Through the Fire
“What changed you?” Quinn asked quietly.
Rae’s lips pinched for a moment, as something old, something gone passed across her eyes. “Loss,” she said simply.
Their gazes held each other and understanding beyond mere words formed between them and joined hands.
“Husband?”
Rae nodded stiffly. “And my…daughter. She was five.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
Quinn felt a tightness in his chest. Nikita. He took a long swallow of his drink, then clasped the glass in both hands, staring down at the melting ice, a time that was forever gone. “Sometimes I wake up and think it’s all a bad dream,” he confessed quietly.
“I know.” Rae laughed sadly. “So do I. But it isn’t.” She pulled in a breath, then let it out slowly. “But my work gets me through it. I don’t know what I’d do otherwise.” She glanced across the flickering flame cupped in the glass goblet that separated them. “I read about your wife in the papers. I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “It’s so ironic that we should lose the ones we loved at virtually the same time.” She paused for a moment, framing her words. “At the time it was as if we—you and I—were connected. I know this sounds crazy, but…I seemed to know how you were feeling, what you were going through, because it was happening to me as well. I was in the same place. I wanted to write to you…and tell you, but I thought it would be an intrusion. And I knew how empty ‘I’m so sorry’ sounded to my ears.”
Her confession, her willingness to allow him to enter that private space in her soul seemed to release him somehow. Release him in a way that nothing or no one had really been able to do before. A part of him realized that she would understand because she’d been there, too.
“Things were so strange back then, disconnected. It was as if I were walking in a haze all the time. I couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep. Felt like the world was moving but I was standing still, ya know.” He took a swallow of his drink. “I’d wake up sometimes sure that it was all a bad dream.” He heaved in a breath. “You’re right…about the ‘I’m so sorry.’ It didn’t help. Still doesn’t.”
“What does?” Rae asked, wanting to know if he’d found a way to start living again, some key that she’d missed.
“I haven’t figured that out yet.” He almost smiled.
“You will. When you give yourself a chance, open yourself up to possibility. At least that’s what everyone tells me.” She chuckled halfheartedly, not quite believing it herself.
The old refrain played again. He didn’t want to go there. He’d heard it from every person he came into contact with. They all believed they knew what was best for him, what would make his life worth living again. They said all the right things. They tried. But the truth was they had no idea what he needed, how he felt. He glanced at Rae. He believed that she did. He wasn’t sure why, he just did. “Yeah,” he finally mumbled. “You have another set, or what?”
“No. 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, shutting it behind her.
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.
Chapter 4
Quinn 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 arrangement 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.
Chapter 5
It 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.