had been women in his life, maybe too many. Especially when he was first making his name in the Octagon. Women liked fighters. And they particularly liked fighters who won. For a while there he’d gotten carried away with all the attention. Beautiful women everywhere he turned, his for the taking.
But even an endless chain of gorgeous women got old after a while. He started to see that to most of them, he was just a cheap thrill. And he wanted to be more than that to someone.
He found he wanted heart in a woman. He wanted someone he could talk to. He wanted real, gut-deep integrity. He wanted truth. He wanted a powerful connection.
Oh, and yeah. Brains and a sense of humor, too.
It wasn’t that there weren’t women out there with all that. It was just that most of them had no interest in a guy who still couldn’t read past about fourth-grade level, a guy who got bloodied and battered for a living. Plus, when he was fighting, it ate up his life. He didn’t have time to go looking for the one for him.
And then along came Annabelle. Her life, her happiness, her chance to grow up and take on the world—suddenly that was what mattered to him. To raise his little girl up right was more than enough. He didn’t need that special woman, after all.
Or so he’d believed until twelve nights ago.
Until Chloe led him into her house and straight to her bed.
Chloe.
She had it all—everything he’d already accepted he wasn’t going to find. And no one had ever tasted so good.
Reluctantly, he broke the kiss.
She stared up at him, eyes full of stars. “Come back to my house? Be with me tonight?”
“Damn, Chloe. I was afraid you’d never ask.”
* * *
Her belly all aflutter with anticipation, her pulse a rushing sound in her ears and her cheeks feeling way hotter than they should, Chloe ushered Quinn in her front door and then turned to engage the lock and reset the alarm. “You can hang your jacket there.” She gestured at the coatrack. He hung up his jacket, and she grabbed his hand. “This way...”
But he held back, tugging her close, into the hard, hot circle of his arms. He kissed her, a slow one that had her knees going weak and a meltdown happening in her core.
However, when he lifted his head that time, his eyes were way too serious.
She frowned, suddenly struck with concern for whatever might be bothering him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He pulled her close again. And he whispered in her ear, “I want to take all your clothes off and see you naked. I want to kiss every inch of you.”
She sighed. “We are definitely on the same page about that.”
“But...”
She pushed him away enough that she could see his eyes. “Oh, no. There is something. What?”
“Don’t look so worried.” With his big thumb, he smoothed the scrunched place between her eyebrows. “It’s nothing bad. I just have some things I want to say first.”
Would she rather be kissing him? Absolutely. But then again, whatever he wanted to say, she wanted to hear. “So...coffee or something?”
“Sure.”
She led him into the kitchen and whipped him up a quick cup, pouring cream in a little pitcher because she’d watched him at dinner and knew he took cream.
“Aren’t you having any?” he asked.
Her tummy was all fluttery, what with wondering what kind of thing he just had to say to her. Coffee would only make it worse. “Maybe later. How about the living area? It’s more comfortable there.”
“Good enough.” He poured in the cream, picked up his cup and followed her to the sofa.
They sat down together, and he set his cup on the coffee table. She folded her hands tightly in her lap. He’d said it was nothing awful, but he seemed so intense suddenly...
Was there going to be drama? Oh, she hoped not. She’d had enough drama to last her a lifetime, and then some.
He said, “There are things about me I want you to know.”
Uh-oh. She gulped down the giant lump in her throat and gave him a nod to continue.
“First, about Annabelle’s mother.”
Chloe realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out slowly. Annabelle’s mother. Actually, she really wanted to know about Annabelle’s mother...
“Her name is Sandrine Cox. She’s an actress and model. We went out a few times. She got pregnant. She came to me, told me she was fairly certain it was my baby and she felt I had a right to know.”
Chloe studied his wonderful face. He seemed...relaxed when he talked about his little girl’s mother. Relaxed and accepting. “You believed her.”
“Yeah. Sandrine was always straight ahead about things. I believed that she believed the baby was mine. Then later, right after Annabelle was born, a paternity test proved Sandrine was right. Annabelle’s mine. And I knew from the moment Sandrine told me she was pregnant that I wanted the baby. Sandrine didn’t. She didn’t want to be a mom. She liked her single life and she had a lot of ambition, a heavy focus on her career. I made her an offer. I would pay her a large lump sum to have the baby and then she would sign over all rights to me.”
“And that’s what happened?”
He nodded. “She kept her end of the bargain. I kept mine.”
“You haven’t heard from her since Annabelle was born?”
“No. I doubt I ever will.”
“But with something as important as a child, Quinn, you never know. Someday Annabelle’s mother might regret her choice, change her mind.”
“Anything’s possible.”
“And if she did come to you, if she wanted to meet Annabelle?”
“Can’t say for certain. If she was as honest and up-front as before, we would work something out so that she could know Annabelle and Annabelle could know her.”
Chloe liked his answer. It could be difficult for him to make room for his daughter’s mother in their lives. But it was the right thing. “That sounds good. For Annabelle, most of all. It’s very likely, as she grows to adulthood, that she’s going to want to know about her birth mother and meet her, if possible.”
“Maybe. But it’s like you told me that first night. I’m not going to borrow trouble. I’ll answer Annabelle’s questions and pay attention to the signals she gives me. And then take it from there.” He loosened his tie. “I didn’t want you to wonder anymore about how I ended up with sole custody of my little girl and no mother in sight.”
Tenderness
