And as to her question? He didn’t plan to answer her. But then he opened his mouth and the truth fell out. “My daughter asked about her mother for the first time tonight. I’m trying to decide what to tell her.”
Chloe hummed, a thoughtful sort of sound. “Her name is Annabelle, right?”
“That’s right.”
“So I’m assuming Annabelle doesn’t know her mother?”
“No, she doesn’t. I doubt she ever will.”
“Ah.” Chloe waited, her head tipped to the side, her eyes alert, giving him a chance to say more. When he remained silent, she suggested, “Tell her only the truth, but tell it carefully. She’s how old?”
“Four.”
“She wants to know that you love her. She wants to know she’s safe and that her mother loves her, too—or would, if she knew her. She wants to know it’s not her fault, whatever happened that you and her mother aren’t together and her mother isn’t in her life.” Chloe smiled. God. What he wouldn’t give to taste that mouth. “But don’t load it on her all at once. Well-meaning parents have a tendency to overexplain. Try to get a sense of what she’s ready for and just answer the questions she actually asks.”
He faced front again and stared out at the night. She was so tasty to look at, with full breasts, the points of her nipples visible under that pink shirt. She had endless legs, slender arms and that perfect angel’s face. He needed to take all that beauty in careful doses. He said, “I thought you didn’t have kids.”
“I don’t. But I like kids.” The beautiful voice was weighted with sadness. “Before I moved back home, I did volunteer day care with a San Diego family shelter. I helped out with special-needs children, too. And in college, I took just about every child development class available. I had big plans in college. I was going to be the perfect wife to a very important man—and the mother of at least three healthy, bright, happy children.”
Strange. Looking away wasn’t working for him. Why deprive himself of the sight of her? He turned his head and faced her once more, something down inside him going tight and hot when he met her eyes. “I remember you always seemed like you knew exactly where you were going.”
“Yes, I did. I used to think I knew everything, used to be so sure of how my life would be.” A husky chuckle escaped her. The sound rubbed along his nerve endings, stirring up sparks. “And that’s what keeps me up nights, Quinn. All my big plans that came to dust...”
Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled. Quinn considered what, exactly, he ought to say next, if anything. He was still trying to find the right words when she stood.
He let his gaze track upward over those fine legs and her little pink terry-cloth shorts, over the womanly curves under the oversize shirt. The view was amazing. And he needed to thank her for the advice, say good-night and hustle his ass back down the hill.
But then she offered him her delicate, ladylike hand. He eyed it warily, glancing up again to meet those ice-blue eyes. No mistaking what he saw in those eyes: invitation.
It was the middle of the night and he didn’t have time for this. He should be home in his own damn bed.
So, was he going to turn such beauty down?
Not. A. Chance.
He took the hand she offered. Her skin was cool and silky. Heat shot up his arm, down through the center of him and straight to his groin. Stifling a groan, he rose to stand with her.
She turned quickly, pulling him along behind her, pushing open the slider, leading him inside, across her two-story great room and down a short hall to her bedroom, which was as beautiful and tasteful as the woman herself, so feminine and orderly—except for the tangled covers on the unmade bed.
She bent and turned on the nightstand lamp, then stood tall to meet his eyes once more. “Somehow I feel...safe with you,” she said in that fine alto voice that turned him on almost as much as her face and her body did. “I’ve noticed...” Her voice trailed away. She glanced down, swallowed and then, finally, raised her head to meet his gaze again.
He couldn’t resist. He lifted a hand, nice and slow so as not to spook her, and ran the back of his index finger along the silky skin of her throat. She trembled and sucked in a sharp little gasp of breath, but didn’t duck away. And he asked, “You’ve noticed what?”
Her mouth twisted, as though the words were hard to come by. “Since you, uh, came back to town, you seem... I don’t know. So calm. Kind of thoughtful. I admire that, I really do.”
What could he say to that? Thanks? That seemed kind of lame, so he didn’t say anything, just ran the back of his finger down the outside of her arm, enjoying the satiny feel of her skin, loving the way her mouth formed a soft O and her eyes went hazy in response to his touch.
She said, “I’ve been with one man in my life—my husband, who was supposed to be loving and tender and protective, but turned out to be one rotten, abusive, cheating SOB.” She moved slightly away from him again, reaching over to pull open the bedside drawer. “I’ve been out a few times with nice men, in the year since I came home. I keep thinking I need to take the plunge again, take a chance again and be with someone new. So I bought these.” She raised her hand and he saw that she held a strip of condoms. They unrolled from her palm with a snap. “To be prepared, you know?” A soft, rueful smile. “I haven’t used a single one. I didn’t want to. It never felt right. But tonight, with you... Quinn, I...” Her fine voice gone breathless, she said, “Back in high school, sometimes, I used to think about what it might be like, to be with you...”
Those words hit him right where he lived. “I used to think about you, too, Chloe.”
Her amazing face glowed up at him. “You did?”
“Oh, yeah.” Not that she ever would have gone out with him if he asked her. She’d had her plans for her life and they didn’t include a wannabe cage fighter who could barely read. Plus, her snotty parents would’ve disowned her if she started in with one of Willow Mooney’s boys, the ones they called the bastard Bravos because his mother hadn’t married his father, Frank Bravo, until after Frank’s rich first wife, Sondra, died.
Uh-uh. No way Linda Winchester would have let her precious only daughter get near him, one of Willow’s boys—and the “slow” one, at that. And Chloe was always a good girl who did what her mama expected of her.
Chloe scanned his face, her expression suddenly anxious. “I have this feeling that somehow I should explain myself, give you a better reason to stay with me tonight...”
“Uh-uh.” He stepped even closer—close enough that her body touched his. Her soft breasts brushed his chest, and the dizzying scent of her swam around him. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his hand and speared his fingers into that glorious mane of yellow hair. Like a curtain of silk, that hair. He loved the feel of it so much that he balled his fist and wrapped the thick strands around his wrist, pulling her even closer, right up against him, nice and tight.
“Oh!” she said on a shaky breath, baby blue eyes saucer-wide staring up into his.
All that softness and beauty, his for the night. He bent enough to suck in a deep breath through his nose. God, the scent of her. She smelled of everything womanly, everything
