Broken (15 page)

It had been a damn long time since she’d felt protected, and if it was anybody other than Quinn, it probably
would
have freaked her out. She didn’t want people watching out for her, didn’t want people noticing when she did things. Hell, she didn’t really even want people to notice her, and for the most part, they didn’t. After spending more than half of her life being the center of attention in some way, shape, or form, she had perfected the art of blending into the background.

It was wasted on Quinn. He noticed everything, it seemed . . . from what time she got off the bus, to what time she’d start her workout. She was getting too damned predictable—he had her timed down to practically the minute.

She hated that she’d become so predictable. She liked change, but she wanted it on her conditions. Changing just because she had no other choice only served to piss her off.

Lately, she longed for some kind of consistency, some kind of normalcy. And she longed for the chance to spend time with him, even though she knew that wasn’t smart.

“Girl, you have got to stop thinking about him,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. She shot a look at the clock and swore, realizing she’d spent the past half hour daydreaming about Quinn instead of taking care of priorities.

Pushing him out of her mind took a concentrated effort, but she finally managed to plot out several potential moves, memorizing each one, making mental notes after consulting assorted bus and train schedules.

It was nearly five by the time the phone had taken a sufficient charge, and she took a few more minutes to activate it, yet another tedious task that she’d gotten used to. Just like moving every few months. Just like memorizing bus and train schedules. Just like adapting to a new city and the minute she was used to things, changing them all over again. Just like sending out a text message that held nothing more than her new phone number. Just like making those rare calls where she hoped for good news, even as she knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Tucking the new phone into the clip on her belt, she took the plastic-bagged old one and dumped it into the small purse she carried. A glance at the clock assured her she’d have time to catch the Metrolink if she hurried.

She was jogging down the front steps when Quinn pulled up in front of the house. His motorcycle was a shiny, slick piece of work, all black paint and silver chrome.

Geez, he was the living embodiment of a girl’s bad-boy fantasy—worn jeans that clung to long, lean legs, his wheat blond hair just a little too long, a heavy growth of stubble darkening his face. Straddling that bike, he made a picture that was almost too perfect to be real.

Her heart skipped a beat as she eyed him on the bike, then it jumped into her throat as he turned his head and met her gaze.

A slow smile curled his lips, but that wasn’t what had her heart lodged just above her trachea.

It was the very vivid, very ugly black eye.

Screw being careful.
She strode over to him and caught his face in her hands, turning it to the side to better study the bruise. It spread out over his cheek and there was swelling as well as discoloration.

“What happened?” she asked, unaware that her voice had gone flat; unaware that she was gingerly probing the bone just under his eye with gentle fingers.

The only thought in her mind was that somebody had hurt him.

“Got hit,” Quinn said easily. He’d been checked over for injuries often enough to recognize when it was being done by a professional. The calm, practical tone of her voice, the steady and skilled way she examined his bruise, they both said, loud and clear, that she had training, although he wasn’t exactly sure what kind. Something medical.

He could have told her that he’d already been subjected to a quick examination by a paramedic earlier, but that might make her stop touching him. So he sat there and enjoyed the feel of her fingers, cool and competent, on his face.

“Yes, Quinn. I can see that you got hit,” she said, tongue in cheek. “What I’m wondering is why . . . ?”

“Got in somebody’s way and the guy wasn’t too happy about it.”

The guy had been built like a fucking Mack truck, too. Quinn’s face hurt like a son of a bitch. Up until he’d seen Sara heading out, the only thought in his mind had been taking some Motrin, putting a bag of ice on his face, and collapsing into bed.

It was amazing what just the sight of her did to him. How in the hell could a woman manage to both soothe and excite at the same time? Sara managed it, though. His blood heated and his heartbeat sped up and at the same time, the ache in his head started to recede. By the time Sara finished looking him over, he was no longer in the mood to fall into bed, unless she took the fall with him.

“You done playing doctor?” he asked, keeping his tone light.

That blank mask appeared on her face and the smile she gave him was the same empty, polite one she’d give a stranger. He hated that smile. He wanted the real one, the one that made her eyes light up.

“I need to make my diagnosis first—I say you’ll have one hell of a headache later on,” she said, keeping her tone light.

“Already do. Or did. It’s not so bad now . . . but if you want to kiss me, that might help.” He reached out and toyed with the top button on her shirt.

“If it’s not too bad, then you don’t really need me to kiss you, do you?” She sidestepped neatly, taking herself and her buttons out of his reach.

“I think I heard somewhere about how it’s always a good idea to kiss a pretty lady.” He glanced at her purse, a small affair that settled neatly on her hip. The strap cut diagonally across her breasts and she kept her hand on it, a light, easy touch, but one that made him think she’d either had a purse stolen before or she was just used to the threat. “You heading out?”

“Yeah. Thought I might go down to Crestwood Center. It’s my day off, thought I’d pick up a book or two, get some pizza.” Absently, she reached up and started toying with the button the same way Quinn had been doing.

He stared at her hand and when she saw where he was looking, she blushed and lowered it to her side. Quinn felt a grin tugging on his lips. Man, what he wouldn’t give to see her slip that button free. Then the next. Then the next . . . revealing more and more of that soft, ivory skin.

“Want a ride?” he asked, forcing his mind away from her buttons and her soft ivory skin.

She blinked. Glanced down at the bike and then up at him. That careful, blank mask look fell away from her eyes and she gazed at him with blatant wariness written all over her face. “Ahh . . . I was going to catch the Metrolink.”

“Why?” He flicked a look at his watch and then smiled at her. “You’ll have to run to make it, and you hate exercising.”

“Oh, now that’s clever, Quinn.”

AM I on a date
? Sara wondered.

She stood in the women’s restroom, staring at her reflection and trying to figure out the answer to that question. It shouldn’t be such a tricky one, but it was.

Granted, it had been a long time since she’d done the dating bit. Even then, she’d been more on the fringe of the dating scene. And nobody had ever grabbed her attention the way Quinn did. Her attention, her libido . . . more.

A group of girls came in, giggling, chattering, and blushing.

One of them was looking over her shoulder as she did. “Man, did you
see
him? He’s just so
hawt
.”

“I wonder how he got that black eye.”

Sara smiled at her reflection as the girls broke up into groups, some lingering by the mirror to fluff hair and fuss with makeup. A few drifted toward the stalls.

“You think he’s got a girlfriend?”

One of them rolled her eyes and said, “Stacy, he’s
old
.”

Stacy, a willowy blonde, gave a sigh. “He’s not
old
. I bet he’s only maybe ten years older than we are. Fifteen, tops.”

If they were talking about Quinn, and she was pretty sure they were, then Sara suspected they were looking at a bigger age gap than that. These kids wouldn’t care—Sara remembered being that age, remembered being utterly convinced of her own maturity.

Sighing, she brushed her hair back from her face and then set her shoulders. Coming in here to hide from Quinn and try to settle herself was only going to work if he didn’t realize she was hiding. If she lingered too much longer, he would figure her out. She circled around the girls and slipped out of the bathroom.

Quinn was waiting on the opposite wall just down the corridor, his eyes on hers. She paused by the water fountain to get a drink and as she straightened, a tired-looking young woman intercepted her. “Excuse me, miss . . .”

Sara politely listened to the girl’s hard-luck story, all the while eying the worn clothes, the lines of strain fanning out from her eyes. Before the woman had finished, Sara dipped a hand into her pocket. She pressed a ten into the woman’s hands. Tears welled in the woman’s eyes.

Uncomfortable, Sara moved to go around her.

Quinn watched her with a cocked brow before glancing over her shoulder to look at the other woman. From the corner of her eye, Sara could see the woman duck her head and shuffle around them, moving away at a fast clip.

“You realize that plenty of people will hand you those stories just to get you to shell out the cash—feeding you whatever lie they think will tug your heartstrings,” Quinn said.

As they started down the corridor, Sara shrugged. “I know. But if she’s just bullshitting me, that’s on her. I tried to help—best anybody can do.”

“And if you see her walking into a liquor store a half hour from now?”

“Same response . . . I realize she could be lying. But her actions have no effect on mine.” She shrugged again.

“So if you see her walking into a liquor store, you’re not going to get pissed, not going to feel a little manipulated?”

She pursed her lips, thinking about it. “I think I’d probably feel sorry for her. If that’s her idea of really living, then she definitely deserves some pity.”

Behind them, she heard some giggles and glanced back. The group of girls from the bathroom trailed along after them. The blonde Stacy looked Sara over from head to toe. One of her friends elbowed her. “I think I broke somebody’s heart just now,” she said, glancing up at Quinn. “There were some girls in the restroom sighing over some
hawt
guy in the hall, wondering how he got his black eye. One of them was curious about whether or not you had a girlfriend.”

His expression didn’t change, but there was a gleam in his eye. “Some
hawt
guy? What makes you think it was me?”

“I didn’t notice anybody else that fit the description of
hawt
and had a black eye.” Sara was pretty sure that Quinn fit the definition of
hawt
down to a
T
. Hell, the guy could have written the definition.

He snorted, still staring straight ahead.

Sara wasn’t sure, but she thought he just might be blushing a little. There was the faintest red tinge along his high cheekbones.

Unable to resist, she hooked an arm through his and grinned up at him. “I heard rumors that you have a knack for making teenage hearts flutter.”

“What?” He scowled down at her.

“The girl across the street . . . Trilby, I think. Theresa says the girl’s got a thing for you.”

The red became more pronounced—oh, yeah. He was definitely blushing. “Trilby’s a kid.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t make her heart go pitter-pat.”

Quinn stopped in his tracks. Since she still had her arm hooked through his, she had to stop, too. Tipping her head back, she smiled up at him, watching as his brows drew together, as the blush spread across his tanned face.

“Pitter-pat?” he echoed.

“Yeah . . . you know, gets a little uneven, does a little racing, makes the blood rush . . . pitter-pat.”

She was messing with him, Quinn realized. It was written all over her expression—the gleam in her eyes, the wide grin on her face. Hell. He thought his heart was about to start doing some of that pitter-pat shit. He wasn’t used to people teasing him—other than Luke, and maybe Jeb on occasion, it wasn’t something people did. Not with him.

Reaching up, he caught Sara’s chin. Pressing his thumb against her lower lip, he said gruffly, “I’d be a lot more interested if it was
your
heart that was doing the pitter-pat thing.” Then he replaced his thumb with his mouth, kissing her quick and light.

Pulling away after two seconds took a hell of a lot of control. But he did it. As they started walking down the mall corridor, Sara sighed. He slid his hand down and caught hers. She twined their fingers and then glanced up at him. “Don’t worry, Quinn. You make my heart do that pitter-pat thing quite a bit.”