat, the fragile bones of her shoulders, then skimmed over the lush ivory breasts. Her nipples pebbled at his touch, and he smiled at her indrawn breath.

  She squirmed against him, and he hardened against her curvy behind, spreading his thighs wider to bring her close. Her smooth thighs teased the inner surface of his own.

  He played with her breasts, tenderly holding their weight against his palms, then giving his fingertips rein once more. She arched her back, pressing her bottom against him. He couldn’t help groaning aloud.

  He heard her giggle. "Minx."

  She started to turn, but he held her in place, his fingers drifting below the water. As she undulated again, he knew she was lost in the grip of the same spell.

  Over her belly, circling her navel, dipping in gently, then gliding downward. He let his fingers play as he endured the satin swaying of her bottom against his shaft.

  Lorie laid her head against his shoulder, baring her throat to his touch. As his lips pressed to the very sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder, his middle finger slid inside her slick folds.

  She moaned aloud.

  Her hands moved ceaselessly along his thighs, sometimes gripping hard, sometimes trailing and teasing. When he bit lightly and suckled her vulnerable throat, his finger slid away, and she whimpered with need, digging her nails into his thighs.

  God, he loved her passionate nature.

  Gliding, sliding in and out, his finger teased and toyed with the secret button hidden in the satiny folds. She arched and rocked, every stroke against his shaft driving him to a frenzy, but he pushed her upward, higher and higher, desperate to see that she had a night like none before…or ever again.

  It wasn’t right, but in his heart, he wanted to ruin her for any man after him. He wanted himself imprinted so deeply that she’d never, ever forget.

  Sweet, hot tremors shook her, a wild rhythm that spoke to his heart. He lifted her, turned her quickly—and when she straddled him and took him inside her, he ground his teeth not to come at the smooth velvet feel of her.

  She began to rock, head rolling from side to side, as she lost herself in the moment. It took everything he had to hold himself in check.

  Her eyes burned into his, and she buried her fingers in his hair. "Don’t you hold back, Quinn Marshall. Don’t you dare hold anything back from me." She tore at his resolve, drawing him deep within that special magic that only existed between them. "I want it all. I want everything you’ve got."

  He couldn't speak because he was afraid he might beg. So instead he lost himself in the velvety blue…and gave himself up, this one last time, to a love he'd never imagined.

  And let the inferno claim them both.

  Suddenly, nothing was enough…close was not close enough…deep was too shallow. Breathlessly, ceaselessly, they collided, melted…one and the same…separate no more.

  She screamed when she came, and a groan tore from deep within him. He pulsed and exploded, spiraling deep into the vortex.

  She collapsed in his arms, and he crushed her close, wondering…crying out in his mind…

  How in the hell could he ever let her go?

  ***

  MOONLIGHT SILVERED THE tangled sheets as Lorie stroked Quinn’s hair. His head rested on her breast, one strong arm curled around her waist, hugging her to him.

  She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, whispering a silent benediction from her heart.

  Let him be safe. Let him be well . She swallowed against the pain of unshed tears.

  Please let him be happy .

  Without her.

  His breath flowed over her skin, warming tenderly everywhere it touched. She tightened her arms around him, and he stirred, moving his body against hers.

  Complete. She felt complete here. Within the circle of his arms, within the orbit of his smile. Her heart felt at rest for the first time in her life.

  No restless wandering, no pondering what was over the next hill. Life here was too rich, too full, to care what lay over the horizon.

  There was meaning to this life unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She understood now why Quinn had not been tempted by the city. He’d been happy to leave Houston, and impatient to leave New York. She couldn’t blame him.

  She’d seen it in Grant, too. In his short years, he’d never been far from a game console or a TV. Yet here, he appeared to have forgotten they existed, happy as a lark to tread the acres, tagging along by Quinn’s side.

  He’d learned to fish and ride horses, to dig in the dirt. He’d learned responsibility, too. Quinn hadn’t coddled him; he’d given him chores, wisely understanding the pride it built. Grant was more relaxed now. His eyes sparkled. He woke each new day, eager to see what was in store.

  And he loved Quinn, utterly and absolutely. Quinn gave him something Lorie had never been able to provide.

  He was teaching Grant how to grow up to be a man. Not a macho, strutting creature, but a good man. A Quinn Marshall kind of man—strong, solid, intelligent…a man you could count on.

  Her arms tightened again as she reveled in the feel of him. When she’d first laid eyes on him, she’d compared him to a panther. Even knowing him better, the comparison was apt. Strong, sleek, charismatic…a dark, muscled surface with coiled intensity beneath. Deep wells of unknown currents…fire always banked and ready to flare.

  She shivered at how much he could make her want him.

  Grant sobbed from upstairs. Quinn stirred and raised his head. "Stay…" he murmured. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to him." The vulnerability in his eyes made her nod her head.

  He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I’ll be back," he said, wit
h that slow, sexy smile. "Keep my place warm."

  She smiled back, her heart breaking. Topaz eyes searched her face. He parted his lips to speak, then turned away and pulled on his jeans.

  She heard him go up the stairs and curled on her side, hugging his pillow and breathing in his scent. She heard their voices above, and suddenly she didn’t want to be alone this last night.

  She pulled on a robe and climbed the stairs, hearing Grant crying and Quinn’s deep reassurance. As she neared the door, Grant’s words reached her, and she halted, an ache burgeoning in her heart.

  "But why do we have to go, Quinn? I don’t want to leave you." Grant sniffled and burrowed closer into Quinn’s arms.

  Through the partially-opened door, she could see Quinn’s expression as he cradled Grant and rocked him slowly. She remembered the feeling of safety in those arms at a time when she’d been desperately in need. She felt safe there, still.

  Quinn’s voice was hoarse as he answered. "Grant, I wish you didn’t have to go, either, but your mom has worked hard to succeed in her career. I don’t expect you to understand this, but take my word for it. It wouldn’t be fair to ask her to give it up. She’s very special, and she deserves the best."

  "But you are the best, Quinn! This place is the best!"

  Pain shadowed Quinn’s face as he replied. "It’s just a simple place, Grant. I can’t give your mom all the things she deserves. I can’t give you a big apartment in the city, or museums, or Central Park. All I can give your mom is a cabin and some ranchland, and she deserves better than that."

  A long silence ensued. Grant’s sobs nearly broke her heart.

  "Will you come visit me, Quinn?" Defeat weighted his voice.

  She leaned heavily against the doorway. Had it come down to this, only visits? The whole of her barren life stretched before her. She had Grant now, but she wouldn’t always. And how would Grant survive Quinn’s coming and the pain of his leaving each time?