her sleep, but last night, the dreams had been intense.
Jumping back and forth between dreams of the hot and sweaty variety, featuring none other than the very kissable Quinn Rafferty, to the same nightmares that had plagued her for more than two years.
Troubled, she studied the fading bruise on her wrist. It was still a little sore, and it had that mottled blue and purple rainbow thing going on. Staring at it, she knew she shouldn’t find it so hard to make herself stay away from Quinn.
Sexy brooders . . . they were dangerous. She knew that, and Quinn was redefining sexy brooder .
She barely knew him, yet she found herself dreaming about him. Thinking about him. Wondering what it was that had caused the pain and sadness she so often saw inside him.
He was good-looking, but she’d known plenty of good-looking men. They had spoken a few times and none of the conversations had lasted more than a few minutes.
So why couldn’t she get him out of her mind?
Those erotic, hot dreams from the previous night shouldn’t have her so unsettled.
He shouldn’t have her so unsettled.
“ Can’t? Or don’t want to? ” Quinn had asked.
Man, if that guy had any idea just how much she’d love to have the complication of him in her life . . . Even if it was just a quick, torrid affair. Hell, a fricking one-night stand, even. She’d been living without the things she wanted, the things she needed for so long, she yearned for the chance to reach out and take, gobble up any and every indulgence she could have.
Spending a night under Quinn Rafferty would be one hell of an indulgence, she already knew.
Too dangerous, though. He was too dangerous. She’d recognized that almost from the beginning. If she’d been smart, if she wasn’t so damned tired of running, she would have already left St. Louis.
Left Quinn behind before he could become a threat.
“Too late,” she muttered morosely. He was already a threat, just not the kind of threat that she was used to avoiding. He was a threat to her sanity, to her heart. He’d gotten to her. The first time she’d looked at him, she’d thought wounded warrior and she’d been right. He had scars on his soul. Wounds that still struggled to heal.
She wanted to help.
Wanted to stroke, comfort, soothe . . . and then she wanted to strip that long, rangy body naked and ride him until neither of them could take any more.
She suspected she could get lost in him.
It was a luxury she didn’t have and some of the darker dreams from last night had driven that fact home hard. Very hard. She squeezed her eyes closed as one of the more vicious scenes from the nightmares danced through her head. Fists clenched. Bruises, blood, and screams. The echo of a low, ugly voice that promised more pain the next time.
Then the knife. She hadn’t even realized she was holding it . . . “What are you going to do with that knife?”
“Use it on you, if you come even a step closer.”
“You don’t have the guts.” He smiled as he said it.
“Take another step and we’ll see if I’ve got the guts or not.”
Her cell phone chirped out a little tune and she was strung so tight, she flinched at the sound. She reached across the table for it and flipped it open, called up the message. It was a phone number. Nothing else. No name.
“Four weeks already?” she muttered, glancing at the date on the phone display. Mentally she tallied the days in her head. Yep. Four weeks. Sighing, she repeated the number to herself, over and over, until she knew she had it memorized. Her memory was nearly photographic and even jumbled in with all the other phone numbers she’d memorized over the past two years, she knew she wouldn’t have any trouble committing this one to memory.
After she’d memorized it, she called the number and listened as a familiar voice came on the line.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Lose the phone soon.” Then, just like that, the phone went dead. Lowering it, Sara sighed and once more
Jumping back and forth between dreams of the hot and sweaty variety, featuring none other than the very kissable Quinn Rafferty, to the same nightmares that had plagued her for more than two years.
Troubled, she studied the fading bruise on her wrist. It was still a little sore, and it had that mottled blue and purple rainbow thing going on. Staring at it, she knew she shouldn’t find it so hard to make herself stay away from Quinn.
Sexy brooders . . . they were dangerous. She knew that, and Quinn was redefining sexy brooder .
She barely knew him, yet she found herself dreaming about him. Thinking about him. Wondering what it was that had caused the pain and sadness she so often saw inside him.
He was good-looking, but she’d known plenty of good-looking men. They had spoken a few times and none of the conversations had lasted more than a few minutes.
So why couldn’t she get him out of her mind?
Those erotic, hot dreams from the previous night shouldn’t have her so unsettled.
He shouldn’t have her so unsettled.
“ Can’t? Or don’t want to? ” Quinn had asked.
Man, if that guy had any idea just how much she’d love to have the complication of him in her life . . . Even if it was just a quick, torrid affair. Hell, a fricking one-night stand, even. She’d been living without the things she wanted, the things she needed for so long, she yearned for the chance to reach out and take, gobble up any and every indulgence she could have.
Spending a night under Quinn Rafferty would be one hell of an indulgence, she already knew.
Too dangerous, though. He was too dangerous. She’d recognized that almost from the beginning. If she’d been smart, if she wasn’t so damned tired of running, she would have already left St. Louis.
Left Quinn behind before he could become a threat.
“Too late,” she muttered morosely. He was already a threat, just not the kind of threat that she was used to avoiding. He was a threat to her sanity, to her heart. He’d gotten to her. The first time she’d looked at him, she’d thought wounded warrior and she’d been right. He had scars on his soul. Wounds that still struggled to heal.
She wanted to help.
Wanted to stroke, comfort, soothe . . . and then she wanted to strip that long, rangy body naked and ride him until neither of them could take any more.
She suspected she could get lost in him.
It was a luxury she didn’t have and some of the darker dreams from last night had driven that fact home hard. Very hard. She squeezed her eyes closed as one of the more vicious scenes from the nightmares danced through her head. Fists clenched. Bruises, blood, and screams. The echo of a low, ugly voice that promised more pain the next time.
Then the knife. She hadn’t even realized she was holding it . . . “What are you going to do with that knife?”
“Use it on you, if you come even a step closer.”
“You don’t have the guts.” He smiled as he said it.
“Take another step and we’ll see if I’ve got the guts or not.”
Her cell phone chirped out a little tune and she was strung so tight, she flinched at the sound. She reached across the table for it and flipped it open, called up the message. It was a phone number. Nothing else. No name.
“Four weeks already?” she muttered, glancing at the date on the phone display. Mentally she tallied the days in her head. Yep. Four weeks. Sighing, she repeated the number to herself, over and over, until she knew she had it memorized. Her memory was nearly photographic and even jumbled in with all the other phone numbers she’d memorized over the past two years, she knew she wouldn’t have any trouble committing this one to memory.
After she’d memorized it, she called the number and listened as a familiar voice came on the line.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Lose the phone soon.” Then, just like that, the phone went dead. Lowering it, Sara sighed and once more
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