Chapter 27 Quentin
TWENTY-SEVEN
QUENTIN
Quentin woke up staring at her hair.
It was everywhere. A tumble of auburn across the pillow, catching the morning light like it had its own agenda.
It reminded him of the brush along the edge of the ranch, the kind that flared copper when the sun hit it just right and made you forget whatever you had been worrying about two seconds earlier.
As a kid, he used to crush those leaves in his fist and toss them into the wind without a second thought.
With Sadie, the thought of letting go made something in his chest tighten.
His eyes found her face. Even in sleep, she looked fierce, lips parted just slightly, brows still drawn like she was dreaming of something she’d fight her way through.
And God, he loved that about her. The defiance in her bones, the quiet fire even in stillness.
He stayed there watching the steady rise and fall of her breath, struck by how right it felt. He could get used to mornings like this. That was probably a problem.
Maybe it helped that she was asleep. Not bristling.
Not rolling her eyes. Not pretending she did not care.
She guarded her heart like a locked gate and he understood that instinct better than he wanted to admit.
He had learned early how to smile, charm, perform, and keep people at arm’s length while convincing them they were close.
Trust was a short list. Family. Eden, on a good day. And animals. Animals that didn’t care about fame or fortune. They just knew who you were underneath. That was the draw, the reason he’d poured his first big paycheck into the refuge. They were honest in a way people rarely were.
Sadie was honest too, in her own stubborn, sharp-edged way. She hadn’t wanted anything from him. Hell, she’d barely tolerated him. Maybe that was what intrigued him first. But it had become more than that. There was a softness beneath all that grit, a tenderness she kept hidden like a secret.
She was fire and steel, raw and unapologetic. And despite everything, or maybe because of it, he couldn’t stop orbiting her.
He’d sworn he’d never be this guy. The one memorizing the way someone breathed. The one noticing how her mouth curved even in sleep, like she was mid-argument with a dream. The one lying still because moving might wake her, and waking her felt unthinkable.
Sadie stirred beside him. He didn’t look away. He watched as her lashes fluttered, her eyes slowly opening—finding his immediately. They stared at each other for a long second, the kind that stretched thin and intimate and dangerous.
Then she blinked. Reality snapped back into place.
“Ugh,” she groaned, flopping onto her side, hair a spectacular disaster and voice thick with sleep. She glared at him like he’d personally ruined her dreams. “You’re still here.”
There she is. Freckles spattered across her nose like they’d been hand-painted, the morning light softening her usual fire into something almost delicate. She was beautiful. Ridiculously, unfairly beautiful.
“You begged me to stay, Roja,” he said mildly.
“That orgasm must’ve scrambled my ability to make smart decisions,” she muttered, rubbing at her face like she could physically erase the memory.
“Yeah,” he shot back without missing a beat, “because it rocked your fucking world.”
She snorted and buried her face in the pillow, clearly attempting to smother the smirk fighting its way out. She didn’t deny it. That did dangerous things to him.
“Is this how you greet all your sexual conquests? Dripping sarcasm? No wonder you’re still single.”
She peeked at him through her lashes, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “Just the ones who can’t take a hint.”
He took her down in one smooth motion, pressing her into the mattress and pinning her wrists above her head. His body molded to hers, and he felt every inch of her. Every breath. Every beat of her heart, wild and fast under his chest.
“Tell me why you work so damn hard to hate me,” he said, voice low.
She looked up at him with that infuriating, intoxicating smile, the one that promised nothing good and everything he wanted. Her legs tightened around his waist, hips rolling just enough to make his breath catch.
“Try taking your clothes off,” she whispered, her mouth brushing his ear. Her voice was sweet poison, soft and sharp. “I promise I’d like you so much better naked.”
Then she grinded against him like she had all the time in the world and no intention of playing fair. The contact was pure heat. He groaned before he could stop himself, the sound torn from somewhere deep.
He buried his face in her neck, trying to catch his breath, to remember what he had been asking. Her scent, her skin, the way she moved under him—it was too much. He was hanging by a thread. Her T-shirt was the only thing separating him from total, irreversible ruin.
“Sadie,” he growled, his jaw locked so tight it ached.
She raised an eyebrow, smug and unholy. “What’s the matter? Afraid you can’t handle me?”
God, she was impossible. And irresistible. And dead fucking wrong.
He tightened his grip on her wrists, just enough to make her eyes darken, and slid his other hand down to her hip, pinning her to the mattress. No more teasing. No more slow grind. Just him, holding her still, showing her exactly who she was dealing with.
“Oh, I can handle you,” he said, voice low. “Better than you can handle me.”
Their mouths were so close he could taste her breath, warm and fast against his lips. His thumb slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, brushing the bare skin of her thigh.
“But I’m not letting you fuck your way out of the truth.” he murmured. “Tell me. Why do you keep pretending you don’t want this? Don’t want me?”
The silence between them stretched taut. Her teeth caught her lip. Her breath faltered. She was breaking, fractures forming where she thought she’d built herself strong.
“Why?” she whispered, voice trembling. “Why won’t you just let it go? Let me hate you?”
And there it was. The ache beneath the bite. The hurt she hid behind sarcasm and sharp edges. Quentin felt it land in his chest.
“Because there’s something in my guts that tells me you’re worth all the trouble,” he said, his voice low and steady, each word pulled straight from the truth he couldn’t deny.
She swallowed hard. He watched the fight flicker in her eyes then fade, replaced by something unsure. He let go of her wrists and shifted beside her, watching her face.
“You don’t hate me,” he said, gentler now, not a plea, but a certainty. He wasn’t asking. He already knew. The air between them hummed with it.
“You don’t know that,” she murmured, the sound barely a breath.
He smiled, soft and certain. “I do. If you hated me, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be looking at me like that.”
Her eyes narrowed, a reflex, not truth. He saw the tension coil through her, the tremble just beneath the surface, the wild beat of her pulse at her throat.
“Like what?” she asked, her voice brittle with bravado.
“Like you’re terrified of what this could become.”
“Maybe it’s easier to hate you,” she said, voice cracking on the word. “Easier than… whatever this is.”
He leaned in until his forehead nearly brushed hers, close enough to feel her breath. “You think this is easy for me?” he asked quietly. “You think I don’t feel it too? That it doesn’t scare the hell out of me?”
For a moment, she was caught, suspended between fight and surrender. He could see it in the way her lips trembled, in how her eyes searched his like she was afraid of what she might find or worse, what she wouldn’t.
And still, he saw her. The fire, the fear, the aching softness she tried so hard to bury. She was chaos and gravity, wild and magnetic. She drove him mad, and still he was pulled toward her like a tide. Not because it was easy. Because it was her.
She took a breath, like she was bracing herself, then let it out slowly.
“It was my first real day on a real set,” she said. “Not a student film. Not a favor for a friend. An actual movie.” She gave a small, incredulous laugh. “I’d barely been there an hour and already felt like security was going to figure out I didn’t belong.”
Quentin stayed quiet, watching her.
“One of my professors pulled some strings and got me an intern spot,” she went on. “And then I found out what movie it was.” She glanced at him. “Mr. America.”
His stomach dropped.
“Your first one,” she said softly. “Everyone on set was buzzing about you—how you’d come out of nowhere, how the studio was betting big, how this was going to make you a household name.” She shook her head. “I remember thinking, great. No pressure at all.”
His chest tightened.
“I was terrified,” she admitted. “I wanted to prove I deserved to be there. That I wasn’t just some intern they’d forget by lunch.” Her fingers twisted together. “And yeah… I wanted to impress you.”
He frowned, the memory still hazy.
“I didn’t really know you yet,” she said. “But everyone else did. So in my head, if I did a good job—if I didn’t screw up—maybe I’d matter too. Even just a little.”
She gave a small, tight laugh. “It wasn’t even a big deal. Just a bit of powder, foundation. But when you walked in, you looked furious. Not at anyone, just… mad at the world. I thought maybe I could break the tension, make a joke.”
Her fingers twisted in the sheet. “I said something dumb. Something like, ‘Who died?’” She winced, the words still sharp after all this time. “And you looked at me like I’d said the worst thing in the world.”
Quentin’s heart thudded. He remembered now. The pieces slid sickeningly into place.
“You didn’t say anything. You just walked out,” she said. “A few minutes later, someone told me to pack up and leave. I never even got an explanation. I thought I’d ruined everything.”
It all made sense now. Of course she hated him. If he were her, he would have hated him too. The famous jerk who couldn’t even spare a word. The guy who made her feel disposable with a look.
He inhaled sharply. “Sadie…”