Broken At Love (Whitman University) (7 page)

Admitting it lifted weight off my shoulders. So what if he’s the biggest playboy in Whitman University history? He was beautiful and, I thought, sad.

I chuckled under my breath and took a sip of the sweet drink. Ruby would kick my ass for even thinking such a thing, but it didn’t make it less true. He was a mystery. I’d made a promise to my baby sister not to let any of life’s little mysteries go unsolved.

From the edge of the deck, I saw the spot where I sat with Marla the other night and made a mental note to call her. Poor Marla. Jack had been part of her life’s plan since high school. I knew what it felt like to have a readied plan for the future ripped from under your feet like a rug.

I’d been tumbled on my ass by my own when leukemia took my sister three years ago.

A figure stood down by the ocean, alone. It gave me déjà vu from the other night, when I remembered thinking that it looked like Quinn. It still did, so before I could change my mind or get scared enough to leave, I started toward him.

The sea breeze scattered shivers over my skin, and the cool sand clung to my bare feet. He turned, sensing my presence, his face tensed as though expecting confrontation. The sight of my face shot his eyebrows up in surprise, but he quickly settled into a forced smile.

“Sorry to surprise you. I wanted to bring back the clothes I borrowed.” His eyes traveled down to the drink in my hand, lighting every inch of skin he passed on fire. “I also borrowed a drink.”

“You’re welcome to whatever you’d like.”

He grinned and the subtext of his gracious statement curled heat through my abdomen.

An awkward silence slithered between us when I didn’t respond to his teasing. Until now we’d been strangely at ease with one another, and the discomfort made me babble. “I left the clothes in the car. We can go get them. Why are you down here instead of inside with everyone else?”

His electric gaze found mine, and shit if my heart didn’t pound so hard it made my ears ache.

“You mean why aren’t I upstairs banging some chick?” The wry smile climbed into his eyes, a teasing glint relaxing my shoulders.

“Maybe. Why aren’t you?”

“I know you thought I was playing you the other night, trying to get you into bed, but I wasn’t. We don’t know one another and you’re making assumptions.”

The wheels in my head turned, processing the statement. The thing was, the first part sounded like a lie—and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have protested if I’d jumped him—but the second part felt like truth. “I’m starting to wonder if anyone really knows you, Quinn Rowland. You’re quite the enigma.”

“That’s a big word,” he replied, turning back toward the water and dropping into the sand.

“You can handle it.”

Quinn patted the beach at his side and I didn’t think twice about not sitting. I wasn’t planning on partying and the dress wasn’t one of my better ones. My curiosity increased with every moment we spent together.

The thing was, so did my fear.

I picked up piles of sand and let it spill back through my fingers while I tried to figure out what scared me. I’d promised my sister before she’d died to not be so careful, to take chances, to do the things that scared me because she would never get to do any of the things that scared her. The day she’d died, her hand going limp inside mine, I’d worked to change my outlook. Regret would never be a part of my life. I’d promised Anabel.

I thought I would regret not uncovering what about Quinn drew me in with such force. So even though nerves twisted my stomach, I stayed.

“I love it out here, at night. It’s quiet,” he said softly.

“I’ve always loved the ocean.” The night was still for so long, only the sighing of the winter breeze and the whisper of the waves against sand around us. The house was only a hundred yards or so from the house but it felt like a different world. The chatter and laughter, the pounding of the bass, barely registered inside this bubble of what felt strangely like peace. “Let’s play a game.”

It came out without permission, but anything that meant peeking inside Quinn’s brain felt like a good idea. Sitting with him was comfortable, but it allowed him his secrets.

He looked at me with a bemused expression, almost as though he’d forgotten I sat beside him. The flash of his spectacular smile looked real this time. “I don’t like games.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I don’t like games where I don’t get to whack balls,” Quinn amended.

“Me, either.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively.

He burst into unexpected laughter and I couldn’t resist joining him. We settled down after a few seconds and he turned to face me, sitting Indian style. “You’re surprising me.”

“Is that weird?”

“You have no idea.” Before I could ask what he meant, Quinn steered us back on topic. “What did you have in mind?”

The way his full lips moved made me remember again what they tasted like against mine. It took a minute to shake myself free. “What?”

The hungry look in his blue eyes said he had read my thoughts, and it spilled desire through my blood.

“What game would you like to play,
mi sopresita
?” Quinn scooted forward until our knees touched and he laid his hands on my bare legs.

His rough fingertips landed underneath the hem of my dress and I nearly lost it. The sense that he knew it kept me from reacting. If I was
his
little surprise
, then I’d continue to play the part.

As soon as I could breathe again, I smiled my best teasing grin. “Truth.”

“Like Truth or Dare?”

“Do you seriously think I’m stupid enough to play Truth or Dare with you, Quinn?”

“It was worth a shot.”

“Just Truth. We take turns asking questions, and have to answer with the truth. First person to refuse to answer loses.”

The game never lasted long. Or people lied. I’d told my fair share.

“I never lose at games.”

“Me, either.” The thrill of competition twitched in my muscles, unexpected but strong. A trait my father hated because it had come to me through my Peruvian blood, no doubt. “So are you in?”

“Not as far as I’d like to be.” Quinn smirked.

The heat from his touch sank lower, spilling through my knees, but I refused to react to his husky suggestions. Instead I played back, leaning forward and sliding a hand against his cheek before giving him a playful pinch. “You’re going down.”

“My pleasure.”

I was so far out of my league. Every word that slid past his lips conjured images in my brain. The exact ones he wanted to put there, which wasn’t helping, and my mouth was so dry I couldn’t swallow.

No way was I saying the word
swallow
.

“Are you always like this?” I managed.

“Is that your first question?”

“No. Where did you learn to speak Spanish?” I hoped my attempt to push the conversation way from anything remotely suggestive would work.

“Well, there was this Argentine girl on the tour my second year in juniors…”

I heaved a sigh. “Okay, seriously. You can stop trying to…embarrass me or whatever you’re attempting to do with the all sexy talk all the time.”

His hands gripped my knees. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m trying to seduce you. It’s still not working, huh?”

“I’m a tough little nut.” I held up a hand before he could take that one to town. “Stop. That’s too easy of a serve, even for you.”

“I seriously learned Spanish on the tour. I don’t speak it all that well. Actually, there are about seven languages I don’t speak all that well.” He relaxed his grip but didn’t move his hands from my thighs.

“Seven? Impressive. Your turn.”

“Hmm, let’s see.”

“Nothing sexy, Quinn. If you’re capable.”

“I’m restraining myself. Which is something I enjoy in the bedroom, in case you were wondering.” He chuckled at the look I shot him. “Sorry. Okay. Good questions…I must have learned something in first-semester philosophy. Are you an only child?”

“I had a little sister,” I replied before stopping to wonder whether I wanted him to know about her. Too late now. “She died from leukemia almost three years ago. She was twelve.”

The quiet returned, and when I found the courage to look up into his face, the pity I feared didn’t appear. Only sorrow softened his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” At least he stopped with the innuendo. For now.

We tiptoed around each other for a while after that, lobbing easy questions about favorite movies and books, places to travel, classes at school.

“What’s your major?” Quinn’s blue eyes filled with increased curiosity the longer we played, as though he found me as much of a puzzle to be solved as I found him.

“It was art but now it’s graphic design. But not for long, probably.”

“Why not for long, probably?”

“My dad. He thinks it’s a waste of time.”

He opened his mouth to ask something else, but I cut him off. “You already got two for the price of one. My turn.”

So far he’d managed to avoid any question that could help me discover whether or not I’d imagined the depth I sensed. Time to push. “Why do you hate it at Whitman so much?”

“Who says I do?”

“That’s just another question.”

A sigh wound out of his chest, barely audible over the waves. His fingers inched further up my thighs and I did my best to ignore them. When his distraction didn’t work, he looked out at the water. “It’s not Whitman that’s the problem.”

“It’s just not the tour?” I prodded.

The expression in his eyes hardened. “I don’t want to talk about tennis.”

“You still have to answer or I win.”

“It’s not where I expected to be, you know? I used to look into the future and know exactly where I’d be and what I’d be doing, even in twenty or thirty years. Now I look but there’s nothing to see.”

“But what about working for your dad?” The memory of his snapped anger the other night, the admission that his father wouldn’t let him go home, rattled in my mind.

“Questions about Teddy are off-limits.”

Sadness gripped my heart. The refusal from Quinn felt heavy, as though even in avoiding a topic, he shared a piece of himself. The implicit trust weighed on me. I knew exactly how he felt about his future and about his father. Art had been such a part of how I made sense of life since I was small, but we weren’t children anymore. “I thought I would be an artist, but all of the sudden it’s not about what makes me happy. It’s about my parents and earning potential and settling down.”

“Take it from me, if you can still do what you love, you shouldn’t let anyone stop you.”

Our eyes met, passion burning so hot in his gaze that it lit me on fire. I gasped when his fingers moved again, brushing the tender skin behind my knee. “It’s your turn again.”

“Did you like kissing me the other night?”

Oh, God.
“Truth?”

Quinn nodded, his fingers skimming higher, leaving trails of wildfire in their wake. He was distracting me from the too-personal questions and the fact that he’d refused to answer most of them. My rational mind knew it but my traitorous body didn’t care if we’d finished using our mouths for talking the rest of the night.

“Yes.”

The word didn’t have a chance to fully form before his mouth met mine. The hot saltiness that clung to his lips tasted as good as the other night, and this time I let myself enjoy it. When he felt my hesitation dissolve he leaned in, hands sliding all the way up my dress and gripping my hips, tugging me closer. A whimper escaped at the demanding feel of his touch and I didn’t even care if he heard it.

My nerve endings came alive. If he had four or five hands it would have been better, because as good as they felt on my bare hips, I wanted to feel them everywhere else, too.

As though Quinn read my mind, one hand made its way up to my neck, tilting my head back and opening my lips. His tongue slipped against mine, not asking. Taking. My heart stuttered faster when his breathing quickened, fingers wound tight in the hair at the back of my neck. Shivers joined the shuddering heat and need wetting my skin. When his arm pressed against my left breast I managed to free my arms, winding them around his neck.

We couldn’t get any closer sitting cross-legged facing each other, and the intensity of my frustration at that fact knocked some sense back into me. His heart pounded underneath my palms, matching the thudding in my own ears. Quinn’s lips left mine bruised and swollen, moving down my neck. He flicked his tongue over my throbbing pulse in the hollow between my neck and shoulder. If I’d been standing, my knees would have given out.

“Quinn,” I gasped.

He paused but didn’t move, so I reached shaking hands to his strong jaw and lifted his face back to mine. I couldn’t resist pressing my mouth to his one more time, or sliding my tongue over his bottom lip to remember what he tasted like. Or taking a quick nip. Too delicious.

“It’s my turn.”

His eyes were closed but flew open at my statement, the same baffled surprise displayed as the first time I stopped kissing him.

“When was the last time you kissed a girl but didn’t have sex with her?”

His eyes dropped back to my mouth, then down to my chest, which still heaved from the sheer force of my want. I’d have been more embarrassed if he wasn’t having trouble catching his own breath. Quinn Rowland may not have been interested in a relationship, but he was interested in having me.

Desire and satisfaction, along with the same fear I’d felt sitting down, sucked the moisture from my mouth and I swallowed hard.

When he looked at me again the confusion was gone, replaced by an almost predatory need. “I can’t remember.”

“It’s not so bad, huh? Kissing?”

“That’s another question.” His confidence and cool head returned as quickly as he’d lost it. “Why do you stop these little scenarios of ours when you clearly don’t want to?”

“That’s your question?”

“Yep. Are you bowing out?”

“Hell, no. It’s simple. I am attracted to you. You’re a fantastic kisser and I’d do it for hours if I thought I could handle it, and obviously your…prowess in certain areas has not been exaggerated.”