Chapter 19
But It Was Catch and Release
Sarah got worse before she got better. For nearly four days, she toed the line labeled “delirious,” drifting in and out.
Quinn had been in touch with the Blizzard’s medical staff about his shoulder and about her.
They declared her not sick enough to be taken to the hospital and discouraged him from trying.
If he took her in, they said, the hospital might keep her and she’d be isolated from family and friends. Screw that.
So Quinn took charge of her care. She needed him, and he realized he liked being needed by the tough little badass with the sharp tongue. Meanwhile, he made sure his mom kept up with her therapy and had whatever she needed.
He’d also started walking Archer. Who else would do it?
Besides, it got Quinn out of the house, in the fresh air, without having to don a hazmat suit.
So here he was, on an early April afternoon, taking Archer for a stroll along a green belt in his neighborhood, soaking up unseasonably warm weather at the leading edge of an oncoming snowstorm.
He wasn’t the only one needing a fix of fresh air, though.
People were everywhere, on paths and on the grass, though keeping their distance from everyone else.
As he and Archer wandered along the trail, he let his thoughts roam a different sort of path.
He pondered how caring for his mom and Sarah made him feel useful.
Helpful. Valuable. Like he felt when he played for his team.
A giver instead of a taker. He’d been a taker his whole life, and right now he could have been performing some sort of cosmic balancing act to offset those times.
Not that the little he was doing could truly put everything on a level playing field, but it was a start. He liked that.
“Quinn?” A voice behind him pulled him from his mind’s meanderings.
He stopped and turned. A woman he didn’t recognize was jogging toward him in tight running clothes, though she was apparently missing a sports bra because her tits bounced jauntily in time with her jarring steps. As she drew closer, alarms tripped in his head.
“I thought that was you!” she panted. “What a coincidence. I happened to be out for a run, and you’re—I didn’t know you had a dog.”
Coincidence my ass! “Dory, how’ve you been?”
She bent over to pet Archer in an obvious play to flash her impressive cleavage. Archer backed up and flung his head, as if avoiding her touch. Whoa! That dog loved everyone; Quinn had never seen him back away before.
Dory shrugged and straightened, giving Quinn a flirty smile. “I’m doing well. Except for being sad a certain someone hasn’t returned my calls.” Striking a pouty face, she placed her index finger against one corner of her mouth and tugged it down.
He stared at her while a shit ton of detritus swirled through his head. This chick looks way better in the dark after I’ve consumed a fifth of rum. Sarah’s got beautiful skin and even prettier eyes. Is Dory stalking me?
“Sorry. I’ve been, uh, busy … The virus and all. I haven’t checked messages lately.” If I had, I’d have blocked you.
Dory crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her boobage upward and outward. He hadn’t meant to dip his gaze there, but the motion had been dramatic enough to catch his attention. His eyes shot back up to hers. She sported a little smirk. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“But your team’s not playing,” she complained. “I thought with you having more time on your hands, we could be together more.” The flirty smile transformed into a downright scary one—probably her failed attempt at cagey.
I fucked this girl—twice—why? Liquor. Libido. Lunacy.
He snaked his fingers through his hair. “Well, actually, I’ve been spending lots of time with … with my mom and …”
She shot out a hip and perched her fist on it.
If she was going for sexy, she’d failed at that too because her posture resembled a gimpy flamingo.
“Who else have you been spending time with?” This came out in a decidedly possessive, less friendly tone.
She narrowed her eyes on Archer. “You still haven’t told me where you got the dog. ”
“Well, he’s not really my dog.”
“You son of a bitch!”
He rocked backward as if she’d slapped him. She closed the distance. “No closer than six feet!” he blurted like a total idiot.
She ignored his dumbass declaration. “You have a new girlfriend, don’t you?” Her voice had soared upward by a few decibels.
He threw out a hand in an apologetic gesture. “Dory, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t you touch me, you, you … two-timing prick!”
Heads turned. Quinn tried to duck his. “I wasn’t trying to touch you.”
Archer gave off a series of sharp barks and shifted his weight from leg to leg. Whatever the dog was doing, it diverted Dory’s attention from Quinn for a moment, and he took in the audience surrounding them like spokes arranged at six-foot intervals.
Dory lasered her focus back on Quinn and wagged a finger at him. “We’re done, Quinn Hadley! And don’t think you can call me and smooth this over!”
Before he could protest that he hadn’t called her—wasn’t that what she was just griping about?
—she pivoted on her heel and stomped away.
Quinn blew out a relieved breath and tugged on Archer’s leash.
The dog seemed as anxious as he to get away from Dory, the green belt, and its clustered spectators.
God, I hope no one caught that on camera.
In the next breathless instant, he understood being taped might be the least of his worries.
Minutes later, when he and Archer were safely ensconced at home, he texted Paige Miller, who’d helped him find this rental house in the first place: About the defunct security system. What would it take to fire it up again?
Sarah tossed and turned. She fought demons escaping out of a hole in the ground she couldn’t seal up. They were coming for her, snatching at her to offer her up as a meal to a pack of hungry wolves. Sometimes it was one lone wolf.
Quinn hovered on the edge of her nightmares, concern etched in his oh-so-handsome features as he force-fed her fluids.
She had a blurry recollection of him saying her fever was one-oh-two and that she was not sick enough to be taken to the hospital.
Good, because she liked her room; the bed was big enough for her to thrash in while she went from hot to cold and back again.
She didn’t care that her clothes were sweaty, she was sweaty, and her hair was pancaked to her head.
Quinn would hand her fresh, oversized T-shirts that smelled like him, mumbling about wearing his stuff because he didn’t want to rifle through hers.
Everything he said came out garbled, as if he spoke in tongues, but the distinct word “babe” sometimes pierced the veil of her consciousness.
She might have even let out a little sigh at hearing it.
Archer seemed to be bedside at all times, stalwart that he was, holding a canine vigil. Even in her fever-addled brain, Sarah recognized humor in the fact that Quinn and Archer were sharing caregiver duties.
She’d settled in after an especially restless doze, finding that just-right spot where she could breathe through her nose and not cough.
She floated, dreaming she was in this bed and flat on her stomach.
The covers were pulled down to her butt, and big, rough hands were under her tank top, gliding over her skin, rubbing something greasy into her upper back.
Oh God, yessssss! A sex dream! But what’s with the greasy shit on my back?
The “shit on her back” wasn’t just greasy, it was mentholated. She raised her head. The hands stopped. She glanced over her shoulder. Not a dream. “What are you doing?”
Quinn peered at her. “You don’t remember me asking just now if you wanted me to spread this on you?”
“No. What is it?”
He held up a jar that appeared ridiculously small in his meaty hand.
“Tiger Balm. Some Chinese stuff Mom uses everywhere, for everything. She thought it would be good for your congestion. I swear to God, I asked and you said, ‘Go forward,’ or ‘Go for it,’ and rolled on your stomach and pulled the covers off. That wasn’t me. ”
I did? Damn, I’m definitely out of it. I’d have remembered giving an okay for a back rub, if for no other reason than I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it. “Did you do my front too?” Her voice came out in a squawk.
He looked genuinely affronted—it was kind of a cute look on him. “God, no. I thought I’d do your back and leave the rest to you.”
“Are you done?”
“Not quite. There’s a little more to—”
“Thank God!” She flopped back on her stomach with a noisy sigh. “Carry on, Sparky.”
A rumbly laugh reverberated in his chest. “Yes, ma’am.
” His fingers worked over her back, her shoulders, her spine, kneading and digging as he teased up her top inch by inch.
She adjusted so he could push it higher, clearing her shoulder caps.
Then she moaned; she couldn’t help herself.
What he was doing felt soooo damn good. Maybe she should stay sick.
The more she moaned, the deeper he massaged, until her upper back was reduced to warm jelly.
“Lower back,” she croaked when he stopped.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Just keep it above the panty line.”
“I’ll do my best,” he chuckled. “There’s not much room to maneuver.
” He splayed his warm hand over the small of her back.
“You don’t have a lot of real estate. My hand reaches almost all the way across your back here.
” His voice was gravelly and low. Sexy as hell.
He hadn’t bothered to pull her top back down, nor did she urge him to.
Air moving over her mentholated skin sent tingles from the follicles on her head to the tips of her toes.
Or was it his touch causing that sensation?
He leaned down and whispered beside her ear.
“That’s a very fine pair of dimples you’ve got there, toots.
Nicest I’ve ever seen.” His warm breath caressed her skin, turning it all goose-bumpy.
She might have let out an errant moan that had nothing to do with his fingers kneading her back.
This was followed moments later by a shameful whimper when his fingertips brushed just below the top of her panties.
She longed for them to slide down farther.
For him to drag her panties down, slowly, slowly.
Down to her ankles. Off her ankles. For him to explore and massage her ass, her legs, and slide a calloused hand between her thighs and creep higher, higher, doing wickedly wonderful things with his strong, thick fingers.
But he behaved—damn him!—and she bit back her frustration.
Yeah, she had to be sick if these lustful thoughts were chugging around in her head. Obviously, she’d moved from the delusional to the hallucinating phase of the virus’s progression.
With an extended sigh, she let her body melt into the mattress, and she floated away with the incredible, sensual sensation of Quinn’s powerful hands all over her bare back.
Sarah’s soft snuffling noises signaled she was asleep, and Quinn reluctantly withdrew his hands from her smooth skin and straightened.
Other parts of him were pretty damn straight too, and looking at her naked back and her perfect ass jiggling beneath her thin panties every time she moved only added to the ache.
Her arms were crossed over her head, and white half-crescents of soft flesh where her bare breasts were pressed into the mattress taunted him, urging his fingers to touch and stroke and caress.
She’s sick. She’s sick. She’s sick.
Archer was staring at him staring at Sarah. Quinn stood, and the dog’s gaze traveled to the wood on full display in his gym shorts. Yeah, I’m the sick one, Arch. He glanced back at Sarah’s form longingly. And now I have a new image for the spank bank.
He kept his eyes fastened on her exposed back.
Lack of blood in his brain meant only a skeleton crew was at work in the processing department, which left him bewildered about what to do with her top.
Leave it the way it was? She’d get chilled.
Pull it down? That might involve reaching underneath her body and fondling—er, fumbling—until he secured it in place.
He felt his enthusiasm rising at the prospect of option two; unfortunately, the visual turned his wood into granite.
Maybe he should do nothing—stand and stare until she rolled over—
Covers!
He pulled the covers over her instead and scrambled from her room. The problem in his pants wasn’t going away, and he was anxious to hit the shower and take care of it—if he could make it that far.
A battle raged in his head. Every admonition his saner self had thrown at him, every logical argument to not picture his buddy’s sister when he rubbed one out, flew out the window because damn it! She was the only woman currently on deposit in his spank bank.
How that had happened, he couldn’t be sure, but even an image of her pissed-off brother was no longer a deterrent.
His vibrating phone gave him an iota of control. Reading the text calmed his libido down by reminding him of a different, unsettling problem.
Paige: There’s some confusion over the security system. Landlord claims it’s owned outright, but the alarm company that installed the equipment claims it’s leased. The dispute may take a bit to resolve, but I’ll keep working with them to iron it out.
Quinn: Meaning?
Paige: Meaning they won’t activate the equipment, so for now no monitoring and no alerts. Are you having security issues?
Quinn: Not yet. Just prepping.
Paige: COVID zombies or crazy female fans?
Quinn: One potentially crazy female fan.
Paige: Being married to Beckett Miller, this is a risk I understand. She’s prolly harmless.
Quinn: Prolly.
Paige: Got backup until I can sort this for you?
Quinn: Backup?
Paige: A dog? A gun? Hermione’s magic spells placed around the perimeter?
Quinn: LOL. Dog and his badass owner.
Paige: Sarah and Archer. You’re safe, then.
Quinn wasn’t so sure he agreed.