The Best Part of Me (8 page)

She was trying to keep her balance, but Ewan was climbing so fast that she was having trouble keeping up. He blew through the door at the top of the stairway, stormed into a tiny apartment, and finally released her arm. He slammed the door shut and turned his angry eyes to Quinn. She couldn't breathe, and she was slowly backing away from him. The back of a sofa stopped her retreat, and she braced herself for whatever came next.

Instead of following her, Ewan stalked into the tiny kitchen and pulled down a bottle of whiskey from above the refrigerator. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig straight from the bottle before slamming it down on the counter. His back was to her, his hands braced on the counter in front of him. His head hung low as she watched his shoulders rise and fall with each breath.

Quinn stood quietly in the doorway of the kitchen, feeling as if she should say something, anything. It was one of the few times in her life that she didn't have the courage to make a sound. Even though she couldn't claim she knew him, something about him told her that he wouldn't hurt her.

At least physically.

He wouldn't have dragged her up there if he didn't have something to say. So she just waited. After what felt like hours, he finally straightened and put the cap back on the bottle. He turned, and she noticed a cut at one of his temples.

“I'm so sorry.” She took a step toward him instinctually but stopped when his eyes simmered as he stared at her from across the kitchen.

His breathing rate was increasing again as his chest started to rise faster. His mouth was pressed into a straight line, and his nostrils flared.

In two long strides, he was in front of her. His hands grasped both sides of her head, and before she could blink, his lips were pressed hard against her mouth. His kiss was hungry and demanding. The heat from his mouth caused hers to open with a gasp. His hungry tongue pressed between her lips as he greedily stroked the inside of her mouth. The feeling was sensational.

He walked her backwards, still caressing her mouth with his tongue. Her back pressed flat against a cold brick wall. Desire shot from her mouth all the way down to between her thighs, and she could feel herself getting wet. In response, she wrapped her arms around his neck and began to move her mouth against his.

His kiss grew harder. He pressed the entire length of his body against Quinn and moved one of his hands into her hair. Instinctually, she began to move her hips against him, feeling his erection through his jeans. He growled, sending shivers through her body.

Just as she started to melt into him, he suddenly pulled his lips away, tightening his grip in her hair so she had no choice but to look up at him. Her vision was hazy, her lips swollen, and she sighed aloud at the loss of his mouth. She longed for him to continue as his dark blue eyes stared intently into hers.

“I don't know if I want to spank you or fuck you,” he gritted as he touched his forehead to hers. His voice was coarse, and his Irish brogue was more noticeable than she'd heard before. He traced her bottom lip with his thumb. Anger and lust danced across his face, and immediately her desire increased. She brazenly fisted her hands in his shirt and drew him closer.

Quinn quietly cleared her throat. “I don't think I care for the first option.”

He closed his eyes. “Quinn, those men—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “They are very bad men.”

She reached up and ran her fingers gently against his cheek. “If I in any way started any of that downstairs, I'm so sorry. I just wanted to say hello to you and—”

He released her and pushed himself away from the wall, running both hands through his hair. He leaned against the back of the sofa, his hands gripping the edge of the upholstered backing. He was staring at the floor in deep thought, his face etched with exhaustion.

She stepped toward him hesitantly. She had no idea what he was thinking about, but she could still feel his warm lips pressed against hers. Her fingers itched to touch him.

“Ewan, are you hurt?” She raised her fingers to his temple, where some blood had dried. He turned his head into her touch and closed his eyes.

“No, I'm not hurt.”

“Is the pub badly damaged?”

“It's had worse done to it,” he said with a sigh.

Quinn slowly ran her hand through his black hair. It was as soft and silky as she'd imagined. His eyes opened, and he studied her as she let his strands slide between her fingers. She rounded her hand to the back of his head.

“I wish you wouldn't do that.” His deep voice rolled through her like a warm ocean wave. It was one of those statements where you said one thing but you meant the opposite. She lightly stroked the back of his neck, her touch moving along his taut muscles.

“Quinn, stop.”

Her eyes shot up to his face, and she quickly drew her hand away. She had been tracing her fingers along his neck and shoulders like he was a shiny new sports car. The memory of how she'd felt when that awful guy had run his unwanted fingers along her butt flashed in her head, and she immediately felt ashamed.

“I'm sorry.”

He looked thoughtfully at her. As if he read her thoughts, he replied, “If you keep touching me, then things are going to escalate.” He inhaled deeply and steadied his gaze on her. “I want you. God help me, I want you
badly
.”

Quinn's heart leapt into her throat. He briefly touched her cheek with his fingertips. Her pulse pounded at the way his eyes drew her in like he had some sort of gravitational pull. The way her skin heated under his touch.

Questions started flooding her head as she watched him study her face.

Was she ready for this? Could she be with him?

There was no denying that she wanted him. She hadn't realized it until now. She yearned for him so much that her legs were shaking. She had no idea when her feelings for him had gone from annoyed disapproval to all-consuming desire, but she didn't really care. Even when he was acting like an ass, she had to admit he was gorgeous. Add that to the memory of his mouth and hands on her, and she knew that things might have already tipped past the point of no return.

It had been a long time since she'd slept with anyone. And at that moment, she realized that she didn't want anything more than for him to pick her up and carry her to his bed.

Just as she was about to lean into him, he let his hand drop. “Come on. I'll walk you home.”

Momentarily speechless, she watched him walk to the front door and pull it open. He looked back at her expectantly.

She blinked at him. She was an intelligent woman. She had graduated in the top ten percent of her high school class and magna cum laude in college. She considered her common sense relatively adequate. Yet she was having trouble wrapping her mind around what was happening.

“I thought—” She stopped, blinked in confusion, and tried again. “You said—”

He gently shut the door and shook his head.

“You thought since I said I wanted you that we'd fuck?”

She winced at his crudeness and at the hint of amusement in his voice.

He exhaled slowly. “Believe me when I say that it's probably for the best that we stopped when we did. I'm not right for you.”

“Why not?”

“You'll have to trust me on that.”

She frowned at him. “Why don't I get to decide what's right for me?”

He shook his head. “I could never give you what you want.”

“That's awfully presumptuous of you, isn't it? What makes you so sure you know what I want?”

He approached her slowly, his head tilted to the side as he regarded her. “Because I know your type. You'll be fine with fucking for a while. But eventually you'll want more. A commitment. A promise. Something that would tie us together. I don't do commitments, I don't make promises I don't intend to keep, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let any woman tie me down.”

She stared at him with her mouth open. She wanted to call him a coward. Tell him he was an ass. How dare he be so arrogant as to think he knew anything about her
type
? About what she wanted?

What she wanted was for people to stop telling her what was best for her. For the past year, people had been telling her what to do and how to feel. She was sick of it.

She tilted her chin up and stepped around him before yanking the door open.

She paused and looked back. “Suit yourself. Your loss.”

Then she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

Ewan crouched down and swept the last of the broken glass into a dustpan. It had taken him a little over an hour with Sean and Jenny's help to clean up the place. Overall, the damage wasn't all that bad. Several broken glasses, a few broken liquor bottles, and one busted barstool. All things considered, it was almost an average night.

Keith Hardy and his boys had gotten what was coming to them. Although nothing more serious than a bloody nose or a split lip. It was a wonder any of them still had jobs with the Madigan Family since none of them could fight worth shit.

Sean and Jenny started pulling the chairs off the tables and back onto the floor. Whenever something like this happened, it majorly disrupted the evening. Most people left and didn't come back that night. Some regular patrons who wouldn't know what else to do with themselves if they weren't at the pub would wander back in after cleanup was over.

Ewan ran his hands over his face. Normally something like this would not have escalated into a fight. But it had been the look on Hardy's face when he saw Quinn that had set Ewan off. That leech had stared Quinn down like she was a piece of meat.

Ewan's protective instincts had kicked in, and all he'd thought about was getting Quinn out of there. His possessiveness had reared its ugly head, and if anyone had hurt her, he would have ripped their arms off. He'd been seeing red at that point and could've taken the entire pub on if he had to.

He ran his tongue along his lower lip and swore he could still taste the sweetness of Quinn's mouth. Her lips were so soft, and she was seriously skilled in the art of kissing. Fuck, if that's what she could do with her mouth, it might be worth the trouble to see what she could do in the bedroom.

Jesus, get a grip. Let it go.

But no matter how much he tried to wash it from his mind, he couldn't.

After he had come upstairs with Quinn, he was breathless, anxious. He was so rattled by what had almost happened to her that he'd hidden in the kitchen. He'd had a swallow of whiskey that had done nothing to calm his nerves like he'd hoped.

Alcohol was a last resort for him. As volatile as he was, throwing alcohol into the mix was a bad idea. He saw what it did to people on a regular basis. He usually chose to stay away.

When he'd seen Quinn standing in the doorway of the kitchen, he'd lost it. Lust had been flowing out of him in waves. He'd wanted to devour her, to greedily take her lips and run his hands all over her body until she begged him to fuck her. And when she'd rocked her hips against him, it'd taken everything in him to break their kiss.

Quinn was different. The women he'd gone for in the past were quick and easy lays. He didn't want anything from them, even if they wanted more from him. But Quinn… She wasn't the type of woman you just fucked. Her spirit was alive and bright, and her innocence was too pure to destroy.

She was a nice girl who probably dated nice guys.

They would show up at her house in blazers and khakis or whatever those city fuckers wore, and she'd wear pretty yellow sundresses with dainty cardigans and brown leather sandals. They probably took her to the movies and for walks in the park while they held her hand.

Guys probably wrote her love letters and poetry. They would definitely bring her flowers and chocolates. And underneath all these pitiful attempts to gain her affection, they were just dying to get in her pants.

Ewan growled at the thought as he tied off a trash bag full of debris.

He didn't want to write her love letters or poetry. He damn well didn't want to show up on her doorstep with flowers. But he did want to get into her pants. And he was sure he could do more things to make her head spin than all the other little shits who would dare to try.

There was no way that she would be able to handle the emotional pain and baggage that he would bring to the table. She didn't know of the deep, dark secrets some people carried around with them their whole lives. She didn't know that there were people in this world who would hurt her just because they could.

Or just because they couldn't help it.

“Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, and one hundred,” the bank teller counted as she placed each bill in her hand.

“Thanks very much.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with today, Ms. Adler?”

“No, that'll be all, thank you.” Quinn smiled at the teller as she slipped her wallet into her purse. There was something about a bright warm day in early spring that made everyone smile a little more. Made people more polite. Pittsburgh in the spring was very fickle, so a day like this in March was a real gift.

Quinn was about to give a small wave before leaving the counter when she saw the teller's eyes widen and her mouth fall open a fraction of a second before Quinn's hair blew across her face. An intense gust of hot air exploded into the lobby. Sharp shards of glass hit the right side of her body as she was thrown to the marble floor. Her shoulder hit the ground, followed instantly by her head. A burst of white light shot from behind her eyes, momentarily blinding her with the impact.

The next thing she knew, she was pushing herself up off the ground with the other bank patrons. There was no sound except for a high-pitched ringing in her ears. The floor-to-ceiling windows that surrounded the lobby were completely gone on the side nearest to her. Potted plants, along with chairs and tables, had been overturned and strewn across the lobby of the bank. Thousands of banking notes and deposit slips fluttered in the air like maple seeds.