Quinn's Woman (18 page)

Her dark eyes flashed with temper. “Maybe you’re overestimating your skill in bed.”

“I don’t claim to be the world’s greatest lover. I’m just a guy who wants to please the one he’s with. What’s so wrong with that.”

She sighed. “Nothing. I appreciate the thought, but it’s not necessary.”

“It is to me.”

“This isn’t about you.”

He crossed to her and touched her chin. When she looked at him, he smiled. “I’ve got all night. Let’s get naked again and we’ll see if I can prove you wrong.”

She twisted away from him. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

“Then why did you show up in the first place?”

“Good question. I’m having some second thoughts.”

He frowned. None of this made sense. She’d arrived uninvited and had taken the first step. She’d kissed him. When he’d responded, she’d been more than willing. She’d wanted to have sex, but only if it was about him.

What was that?

She headed for the door. He got there first. “Answer the question,” he said quietly. “Tell me why you won’t let me make you climax and I’ll let it go.”

She sucked in a breath, then released it slowly. “I’m not interested in –” She shook her head. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know. Answer the question.”

She looked at him. “I just don’t. Okay? It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I won’t. Doing that...” She shrugged. “I won’t ever let myself be that vulnerable.”

If she’d screamed he wouldn’t have believed her. But it was her soft words, the defensive set of her shoulders and the painful twist of her mouth that convinced him.

He stared at her. “Why do you hate men so much?”

“I don’t. It’s not about hating anyone. That implies way more energy than I’m putting into this.”

She turned away and crossed to the bed. Once there, she sank onto the mattress.

“It’s about not trusting them,” she told him. “Sex does something to women. It makes them weak. They bond. And it doesn’t seem to matter if the guy’s a jerk or not. Or if he beats her. They connect. I don’t want to be that weak, so I don’t risk it.”

Her words stunned him. “Not ever?”

“What’s the point? You get weak, you get dead.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re extrapolating from an inconsequential statistical base. How many women get dead because they have sex?”

She sprang to her feet. “One woman is too many. You’re a guy. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me. Help me understand.”

She shook her head and crossed to the door. This time he knew he had to let her go. But she surprised him by laying her hand against the wood frame rather than the handle.

“My father beat my mother,” she said, her back to him. “He was a mean drunk and even worse when he was sober. My earliest memory is of her screaming for mercy.”

Quinn’s stomach clenched. He’d wanted to know what had so terrified D.J. Now that he did, he wanted to rescind the request. Knowing didn’t make it better.

“Sometimes he would go days, even a couple of weeks between attacks. I’d lie awake every night, wondering if it would start. When it would start. I was always afraid. What if he killed her? What if he turned on me, too?”

She dropped her hand to her side, then shifted so she was facing him. “He waited until my seventh birthday. He got drunk, I spilled cake on the floor and he came after me. Sometimes he used a belt or his hand. He’d throw beer bottles at me. Then he’d pass out. When it was finally safe, my mother and I would huddle together on the sofa and make plans to escape. For a long time I believed that it was really going to happen.”

Her dark eyes stared past him. Was she getting lost in the memories? Would she let him help her?

“She changed her mind,” D.J. told him. “Every time. The next morning there were a thousand reasons why we couldn’t go. The truth was, she loved him. Even when he broke her jaw, cut off her hair and called her a whore.”

He wanted to go to her and hold her but knew she wouldn’t want to be touched. Not now. Not when it wasn’t safe.

She closed her eyes. “When I was eleven he came after me with a baseball bat. I can’t even remember why. Just how bad it hurt. My mother took me to the emergency room. My arm was broken. The nurse there threatened to call the police and have me taken away. My mother begged her not to. She said my father would kill me if the police got involved. The nurse said he was going to kill me anyway.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him. “My mother took me home and told me it would be all right. The next day she made me go to school. I didn’t want to. I was ashamed and in a lot of pain. But she insisted. The school nurse came and got me later that morning. After I’d left home that morning, my mother shot my father, then turned the gun on herself. She left a note. In it she said she couldn’t let him continue to hurt me, but she couldn’t live knowing she’d killed the only man she ever loved.”

He swallowed hard. D.J. stood by the door, rubbing her left arm. He didn’t doubt those bones had been the ones shattered.

He’d already guessed she’d been abused in some way, but he’d never thought it was that bad. No wonder she didn’t trust men or love or sex. No wonder she held back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Her mouth twisted. “More than you wanted to know, huh?”

He stood. “There’s nothing you can say that will shock me. I’m sorry for making you relive it.”

She shrugged. “Old news. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Of course it mattered. Her past dictated every aspect of her life. It was the reason she had to always be the best. He ached for her.

“D.J.”

She held up a hand. “If you get all sloppy on me, I’m going to beat the crap out of you.”

“Not a chance of that.”

He crossed the room and reached for her. She shrank back, then stiffened and stood her ground. He’d seen men in battle, facing down their fear, but not one of them had shown the same courage as this woman. Every time he moved, she knew he could snap her in two. Yet instead of running for cover, she wanted him to teach her. When she could have walked away, she’d come over to help him heal. She had seen the nature of the darkness inside of him that morning. She’d watched him pulverize the punching bag, and she’d still shown up and offered herself.

“You’re a hell of a woman,” he said as he put his arms around her and pulled her close.

She was stiff as plywood. “I don’t need a hug.”

“Maybe I do.”

She sighed heavily, as if this was such an imposition, then stood there while he ran his hands up and down her back. Gradually she began to relax. Her arms moved from her sides to his waist. Her fingers lightly rested against his back.

He breathed in the scent of her body, of her hair. She was tough, but still soft. He understood why she hadn’t given in. He also finally knew why offering him sex in exchange for lessons had been so much easier than accepting a dinner invitation. Sex was just about the body. She could stay in control – although she’d come close to losing it with him. Dinner was more personal.

He also knew what had gone wrong between them today. She’d offered sex, and he’d accepted. Neither of them had been making love.

Quinn’s chest tightened. Was that what he wanted? To make love with D.J.? Did he dare?

She pulled away and this time he let her go. She crossed to the door and let herself out without saying anything.

When her footsteps had faded, he moved to the window and stared out. He saw her walk across the parking lot and slide into her car. She moved with a grace that left him breathless.

He still wanted her, and he knew what it would take to get her. But could he risk it? He was the wrong man to try to save her. She might be on the edge, but he was already in the water and drowning.

She started her engine and drove away. Even after she was gone, he stayed at the window. Was it wishful thinking on his part to hope they could save each other? Were they both too far gone or did they have a prayer of finding their way back?

The next morning D.J. waited nervously for Quinn to arrive. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t bother. That between what had happened – or not happened – in bed and their fight, he’d decided to forget it. His not showing up would make things easy for her. No more worries, no more questions, no more second-guessing herself.

She hadn’t slept at all the previous night. Her feelings had fluctuated between anger, humiliation and frustration. She couldn’t believe she’d simply blurted out the truth about her past. She never told anyone. Rebecca didn’t even know. Oh, there had been hints, but she’d never actually sat down and spilled the whole sorry tale.

D.J. paced the length of her office, then returned to her desk and flopped down on the chair. Why had she told him? She wanted to say it was because he kept pushing and pushing, but she wasn’t sure. Part of her wondered if she’d wanted him to know.

“Not possible,” she said aloud. Him knowing only complicated an already difficult situation. Unless she’d been trying to scare him off.

She rose again and nodded. That was it. She’d wanted to send Quinn away.

Or had she wanted him to understand?

The question terrified her and she refused to consider it. No way. Not possible. Uh-uh. Him understanding would imply that he mattered, and he didn’t. She’d proved that yesterday when they’d had sex. She’d held back the way she always did. The only difference was he’d noticed.

She crossed to the window and stared out at the street. Half the men she’d been with hadn’t even wondered about her enjoying the process or not. A few had been worried, but she’d brushed them off. The rest she’d convinced that they’d simply missed her “event.” Quinn had been the only one to push back.

She closed her eyes as she remembered his anger and his persistence. What he didn’t know – what she would never tell him – was how close she’d come to giving in. She’d wanted to, and that realization scared her to death.

Her eyes snapped open. “What’s up with all this Quinn crap?” she demanded of herself. “Stop thinking about him.”

Good advice she couldn’t seem to take. While his badgering had been annoying, she had to admit that it had been sweet of him to care so much. He’d –

She turned and glanced at the clock. It was nine. Maybe he wasn’t coming.

She told herself she would be relieved if he didn’t show up. Better for both of them to end things now. Not that there was anything to end. But if there was, it should stop immediately. Yes, the lessons had been great but –

The front door opened. D.J. turned and ignored the sense of relief that swept through her when Quinn entered the room. Her gaze swept over him, taking in his easy smile, the athletic shorts and T-shirt, the flowers in his hand, the way he –

Her gaze snapped back to the flowers. Outrage filled her. “What the hell are those?” she demanded.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said and put the dozen or so red roses on her desk.

She couldn’t believe it. He’d brought her flowers?

“Of all the insensitive, stupid things you could have done,” she told him, her temper growing by the second. “Flowers? You brought me flowers? Oh, right. Because they’re going to make up for everything that’s happened. Gee, I should have thought of that kind of therapy before. A few flowers will really heal my past.”

She walked around the desk and glared at him. “Were you even listening to what I said yesterday? Don’t you think this ridiculous gesture trivializes the story just a little bit? Or should I be grateful you thought about it at all? How like a man.”

She wanted to squash him like a bug. She wanted to shove the roses in his face until he choked on them.

“You have no idea what I went through,” she continued angrily. “You grew up in some perfect hometown where everyone knew your name. I was stuck in foster care because my mother killed my father and then herself. Imagine what the kids at school talked about when I walked into a room. The teachers kept waiting for me to explode or something, and there was an entire team of psychologists trying to make sure I was healed. Well here’s a news flash. You don’t heal from something like that. You learn to live with it and then you move on.”

Quinn didn’t move, didn’t stop smiling at her, didn’t say a word until she’d wound down enough to demand, “What?”

He nodded at the flowers. “They have nothing to do with your past. I always bring flowers after I see a woman naked. It seems like the polite thing to do. I ordered them just for you. They still have their thorns. I thought you’d like that.”

D.J.’s mouth dropped open. She closed it, then felt herself flush.

She was an idiot. “Oh.”

“Is that it?”

She shrugged.

“How about thanking me?” he asked. “The thorns are a pretty cool touch.”

She smiled. “They are. Thank you.”

Quinn shook his head. “Okay, I say we start the workout with you spending about twenty minutes jumping rope. You have way too much energy you need to burn off.”

D.J. nodded and led the way toward the back. He followed. When they stepped into the workout room, he grabbed her hand and pulled her around so she faced him.