Gemini (6 page)

He’d known Clay to pretty much stay in control when he fucked. But the guy had totally lost it, going all caveman in those last minutes, when he’d driven her to that last howling orgasm.

It had all been incredibly hot and compelling, but not exactly what he wanted.

What he wanted was sitting in the chair next to him. Those dark eyes came back to his, and it would have been totally easy to fall right into them.

But she was wounded, and what he and his buddies had done to her hadn’t been all that considerate. He stifled a sigh and touched her arm. “Come on. Let’s get you upstairs. I can see you need a bed.”

With a hand at her back, he took her up the stairs at the rear of the bar that led to his place. He showed her around, but that didn’t take much. He had a small kitchen, a small living room, two bedrooms, and a bath they’d have to share.

She looked like she could use a meal, but she shook her head to the offer. In just a minute, they stood at the door to her room, her on the inside, him out.

Quinn wanted to follow her in. He wanted to have her in his arms all through the night. He’d want more than that, of course, but he’d have settled.

But even that wasn’t right. She was an abused wife, emphasis on both those words. That last thing she needed was…

He put his hands on her shoulders, as gently as he could. “Are you going to be able to sleep?”

“Yes.”

He could see the fatigue in her eyes. Certainly, she hadn’t slept the previous night, when she was thumbing it with the two stoners and God knew who else. But he happened to know being dog-tired wasn’t the same as being able to sleep.

She read the doubt in his face. “I think so.”

He nodded. “There’s a deck off the kitchen. Nothing but stars and city lights. I sit out there sometimes when I can’t sleep. Take a blanket if you go, though. It cools off here at night.”

It looked like she had to dig a bit for the smile. “Thanks. I will.”

He stroked his thumbs up along her neck. “Good night, Gemini.” Unable to resist, he touched his lips to hers. He couldn’t stop with just a touch, though. He moved into her, holding her head with his hands, and extended the kiss. Her lips were soft under his, sweet, and he couldn’t get enough.

Finally, he let her go and stepped back. It wasn’t easy, especially when he felt the little tug of her fingers where she’d taken hold of his shirt, a hold he didn’t know she had until he moved. There was nothing he could do about the hitch in his step when he felt that, but he forced himself to keep going. He was sure he’d be thinking of her, humping his own hand before the night was over.

* * * *

Quinn had touched her with only his hands and his mouth, even as he’d loomed over her, prolonging that kiss. She’d wanted to sink into him, to feel his arms around her again, to feel the heat of his body against hers. It had taken all of her strength to hold herself back. There was nothing at all she could do about the way her hand lifted, taking a little pinch of that old, obscure band shirt he wore. She didn’t let go even when he turned away. She could see he felt it when his movement caused it to tug from her fingers.

Her life was a mess. She’d screwed up, majorly, and she wasn’t anywhere near out of the disaster she’d made of it. The last thing she needed was…

Hah
. She
should
be thinking, the last thing she needed was to be thinking about and
wanting
another man.

Thinking about,
wanting
,
three
men was beyond the pale.

It was enough—
more
than enough—to consider how she’d let herself fall into that wild, sexual debauchery. But that was in no way the end of it.

She’d felt the loss of it when Clay had walked away from her, leaving her fucked to hell but still, somehow, needy for him. And then Jace had touched her, kissing her sweetly as he left, generating an urge in her to grasp at him and ask—beg—him to stay.

Even that was nothing in comparison to the effect of Quinn’s sweet caretaking, as he’d shown her his home, offered her food, done all but tuck her in. She’d wanted to wallow in it like the most forlorn, pathetic, helpless woman ever. She knew without doubt that if he’d taken a step toward her instead of away, she’d have welcomed him into her bed.

That wasn’t who she was. It
wouldn’t
be who she was.

Determined to take charge of her life, to heal herself, she slid into bed. But it was more than an hour later, tucked in Quinn’s sweet Hudson Bay blanket, curled into the teak chaise on his deck, looking at nothing but stars and city lights, before she slept.

* * * *

A week later Clay was at Mach One, parked on his usual stool. Quinn sat across from him, nursing his one beer, and they both pretended they were talking to each other more than watching Gemini handle the far end of the bar. It was more crowded down there than right at Clay’s either side. Both stools were empty, though one had just been vacated. Jace had been there, sucking down a quick one on his way home. He had court in the morning.

He’d finished his beer and nodded good night to his buddies. But before he left, he’d walked down the bar and, just like she wasn’t in the midst of a crowd, or her job, he leaned across the bar, reached for her, and took her in a kiss. It wasn’t just a damn peck, either. He took his time about it, and Clay was dead certain saliva was exchanged.

Bugger the man. He didn’t even quaver at the look Clay gave him as he passed by on his way out of the bar.

“It’s just been a few days, and she already has her own crowd,” Quinn was saying, drawing his attention back. “Old guys, young guys, women. Everybody likes her.”

Clay studied the room. “Except the young, single women looking to hook up.”

Quinn could spot them, too, no problem. “Yeah. They just watch her.”

“And pretend they don’t.” He was drinking Kilkenny and took a long pull. The cool, slightly bitter taste of it felt good on his throat. He met Quinn’s glance somewhat ruefully. “Pretty much like what we’re doing.”

“Yep.”

“She’s going to cause us trouble, isn’t she?”

“Maybe. Are you going to keep your hands off her?”

“Not too likely.” It didn’t look like Jace was going to, either. Quinn probably had, so far, Clay figured. He was a pretty honorable sort, and would hold himself back for minor nuisances like a marriage and a recent history of abuse.

Clay wasn’t that decent a guy.

Quinn sighed and gave him a look. Resignation, most like—Quinn knew what kind of man Clay was. He tended to take action while others sat around and considered the consequences.

But he wasn’t a total asshole, either. And the friendship of the man facing him meant something. “What do you think we ought to do?”

“I think we ought to let her be for a bit. Let her get her feet under her again. Then, maybe something will just happen naturally. Something that will make it clear.”

Clay knew what Quinn meant, but he didn’t buy it. They all three wanted her. Every damn one of them wanted more of what they’d had that first night. Sure, it was possible that, over time, she’d give the nod to one of them and the other two would have to back off. But he knew it wouldn’t go down easy. Not if she chose one of the others, and probably not if she chose him, either.

This woman was going to be hell on their friendship.

He set his empty on the bar. “Yeah. That could happen.”

Then, just like she wasn’t in the middle of a crowd and her job, he walked down, shouldered his way in between a couple of her fans, reached across the bar, and cupped her face.

She looked way better than she had the night they’d first seen her. She was less gaunt, her face filled out a bit with the food Quinn had been pushing on her and the sense of safety she was living in now. She had a little bit of makeup on, and her hair was free, a riot of sunny curls around her shoulders.

Those big browns met his. She looked a bit wary, but she didn’t look scared. So he leaned in and took her mouth. He gave it some time and attention. Saliva definitely was exchanged.

His mad skills must have shown, because there was dead silence around her when he let her go. He could feel her gaze on him when he nodded and backed off, then walked out the door.

* * * *

Gemini was out on the deck when Quinn finished closing the bar. She liked it out there. He had a significant container garden—tomatoes and peppers, herbs, and some ornamental stuff. Small trees and shrubs enclosed the space, making it feel more like a quiet back yard than a downtown alley. He’d seen that she’d taken to tending the plants some.

She was doing really well at the bar. She worked every evening, through the busy happy hours and a little after that. He didn’t want her staying to close, though, so he sent her up early every night. She’d seemed so fragile when she’d first come to them, he didn’t want her working too hard or for long hours.

It took her a few nights to start objecting about it. And she was right, to an extent. She’d recovered pretty well from the stress she’d been under. In just a couple of days she looked better—rested, happy, strong. Still, he didn’t want the job to be a burden to her, so he stuck to his guns.

Nonetheless, she waited up for him every night. Usually out here, on the deck, wrapped in his Hudson Bay blanket, a book in her lap. As often as not, like now, she was asleep.

The first night he’d bent to lift her, intending to carry her to her bed. But she’d startled at his touch, waking in such a panic that he felt like a predator. Since then, he’d taken to just pulling up a chair and sitting, lifting his feet to share the foot of the chaise with her, and waiting. She always woke within a few minutes.

They’d talk, out there in the dark—sometimes about their pasts, sometimes about Cap, and sometimes about nothing significant at all. At one point, on the first night they’d sat together, they’d clasped hands, and they’d done it again every night after.

Not this night, though. This night, she’d been soundly kissed by his two best friends.

He realized he’d spent the week spinning a little fantasy.

There had been some awkward moments, like the night he’d woken her, and the first morning he’d walked out of the bathroom with nothing on but a towel slung around his waist. No surprise that she was skittish, given that she was an escapee from an abusive marriage, that she’d run to her dead brother’s best friends for protection and ended up getting gang-banged in a bar. He was pretty sure that was good reason for her to be leery.

In fact, he was pretty sure she’d been skeptical about ever feeling comfortable with a man again, about ever trusting, about ever wanting to have sex again.

But they’d bumped along okay together in his apartment. On Thursday, he’d taken her out for her license, then to the post office and bank. Her anxiety had clearly risen while they were out. He’d pushed her a bit and took her shopping—she really did have nothing but a single change of clothes—but she hadn’t been happy about it.

She appeared to feel safe only in his place or in the bar. She hadn’t left again once he’d gotten her home.

He figured she was like a wounded animal burrowing into its den. He let her have it—picking up a few more clothes for her once he knew her size, doing grocery shopping himself. They shared the chores pretty informally. She was a good cook, knowing what to do with the herbs from his garden, but he could handle himself in the kitchen, too. So they more or less took turns with the meals they shared. Since he hated housework, he had a cleaner come once a week, and so that part was easy.

By the time the weekend passed, she was showing the effects of being housebound. He caught her one morning on the deck in an intense bodyweight workout. It turned out she was a runner, so they got her outfitted and went out together. She liked scampering up tough trails like Blodgett Peak and St. Mary’s Falls, but she was also happy with a good lope around the reservoir in Palmer Park.

They acted together like they were close, friendly. He touched her pretty often, like when they held hands out on the deck. He kissed her every night at the door to her room, just as he had that first night. In that same way each night, he held himself back from taking more.

She needed him too much. She still hadn’t left the apartment or the bar without him. Even while they were working, he was aware that she watched when he left to check something in his office or fetch another case or keg from the storeroom and waited for him to come back.

It wasn’t that she liked it. He could tell she chafed at it, frustrated with her own dependence. He’d seen her dress to run, make more of her stretching routine than it needed, then pace, glaring at the door, until he finally, gently, asked her if she wanted him to go out with her. She’d looked haunted as she’d silently nodded yes.

He wanted more, but he hadn’t taken it. He’d been biding his time, waiting for her to get stronger, feel safer. Waiting for his buddies to forget what it had felt like to be inside her.

Pretending to himself about that last, it was now obvious. Jace and Clay had both just made clear they hadn’t forgotten a damn thing.

Well, neither had he.

So he didn’t sit down this time, waiting for her to wake like he was her damn puppy. He stood over her, using the pent-up energy of a week’s worth of sexual frustration to rouse her. It didn’t take long.

She no longer woke with a start. She was curled on her side and opened her eyes gently, looking to the chair where he normally sat. When she didn’t find him, she gave a little sigh and tilted to her back. It was then that she caught sight of him—looming. In the midst of a sexy, cat-like stretch, she stilled.

Her eyes grew round as she took him in, but he swore—
swore
—it wasn’t in fear. He put out his hand, and, with just the smallest hesitation, she placed hers in it and let him help her up. He kept hold as they stood face to face. With a step forward and a little pressure on her hand, he backed her up against the cedar shakes that sided his building. He tucked a hand under her hair to cup her head, using his thumb along her jaw to raise her face to his. Fully pressed against her, he let her feel his erection, and then he leaned in to kiss her.