Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday afternoon
Solana Vineyard
Quinn
T his second visit to the vineyard serves multiple purposes: checking final measurements for the ceremony site, confirming the reception layout details, identifying locations that need the most security, and getting Jonathan and Kiera’s engagement photos taken.
With the couple running late due to a last-minute meeting at Knight Industries, it’s just me, Lyla, and Sam, the photographer Jonathan and Kiera had chosen. While waiting, I briefly scroll through social media to make sure Nathan, or rather the troll, hasn’t gone back on his word. He hasn’t…yet.
Once again, I’ve dressed meticulously—my hair is up in a half-up, half-down look. It falls past my shoulders and just below my breasts. A pencil skirt with a slit at the back of it shows off the curves of my hips and ass. And I’ve paired this with a white collarless dress shirt. I complete the outfit with black stilettos which elongate my legs despite my petite height and frame. If this whole look doesn’t drive Nathan crazy, I don’t know what will.
“Sam is already setting up some test shots by the gazebo,” Lyla tells me as we park. “He wants to check the lighting before Jonathan and Kiera arrive.”
“Is Nathan here yet?” I try to sound casual, but my pulse quickens just saying his name.
“I saw him pull in as I was coming back from the bathroom just now,” Lyla confirms with a smirk. “Ready to put your plan into action?”
I take a deep breath, steeling my resolve. “More than ready.”
I trail Lyla as we stand beside Sam. The gazebo is covered in rows of grapevines, their leaves rustling gently in the afternoon breeze.
From the corner of my eye, I see Nathan and Marco deep in conversation.
“Good luck,” Lyla whispers in my ear before turning her attention to Sam as he continues testing the lighting.
Nathan’s gaze turns to me as he and Marco approach. His reaction to seeing me is everything I’d hoped for. His eyes widen, momentarily darkening, his gaze sweeping over me in a slow assessment that feels as intimate as a physical touch. His Adam’s apple bobs as he seems to swallow hard before he forces his attention back to my face. Once again, his expression turns back to professional indifference.
I adopt a feminine power stance that both elongates my figure and sends a silent message of confidence. The small, involuntary flex of his fingers tells me he notices.
“Quinn, Lyla,” Marco greets us warmly, seemingly oblivious to the charged moment.
“Gentlemen,” Lyla greets them. “Perfect timing. Sam has been showing us some potential shots for when the couple arrives.”
Sam, a tall man with an artistic demeanor and an impressive camera setup, offers a friendly wave. “Once again, thank you for this opportunity. This place is a photographer’s dream—the natural light, the textures, the landscape perspectives. I’ve got a dozen concepts already.”
“Thanks for taking this on.” I’m genuinely pleased with his enthusiasm. “Have you checked the rose garden yet? I think it could provide some stunning close-ups.”
“That’s definitely next on my list,” Sam confirms. “Would you mind walking the property with me to mark the prime spots? I’d like to have everything mapped out before the couple arrives and we get started.”
I nod. “Of course. Let me just discuss the landscape measurements with the security team and Marco first.”
The meeting progresses smoothly, discussing technical details about the ceremony space and reception layout. I make sure to stand just a little too close to Nathan when reviewing plans, to brush against him “accidentally” when pointing out features, to hold his gaze a beat longer than necessary when asking questions.
Each small interaction leaves its mark—the slight tension in his jaw, the subtle shift in his stance, the way his voice drops lower when addressing me directly, the subtle tent in his pants that I discreetly glimpse. I’m getting to him, exactly as planned.
“I need to capture the different lighting scenarios,” Sam explains as he checks his watch. “Jonathan and Kiera are running at least half an hour late according to their text. But that’s perfectly fine since I’d like to scout the other locations now.”
“Great,” Lyla agrees. “Why don’t I go with you then? I can give them a call for their ETA in the meantime. Quinn, maybe you and Nathan could check the garden path and arbor area? We should divide and conquer to cover more ground before they arrive.”
Subtle as a sledgehammer, Lyla.
“Agreed. Nathan? You mentioned concerns about the lighting for evening photos.”
He hesitates briefly before nodding. “Lead the way.”
As Lyla and Sam head toward the rose garden and Marco excuses himself to take a call, Nathan and I follow a stone path that winds through elaborately landscaped gardens toward a secluded section of the property. The midafternoon sun casts early signs of long shadows across the grounds, giving a slight golden glow. I feel the warmth of sunlight on my face as we walk, making me think back to our first date. How nervous I was spending time with this confident man eight years my senior, but I never felt the age gap was an obstacle between us. Now I wonder if he’d ever seen my relative youth as a disadvantage or a vulnerability.
“Give it a couple of hours, and this area would make an incredible backdrop for sunset photos,” I comment, assessing the space while acutely aware of Nathan behind me.
“Jonathan mentioned he and Kiera were considering a late-afternoon ceremony.”
I nod, making a mental note. “We’ll need to factor that into the timeline. The light changes dramatically here during that transition period into the evening.”
We reach a small clearing surrounded by rose trellises, completely hidden from the main property. I’m suddenly aware of how isolated we are, how the rest of the world seems so far away.
“I see now. There’s no lighting installed here yet since it’s pretty secluded from the main building,” I say, gesturing to the path ahead.
Nathan looks around, assessing the space. “Uplighting on these larger trees might do the trick.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I move closer to point out a specific spot, deliberately letting my body brush against his. “If guests are leaving after dark, this area could be problematic without them.”
He seems to stiffen slightly at my proximity. I notice his eyes darken before he controls his expression. Good. Suffer.
Before I can lean in further, Nathan steps forward unexpectedly, backing me against a rose trellis. His hands come to rest on either side of my head, caging me in. The sudden shift in our dynamic has me feeling a pit in my stomach. My heart races.
“What do you think you’re doing, Quinn?” His voice drops to that dangerous register that I could never resist when we were together. It’d always make me weak in the knees. Right now is no exception.
I ignore my erratic heart beating in my ears, trying to save face with a composed stature despite his height towering over me. “Doing my job. You’re just imagining things.”
“Your job, huh?” he repeats, skepticism evident in his tone.
His eyes hold mine to where it’s now difficult to breathe. One of the many things that hasn’t changed for me with him. Everything about him, especially with him being this close, is intoxicating. His scent, his heat, surrounds me, quickly clouding my senses. I struggle to keep my focus.
I try to fight the feelings. “The venue assessment is part of?—”
“I’m talking about the bet,” he interrupts, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. “The dress, your… accidental touches, standing so close to me. You think I’m an idiot?”
I swallow hard. One minute I’m in control, and then I’m thrown off by his directness the next. I’d expected him to be affected by my proximity, not to call me out and turn it all against me.
“I have no idea what?—”
A smirk spreads across his face. “Yes, you do. Or did you forget how well I know you?” His voice roughens. Every expression, every habit, every sound.
His hand moves to brush a strand of hair from my face, his fingers grazing my cheek. His touch against my skin is so gentle, I almost don’t feel it. “Like… how your skin goes flush and your pupils dilate when you’re aroused. Yeah, just like that.”
I don’t know what I’m feeling more—aroused or mortified. He’s right, and he knows it. I try to mentally resist his hold on me, but my body doesn’t stand a chance.
No. This is not what I planned.
He’s supposed to be the one struggling, not me. He’s not supposed to have the upper hand.
“If anyone’s going to lose this bet, sweetheart,” he continues, leaning in to where his lips are only a whisper from my ear, “it won’t be me.”
His breath travels down to my neck, making me shiver and exhale out a shaky breath involuntarily. “For someone who can’t keep his hands to himself, you seem pretty confident.” I manage to speak, proud of my comeback and how steady my voice sounds despite the emotional chaos on the inside. Ugh, how can I want him as far away from me as possible, yet want the exact opposite at the same time?
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. “Oh, I can keep my hands to myself just fine. The better question is”—he caresses my forearm and hand—“can you resist wanting them on you?”
The air between us is charged. I can’t think straight. Somehow, the lines between us feel blurry as I’m painfully aware of every inch where our bodies nearly touch. To fill the last bit of distance between us would be so easy.
Just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he traces the curve of my lower lip with his thumb. The touch is feather-light but sends an inferno down to my core. “Two weeks is a long time, Quinn,” he says, his voice velvet. “Especially when you want something this badly.”
Before I can formulate a clever retort, much less any kind of response, he pulls away completely. I feel disoriented as cool air rushes between us, and I remain against the trellis, trying to pull myself together.
Nathan looks at me with deliberate calm, but I immediately see the slight tension in his shoulders he does his best to hide. I see the controlled pattern of his breathing.
An advantage, perhaps?
“We should head back,” he says, his tone returning to professional detachment. “Jonathan and Kiera should be here soon.”
Pushing away from the column on unsteady legs, I realize I’ve underestimated him. I’ve forgotten how clever he could be. And he’s now single-handedly turned my own strategy against me. Tempting him will only encourage him to do the same to me.
I’m frustrated. Frustrated at myself for being so ill-prepared, for not having a backup plan. I have to think fast.
Obviously, he doesn’t mind playing dirty. Perhaps I should do the same.
Before I can say anything else, I hear Lyla and Sam in the distance coming closer.
I turn my attention to my bestie as she grabs my hand. “I just got a text from Jonathan. He and Kiera are still stuck in traffic. They probably won’t get here for another twenty minutes. While we wait, Sam wants to use stand-ins for lighting tests. Would you be okay doing that with Nathan?”
Ah-ha! A perfect opportunity has basically fallen into my lap. An opportunity that doesn’t just help me get back at him but also helps me to push his resistance even further. Thank you Lyla. “Sure, count us in.”
Nathan must’ve been listening, because then he turns his focus to me. “Stand-ins?” His eyebrows raise.
“It’s standard practice,” I explain. “The photographer needs to test compositions and lighting with people in frame.”
As if on cue, Sam appears, camera bag slung over his shoulder, and Lyla grabs a reflector panel from him. “This arbor is exactly what I was hoping for!” he calls out, already framing shots with his hands. “Quinn, Nathan—thank you for doing this while I test some lighting setups. It shouldn’t take long at all.”
Sam directs us under the trellis moments later, positioning Nathan slightly behind me, his chest nearly touching my back. “Perfect! Now, Nathan, if you could just place your hands lightly on her waist—yes, like that.”
Nathan’s large hands settle on my waist. His touch has my heart racing all over again. But I force myself to remain composed even as my skin heats beneath his fingers.
“Quinn, lean back slightly—I want to catch how the light falls across your profiles when you’re close.”
I follow Sam’s direction, allowing my body to rest slightly against Nathan’s solid frame. His breath hitches audibly near my ear. I feel a sense of satisfaction from his struggling, but I’m too distracted by our closeness to really enjoy my victory.
“Now turn toward each other as if you’re about to kiss,” Sam instructs, adjusting his camera settings. “Not actually kissing—just that moment of anticipation.”
I pivot slowly in Nathan’s arms until we’re face-to-face, my hands resting lightly on his chest. His eyes lock with mine as I tilt my face upward.
I didn’t notice until now, the bags under his eyes. “You okay?”
He looks surprised by my sudden concern. “Fine. Why?”
“You look tired.”
“Had a long night,” he replies bluntly.
“Oh,” I nod. “Sorry to hear that.”
“There’s never rest for the wicked, little one.”
His nickname for me, something I haven’t heard since we were together, catches me by surprise. Instinctively, I want to believe it was a slip of the tongue. But my skepticism and cynicism keep me back in reality. For the duration of the bet, I should expect nothing that he does or says to me will be genuine. It will all be in the name of winning, in the name of getting what he wants.
This should be obvious, yet why does that make me sad?
“Perfect!” Sam exclaims, camera clicking rapidly. “Hold that tension. That’s exactly the look I want to capture.”
The irony isn’t lost on me that trying to capture this “tension” is exacerbating our sexual tension. Nathan’s fingers flex slightly against my waist, drawing me imperceptibly closer.
“Amazing chemistry,” Sam comments, oblivious to the storm he’s creating between us. Oblivious to our complicated history. “Are you two together? You look like you’d make a great couple.”
“No,” Nathan answers, his voice rougher than usual. “We’re just…colleagues.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam murmurs, focusing on his viewfinder. “One more setup—Quinn, turn your back to his chest again, and Nathan, wrap your arms around her waist from behind.”
I follow the instructions, hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect. Nathan’s arms encircle me, strong and secure, in a hold so familiar it makes my heart ache despite my determination to remain in control.
“About last night,” he says quietly, his lips close to my ear while Sam adjusts his equipment. “What happened—or almost did—wasn’t part of our agreement.”
“I didn’t know we had rules about dancing,” I murmur, my voice for his ears only.
“You know that’s not what I mean.” His fingers press more firmly against my waist. Whether in warning or need, I can’t be sure.
“Do I?” I challenge softly, tilting my face toward his for the camera while keeping my voice low. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you mean, Nathan. Be straight with me for once.”
His eyes darken yet again as they drop briefly to my body, up to my lips, and then return to meet my stare. His gaze makes the heat I feel already over my body so much worse. “I’m not backing down. And that sexy outfit of yours won’t stop me.”
“Beautiful!” Sam calls out, completely misinterpreting the tension between us.
“Is that what you want?” I ask Nathan with a sultry tone in my voice, ignoring Sam’s continued direction. “Let me assure you, the feeling is mutual.”
A gamut of emotions flashes across his face too quickly to name. His pupils are dilated, his breathing shallow, but his posture remains rigid, as if he’s physically restraining himself.
“What I want isn’t any of your concern.”
“You sure about that? Because I think it is.” I reach up, straightening his collar in a gesture that looks innocent for the camera but feels deliberately intimate between us. “I think what we want is exactly what matters here.”
Sam lowers his camera, satisfied with the test shots. “These are perfect. With this lighting, the actual engagement photos will be stunning. Thanks for standing in, y’all.”
“Happy to help,” I reply automatically, not taking my eyes from Nathan’s.
“I’m going to set up at the rose garden and wait for Jonathan and Kiera,” Sam continues, already backing away. “Lyla, can you show me that fountain you mentioned? I think it could work for some of the formal shots.”
“Of course,” Lyla agrees, shooting me a meaningful look before following Sam down the path, leaving Nathan and me alone once again.
His breathing shifts, becoming shallower. He looks almost flush. “Don’t do something you’ll regret, Quinn.”
“I doubt being honest will be something I regret,” I reply, not removing my hand from his collar. “Something we haven’t been very good at, have we?”
“You ought to know. So what’s the honest truth?” he asks, his gaze intense enough to burn.
My pulse races in my throat, each heartbeat a thundering reminder of his effect on me. But I stay strong and step closer to him.
“The truth is that I never betrayed you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “The truth is that you chose to believe the worst of me without giving me a chance to clear my name. The truth is that despite everything, despite how much you hurt me, I still can’t stop thinking about you.”
Time to play dirty.
His eyes zero in on me even more. His gaze is all over the place until finally landing on my lips again. I feel his breath on my skin, my body responding to his proximity despite all my resolve.
“You expect me to believe that?” he asks, but there’s less confidence in his tone than before. “After everything?”
“I don’t expect anything from you anymore. That’s the difference between then and now.”
Suddenly, something shifts in his expression. Before he can respond, I grip his collar tighter to emphasize my next words.
“I know what I want,” I tell him, not releasing the fabric. “Do you?”
After I say those words, I let go of him and start walking away from him. I intend to leave him in an utter mess and begin to feel satisfaction that I’ve gotten the last word, the last dig for the day.
But the tension between us must have snapped because I feel a hand grab me by the neck, pulling me back to him. His fingers press firmly against my skin, not painfully but with an authority that makes my pulse race wildly beneath his touch. His mouth crashes down onto mine with such fierce intensity that I gasp against his lips, the sound swallowed by his kiss.
I can’t stop myself from clinging to him—to his warmth, to the solid reality of him after so many months of emptiness. My fingers tangle in his hair, gripping tightly. The silky strands slip between my fingers as he backs me against the trellis. His body presses into mine with delicious pleasure. Every hard plane of his chest and abdomen molds perfectly against my softer curves.
When Nathan and I were together, we’d shared many types of kisses—tender morning kisses that tasted of coffee and promises, playful pecks that dissolved into laughter, deep embraces that led to him making love to me. But this kiss? This one has them all pale in comparison. This is raw, desperate, angry—primal. There’s nothing gentle in the way his lips claim mine, nothing tentative in how our tongues collide, battling, as each of us tries to consume the other.
His hands grip my waist, fingers digging deep. I can feel the slight tremble in his strong hands, revealing that beneath his commanding presence, he’s desperate. The knowledge sends a thrill of power through me even as I kiss his soft lips.
My skin burns wherever he touches me, my body remembers his as if no time has passed. The more places he explores, the more memories come to the forefront of my mind.
He suddenly pulls away from my mouth, the loss of contact almost painful until his lips find my neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of my throat. My head falls back, eyes fluttering closed. I gasp sharply as he finds that sensitive spot just below my ear, the one he always liked to use against me. The one he knows would make me melt in his arms and tease me until I’d beg for more.
“Nathan,” I breathe, his name a broken whisper on my lips. I’m not sure if I’m protesting or encouraging him—maybe both.
His hands slide lower, strong fingers gripping my thighs through my tight skirt, lifting me to align his clothed erection to my weeping core through my panties. The sensation is hard, electric, insistent, and impossible to resist. My body responds instinctively, hips arching against his, seeking the friction we both crave.
As if they have a mind of their own, my fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, cursing myself for not being able to feel his skin beneath my fingertips. He groans, the sound vibrating against my throat where his mouth continues its sensual journey, sending shivers cascading down my spine.
We’ll soon be teetering on the edge if this goes any further. If I’m not careful, I’ll be losing the bet with him. But that, with our complicated history and the pain between us, doesn’t seem to matter in this moment, all of it fading into insignificance compared to the need burning through my entire body.
His hand slides under my skirt, fingers tracing the edge of my lace panties with tantalizing slowness. When he finds me already wet for him, a knowing smile crosses his face. He then strokes my clit through the thin fabric, making my knees threaten to come out from under me. I gasp at the contact as his thumb circles exactly where I need it, and I bite my lip to hold back a moan.
He quickly pushes the thin fabric aside, two of his fingers slipping inside me with practiced ease, curving upward to find the spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes. The pleasure builds rapidly as his thumb continues exactly where I need it, my body hopelessly surrendering to his touch. I clutch his shoulders more tightly, my nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he builds me toward release.
I want this. Oh, god, do I want this and more.
“Come for me, little one,” he whispers against my ear, his voice rough, breath hot against my skin. “I want to feel you let go. Let me watch you fall apart.”
His words—that endearment I’d never thought I’d hear from him again—push me over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, radiating outward from where his fingers continue to make me come undone. My body trembles with orgasm. My pussy tightens, pulsing around his fingers as he draws out every last sensation. He captures my cries of pleasure with his mouth, kissing me deeply as I ride out the aftershocks.
Through my haze of the crash, I feel him adjusting himself, his breathing ragged against my lips. Then clarity cuts through.
With more willpower than I knew I possessed, I tear myself away, my chest heaving, my lips swollen from his kisses. My traitorous body already misses him, every cell screaming in protest to fall into his arms and never come back up for air.
“Quinn, baby?” Confusion seems to still cloud his judgment.
The satisfaction of seeing his frustration mixes with my own aching need as I straighten my skirt with trembling hands. “A bet is still a bet.”
“What?”
“And you said you wouldn’t be backing down.” I smooth my hair, trying to regain my composure even when my body is screaming in protest.
Understanding dawns in his eyes, quickly followed by a mixture of frustration and disbelief. His jaw clenches as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair.
“You just—” He shakes his head, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Unbelievable. You purposely let that happen, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” I play coy, finding my composure slowly but surely.
“You played me.”
“You started it. I simply finished it,” I correct him, my voice steadier than I feel. “If you’re going to fight dirty, I’ll be doing the same.”
Before he can respond, my phone rings—Lyla.
“Let’s head back,” I say after answering. “Your brother and future sister-in-law should be here any minute.”
Nathan watches me with an unreadable expression as he buttons and straightens his shirt. “Well played. But this isn’t over.”
“I wouldn’t expect it to be.” I meet his gaze evenly. “But next time, remember which one of us walked away.”
As we make our way back to the main property, maintaining a careful distance, I realize I’ve achieved exactly what I set out to do—thrown Nathan off balance, proven I can affect him as much as he affects me. Yet somehow, it feels like a hollow victory when every cell in my body is still crying out for his touch.
Nathan’s apartment
Nathan
I can still taste her.
Hours later, sitting alone in my darkened living room with a glass of bourbon, Quinn’s taste lingers on my lips—sweet with a hint of coffee, exactly as I remember. Her scent clings to my shirt where she pressed against me.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, taking another sip of bourbon.
Today did not go according to plan. Not only did I nearly break my end of our bet, but I let Quinn drag me by the balls and allowed the head down south to do the thinking for me. The way she responded to my touch, the sounds she made as she came undone in my arms—It was exactly as I remembered yet somehow more intense after a year apart.
For a moment in that garden—with her taste on my tongue, the way she shattered into orgasm, and her sighs of pleasure in my ears—I’d forgotten all the pain between us. I’d forgotten everything except the feel of her against me.
And when I was about to take things further, fuck the consequences, she pulled away. Left me aching and hard as hell, blue balls and all.
The memory of her face as she straightened her clothes haunts me—that mix of vulnerability and triumph, her lips still swollen from our passionate kisses, her eyes bright with the afterglow of pleasure. She had to know exactly what was going to happen. She played me masterfully, pushing me to the edge before walking away with that triumphant little smile.
I should be angry. Hell, I am. But beneath that is something else—a grudging admiration of her audacity and something dangerously similar to need. Not just physical, but a deeper hunger for the connection we once had. For the woman who knew me better than anyone.
But trusting Quinn again is out of the question. Isn’t it?
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. An email notification from Scott.
Analysis complete. Files in your secure folder. Interesting findings to discuss when you’re ready.
I set down my glass and pull my laptop closer, accessing the secure server where Scott would have uploaded his findings. The folder contains multiple files—server logs, IP traces, access records—all meticulously organized with timestamps and annotations.
One document draws my attention immediately: “IP_Source_Analysis.pdf.”
I open it. My heart rate picks up as I scan the contents. Scott has traced the original leak to an IP address to exactly where Jonathan said.
Holy shit, he was right.
But there’s more—he’s included a list of devices that connected to that network on the day in question.
Among the various phones and laptops, one device stands out—not for any obvious reason, but because of the timing of its connection. It accessed the network minutes before the leak went public, then disconnected immediately after.
I stare at the technical details, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. The device is registered in Quinn’s name.
Saw that one coming.
I pull up more files, searching for additional clues. Login records show multiple accesses to Quinn’s business accounts during the timeframe when she claimed to be in New Mexico, completely off-grid. As her boyfriend, when she told me she’d be going, I believed her. But after the leak… If she’s been telling the truth about being at the wedding…
I hesitate, then open a browser and search for her cousin’s name, which I vaguely remember from our conversations. It takes only a few minutes to find what I’m looking for—a public wedding registry and a handful of social media posts. Photos from the exact weekend of the leak show Quinn in a bridesmaid’s dress, clearly at a remote venue in New Mexico. There’s even a timestamp on one image, placing her hundreds of miles from Dallas when the information went public.
A coldness settles in my veins. If Quinn was truly there, physically present at that wedding when someone was accessing her accounts in Dallas…
“She couldn’t have been in two places at once,” I mutter to myself, the implications slowly sinking in. Either she had an accomplice or there’s more going on here than I initially thought.
I think back to our confrontation in the garden today, to the absolute conviction in her voice when she said, I never betrayed you. Could she be innocent? Is it possible I’ve spent a year punishing the love of my life for something she never did?
The now bigger possibility is devastating, a sucker punch that leaves me breathless.
I’ll need more information than what I have before I can be certain. I need to know exactly what happened, who accessed what, and how information that only Quinn should have known ended up public knowledge.
Who would set her up like this? Assuming this was a setup.
I pull up my calendar, checking when my next meeting with the blond bombshell is scheduled. Tomorrow morning at her office—discussing social media post division and comparing notes on security for the wedding. Less than twelve hours to gather more evidence, to build a stronger case before potentially upending everything I’ve believed for the past year.
Setting my laptop aside, I reach for my bourbon again, but it brings no comfort tonight. The memory of Quinn in my arms, her body responding to mine with the same desperate hunger, replays in my mind.
Despite everything, I find myself smiling slightly. I underestimated the little minx. It’s one of the many things I loved about…
I cut the thought off before it can form completely. I can’t go there, not yet. Not until I know the truth.
The truth. Whatever that might be.