Chapter 18
Quentin awoke the next morning to the sun warming his face, feeling pleasant and happy. But it didn’t take long for realization to wake him up completely.
Jesus Christ. What the hell had he done?
His heart was thudding as he shook his head, troubled by what he’d allowed to occur last night. He should have said no, should have resisted, but he’d allowed himself to cross the line. It didn’t matter that she’d given him explicit permission.
But then he paused, looking at Raine, softly sleeping, her body barely moving as she took slow breaths. Her pale shoulder peeked out of the covers and her face had never looked so peaceful.
Reaching out his hand to touch her back, he paused, tightening his jaw, clenching his hand into a fist as he pulled it back to himself.
Goddamn…she was beautiful. She had turned out to be completely unlike anything he’d ever expected.
Every day, she put on a mask and armor and let her rough edges hide her true self—but, because of her lyrics and music, he’d seen through it all to discover who she really was.
Underneath it all, she was a strong, beautiful creature who’d taken over his every waking thought—and here and now, he could relish how quiet and unguarded she’d become with him.
And he shouldn’t have let it happen because, out of everything that had happened in this life, a woman like Raine was someone he absolutely did not deserve.
He already knew from past experience that he destroyed every fucking thing he touched.
He’d known better and yet he’d allowed himself to do it anyway.
What the hell had he been thinking?
Well, he hadn’t. He’d let his emotions rule him once again, just like they had when he was younger, and history had taught him that was the worst fucking thing he could ever do.
He would ruin her if she let him…and he wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow himself to do that.
Pulling himself out from under the covers, he sat on the side of the bed for a moment—and then he got up.
It wasn’t hard to be quiet as he pulled up the covers before picking up their clothes off the floor.
He folded hers, placing them neatly on the dresser, and then put his back on and slowly left the room, leaving the door cracked open.
It was already after seven, but he didn’t see them getting to work right away.
No, he needed time, and she probably would too.
And he had a lot of shit to sort out—so he made a pot of coffee and, as it was brewing, he headed outside.
The air was warming up after the cold night, and he walked the perimeter of the property, sorting through the turmoil roiling in his chest.
Last night, Raine had called him on it and she hadn’t been wrong.
He’d wanted her so badly, but he’d also been forcing himself to keep his distance.
Even in his conscious thoughts, he’d managed to put his desire to the back of his mind.
Why had he given in last night? It was so selfish and immature, another sign that he really hadn’t made as much progress as he’d thought.
Had he learned anything over the past eight years?
But it didn’t matter. He had to stop this now before he hurt this girl.
One indiscretion was bad enough, but he might be able to salvage the situation—and it was for the best. Raine had already been through far too much in her short life, and the last thing she needed was for him to wreck her the rest of the way.
She deserved a chance.
One without him.
So when he finally returned, he dreaded walking up to his room. But it had to be done.
When he pushed open the semi-open door, Raine was just waking up, those beautiful brown eyelashes fluttering as she began to sit up, a sunbeam moving down her body as she did.
Although she had plenty of tattoos on her arms as did he, her back was completely bare—and she looked so tiny from here, so—
No. That innate need to protect this young woman had started everything that had culminated in what happened last night.
He could not allow himself to think about her in that way.
Raine didn’t need protecting. She was strong as hell—far stronger than he’d ever been—and brave…
and all the things Quentin had never figured out to be.
She was a survivor. She’d make it and do far better without him.
And they just needed to get this goddamned album in the can so they could both go on with their lives.
Raine had a smile on her face when she spotted him. “Good morning.”
Be strong. “Morning. We’re already late. It’s almost eight now and, because we didn’t get shit done yesterday, we really need to get on the ball.”
“Uh…oh. Okay.”
He couldn’t look at her and, for just a brief moment, he sensed that she wanted to say something. Before she could, he walked toward the bathroom. “Just get to the studio as soon as you can. It’s okay if you’re a little late.”
In the door he went, locking it before turning on the bathtub faucet.
Under the water, he hung his head as the shower hit him with full force. He’d made it through the first part of the gauntlet…but he knew it would probably get worse before it got better.
Half an hour later, Quentin was in the studio, cup of coffee in hand, and he worked on mixing the song they’d been working on before that goddamned demo leaked. He estimated that, if they worked hard, they could get this album wrapped up in two weeks or less. Maybe three.
It had to happen. For Raine’s sake—and probably his.
Before he saw her, he heard her walking in the studio, humming the tune to the old eighties’ song “Walking on Sunshine.” Jesus.
He’d never liked that song, but he found it hard to keep hating it the way Raine was humming it—but if that song was a window into her soul… he had to put a stop to it right now.
Standing, he said, “Ready to work?”
“Um…yeah.” Her grin was huge, displaying white teeth, and the pink color that had been in her hair when she’d arrived had mostly faded.
She wore blue jeans, boots, and a thin black long-sleeved t-shirt that showed off her frame, reminding him of how her back had looked this morning.
Her makeup was minimal but that made her all the more beautiful—again, because she had taken off the mask.
But he had to stop fucking thinking that way. She said, her voice still sounding on top of the world, “That’s why I’m here.”
“Good. We’re behind.”
Nodding, she put down her cup on the table outside the control room door. “Should we start working on ‘My Fate’?”
“No, I think that one’s good. We’ve got everything we need on that. Let’s move on.”
Raine tilted her head before narrowing her eyes—and she approached the door to the control booth. “Um…can I ask you a question?”
No. “Sure.”
“You feel…different somehow. What’s changed?”
Jesus. Of course, she knew it. How could she not?
But he wasn’t about to tell her his deepest fears—that touching her again would mean her ruin.
He focused on keeping his voice level. “Nothing. I…” Quentin paused and shook his head.
“We still have an album we need to record. Or have you forgotten that?”
The way her face blanched caused something inside Quentin to shrivel. Jesus, he was an asshole—but at least that was a role he knew how to play well. And it was for the best. It was for her sake.
It didn’t matter if it would cause him to hate himself even more. He couldn’t cross the line again.
“Of course not.” Echoing her earlier sentiment, she said, “That’s why I’m here.” But the way she said it this time told him everything he needed to know. His cruelty had successfully shut her down.
“Good. So let’s decide on which song we’ll record next.”
“Um…you pick, I guess.”
That entire day was tense—and intense—but at least Raine took the hint and stayed professional throughout the session.
When they broke for lunch, Quentin stayed in the studio, telling her he needed to perfect a section of the song they were working on—and, at the end of the day, he said he was going to work on getting the last few remaining tracks ready to record.
He saw it again on her face—the confusion, the hurt. But it was better this way.
For both of them.
And, as he stayed up late into the evening, he dedicated himself to finishing the album as soon as possible while making it as perfect as possible without making it too perfect…and, when it was as big a hit as he knew it would be, maybe she would be able to forgive him.
Maybe he’d even be able to forgive himself.