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The little slip of a thing made him nervous, he realized. Like he was a dumb junior high kid with a crush. Damn, when was the last time his stomach had been this jittery?
He went to the back door, opening it just as Alex crumpled, landing face down and sprawled out on the steps.
Holy shit.
Rushing to her side, he ran his hands over her limbs and spine, checking for anything broken or displaced. Once he was sure he could move her safely, he gathered her in his arms and hurried into the house.
He made his way to his first-floor bedroom and laid her on the bed. After retrieving a washcloth from the en suite and running it under cold water, he kneeled on the floor beside her. He ran the cool cloth over her forehead, pushing back the black hair that had escaped its tie. Watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, he desperately wished she’d open her eyes.
His gaze trailed over her delicate features. They were marred with fading bruises, the left side more swollen than the right. Clearly, the asshole who’d hit her had been right-handed. Across her high cheekbones, he spied a slight dusting of freckles on her tan skin. Without the bruises, he had no doubt she was stunning.
He ran the back of his fingers along the side of her face. Her skin was so damn soft.
What kind of person would do anything but cherish and protect this woman? If Alex were his, he’d—
He froze, and his eyes widened with surprise. He snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned, rocking onto his heels. What the fuck was he thinking?
Alexwasn’this, and he wasnotlooking for any sort of relationship. Particularly not with someone who came with a boatload of baggage.
Still... there was something about her.
Fuck.
He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. It didn’t work. “Get a fucking grip, O’Conner,” he muttered as he rose. With a final glance at Alex—just to make sure she was okay—he left the room to call the doctor.
CHAPTERSIX
Alex relaxed into the comfort and quiet of the hazy gray fog. She heard voices somewhere in the background, heard her name being spoken, but everything was too muffled to make out what they were saying. She tried to nestle back into the fog, but the voices grew louder.
“She should be fine, but it’s hard to say,” a male voice said. “I’ll stick around until she comes to. I want to check her injuries more thoroughly and—”
“But she’ll be fine?” another deep voice interrupted.
She heard footsteps, and then the sound of a door closing. The voices became muffled again.
Prying open her eyelids, Alex scanned the room. The walls were navy blue with off-white trim. The furniture—a dresser, two nightstands, a plush chair, and a bed frame—were rich mahogany. The room had little in the way of decorations, but everything it did have was streamlined and masculine. In the corner, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt were tossed over the arm of the plush chair.
Quinn’s room.
She wasn’t sure what to make of it. Of what had happened in the shed, or on the back steps. Of being in his bed... Of any of it.
Drawing the soft gray blanket closer to her chin, she curled onto her side. Her eyes caught on a framed picture on the nightstand. Quinn, Roxie, and Joe. Wearing suits and giant smiles, the men made stunning bookends as they flanked Roxie. With her arms linked through theirs, Roxie stood laughing in jeans, a T-shirt, and a paper cone birthday hat.
Reaching for the picture, she ran the tip of her finger over the frame. A wistful longing tugged at her heart. What would it be like to have lifelong friends? She wished she knew. She’d given up so much for Preston.
Loneliness settled over her. But cozied up right next to it was the realization that, more than anything, she wanted to live again. To not let this opportunity pass her by. To make a life that she could be proud of.
“Roxie’s thirtieth birthday.”
She jumped at the quiet voice. Turning her attention toward the door, she found Quinn leaning against the frame, arms casually crossed over his broad chest. His gaze was on the photograph in her hands, and a soft smile played on his lips.
Her breath came to an abrupt halt.Whoa.
She knew from meeting him earlier that Quinn fit the tall-dark-and-handsome cliché to a T. She wasn’t blind. But yesterday, she’d been running on fumes and overwhelmed by... well, everything. Then, in the shed, he’d scared the living crap out of her. She was sure it had been unintentional, but regardless, the resulting adrenaline had left no room for thoughts beyondfightorflight.
But now? Seeing him in the quiet? In the calm? Watching that slow smile soften his rugged face? Yeah. The man was more than a little jarring.
At over six feet tall, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Wavy, dark, chocolate-brown hair framed his tanned face, and gray eyes the color of the sky before a powerful storm were set above full lips and a strong, angular jaw covered in stubble. He probably would have been considered pretty if it weren’t for his once-patrician nose, which looked as though it might have been put back into place a few times. In faded jeans and a casual, long-sleeve button-down, he exuded confidence, but not in a vain, cocky way.
