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“Tea?” I offer lamely.
His crooked smile sparks a flutter in my stomach. “Have anything stronger, like coffee?”
I shake my head. “Not in this house.”
He cocks his hip against the counter, crosses his arms. “Tea is fine.”
Turning my attention to the cups, I keep busy with adding honey, slicing lemons… “Thank you for being there for me yesterday.” I add a slice of lemon to each cup and bob the tea bags. “And for not taking me to the hospital. I know it was asking a lot, and totally against protocol, but—” I face him, needing to look into his eyes, no matter what I find there. “It might not seem like it, but it was the right thing to do.”
I wish I could read his mind. Know exactly what the slight furrow of his brow means, the serious, hard stare of his hazel eyes. When he breaks the intense stare off, it’s to reach up and feel the scruff along his jaw.
“It might’ve been the right thing for you, but it was most definitely not the right thing for me,” he says.
His words pierce my heart. “Oh,” is my pathetic response.
Quinn’s mouth hardens into a line. “I can’t ever do that again, Avery.”
Averting my gaze, I stare at my bare feet. My legs that I shamefully forgot to cover up and my dumb T-shirt that just barely hides my ass. After yesterday, I didn’t feel the need to hide, or for any stupid pretenses. Obviously, I made a huge error in judgment.
“I should go get dressed. Your tea’s on the counter.”
I attempt to rush past him, but he clasps my arm and pulls me to a stop. I wince at the sudden stab of pain in my shoulder.
The mortified look on Quinn’s face steals my breath. “It’s not you,” I rush out before he thinks the worst of himself. “My shoulder was hurt…yesterday.”
His features relax, but just as quickly, his eyebrows draw together in concern. “I thought you said you weren’t hurt?”
“I wasn’t. Not really. But it’s not as if they handled me like a delicate flower petal.”
He scrubs his hands down his face, releasing a groan. Then he goes to touch my shoulder, and I step back.
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “Hot water will help.”
Before I’m successfully out of the room, he says, “You do understand why?” I turn toward him. “Why that was so hard for me?”
A whole list of reasons quickly formulates. His feelings for Sadie. Getting involved with a colleague never ending well. Ruining a friendship.
But the one thing that sticks out—despite all my effort to suppress it—and coils my stomach in tight knots, is the one thing I know Quinn is adamant about.
Never get involved with a victim.
And regardless if he didn’t see me as one before, that’s exactly what I was to him yesterday.
I move closer, my embarrassment receding now that my anger mounts. “I get it, Quinn. I appreciate what must’ve been a difficult situation for you, and I’m sorry that it was me who put you in it.” I swallow down the burn of resentment. “Don’t worry, though. It won’t happen again. I know the rules on victims, and I know that here, with me, is the last place you want to be.”
That furrow in his brow deepens. “What the hell are you talking about, woman?”
My shock must be apparent. I shake my head in fast jerks, blinking hard to fight back the stupid, angry tears. “You claim you don’t see me as a victim, and you put out all these mixed signals that I thought I was finally deciphering. But yesterday… Yesterday you could barely stand to touch me. It’s almost as if the very thought of it was physically painful for you. I don’t know if it’s because it’s me…or if the victim in me just disgusts you—”
Quinn moves so quickly that, before my last word is even voiced, his hand is in my hair and gripping me to him, his lips on mine.
The impact of his kiss rocks into me and I moan, unable to repress the sudden intensity of feeling his lips crushing mine. His other hand fists my shirt, then both are suddenly clutching my waist and lifting me off the floor.
I lock my arms around his neck as he hauls me across the kitchen. The counter where our cups tumble over, his destination. Then his hands are seeking my thighs, pushing the barrier of my shirt away, his mouth never letting up. Our breathing becomes ragged and desperate as we try to claim oxygen without losing each other.
When he does break the kiss, it’s to capture my neck. His hungry kisses and branding nips send me spiraling, and I link my legs around his hips, needing him closer.
He pulls back. “Does this feel like I don’t want you?”
