Before I Melt Away

by Isabel Sharpe

  He closed his eyes and lowered his head beside hers. “Annabel…”

  “I promise.” She whispered the words, then hesitantly circled his back with her arms, praying he wouldn’t pull away, wouldn’t fight her offer of comfort.

  He didn’t. She held him, equal amounts of tenderness and self-loathing engulfing her. Nice job, Annabel. You won. Didn’t let him have the upper hand. Rah-freaking-rah.

  Except he played the same game, manipulating her, keeping himself closed off—she’d had sexual contact with him three times, but never seen him naked or been naked in front of him, never even kissed him for heaven’s sake. Nothing that would make either of them vulnerable.

  What a bunch of crap it seemed right now.

  “Annabel.” His whisper was a deep buzz next to her ear.

  “Mmm?” She gave in to temptation and pulled up his shirt, stroked his smooth strong back.

  “I hated hearing you with that guy.”

  She winced, squeezed tightly before she resumed stroking. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Did you love him?”

  She felt herself tensing. He just wanted to know. It didn’t mean anything. “No.”

  “Have you been in love with any of them?”

  “No. Have you?” Her hands wanted to still on his back and she had to remind herself to keep their motion going.

  “Been in love with any of your men?”

  She smiled. “Any of your women.”

  “No.” He lifted up onto his elbows to look at her, face closed, no longer showing the pain, jealousy, frustration, back to his old self. Quinn the smooth. In complete control.

  She wanted him the other way. A man who felt things, a man who…cared about her. And showed it.

  Oh, no.

  She stared back, wondering what he was thinking, hoping he couldn’t read the thoughts she was having right now. Because in spite of herself, she was fighting an irrational and arrogant desire to be the first woman he fell in love with.

  “Do you think you ever will fall in love with someone?” Her voice came out a thick whisper, betraying her fear, damn it.

  “I don’t know. You?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He lowered himself back down, kissed her cheek, her temple, her nose—she knew better than to offer her mouth by now—then positioned his erect-again penis on her clitoris, moving it lazily back and forth. Then forward and back. Then in killer circles that threatened to make her crazy.

  She moaned. What was it about him that turned her on so instantly?

  “I used to be sure I never would.” He replaced his penis with his fingers, dipping inside her, rubbing them wet all around her sex. Oh, he was an artist, the way he moved, varied his strokes. She went from turned-on to wild in a matter of seconds.

  “What?” She moaned again. What had he said? Her body’s clamoring for climax was interfering with her hearing.

  “I used to be sure I’d never fall in love.” He stopped touching her and lifted off the couch. She heard the tearing of a foil packet—thank goodness he’d brought his own—then he moved back over her, and pushed inside—only halfway, then out and half-in again, positioning his body in a way that made her nearly lift off the couch from the excitement.

  “Oh.” She clutched his shoulders, then did lift off the couch, straining her hips up to meet his teasing half thrusts, sweat breaking out on her body, the insistence growing stronger. “What…changed your…mind?”

  He held back just as her climax neared. She moaned in protest, pushed her hips, on the edge, so on the edge…

  “Quinn.”

  He thrust home, long, hard thrusts to the hilt. Annabel exploded over, crying out, pushing against him. His hips moved harder, faster, then she felt him coming, heard the deep breath and heard him whisper something she couldn’t quite catch, though she thought she heard her name.

  She lay under him, her breath still coming in hard pants, partly from the thrill, the exertion, and partly because it was hard to catch her breath with him on top of her. She didn’t care. She’d happily suffocate if it meant she could feel his warmth on her, and his weight.

  Instead, he pulled out of her, sat up, got off the couch to take care of the condom, and she braced herself, knowing what was coming next and already hating it.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  Damn, damn, damn, damn.

  She got up numbly from the sofa and put on her shoes, adjusted her mussed skirt. Right. Home. Sex over, party over, done, finished. Just the way she liked it.

  Until she met Quinn.

  They found Jay, who declined their offer to help put the place back to rights and graciously accepted their thanks for helping out. Quinn drove them back to her house in silence and walked Annabel to her front door, waited while she opened it and stepped into the foyer.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  He shook his head. “I have a long day tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She tried vainly to hide her disappointment. What was she thinking? She had to get sleep, too. It was after two, and if she didn’t make up for the lost day of work today, she’d…she’d…

  Oh, no. She’d what?

  She took a quick breath. Fine. Send him on his way. “Well. Thank you for the really nice day.”

  “You’re welcome.” He kissed her on the cheek and turned to go.

  Weird panic hit her. “Oh. I’ll e-mail you those menus.”

  Quinn turned back to smile, then again started on his way out the door. “Thanks.”

  “I have some new ones I can send, as well as the standard. And some holiday menus.”

  He turned again with a nod, then back to the door. “Those sound perfect.”

  “Thanks again for today. I had a really great time.” She bit her lip. Shut up, Annabel, you’re sounding desperate.

  He nodded. Another step toward the door. “I enjoyed it, too.”

  Annabel took a step after him. “Did you know after you left, we never stopped calling your room Quinn’s room?”

  He turned slowly this time, looking at her intently, as if she was about to tell him something he’d wanted to hear for a hundred years. “Really?”

  She nodded, looking at him stupidly. He’d done so much for her today. Brought her back to her childhood home, shared his memories, set up a fabulous evening for the two of them—even bought her Snickers and Pop-Tarts—and she’d been ungracious and rude, and then paid him back by trying to one-up him at the theater.

  A sudden huge rush of emotion flooded her. One deep breath. Held. Then the memories she’d kept from him earlier today, in front of her childhood home, came pouring out.

  “I remember you winking across the table at me when Dad criticized me for one thing or another and I was furious and sulky. I remember you cheering for me when I finally beat him at chess. I remember you finding me in my room, crying out some teenage misery or other. You sat down on the bed with me and you patted my back and you listened to me as long as I needed you to.”

  All those and other memories she hadn’t thought of in years came tumbling out, until her voice ran thick and her throat dried up and she stopped abruptly, feeling vulnerable and trembly. Then tears came she didn’t try to stop, but let them roll quietly down her cheeks, staring at his handsome face, wavering and indistinct for a moment, then sharpening back into focus when she blinked.

  What the hell was the matter with her? PMS? Not enough sleep? Worry about work? What was happening to her? She wasn’t usually emotional at all; in fact, she prided herself on her even temperament. Not the hormonally driven now-I-feel-it, now-I-don’t type, not her. She must be missing her family, her childhood or something.

  God, he must think her a total fool. She opened her mouth to apologize, when she noticed he was looking up toward her ceiling, smiling slightly.

  She followed his gaze and caught her breath, jerked her eyes back to his secretive smiling ones. Mistletoe. How the hell did he get that—

  A slight rustle, and the
sprig dropped to the ground between them.

  She stared at it lying on the brown tile, then looked up to see Quinn taking the one step toward her he needed to take before he—

  Oh, my gosh.

  His mouth was warm, perfect. He kissed her over and over, drawing her closer, wrapping his arms around her so she felt cocooned, enveloped, her head resting in the crook of his elbow, his mouth tasting her lips, over and over.

  Oh. My. Goodness.

  He came up for air and she looked at him, dazed, breathless. “I’m old enough now?”

  “Yes.” He grinned at her, kissed her again and grinned at her some more.

  “I can’t believe—the mistletoe—how did you get it up there?”

  “Tiny elves.”

  “But then it fell, just like when we were—”

  He put a gentle finger to her lips. “Better not to question magic too closely.”

  She laughed and he put his hands to her face, backed her up to the wall and kissed her. Kissed her again. As if now that he’d broken the kissing barrier, he wasn’t likely ever to stop.

  Which was totally, utterly and blissfully fine by her.

  “Good night, Annabel.”

  “You can’t stay?” She clasped his forearms and tugged him nearer.

  “Another time.” He kissed her forehead, then her mouth, and stepped back.

  “Quinn.” Her voice faltered, but she had one more risk she wanted to take tonight, since the rewards this far had been so damn good.

  He turned around, still smiling; he seemed lit, energized in a way she hadn’t seen before—and she had a feeling she looked the same.

  “I asked you a question, back at the theater that you never answered.”

  A hint of the guarded look reappeared on his face. “What was that.”

  “I asked what happened to change you from being sure you couldn’t fall in love to thinking you could.”

  “I did answer.”

  She frowned, thinking back. “No, I’m sure you didn’t.”

  He gave a mysterious smile and stepped outside. “Think about it, Annabel.”

  She watched his black-coated figure stride to the car parked in her driveway. She closed the front door, turned, and put a hand to the inner door into her living room, then stopped, thinking back on the evening. How had he answered her question?

  They’d been making love. She’d asked him what had happened to change him—then he’d starting driving her out of her mind and he hadn’t said anything until he whispered her name when he—

  She gasped, closed her eyes and let a thrill of fear and joy burn through her. Her name.

  The answer to what had happened to make him think he could fall in love was Annabel.

  8

  ANNABEL TURNED into her driveway, the minivan full of groceries for Cousin Linda’s husband’s holiday party the next night. Evan worked in insurance like Annabel’s father. Every year he invited his choice business associates over to a holiday dinner. Last year he’d loyally invited Chefs Tonight to provide the food. Obviously she’d done well enough to be invited back.

  She was going to have to haul ass this afternoon; she’d overslept this morning, then had to run to the Henneckes with one of the emergency stews she kept in her freezer when unexpected company had shown up and they needed dinner. And, of course, once she got to their house, they’d wanted advice and to plan other menus and so on and so on. Then Sentry hadn’t had oysters for tomorrow’s soup course, and she’d had to make the trek to Sendik’s out on Capitol—suffice to say she was behind. Very.

  And not the least because Quinn kept ringing her cell when she needed to be getting things done, wanting to find out what she was up to or talk dirty to her, or generally be the most enjoyable pain in the ass she’d ever encountered.

  She stopped the van outside her back door, shifted into Park and pressed the button releasing the liftgate. She had to unload the groceries and get a leg up on cooking for tomorrow’s party before she went to the Metro Milwaukee Association of Commerce After Hours event tonight at Maggiano’s. She’d be up late again finishing preparations, and another huge day tomorrow.

  Men and business didn’t mix. Especially unbelievably sexy men who were heaven in the sack and fun to talk to as well. She’d pay one way or the other eventually. It was a good thing he wouldn’t be in town too much longer.

  Even though it didn’t feel at all like a good thing.

  She unlocked her back door, propped the storm open wide, grabbed a fistful of plastic grocery bag handles and dragged as much as she could carry in one trip out of her van. Stefanie was at Linda’s helping set up the house; usually she’d come out to help.

  “Hey, lady.”

  She turned to see a small boy running up her driveway, so bundled up against the cold that all she could see were a few patches of freckled skin around his eyes under his navy face mask.

  “Come see our snowman!”

  Annabel smiled painfully. Yeah, that’s exactly what she wanted to do right now. “Sorry, I’m really busy.”

  “It’s totally cool.”

  “I’m sure.” She took the bags inside, deposited them on her kitchen floor and went out again.

  The kid was still standing there. “It has a button nose.”

  “No kidding.” She picked up another load, took it inside and made the trip out again.

  “And two eyes made out of coal.”

  “Wow. That’s great.” Another load, the last one if she really carried a lot. When she walked back outside to pull the van into the garage, he was still there.

  She put her hands on her hips. Would it be too rude to say Go away?

  Yes.

  “Guess what else it has?”

  Annabel rolled her eyes but found herself wanting to laugh. “Corncob pipe?”

  “Straw braids and a Viking helmet.” He smiled cheerfully. “Her name is Brunnhilde.”

  She shut the liftgate on her van. “That must be some snow…person.”

  “Yeah, come see.”

  She started walking toward the driver’s side door. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you, I’m busy.”

  He scowled—or at least she thought he did, from the little she could see of his face. “Stefanie came and saw it.”

  Annabel stopped in the act of reaching for the door handle. “You know Stefanie?”

  “Sure.” He started turning back and forth, like the agitator in a washing machine, letting his arms twirl with his momentum. “She has lunch with my mom.”

  “Who’s your mom?”

  “Kathy.” He said the name as if there was a big duh waiting to happen right afterward, but he knew enough not to be that rude. “She has a day care in our house. You didn’t know that?”

  Annabel took a deep breath. Okay. Thirty seconds. She could look at the snowman and then go inside. It wouldn’t kill her. “Let’s go.”

  “Awesome.”

  They crossed the street to where the snow-Valkyrie stood, obviously made with help from Mom. Truly, she was an impressive specimen. Annabel admired her properly and felt almost warm and fuzzy when the boy beamed with pride.

  See? That was painless. And she could tell Quinn what an absolute angel of kindness she’d become. “What’s your name?”

  “Jackson.”

  “Well, Jackson, thanks for showing me Brunnhilde.”

  “Sure. Maybe you could have lunch with my mom and I could show you my Yu-Gi-Oh! cards like I do Stefanie. Blue Eyes White Dragon is her favorite, but I like Feral Imp.”

  “Okay.” Annabel backed off, nodding. The angel of kindness was pretty much over it now. “I’ll remember that.”

  Kathy came to the door to call her son in and Annabel waved and hightailed it back to her side of the street before she got caught in a conversation with Mom and had to hear more about the Christmas Eve block party. Cute kid. How weird that Stefanie was having lunch with Annabel’s neighbors and Annabel barely knew their names.
Nor did she have any idea Kathy ran a home day care across the street, though that would explain the noise.

  Back inside, she unloaded the groceries and put them away, washed her hands and leafed through her stack of recipes. She could make the soup today except for the cream and oysters, and heat it through at Linda’s tomorrow.

  She banged a pot on her front burner and tossed half a stick of butter in to melt, then went over to her counter to chop the fennel bulbs she’d left there. After the soup, she could put together some of the stuffing ingredients for the Cornish hens, then bake the chocolate sponge cake for the Bûche de Noël. That, she could assemble tomorrow.

  Her cell rang. Annabel smiled; the smile became a chuckle and then laughter. She carried the cutting board over to the stove and dumped the chopped fennel to sizzle in the pot before she dragged the phone out of her pants pocket. What did she say was one reason she was so behind?

  Because someone wouldn’t stop calling her. Because someone seemed to have taken their movie date last night as carte blanche to contact her whenever the mood struck. Which seemed to be every twenty seconds.

  “Hel-lo-o-o.” She made her voice extra singsong so he’d know she was on to him, and went to get her headset so she could talk hands-free.

  “What are you doing?” His low, deep voice sent the same warm shivers over her that it did every time.

  “The same thing I’ve been attempting to do all day, trying to get something accomplished.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Some freak keeps calling me.”

  He inhaled sharply in false alarm. “That is bad news.”

  “Mmm.” She stirred the fennel, smiling like an utter goofball, then measured a quarter cup of fennel seeds into her mortar.

  “What are you going to do about him?”

  “I don’t know.” She pounded the seeds with her pestle, smile drooping. That was more truth than she wanted it to be. A brief article in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel business section—which she hadn’t read yesterday or today, and shame on her—had noted that talks between Holocorp and Herrn Brewery were nearing successful completion. Which was a lot more than Quinn had told her, and which meant Quinn would have no further reason to be in Milwaukee, at least in the short term. Maybe he’d come visit again when the new factory went on line, or when he was needed to boost morale, but soon he’d be going back to live in California, in his no-doubt gazillion-dollar mansion near San Francisco, while his minions took over here.