Amazing. Quinn blinked at her now-dormant phone, sitting on the counter looking harmless. Yet, somehow, in the course of a single transmission from the seemingly innocuous device, she’d managed to become solely responsible in the event Callum opted not to stick with Foundations.
The unfairness of it ate at her. She’d been the one to call him on using again. She’d been the one to perform the intervention. She’d been the one to herd him into rehab, and still had the scars to prove it. She was the one who enrolled him in the best facility available, and she was the one hustling to pay the bills. The only thing she couldn’t do was complete the damn program for him. But by refusing to help him leave, she’d assumed all the risk of his failure in the eyes of their family.
Somehow, she’d also managed to open the bag of coconut chips and pour herself a handful. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
One little bite. Just one.
The Dirty Games producers would never know. Eddie would never know. Willpower slipped through her fingers like sand. Luke would never know.
You’ll know. Just like you know you’ll finish the whole bag, and probably the other one, too. Do you really want to sabotage yourself for a moment of…of…?
Holy shit.
She dumped the chips on the counter and picked up her phone. Her wallpaper—a collage of the God-awful “Before” pictures Luke had taken the first day—disappeared as her fingers flew across the screen, dialing a number she’d never called but knew by heart. A deep voice picked up after the first ring.
“Quinn?”
“I…um…I know why I ate the cookies.”
“Tell me.”
“For comfort.” To her horror, the reply came out on a sob.
“Do you need comfort now?” he asked quickly.
Jesus. She ought to say no and let him off the hook. If not for the sake of her pride, then because any other man with a hysterical woman on the other end of the line would run for the hills. “Y-yes.”
“I’ll be right there.”
…
Quinn answered the door wearing a silky white Playground at Paradise Bay bathrobe and a wrecked expression. He stepped inside, pulling her into his arms at the same time he kicked the door shut. She buried her tear-streaked face against his chest and clung to him while sobs shook her petite frame. This wasn’t an act, or an attempt to manipulate him in some way. This was real heartache.
I miss you, too…
Ah, shit. His heart started to pound, even as his body reacted in the usual ways to the feel of her pressed against him. He felt every line of her through the thin robe. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the villa, past the chip-strewn kitchen island, and on through to the living area with its oversize, white furniture and view of the dusky courtyard. At the foot of the sofa, he set her on her feet, and then, because he couldn’t help himself, he ran a hand over her hair as he murmured, “Shhh. Stop crying.”
Whoever he is, he’s not worth it.
“I-I can’t.” She coughed the words out, and he heard the utter despair in them.
The door holding back every jealous impulse, every dangerous urge, every complicated emotion he harbored toward this woman groaned to contain them. He cupped her head and eased it away from his chest, then smoothed her hair back from her face. “Yes, you can. Come on. You’re all right.”
Tears continued their steady stream down her damp cheeks. Her wet lips trembled apart on a harsh, semi-hysterical noise somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “I am not all right. You knew as much as soon as Eddie contacted you.”
“That’s not true. Stop crying, Quinn, for both our sakes.” He’d overestimated himself. The robe swam on her, and somewhere between her crying jag, and his carrying her inside, the tie at her waist had turned to a loose knot. The front gaped a little more every time she took a shuddery breath, and the slippery fabric slid like a lover over her breasts, outlining her defined nipples. The fact that she wasn’t trying to entice him didn’t stop his mind from racing. In less than a second, he could have the edge flicked aside to bare those perfect breasts, take one tight peak into his mouth and comfort her until she forgot all about some fuckwit who had the power to make her cry from thousands of miles away.
“It is true.” She punctuated the remark with a watery sniff. “You wanted nothing to do with me.”
Restraint always came easy, except with her. The hinges on his self-control snapped. He spun her around and bent her over the back of the overstuffed white upholstered chair that still bore the imprint of her body. A script was tossed on the matching ottoman. “You think you know what I want?”
Her quick inhale didn’t quite cover the rasp of his zipper as he tore at the front of his jeans. She angled her head so she could look at him. Her eyes were round in her tearstained face as she watched him dig a condom out of his wallet and tear it open. “Luke?”
“Do you?” He rolled the condom on, and then wrapped a fist around his cock and shoved the back of her robe up to her waist. “You think you know what I wanted to do with you as soon as I heard that precise, go-fuck-yourself voice on the other end of a phone?”
She parted her legs and rose up onto her toes. “Do it now.”
“Stop crying, and I’ll do anything you ask.” Don’t think about anyone else while I’m inside you.