I’m finished for tonight.”
“Any plans?”
“Nothing special. What about you?”
“I figured…maybe we could get to know each other better. I mean, if it’s cool with you.” He gazed at her pointedly, a shadow of a smile playing around his mouth.
Rae angled her head to the right and arched her brow. “How do you know I don’t have a man waiting in the wings?”
Quinn leaned back in the chair. “Hey, if you do it’s not a problem. I know my way home. But you don’t seem to be the kind of woman who would sit around sharing drinks with a man—tryin’ to get to know him—if you had one waiting.” He cocked his head to the side, mirroring her pose, and looked at her lazily.
At that moment he reminded her of a long, sleek panther chilling on a flat rock high above his prey, coolly surveying all below, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting. She couldn’t let him get that chance. It was clear what he wanted, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready, didn’t think she could handle what might happen between them. At least not now. Not yet, maybe never.
“It’s getting late,” Rae finally said, needing an escape. She took her purse from the table and stood. “Thanks…for the drinks…and the conversation.” She stuck out her hand.
Slowly Quinn reached for it, taking her hand completely in his. The warmth and surprising softness of it flowed through his limbs, to his head, and the heat rushed straight to the throb that pulsed between his thighs the instant he touched her. And at the same time he felt strangely connected to this woman as if some missing link had finally been discovered and slipped into place. But that couldn’t be, because that’s not what he wanted from her. His jaw clenched. Yeah, it was best that she did leave.
She was wet. A simple touch from this man and she was as wet as if she’d participated in a naughty game of foreplay. This she didn’t need. Not when she was finally putting her life back in order, piecing together the tattered fragments of her emotions. She wasn’t ready for a man like Quinten Parker.
“I—I’d better go,” she mumbled, hearing her words flutter like flapping wings.
Quinten stood, too, as if pulled by some invisible thread. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I didn’t drive. I only live a few blocks away.”
“Then I’ll walk you home.” What am I doing?
“I—”
“You shouldn’t be walkin’ the street alone. It’s almost two.”
Rae pulled in a breath, hoping to slow down the racing of her heart. “All right,” she mumbled.
As always, even at that hour of the morning, the streets of the city, specifically the West Village, were still peppered with people of every ilk. Neon lights from the rows of bars cast a rainbow of color along the avenue. Laughter mixed with music, drifted around them, the waning warmth of the summer night keeping perfect time.
Rae and Quinn walked in silence along West Fourth Street. Each acutely aware of the other, but wary of breaking the tenuous silence for all that it would stir up between them.
She’s nothing like Nikita, Quinn mused, taking furtive, sidelong glances at Rae. She was tall, slender, and self-contained. And although she had an aggressive manner, there was a cautiousness about her. Her complexion reminded him of brandy—tempting and warm through and through. She was pretty in a laidback sense, not cover-model pretty like Nikita, but a comfortable beauty that gets better with age. He could see the strong strains of the ancestors in the cut of her cheekbones, the curve of her full lips, the flare of her nose. Yeah, Rae Lindsay was easy on the eye, and talented to boot—an intoxicating combination. It had been a long time since he’d thought of a woman for any more than her ability to quench the physical fire that constantly smoldered within him. But none had. None had been able to fill the longing, to stamp down the embers. What he’d been seeking was something none of them had been able to give—a sense of being home again, being able to feel again. Too much of him had gone dead inside. He knew he shouldn’t compare every woman he met with Nikita. It wasn’t fair. No one would ever be able to take her place—or at least replace the image he’d created of her. Over time the things that had once driven him mad about her were now miraculously endearing; what they’d fought over was no longer important; the way she’d wanted to rearrange his life was now cute. In his mind Nikita had evolved into the personification of perfection. It was so much easier to remember her that way. And he had yet to meet anyone able to shatter the image he’d constructed. Sometimes he thought that maybe it was better that way.
He came up short, his thoughts scattering, when Rae stopped in front of a neatly kept redbrick building.
“This is where I get off,” she said, the first words spoken since they’d left the club. “Thanks for the company.” She turned and looked up into his eyes. “And for coming down tonight.”
“It was cool—worth it.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lightweight leather jacket, more to keep from touching her than from trying to create an image.
“Well…I’d better go.” She wanted to touch him, gently brush away the lock that caressed his cheek. But she dared not.
Quinn glanced up at the darkened windows, wondering which one was hers. “When will you be performing again?” He wanted to keep her there just a moment longer—just to hold on to this feeling a little longer. Feeling. His stomach tightened.
“I’m not sure. I need to work on some songs and I’ve gotten behind my deadline.”
“You, uh, work from home or at a studio?”
“Both.” She smiled. “It depends on everyone’s schedule. Actually, studio time is scheduled for next Wednesday. Maybe…you’d like to sit in.” Oh, Lord, what am I doing?
He hadn’t set foot in a studio in nearly three years. His own CD was long overdue. He just hadn’t been able to bring himself to— “What time Wednesday?” he asked before he realized the question had crossed his lips and he couldn’t take it back.
“Nine in the morning. We’ll be at it all day.”
He shrugged. “Cool. Maybe I’ll check you out.”
Rae dug in her purse for her wallet and pulled out a business card. “Here’s the address,” she said, handing him the gold-leafed, embossed card.
Quinn reached for it. Their fingertips brushed and they were both jolted by the contact.
For a moment neither of them moved, neither dared to speak until the current had run its course.
“Thanks,” Quinn uttered, wanting to kiss her instead of saying goodbye.
“So, uh, maybe I’ll see you Wednesday.” Rae clasped the straps of her shoulder bag with both hands.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Quinn jutted his chin toward the steps of Rae’s building. “You oughta go on in.”
Rae released a nervous puff of air, smiling inanely before taking two steps back, then starting up the steps. “Good night,” she tossed over her shoulder, opened the door and stepped inside,
