Hidden Embers (26 page)

He laughed. “I’ve got a few good years left in me.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. Provided I don’t catch this damn disease or go down in battle, maybe five or six hundred more.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I just can’t—that doesn’t make any sense to me. You’re four hundred years old?”

“Four hundred and seventy-one, give or take a few months.”

“Right, of course. Because those few months are critical when it comes to being accurate.” She shook her head. “And you’ll live to be a thousand or so?”

“Probably.”

“Wow. That’s unbelievable.” Then she did the damnedest thing. She stopped in her tracks, reached up and rested her palm against his cheek, while her thumb tenderly stroked over his skin. “No wonder you look so tired. Four hundred years is a long time to carry the kind of responsibilities that you do.”

The defenses he’d spent all afternoon building against her crumbled like a sandcastle in a windstorm. He covered her hand with his own, then closed his eyes for a minute and just savored the feel of her against him. His destined mate. After all this time.

He could barely take it in.

The sense of peace was incredible—even his dragon was calm, quiet, its fire banked. He’d never felt anything like it.

Quinn wasn’t sure how long they stood there—he could have remained, just like that, forever—but eventually Jasmine grew restless. She pulled her hand away, and he let it go, reluctantly.

They started walking again, without the light conversation of before. Instead, they continued in silence until Quinn finally decided to stop beating around the bush.

“So, Jazz, are you going to tell me why you invited me to dinner? Seeing as how last night I was pretty sure you never wanted to talk to me again.”

Jasmine ducked her head at Quinn’s words, more than a little shocked at the remorse that swept through her. Last night she’d been so sure that she was right, and now…now she wasn’t sure of anything at all. If Quinn was really as old as he said he was—and she saw no reason for him to lie—then he was pretty damn progressive. He never questioned her worth as a doctor. In fact, he took seriously everything she and Phoebe discussed in the lab.

Plus, when Phoebe had started for her car about an hour before they’d left, Quinn had made sure to walk her out as well, even though, as a dragon, Phoebe was more than capable of taking care of herself. Maybe Quinn’s behavior the night before was only half as objectionable as she had thought. Maybe what she’d seen as controlling had only been courtesy.

That’s why she’d invited him to dinner—to see if maybe she was mistaken about him. Well, that and because working in the lab with him all evening had turned her on, big time. She’d spent half her time trying to concentrate on the data in front of her and the other half trying to keep her eyes off Quinn.

There was something about him—the way he moved, the way he held his body, the way he smelled like sex and sand and the wild desert wind that really rang her bell. After Phoebe left, it had taken all Jasmine’s self-control not to jump him right there, as he had done to her the night before.

Turning to him, she said softly, “I invited you because I like you.”

“You
like
me?”

The way he said it made the word sound boring and insipid, when she’d meant it as neither. “Don’t look so offended. Being liked is a good thing.”

He snorted. “I have to admit I was hoping for something more. Seeing as how we’ve had incredible sex several times now.”

“I wasn’t talking about the sex. I meant—” She paused, tried to put her scattered thoughts in order. “I like talking to you, when you’re not being all overbearing and macho. I like bouncing ideas off of you and listening while you do the same with me. I like the way you give everything you have to your clan—how you never say no, no matter how tired you are.” She smiled, warming to her subject. “I like the way you take meticulous notes and always put the cap back on your pens. How you hold onto your temper long after I’ve lost mine. And I really like how you do tequila shots.”

“Oh.” He stared at her for a few long seconds, then his lips tilted up in the lopsided grin she was beginning to love. “In that case, I like you, too.”

She cracked up. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, are you ready to go get some pie, or what?”

“The restaurant’s right across the street.” His hand reached for hers, and he tangled their fingers together as he led her across the street.

Within minutes they were seated at a cozy booth in the back of the diner. It was a cool little place, done in retro black and white with touches of yellow, red and blue that made the dining room pop. The walls were decorated with oil paintings, which surprised her, as she would have expected art deco prints instead. They were desert scenes and absolutely gorgeous; starkly simple but with a sophisticated use of color.

As she studied the one above their booth, Jasmine felt a surge of longing well up inside her. She wanted to possess it. It felt strange, as she rarely needed to own anything, but something about this scene—the desert just as daylight broke through the horizon—pulled at her.

The sky was painted a fiery orange as far as the eye could see, and small clouds in shades of red and purple hung over a silver desert with huge rock formations in the distance. Everything about the scene seemed to shimmer with life and intensity and magic. Unable to resist, she reached a finger out and traced it over the bottom of the canvas.

“Do you like it?” Quinn asked, his voice low and intense.

“What’s not to like? It’s one of the most beautiful landscapes I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s Michael’s.”

Acute disappointment filled her. “You mean the paintings aren’t for sale?”

His mouth was grim. “Oh, they’re for sale. Or at least they were. My brother painted all of them.”

“Your—” Her breath left her in a huge sigh. “Oh, Quinn, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have—”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you like them.” That crooked grin of his flashed again. “He was really talented, wasn’t he?”

“Incredibly talented. He makes me long to see this piece of desert, to watch the sun come up over the rocks. I’ve been all over the world, seen sunrises and sunsets in some of the most exotic places on earth, but I swear, I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s absolutely awe-inspiring.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Though his face was blank, his body language stoic, she could feel the waves of pain rolling off of him. They arrowed straight into her, making her wince with the overwhelming strength of Quinn’s sorrow.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn.” She could barely get the words past her closed up throat. She’d looked at Phoebe’s notes on Michael’s case right before she’d shut down for the night. It was the most recent and most awful of all the cases she’d read about so far. The idea of Quinn having to stand by and watch as his brother was systematically destroyed by the damn virus made her physically ill.

“It’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours, either.” She repeated the words she’d told him two nights before. “You didn’t make this disease, Quinn. You can’t hold yourself responsible for it.”

“I feel responsible.” His eyes roamed over the diner, searching every nook and cranny of the place instead of risking meeting hers. “I’ve never not been able to fix something before.”

“Maybe you weren’t meant to fix this.” She reached for his hand, squeezed it. “You aren’t Superman, you know.”

“Oh, believe me. I know exactly what I’m not.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I miss him, you know. It’s only been a couple of days and already I miss talking to him. He used to tell the best jokes.”

“Really? That surprises me.”

“I bet.” His smile was self-deprecating. “But he wasn’t anything like me. Or Liam, our other brother. Life was one big party to him. He always had a million things going on—and he was always smiling.”

“He sounds great.”

“He was.” His eyes grew distant and blank, and she knew he was tormenting himself again. Amazing how quickly she’d learned to read his expressions, especially when she hadn’t even known she was studying him.

“Tell me a joke.”

“What?” He pulled his gaze back to hers, looking confused.

“Tell me one of Michael’s jokes. I think we both could use a laugh, don’t you?”

For long moments, he just stared at her until she was certain he was going to refuse. And then, as if a switch had been flipped inside of him, Quinn started talking. And talking. And talking.

He told her Michael’s jokes, one after another, pausing to interject a comment about his brother or to tell a funny story of some trouble they’d gotten into as kids, so many years before.

When the waitress came, they ordered huge slices of pie with ice cream and coffee, which they ate in between jokes. Jasmine laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks, wishing desperately that Quinn could do the same. Though he looked relaxed, she knew he was holding himself together by a thread, and she worried that with one wrong move he’d shatter into a thousand pieces.

When the last bit of pie was eaten, Quinn reached for her hand and squeezed it so hard she was afraid her bones would break. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For knowing I needed to talk about him when I didn’t have a clue. For listening while I did.”

“I enjoyed every second of it. Your brother sounds like he was an incredible person.”

“He was. And he didn’t deserve to die like that, Jazz. He really didn’t.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

He reached for his wallet, threw some money down on the table. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He held out a hand to her.

“Where are we going?”

The look he gave her was so full of pain and vulnerability that she knew, whatever his answer, she’d be going with him. Something inside of her literally ached with the need to soothe him, deep down in a place she’d never known existed inside of her.

“My place.” He crooked an eyebrow, daring her to refuse.

The thought didn’t even occur to her. Tonight she wouldn’t worry about protecting herself, about whether she was going to get hurt. After everything he’d been through—everything he’d done for his clan—he deserved to be put first.

She grabbed his hand with an encouraging smile and let him pull her out of the booth. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T
hey were barely out of the restaurant and around the corner before Quinn was on her. Pulling her hard against him, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her like a man on the brink of madness.

His lips devoured hers, biting, sucking, licking at her until need was a fiery maelstrom within her. Moaning, Jasmine opened herself to him. She thrust her hands into his hair and gave him everything he demanded.

His response was electric. With one hand on her ass and the other tangled in her hair, he walked her backward into the small alley between two buildings. He moved them until her back was up against the wall and his lower body—hot, hard, and aroused—was pressing into her.

Then, in a move that was as shocking as it was titillating, he reached between them, fastened his hand on the collar of her simple cotton tank top and yanked, his large, powerful fist ripping through the material like it was so much fluff.

She gasped in surprise, her body shuddering as excitement ricocheted through her. She’d never had a man rip her clothes off before, had never driven one to such a state before. It was thrilling and tantalizing and oh-so-amazing. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he was already pushing her bra out of the way, drawing her nipple into his mouth with a suction so strong she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She was drowning in pleasure, drowning in the feeling of belonging to him. It was better than anything she’d ever imagined, better even than the times he had already made love to her.

Arching her back, she whimpered, begged for more. Begged for everything she could take, everything he wanted to give her.

Quinn lifted his head for a moment, looked at her in the dim light with eyes that had turned almost completely dragon. She shivered, but instead of scaring her as before, the look ratcheted up her arousal to the boiling point. It was unbelievable, especially considering he’d barely even touched her.

“We should stop,” he said, and even his voice was different. Lower, more gravelly. Lust slammed through her like a lightning storm.

“Don’t,” she whimpered, arching her back in an effort to press herself even more firmly against him. “Please, don’t stop.”

“We can go to my place.”

“I can’t wait that long.” Her body was wigging out. She wanted him, needed him with an intensity that bordered on insanity.

“You deserve better than this.”

“There is nothing better. Quinn, please. I need you.”

They must have been the words he was waiting for, since Quinn stopped protesting—instead lowering his mouth to bite down gently on her nipple. She nearly came unglued, her body bucking violently against him as she gave a strangled scream.

“We’re in public,” he growled against her breast. “If you don’t want to get arrested, you should probably work on being quiet.”

“Then you should make it easier on me,” she gasped between breaths.

His laugh was wicked. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re not the take-it-easy type.” And then he stopped talking altogether, as his tongue licked around her areola, again and again.

Jasmine sighed, tried to bring him closer. Tried to deepen his caress so she wouldn’t go insane right in the middle of the alley. But it was no use and she knew it; Quinn wasn’t going to let her rush him. She’d thought tonight would be about him, but here he was again, making sure her pleasure came before his own.

It bothered her because he was the one in need of loving—the one in need of care and affection—and she wanted to give it to him. Needed to give it to him.

“Quinn,” she murmured, stroking her hands down his chest and stomach to the waistband of his jeans. “Let me love you.”

“Later,” he said, grabbing her wrists in one of his big hands and anchoring them against the wall above her head.