“On a more serious note, and while we’re all here together,” Mia said, “We need to talk about Mama.”
Lowey was still looking up at him. She could see the muscle ticking in his jaw, could feel the tension that flooded him. It rolled off him in waves and she sat back, waiting for the explosion.
***
Quentin tamped down the spark of hope, beat it down as brutally as Ciaran had beaten him. “There’s nothing to talk about, Mia,” he said. “Nothing has changed, and nothing is ever going to change. We just have to accept it and make the best of it.”
“But there is something to talk about, Quentin. And things are changing. There have been little signs, moments and glimpses where I could swear she’s right there with us… and then today—.”
She stopped abruptly, her lips trembling as she tried to regain her composure. He hated seeing that, hated seeing the hope that would only be dashed again. He knew that feeling, that dark and empty hole that just sucked you into it every time. “Don’t do this to yourself, Mia. There’s no percentage in it. If wishful thinking could cure her, she’d have been dancing a jig years ago!”
“She knocked a lamp over today,” Mia stated softly.
“Bullshit. It fell,” he countermanded. It wasn’t possible. There was no way in hell it was possible.
“It happened, Quentin,” she insisted. “Bennett and I were both on the stairs and we heard it. When we went in her room to check, she was laying there in the bed, with the cord between her fingers and for just a second… I swear she was looking at me. She was seeing me, Quentin.”
He could feel the air being sucked right out of his lungs. It was like Thanksgiving all over again. She’d been there. He’d felt her presence, if that was even possible. It was almost like being haunted by a woman who was still living.
“Mia, this sounds completely crazy,” he protested. He couldn’t let himself believe it. None of them would survive the heartbreak and disappointment.
“There have been subtle changes,” Annalee insisted. “I’ve seen them. Movements, albeit small ones, especially of her facial muscles. I don’t know the extent of the damage from the head injury… none of us do. But I have been reading up on something called Locked-In Syndrome. And I think before you all make any decisions about Patricia’s care, you need to consider that as an option.”
Clayton was saying nothing, hanging back, weighing the options as always. After several minutes of silence, a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, he finally spoke. “We’ll get the best doctors, we’ll have her re-evaluated and see if there’s any change in her brain activity… I’ve had my own experiences in the last month or so. There has been a moment or two where I thought—well, that doesn’t matter. Right now, we put it in the hands of the doctors and let them point us in the right direction.”
“I still say it’s bullshit,” Quentin protested. “We’re seeing what we want to and that’s all.” He couldn’t afford to let himself believe otherwise, even if the rest of the family had put on their rose colored glasses. And he needed to go, he needed to get out before he lost it all together.
Turning to Lowey, he said, “I’m ready to go if you are.”
“Sure,” she agreed before turning to Mia, “Thank you for dinner. It was a nice evening.”
“We’ll do it again soon,” Mia replied. “When someone gets his panties out of a twist.”
Quentin flipped her the bird as they walked out into the night.
Fifteen
Ciaran rolled over in bed and ran his hand over the soft curve of Loralei’s hip. As he reached the tiny elastic band and began to slip his fingers beneath it, she gripped his wrist and pushed him away.
He sighed heavily. “I’d ask if you’re still mad, but I think you’ve made it abundantly clear.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Our first event with your family… the family you traveled halfway around the world to find! And you had to beat your half brother nearly to death in the front yard?”
Ciaran offered her an innocent expression. “I didn’t beat him that badly, love. Just worked him over a little bit… Don’t be mad, love. Or be mad… and we can fight and make up.”
“You’ve only got one person to make up with and it’s not me,” she replied firmly.
“I’m making amends!” he protested. “I’m helping him with his girl, aren’t I?”
“Only because it benefits you!”
“Us!”
“He’s your brother!”
Ciaran sighed and rolled onto his back. “I’m not doing it strictly because of the Russians. I’d have helped him regardless of Barnes’ connection to them. And in spite of handing him his ass, I like the bastard!”
Loralei rolled over and gaped at him. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
“There’s a pecking order in every family, love. In every clan, gang, or squad… there’s always a pecking order. I had to show that I don’t need them and that I’m not going to be tipping my hat like Oliver fucking Twist… that’s all it was. He’ll recover and we’ll have a healthy respect for one another in the end.”
She scooted closer to him then. “That’s all it is? Just this he-man, macho, alpha male bullshit?”
“We’re crude creatures, love. We like to blow things up, beat on each other and then drink… It’s the manly way.”
He could tell she was softening toward him a little. Her body had relaxed and he could feel the weight of her breasts pressing against him. If he could just get her to laugh, then they’d be back on track.
Before he could even figure out how to do that, his cell phone buzzed from the night stand. Cursing under his breath, he looked at the screen. It was Matt, Loralei’s brother, and that was not a good sign.
“What is it?” he asked and then listened silently before ending the call and climbing out of bed. As he reached for his pants, he looked back at Loralei. “I’m going to have to worm my way back into your good graces later. Joey Barnes’ body was just found by a bunch of drunk high school kids.”
Loralei sat up. “His body?”
“Someone shot him in the gut,” Ciaran replied. “And Silas Barnes is on his way to question Harlow Tate… one of the deputies who isn’t completely crooked tipped Matt off. He means to have her arrested for this whether she did it or not.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
“Don’t,” he replied. “I have no idea what’s going to happen and you may need to work on getting bail money together for her. I don’t doubt for a second that Silas will be able to manufacture enough cause for an arrest, even if he has to plant it himself!”
“But she was with Quentin all along, right?”
Ciaran shook his head. “Any decent lawyer will be able to discredit her lover as an alibi… We can only hope that Joey was still alive at the time they showed up at Mia’s. If not, if Quentin is her only alibi and Silas Barnes is determined to pin this on her—She’ll get off eventually, but it won’t be easy. He’ll fight it every step of the way.”
“I’ll talk to Kaitlyn about bail money. I don’t have it myself, but she does and I know she’ll help out if I ask her to.”
“I shouldn’t put that on you,” he said. “This is my fucked up family after all… the thing is, I know how much money they’ve poured into the distillery, Lor. And Quentin could probably get her out of jail but it would take every dime he had.”
“I don’t mind,” Loralei replied. “I like Lowey. I’ve always liked Lowey and I know just what a shit Silas Barnes can be. Any Barnes for that matter. It’s just a whole freaking barrel full of bad apples.”
Ciaran kissed her soundly on the lips, but it was more an expression of affection and gratitude than the wicked things that had been on his mind earlier. “I do love you, Loralei Elizabeth Crawford. And even if this all comes to naught, I do appreciate what you’ve done to try and give me the family I wanted… and if it doesn’t work, you’re all I ever needed anyway.”
She bl
inked at him as tears filled her eyes. “Damn you, Ciaran! I wanted to be mad at you for a little longer.”
He was smiling and whistling as he walked out the door.
***
Lowey was standing at the counter in the kitchen of the small carriage house. Quentin was still in bed. He’d been quiet since they’d left Mia’s and she knew that the conversation about his mother was pressing on him. He was afraid to hope and she understood that perhaps better than anyone. Being afraid to believe that any positive sign was simply too good to be true was an all too familiar sensation for her.
In fact, she’d been having that same feeling since he’d walked into her bar only the day before. Had it really been only twenty-four hours since her life and her heart had been turned upside down all over again?
“Nothing will every fuck you up as bad as that man, Lowey. Nothing,” she muttered to herself as she opened the refrigerator and retrieved a bottle of water from inside. She didn’t know who’d come in and stocked it for them, but the gift basket of fruit and other goodies on the counter had been very welcome.
The bedroom door opened and she looked up to see Quentin standing there. Shirtless, his jeans half undone, hair mussed—God above, he was hot.
“I’m sorry I dragged you out the way I did,” he offered. “I let it get to me and you paid for it. As usual.”
She rolled her eyes. “Leaving early wasn’t quite the hardship you make it out to be. I like your family. They’re nice people. Welcoming and warm… but I don’t belong there.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he did. “Do not start that shit again. You’re as good as anyone else!”
“Yes, I am. But good as and same as are very different things,” she explained. “I will never be the kind of woman you can take to dinners or fundraisers. I will never be a soccer mom like Annalee, even assuming you and I would manage to avoid killing each other long enough to get married and have kids… Hell, we’ve never even talked about whether or not either of us wanted kids!”
“Since you’re predicting gloom and doom in our relationship, why not branch out a little? What day will I die? What horrible illness or accident will have me meeting my maker?” he demanded. “Jesus, Lowey! Can we not just be? I want you in my life… I don’t know about forever, and I don’t know about kids. And if I wanted a soccer mom, there are about fifteen single ones in this town who’ve been knocking on my door since you and I split up.”
That brought her up short. “And I just bet you let them in, didn’t you?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “No, dammit. I didn’t. I haven’t been with another woman since you… I haven’t wanted to and that’s the hell of it.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” she snapped.
He walked towards her, that slow easy stride that had all his muscles rippling and her heart pounding. Just inches separated them when he stopped, close enough that she could feel the heat of him. “Doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not, Lowey. I said it because it’s the truth, not because I’m trying to convince you of anything.”
“Quentin, we’re fooling ourselves if either of us expects this thing to work. You do know that, right?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t. I’ve always said I wasn’t good at commitment, but the simple truth is, I’ve never tried. I’ve never met anyone that made me want to.”
“Quentin—.”
“Harlow,” he interrupted. “Just stop… stop putting up road blocks. Stop looking for ways out when we aren’t even in yet.”
She was doing exactly that and she was ballsy enough to admit it to herself if not to him. But that didn’t mean she was wrong to do it. Neither of them had great track records. He was right when he’d said he’d never tried commitment. Quentin was the ultimate playboy. Rich, good looking, always up for a good time but never one to stick around too long. He’d had a reputation for being the love ‘em and leave ‘em king.
As for her, it was like she’d made a habit of finding every man in a tri-county radius that she shouldn’t be with and slowly making her way down the list.
“Just don’t break my heart,” she said. “Seriously. Don’t do it. I’ll make you regret it.”
He grinned at that and it was so devastatingly sexy, she wanted to climb him right there on the spot. “Why don’t you take me to bed and help me stop overthinking everything for a while?”
“I don’t need to take you to bed for that,” he said and stepped closer, backing her against the counter. His hand slipped easily into he hair, tugging it just a shade less than gently. It was all the incentive she needed. Hooking her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans, she tugged him closer still.
“Just how naughty should we be in someone else’s kitchen?” she asked.
“As naughty as we want to be,” he replied smoothly as he lifted her onto the counter.
It was the most natural thing in the world to part her knees and cradle him between her thighs. Even then, she wanted more. She wanted him so close that not even air would exist between them. With that in mind, she reached for the zipper of his jeans, sliding it down with slow and deliberate movements.
“You’re rushing,” he said, as he kissed the side of her neck, then followed it with a stinging nip.
“Do you want me to slow down?” she asked, sliding her hand inside his pants, cupping her hand around his hardening cock. “I can stop altogether if you want.”
“No,” he replied breathlessly. “Don’t ever stop.”
Stroking him, alternating the pressure by gently touching him or closing her fingers firmly around him, she reveled in his response to her. It didn’t hurt that the entire time she was teasing him to a fever pitch, he was doing the same to her. His hands were never still. They roamed over her body and his mouth followed suit. When he closed his lips around one taut nipple, still covered by the layers of his clothes, she let her head fall back and savored the sensation.
“God, you drive me crazy,” she said on a harsh breath.
He gripped the hem of her sweater, tugging it up and over her head before cupping her breasts in his hands, kneading them gently as his thumbs played her nipples expertly. God, he knew just how to touch her.
Lowey shoved his jeans and the boxers beneath them down over his hips before taking him completely in her hand. Closing her fingers around him, she stroked him firmly at the base of his shaft, gentling her touch as she reached the head. Running her thumb over the glistening crown, she smiled when he bit out a curse word.
“Dammit, Lowey,” he whispered harshly. “If you want this to last more than sixty-seconds you’re gonna have to ease up. A man can only take so much.”
“Stop talking and just fuck me,” she urged. “I don’t want to think or worry. I just want to feel good for as long as I can.”
Sixteen
Quentin was so far gone he couldn’t even tell which way was up. With her perched on the edge of the counter, her long legs locked around him and her soft hand stroking his cock, it was a wonder he could string two words together much less say anything important. But he needed to tell her. The words had been pressing on him for so long that it would be a relief to finally just have them out there.
“Jesus, Lowey,” he muttered as she circled him with her thumb. She could tempt a saint and he’d never been accused of being that. It took all his willpower to reach down and grasp her wrist, stilling her hand. “We need to talk, whether you want to or not.”
“Nothing good ever begins with the phrase ‘we need to talk’. Nothing.”
He grinned at that. “Normally, I’d agree with you… but I don’t think this is bad. I hope to hell you don’t either.”
She leaned back, her palms flat on the counter to support her weight. It was sexy as hell, but he didn’t think for one minute that she was trying to be. That was the hell of it with Lowey. Everything she did was unconsciously, innately sensual.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked softly, and there wa
s no mistaking the trepidation in her voice.
“I think I love you,” he said. In his head, he’d prepared a great speech, but there in the moment, it was gone. Instead, the words just tumbled out and landed like a bomb between them.
She blinked at him for a second. “That is not what I expected you to say.”
“What were you expecting?”
She shrugged. “That what we have is great, but that we’re getting ahead of ourselves, that we should still see other people, that it’s not me it’s you. The list is endless, but you saying you thought you loved me wasn’t anywhere on it.”
“You had to know that… you had to know that if I can’t walk away from you, there’s a reason. What other reason could it be?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t know why you walked away two months ago and I didn’t know why you walked back into my bar yesterday,” she admitted. “What you just said to me, Quentin, it’s what I needed to hear from you two months ago.”
The implication, that despite everything that had passed between them it was too late, was there. And maybe she was right. Maybe it was too late. Maybe his fear of commitment, his fear of opening up and letting anyone in had wrecked what was probably the best thing that had ever happened in his life. But he had to try. If the last two months had been any indication, whatever hurt pride or hurt feelings he was risking by laying it on the line couldn’t be any worse than the misery of being without her and wondering.
“Then let me rephrase. I don’t think that I’m in love with you, Harlow. I know I am. And as much of an ass as it makes to admit it, I walked out on you because I too much of a coward to face it then.”
She let her head fall back and sighed up to the ceiling. “And when you get spooked again? What happens then, Quentin? I’m fine with us this way… you and me, and whatever happens just happens. No promises means no expectations… but if you promise me things, if you let me hope for things and then you take it away—I don’t know if I can forgive that.”
Quentin (The Bourbon & Blood Series Book 4) Page 8
