The Sweet Under His Skin (38 page)

Quentin gave Calvin a wave, wondering what the kid's reaction was going to be to seeing him in Arielle's bed. Calvin grinned. "Are you having breakfast with us?"

Quentin swallowed hard and smiled. "You bet, Chuckles. Can’t think of anything else I’d want to do more, right now."

"Kale? What the fuck is kale?"

Quentin's tone mirrored her feelings exactly, but Arielle felt the need to not appear foolish. "I think it's a leafy vegetable."

"I doubt if anywhere in Portus Felix has fucking kale."

She had to laugh. "We can look. What else do we have to do?" Wrong thing to say. Such a terrible thing to say.

Quentin backed her into a shelf of organic cereal, dropped his voice obscenely low and grabbed her around her waist. "We have lots we can do at home, babe." Then he kissed her. Not a cute, peck-on-the-mouth-because-we're-in-a-public-place kiss. A hard, open-mouth lip lock with plenty of tongue that she was able to resist for maybe a full second before melting into it. She was grasping the edge of his vest, letting him do what he wanted with his hands and mouth when a voice cleared beside them.

The woman standing next to them was a stranger, thank God. And apparently they were making out on the cereal she wanted. Arielle felt her face go red and she pushed Quentin away. With a chuckle he backed off, hooking his arm around her neck and pulling her down the aisle with him.

She tugged the grocery list out of his hand, desperate to change the subject. "Okay. I'm pretty sure these are all meant to be fresh, so we need to go to the produce department." He wordlessly let her lead the way. "Can you go and find me broccoli and leeks?" she asked. "I'll find the kale."

"What the fuck is a leek?"

She sighed. "Broccoli?"

"Okay." He wandered off, looking so remarkably out of place in an organic produce department she had to stop and watch him. Dark jeans, dark shirt, leather vest with that frightening patch on the back, weaving between bins of tomatoes and apples holding a wire basket. He looked back over his shoulder at her, and he raised an eyebrow. "You checking me out?"

She shook her head, cheeks coloring, and headed for the lettuces. They did have kale. Then she found leeks and headed for the fruit bins.

The list in her hand was supplied by T-bone. He was a bit of a health nut, and he'd come up with a few things Arielle had to eat every day to up her antioxidants and cancer-fighting juju. She had no idea if it would work, but who could go through life avoiding fruits and vegetables?

She was picking through the pears when she heard her name and turned, hand freezing and brain running out of operational capacity. So she just stared at Doctor Foster for a moment, blinking and trying to form some kind of greeting. "Doctor Foster," she stammered out eventually. "Hi." He smiled, and she dropped the pear in her hand in the paper bag she was holding.

"Arielle, it's good to see you again. Doing a bit of grocery shopping?"

"Uh, yeah," she replied, setting the few bags she held on the edge of the pear bin and turning to him. "You too, I see."

"Yeah." Doctor Foster, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease in an organic produce selection in jeans, loafers, sports blazer and a V-neck T-shirt. He was nodding and smiling in a way that made Arielle wish that men would start ignoring her again.

"So…" she began, unsure where to go next, when an arm wrapped around her belly from behind and the familiar smell of leather and pure man, hit her nose a moment before she was leaning against the body behind her.

"Arielle," Quentin said from behind her. "Introduce me to your friend."

"Oh. Um, Quentin, this is Doctor Foster. He was overseeing my radiation treatments. Doctor Foster, this is Quentin--"

It was amazing she kept talking, because as soon as she said "Doctor Foster" the first time, Quentin let her go, yanked her behind him and took a few very purposeful strides toward Doctor Foster, who seemed to shrink away. Arielle was stunned. Her mouth was open but she'd run out of words, apparently.

"This the Doctor that put his hands and mouth on you?" She felt herself go cold, just a bit. How the hell...? Mandy. The only explanation.

"Th-That, that was a mistake. I apologized."

Arielle was somewhat impressed the doctor was able to talk. Because although she couldn't see Quentin's face, she knew by his tone it could likely be described as arctic. And Doctor Foster was staring at Quentin like he was waiting to get hit.

"Quentin—" she began, grabbing his arm.

"You're a fucking doctor. I may not be that smart, but I'm pretty sure making moves on a cancer patient is an especially shitty thing to do."

"Quentin," she repeated, voice stern. Doctor Foster just gaped.

"After all, you had your hands on her tits in a very professional manner, right? Did you think about her after? Imagine her letting you touch them and liking it?" The fact he could say such terrible things and make it sound like a normal conversation was likely one of the scariest things about him.

She darted around Quentin, facing him and pushing back on his chest. "Quentin, what are you doing?" She was pissed, and it was in her voice. His eyes lost their coldness somewhat when he looked down at her. "It happened. He stopped. I walked away. He didn't hurt me, he didn't hit me. I told him no and he listened. That's what a good person does."

Quentin's eyes went back over her head to the Doctor. "She's forgiven it, but I won't. Because I know how guys think. You so much as see her you walk the other way. You get me?"

Arielle was incredulous. "Quentin, I am not someone that you need to police like that."

He still wasn't looking at her. She turned, saw Doctor Foster backing away and nodding, not turning until he'd cleared a safe distance. Then she spun on Quentin, anger shaking her.

"I don't like that, Quentin," she snapped. "That embarrasses me. Like I can't control myself or something. And I don't need you scaring other people into minding their manners."

His free hand cupped her jaw, and as mad as she was it felt nice. "That was me being polite, babe. I wanted to hit him. I thought that would be worse."

"Of course that would be worse. He never even scared me. It just happened and he knew it was wrong, too."

Quentin's eyebrows went high. "He only stopped and apologized when he realized you weren't into it. If you'd kissed him back he'd have fucked you right then and there."

She reared back. "Don't talk like that."

Now his arm looped around her back. "You may not think a guy has that in his mind, but he does. The difference between me and him is that I'm fucking honest. Christ, Arielle, doesn't it bother you he did that? Is this the guy you went to when you found the lumps?"

"Yes."

"Is this the guy that felt them, confirmed that you needed tests?"

"Yes."

"He saw you naked."

She bit her lip, still scowling. "Yes."

"And that's because you trusted him as your doctor?"

Her breath whooshed out all at once. "Yes."

"And then he dared to put his mouth on you?" She looked away, an uncomfortable stomach roll taking place right then. "He wanted to have sex with you," Quentin went on, censoring himself. "This isn't me going caveman on a guy that touched my woman. That's me reminding him that it's inappropriate, and losing his fucking job is the least that can happen to him. What if he's done it to some other girl? Think about how vulnerable someone in your situation is, Arielle. That's bullshit. I'm sorry, but it is."

The whole time she was getting more and more upset, so that when she looked at him again her eyes were wet and her lip trembled; she knew, she could feel it. "Shit," she whispered, and he pulled her tight against his chest.

"You've got so much sweet in you," he mumbled. "Every time I open your eyes I feel like I'm telling you there's no Tooth Fairy."

She laughed, wiping at her eyes and pulling away. "You're right. But that still embarrassed me."

He shook his head. "No reason to be embarrassed. It's him, not you. I'll never know why girls think they have to just put up with that kind of shit."

Arielle closed her eyes. Crude, rough, scary, and yet so insightful it nearly cut her too deep. The first time she'd ever seen Quentin Bayle she'd been terrified and dismissive. Now that all seemed ridiculous.

"Now let's see what else Doctor T-bone prescribed for my girl," he eventually said, rubbing her back.

"Raspberries," she said reflexively, wiping her eyes and adding the stuff she'd found to the wire basket still in his hand.

He took her hand. "Raspberries. Yeah, I know what those look like. C'mon."

"He actually thinks you throwing all this shit in a blender and drinking it is gonna make you want to live?" Quentin quipped. "Jesus Christ. He must be nuts."

Arielle was laughing, but he didn't worry that it was at him. She was making some kind of fruit and vegetable cocktail that he just knew was going to turn out to be the exact same color as shit. And it likely wouldn't taste any different.

"The fruit makes it taste better," she replied, putting the top on the blender.

He just shook his head. "Dunno, babe. I'll clear a path to the bathroom in case it all comes up on you." She hit the button and the blender started doing its noisy thing. Sure enough, it quickly turned into shit-colored liquid, and he shook his head. "You're not gonna drink that, are you?" he shouted over the noise.

She beamed at him, and he felt like a schmuck for it but he smiled back. She killed the appliance, popped the top and started pouring. "Speaking of my bathroom, I still haven't gotten a bill from those workers," she shared casually.

"Really?"

"Yeah." She set the blender top thing in the sink. "It's been a while. I'm still surprised they didn't ask for money up front."

Then she lifted the glass, and he started shaking his head again, probably wincing, too. "Arielle, you don't have to do this."

"It's good for me," she insisted, glass at her mouth. Then she took a mouthful.

Quentin waited, somewhat horrified and yet terribly curious, too. She brought the glass down and immediately made a face, head jerking to the side. "Oh my God that's awful," she sputtered.

He couldn't help it; he cut up, bent over double. "I knew it would taste like shit," he cackled.

She fought to swallow, almost choking because she was laughing, too. "Oh God, it's like eating dirt out of the garden."

"Can't you taste the fruit in it?" he teased with a smirk, reaching for the glass. She let him take it and he gave it a sniff, then pulled a face of his own. "Fuck, Arielle, that even smells disgusting. I'm impressed you swallowed that." He couldn't help it, that last statement made him grin wider and waggle his eyebrows. "Good to know for future reference."

"Shut up," she muttered, still smiling, reaching for the shit milkshake.

"Just dump it," he recommended seriously.

"It's medicine," she insisted as he held the glass across to the other side of his body, hand on her stomach to keep her away from it. "I'll plug my nose and drink it fast."

"Don't torture yourself. Smoke a joint and I'll order you pizza instead."

"Later," she laughed, still trying to take back the drink playfully. Little woman had him too figured out. She reached into his kutte, tickling his side. He shouted, and rather than drop the evil concoction in his hand he gave it back to her. "You just bought me two-hundred dollars in organic groceries. I'm not dumping it down the drain."

He folded his arms, leaned on the counter and crossed one ankle over the other. "Go for it. This I gotta see." She did exactly what she said she'd do; she plugged her nose, threw her head back and chugged that crap all at one go, eyes up to the ceiling, wincing the entire time. Then she slammed the glass down and made so many faces of disgust he wished he had a fucking camera. "Feel better?" he asked.

"No," she coughed, covering her mouth and closing her eyes.

"Gonna puke?"

She didn't answer right away, and he had a hand on her shoulder just in case it came back up on her. After a pause she opened her eyes again, shaking her head. "I'm fine. It's staying down."

She reached over to turn the taps on, and he stopped her hands. "You said you were tired."

"I am."

"Then go sleep. I'll clean this up."

"No, Quentin, it's my mess—"

He cut her off by putting his hand to the front of her throat, making her look at him. "Arielle, babe. Go get your sleep."

Her eyes studied him, then she smiled and he felt that same
pussied
-out tremor again. "Okay. Thanks, Quentin."

He gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then turned her to the hall and swatted her butt to send her on her way. That tremor came again as she giggled then rounded the corner out of sight.

Complete and total sap over that girl. Admitted, no shame about it.

He washed her dishes, left them drying in the rack then flipped his phone open, stepping out on the deck to place the call to Henderson. Maybe that bill for the reno got lost in the mail. He'd hate to think collections might be coming after them because the post office fucked-up.

The assistant put him through to Henderson's office. No small talk needed. "Hey, it's Quentin. My neighbor never got her bill for that reno work your guys did. Are they usually four weeks behind on paperwork?"

"Wow. Your ears must have been burning."

"What?"

"Her landlord. I sent him the bill directly, since it should be him paying for the work. It came back as undeliverable mail. The PO Box had been canceled. So I did another search on the guy's name. He's in Shanksville. I checked with land titles there and they've got him listed as the owner of five properties. One of them's an apartment building."

"Yeah? So what?"

"Well, Shanksville is trying to find the guy. Turns out he lets his places fall into such disrepair that people report him to the housing authority. Does it on purpose."

"Why?"

Henderson exhaled. "If you're reported as a slumlord the bank can freeze your mortgage, forcing you to renovate and not requiring mortgage payments for that time period."