Quinn's Undying Rose (Scanguards Vampires #6), page 7
Oliver is awake, it said.
For a split-second, he didn’t understand the significance of those three words, but then it hit him. He had responsibilities.
His interactions with Rose had made him forget what else had happened tonight. He was a sire now, Oliver’s sire. And it meant that he had to help him through the transition, guide him, provide counsel. Never mind that he needed counsel himself; he had to pretend now that he knew it all, that he had the solution to every problem his new prodigy would face.
Quinn shoved a hand through his hair. How he wished he could talk to somebody, to ask for advice. But he had nobody he felt comfortable confessing to. In those two hundred years since his transformation he hadn’t made one true friend. Even Zane, his fellow bodyguard at Scanguards, wasn’t close enough to him. Yes, they’d been out, whoring together, but all that was long gone. Zane was bonded to a hybrid now, Portia, a young woman, half vampire, half human. Besides, Quinn couldn’t tell anybody what was going on inside him. All he could do was fake it, not let anybody know what a mess his life had turned into.
Determined to at least get one thing in his life right, he headed for Samson’s house. Oliver needed him now, and he wasn’t going to shirk his responsibilities.
Thomas greeted him at the door. The gay biker with the sandy blond hair and easy smile waved him in. Quinn glimpsed Samson and Amaury in the living room, both pacing with their cell phones pressed to their ears, talking quickly. He gave Thomas a questioning look. Why had they left Oliver alone?
“Zane is upstairs with Oliver.” His friend motioned to the regal mahogany stairs that lead up to the second floor.
As he marched up the stairs, he was surprised that Zane was still at the house. He would have expected him to return to his mate Portia. The two were practically inseparable since they had bonded only a short time earlier.
Zane’s laughter greeted him as he opened the door to the guest room. Quinn furrowed his forehead. The last thing he had expected at a time like this was laughter. What was going on?
When he stepped into the room, he found Zane sitting in a chair next to the bed. Oliver was stretched out on the bed, holding his stomach with both hands.
“Stop!” he begged, his face contorted into a grimace. “That hurts!”
Zane waved him off. “Yeah, that’s what he said too when I poured hot wax over it.”
“What are you doing to him?” Quinn yelled, launching himself at Zane.
His colleague immediately jumped up.
“Who pissed on your grave?” Zane shot back, tossing him a surprised look.
“He’s just . . . ” Oliver’s voice died amid fits of . . . laughter.
Quinn whipped his head to stare at Oliver. Now that he looked more closely, he noticed how his prodigy’s eyes were tearing as he held in another laugh.
“I was just telling him a joke,” Zane explained.
Dumbfounded, Quinn just stood there. He had expected Oliver to be in shock. Most newly turned vampires were, especially those who’d been turned unexpectedly. However, Oliver seemed to be anything but. In fact, he looked positively . . . happy!
Suddenly, Oliver’s face contorted in pain. “Shit. Still hurts.” He motioned to his stomach.
Panicked, Quinn rushed to his side, but Zane’s hand on his shoulder held him back.
“He’s all right. His stomach wound will take a few more hours of healing though. Don’t worry, we brought a live donor in to speed up the process.”
“Who?”
“Wesley. He was closest.”
Quinn blinked in surprise. “Haven’s brother? He volunteered?” Wesley had hated vampires for a long time. But since his own brother had turned into one, it appeared his hatred had somewhat eased.
Zane shrugged. “Kind of.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oliver cleared his throat, making Quinn look back at him.
“Samson offered him a job at Scanguards.”
Shit! “Wesley is a loose cannon!”
Zane chuckled. “I remember being called that myself not too long ago. And look at me now!” His bald vampire friend stretched his arms out to his sides as if presenting himself to an audience.
“You still are,” Quinn answered in dry tones. “Fuck, I should have been here. Samson shouldn’t have to clean up after me.” Instead of making sure his prodigy had everything he needed, he’d deserted him the first chance he got. What did that say about him? That he wasn’t any better than his own sire?
He ran his hand through his hair, then let his eyes travel over Oliver’s body.
“Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
“I’d be lying if I said I’ve never been better,” Oliver started.
Quinn dropped his lids. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have given you a choice.” Instead he had let himself be ruled by his own guilt. After all, the accident was his fault, not Oliver’s.
“Don’t be. As soon as this damn stomach wound has healed, I’ll be better than new,” Oliver claimed.
Quinn raised his head, meeting Oliver’s gaze.
“But your entire life has changed.”
“Yeah, for the better. Frankly, if this hadn’t happened, I would have asked Samson to turn me.” Oliver smiled. “It’s not like I’m getting any younger and—”
“You’re twenty-five!” Quinn interrupted.
“Almost twenty-six,” his prodigy corrected. “It was about time. I don’t want to look older than the rest of you.”
Quinn shook his head. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” He’d known that Oliver had always looked up to them, even toyed with the idea of becoming a vampire. But he’d never expected him to take to it as easily as a duck to water, to accept his fate with such grace. Even those who’d asked to be turned had found the adjustment hard and questioned their decision later. Oliver wouldn’t be any different.
“You don’t know yet what to expect from your new life. It won’t be easy. Just ask Eddie.”
Amaury’s brother-in-law was a relatively young vampire, turned less than a year earlier.
“Eddie’s doing just fine. He’s got Thomas.”
Zane chuckled at that. “Or maybe Thomas has him.”
“Would you shut up, Zane?” Quinn snapped. “Thomas is downstairs. He can probably hear you.”
Then he turned back to Oliver.
“There’s lots to think about. For starters, you can’t live on your own right now.”
The opening of the door interrupted him. He watched Samson and Amaury enter.
“Hey Samson, Amaury. I was just telling Oliver that he’ll have to make some changes. He needs to live with me for a while.”
Samson nodded. “Already arranged.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Amaury interrupted. “An acquaintance of mine just renovated a mansion in Pacific Heights, made it vampire proof and all that shit. He wants to open it as a B&B.”
Quinn took a breath. “Out of the question. I’m not living in a B&B with Oliver. We’re returning to New York. We don’t need a bunch of strangers around us.”
“There won’t be anybody else. He can’t open the place yet—some issues with the building department. So he’s offered us the place for exclusive use until the permits are final. Knowing this city, it’ll take months,” Amaury claimed.
“And it’s better if you stay here for now, so Oliver can stay in an environment he’s used to,” Samson added, then turned to his erstwhile assistant. “Don’t you think so, Oliver? Isn’t that what you want?”
The kid nodded eagerly. “That’d be good.” Then he looked back at Quinn, his facial expression one of dread. “I mean for now, right? Afterwards, it would be cool to go to New York with you.”
Reluctantly, Quinn nodded. If it was what Oliver wanted, then he could at least do that.
“Then it’s settled,” Samson answered. “When do you want to move in? Tomorrow night?”
Before Quinn could answer, his cell phone pinged. Again his heart raced, because this time he was sure who was texting him. What he wasn’t sure about was what her answer would be.
His pulse galloping, he looked at the screen.
I agree, was all it said.
He swallowed, not knowing whether to be happy or sad about Rose’s answer, maybe both.
Slowly he tore his gaze from the phone and glanced back at Oliver.
“Hope you don’t mind that we won’t live there alone.” He pushed down the lump in his throat that threatened to rob him of the ability to speak. “My wife will be joining us.”
Oliver stared at him wide-eyed, shock plastered all over his face. “Dude, you’re married?”
10
“That’s him.” Rose pointed toward the bar.
Despite the late hour, the popular nightclub wasn’t completely packed yet. Soon, however, the clubbers would be lining up like sardines just to get a drink. And the dance floor would be looking like a can of worms, wiggling one way or another.
Quinn followed the direction of Rose’s finger, letting his gaze fall on a tall guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a photo shoot for GQ Magazine. His dark brown hair was cropped short. Under his immaculate clothes, his muscles bulged. A tan, whether artificial or real, complemented his model looks.
Without looking back at her, he asked, “The clothes horse?”
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Rose’s shrug. “I have no influence over how he spends the money in his trust.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Great. A trust fund baby. What else should I know about him?”
Blake looked nothing like he would have imagined his grandson to be. Not that he had ever lost a thought on that particular subject until twenty-four hours earlier.
“He finished college, then did a masters.”
“What subject?”
“Communications. Not something he could actually find a job in,” Rose replied.
“So he’s unemployed.” Just perfect. His great-great-whatever was a loser.
“That’s why he came out to the West Coast. He thinks he can get some job out here.”
Quinn snorted. “Maybe he should have moved to LA.”
“You don’t like him,” Rose said.
He turned to her to contradict her, but the moment he laid eyes on her, he was instantly distracted. Rose wore a low cut top that accentuated her small breasts and made them look larger than he remembered them. Her cleavage was more pronounced than he’d ever seen it when she’d worn those fashionable ball gowns so many years ago. Allowing his eyes to trail down, he wondered how long it would take to peel her out of the tight black jeans she wore. One second or two?
His mouth went dry at the thought. He smelled the blood of the humans all around him, yet at this moment no scent was as tantalizing as the scent of Rose’s skin. He’d always preferred human women as his lovers, because the scent of their blood heightened his arousal, but now that he stood so close to Rose, her body getting hotter in the inadequately air-conditioned room, he realized that her blood smelled no less enticing. On the contrary: despite the delicious smells all around him, his body wanted to partake of only one.
“What?” she asked, staring at him.
Quinn tried for an indifferent look, hoping he wasn’t drooling. God, he was pathetic. How would he be able to do this night after night? “Let’s go to the bar. Might as well have a drink.”
Rose gave him a confused look. “You drink . . . uh . . . ” She lowered her voice. “ . . . human drinks?”
“Just to blend in. Standing around without drinks will make us look suspicious. This is a nightclub after all. People come here to drink.” Besides, his throat was so dry, he didn’t care what kind of liquid moistened it.
Quinn headed for one end of the bar from which he had a good view of Blake and motioned to the bartender, then patted his hand on the empty stool, glancing back at Rose.
She followed him and took the seat.
“Two Boodles martinis, dry, no olives,” he ordered, seeing what used to be his favorite brand of London dry gin behind the bar. “Stirred, not shaken.”
The bartender nodded and went to work.
“I thought James Bond always insists that his martinis be shaken, not stirred.”
Quinn thought she seemed to find her remark far more amusing than it was. “Bond knows women, not martinis.”
He took a sideways glance at Rose. Now that she sat, his head was at the perfect height to allow him to look right down her cleavage. When he lifted his eyes, he collided with her gaze. It appeared that she had noticed the same thing. He felt heat shoot through his veins.
Annoyed at his own reaction, he focused his attention on the middle of the bar, where Blake was talking to a young woman. He tuned into their conversation, shutting out everything else around him out.
“I just moved here. Cool place,” Blake said.
“Good for you,” the girl replied, taking her nearly empty glass and pulling on the straw. Her gaze strayed away as if she were looking for somebody. She was pretty, and by the looks of it, she was well aware of that fact.
“What are you drinking? I’ll get you another one,” Blake said
“Thanks, but I’ll get my own drinks,” she replied and waved toward the bartender, who just placed the two Martini glasses in front of Quinn.
“That’s twenty-four bucks.”
Quinn pulled out a couple of banknotes and tossed them on the bar. “Thanks.”
As the bartender took the money, Quinn looked back at Blake and the girl.
“She doesn’t like him,” Rose said next to him.
“Maybe she’s just playing hard to get,” Quinn mused, wondering why Rose even bothered talking to him.
For the first time, he heard her chuckle. The sound trickled down his body like a soft caress. God, how he’d missed her laughter. How he’d missed that warm sound that could lift anyone’s spirit.
“Guess it runs in the family.”
“The playing hard to get?”
“The not being able to know what a woman wants.” She paused. “Or doesn’t want.”
Quinn reached for his glass. “Ah, that’s harsh, Rose, even for you.” Then he took a generous sip and allowed the disgusting liquid to coat his throat. At least it would help make his voice sound normal again, or so he hoped.
“And there I thought I gave you everything you could dream of that night.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And more.”
Her words cast an icy chill against his nape. “Are you referring to the baby?”
“Among other things.”
He set the glass onto the bar with too much force, making some of the liquid spill over the rim. “I pulled out!”
But even he knew that wasn’t a foolproof method of preventing conception. However, two hundred years ago, short of using French letters, it had been the only one.
She withstood his glare without flinching. But she didn’t grace him with a response. Instead she merely took her own glass and emptied it without grimacing.
“Is that why you’re so pissed at me? Because I left you with child? I would have taken care of you and our daughter if you’d given me a chance.”
Daughter—the word still sounded so foreign to him. Yet, he meant what he’d said. Had he known, things would have turned out differently.
“Having Charlotte was the only thing that ever went right in my life,” Rose admitted.
Her admission surprised him. “Then what was it that I did wrong?” The words were out before he could take them back. He knew he was showing his vulnerability by asking a question like this.
A man’s booming voice saved him from whatever comeback Rose might have had ready.
“Didn’t you hear what she said?”
Quinn’s gaze snapped toward Blake and the girl he was hitting on. Rose was right: the girl wasn’t interested in him. Behind her, a tall guy was glowering at Blake.
“She doesn’t want your attention. So beat it!” the stranger growled.
Blake glared back at him. “Don’t get in my way. This is between me and her.” He turned away from the guy and focused his attention back on the girl.
The timber of his voice changed as he smiled back at the girl again. “So, you wanna dance? I’m told I’m a pretty good dancer.”
The object of his attention rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested. Thanks.” She turned away and accepted the drink the bartender put in front of her.
“That’s ten.”
Before she could pull out her wallet, Blake put some money on the bar. “Let me get that.”
“No thanks,” she insisted.
“Oh, come on . . . it’s just a drink.” Blake unleashed a charming smile, and Quinn could see how with most women he would do well. Not, apparently, with this one.
Nor with the guy behind her, who had obviously decided to act as her protector.
“That’s it!” the protector snapped and snatched Blake by his shirt, yanking him away from the bar.
Blake’s elbow hit her cocktail glass, tipping it over. The red liquid spilled over the girl’s dress, making her scream out in frustration.
“See what you’ve done now, you jerk!” Blake shouted at his attacker.
The next second, he launched a balled fist into the guy’s face, whipping his head to the side.
“Well, great, look what your grandson is starting now,” Quinn pressed out between clenched teeth. That’s just what they needed: unwanted attention.
“Mine? He’s just as much yours. And trust me, that temper doesn’t come from my side of the family,” Rose retorted.
It took only five seconds until the two men were in the middle of a full fist fight. Left hooks alternated with uppercuts to the chin, blows to the stomach and kicks to the legs. Both sides fought neither elegantly nor fairly. And neither held back. Almost as if they both had been waiting for an outlet to get rid of long-stored-up tension and frustration.
Quinn knew enough about that, about how a fist fight could ease pain by causing pain in other parts of your body.
Leaning against the bar, he almost enjoyed watching the two men go at each other, beating the shit out of each other. The other clubbers seemed to equally enjoy the exchange, forming a circle around the fighters, even cheering them on as if they were prize fighters.
For a split-second, he didn’t understand the significance of those three words, but then it hit him. He had responsibilities.
His interactions with Rose had made him forget what else had happened tonight. He was a sire now, Oliver’s sire. And it meant that he had to help him through the transition, guide him, provide counsel. Never mind that he needed counsel himself; he had to pretend now that he knew it all, that he had the solution to every problem his new prodigy would face.
Quinn shoved a hand through his hair. How he wished he could talk to somebody, to ask for advice. But he had nobody he felt comfortable confessing to. In those two hundred years since his transformation he hadn’t made one true friend. Even Zane, his fellow bodyguard at Scanguards, wasn’t close enough to him. Yes, they’d been out, whoring together, but all that was long gone. Zane was bonded to a hybrid now, Portia, a young woman, half vampire, half human. Besides, Quinn couldn’t tell anybody what was going on inside him. All he could do was fake it, not let anybody know what a mess his life had turned into.
Determined to at least get one thing in his life right, he headed for Samson’s house. Oliver needed him now, and he wasn’t going to shirk his responsibilities.
Thomas greeted him at the door. The gay biker with the sandy blond hair and easy smile waved him in. Quinn glimpsed Samson and Amaury in the living room, both pacing with their cell phones pressed to their ears, talking quickly. He gave Thomas a questioning look. Why had they left Oliver alone?
“Zane is upstairs with Oliver.” His friend motioned to the regal mahogany stairs that lead up to the second floor.
As he marched up the stairs, he was surprised that Zane was still at the house. He would have expected him to return to his mate Portia. The two were practically inseparable since they had bonded only a short time earlier.
Zane’s laughter greeted him as he opened the door to the guest room. Quinn furrowed his forehead. The last thing he had expected at a time like this was laughter. What was going on?
When he stepped into the room, he found Zane sitting in a chair next to the bed. Oliver was stretched out on the bed, holding his stomach with both hands.
“Stop!” he begged, his face contorted into a grimace. “That hurts!”
Zane waved him off. “Yeah, that’s what he said too when I poured hot wax over it.”
“What are you doing to him?” Quinn yelled, launching himself at Zane.
His colleague immediately jumped up.
“Who pissed on your grave?” Zane shot back, tossing him a surprised look.
“He’s just . . . ” Oliver’s voice died amid fits of . . . laughter.
Quinn whipped his head to stare at Oliver. Now that he looked more closely, he noticed how his prodigy’s eyes were tearing as he held in another laugh.
“I was just telling him a joke,” Zane explained.
Dumbfounded, Quinn just stood there. He had expected Oliver to be in shock. Most newly turned vampires were, especially those who’d been turned unexpectedly. However, Oliver seemed to be anything but. In fact, he looked positively . . . happy!
Suddenly, Oliver’s face contorted in pain. “Shit. Still hurts.” He motioned to his stomach.
Panicked, Quinn rushed to his side, but Zane’s hand on his shoulder held him back.
“He’s all right. His stomach wound will take a few more hours of healing though. Don’t worry, we brought a live donor in to speed up the process.”
“Who?”
“Wesley. He was closest.”
Quinn blinked in surprise. “Haven’s brother? He volunteered?” Wesley had hated vampires for a long time. But since his own brother had turned into one, it appeared his hatred had somewhat eased.
Zane shrugged. “Kind of.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oliver cleared his throat, making Quinn look back at him.
“Samson offered him a job at Scanguards.”
Shit! “Wesley is a loose cannon!”
Zane chuckled. “I remember being called that myself not too long ago. And look at me now!” His bald vampire friend stretched his arms out to his sides as if presenting himself to an audience.
“You still are,” Quinn answered in dry tones. “Fuck, I should have been here. Samson shouldn’t have to clean up after me.” Instead of making sure his prodigy had everything he needed, he’d deserted him the first chance he got. What did that say about him? That he wasn’t any better than his own sire?
He ran his hand through his hair, then let his eyes travel over Oliver’s body.
“Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
“I’d be lying if I said I’ve never been better,” Oliver started.
Quinn dropped his lids. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have given you a choice.” Instead he had let himself be ruled by his own guilt. After all, the accident was his fault, not Oliver’s.
“Don’t be. As soon as this damn stomach wound has healed, I’ll be better than new,” Oliver claimed.
Quinn raised his head, meeting Oliver’s gaze.
“But your entire life has changed.”
“Yeah, for the better. Frankly, if this hadn’t happened, I would have asked Samson to turn me.” Oliver smiled. “It’s not like I’m getting any younger and—”
“You’re twenty-five!” Quinn interrupted.
“Almost twenty-six,” his prodigy corrected. “It was about time. I don’t want to look older than the rest of you.”
Quinn shook his head. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” He’d known that Oliver had always looked up to them, even toyed with the idea of becoming a vampire. But he’d never expected him to take to it as easily as a duck to water, to accept his fate with such grace. Even those who’d asked to be turned had found the adjustment hard and questioned their decision later. Oliver wouldn’t be any different.
“You don’t know yet what to expect from your new life. It won’t be easy. Just ask Eddie.”
Amaury’s brother-in-law was a relatively young vampire, turned less than a year earlier.
“Eddie’s doing just fine. He’s got Thomas.”
Zane chuckled at that. “Or maybe Thomas has him.”
“Would you shut up, Zane?” Quinn snapped. “Thomas is downstairs. He can probably hear you.”
Then he turned back to Oliver.
“There’s lots to think about. For starters, you can’t live on your own right now.”
The opening of the door interrupted him. He watched Samson and Amaury enter.
“Hey Samson, Amaury. I was just telling Oliver that he’ll have to make some changes. He needs to live with me for a while.”
Samson nodded. “Already arranged.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Amaury interrupted. “An acquaintance of mine just renovated a mansion in Pacific Heights, made it vampire proof and all that shit. He wants to open it as a B&B.”
Quinn took a breath. “Out of the question. I’m not living in a B&B with Oliver. We’re returning to New York. We don’t need a bunch of strangers around us.”
“There won’t be anybody else. He can’t open the place yet—some issues with the building department. So he’s offered us the place for exclusive use until the permits are final. Knowing this city, it’ll take months,” Amaury claimed.
“And it’s better if you stay here for now, so Oliver can stay in an environment he’s used to,” Samson added, then turned to his erstwhile assistant. “Don’t you think so, Oliver? Isn’t that what you want?”
The kid nodded eagerly. “That’d be good.” Then he looked back at Quinn, his facial expression one of dread. “I mean for now, right? Afterwards, it would be cool to go to New York with you.”
Reluctantly, Quinn nodded. If it was what Oliver wanted, then he could at least do that.
“Then it’s settled,” Samson answered. “When do you want to move in? Tomorrow night?”
Before Quinn could answer, his cell phone pinged. Again his heart raced, because this time he was sure who was texting him. What he wasn’t sure about was what her answer would be.
His pulse galloping, he looked at the screen.
I agree, was all it said.
He swallowed, not knowing whether to be happy or sad about Rose’s answer, maybe both.
Slowly he tore his gaze from the phone and glanced back at Oliver.
“Hope you don’t mind that we won’t live there alone.” He pushed down the lump in his throat that threatened to rob him of the ability to speak. “My wife will be joining us.”
Oliver stared at him wide-eyed, shock plastered all over his face. “Dude, you’re married?”
10
“That’s him.” Rose pointed toward the bar.
Despite the late hour, the popular nightclub wasn’t completely packed yet. Soon, however, the clubbers would be lining up like sardines just to get a drink. And the dance floor would be looking like a can of worms, wiggling one way or another.
Quinn followed the direction of Rose’s finger, letting his gaze fall on a tall guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a photo shoot for GQ Magazine. His dark brown hair was cropped short. Under his immaculate clothes, his muscles bulged. A tan, whether artificial or real, complemented his model looks.
Without looking back at her, he asked, “The clothes horse?”
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Rose’s shrug. “I have no influence over how he spends the money in his trust.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Great. A trust fund baby. What else should I know about him?”
Blake looked nothing like he would have imagined his grandson to be. Not that he had ever lost a thought on that particular subject until twenty-four hours earlier.
“He finished college, then did a masters.”
“What subject?”
“Communications. Not something he could actually find a job in,” Rose replied.
“So he’s unemployed.” Just perfect. His great-great-whatever was a loser.
“That’s why he came out to the West Coast. He thinks he can get some job out here.”
Quinn snorted. “Maybe he should have moved to LA.”
“You don’t like him,” Rose said.
He turned to her to contradict her, but the moment he laid eyes on her, he was instantly distracted. Rose wore a low cut top that accentuated her small breasts and made them look larger than he remembered them. Her cleavage was more pronounced than he’d ever seen it when she’d worn those fashionable ball gowns so many years ago. Allowing his eyes to trail down, he wondered how long it would take to peel her out of the tight black jeans she wore. One second or two?
His mouth went dry at the thought. He smelled the blood of the humans all around him, yet at this moment no scent was as tantalizing as the scent of Rose’s skin. He’d always preferred human women as his lovers, because the scent of their blood heightened his arousal, but now that he stood so close to Rose, her body getting hotter in the inadequately air-conditioned room, he realized that her blood smelled no less enticing. On the contrary: despite the delicious smells all around him, his body wanted to partake of only one.
“What?” she asked, staring at him.
Quinn tried for an indifferent look, hoping he wasn’t drooling. God, he was pathetic. How would he be able to do this night after night? “Let’s go to the bar. Might as well have a drink.”
Rose gave him a confused look. “You drink . . . uh . . . ” She lowered her voice. “ . . . human drinks?”
“Just to blend in. Standing around without drinks will make us look suspicious. This is a nightclub after all. People come here to drink.” Besides, his throat was so dry, he didn’t care what kind of liquid moistened it.
Quinn headed for one end of the bar from which he had a good view of Blake and motioned to the bartender, then patted his hand on the empty stool, glancing back at Rose.
She followed him and took the seat.
“Two Boodles martinis, dry, no olives,” he ordered, seeing what used to be his favorite brand of London dry gin behind the bar. “Stirred, not shaken.”
The bartender nodded and went to work.
“I thought James Bond always insists that his martinis be shaken, not stirred.”
Quinn thought she seemed to find her remark far more amusing than it was. “Bond knows women, not martinis.”
He took a sideways glance at Rose. Now that she sat, his head was at the perfect height to allow him to look right down her cleavage. When he lifted his eyes, he collided with her gaze. It appeared that she had noticed the same thing. He felt heat shoot through his veins.
Annoyed at his own reaction, he focused his attention on the middle of the bar, where Blake was talking to a young woman. He tuned into their conversation, shutting out everything else around him out.
“I just moved here. Cool place,” Blake said.
“Good for you,” the girl replied, taking her nearly empty glass and pulling on the straw. Her gaze strayed away as if she were looking for somebody. She was pretty, and by the looks of it, she was well aware of that fact.
“What are you drinking? I’ll get you another one,” Blake said
“Thanks, but I’ll get my own drinks,” she replied and waved toward the bartender, who just placed the two Martini glasses in front of Quinn.
“That’s twenty-four bucks.”
Quinn pulled out a couple of banknotes and tossed them on the bar. “Thanks.”
As the bartender took the money, Quinn looked back at Blake and the girl.
“She doesn’t like him,” Rose said next to him.
“Maybe she’s just playing hard to get,” Quinn mused, wondering why Rose even bothered talking to him.
For the first time, he heard her chuckle. The sound trickled down his body like a soft caress. God, how he’d missed her laughter. How he’d missed that warm sound that could lift anyone’s spirit.
“Guess it runs in the family.”
“The playing hard to get?”
“The not being able to know what a woman wants.” She paused. “Or doesn’t want.”
Quinn reached for his glass. “Ah, that’s harsh, Rose, even for you.” Then he took a generous sip and allowed the disgusting liquid to coat his throat. At least it would help make his voice sound normal again, or so he hoped.
“And there I thought I gave you everything you could dream of that night.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And more.”
Her words cast an icy chill against his nape. “Are you referring to the baby?”
“Among other things.”
He set the glass onto the bar with too much force, making some of the liquid spill over the rim. “I pulled out!”
But even he knew that wasn’t a foolproof method of preventing conception. However, two hundred years ago, short of using French letters, it had been the only one.
She withstood his glare without flinching. But she didn’t grace him with a response. Instead she merely took her own glass and emptied it without grimacing.
“Is that why you’re so pissed at me? Because I left you with child? I would have taken care of you and our daughter if you’d given me a chance.”
Daughter—the word still sounded so foreign to him. Yet, he meant what he’d said. Had he known, things would have turned out differently.
“Having Charlotte was the only thing that ever went right in my life,” Rose admitted.
Her admission surprised him. “Then what was it that I did wrong?” The words were out before he could take them back. He knew he was showing his vulnerability by asking a question like this.
A man’s booming voice saved him from whatever comeback Rose might have had ready.
“Didn’t you hear what she said?”
Quinn’s gaze snapped toward Blake and the girl he was hitting on. Rose was right: the girl wasn’t interested in him. Behind her, a tall guy was glowering at Blake.
“She doesn’t want your attention. So beat it!” the stranger growled.
Blake glared back at him. “Don’t get in my way. This is between me and her.” He turned away from the guy and focused his attention back on the girl.
The timber of his voice changed as he smiled back at the girl again. “So, you wanna dance? I’m told I’m a pretty good dancer.”
The object of his attention rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested. Thanks.” She turned away and accepted the drink the bartender put in front of her.
“That’s ten.”
Before she could pull out her wallet, Blake put some money on the bar. “Let me get that.”
“No thanks,” she insisted.
“Oh, come on . . . it’s just a drink.” Blake unleashed a charming smile, and Quinn could see how with most women he would do well. Not, apparently, with this one.
Nor with the guy behind her, who had obviously decided to act as her protector.
“That’s it!” the protector snapped and snatched Blake by his shirt, yanking him away from the bar.
Blake’s elbow hit her cocktail glass, tipping it over. The red liquid spilled over the girl’s dress, making her scream out in frustration.
“See what you’ve done now, you jerk!” Blake shouted at his attacker.
The next second, he launched a balled fist into the guy’s face, whipping his head to the side.
“Well, great, look what your grandson is starting now,” Quinn pressed out between clenched teeth. That’s just what they needed: unwanted attention.
“Mine? He’s just as much yours. And trust me, that temper doesn’t come from my side of the family,” Rose retorted.
It took only five seconds until the two men were in the middle of a full fist fight. Left hooks alternated with uppercuts to the chin, blows to the stomach and kicks to the legs. Both sides fought neither elegantly nor fairly. And neither held back. Almost as if they both had been waiting for an outlet to get rid of long-stored-up tension and frustration.
Quinn knew enough about that, about how a fist fight could ease pain by causing pain in other parts of your body.
Leaning against the bar, he almost enjoyed watching the two men go at each other, beating the shit out of each other. The other clubbers seemed to equally enjoy the exchange, forming a circle around the fighters, even cheering them on as if they were prize fighters.
