Quinn's Woman (25 page)

“You probably have time for a shower,” he continued. “There’s shampoo by the tub. None of that girly stuff, though. This is macho shampoo.”

She guessed the answer to her question was no. He didn’t see the need. Which both pleased and terrified her.

She didn’t want to get up and walk past him, what with being naked and all, but she really had to go to the bathroom. So she threw back the covers and stood up. As she walked by Quinn, he reached out and took her hand. He kissed her palm, then smiled at her.

“Thank you,” he said.

That was all. Just thanks.

Her chest got tight, but not in a panic-attack sort of way. Her heartbeat got weird, too, and her skin felt all prickly. She bent down and hugged him.

“Quinn, I –”

But then she didn’t know what to say. He stroked her cheek.

“I know, Daisy Jane. Me, too. Now go take your shower.”

She straightened and headed for the bathroom. While she had no idea what she’d been saying, or what he’d agreed with, she felt happy and giddy and light enough to fly. She didn’t even have to look out the window and check the weather to know it was going to be a very good day.

“We had sex,” D.J. said as she paced the length of Rebecca’s kitchen.

Her friend smiled at her. “How was it? I would think that Quinn’s finely honed hunter instincts would play very nicely in the bedroom.”

D.J. glared at Rebecca. “This isn’t funny. We’re talking about my life here.”

“If we can’t find humor in our lives, what’s left?”

D.J. shook her head. “I know. I’m being completely horrible and irrational, but if you knew what had happened. I mean what really happened.” She stopped and pressed her lips together.

She didn’t want to say anymore. There was no way she could confess the truth about everything. Not even to her best friend. But without some details, Rebecca wouldn’t get how terrible everything was. How out of sorts she, D.J., felt.

She sucked in a breath and braced herself. “I cried.”

Rebecca sat at the kitchen table and sipped her morning coffee. When she heard D.J.’s confession, she merely set down her mug and said, “Oh?”

D.J. stomped her foot. ‘“Oh?’ That’s it? I cried. Me. The emotionless one. The fighter. The brave, brash, fearless one. I sobbed my heart out and then we had sex right there on the bathroom counter.”

“What I really want to know is, wasn’t it cold to sit on tile, but I won’t ask. I can see that wasn’t your point.”

D.J. felt like screaming. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t figure out what the big deal is. We all cry.”

“Not me. Not ever. And certainly not in front of some guy.”

Rebecca rose and crossed to stand in front of her. “Quinn isn’t ‘some guy.’ He’s special. You care about him. You trust him. You’re in love with him.” She sighed. “Finally. I’d wondered if you would ever find the right one and you have. I think it’s wonderful.”

D.J.’s mind froze. Five words repeated themselves over and over in her sluggish brain as the icy cold seeped into her body.

You’re in love with him.

In love? With a man? With the enemy?

“No way. Not now, not ever.”

Rebecca shrugged. “Sorry. Even you don’t get to pick and choose when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Panic threatened, which was the last thing she needed. She already felt more fragile than a china doll. “I can’t.”

“You do. And for what it’s worth, I think you picked a great guy. Quinn is the right match for you. He’s tough enough that you won’t be able to walk all over him, but he’s also tender and caring. You two have a lot in common. In fact, he’s perfect. For you, I mean.”

D.J. felt as if she’d been gut shot. She pressed a hand against her stomach and took an unsteady step back. Love?

“No,” she said, and grabbed her keys. “I have to go.”

“Wait,” Rebecca called. “Don’t be afraid. He’s not going to hurt you. D.J.!”

D.J. was already running toward her SUV. When she reached it, she ducked inside and quickly started the engine. Love? No. She would never risk it. She couldn’t. Not with a man like Quinn – a man who was faster, stronger and five times more deadly.

D.J. swung her foot out and connected with Quinn’s arm. He was surprised by the force in the blow, but didn’t say anything. She’d been edgy ever since he’d shown up for their practice, and after what they’d shared two nights ago, he couldn’t blame her. He, too, was still trying to adjust to what had happened.

He’d set out to seduce her and he’d had high hopes for a night of hot sex. What he hadn’t expected was the intimacy of sharing that with her.

They’d connected on a level he’d never experienced before. If he was still putting all the pieces together, it made sense that D.J. was having the same problem.

She’d stayed for breakfast the previous morning and then had left. He hadn’t seen her since. Last night he’d wondered if he should go talk to her, but he’d wanted to give her time. So he’d waited until their scheduled session this morning to see her.

She shifted her weight and kicked out again. This time he sidestepped the attack and she tumbled onto the mats. He bent over and offered his hand. She ignored the gesture, climbing to her feet by herself.

Typical, he thought, more amused than annoyed. When in doubt, retreat. It was a tactic he used himself, although he’d never had a chance to in matters of the heart. He’d never cared before. Still, with D.J.’s fears and her past, he understood her need to be wary. He understood a whole lot more than she knew. He’d even understood her tears.

They had touched him more than anything. More than her willingness to enjoy making love, more than her pleasure and the way she’d lost herself to passion. Her tears had been a reaction to years of holding herself apart. They’d exposed the vulnerability of her heart. He’d held her because he’d needed to be close as much as she had. All these years he’d wondered if he would find someone who could understand and accept him. He didn’t care that she’d turned out to be prickly, difficult and scarred. He was scarred, too. They could heal together.

She circled around him and faked another kick, then punched with her right arm. The blow connected with his midsection. She might be a woman and at a disadvantage when it came to upper-body strength, but she punched like a guy.

As the air rushed out of his lungs, he took a step back. D.J. moved in closer and punched again. This time he batted her arm around. She turned and kicked.

During practice sessions she was always focused and determined. She never quit, never slacked off. But this was different. He had the feeling she was out for blood.

“We’re done,” he said, stepping off the mat.

“What? Why are you stopping? We’re not through.”

“I am.”

He crossed to the small refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. Her reaction shouldn’t surprise him. After what they’d shared, he’d thought she would back off. But not this much. He couldn’t help being disappointed.

“It’s because I’m getting good, isn’t it?” she taunted. “You can’t stand that.”

He glanced at her. She stood in the center of the mats, her hands on her hips. He recognized the symptoms. She was flushed, bouncing with energy and ready for a fight.

“You’re not here for a lesson,” he said. “You’re here because you’re angry. Probably more with yourself than me, but I’m the easier target.”

“I didn’t realize you had a degree in psychology,” she sneered. “Thanks for the analysis. So you’re a gentleman killer. How new century.”

He unscrewed the top on the water bottle and took a long drink. The action gave him time to assess the damage her emotional hit had inflicted. Because after all this time, she knew exactly where to send in the warhead.

He was a killer. He could cover the truth with fancy words and patriotic stories, but that was the truth he couldn’t escape.

“I’m out of here,” he said, heading for the door.

“Because you can’t stay to fight? What’s the problem, Quinn? Afraid? But I’m just a girl. I can’t be that much of a challenge for a professional like you. Come on, big guy. You can take me.”

He stopped and faced her. “Why are you doing this? We had something amazing, D.J. Why do you want to destroy it?”

She walked toward him. “What I want to do is kick your butt. I want to beat you. I want to make you admit that I’m better.”

She wasn’t. She couldn’t be, and they both knew it. So what the hell was going on?

Before he could decide what to do, she came at him. He shifted and batted away her kick. She tried to punch him. He put up his arm to block her just as she dropped her hands, and he accidentally came within inches of hitting her in the face.

Instantly he swore and stepped back. “What the hell was that?” he asked, feeling set up. “What are you playing at?” She’d deliberately faked him out, but why? So he would hurt her?

“Hit me,” she yelled. “You know you want to.” She rose on her toes and leaned toward him. “Do it.”

He couldn’t have been more horrified if she’d shot him. He swore silently and took another step back. Whatever this game was, he didn’t want a part of it.

“Hit me!” she screamed.

And then he knew. All of it. The fury, the fear, the need to lash out and why he had to be the enemy. With the knowledge came sadness and a sense of loss. Both were bitter and metallic on his tongue, like blood.

He’d thought, he’d hoped...but he’d been wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, his voice quiet.

She practically vibrated with rage. “Don’t be sorry, you bastard. Just do it!”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I won’t. But all of this –” He motioned to her, then to the room. “It’s my fault. I thought if you saw what we could be like together, that it would be enough. But it’s not. I can’t fight your ghosts, D.J. And you won’t.”

“What the hell are you babbling about?”

“You. Us. Night before last we connected in a way that shook both of us.”

She rolled her eyes. “In your dreams.”

He ignored her. “I’m scared, too, but the difference is, I don’t want to walk away from it. I’m willing to say that you matter to me. That we matter. That there’s something special here.”

“There’s nothing here,” she yelled. “Nothing.”

“You’re right,” he said. “My mistake.”

He reached out and took her hand in his. She tried to twist away, but he wouldn’t let her. Still he was careful not to hurt her.

“You want me to hit you,” he said, “because if I do, you can walk away. If I hit you, then I’m just like the rest of them, and you’re right. You don’t have to care.”

He released her. “I’m going to make it easy on you, D.J. I’m not going to make you face your demons. I’m going to leave.”

“Coward.”

He shook his head. “Funny how all this time I worried about being good enough for you. I never saw you weren’t good enough for me.”

She went white but didn’t speak.

He shrugged. Only a fool would expect more.

He started for the door, then paused and glanced back at her. “I haven’t been in a fight since I was fifteen, and I sure as hell never hit a woman. But you already know that. You know I would never hurt you. But that doesn’t matter because you made up your mind not to trust me before we even met. You won’t trust anyone, and I’m the worst of the bunch. I’m faster, stronger and better trained, and you aren’t willing to risk that.”

“You have no right to judge me,” she told him, her eyes narrowed, her mouth set. “You didn’t live my life.”

“You’re not that eleven-year-old little girl anymore. Can’t you see that?” He wondered why he was bothering. She wouldn’t listen. But for reasons that weren’t clear, he couldn’t stop trying.

“You live your life in a emotional plastic bubble,” he said. “No one gets in and you don’t get hurt. But is that a life? Is that what you want? I’m willing to walk away from what I’ve known and start over. Why aren’t you? I thought we could matter to each other. I thought we were each other’s perfect match. But you don’t want an equal. You want someone you can push around. You’ve lived in fear your entire life, avoiding men like your father. Well, guess what, D.J.? You haven’t avoided him enough. You’ve turned into him. You’re only interested in people you can bully, just like him.”

D.J. watched him walk away. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t go after him, couldn’t even breathe. Instead she sank to her knees as the blows that were his words attacked her. She felt ripped apart, exposed and left for dead. She curled up on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and trying not to let the pain overwhelm her.

He was wrong, she told herself as she squeezed her eyes shut. He was wrong. About all of it. Most especially about her.

But there were too many fragments of truth for her to ignore. Too many whispers that he might be right. Too much shame for her to turn her back. Quinn had held a mirror up to her psyche, and she was stunned to find someone she hated staring back at her.

“My father used to beat me and my mother,” D.J. said tonelessly, and recounted the story of her broken arm and the trip to the hospital. She spoke of how her mother had sent her to school the next day, then had killed her husband and herself.