Книга - Through the Fire

Through the Fire
Donna Hill


After a devastating tragedy left her convinced she'd never love again, successful songwriter Rae Lindsay sought refuge in the only thing that still brought her comfort–her music. But when Quinten Parker walked into her life, Rae suddenly found her peaceful solitude threatened–along with her heart.Now, torn between desire and painful memories, she must search the deepest part of herself to overcome the past and take a second chance at love–the chance of a lifetime.








Through the Fire




Through the Fire

Donna Hill





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Through the Fire is dedicated to all of my readers new and old who fell in love with Quinn, rooted for Maxine and Nikita and wanted happiness for them all. In this final installment questions will be answered, hearts will be broken and mended, love with be lost and found, and in the end I guarantee that you will walk away totally and utterly satisfied. Thank you for taking this journey.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue




Chapter 1


Quinten Parker rolled over in bed, feeling the cool, empty space beside him. Each day for the past three years he’d hoped that he’d awake and the longing, the emptiness would be over—Nikita would be beside him, curled along the length of his body.

He released a sigh, adjusted his eyes to the light of a new day. Nothing had changed. The heaviness still hung in his heart and in his loins—a sensation that hadn’t been quenched or filled by anything or anyone.

In the distance he heard his landlady, Mrs. Finch, moving around downstairs. A faint smile touched his lips. Some of the familiar things were still good. Yet, his friends Nick and Parris had repeatedly tried to convince him to move away from the place that he and Nikita had shared as man and wife. “You need to move on, start over,” they’d insisted. “Too many memories.” But the memories were all he had left. The things that kept him company when the loneliness became too much to handle.

“Daddy…I’m hungry,” came a tiny sleep-filled voice.

Quinn’s chest filled with an almost unspeakable joy as he was momentarily taken aback at seeing the tiny version of himself staring boldly back at him. He sat up in the bed, the white sheet slipping to his waist, unveiling his bare chest.

“What would you like today, buddy?”

“Pancakes!” Jamel said with a wide grin, revealing a missing front tooth.

Quinn chuckled and threw his long legs over the side of the bed. The past four weeks had been pure magic—the first big block of time he’d spent with his son. He’d tried to squeeze six years into those four weeks. Sure, he’d been to San Francisco to visit several times during the year, but he’d never had this much time, all at once, one-on-one. It was an experience he wouldn’t soon forget.

He’d learned things about himself during their time together. He learned that he was a good teacher as he helped his son figure out how to connect all the game wires to the television. He learned that he was capable of being a nurturer when he held his son at night and read to him, or bandaged a wounded knee. He learned that he still had the capacity to feel, to want to care, to want to do something for someone else, to give something of himself to another human being. He hadn’t thought Maxine would agree to his request to have Jamel spend part of the summer with him. She’d surprised him when she agreed and told him “it was time.” For that, he would always be grateful.

Quinn stood and came around the foot of the bed, swooping Jamel up from the floor and tucking him beneath his arm to delighted giggles and squirming.

“Pancakes, huh?” He pushed a finger into Jamel’s side and wiggled it, eliciting more laughter. It was music to his ears, lyrical and perfect like the chords he’d once played on the piano. But it was about to end and his life would return to what he’d grown accustomed to—trying to make it one day at a time.



Quinn spoke in quiet but decisive tones to the stewardess who’d promised to look after Jamel during the six-hour flight back to the coast.

“Please don’t worry, Mr. Parker,” she insisted, placing a comforting hand on Quinn’s hard biceps. “He’ll be fine.”

Quinn looked down at his son, who held his hand in a viselike grip, but otherwise appeared excited about his journey. “This nice lady…” He glanced at the name tag on her navy blue lapel. “…Ms. Traynor is going to take care of you on the plane, J. If you need anything, you ask her. Okay?”

Jamel nodded, his dark eyes taking in the sights around him. He stuck a lollipop in his mouth and talked around it. “I’m a big boy, Daddy,” he said with all the assurance of his six years.

Daddy. His heart fluttered for a moment as the corner of his rich mouth quirked upward into a half smile. “That you are, little man.” He rustled his tight curls.

“I’d better get him settled on board,” the stewardess said gently.

Quinn stooped down to Jamel’s eye level, bracing his thin shoulders. “I had a great time, little man.”

“Me, too.”

“Mommy will be there to meet you when you get off the plane.”

Jamel nodded and sucked a bit harder on his lollipop.

“I’ll call you tonight.” Quinn tugged in a breath and drew Jamel’s small frame close to his body. He hugged him tight, wanting to hold on to those last moments forever—needing Jamel to know just how much he was loved, how much he mattered, the difference that his presence had made in his life—if only momentarily. “I love you, son,” he whispered, hearing the hitch in his voice.

“I love you, too, Daddy.”

Quinn gave Jamel one last squeeze and quickly stood before he broke down; that was something Jamel didn’t need to see.

The stewardess extended her hand to Jamel and led him down the boarding entrance. She looked over her shoulder and mouthed, “He’ll be fine.”

Quinn pressed his lips together, swallowing over the knot in his throat as he stood framed in the wide window watching the plane take off and disappear into the cloudless summer morning. He tugged in a breath. As sad as he felt after separating from his son once again, this time it was with a sense of hope, of possibility. A feeling he’d forgotten how to experience. Hope that there was a possibility for a life, a real life, though different from the one he’d once imagined.

“Your son needs you, Quinten,” Mrs. Finch had counseled during Jamel’s four-week stay. “But the boy needs more than the shell of a man you’ve become. Let her go, son,” she’d whispered, clasping his large hand in her thin, frail ones.

Quinn’s insides contracted and his chest became full as they did any time the thought of Nikita was evoked, her name was mentioned or even alluded to. He heaved in a breath. When would it ever end? When?

He turned away from the window, head bowed, and started off toward the exit. The truth was, he mused as he caught glimpses of happy, hand-holding couples and laughing families, he didn’t like who he’d become these last three years. Didn’t like how he moved through his day like a shadow, there but untouchable. He hadn’t written a piece of music since Nikita’s death, hadn’t played in the band, hadn’t written a word for his long overdue second novel. All he’d done was try to find a way to open his eyes each morning and hope he could get through the pain of the day until he could close them again.

He turned on the engine in his Jeep and eased out into the airport traffic. He wanted his life back—a life back, filled with that joy he’d once known. But he was terrified. Terrified of how that pain would feel if he ever dared to love and lose again.




Chapter 2


When Quinn returned to the house, Mrs. Finch was, as usual, out front sweeping the yard. He shook his head in amusement as he alighted from the van and headed toward the wrought-iron gate. Mrs. Finch was no more sweeping the walkway than he was an astronaut. Her only purpose for that raggedy broom was to give her some semblance of legitimacy as she eagle-eyed the comings and goings of her neighbors. An almost religious activity she’d indulged in for as long as he’d known her.

“You missed a spot, Mrs. Finch,” Quinn wryly commented, fighting down a grin.

Mrs. Finch squeezed her eyes into what she believed to be a formidable stare and pointed a slender finger at the towering form in front of her.

“Don’t you sass me, Quinten Parker.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, his dark eyes twinkling. To this day, she was still the only person he allowed to call him Quinten.

She leaned on her broom. “So…how was it?”

Quinn’s expression darkened. He looked away for a moment, than back at her. He shrugged. “Awright. Not bad.”

She looked him over, registering the hollowness in his eyes that had abated during Jamel’s visit, but had taken up residence once again.

“Hmmm,” she murmured, reaching out to pat his shoulder. “Life is hard, son. But we get through it. Think of this as a new start instead of an ending.”

Quinn looked at his surrogate mother skeptically.

“I know you don’t see it now. But you will. If you give yourself a chance.”

Just as Quinn opened his mouth to object, Mrs. Finch cut him off. “I need you to go to the supermarket and pick up a few things for me and stop at the vegetable stand, too.” She reached into the pocket of her pink-and-white checkered shift and pulled out a piece of paper and a roll of one-dollar bills. “Here’s the list and the money. If it’s not enough, you add the rest.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll give it back to you…later.”

Quinn peered at her from beneath his thick lashes, his brows raised. He’d been running errands for Mrs. Finch for six years. She had yet to give him enough money to purchase anything. If it was a pack of gum for a quarter, she would assuredly give him a dime. If he added up all the money she owed to him he’d be a very wealthy man. But he loved her.

“And don’t take too long,” she warned. “I want to get my supper started early. Smothered chicken,” she singsonged to his retreating form, knowing it was one of his favorites.

He shook his head and chuckled. She always knew how to get to him.

Quinn sauntered in to the supermarket, the blast of cold air smacking him, raising the chill bumps on his bare arms. He slipped his dark glasses off his nose and slid them into the top pocket of his black sleeveless T-shirt. Grabbing a noisy shopping cart he headed toward the frozen food aisle. He opened one of the glass refrigerator doors and pulled out a can of Coke. He popped the top and thought immediately of Nikita. It was her favorite drink—with lemon. After being with her those few short years, he’d found himself addicted to it as well. So many things, he thought, so much of who she was had become a part of him. No one could understand that kind of love, why it was so hard for him to let her go and move on with his life. Sometimes it seemed as if the very air he breathed held her scent.

“Can’t be that bad,” a throaty voice from his right commented, the words lilting like the verse to a song.

Quinn turned his eyes in the direction of the melody. The face was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “’Scuse me?”

“I said, it can’t be that bad.” Her steady gaze appraised him, the first time she’d actually seen him up close. He was even more dangerously handsome in person.

He cut his eyes back to the freezer and shut the door. “Maybe it is,” he returned in a monotone. He adjusted his body to face her. She was tall, he subconsciously registered, full and firm. Not bad. Not interested.

“If you believe it, then you will make it be.”

Quinn laughed in his throat. “So what are you…some kinda fortune-teller or something?” He lightly ran his tongue across his lips.

She smiled and, all of a sudden, something inside him moved as if the darkness had been pushed aside with a beam of bright light. The sensation was so immediate, so powerful it was physical. He swallowed over the sudden dryness in his throat, stunned by the inexplicable sexual arousal that was making itself boldly evident against the confines of his jeans. Her smile wrapped itself around him like loving arms, stroking him so tenderly that he felt his heart beat out of time. He needed to get away from her, away from whatever it was she was doing to him—with a simple smile.

“You’re Quinten Parker, aren’t you? I’ve seen your picture in the back of your book and on your CD cover. You haven’t done anything in a while. You’re missed.”

“Fan?”

“Ego stoking?” she countered.

Slowly, Quinn began to relax, allowing himself to get reacquainted with the bob and weave of the mating game, the preliminary chat. “You’re on point, huh?”

“I’ve spent too much time in my life biting my tongue and being diplomatic.” A momentary shadow passed across her warm brown eyes. “It cost me.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “We all have to move on.”

Quinn stared at her for a moment, that all too familiar refrain settling like a weight in his belly. “What if you can’t?”

“Then we stay in that same place, unchanged and hurting.” Her unwavering stare held him in place. “And we lose the essence of what life is all about—evolution and change.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Sounds like you’ve thought about it a lot.”

She glanced away, focusing on the contents of her cart. “I’ve had time,” she stated simply. She took a breath, then suddenly brightened. “You like poetry?”

Quinn shrugged. “Some.”

She pulled a flyer out of her purse. “Come down to Encore tonight. You might enjoy yourself.” She handed him the flyer and began to move away. “Nice to meet you, Quinten Parker.”

Quinn watched her walk away, studying the sensuous sway of her hips, the way her hair in curly twists caressed her face, until she turned down another aisle and was gone. He glanced at the flyer in his hand: Rae Lindsay—Appearing Tonight at Encore. Rae Lindsay? He folded the flyer and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans, intent on dismissing the entire episode. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it, though he felt he should. He shrugged. Didn’t matter anyhow. The last place he wanted to spend his Saturday night was sitting up in some club somewhere—too many memories. That’s where he’d met Nikita, that’s where he’d returned to finally commit himself to her. Naw, Encore was out.

But the lovely woman, with the piercing eyes and melodic voice, who spoke poignant truths, had wiggled her way beneath his armor, and there she remained.



Quinn law sprawled across his bed, the encroaching evening and the hum of the air conditioner his only company. Maxine had called earlier to let him know that Jamel had arrived safely, and they chatted briefly about his trip and how happy he seemed. That made Quinn feel good, knowing that Jamel’s visit didn’t have any ill effects.

“How’s Taylor?” Quinn asked, wanting and not wanting to know. He could hear the smile in her voice when she talked about her husband.

“He’s wonderful. His business is doing great, and he’s been talking about opening another office.”

“Sounds good, Max. Glad to hear it.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“How about you, Q? How are you doing?”

“Hey, can’t complain. Taking it light, ya know.”

“Getting out any—meet anyone?”

“No to both.”

“Why, Q? You can’t live in a vacuum forever. Nikita wouldn’t have—”

“Don’t, Max. Awright? Leave it alone.” His jaw clenched.

“If we’ve ever been anything to each other, Q, it’s been honest. And you know good and damn well you’ve never been able to tell me what to do.”

He shut his eyes, knowing how right she was. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m gonna say it anyway—Nikita is gone, Q. She’s not coming back, not even if you sit and grieve from now till the end of time. But you are here. You have a life, a career, a future—a son. It’s up to you to decide what you’re going to do about them. I never knew you to half-step about anything, Q, to crawl in a corner and pull the sheet up over your head. But that’s what you’ve been doing these three years. And you’re not the man I once knew…once loved. And definitely not the kind of man you want to be for your son. The choice is yours, babe. I gotta go get J ready for bed and everything. Call him during the week. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I will.”

“Take care, Q.”

“Yeah…and, Max…”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“Later, Q.”

Quinn thought about that conversation now, and the countless others that were so similar. He knew they were right, but it just seemed that he’d lost his will, his drive, and he didn’t know what to do to get it back. He turned on his side and spotted the flyer on his night table. Sitting up, he smoothed out the wrinkled edges against the firmness of the tabletop and reread the invitation. A picture of the woman in the supermarket took shape in his head, and he wondered if she was Rae Lindsay. Something told him she was.

Getting up, he walked out of the bedroom and went downstairs into the living room straight for his collection of CDs. Sifting through them, he flipped each one to the back, looking for the names of contributors. Out of the first dozen he’d scanned, five had Rae Lindsay’s name clearly noted as songwriter. Songs that he’d listened to and enjoyed, both as a means of entertainment and with a musician’s ear.

Imagine that. You really couldn’t judge a book by its cover. Rae Lindsay; a sister with not only a strong presence but with something profound and creative underneath. As a musician, he knew how difficult it was to bring together all of the various elements that make up a good song—that fascinating mix of words and music that can bring tears to a listener’s eyes, lift someone’s spirits, or recall memories of times long gone. For this reason alone, she was not a woman he could easily dismiss.



And so he found himself seated at a front row table at Encore, the first time he’d stepped inside a nightclub in three years. When he arrived at the place, there were two young brothers, one on an upright bass and another on flute, backing a tall, dark-skinned woman reading poetry. Dressed in casual garb, she adjusted the thin straps of her mink-brown silk top, revealing the strong lines of her arms, the subtle tones blending seamlessly with her flesh, making them one. The stage lighting in the club cast light and dark shadows across the figure seated regally on the stool, giving the scene the illusion of a dream. Maybe it was intentional, Quinn thought, as he found himself closing his eyes, swept into the musical rhythm of the words, hypnotized from the play of light and the lush voice. Much of what the woman read sounded like a cross between the fiery poetry of Sonia Sanchez revved up on hip-hop and the bold verse of Nikki Giovanni updated for a new generation. He found the lilting sound of the flute tantalizing and subtly seductive. Poetically, she weaved her words between the notes, adding accents and flavor to each of her choruses, playing her audience’s energy with all the skill of a minister working a revival. By the end of her segment, the entire house was on its feet, cheering her. Everyone except Quinn.

He was beyond applause. What he’d experienced in her magical rendering of words tapped into a part of him that had long been dormant—the melody of him—the part he’d buried, sworn was dead. It wasn’t. His heart thudded in time to the beat of hands. The houselights came up and Rae Lindsay took her bow.




Chapter 3


Rae moved fluidly from the stage, still wrapped in the prose that had flowed from her soul. When she’d sat in the window seat of her bedroom watching the sun peek between the two trees in her yard, it was then that it came to her, the magic memory of a love that would never die. She wanted to find a way to convey that kind of passion, the depth that comes from finally realizing what one once had. Sterling had offered it and Akia was born of it—foolishly she took it for granted and lost. She wanted to find that kind of love again, but didn’t know if she ever would.

“Impressive.”

Rae focused on the figure in front of her, smiling faintly, letting go of the memories. “Thank you.” Her heart beat just a bit faster, as a slow but steady warmth moved through her body.

Their gazes held each other in that tenuous moment of uncertainty. That instant when unconscious decisions are made and lives are irrevocably changed.

Quinn shifted his stance, and Rae felt all the air, the energy around her vibrate. She swallowed, momentarily unsure of herself and of what was happening to her. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her head all day. When she least expected it she would suddenly see him standing in front of her, dark and erotically lethal, the shuddering virility of him barely contained beneath the cool control of his demeanor. Quinten Parker was all male. The kind of male good girls were taught to stay away from. The kind of male who could steal your heart with a look, capture your soul with a smile, and claim your body with a simple touch.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, not wanting her to leave just yet.

“Yes,” she answered before she even realized the word was out of her mouth. And when he placed his hand lightly along the soft hollow of her spine, she knew Quinten Parker was more than she’d bargained for.

Quinn stirred the squares of ice in his glass of Jack Daniel’s, seemingly intent on the slow, almost hypnotic way the amber liquid drifted in and out of the cubes’ dips and curves.

Rae watched his hands, the long, sinewy piano fingers that had mesmerized her with their skills. For an instant she wondered how talented they really were when bare flesh was offered for exploration. Her nipples suddenly hardened at the image, and she shifted in her seat. The quiet intensity of him was maddening.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she finally said, unable to handle the silence a moment longer.

Quinn glanced up from beneath his lashes. “Wasn’t in my plans.” He took a sip of his drink.

“Then why did you?”

He shrugged slightly and ran his tongue along his lips before answering. “A man can have a change of heart, can’t he?” He stared directly at her, a dark challenge in his eyes, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

She wasn’t going to let him rattle her, she silently vowed. He’s just a man. Rae straightened in her chair, took a sip of her screwdriver, then leaned forward. “Why’d you stop playing?” It wasn’t the first time she’d seen the cool facade momentarily melt away. But he recovered quickly.

“Same reason I came here tonight. Change of heart,” he added, his last comment losing some of its bite.

“Because of your wife?”

His eyes snapped in her direction. He signaled for the waitress without taking his eyes off Rae. “Another one,” he said without looking up when the waitress appeared. “And one for the lady.” Finally he looked away. “Not something I care to talk about, ya know.”

“Your playing…or your wife?”

“Are you always so damned direct?”

She didn’t miss the sudden sparkle in his eyes. “Whenever I can be. Like I said to you earlier, I’ve spent too much time dodging the facts, holding things in, not dealing with the issues. I’m working on not being that woman anymore.”

Quinn was quiet for a moment, contemplative. What had changed her? he wondered, transforming her into this bold, challenging woman who spoke the words of the elders—wise, all-seeing, thought-provoking? Yet for all her exterior control he sensed something beneath the surface. He’d seen the look in her eyes before—seen it in his own. He’d heard the soul-wrenching poetic verse before. He, too, had spoken the words. Those were the things that attracted him to her, not her in-your-face approach, but what lay beneath the words, the background vocals that held the song in place, and played over and again in your mind.

“What changed you?” Quinn asked quietly.

Rae’s lips pinched for a moment, as something old, something gone passed across her eyes. “Loss,” she said simply.

Their gazes held each other and understanding beyond mere words formed between them and joined hands.

“Husband?”

Rae nodded stiffly. “And my…daughter. She was five.”

“How long?”

“Three years.”

Quinn felt a tightness in his chest. Nikita. He took a long swallow of his drink, then clasped the glass in both hands, staring down at the melting ice, a time that was forever gone. “Sometimes I wake up and think it’s all a bad dream,” he confessed quietly.

“I know.” Rae laughed sadly. “So do I. But it isn’t.” She pulled in a breath, then let it out slowly. “But my work gets me through it. I don’t know what I’d do otherwise.” She glanced across the flickering flame cupped in the glass goblet that separated them. “I read about your wife in the papers. I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “It’s so ironic that we should lose the ones we loved at virtually the same time.” She paused for a moment, framing her words. “At the time it was as if we—you and I—were connected. I know this sounds crazy, but…I seemed to know how you were feeling, what you were going through, because it was happening to me as well. I was in the same place. I wanted to write to you…and tell you, but I thought it would be an intrusion. And I knew how empty ‘I’m so sorry’ sounded to my ears.”

Her confession, her willingness to allow him to enter that private space in her soul seemed to release him somehow. Release him in a way that nothing or no one had really been able to do before. A part of him realized that she would understand because she’d been there, too.

“Things were so strange back then, disconnected. It was as if I were walking in a haze all the time. I couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep. Felt like the world was moving but I was standing still, ya know.” He took a swallow of his drink. “I’d wake up sometimes sure that it was all a bad dream.” He heaved in a breath. “You’re right…about the ‘I’m so sorry.’ It didn’t help. Still doesn’t.”

“What does?” Rae asked, wanting to know if he’d found a way to start living again, some key that she’d missed.

“I haven’t figured that out yet.” He almost smiled.

“You will. When you give yourself a chance, open yourself up to possibility. At least that’s what everyone tells me.” She chuckled halfheartedly, not quite believing it herself.

The old refrain played again. He didn’t want to go there. He’d heard it from every person he came into contact with. They all believed they knew what was best for him, what would make his life worth living again. They said all the right things. They tried. But the truth was they had no idea what he needed, how he felt. He glanced at Rae. He believed that she did. He wasn’t sure why, he just did. “Yeah,” he finally mumbled. “You have another set, or what?”

“No. I’m finished for tonight.”

“Any plans?”

“Nothing special. What about you?”

“I figured…maybe we could get to know each other better. I mean, if it’s cool with you.” He gazed at her pointedly, a shadow of a smile playing around his mouth.

Rae angled her head to the right and arched her brow. “How do you know I don’t have a man waiting in the wings?”

Quinn leaned back in the chair. “Hey, if you do it’s not a problem. I know my way home. But you don’t seem to be the kind of woman who would sit around sharing drinks with a man—tryin’ to get to know him—if you had one waiting.” He cocked his head to the side, mirroring her pose, and looked at her lazily.

At that moment he reminded her of a long, sleek panther chilling on a flat rock high above his prey, coolly surveying all below, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting. She couldn’t let him get that chance. It was clear what he wanted, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready, didn’t think she could handle what might happen between them. At least not now. Not yet, maybe never.

“It’s getting late,” Rae finally said, needing an escape. She took her purse from the table and stood. “Thanks…for the drinks…and the conversation.” She stuck out her hand.

Slowly Quinn reached for it, taking her hand completely in his. The warmth and surprising softness of it flowed through his limbs, to his head, and the heat rushed straight to the throb that pulsed between his thighs the instant he touched her. And at the same time he felt strangely connected to this woman as if some missing link had finally been discovered and slipped into place. But that couldn’t be, because that’s not what he wanted from her. His jaw clenched. Yeah, it was best that she did leave.

She was wet. A simple touch from this man and she was as wet as if she’d participated in a naughty game of foreplay. This she didn’t need. Not when she was finally putting her life back in order, piecing together the tattered fragments of her emotions. She wasn’t ready for a man like Quinten Parker.

“I—I’d better go,” she mumbled, hearing her words flutter like flapping wings.

Quinten stood, too, as if pulled by some invisible thread. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I didn’t drive. I only live a few blocks away.”

“Then I’ll walk you home.” What am I doing?

“I—”

“You shouldn’t be walkin’ the street alone. It’s almost two.”

Rae pulled in a breath, hoping to slow down the racing of her heart. “All right,” she mumbled.

As always, even at that hour of the morning, the streets of the city, specifically the West Village, were still peppered with people of every ilk. Neon lights from the rows of bars cast a rainbow of color along the avenue. Laughter mixed with music, drifted around them, the waning warmth of the summer night keeping perfect time.

Rae and Quinn walked in silence along West Fourth Street. Each acutely aware of the other, but wary of breaking the tenuous silence for all that it would stir up between them.

She’s nothing like Nikita, Quinn mused, taking furtive, sidelong glances at Rae. She was tall, slender, and self-contained. And although she had an aggressive manner, there was a cautiousness about her. Her complexion reminded him of brandy—tempting and warm through and through. She was pretty in a laidback sense, not cover-model pretty like Nikita, but a comfortable beauty that gets better with age. He could see the strong strains of the ancestors in the cut of her cheekbones, the curve of her full lips, the flare of her nose. Yeah, Rae Lindsay was easy on the eye, and talented to boot—an intoxicating combination. It had been a long time since he’d thought of a woman for any more than her ability to quench the physical fire that constantly smoldered within him. But none had. None had been able to fill the longing, to stamp down the embers. What he’d been seeking was something none of them had been able to give—a sense of being home again, being able to feel again. Too much of him had gone dead inside. He knew he shouldn’t compare every woman he met with Nikita. It wasn’t fair. No one would ever be able to take her place—or at least replace the image he’d created of her. Over time the things that had once driven him mad about her were now miraculously endearing; what they’d fought over was no longer important; the way she’d wanted to rearrange his life was now cute. In his mind Nikita had evolved into the personification of perfection. It was so much easier to remember her that way. And he had yet to meet anyone able to shatter the image he’d constructed. Sometimes he thought that maybe it was better that way.

He came up short, his thoughts scattering, when Rae stopped in front of a neatly kept redbrick building.

“This is where I get off,” she said, the first words spoken since they’d left the club. “Thanks for the company.” She turned and looked up into his eyes. “And for coming down tonight.”

“It was cool—worth it.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lightweight leather jacket, more to keep from touching her than from trying to create an image.

“Well…I’d better go.” She wanted to touch him, gently brush away the lock that caressed his cheek. But she dared not.

Quinn glanced up at the darkened windows, wondering which one was hers. “When will you be performing again?” He wanted to keep her there just a moment longer—just to hold on to this feeling a little longer. Feeling. His stomach tightened.

“I’m not sure. I need to work on some songs and I’ve gotten behind my deadline.”

“You, uh, work from home or at a studio?”

“Both.” She smiled. “It depends on everyone’s schedule. Actually, studio time is scheduled for next Wednesday. Maybe…you’d like to sit in.” Oh, Lord, what am I doing?

He hadn’t set foot in a studio in nearly three years. His own CD was long overdue. He just hadn’t been able to bring himself to— “What time Wednesday?” he asked before he realized the question had crossed his lips and he couldn’t take it back.

“Nine in the morning. We’ll be at it all day.”

He shrugged. “Cool. Maybe I’ll check you out.”

Rae dug in her purse for her wallet and pulled out a business card. “Here’s the address,” she said, handing him the gold-leafed, embossed card.

Quinn reached for it. Their fingertips brushed and they were both jolted by the contact.

For a moment neither of them moved, neither dared to speak until the current had run its course.

“Thanks,” Quinn uttered, wanting to kiss her instead of saying goodbye.

“So, uh, maybe I’ll see you Wednesday.” Rae clasped the straps of her shoulder bag with both hands.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Quinn jutted his chin toward the steps of Rae’s building. “You oughta go on in.”

Rae released a nervous puff of air, smiling inanely before taking two steps back, then starting up the steps. “Good night,” she tossed over her shoulder, opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind her.

Quinn stood there for a minute until he saw lights in the third-floor window slide through the slats of the blinds. He made a note to himself, then headed back to the club to retrieve his Jeep.

Rae watched his departure from the darkened window of her bedroom and knew with certainty that Quinten Parker might be walking away, but he would be back. She didn’t know how she knew it, she just did.




Chapter 4


Quinn moved slowly through his apartment, the warmth of a new day bouncing off the plants in the window.

The spacious rooms seemed more empty than usual today, now that Jamel was back in San Francisco with his mother. He’d grown accustomed to Jamel’s early morning wake-up call of “Daddy, I’m hungry.” He smiled, pulling sheets off the bed for the laundry, while promising himself that he would call his son later in the day.

He shoved the sheets then damp towels in a laundry bag and set it by the door. It was good having someone in your life, he grudgingly admitted, hauling the bag down the stairs and out to his Jeep, hoping to slide under Mrs. Finch’s radar before she snagged him for some errand or another. He turned the key and the soothing hum of the engine vibrated beneath him.

He missed having someone to look out for, care about, someone he could come home to and share his day with. He’d always been a loner, content to do his thing by himself. Until he’d met Nikita. She’d changed all that for him. And after he’d lost her, he knew without a doubt that he’d never have those feelings again, those needs again. But having his son with him had relit the fire that had been doused by pain and disillusionment, and meeting Rae Lindsay had been like tossing kindling on the smoldering flames. But was he truly ready to walk through the fire to the promise of possibility on the other side? He was no longer sure if he knew how.



Rae sat on the piano bench, her nimble fingers tinkering with the keys. A new arrangement of notes for a song had haunted her throughout the night. Several times she’d gotten out of bed and found her way to the baby grand that sat like a Buddha in the center of her living room. The melody would come to her in bursts, then fade, and she would stumble back to bed only to be magnetically drawn back moments later.

It was always this way with her—this creative thing that she could not control. Sometimes it would creep up on her like a thief stealing all conscious thought, only leaving behind the seed of challenge. Catch me. Capture me. Expose me for all the world to see and hear. And she would be compelled to create. Compelled to play. Twist the standard notes into something never before heard. Write the words that would echo in hearts and minds for always.

She was in that space now—the zone, where nothing else mattered beyond this thing as necessary to her life as breathing. And between each note, each turn of phrase, she remembered her evening with Quinn Parker, and knew it was he who was the catalyst for this roller-coaster ride she was on.

Rae rose stiffly from the bench and arched her back to loosen the kinks that gripped her spine. Her gaze drifted toward the window. The world moved in a steady hum on the other side of the glass—removed from her—the way she always felt—disconnected. Except yesterday, for the first time in longer than she could remember.

She’d buried herself so deeply in her work these past three years, she didn’t allow herself time to think, to feel, to experience life around her. She’d been too afraid. So she surrounded herself with her music, musicians, friends, anything to keep the memories at bay, her guilt under wraps. Her music, her lyrics became the cocoon that protected her. But somehow meeting Quinn had weakened the protective covering, leaving her tender insides exposed and vulnerable. She wasn’t sure how he was able to accomplish what so many had tried and failed to do. But he had.

Rae wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, as if the action could somehow contain the brewing emotions, the awakening of sensations that bubbled with life within her.

His eyes—dark, soulful, full of seeing too much. His mouth—rich, sculpted, and tender. His voice—like the roll of waves rushing to the shore, carrying a unique rhythm with each ebb and flow. She felt him. Something she’d been unable to do for far too long. Yes, she talked a good game, saying all the right things in all the right places. She’d heard the words “tomorrow will be better,” “move on with your life,” and she’d started repeating them, like a parrot learning to speak. The words tumbled through her mind so often that she almost believed them. Almost.

She crossed the room to look upon the comings and goings below. Was Quinn among them, moving through life much as she, there but not?

And then all at once, he was there, stepping out of his Jeep as smoothly as silk blowing in a spring breeze. Her heart hammered. Her hand flew to her mouth and then to her head when she visualized the state it was in. She spun in a quick circle and was halted in motion at the sound of the downstairs bell. Her entire body jerked as if zapped with electric current.

Maybe she should just tiptoe back to her bedroom and hide out until he went away. She cupped her hand to her mouth and realized she hadn’t brushed her teeth.

The bell rang again. She almost hollered this time.

“Damn.”

She took two steps of indecision and a quick sniff of her unwashed underarms. “Passable,” she mumbled and stomped barefoot to the intercom.

“Who?” she asked innocently.

“Quinn. Quinn Parker.”

Rae squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed the button marked Door, releasing the front lock. “Damn, damn, damn.”



Quinn pushed open the heavy wood-and-glass door and wondered how in the hell he’d wound up in front of Rae’s building instead of at the laundry as he’d intended—where he belonged. His plan was to do laundry, the very same laundry that sat in a heap on the backseat.

Slowly he climbed the stairs. What would he tell the woman when she opened the door? What explanation could he offer the inquiring if not offended look she would toss his way? He wasn’t sure. The only thing he was certain of was that something stronger than his will had pulled him there. And there was nothing he could have done about this particular itch but scratch it.

He reached the third floor and had a choice of two apartments. Remembering the lights from the night before, he headed for the one facing the front.

Quinn tugged in a long breath, hoped that something that made sense would come out of his mouth, and pressed the square-shaped bell.

Rae jumped again at least an inch off the floor. She stomped her feet as if running in place, squeezed her hands into fists, then reached for the door with all the poise of a runway model. Her heart galloped at breakneck speed. All she could think about was her disarray, her rumpled clothes and what he would think of her. Why couldn’t he turn up when she had her act together, her hair done, makeup in place and the perfect outfit hugging her body?

When Quinn stood before her, bold, black and beautiful, framed in the doorway as perfectly as by an artist’s hand—she couldn’t remember why she’d been so afraid. This—whatever it was that was happening between them—was inevitable, as inevitable as the sun setting and the moon rising. And if she thought for a moment that she could stop it, she was a fool.




Chapter 5


It wasn’t a dream, Quinten thought as he stood in front of Rae. It wasn’t something he’d wistfully imagined. She was real, flesh and blood—full of possibility. Through the night he’d thought of her, heard her poetic voice calling out to him, saw the way she held her head at a just-so angle, her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes and the sadness that could suddenly creep into her voice. She’d haunted him, awakened him with emotions he was certain he was no longer capable of feeling for anyone other than his son: the inkling of joy, the tingle of anticipation.

He pursed his lips before speaking and Rae felt her stomach tumble.

“I know it’s not cool to just show up, but I was thinkin’ about you. About last night and—”

“It’s okay. Come in,” she said so gently it sounded like a lullaby to Quinn’s ears.

He stepped past her, and the thoroughly male scent of him reached out and caressed her, stroking her body like a tender lover. She almost moaned.

Quinn stepped into the foyer and turned to face Rae, who still stood in the archway.

Soft curves defined the pale blue cotton pants that hung low on her rounded hips, exposing a warm brown belly, with faint traces of the child she once carried. The white band that covered her breasts only drew his attention to them—full, ripe. His manhood jerked, as aware as he. Quinn turned away.

Rae tried to collect herself. But the back of him was just as alluring as the front. His locks, bound in a black band at the nape of his neck, cut a path down the center of his back, in sharp contrast to the white T-shirt that barely contained the cut of hard muscle. The black jeans hugged him in all the right places, outlining the solid thighs and long, slightly, bowed legs. Her nipples stood at attention. Slowly he turned toward her.

“I was just getting myself together.” She laughed nervously, feeling a sudden pulse between her thighs. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” She headed toward her bedroom, stopped, turned, and collided with his unwavering stare. For an instant she forgot what was on her mind.

He smiled slowly. “Nice…place.”

Rae swallowed. “Thanks. Would you like something to drink before I dash off?”

“If it’s cool, just point me toward the kitchen. I’m pretty handy.” He grinned, flashing perfect teeth and that killer smile that graced his book jackets and CD covers.

“Second door on the right.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

She watched him saunter toward the kitchen before making a mad dash to her bedroom.

An audible sigh wafted around Rae as she shut her bedroom door behind her. She closed her eyes. Quinn Parker was standing in her living room. Now what was she going to do?

She glanced up and caught a peek at her disheveled self in the dresser mirror. “Oh, Lawd!” She jetted off to the bathroom.

After a lightning-fast shower with her favorite bath gel, some oil spritz for her short twists, a dash of lip gloss for her mouth, she was almost ready. She pulled on an African-print wrap skirt that she tied at the waist, and a sleeveless tank top in burnt orange that matched the bold bronzes, emerald greens, and sunshine yellows of her ankle-length skirt. She dabbed some China musk body oil at her wrists and the pulse at the base of her throat.

Rae spun toward the mirror, didn’t dare look too long, certain that she would find some flaw, some fault. She hauled in a breath, made a silent vow to play it cool, then stepped back into the front room, fully expecting her surprise guest to be hovering around anticipating her return.

Quinn was missing in action.

Then she heard sounds coming from the kitchen. She eased toward the door, a serious frown on her face, trying to imagine what in the world he was doing.

When she arrived at the threshold, she was taken aback to see Quinn moving comfortably around in her kitchen as if fixing breakfast in her space was something he always did.

He’d prepared a tray of toasted bagels and another with jelly, vegetable cream cheese, and butter. Somehow he’d found her glass carafe—a wedding gift she thought she’d lost—and filled it with orange juice. The scent of brewing coffee assaulted her senses, and her stomach shouted out in hunger. Rae wasn’t sure if she should be pissed off at his audacity in just taking over her kitchen, or totally charmed by his thoughtfulness.

She folded her arms, her braless breasts resting comfortably on them. “I see you found everything you needed.” She rested her right hip against the frame in the doorway.

Quinn glanced over his shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind. I figured after the late night—” he shrugged “—maybe you took your time about movin’ into your morning.” He smiled slow and lazy. “Hungry?”

Rae felt the grin spread helplessly across her mouth. “Starved.”

“Have a seat. Breakfast is served.”

Amusement danced in her eyes as she took a seat.

“Are you always this considerate, or is this a new millennium come-on?” Rae quizzed over bites of bagel lathered in cream cheese.

Quinn hooked his legs around the spindles of the kitchen stool as he leaned over the counter to refill his juice. He chuckled halfheartedly. “Tell ya the truth, I don’t know. I guess I’d like to think I am a considerate guy. No doubt. Isn’t that what you women want these days?” he taunted playfully. “Rugged on the outside with a soft center.”

“So this is just some fancy come-on,” she teased in return, reaching for a bagel and brushing the tips of Quinn’s retreating fingers.

Their gazes found each other for a hot instant.

“I guess it’s been a while since I did anything for anyone else, or since I cared enough to bother.” He lowered his gaze, shielding himself from her.

Understanding that kind of aloneness, the depths to which it could pull you, momentarily sealed Rae’s lips. She wanted, as always, for her words to matter. Not give him a pat response from the plethora of self-healing dictums.

“I was working on a new piece,” Rae said gently, steering them away from the dark waters. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Sure.”

They left the remains of their late breakfast and went into the living room. Lovingly Quinn’s eyes roamed across the smooth wood surface of the magnificent piano, the only piece of furniture in the cavernous room. His mouth nearly watered in appreciation for the beauty—knowing the kind of sound that could be drawn from it. To him, playing piano was so much like making love to a woman. You had to know and understand each and every key and what it was capable of doing if touched just right—the high and low notes, the trills that could be emitted with several well-placed finger strokes. It was too intimate, too personal, and he wanted to be neither.

Quinn noticed the pile of body-size pillows stacked in the corners. He walked over and made himself comfortable, half sitting, half reclining like a satisfied cat.

That did it, Rae realized. If there was anything to convince her that this was a man after her soul, Quinn’s behavior sealed it. Everyone who’d crossed her threshold always commented about her lack of furniture, the echo in the room, her lackadaisical attitude about “fixing the place up.” Not Quinn. He was just as at home as if it had been his. He looked as if he belonged there.

Rae stepped over to the baby grand and took a seat. She glanced over her shoulder. “This is still rough,” she said as a preamble.

“Hey, unless you’re Stevie Wonder or Prince, it takes a minute to write some music.”

Rae chuckled in agreement. “If only,” she uttered on a puff of laughter, her confidence boosted by his simple observation.

She flipped the sheets of music to the beginning, pulled in a breath, and exhaled a melody. Her fingers taunted the keys with sharp, sudden chords, played along its spine like a rock skimming water, barely touching but enough to make it ripple. Then her voice slid between jazz and hip-hop, blues and easy listening.

“…so afraid that time won’t erase what I feel for you.

Let me go, you need to know

It’s time to move on.

All those yesterdays, memories, and such,

Though they meant so much, they’re gone

And I’m all alone.

Let me go. You need to know

It’s time to move on.

But I’m so afraid

That time won’t erase what I feel for you

In my heart.

I will always remember your smile.

The touch of your hand,

The way you’d walk out a door.

But all that’s no more.

Let me go.

You need to know it’s time to move on.

But I’m so afraid that even time won’t erase

What I feel for you…”

It was as if she’d written every word for him, as if she’d seen inside his heart, his soul, and created the words that he dared not speak, Quinn thought, stunned by the effect the lyrics were having on him—stirring images, emotions, dreams long denied. His throat tightened, the warmth flowing through him as he allowed the rhythm of the words to grab hold of him, seep into his pores. He fully understood that they’d seen the same emotions, shared the same fears. And the realization shook him.

“…What I feel for you will never die.

What we had will always be.

But listen to me

And let me go.

I’ll keep you close to my heart

Even if I start…to love again…”

Rae’s strong alto rose to a tingling crescendo, raising the hair on Quinn’s arms, swooped down to massage his belly, then gently faded, leaving a whisper of its scent behind.

Rae lowered her head, feeling spent as if she’d just made passionate love. The words had flowed from her unbidden, taking her by surprise, keeping time with the notes she’d created.

Neither spoke, each silently acknowledging the significance of the moment. Everything had just been said.

Rae felt the heat of him directly behind her, tenderly wrap around her to hold her close. She gave in to the embrace, shut her eyes, and rejoiced in the sensation of being held by someone who truly understood.

“Have you let go?” Quinn asked in a ragged whisper, coming around to sit beside her, not fully understanding why he’d suddenly held her like that. But he seemed to need the contact of warm flesh against warm flesh as much as he believed she did.

“Some days are better than others.”

“Yeah. No doubt.” He dragged in a breath and found her eyes, which had filled with tears that flowed onto her cheeks. With the pad of his thumb he gently brushed them away.

Rae smiled weakly. “Why are you here, Quinn?” Her eyes dragged over his face, memorizing the contours, the sweep of his brows, the depth of his dark eyes, the perfect symmetry of his lips, the smooth chocolate of his skin. She wanted to touch him, taste him, have him hold her again, and her hold him back. She wanted to lie with him, have his fingers awaken her flesh. She wanted to feel him inside of her, if only for a moment, just long enough to remember what it felt like to be a woman. She hadn’t wanted that with anyone for so long. Couldn’t bear the thought of a man other than her husband touching her. But Sterling was gone. She was still here. She was still alone, still afraid—even now when the man who’d made her blood heat again was mere inches away. And she didn’t want to be those things anymore—alone and lonely—at least for a few precious moments.

“I’m not sure why I came, Rae,” Quinn finally answered. “All I know is that I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you all night. I woke up this morning and you were here.” He tapped his temple. “Right there in my head, messin’ with my mind.”

There was a sense of wonder on Rae’s face as she watched him confess. She’d felt the same way—all night, as she’d walked the floors and the music taunted her. “I didn’t expect this.”

He laughed self-consciously and tossed it off, getting up and moving away from her. He walked to the window, keeping his back to her, gathering his emotions back into the tight band that held them in place and out of reach.

“What do you want from me?” she asked gently.

He hesitated a moment, not sure of just how far he wanted the door to be pushed open. “I don’t know. Maybe everything—too much. Maybe nothing. I don’t know if anyone can give me what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for, Quinn?”

“Peace, absolution, my soul back.” He took a breath, exhaling. “I’m just tired…” He pressed his hand against the window frame, bracing his weight against it.

“Tired of what?” she asked, stepping up behind him and placing a hand on his stiff shoulder.

“Tired of hurting inside,” he answered wearily. “Tired of feelin’ I got a raw deal from life.” He moved out of her reach. The door had been pushed open too far.

Rae watched him, trying to see what he was trying so desperately to hide. Was he like the others who came at her with soft, sweet words, promises, and damaged souls, expecting her to heal them? She wondered if Quinn was worth the trouble. Something unnamed told her that he was.

“I’ve been there,” she confessed. “Still there at times. But we find a way to move on.”

“By what, forgetting?” He turned toward her, his eyes suddenly dark and dangerous.

“I don’t have all the answers. I may never have them. All I can believe in is that healing takes time. It’ll happen for you.” She needed to believe that as much as he did.

His jaw clenched. “What makes you think you know so much about me?” he demanded, suddenly irrationally angry, defensive.

“Your eyes,” she said simply, unafraid of his unwarranted attack. “It’s all there. The windows to the soul.” She smiled softly and crossed the room, sat down on a pillow and continued. “If you ever decided to play again, it would be there as well. And that’s not always a bad thing. Listen to the blues. It’s the heart of ache and loss that gives it the richness and depth, which makes it touch something inside us.” She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into his stormy eyes.

Quietly he appraised her, and realized why he was so angry with her. He was afraid of her, afraid of her ability to see beyond his shell, to peel it away and expose him. And his greatest fear was that they would both discover that there was nothing inside.

“Do you ever think you’ll play again?”

“I don’t know,” he answered in a monotone.

“What are you afraid of?”

The question shook him. How could she know? He swallowed, fighting down the seed of truth that struggled to burst forth. He failed. “Myself,” he answered. “And you.” He came toward her.

This time it was Rae who moved away to safety—out of reach, wary almost, rising to circle him as her emotions raced. Finally she stood still, gripping the edge of the piano for support. Her gaze connected with his. “So am I,” she whispered.

Quinn stepped up to her, absorbing all the available air in the room. She suddenly felt light-headed. He reached out to her, gently stroked her cheek. “What are we going to do about it?”

She looked up at him. “Maybe stop being afraid.” Her body trembled beneath his touch.

“How?” he asked, his soul desperately needing to hear the answer.

“Through the fire—to the safety on the other side.”

His very own thoughts again, he realized. “I don’t know if I can.”

Rae took his hand in hers, and smiled tenderly. “Neither do I, Quinten Parker. Neither do I.”

And in that instant they found themselves in an unfamiliar place, a place long forgotten—filled with promises and truths unspoken—the future.




Chapter 6


The studio session was in full swing. Quinn had run out of excuses for not getting there as he’d promised and finally found himself seated on the opposite side of the soundproof room, watching them do their thing. Funny how Rae had wiggled her way into his life, with him kicking and screaming all the way. The truth was, he kind of liked it. Liked the feel of being part of something, sharing, even if it was only a bit of himself. At least it was a start. Who knows, maybe it could really turn into something if he let it.

It all seemed so easy, too easy, Quinn mused as he absently tapped his foot and nodded his head to the beat of the band. He and Rae had fallen into a comfortable pattern of spending time together during the past two months. They’d talk on the phone, or meet for drinks in the evening, sometimes even do laundry together. He checked out some of her performances, and they hung out at some of the local spots every now and then. The only problem was, it seemed that she was always surrounded by people: the band, girlfriends, studio folks. And they all wanted to get in his business, find out what the deal was with him and Rae, when he was going to play again, write again. He didn’t even know. At times it really pissed him off. All he wanted was to be left alone, not become a source of conversation for her curious friends. But a part of him understood. He had his aloofness as a buffer against the world and she had people and her music. Hey, whatever. He wasn’t about making waves anyhow. That’s why he stayed away. This was her world, not his anymore. And if she hadn’t practically begged him, he wouldn’t be sitting there now. But she couldn’t seem to understand that, couldn’t seem to understand what it did to him.

He watched her do her thing behind the studio glass, directing the band, switching up on the music. He had to admire her, though, her drive and focus. In that way she was a lot like Nikita. But the similarity ended there. Rae was her own woman. She wasn’t born into privilege, hadn’t attended Ivy League schools, didn’t surround herself with people who looked down their noses at others. Rae wasn’t trying to get on the other side of the tracks to see what it was like. She lived there. She’d made her way through life on her own, without anyone’s help.

One evening over dinner she’d told him where and how she’d grown up and even he was amazed that she’d survived.

“There were five of us,” she said, sipping her screwdriver. “Me and four brothers.”

“Where do you fit in?”

“The oldest.” She laughed lightly. “And believe me, being oldest in my house had no perks, especially being the only girl.”

“Why?”

“My father—such that he was—believed that a woman’s role in life was to take care of the men, no questions asked. And if you did gather up the nerve to question anything, you were sure to get an ass whipping. Maybe get one just because he felt like it at the moment. Me he only beat once a month. My brothers he beat like it was a religious ritual.”

“Damn. What about your mother? Didn’t she do anything, say anything?”

Rae twisted her lips. “My mother had been whipped into submission years earlier. She wouldn’t even speak unless my father said it was okay.”

Quinn slowly shook his head, knowing that there was nothing he could say to make it all disappear, be different somehow, so he just listened.

“The minute I turned sixteen I left. Got on a train from Mississippi and came to New York. I never looked back, too scared I’d see my father running up behind me.” She shivered at the image. “Found a job as a waitress in Brooklyn and finished school. I had this great music teacher who took a liking to me. She got me into the high school choir. I used to stay after school and watch her practice on the piano.” She glanced up at him. “That’s how I learned to play.”

The corner of his mouth curved up into a grin. “So did I. Just listening mostly.”

Rae nodded in understanding. She took a breath and another swallow of her drink. “When I graduated, Ms. Granville, that was her name, told me about a small recording studio in Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn and a guy that was looking for talent. So I went to see him, not knowing what to expect, but hoping he’d miraculously make me an overnight sensation.”

They both laughed.

“That brother worked me to death. Do you hear me?” She chuckled, remembering the countless nights of burning the midnight oil. “RJ was no joke. He taught me so much about the business, introduced me to people, and did my first demo for me. When I met with the producers at Sony, they loved what they heard and wanted to sign me right then and there.”

“I hear a but in there somewhere.”

Rae grinned. “But…I didn’t want to sing, never did. I wanted to write and compose.”

“So what happened?”

“I told them I wasn’t interested. Well, RJ almost had a stroke right in the office. He’d worked for three months to get me in. If looks could kill I would have dropped dead right on that plush red carpet.”

Quinn howled with laughter. “Woman, you are crazy.”

“Yeah, they thought so, too.”

“So what happened?”

“After the producer cussed RJ out for wasting his time, RJ begging and pleading with him, I did something I’d never done before in my life—opened my mouth and said what it was that I wanted, for once. Not what someone else wanted for me.

“‘I want to write music, lyrics!’ I shouted over the din. They both turned and looked at me like I was crazy. And suddenly the old fear of being beaten took hold of me and pushed me back down into my seat. The room grew deathly quiet.

“‘What did you say?’ the producer asked.

“‘I want to write.’

“He leaned back in his seat.

“‘What makes you think you can?’

“I reached into my bag and pulled out my notebook that I’d been writing songs in since high school and handed it to him. I swear he must have read it for an hour, or at least it felt like it, especially with RJ cutting me dirty looks every few seconds. Finally he put the book down and closed it. He stared at me for a long time.

“‘I have a young girl group. They have talent but their music sucks. I want you to listen to them, see if you can come up with something, and then we’ll see. Maybe one of these songs.’ He tossed the book back at me and my music career began.”

“Did you get to work with them?”

Rae nodded.

“Did they take off or what?”

She nodded again.

Quinn cocked his head to the side, realizing he was going to have to pry the information out of her. “You gonna tell me who, or what?”

“After Five,” she said shyly.

He tossed his head back and laughed in awe. After Five had jetted to the top of the charts and remained there for years. Most of the girl groups of the past ten years ago had been patterned after them. Unbelievable.

But that was Rae, cool and unassuming, Quinn thought as the music came to an end. He often wished, especially after meeting her, and being plunged back into the world of music, that he could find that creative part of himself that he’d lost. Somehow she was able to hold on to that part of herself where he could not. In his mind, the whole creative process was connected to his past, a past that he wanted to forget, but couldn’t. He didn’t know if he ever would.

The session ended and the band started filing out of the soundproof booth. There seemed to be a glow, a radiance about Rae as she walked toward him. Oh, how well he remembered that feeling. The rush.

“So what did you think?” she asked on a breath, dropping a headset around her neck.

“Sounded great.”

She tucked a lock behind his ear. “Really?” Her finger stroked his chin. She needed to hear his words of assurance to usher out her doubts.

“Yeah, really.” He smiled, wanting to pull her close, but didn’t.

The tightness in her chest slowly eased. “Well, that’s it for today. I’m beat. Let me just tie up a few things with the band and we can leave. Want to go over to the Blue Note? Everyone is going.”

There was that everyone again. “Naw. I’m gonna cut out. You go ’head with your friends.” He brushed her forehead with his lips and turned and left.

Rae watched him leave, and that same emptiness in her heart that she always felt when he moved away from her found its way back and settled. She was falling for him. Hard and fast. It was the only thing she was certain about anymore. Her thoughts were full of him, her actions planned around him. Her work once again had become a diversion, her friends a shield. But this time instead of it all protecting her from pain, it was keeping her from losing her heart. She couldn’t risk that again, especially with a man like Quinten Parker, whom she knew so well, and not at all. He was full of light, dark shadows, and pieces that she could not put together. He wouldn’t let her. Then at times he was open, communicative, funny, romantic, and accessible. At others he was as remote as a distant continent.

She sighed and turned away, knowing all her efforts to keep a seal on her emotions were futile. “Listen, I’ll see you all later,” she called out to the group. She snatched up her bag and dashed out, hoping to catch him before he pulled away.

When she stepped outside she saw his Jeep and she felt that familiar breathlessness take over. Slowly she walked over to where he sat behind the wheel. “Can I get a lift?”

Without responding, he opened the locks and she got in.

They pulled up in front of her building, spending most of the half-hour ride in silence.





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