Through the Fire. Donna HillЧитать онлайн книгу.
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?”