by Anne Conley
He went down the hallway and through the kitchen, entering the living area he’d only glimpsed when he was in here before. She was nowhere to be found, but he knew she was here.
Valerie’s wing was no less immaculate than the rest of the house, but it looked lived in. And the style of furnishings was more modern, more real, more comfortable. A modest space, it held one living area, two bedrooms, an office, and a kitchen and dining area. There was another sunroom—in addition to the one with the birds in it—overlooking Lake Travis with another stunning view, as well as a locked outdoor storage unit.
Quinten saw evidence of her here—books on shelves, some open, with cracked spines that made him wince inwardly, a TV, a computer station, even half a cake sat out on the counter. He wiggled the mouse on the computer and up popped images of the rest of the house. So this is where she watches everything.
Only now, he knew she was watching from just around corners. He never tried to catch her, but he knew she was watching him still. He could hear her breathing, smell her perfume. He caught himself inhaling deeply. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was citrusy, but not lemon. Like a pineapple, with some white tea in the fragrance. Quinten had never smelled anything like it and wondered if she had a custom fragrance made. Probably. This was a woman with nothing but money and time on her hands.
Her books were an exceptionally eclectic collection. His breath hitched when he saw a copy of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran on her shelves, but he forced his gaze forward. There was lots of women’s literature, as well as speculative fiction. But a lot of historical fiction and romance dotted her shelves as well. She had an entire case dedicated to non-fiction works. It seemed she had a great interest in early exploration, as well as early feminism. A treadmill sat in the corner, a towel draped over it and a book opened on the top of it.
Opinions began to form in his mind, unbidden. Valerie Dunaway was loaded. That much was clear. She never left her house, choosing to immerse herself in books about women. She probably donated money to charities to that effect, since before the incident she’d been an advocate.
Quinten couldn’t help but think of his mother, delightful arm candy for his father. She was his yes-woman, doing his bidding and supporting him with an unwavering support. She wasn’t the least bit cerebral. Intelligent, yes. Brainy? No. His mother had known exactly who to invite to parties and galas to make the best effect for Quinten’s father. But she’d never cracked a fiction book, nor a non-fiction book, about an interest of her own. Valerie didn’t seem like the same type of woman, but she had surely seen her share of elegant fundraisers in her life before her disfiguration.
He couldn’t reconcile the birds, though. Owning an aviary in her home of that caliber spoke of someone with not only a lot of money, but someone with infinite patience to care for the birds, and an inner peace to enjoy them, too.
He longed to ask her about it, but that would be too personal. Yet, she fascinated him, well beyond her strange lifestyle. He’d be smart to remember this was a job; fascination got his coworkers in trouble and their clients in danger. It might have worked out for Ryan, Evan, Jordan, and even Miriam, but Quinten wouldn’t take those risks with Valerie’s life. She’d been through too much already.
Valerie watched the gentle giant as he looked through her stuff. She was well aware at this point that he was going beyond professional and diving straight into nosiness when he opened her bathroom cabinets. When he pulled down her bottle of custom fragrance from Le Labo and sniffed it, she giggled.
Then froze.
Because he grinned at himself.
And it was breathtaking.
She slid around the side of the door so she was in the hallway and pressed herself against the wall, desperate to make herself invisible. Valerie should have gone to her room and shut the door, but she couldn’t leave him alone. For one thing, he was in her sanctuary, and she’d invited him here. Her heart pounded at that thought. He was so strong and masculine, part of her wanted to be near him, try to get some of his strength to rub off on her. Even though that thought terrified her.
She had no idea why she was pretending to be invisible since he’d come in two hours ago and had a conversation with her, drinking tea. But something about him made her feel safer when she was hiding. As if when he looked at her, he could really see her. Nobody had done that. Not even before, when she was normal and dying to be seen.
When he left the bathroom, he walked right by her, and God love him, he pretended she wasn’t there. His eyes never strayed from the carpet in front of him as he strode down the hallway and into her personal sunporch overlooking the aviary.
She followed, padding along behind him in her bare feet.
He kept his back to her, but he seemed to realize she was reverting to panic. His tone was soft when he asked, “So you never leave? Ever?”
Valerie wanted to speak to him so badly. She had a sudden need to tell him about trying to run away last night, to tell Quinten thank you for coming into her house and making her feel protected. But as she opened her mouth, no words came—only a slight wheeze. Snapping her mouth shut, her heart pounded in her chest as her lungs tightened. She wanted to tell him about the man, so Quinten could figure out who he was, but there was no air.
Anxiety attack. Apparently, she could follow him around, but as soon as she tried to talk to him, her body was going to shut down. The stresses of the night and day were catching up to her with a vengeance.
Her vision grayed at the edges as she struggled to control her breathing, her heartrate, her limbs. Her fingers tingled as her arms went slightly numb and her knees knocked together. Valerie clutched at a sofa cushion, her anchor to reality, feeling the texture of the upholstery between her fingers.
Before today, Valerie hadn’t spoken to anyone in person besides Rudy, Imogene, and her lawyer in almost three years. Her parents, some, but not in a long time. Most of her conversations were over the phone or the computer. Between the police officers, the detective, and now Quinten, she was overwhelmed. What was left of the adrenaline in her body trickled through her veins.
Struggling to regain her breathing, she focused on the muscles in his back as he looked out the window at her birds. Could he hear her heart pounding out of her chest? Valerie realized how long it had been since she’d actually slept, and her limbs suddenly felt heavy. She couldn’t get oxygen to them anymore.
His voice echoed through the room to her, wrapping her in a warmth that flowed through her and calmed her breathing.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Ms. Dunaway.”
How had he known? Could he hear her ragged breathing?
Her fingertips began tingling, and she knew she was hyperventilating. Her chest hurt, it was so tight. She regretted trying to talk to him again, following him around. Valerie realized she could sleep now with Quinten here. She was going to pay him enough to be alert on her behalf.
The thought calmed her immensely, quieting her heartbeat.
Finally giving in, she allowed the grayness to turn dark.
With a murmured curse, Quinten spun around when he heard Valerie hit the floor. Taking her pulse, Quinten felt her body, forcing his fingers to remain professional where they wanted to be curious in their examination.
He’d heard her gasping for air, then the deep, gulping breaths, and he determined she must have hyperventilated, which meant her body would regulate its breathing and she’d be fine. But in the meantime, he wanted her to get to a bed.
Scooping her up, Quinten carried Valerie to her bedroom. If she hadn’t slept last night, while there was a strange man in her bed, and she hadn’t slept yet today, while strange men were crawling all over her house, she had to be exhausted. Maybe she could rest a bit, instead of fretting over him being in her space.
Leaving the mask in place to protect her privacy, Quinten tucked the covers under her chin. Before leaving, he looked around again, absorbing the gentle, feminine scent of her, as well as the surrounding sof
t, muted colors and textures. Black and white photographs of Lake Travis landscapes dotted the walls, and a book lay on the side of her bed. He noticed a laptop—probably another security measure—on a small, dainty desk against the wall. He turned off the light and left, pulling the door almost shut so he could hear her if she needed anything. He planted himself on the sofa of her living area, making phone calls while she slept. There was a niggling desire, something unspoken, with this woman. Something deep inside Quinten was unfurling, a need to protect her at all costs. He had to remain aloof and professional with her, but there was something else there, too.
Valerie awoke confused. She didn’t remember going to her bed, and hours had passed since her last memory of freaking out while following Quinten around. He’d asked her something, but she couldn’t remember what, and she’d fainted.
Hands flying to her face to make sure her mask was still there, she felt relief to find it still in place before tossing back her covers. Had he put her in bed?
She crept into the living room, finding him on her sofa, reading her copy of Valley of the Horses. He must be bored to be reading that, but she found he was a quarter of the way through the massive tome and seemed to be interested, as he didn’t look up until she cleared her throat.
“How long did I sleep?”
He checked an expensive-looking athletic watch before answering her, “About three hours. Do you feel better?”
“Yes, much. Thank you. Were you in here the whole time?”
Quinten shrugged, closing the book. She wondered what he thought about it. It had been a while since she’d read the series, but it was all very sexy after the first book. “I’m here to protect you.”
Gesturing toward the book, she said, “That’s not the first one. Clan of the Cave Bear is the first in the Earth’s Children series. I have that one, too, if you want to borrow it.” His declaration of protection made her uncomfortable for some reason, even if it was stating the obvious.
“I’ve read it. This one’s pretty good. Do they fall in love?”
“Jondalar and Ayla? Yes. It’s an epic love story that spans decades while she tries to get along with his people.” It was a series of books she had begun as a child, the first one more anthropologic than romantic, but as the series went on, it was definitely a romance, and had turned her on to the genre in general.
“Well, I’ve got to go. Ryan’s here. He’ll come install the cameras in a little bit and will do a walkthrough sometime. Then Andrew will be here. I’ll be back in the morning. Okay?”
His eyes searched hers for understanding, and she nodded, feeling a bit deflated he wasn’t staying. She couldn’t expect him to move in, though. He’d made sure she had someone with her at all times, and she should be grateful, but she was disappointed instead.
He let himself out, and Valerie ran to her monitors to watch him leave.
“I’m out,” he called from the hallway just on the other side of the east wing. She watched him saunter away a bit, then he halted. “You’re not going to lock it?”
“Yes, I’m coming.” She knew her voice sounded funny, but something fluttered in her tummy when Quinten smiled a little to himself before she got up and walked to the front of her residence and twisted the bolts.
Valerie rooted around and found her laptop, pulling up her security program so she could sit on her sofa and watch this man as he set up a temporary office of sorts in the sunroom near her birds and made some more phone calls before leaving.
This would certainly give her something else to do besides her projects and focusing on the fact some guy wanted to scare her to death.
She watched on her monitor as the next guy showed up for duty, listening intently as Quinten gave him instructions.
“Do periodic walkarounds. I’ve found some potential entrance points near the lake, and one around the side of the house, but as far as through the house, it looks secure. Her wing is the east wing. Knock and she’ll let you in, but don’t go hunting her. Install the video equipment ASAP. She likes her privacy. She’s probably watching and listening right now, so stay alert, and don’t embarrass us.”
A fist bump, and Quinten was gone. With him out of the house, Valerie felt a little impotent.
She carried her laptop into her bedroom and crawled into bed, doing her own recon on Quinten Pierce through the private background software to which she subscribed.
Biting her lip, she perused the stats: clean credit record, no criminal activity, annual salary was less than impressive, but his net worth wasn’t shoddy. As she looked through the personal records, things became clearer.
She’d thought the name sounded familiar. The only pictures she could find were family portraits when he was in high school and college to promote his father’s law firm and other philanthropic endeavors. Valerie could relate. She bit her lip as she zoomed in on the fresh, young face of the man who had just been in her living quarters.
A mop of dark curls, tamed with a pair of scissors and bottle of gel, framed an innocent face with deep, dark, mournful eyes. His brother was clearly older, with slightly lighter hair and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Quinten was not the beefcake then he was now, obviously hulking out later in his adulthood. But he was still tall, if not a little lanky, and she could see the potential in the youth looking out at her from the computer monitor.
Pierce was an old Austin name as well, family full of lawyers. Valerie saw where Quinten had passed the Texas Bar exam, but he’d never gone into practice, instead going into business with his brother Simon. His parents had died—his father while he was in college, his mother soon after. There wasn’t much else. Apparently, Quinten liked his privacy just as much as she did.
She related to him on so many levels. Had his parents had as many expectations of him as hers did? Had he studied law because it was expected of him and not because he was passionate about it? Was it the only way he could relate to his father? Did his parents use him to further their own agenda?
Valerie imagined all sorts of parallels between her life and Quinten’s.
She flipped the screen back to watching the new security team member walk through the house, whistling at the opulence of it all. He made himself a sandwich and took a slice of cake to the sunroom, where Quinten had set up the office.
Her lawyer, Brandon, had agreed these guys were good when Detective Hollerman suggested them. He said they’d closed some pretty high-profile cases recently, and she could count on discretion with them. So far, Valerie wasn’t disappointed. Her lawyer, while sometimes seeming to want more than a professional relationship with her, seemed to be right about most things. She trusted him, and he hadn’t let her down yet.
Her heartrate was still accelerated but not alarmingly so. It was typical of her when someone new was in her house. Valerie noticed this guy took a seat where he didn’t have the lovely view of her birds Quinten’s seat had.
Oh well. Not everybody appreciated the birds the way she did.
She needed to stop thinking of Quinten, anyway. There was a reason she didn’t let people see her. After the attack had first happened, her lawyers screwed her when they tried to play on the judge’s sympathies for the trial. By the time she went to a specialist, reconstruction involved skin grafts and multiple painful surgeries. Even after the last round, she wasn’t even close to normal. If she couldn’t look at herself in the mirror, why would she want to inflict that on anyone else?
And the rumors had been positively awful. Her friends had turned against her, letting everyone in the free world know she was broken, disfigured, and bitter. Her sexual history with Argyle came into play with fodder for the rumor mill. It was all very juicy stuff; she could hardly blame them. But she was better now, even with the social anxiety disorder her shrink had diagnosed her with. Quinten had nailed it, calling it scopophobia—fear of being seen.
Besides, after Argyle, Valerie didn’t trust her judgment with men. How could she? At first, she’d been totally taken with his dominant pe
rsonality. It helped a lot with the stresses of her life. She just let him handle things she didn’t feel capable of. But when he’d gotten all bent out of shape because she’d wanted to continue modeling—especially with her charitable functions and things—she’d told him off. And his games had turned to pain and torture in some weird power play of his, and Valerie had tried to stop them.
And that hadn’t gone over well at all.
She was happy here, in her little piece of her mansion. She made stuff to sell for charity, so she was continuing her philanthropic duty to her parents, and it gave her something to do she enjoyed. And things would stay this way if she could find out who had been coming in and out of her house to frighten her. Quinten would help with that. She was sure.
He may help her feel more secure, but the idea of Quinten actually being the one to see past her disfigured face was so funny she heard the harsh bark of laughter before she realized it was coming. It was hysterical, and once she started she couldn’t stop. Laughter poured out as tears streamed down her face. Before she realized it, the laughter had turned to sobs.
Harsh, ragged sobs.
Valerie embraced them, curling up into a ball on her bed, rooting under the covers. She didn’t cry often, but now she welcomed the cathartic tears. The day had more activity than she was used to, and she’d stretched herself beyond her limits. These tears were just a reminder of who she was now.
Why she needed to take a step back from her thoughts of Quinten, his strength, his protection, his masculinity.
A faint ding broke through her sobbing, and she wiped her eyes and sniffled as she sought her cell phone. Valerie rarely got texts unless they were confirming an order or a payment for something.
It was Quinten.
This is my phone number. Use it if anything happens. I can be there in twenty minutes. I want you to feel safe.
And apparently, that’s all it took to reassure her. She was right. She couldn’t have a future with a man like him, but he could make her feel safe. And she would grasp on to that with everything she had.
