Chapter Twenty-Five
Bram
M y head throbs as I jam my keys into the door. Frustration mounts when it takes me a few tries to actually get it to unlock. This day has been a series of frustrating events.
This morning’s exchange with Quinn left me annoyed. Not with Quinn, but with myself. I’d almost called Dad to ask him for advice. I don’t even know what I’d ask though.
Hey, Dad. Should I kiss my wife even if I’m not in love with her?
In the end, I didn’t call him and just went in to work.
I wish I hadn’t.
One disaster after another happened until I told everyone except Jerry to go home early. Then, Jerry and I spent the rest of the day ordering new equipment and fixing the mistakes one of our new hires made. In retrospect, it’s not anything that’ll set us back more than a day or two. Yet, at the time the weight seemed almost unbearable.
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension as I stride through the door. All I want to do is crash. Maybe watch Rocky or finish reading my book. I’ve been reading at night in my room to avoid any more teasing from Quinn. I’m secure in my masculinity and don’t care that I read books with a touch—a very light touch—of romance. But if Quinn lets it slip to my brothers about my reading habits, I’ll never hear the end of it.
A pleasant aroma greets me as I close the door and my stomach rumbles. With all the chaos at work, I forgot to eat lunch.
Glancing around, my brows pucker. All the lights are off. Odd.
“Quinn?” I call out while hanging up my keys and kicking off my shoes.
Footsteps echo through the hallway, and when I flick my eyes up, my heart gives a hard thud. Quinn smiles nervously as she sticks her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Rocking back on her heels, she says in an overly bright voice, “Bram, hi! You’re home.”
My lip quirks up. “Great deductive skills there, Q,” I tease, drawing closer and tugging at the end of her hair. Horrible idea.
I can feel the heat emanating from her body. It takes all the willpower I can muster not to take a deep breath of the coconut scent currently tickling my nostrils. Who knew coconuts could smell so tantalizing? Quinn’s blue shirt makes her turquoise eyes look even brighter. My eyes drift to where the shirt slides off one shoulder, and I have to clench my fist to keep my finger from trailing a path across the exposed smooth skin.
A large part of me longs to sweep her into my arms and kiss her.
Dragging my eyes from Quinn’s exposed shoulder, I meet her eyes. “What smells so good?” I take the chance to inhale deeply, but I don’t care about the delicious scents coming from the dining room. It’s the exotic scent of the woman in front of me that has all of my attention. My wife.
Quinn purses her lips. “Well, I had a visitor who . . . um . . . helped me with dinner?” She says it like a question, and I arch a brow. Sighing, she says, “Mrs. Graham brought over homemade bread and a pie.”
I groan. “Did she come while you weren’t home?”
“Umm . . . no,” she draws out. “I was home.”
“But?”
Her nose scrunches slightly as she looks up at me. “I may have been taking a nap.”
A surge of protectiveness swells within me. Not that I think Mrs. Graham would, much less could, harm Quinn, but the fact that she entered our home while Quinn was asleep makes my already tight shoulders stiffen even more. “I’m going to go talk to her. She can’t just waltz in here anytime she wants,” my voice grows harder with each word, the annoyance from the entire day coming out in my tone.
Quinn lays a hand on my arm, and I flex involuntarily at the touch. “Don’t, Bram. It’s okay. Mrs. Graham is just—”
“Creepy. Nosey. A busybody?” I interject, trying to cool my temper.
Shooting me a glare, which has a startling resemblance to Lois, she replies, “Lonely. She’s lonely, Bram.”
“Still, that doesn’t excuse her from coming into our home uninvited.”
“I know. Just don’t say anything yet. Please?” Her eyes plead with me, as her hand continues to grip my arm. All of the anger seeps out of me. How can I argue with her?
“Okay. I won’t.”
Her face visibly relaxes, and she lets her hand fall off my arm. “Thanks, Bram. Are you ready to eat?”
I glance down at my clothes, suddenly aware of how dirty they are. I don’t always come home covered in drywall dust. Especially if I’m doing paperwork or overseeing. Today was not one of those days. I had to get my hands dirty. My clothes are proof of that.
Normally, I’d take two minutes to put some ball shorts and a T-shirt on before eating supper. But there’s something about the expression on Quinn’s face. The hopefulness and even nervousness in her eyes. And she’s dressed for . . . for a date night.
“Do you mind if I clean up first?”
“Oh, no. Of course, not. I need to take my insulin anyway,” she replies, a pained expression crossing her face, but it’s gone almost as soon as it appears.
I shower quickly then run a razor over my face to rid it of the light stubble from the day. After putting on a pair of jeans and a dark blue henley T-shirt, I open my bedroom door just as Quinn is coming out of her room. She makes a squeaking sound, her eyes widening as they trace a path from my head to my toes and back down before latching on to my face.
Her brows crease a little and she leans closer, causing my heart to speed up. What is she doing?
Reaching up her hand, she wipes her thumb across my freshly shaven cheek. Before I have time to do anything stupid—like grab her and kiss her thoroughly—she retreats and clears her throat. “You had a little . . . knick from shaving.”
I rub a hand over my face. “Oh, thanks.”
The tension between us only increases the tightness I’ve felt all day. After cleaning up supper—which was delicious and incredibly intimate with all of the candlelight—we settle onto the couch to pick a movie.
I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck wishing I could get the kinks out.
“Are you okay?”
My gaze flicks to Quinn as she studies me. She’s been quieter than normal over supper. Then again, so have I.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Another involuntary roll of my neck and shoulders has her frowning.
“Is your neck hurting?”
“A little,” I admit with a shrug. “Occupational hazard.”
She rolls in her bottom lip for a moment before straightening. “Here. Come sit in front of me.”
My brow wrinkles in confusion. “Huh?”
Rolling her eyes, she replies, “Come sit in front of me. I’ll massage it.”
“Oh.” My heart hammers loudly in my chest. My muscles scream for me to oblige her. Just the idea of relieving the tension in my neck makes me want to sigh with pleasure. But having Quinn’s hands on me in such an intimate way after that kiss we shared yesterday?
“You know, I don’t bite.” Her cheeks pinken as her gaze darts to mine. “Sorry. It’s okay if it makes you uncomfortable. I just thought I’d help.”
The vulnerability in her voice has me moving to sit in front of her. Her eyes widen slightly and the pink on her face deepens. She’s just as nervous as I am.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. Raising a brow, I ask in a teasing voice, “But are you sure your small hands are strong enough?”
She snorts, which I shouldn’t find so adorable. “Turn around Baxter,” she says firmly.
“Yes, wife .” I chuckle and turn my back to her. The first touch of her hands on my neck is an odd sensation of cold and warmth. Her fingers are like ice, but the warmth that radiates throughout my body from where they touch is like fire shooting through my veins.
My heart is in a full-on gallop, each touch eliciting more heat than a flame. She kneads my shoulders before moving her fingers up to my neck. Her thumbs press deep as she rolls them back and forth, hitting the spot that’s holding the most tension. I hiss slightly at the pressure.
Her hands still but don’t leave my neck. “Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I barely manage to get out. “It feels fine.” Ha. I’m lying to her and myself. It’s not fine. It’s amazing, and it’s taking everything in me not to make embarrassing groaning and grunting sounds.
“Okay,” she replies before working her magic again.
We both remain silent as she kneads and rubs my shoulders and neck. The air is weighted with a tension I’m not accustomed to around her. Or anyone, to be honest. Each press of her fingers and palms has my blood pulsing until I’m sure I’ll combust. Just as I’m about to tell her I’m good, her fingers glide into the back of my hair, one touching the space behind my right ear.
I jump slightly and let out a weird laugh-yelp combination. Quinn’s hands jerk back. “Umm . . . ” she trails off as I take the opportunity to stand and move away from her way too tempting touch.
“Sorry, sorry,” I reply, my neck burning—and not only from the marks her touch has left on me. “It’s crazy, I know.” I let out an awkward laugh. “I’m ticklish there,” I finally admit, the heat traveling from my neck to my face.
Quinn blinks at me a few times before she bursts out laughing. “Behind your ear?”
I shrug. “I can’t help where it is.” A smile tugs at my lips at her laughter. I’ve never noticed how beautiful it sounds.
When I close my eyes later that night, I can still hear her musical laughter floating around me and see her eyes lighting up with merriment. And I know then I want to do whatever it takes to make her happy.