Through the Fire

“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.