Chapter 2
two
Quinn
T he keys I found nestled in a pile of my kid’s toys in the back seat match her description exactly. As I pull them from my pocket, I study the woman before me. Sweat damp strands of auburn hair escape from her messy ponytail and curl against her cheeks and neck. With a chambray shirt over a tank and deliciously tight, well-worn jeans she looks the part and could easily have just stepped out of an auto repair shop. Her ample curves are in all the right places.
Wrenching my gaze from her body, I fight the rise of an odd mixture of longing and lust. I’ve been divorced for a couple years now and kept an empty bed for over a year before the split. Maybe this instant attraction is because I’ve been alone so long.
I haven’t needed a woman. My kids are more than enough to keep me occupied and so exhausted at night all I want is to sleep. So why now? Why her?
“These are…” I have to clear my throat to continue as I drop the keys onto her extended palm. “…yours then.”
“Yes. Thank you. You’ve saved me from all the teasing the guys at the shop would lay on me. This isn’t the first time I’ve lost my keys.”
She catches her lower lip between her teeth and her golden-brown eyes go wide.
“Sorry,” she mumbles. “You don’t need to know all that. Thank you for your willingness to check your car and find these for me. I’ll let you get back to whatever…” She waves one hand toward my book and angles toward the downward sloping ramp to leave.
Our transaction is done. There’s no reason to extend the moment but a tight band forms around my chest at the thought of never seeing her again. Unless my SUV breaks down while I’m on this side of town again. With how well the engine’s running after the repairs today, the odds of that happening are definitely not in my favor.
I’m not a betting man yet I understand risk since my family’s business was built on a risky foundation. After two generations of success and moderate risk, I’ve settled into a pattern that avoids anything that’s out of my control. Hell, the last risk I took was… I honestly don’t remember. So why am I considering risking my ordered life by getting to know this woman?
Unless that was still her plan all along.
She could have planted the keys ensuring she’d meet me. Although most women who’ve attempted to capture my attention since the divorce have been more put together. Fake perfection created by hair style, makeup and clothing. I don’t sense this type of manipulation with Ms. Rankin.
Ms. Rankin. “What’s your first name?”
We’re both surprised by my blurted question then the tight line of her lips softens to a smile. She tucks her keys into the front pocket of her jeans. “Storm.”
“Storm? An unusual name.”
She shrugs. “My dad was a motorcycle club wannabe when I was born. He thought it would be a great club name. My mother told a different story about the weather.”
“Your father is in a gang?” Maybe I don’t want to know more.
“No, Mom wanted him to be respectable. So he opened the shop. Even though we fix mostly cars and trucks, he still pulls in a lot of bike repair. He rides, but just with friends. That’s about as respectable as she was able to get before she aban… left.”
After her curious statement I have questions, but no right to ask them of a stranger.
Perhaps later, when she’s not a stranger. When did I decide getting to know her was imperative?
“Well, I should get going. I’ve got a couple miles to walk to get home.”
Walk? “What about your car?”
Patting the wrinkled fabric over her keys she offers another shrug. “I may have car keys, and work at a repair shop, but that doesn’t mean I have a working car. In fact, she’s scheduled to be crushed in a couple days. I just haven’t taken the keys off the ring yet.”
My expression must betray my questions because she chuckles. “She was my college car. Even for mechanics, sometimes there comes the point where a car isn’t worth fixing. We were able to salvage a few parts and a local body shop took the undamaged panels and bumper. She gave her all.
“Besides it’s not a big deal to walk. I use public transportation or rideshares. Often one of the guys will give me a ride home. Don’t really need a car right now.”
The mention of some guy taking her home doesn’t sit well. Before I examine the rise of jealousy and possessiveness, I make my own offer. “Hop in and I’ll take you home.”
Her eyes narrow. “I told you all I want is my keys.”
I hold up my free hand, palm facing her. “Hey, just a friendly offer. It’s nearly dark and the areas around the strip aren’t the safest to be walking through alone at night.”
She glances into my SUV. “What about your kids? Won’t your wife be upset if you…”
Her words fade as I shake my head. “Kids are with their grandmother. And I’m divorced.”
Emotions pass through her expression. I’m out of practice trying to read a woman’s unspoken thoughts, although with the sham of my marriage I’ve never been good at that. Still, I register confusion, relief, and—no, I must be mistaken—a flash of desire. I press my luck. “Come on, Storm. It’s just a simple ride home.”
“Okay,” she drawls. “But only if you tell me your first name, too.”
“Quinlan. Quinn for short. Ready?” I dig for my key fob and unlock the doors.
“Thank you, Quinn. I appreciate the ride.”
Once we’re settled, buckled in, and have exited the garage, I finally ask, “Where to?”
A faint pink tints her cheeks as she answers. Her apartment is in a part of town that borders both a yet to be revitalized part of the city and a newer neighborhood filled with overly large and ornate homes. One of the neighborhoods my company was involved in developing.
Her stomach rumbles and the pink deepens to a bright red. She presses her hand against the cushion of her soft belly and shakes her head. I ignore her embarrassment until a few blocks later.
“You know, I haven’t eaten since mid-morning. And I don’t like eating alone. Can I buy you dinner?”
“Don’t you need to get back to the hotel? What about your kids?” she asks again.
Pleased she’s concerned about my children, I answer. “They’re staying with their grandmother tonight. I’m confident they’ve had plenty to eat. I’m actually glad I won’t be around when they come down from the sugar high I’m sure they’re riding. I’m not in the mood for a swanky hotel meal or fast food. How about we stop at the Coral Café?”
“For a visitor, you know a lot about Vegas.”
“Never said I’m a tourist. Didn’t you notice my plates? I live here.”
“That’s right, but now I don’t understand. Why are you and your kids staying at the Excalibur?”
I pull into the café parking lot and turn off the car before angling in my seat to face her. “I have sole custody of my two kids after the divorce. Their mother may be a bitch, but their grandmother is a sweet, kind of ditzy person who loves them dearly. I won’t deny them her love or the opportunity to know their grandmother. This is the second year she’s come in from Florida and to make it easier for her, we stay at one of the hotels. The kids room with her, but I always take a room nearby just in case. It gives me a bit of a break and makes everyone happy.”
“How did you know about this café? It’s a favorite of mine.”
Waving one hand in the vague direction of the expensive neighborhood, I confess, “I live over there.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh.”
“Don’t let my address fool you. I’m not a snob. This is one of my favorite eating places, too. The fried chicken…” I mime a chef’s kiss of approval. “…is perfect.”
Storm unfastens her seatbelt. “Yeah, it’s good. But I prefer their super loaded burrito.”
“Can you actually eat a whole one of those?”
One side of her mouth tilts to a grin and her eyebrows arch. “Watch me.”