Chapter 18
COVID Calling
She feels incredible!
Quinn stood rooted to the floor, afraid he might stumble backward.
And he didn’t want to stumble. No, he just wanted to stand here and hold Sarah forever.
Inhale her floral, powder-fresh scent. Memorize the feel of her warm, soft curves pressed up against him and the perfect way she fit him.
It hadn’t taken getting drunk for her to look awful damn good—she’d already looked damn good—but now that he was totally buzzed?
Jesus effing Christ, he wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone before.
She let out a little sigh and curled into him, her head snuggling against his chest. Damn!
He laid his cheek on her soft hair, relishing the silky feel and the smell of her flowery shampoo.
The move seemed to startle her, and she jerked in his arms. He loosened his hold.
She stared up at him as if she’d just woken up. KissmeKissmeKissme. Please.
She shook her head. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Maybe not, but it doesn’t keep me from wanting to.” From wanting you.
In a move that caught him completely by surprise, she shoved his chest with both hands—hard—and he staggered backward, clamping down on her wrists for balance and inadvertently bringing her with him.
As he toppled to the floor, he yanked her so she broke her fall by landing on him.
Unfortunately, the move made him fall against a corner of the stone hearth.
Something crunched, and bright heat raced through his shoulder.
“Oh fuck,” he gasped. “Think I broke something.” He raised his head and stared into her wide eyes staring back at him, all cat-gold and filled with something bordering on panic.
Her body was draped over him, her parts lined up perfectly with his.
Goddamn, it felt good! His dick agreed despite the pain radiating in his shoulder, and he began sliding her off of him so she wouldn’t notice the little problem that was quickly growing into a bigger one.
A sound escaped her that had his mind whipping to what she’d sound like if she were naked and riding him.
Shit! Not helping.
“You okay?” he croaked.
Somehow Archer had become part of the scene, part-sitting, part-crawling, whimpering beside them.
Sarah shot up, hoisting her weight onto her well-toned arms, hovering her body so close Quinn could still feel the heat drifting off her skin.
“Fine. But what about you?” To the dog, she said, “It’s okay, boy. ”
Quinn reached for his shoulder. “Shit, I think I dislocated something.”
She wrapped both arms around his good one, nestling it between her breasts. Sweet Jesus!
“Sunshine”—he winced—“you gotta let go of me.” Or I’m gonna flip you on your back and rip your clothes off. How he could contemplate ravishing her in the midst of the pain, he had little idea.
She dropped his good arm like a linesman dropped a puck in a face-off—forcefully. “Oh. Sorry.” She scrambled backward on her ass, bringing Archer with her, and plopped down on the floor out of Quinn’s reach.
“No, no. I didn’t mean to push you away.” He brought himself upright. “Fuck! That hurts like a motherfucker!”
She rose in a crouch. “What can I do?”
“Nothing yet.” He drew in and released three huge breaths, then hoisted himself to his feet. She followed suit, clambering to a standing position beside him. He side-eyed her. “Ever relocate a shoulder before?”
“What? No! I’ll call 911.”
“No! Those guys are around sick people all day, and I don’t want them near Mom.”
“What about a Blizzard trainer? They do this shit all the time, right?” Her voice had climbed an octave or two.
“No, they were exposed to the virus. Don’t want them here either,” he gritted out. “You can do it. I’ll walk you through it.”
Her eyes were owl-like, big and unblinking. “Have you done this before?”
“No, but I stayed at a Holiday Inn once.” He managed a half-smile.
A ferocious frown pulled her brows together. “Not funny, Sparky. Let’s try this again. Have. You. Done. This. Before?”
“I’ve seen it done. I know what to do.”
She hugged herself, shifting her weight from side to side. All of him wanted to pull her in for a one-armed hug and comfort her. “Okay. Where do you want to lie down?”
He jerked his chin toward the hall. “My bedroom. Let’s go.”
When they reached the bedroom, she hovered by the door and broke out in a smirk. “Wow. So this is how you get women into your bed. You play the injury card. Clever, Sparky, but seems like a lotta trouble.”
“Shut up,” he snorted. “I’m gonna lie down. You’ll grab my wrist—” He’d been rotating the shoulder, and something suddenly popped. The pain plummeted to a seven from fifteen on a ten-point scale. “Oh, thank fuck!” he panted and sat on the bed.
“What?” Her face was twisted with concern. Beside her, Archer, all smiles, did a happy dance, as if he knew the crisis had passed.
Quinn continued to work his shoulder. “Not dislocated after all. Just twanged, I think.”
“What can I do?”
“In my closet, top shelf, there’s a bin with braces and slings and shit. Pull it down. I want to immobilize the shoulder and ice it.”
She spun and faced several doors. He motioned to the correct one. She stepped inside the closet and sucked in a breath. “What the—? This is a closet? I can see myself everywhere … and it’s bigger than Lily’s living room!”
“I call it the house of mirrors.” He chuckled.
Like everything else in the house, the master bedroom closet was over the top.
A gaudy extravagance, every surface in the room was covered in mirrors—closet doors, drawers, built-in dressers.
Apparently, the owners were gluttons for clothes and seeing themselves in them from every angle imaginable.
He directed Sarah to a high shelf. After pulling the box down—and nearly clobbering herself on the head with it—she brought it to him. As he was rummaging around, his phone vibrated. “Would you get that?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Kinda late?” She picked up the phone and frowned at the screen. “Hello?”
A sick feeling, like when one accidentally hits “Reply All” in an email never intended for all, jolted him. Oh shit! Wrong phone! He could only watch in horror because she wasn’t paying any attention to his wildly flapping hand.
“Well, who is this?” she snapped. Her eyes slid toward him. “Bunny? Are you serious? That’s your actual name? Like, your parents named you that?”
He did a face palm, then feebly motioned once more for her to turn over his goddamn phone. She kept her eyes on him but didn’t make a move. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. Your first name is Puck,” she chortled.
That’s the last I’ll hear from Bunny. He hung his head.
In the blink of an eye, he’d swung from wanting to fuck Sarah senseless to wanting to throttle her senseless.
The shoulder was simply a sidebar. As he rose and came toward her, she hurriedly said, “Well, he’s a little indisposed right now.
Some extracurricular acrobatics that didn’t go as expected, and he’ll be laid … up—”
He plucked the phone from her hand. “Bunny?”
“Quinn? What’s going on?”
“Uh, well, it’s a long story—”
“No doubt it’s a fascinating one.” Sarcasm dripped off every word. “Look, I—”
He dropped his hand holding the phone to his side. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he could hear the squawk.
Meanwhile, Sarah was tiptoeing toward his door. “You’re not going anywhere,” he warned.
While Bunny’s voice yammered on, Sarah dashed to the door. “Actually, I am.” Archer darted through, followed by Sarah, who closed the door nearly all the way, leaving only her nose visible through the crack. “’Night, Sparky. It’s been real.”
The door snicked shut, and he stood staring after it, the phone still cradled in his hand. He brought it to his ear. “Bunny?” No answer. “Uh, Bunny? You there?”
With a sigh, he sank onto his bed and awkwardly wrestled with the phone until he deleted her contact information.
It occurred to him he should have felt bad about it, but he hadn’t thought of her in weeks.
A twinge of guilt poked him. The level of alcohol in his system might have explained why his self-examination sharpened, but for whatever reason, he saw himself through Sarah’s eyes.
He was, in fact, Hunter McMurphy. And he didn’t like it one damn bit.
As he lay in bed a while later, he replayed his evening with Sarah, briefly wondering why the hell she’d shoved him in the family room—likely because she’d had more sense than he had.
His mind meandered to Sarah’s exchange with Bunny.
Is your first name Puck? In spite of the cringe-worthy conversation, laughter spurted from him.
Later, as he bumped along on a wave of uncomfortable, restless sleep, the most important takeaway of the night was how Sarah had smelled and felt in his arms.
Sarah brushed her teeth—twice—scoured her face, and let Archer back inside from his foray out in the yard.
One glance toward her bedroom door confirmed she’d locked it—not that she expected anyone to come crashing through it.
Especially an anyone with a broken shoulder.
But she was tipsy and couldn’t trust herself to push Quinn away if he got close again.
Damn hormones!
Staring at herself in the mirror, she debated slipping on one of her newer sexy cami sets.
In case her room combusted and firemen came to the rescue, of course, she had to look her best. Which was why she spread a dab of foundation over her face, slicked on a little gloss, and plumped her hair.
There. Now she was ready for firemen to break down her door …
or anyone else who happened to wander by.
Had Archer been capable of an eye-roll, he’d have given her one as he curled up on his bed.
She slid between cool, crisp sheets, clicked off the lamp, and stared at the shadowed ceiling.