Читать книгу Her Private Avenger - Эль Кеннеди, Elle Kennedy - Страница 8

Oh, lord, it felt good having her in his arms again. Heat coursed through Quinn’s body, his pulse speeding up at the feel of Morgan’s warm body against his, her soft hands clinging to his shoulders. Before he could stop himself, he inhaled the scent of her, the aroma of lavender he remembered far too well.

“Thank God you’re here,” she whispered, her breath tickling his neck.

It was the sound of her voice that snapped him out of the insanity. His body went stiff. Hands dropped from her waist. He took a step back, but waves of heat continued pulsing through his blood.

Quinn quelled the traitorous response and focused on Morgan’s face. On those gorgeous eyes flickering with relief.

He wished she didn’t look so good, but he hadn’t expected anything less. Morgan had always been drop-dead gorgeous. Even now, looking a tad thin and more than a little pale, her beauty made his breath hitch. Her honey-blond hair was tied back in a ponytail that made her appear much younger than her twenty-eight years. She wore baggy jeans and a shapeless knit sweater, but Quinn knew underneath the clothing lay an endless supply of curves. The memory of her soft, womanly form was enough to send his pulse racing again, a reaction he neither appreciated nor welcomed.

“Are you okay?” he asked roughly, meeting her gaze.

“No.” She emphasized the word by slowly shaking her head.

Obviously she was still honest to a fault, and her candid reply brought a reluctant smile to his lips. “I heard about the accident.”

A flash of anger lit her eyes. “From my father?”

Quinn nodded.

Her lips tightened. “Let me guess. He’s outside in the car, waiting for you to bring me out so the two of you could take me back to the hospital. Where I won’t be able to harm myself.”

Hurt and sarcasm dripped from each word. He saw that same hurt flickering on her face, and in that instant Quinn knew he’d been right. No way had Morgan tried to kill herself. He didn’t give a damn what the senator thought. As usual, the man was dead wrong.

“Your father isn’t outside. I came alone.”

Morgan went silent for a moment, and then she shot him a shrewd look. “But he asked you to come.”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes as she drifted over to the couch and sank onto the cushions. “I wish I’d been there to hear him beg you to help.”

He couldn’t help a chuckle. “It was definitely a Kodak moment.”

Morgan laughed softly. “I’ll bet.”

Okay. So this was easier than he thought it would be. They were talking, laughing, no awkward silences, no uncomfor—Oh, for Pete’s sake, who was he kidding? This was difficult as hell, seeing Morgan after two years apart.

Stifling a sigh, he joined her on the sofa, sitting at the other end, and clasped his hands loosely on his lap. “Tell me about the accident,” he finally said.

She raised one delicate eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you rather we talk about the enormous pink elephant in the room first?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We haven’t seen each other in two years, Quinn.” Pain swarmed her eyes. “And the last time we were together, you told me to get out of your life and stay out.”

He tried not to cringe. Damn, when she said it out loud, it sounded harsher than he remembered. But he’d been hurting like hell when he’d said those words.

“I probably could’ve been more diplomatic about it,” he admitted ruefully.

She swallowed. “No. I deserved it.”

As she’d always done when she was nervous or upset, Morgan nibbled on her bottom lip with her straight white teeth. Last time he’d seen her do it, she was telling him she wanted to postpone their wedding.

“So—” Morgan cleared her throat “—you’ve been neglecting this old place.” She gestured around the cabin, the change of subject an obvious indication that she’d decided to go back to ignoring the pink elephant.

“I’ve been out of the country,” he answered with a shrug.

He tried not to follow the sweep of her hands, not eager to focus too hard on his surroundings. This cabin had been their sanctuary, the place they’d gone to make love, where Morgan could avoid the scrutiny that came with being a senator’s daughter.

In fact, it had been right here, on this couch, that Morgan first told him she loved him. He’d said it back, no hesitation—God, how he’d loved her—and proceeded to make passionate love to her. All night long.

The memory caused his gut to tighten. Damn it, he wasn’t allowed to think about those days. He had no business remembering how it felt to kiss her, or make love to her. Or the sleepy smiles she used to give him when she woke up in his arms. Or the way she never backed down when she believed in something.

He gulped down a lump of bitterness. But she had backed down, hadn’t she? When it really mattered, she’d allowed her father to talk her out of marrying him.

“Business going well?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. Seems like everyone’s getting themselves kidnapped these days. My guys and I did three extractions last month alone.”

“Ah, the glorious life of a mercenary,” she said wryly.

A short silence fell, and Quinn used the lull to gather up some courage. He knew what he had to do, and he knew exactly how Morgan would react. And damn, but he was in no shape to face off with her tonight. His chest felt raw, this reunion scraping him open and leaving his insides a mess.

“Quinn?”

He met her eyes. “Yeah?”

“What’s bothering you?”

Now wasn’t that a loaded question.

He ran a hand through his hair and steeled himself for a fight. “I’m just trying to decide whether we should head out tonight, or wait until morning.”

Her hands dropped from her knees, fingers clenching into fists. “And where exactly would we be heading to?”

“I don’t know. I’m assuming your father’s house, or your apartment, if you’d prefer. Either way, I’m driving you back to the city.”

Alarm washed over her features. “No! You can’t take me there! My father will send me back to the psych ward.”

Quinn fought a groan. She was right, of course. The second Edward had Morgan back, he’d commit her again.

But what was Quinn supposed to do about it? He’d promised Edward he would find Morgan, and he’d kept to his word. Here she was, safe and sound. Which meant it was time to get the hell out of this cabin. The memories were liable to suffocate him.

“Quinn, please, don’t call my father.” A pleading note entered her husky voice. “Give me some time to figure out what’s going on.”

“You just escaped from a psych ward. The senator’s not going to let you run around and investigate.”

Her blue eyes flashed. “Right, because I’ll tarnish his precious image again. Well, I’m a journalist, Quinn, and I’m going to investigate no matter what my father says.”

He didn’t like the stubborn tilt of her chin. Once Morgan made up her mind about something…well, God help anyone who stood in her way.

Quinn opened his mouth to protest, but she startled him by slamming one hand down on the sofa cushions in an aberrant show of anger. “Someone tried to kill me, damn it!” she burst out.

Quinn’s jaw tightened. “What are you talking about?”

“The night of the accident. Someone ran me off the bridge.”

Cold fury clawed up his spine. The thought of anyone trying to harm her elicited a troubling pang of protectiveness. “Are you certain?”

“Of course,” she said, sounding oddly defensive. “I saw headlights in my rearview mirror, and the next thing I knew, a car slammed into my bumper. The driver was a maniac, Quinn. Kept ramming into me, forced me into the guardrail and knocked me right over the edge.”

“Did you tell the senator this?”

Pain filled her eyes. “He didn’t believe me,” she said flatly. “Said I was imagining it.”

He muttered a soft curse. “That selfish bastard. He’d rather have you look suicidal than be faced with a possible scandal.” He drew in a calming breath. “What do you remember about the other car?”

She glanced at him in surprise. “You believe me?”

“Of course,” he said softly. “You’re many things, Morgan, but suicidal isn’t one of them.”

A wave of relief crashed into Morgan’s chest, making her heart squeeze painfully. He believed her! After days of staring into her dad’s and brother’s pitying eyes, she’d finally found someone who didn’t think she was a nut-job. Not that she ought to be surprised. Quinn had always had the utmost faith in her. When they first met, he’d laughed off all those tabloid stories, telling her he didn’t believe a word of them.

It was incredibly liberating knowing he still held that faith, especially since it was glaringly obvious the last thing he wanted to do was be here with her.

Since they’d sat down, those deep green eyes of his had flickered with so many different emotions she had no clue what to make of it. Bitterness had been prominent. A flash of tenderness. Something that resembled sorrow. And when you threw into the mix the longing, anger and desire she’d also glimpsed, you got one confusing emotional cocktail.

She wanted to ask him if he hated her, but she couldn’t gather up enough courage to do it. Besides, did she really want to know the answer?

“You honestly don’t think I tried to kill myself?” she asked instead, studying his expression.

Conviction laced his gruff voice. “Hell, no.”

“Then don’t tell my father you found me,” she blurted out.

“I can’t do that, Morgan.”

Something coiled in her belly. Irritation. Desperation, maybe. And anger, because she was sick of everyone else making decisions for her. Ever since the car accident—heck, even before that—her father had been calling all the shots.

The only time she’d ever felt an inkling of freedom was when she and Quinn were together, but her father had managed to destroy that, too.

“Why not?” she demanded. “Just get in your car and forget you saw me. Or, here’s a better idea, help me find out what the hell happened in Autumn.”

She had no idea where the spontaneous request for help came from. She was a seasoned journalist, perfectly capable of investigating on her own. But that feeling of danger…it lingered in her gut like a stray animal, hounding at her. Quinn was a mercenary. He could protect her.

She glanced at his broad chest, the ripples of muscle straining against his sweater. A little thrill shot through her. She remembered with perfect clarity how it felt to run her fingers over that chest, the soft sound of pleasure he made when she pressed her lips to his—

No. Not going there.

She couldn’t think about that right now, although from the sparks of heat going off like fireworks in her body, it was evident this man was still capable of eliciting a primal physical response in her. He’d always done that, made her hot and needy, just by being in the same room as her.

Looking oblivious to her painfully aroused state, Quinn’s forehead creased with unease. “You’re planning on going to Autumn.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“Bad idea,” he said flatly.

She feigned innocence. “Why’s that?”

Disapproval filled his eyes. “Someone ran you off a bridge. You go in asking questions, digging around, and you could end up asking the wrong person or digging in the wrong place.”

“So come with me.” She laughed derisively. “Keep me in line.”

He responded with a laugh of his own, deep and genuine. “Keep you in line? That’s like trying to teach a raging bull to do tricks.” The laughter faded as rapidly as it came. “Forget it, Morgan. I’m not going to Autumn with you.”

“Then I’ll go alone.”

He gave a firm shake of the head. “Only place you’re going is home. Anything else is too dangerous.”

She experienced a pang of disappointment, but rather than arguing, she dropped the issue. She knew the look in Quinn’s eyes too well. He meant business. He wasn’t going to help her. And she got the feeling he’d take her back to the city even if he had to drag her there, kicking and screaming.

“In fact,” he continued, “we’re leaving now.”

“Couldn’t we at least wait until morning?”

Something indefinable flashed across his face. Averting his eyes, he cleared his throat and said, “No. I don’t have time to sit around here all night with you. We’re leaving now.”

She tightened her lips. “Fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine.” She rose stiffly to her feet, tossing him a glance over her shoulder as she rounded the couch to get her purse. “Isn’t that what you want?”

He stood up, arms crossed over that spectacular chest. “Yes, but it’s not what you want. So why are you giving in so easily?”

She shrugged, and slung her purse over one shoulder. “We both know I’ll be going to Autumn. This is just a small bump in the road. I broke out of the psych ward once. I can do it again.”

“So that’s your plan, dutifully come back with me and then escape again?”

“Yep.”

He let out an exasperated breath. “You are the most stubb—” He stopped abruptly, suddenly frowning. “Forget it. Beggars can’t be choosers. Your thoughtful compliance only makes my job easier. Once you’re home, you’ll be the senator’s problem.”

The sudden bite of hostility stung like hell, but she wasn’t sure she blamed him. She’d hurt him when she’d canceled their wedding. Scratch that—he’d canceled their wedding. She’d simply asked to postpone it. But with Quinn, there was no such thing as a gray area. It was black and white, get married or don’t. He’d chosen the latter.

Quinn moved to the door. “Get your coat. It’s cold out there.”

“I don’t have a coat.”

His eyes flashed. “You walked all the way here without a coat?”

She offered a stony look. “I was a little too focused on sneaking out of the psychiatric ward to worry about the weather.”

He muttered something under his breath, then opened the door. They walked out to the rickety porch.

Quinn’s back was to her as he locked up the cabin, and she took the opportunity to draw in a steady breath and examine the porch. Her heart skipped when she noticed a white ceramic flowerpot sitting on the wooden railing. About twice the size of a snow globe, but it would do the trick.

She had no intention of going back to D.C. tonight. She didn’t think she could lose him during the hike to the car, but if she got a head start now…

“Don’t forget to put this back,” she said when he turned around. She stuck out her palm, and the silver spare key sparkled under the thin shaft of moonlight illuminating the front yard.

Without a word, he took the key and headed down the steps. Morgan followed him, casually picking up the empty flowerpot and tucking it behind her back. She waited until Quinn was on his knees, big body bent down to slip the key under the rock she’d liberated it from.

Another breath. Now or never.

Fighting the jolt of guilt that streaked through her, she lifted her arm and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Quinn’s head swiveled sharply, but he had no time to react as the ceramic pot came crashing down on his head.