Through the Fire (3 page)

Quinn stood there for a minute until he saw lights in the third-floor window slide through the slats of the blinds. He made a note to himself, then headed back to the club to retrieve his Jeep.

Rae watched his departure from the darkened window of her bedroom and knew with certainty that Quinten Parker might be walking away, but he would be back. She didn’t know how she knew it, she just did.

Q
uinn moved slowly through his apartment, the warmth of a new day bouncing off the plants in the window.

The spacious rooms seemed more empty than usual today, now that Jamel was back in San Francisco with his mother. He’d grown accustomed to Jamel’s early morning wake-up call of “Daddy, I’m hungry.” He smiled, pulling sheets off the bed for the laundry, while promising himself that he would call his son later in the day.

He shoved the sheets then damp towels in a laundry bag and set it by the door. It was good having someone in your life, he grudgingly admitted, hauling the bag down the stairs and out to his Jeep, hoping to slide under Mrs. Finch’s radar before she snagged him for some errand or another. He turned the key and the soothing hum of the engine vibrated beneath him.

He missed having someone to look out for, care about, someone he could come home to and share his day with. He’d always been a loner, content to do his thing by himself. Until he’d met Nikita. She’d changed all that for him. And after he’d lost her, he knew without a doubt that he’d never have those feelings again, those needs again. But having his son with him had relit the fire that had been doused by pain and disillusionment, and meeting Rae Lindsay had been like tossing kindling on the smoldering flames. But was he truly ready to walk through the fire to the promise of possibility on the other side? He was no longer sure if he knew how.

Rae sat on the piano bench, her nimble fingers tinkering with the keys. A new arrange
ment of notes for a song had haunted her throughout the night. Several times she’d gotten out of bed and found her way to the baby grand that sat like a Buddha in the center of her living room. The melody would come to her in bursts, then fade, and she would stumble back to bed only to be magnetically drawn back moments later.

It was always this way with her—this creative thing that she could not control. Sometimes it would creep up on her like a thief stealing all conscious thought, only leaving behind the seed of challenge.
Catch me. Capture me. Expose me for all the world to see and hear.
And she would be compelled to create. Compelled to play. Twist the standard notes into something never before heard. Write the words that would echo in hearts and minds for always.

She was in that space now—the zone, where nothing else mattered beyond this thing as necessary to her life as breathing. And between each note, each turn of phrase, she remembered her evening with Quinn Parker, and knew it was he who was the catalyst for this roller-coaster ride she was on.

Rae rose stiffly from the bench and arched her back to loosen the kinks that gripped her spine. Her gaze drifted toward the window. The world moved in a steady hum on the other side of the glass—removed from her—the way she always felt—disconnected. Except yesterday, for the first time in longer than she could remember.

She’d buried herself so deeply in her work these past three years, she didn’t allow herself time to think, to feel, to experience life around her. She’d been too afraid. So she surrounded herself with her music, musicians, friends, anything to keep the memories at bay, her guilt under wraps. Her music, her lyrics became the cocoon that protected her. But somehow meeting Quinn had weakened the protective covering, leaving her tender insides exposed and vulnerable. She wasn’t sure how he was able to accomplish what so many had tried and failed to do. But he had.

Rae wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, as if the action could somehow contain the brewing emotions, the awakening of sensations that bubbled with life within her.

His eyes—dark, soulful, full of seeing too
much. His mouth—rich, sculpted, and tender. His voice—like the roll of waves rushing to the shore, carrying a unique rhythm with each ebb and flow. She felt him. Something she’d been unable to do for far too long. Yes, she talked a good game, saying all the right things in all the right places. She’d heard the words “tomorrow will be better,” “move on with your life,” and she’d started repeating them, like a parrot learning to speak. The words tumbled through her mind so often that she almost believed them. Almost.

She crossed the room to look upon the comings and goings below. Was Quinn among them, moving through life much as she, there but not?

And then all at once, he
was
there, stepping out of his Jeep as smoothly as silk blowing in a spring breeze. Her heart hammered. Her hand flew to her mouth and then to her head when she visualized the state it was in. She spun in a quick circle and was halted in motion at the sound of the downstairs bell. Her entire body jerked as if zapped with electric current.

Maybe she should just tiptoe back to her
bedroom and hide out until he went away. She cupped her hand to her mouth and realized she hadn’t brushed her teeth.

The bell rang again. She almost hollered this time.

“Damn.”

She took two steps of indecision and a quick sniff of her unwashed underarms. “Passable,” she mumbled and stomped barefoot to the intercom.

“Who?” she asked innocently.

“Quinn. Quinn Parker.”

Rae squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed the button marked Door, releasing the front lock. “Damn, damn, damn.”

Quinn pushed open the heavy wood-and-glass door and wondered how in the hell he’d wound up in front of Rae’s building instead of at the laundry as he’d intended—where he belonged. His plan was to do laundry, the very same laundry that sat in a heap on the backseat.

Slowly he climbed the stairs. What would he tell the woman when she opened the door? What explanation could he offer the inquiring if not offended look she would toss his way?
He wasn’t sure. The only thing he was certain of was that something stronger than his will had pulled him there. And there was nothing he could have done about this particular itch but scratch it.

He reached the third floor and had a choice of two apartments. Remembering the lights from the night before, he headed for the one facing the front.

Quinn tugged in a long breath, hoped that something that made sense would come out of his mouth, and pressed the square-shaped bell.

Rae jumped again at least an inch off the floor. She stomped her feet as if running in place, squeezed her hands into fists, then reached for the door with all the poise of a runway model. Her heart galloped at breakneck speed. All she could think about was her disarray, her rumpled clothes and what he would think of her. Why couldn’t he turn up when she had her act together, her hair done, makeup in place and the perfect outfit hugging her body?

When Quinn stood before her, bold, black and beautiful, framed in the doorway as perfectly as by an artist’s hand—she couldn’t remember why
she’d been so afraid. This—whatever it was that was happening between them—was inevitable, as inevitable as the sun setting and the moon rising. And if she thought for a moment that she could stop it, she was a fool.

I
t wasn’t a dream, Quinten thought as he stood in front of Rae. It wasn’t something he’d wistfully imagined. She was real, flesh and blood—full of possibility. Through the night he’d thought of her, heard her poetic voice calling out to him, saw the way she held her head at a just-so angle, her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes and the sadness that could suddenly creep into her voice. She’d haunted him, awakened him with emotions he was certain he was no longer
capable of feeling for anyone other than his son: the inkling of joy, the tingle of anticipation.

He pursed his lips before speaking and Rae felt her stomach tumble.

“I know it’s not cool to just show up, but I was thinkin’ about you. About last night and—”

“It’s okay. Come in,” she said so gently it sounded like a lullaby to Quinn’s ears.

He stepped past her, and the thoroughly male scent of him reached out and caressed her, stroking her body like a tender lover. She almost moaned.

Quinn stepped into the foyer and turned to face Rae, who still stood in the archway.

Soft curves defined the pale blue cotton pants that hung low on her rounded hips, exposing a warm brown belly, with faint traces of the child she once carried. The white band that covered her breasts only drew his attention to them—full, ripe. His manhood jerked, as aware as he. Quinn turned away.

Rae tried to collect herself. But the back of him was just as alluring as the front. His locks, bound in a black band at the nape of his neck, cut a path down the center of his back, in sharp
contrast to the white T-shirt that barely contained the cut of hard muscle. The black jeans hugged him in all the right places, outlining the solid thighs and long, slightly, bowed legs. Her nipples stood at attention. Slowly he turned toward her.

“I was just getting myself together.” She laughed nervously, feeling a sudden pulse between her thighs. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” She headed toward her bedroom, stopped, turned, and collided with his unwavering stare. For an instant she forgot what was on her mind.

He smiled slowly. “Nice…place.”

Rae swallowed. “Thanks. Would you like something to drink before I dash off?”

“If it’s cool, just point me toward the kitchen. I’m pretty handy.” He grinned, flashing perfect teeth and that killer smile that graced his book jackets and CD covers.

“Second door on the right.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

She watched him saunter toward the kitchen before making a mad dash to her bedroom.

An audible sigh wafted around Rae as she shut her bedroom door behind her. She closed
her eyes. Quinn Parker was standing in her living room. Now what was she going to do?

She glanced up and caught a peek at her disheveled self in the dresser mirror. “Oh, Lawd!” She jetted off to the bathroom.

After a lightning-fast shower with her favorite bath gel, some oil spritz for her short twists, a dash of lip gloss for her mouth, she was almost ready. She pulled on an African-print wrap skirt that she tied at the waist, and a sleeveless tank top in burnt orange that matched the bold bronzes, emerald greens, and sunshine yellows of her ankle-length skirt. She dabbed some China musk body oil at her wrists and the pulse at the base of her throat.

Rae spun toward the mirror, didn’t dare look too long, certain that she would find some flaw, some fault. She hauled in a breath, made a silent vow to play it cool, then stepped back into the front room, fully expecting her surprise guest to be hovering around anticipating her return.

Quinn was missing in action.

Then she heard sounds coming from the kitchen. She eased toward the door, a serious
frown on her face, trying to imagine what in the world he was doing.

When she arrived at the threshold, she was taken aback to see Quinn moving comfortably around in her kitchen as if fixing breakfast in her space was something he always did.

He’d prepared a tray of toasted bagels and another with jelly, vegetable cream cheese, and butter. Somehow he’d found her glass carafe—a wedding gift she thought she’d lost—and filled it with orange juice. The scent of brewing coffee assaulted her senses, and her stomach shouted out in hunger. Rae wasn’t sure if she should be pissed off at his audacity in just taking over her kitchen, or totally charmed by his thoughtfulness.

She folded her arms, her braless breasts resting comfortably on them. “I see you found everything you needed.” She rested her right hip against the frame in the doorway.

Quinn glanced over his shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind. I figured after the late night—” he shrugged “—maybe you took your time about movin’ into your morning.” He smiled slow and lazy. “Hungry?”

Rae felt the grin spread helplessly across her mouth. “Starved.”

“Have a seat. Breakfast is served.”

Amusement danced in her eyes as she took a seat.

“Are you always this considerate, or is this a new millennium come-on?” Rae quizzed over bites of bagel lathered in cream cheese.

Quinn hooked his legs around the spindles of the kitchen stool as he leaned over the counter to refill his juice. He chuckled halfheartedly. “Tell ya the truth, I don’t know. I guess I’d like to think I am a considerate guy. No doubt. Isn’t that what you women want these days?” he taunted playfully. “Rugged on the outside with a soft center.”

“So this
is
just some fancy come-on,” she teased in return, reaching for a bagel and brushing the tips of Quinn’s retreating fingers.

Their gazes found each other for a hot instant.

“I guess it’s been a while since I did anything for anyone else, or since I cared enough to bother.” He lowered his gaze, shielding himself from her.

Understanding that kind of aloneness, the
depths to which it could pull you, momentarily sealed Rae’s lips. She wanted, as always, for her words to matter. Not give him a pat response from the plethora of self-healing dictums.

“I was working on a new piece,” Rae said gently, steering them away from the dark waters. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Sure.”

They left the remains of their late breakfast and went into the living room. Lovingly Quinn’s eyes roamed across the smooth wood surface of the magnificent piano, the only piece of furniture in the cavernous room. His mouth nearly watered in appreciation for the beauty—knowing the kind of sound that could be drawn from it. To him, playing piano was so much like making love to a woman. You had to know and understand each and every key and what it was capable of doing if touched just right—the high and low notes, the trills that could be emitted with several well-placed finger strokes. It was too intimate, too personal, and he wanted to be neither.

Quinn noticed the pile of body-size pillows stacked in the corners. He walked over and
made himself comfortable, half sitting, half reclining like a satisfied cat.

That did it, Rae realized. If there was anything to convince her that this was a man after her soul, Quinn’s behavior sealed it. Everyone who’d crossed her threshold always commented about her lack of furniture, the echo in the room, her lackadaisical attitude about “fixing the place up.” Not Quinn. He was just as at home as if it had been his. He looked as if he belonged there.

Rae stepped over to the baby grand and took a seat. She glanced over her shoulder. “This is still rough,” she said as a preamble.

“Hey, unless you’re Stevie Wonder or Prince, it takes a minute to write some music.”

Rae chuckled in agreement. “If only,” she uttered on a puff of laughter, her confidence boosted by his simple observation.

She flipped the sheets of music to the beginning, pulled in a breath, and exhaled a melody. Her fingers taunted the keys with sharp, sudden chords, played along its spine like a rock skimming water, barely touching but enough to make it ripple. Then her voice slid between jazz and hip-hop, blues and easy listening.

“…so afraid that time won’t erase what I feel for you.

It was as if she’d written every word for him, as if she’d seen inside his heart, his soul, and created the words that he dared not speak, Quinn thought, stunned by the effect the lyrics were having on him—stirring images, emotions, dreams long denied. His throat tightened, the warmth flowing through him as he allowed the rhythm of the words to grab hold of him, seep into his pores. He fully understood that they’d seen the same emotions, shared the same fears. And the realization shook him.

Rae’s strong alto rose to a tingling crescendo, raising the hair on Quinn’s arms, swooped down to massage his belly, then gently faded, leaving a whisper of its scent behind.

Rae lowered her head, feeling spent as if she’d
just made passionate love. The words had flowed from her unbidden, taking her by surprise, keeping time with the notes she’d created.

Neither spoke, each silently acknowledging the significance of the moment. Everything had just been said.

Rae felt the heat of him directly behind her, tenderly wrap around her to hold her close. She gave in to the embrace, shut her eyes, and rejoiced in the sensation of being held by someone who truly understood.

“Have you let go?” Quinn asked in a ragged whisper, coming around to sit beside her, not fully understanding why he’d suddenly held her like that. But he seemed to need the contact of warm flesh against warm flesh as much as he believed she did.

“Some days are better than others.”

“Yeah. No doubt.” He dragged in a breath and found her eyes, which had filled with tears that flowed onto her cheeks. With the pad of his thumb he gently brushed them away.

Rae smiled weakly. “Why are you here, Quinn?” Her eyes dragged over his face, memorizing the contours, the sweep of his brows,
the depth of his dark eyes, the perfect symmetry of his lips, the smooth chocolate of his skin. She wanted to touch him, taste him, have him hold her again, and her hold him back. She wanted to lie with him, have his fingers awaken her flesh. She wanted to feel him inside of her, if only for a moment, just long enough to remember what it felt like to be a woman. She hadn’t wanted that with anyone for so long. Couldn’t bear the thought of a man other than her husband touching her. But Sterling was gone. She was still here. She was still alone, still afraid—even now when the man who’d made her blood heat again was mere inches away. And she didn’t want to be those things anymore—alone and lonely—at least for a few precious moments.

“I’m not sure why I came, Rae,” Quinn finally answered. “All I know is that I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you all night. I woke up this morning and you were here.” He tapped his temple. “Right there in my head, messin’ with my mind.”

There was a sense of wonder on Rae’s face as she watched him confess. She’d felt the
same way—all night, as she’d walked the floors and the music taunted her. “I didn’t expect this.”

He laughed self-consciously and tossed it off, getting up and moving away from her. He walked to the window, keeping his back to her, gathering his emotions back into the tight band that held them in place and out of reach.

“What do you want from me?” she asked gently.

He hesitated a moment, not sure of just how far he wanted the door to be pushed open. “I don’t know. Maybe everything—too much. Maybe nothing. I don’t know if anyone can give me what I’m looking for.”

“What
are
you looking for, Quinn?”

“Peace, absolution, my soul back.” He took a breath, exhaling. “I’m just tired…” He pressed his hand against the window frame, bracing his weight against it.

“Tired of what?” she asked, stepping up behind him and placing a hand on his stiff shoulder.

“Tired of hurting inside,” he answered wearily. “Tired of feelin’ I got a raw deal from
life.” He moved out of her reach. The door had been pushed open too far.

Rae watched him, trying to see what he was trying so desperately to hide. Was he like the others who came at her with soft, sweet words, promises, and damaged souls, expecting her to heal them? She wondered if Quinn was worth the trouble. Something unnamed told her that he was.

“I’ve been there,” she confessed. “Still there at times. But we find a way to move on.”

“By what, forgetting?” He turned toward her, his eyes suddenly dark and dangerous.

“I don’t have all the answers. I may never have them. All I can believe in is that healing takes time. It’ll happen for you.” She needed to believe that as much as he did.

His jaw clenched. “What makes you think you know so much about me?” he demanded, suddenly irrationally angry, defensive.

“Your eyes,” she said simply, unafraid of his unwarranted attack. “It’s all there. The windows to the soul.” She smiled softly and crossed the room, sat down on a pillow and continued. “If you ever decided to play again, it would be there as well. And that’s not always
a bad thing. Listen to the blues. It’s the heart of ache and loss that gives it the richness and depth, which makes it touch something inside us.” She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into his stormy eyes.

Quietly he appraised her, and realized why he was so angry with her. He was afraid of her, afraid of her ability to see beyond his shell, to peel it away and expose him. And his greatest fear was that they would both discover that there was nothing inside.