Cold Midnight Page 17

The timer went off to signal the pasta was done, and he dumped the noodles into a strainer in the sink. Steam rose to the light overhead, and as he watched it, he thought about how normal it seemed to make dinner while Kylie showered. They’d never had a chance to do anything normal like cook together, always either training, attending their respective classes or traveling to the next tournament. Whenever they could snag free time together, they spent it far away from either of their families, and therefore not near any kitchens.

  Once he’d pulled the garlic bread out of the oven, he went looking for Kylie. He suspected she’d fallen asleep, but he wanted her to eat something. She’d gotten pale and thinner over the past few days, so he suspected she was eating as much as she was sleeping.

  Sure enough, he found her zonked out on the bed, curled on her side and still wearing the towel from her shower, wet hair soaking the pillow. The scent of vanilla soap floated on the air as he took a moment to appreciate how peaceful and relaxed she looked. She must have been sleeping so soundly she didn’t hear him walk in, because she didn’t move, and her breathing remained deep and even.

  He hated to wake her, but he hated more how prominent her collarbones looked under her skin. She had to have been running on fumes since the discovery of the bat at the construction site.

  Perching on the side of the bed, he stroked a gentle hand over her upper arm. “Kylie.”

  Nothing. Not even a shift in her breathing.

  He leaned down, careful not to jostle her. He’d seen how easily she startled, and he didn’t want to alarm her now. “Kylie,” he said, a bit louder than before.

  She didn’t move, though a small smile curved her lips.

  He stopped before saying her name again, surprised by the smile. What was that about? An unconscious reaction to the sound of his voice? That’d be cool.

  Smiling himself now, he grazed his fingers over the dark strands of hair at her temple. “Kyylieee,” he whispered, singsongy now.

  She stirred under his hand, shifting onto her back with a deep sigh. “Chase?”

  “Dinner’s ready,” he said, voice still soft. “You said you were starving.”

  “Hmm.”

  His smile grew. He loved her soft and sleepy and out of it. Maybe it was sad, but that was when she was most like she’d been when he’d fallen in love with her the first time.

  Shaking his head, he caressed the back of her hand draped over her stomach. “I made spaghetti,” he said. “And garlic bread. You love garlic bread.”

  “Mmm. Garlic bread.”

  He laughed at the sensual moan, but it caught in his throat when she ran a loose hand back through her damp hair and breathed his name through barely parted lips. “Chase.”

  His heart stuttered, and he held his breath, watching her and waiting. This was a bad idea, sitting on the edge of her bed while she was half asleep and gloriously naked under that towel, smelling of soap and shampoo and everything that turned him on. He should get up and leave right now. Right. Now.

  But then the hand she’d sifted through her hair dropped onto his thigh, and she bent one knee, shifting her legs slightly apart under the towel and canting her hips up just a tiny bit.

  He couldn’t move, riveted by the sight of that terry cloth sliding ever so slowly upward, revealing more of the most gorgeously toned thighs he’d ever seen. Perfect thighs for wrapping around his hips and—

  Okay, he’d leave in a minute.

  Closing his eyes, he savored the heat of her fingers through his jeans. Not a thing sexual about it—she was still out of it, not knowing what she’d done—but his body seemed to think it was the sexiest thing ever. He held back his response, concentrating on breathing evenly, until her breath hitched, and her head arched back into the pillow, her lips parting on a soft moan.

  Oh, Jesus, she was having a sexy dream.

  Blood rushed straight to his groin, tightening his jeans to the point of discomfort.

  Lowering his head and swallowing, he drew in a slow, steadying breath and started to count backward from twenty . . . no, wait, that wouldn’t do it. A hundred might work.

  Around thirty-four, the throb began to ease.

  That’s it. Time for Chase Jr. to go back into storage.

  Except Chase Jr. really didn’t want to go. Chase Jr. wanted some attention. Needed some attention. And just thinking about the kind of attention he wanted—needed—the kind Kylie was getting in her dream, made Chase’s jeans too tight all over again. Tighter than before. Damn it all to hell.

  “Later,” he muttered through his teeth.

  “Chase?”

  He snapped his eyes open to find Kylie blinking and bleary. The fingers resting on his thigh moved to rub at her eyes, and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. That would help.

  “What time is it?” she asked as she pushed up onto one elbow and peered at him with sleepy eyes.

  “Dinner time,” he said, rolling to his feet and aiming for the door. Jesus, he sounded like someone had used sandpaper on his vocal cords. Thank God, he could keep his back to her. No need for her to see what a fucking teenager he was. “I’m sorry I insisted on waking you up, but you really need to eat.”

  “Okay,” she murmured.

  He glanced back to see her ease back down. “Kylie.”

  She opened one squinty eye but didn’t otherwise move. And, hell, she looked so fantastic in that white towel, the cinched ends emphasizing cleavage that begged for a tongue dip.

  He cleared his throat. “Seriously. You need to eat. Half an hour, and you can crash again.”

  He left her alone and returned to the kitchen, not sure she would actually get up, but he figured it was up to her now. She knew best what she needed more.

  Meanwhile, he checked the cupboards for something alcoholic to take the edge off his own need.

  34

  QUINN RAISED HIS HEAD AND BLINKED SEVERAL times, trying to figure out what had awakened him. A noise of some kind. Thunder? Yeah, that must have been it.

  He dropped his head back to the couch cushion and ran both hands through his grungy hair. He hadn’t had a shower or changed clothes since going to jail and still had no desire to do either. Or eat, even. The thought of food turned his stomach. The thought of living turned his stomach. It’d be easier for everyone if he took a page from Kylie’s playbook and fled the state. He’d have to leave the country, though. And how far would be far enough? Australia perhaps. Had to be Australia. They spoke English there. It’d take time getting used to the flipped seasons, but he could live with it. Everyone would be happier that way.

  Another round of pounding snapped his head up again. That wasn’t thunder. Someone was at the door.

  Groaning, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, placing his feet flat on the floor, and considered blowing off whoever it was. He looked and smelled like crap. Well, not crap literally, but close. He couldn’t remember the last time he brushed his teeth.

  He figured it wasn’t reporters. They’d stopped bugging him around the time the cops had cited two or three for trespassing. Chase Manning’s doing, probably. Not that it mattered. That guy’d throw him in a dungeon in a heartbeat if he could get away with it. And Quinn couldn’t blame him. He would have thrown himself in a dungeon if he could find one in Florida.

  More pounding, followed by a woman’s voice: “Quinn? It’s Trisha. I know you’re here.”

  Trisha? Trisha Young? Kylie’s friend? What did she want?

  Going to the door, he pulled it open to frizzy auburn curls and freckles that he’d begun to think were pretty cute the last few years, not that he’d ever mentioned that to either of his sisters. Standing in the doorway, he didn’t say anything, just arched an eyebrow at Trisha.

  She gave him a tentative smile that looked as fake as plastic palm trees. “Hi,” she said, a little breathless and awkward. “I . . . Kylie asked me to check on you.”

  Quinn leaned a shoulder against the door jamb and cocked his head. “Why?”

  “
She’s worried about you.”

  “Yeah? Then why isn’t she checking on me?” He had to admit it hurt that Kylie hadn’t been the one pounding on his door by now.

  “I . . .” Trisha moistened her lips. “She didn’t say.”

  “Ah.” He couldn’t stop the bitter twist to his lips. He’d wondered how long his older sister would stick by him after he’d been arrested for her attack. She talked a good game, but when it came right down to it, she was only human.

  “You know she’d be here if she could be,” Trisha said.

  “Maybe she’s on her way back to LaLa Land. I get the impression she prefers it there. No messy baggage to deal with.”

  Trisha pursed her full lips as she looked him up and down. “She’d probably be able to smell you there, though.”

  He glanced down at his wrinkled shorts and stinky shirt, and felt like a pig. A pitiful, headed-for-slaughter pig. “This is my new look,” he said, and glanced up with a wry grin. “You don’t think it works?”

  She shook her head, curls bouncing. “It really doesn’t for someone who’s having company.”

  “I’m not having company.”

  “Oh. I guess that means you’re not inviting me in for dinner?”

  He paused, surprised. “Uh . . .”

  Trisha smiled, blue eyes starting to sparkle with lights he’d never noticed before. “Hey, I know. How about you go take a shower, and I make you dinner?”

  He snapped out of his shock. Was he really so sad and pathetic that Kylie had sent a friend over to babysit him? “That’s not necessary. But thanks.”

  She pushed past him into the house as if he’d shouted, “Sure, come on in!”

  “Wow, it’s dark in here,” she said, and went to the front windows to roll open the blinds to let in some meager light from the fading day.

  “Storm’s brewing,” she said, peering out between the blinds as if she hadn’t just come from outside. “Looks like it’s going to be a doozy, too.”

  Quinn watched her, noting that she filled out her khaki slacks more fully than either of his sisters did, and he liked that. More to grab onto during . . . okay, where the hell did that come from? Not cool, thinking about sex while appreciating the butt of his sister’s best friend. Of course, they were all adults here and Kylie had hinted more than once that he and Trisha would make a good pair . . .

  Trisha flashed a smile over her shoulder. “You know, the longer it takes you to get cleaned up, the longer it’s going to be before we can eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

  He stayed where he was, considering his options. Ask her to leave and continue his downward spiral or . . . well, he hadn’t eaten a decent meal in several days.

  He gave her a sloppy salute and headed down the hall toward the bathroom, where he took the fastest shower he’d ever taken, complete with razor and toothbrush. While he was towel-drying his hair, he heard the doorbell. Damn, that better not be Jane, he thought. Nothing like his youngest sister to analyze all the potential fun out of a situation.

  After throwing on a clean T-shirt and shorts, he padded barefoot to the kitchen. Something smelled heavenly, like pizza . . . no, Chinese food . . . no, pizza . . .

  Either way, his stomach growled even as he wondered what on earth Trisha could have whipped up so quickly with what he had in his fridge: beer, cheese, mustard and perhaps some butter.

  He paused in the kitchen doorway and chuckled. Domino’s and China Express had both paid a visit.

  Trisha looked up from where she was setting plates and silverware on the table. “I wasn’t sure which you’d want, so I ordered both. Pepperoni okay?”

  “Happens to be one of my favorites.”

  “And I remember you said you liked moo shu chicken.”

  His mouth started to water. “Perfect.”

  Trisha pulled out a chair and plopped down. “Dig in. I’m about to expire.”

  “How about some wine?” Quinn asked, opening the fridge. “I think I’ve got a bottle of pinot in here.”

  “Water for me,” Trisha said before she sank her teeth into a thick slice of pizza. “You should have water, too. You’re probably dehydrated.”

  He figured she was right and figured, too, that she’d steered him away from the alcohol on purpose. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind. After filling two glasses with ice and water, he settled at the table and helped himself to some pizza.

  “So how much prison time are you looking at?” Trisha asked.

  Quinn stopped with the slice half an inch from his mouth. “What?”

  Trisha shrugged as she reached for her water. “You’re acting like it’s a done deal, so I just wondered how much time you think you’ll get.”

  He lowered the pizza back to his plate, no longer hungry as nausea churned through his gut. “I didn’t do it.”

  Trisha’s forehead wrinkled as if that shocked her. “Really? Because holing up with the blinds closed, drinking yourself into oblivion and letting yourself waste away clearly says to the world, ‘I’m innocent.’ ”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Hell if I know. What can you do? I mean, the whole town’s already decided you’re the monster who tried to maim his own sister. What is there to do?”

  He picked a piece of pepperoni off his pizza and dropped it on his plate without eating it. “I’m thinking of leaving.”

  Trisha gave an exaggerated nod. “Oh, that’s the perfect solution. Definitely. Because then you’d be, what, a fugitive? That wouldn’t make you look guiltier at all.”

  Sitting back, he wished he’d broken out the bottle of wine after all. He wished, too, that he’d let Trisha keep banging on the door instead of opening it and letting her in. Deep down, he supposed he was still an optimist. That wouldn’t last. “What would you do?”

  She looked at her plate as she finished chewing, then washed it down with a drink of water. When she spoke again, she met his eyes with a sympathetic expression and an apologetic shrug. “I really don’t know,” she said softly. “I’m just trying to, you know, buck you up. How am I doing?”

  He pushed back from the table and went to the fridge to retrieve the wine. To hell with it. A nice buzz would mute the frustrated voice screaming in his head. He returned to the table with the bottle, two wineglasses and a corkscrew.

  Trisha watched him as he dispensed with the cork and splashed wine into both glasses. “That isn’t the answer,” she said.

  “It is for now.”

  She reached out and covered his hand before he could pick up his glass. “Kylie knows you didn’t do it.”

  Amazingly, his eyes began to burn. What was it about another person’s touch that could jerk the emotion right out of you? “She’s not here, though, is she?”

  “She sounded stressed when she called. I didn’t ask questions.”

  He drew his hand away and sat back but left the glass on the table. “What do you think of Australia?”

  “I think it’s a long way away, mate.”

  He grinned at her joke as he picked up his pizza and took a bite. A few bites later, the constant throb in his temples began to ease.

  “You’re not really going to run, are you?” Trisha asked as she reached for the boxes of moo shu.

  He shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.”

  “What would it accomplish?”

  “Everyone would be happier. Especially Kylie.”

  Trisha cocked her head. “You think Kylie would be happier thinking you ran because you were guilty? Did you let the booze soak all the common sense out of your brain?”

  “A trial would destroy her,” he said, his throat threatening to close up on him. “She’d have to relive all of it, in detail, in public.”

  “And she’d do it in a heartbeat, every damn day for the rest of her life, if it meant proving you innocent.”

  He smiled slightly. “You like to overstate things.”

  She grinned and nodded. “To make a point, yeah. Especially one that nee
ds to be made because the person I’m making it to is too dim to get it on his own.”

  His smile broadened. “Did Kylie know you’d talk to me like this when she sent you over?”

  “I have no doubt. She knows what a hardass I can be.”

  “Yeah, you’re a real hardass.” He pushed aside the wine bottle and snagged a box of moo shu. “Do you talk to her like this?”

  “Are you kidding? Any time I try, she shuts me down with that look. You know that look, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. The look that says, ‘One more word and you’re toast.’ ”

  “That’s the one.” Trisha made an exclamation point in the air with her fork. “One more word and life as you know it will cease to exist.”

  Quinn chuckled. “One more word and I’ll break my racket over your head and wrap the handle around your neck.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen that one,” Trisha said. “She must reserve that one for pesky brothers.”

  “I was never pesky.”

  Grinning, Trisha waggled her finger at the white takeout box near his elbow. “I think the pancakes and plum sauce are in there.”

  He handed it over, sobering when their fingers brushed and heat flushed up his arm. “Thank you,” he said, his voice lower than before. “I needed this.”

  She smiled. “Pizza and Chinese food fix everything.”

  “Yep,” he said with a nod. “It’s the food.”

  35

  KYLIE OPENED HER EYES AND YAWNED. GOD, IT felt so good to just lay there and drift. She considered continuing to do just that when she scented garlic in the air. Had Chase mentioned garlic bread? Oh, yeah, and spaghetti.

  Stomach rumbling, she sat up and started to scoot off the bed. That was when she realized, holy crap, that she still wore the towel from her shower. Not one of those big, fancy bath towels that covered a lot of acreage, either. This one barely reached from the tops of her breasts to midthigh. And she had an impression of Chase sitting on the side of the bed talking to her, coaxing her to wake up in a low, sexy voice.

  While she’d lain there in nothing but a thin towel.

  Her heart thudded in her ears, and her cheeks heated as she remembered the images flitting through her mind as she’d drifted. Chase, shirtless and filmed with perspiration as he’d fired tennis shots at her under the hot sun. Chase, muscles and tanned skin streaming with seawater as he rose out of the surf, swim trunks clinging to the part of him that made her throb with want. Chase kissing the side of her neck, the underside of her jaw, teeth nibbling at the pulse in her throat, hands and fingers stroking and soothing and, oh, yeah, venturing slowly and agonizingly into dark, weeping places that ached for attention. The best part had been building when she woke up and found Chase right there, watching her with an intensity that speared right through her.