He felt his heart swelling. Quinn, naked. Almost too lovely to look at. Was this real or was he dreaming? Had he really just been inside her, losing himself in her sighs, feeling her body rising, exploding with him, blowing all his fuses at once? Not how he’d expected that hug to turn out, but he was so glad about it, so freaking happy!
He bent to kiss her shoulder. ‘Me neither.’
‘Are you sure...?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I mean, you did come prepared!’
He felt a flash of warmth around the gills. ‘Keeping a condom in my wallet is an old habit...’
Wait! Was she laughing at him? He felt a beat of ease, a smile loosening.
‘I’ve had a few shameless moments in the past, all right—I admit it.’ He slid his eyebrows up to tease her back. ‘I didn’t hear you complaining anyway!’
She laughed. ‘Nothing to complain about!’ She took a sip from her glass then set it down, smiling. ‘You’re not just a pretty face is all I’m saying, lover boy.’ And then she was snuggling in close, nuzzling his neck. ‘God, you must think I’m fickle as hell, tearing your clothes off after saying no last time, but those things I said before stopped making sense to me weeks ago. I’ve been going crazy since then.’
So he had been right then, about the air crackling both ways. He felt warmth spreading, stowed his glass so he could lie down and draw her into his arms. ‘I’ll bet I’ve been going crazy for longer.’
She moved her head back a little, eyes locking on his. ‘So now you’ve got my attention, William Thacker.’ A smile touched her lips. ‘How long?’
Silver angel...
‘Since the night of Dad’s sixtieth.’
Her gaze stilled. ‘But you didn’t even talk to me! You left early.’
His stomach pulsed. Questions in her eyes—questions he should have seen coming if he’d been thinking straight, thinking at all, instead of oversharing.
And then she was shifting, sitting up, her gaze curious. ‘Why did you leave that night?’
What to say? That he’d hated himself for finding her attractive when she was the one who’d supplanted him in Dad’s scant affections?
He raised himself up, angling himself to face her. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘I’m good with complicated.’ Kindness in her eyes. ‘Please, Will...’
His heart gave. If he didn’t try, didn’t risk the vortex, what was the point of all this? Making love—love—not having sex. Wanting her, weaving dreams around her. If he didn’t brave this then it was all for nothing, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. But he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her either, so it was thinking of a way in, a gentle way, a way that would give her a shot at understanding.
He shut his eyes, inhaling to find some clarity, then met her gaze. ‘I guess it’s all to do with Pete really...’ And here it was arriving, right on cue, the burn, the ache. Throat. Eyes. Always the same. He swallowed, blinking back hard. ‘He was everything to me, Quinn. Brother. Friend. Protector, in a way.’ He felt a smile trying to rise past the pain. ‘He was so funny. Brought it out in me too. Man, the way we carried on, laughing till our sides were aching. Over the stupidest things. He had this infectious laugh, you know, that sort of kept yours going...
‘He was popular. Good at sport, good at everything. He could have let it go to his head, but he didn’t. He was kind. Thoroughly decent.’
‘Like you...’
Her gaze softened, but he couldn’t let himself get lost in her warmth. He had to get through this, finish somehow.
‘It wasn’t just me that worshipped Pete.’ He felt his ribs tightening. ‘Mum did, lit up when he came in the room. As for Dad, God you should have seen him, smiling like a normal fricking parent, slinging his arm around Pete’s shoulders...’
Her hand touched his forearm. ‘Breathe...’
He inhaled, steadying himself. ‘When Pete died, Mum tuned out. Dad got even more hooked on work. I felt—was—invisible. I tried telling myself we were all grieving, tried to help Mum, and I told myself to cut Dad some slack. But we were a sinking ship. And then Mum left, so all I had was Dad, except he didn’t make himself all that available.
‘I figured it was up to me to push, because I needed a parent, Quinn, needed to feel that I mattered. I interested myself in Dad’s stuff: the Morgan he was rebuilding; the business. As soon as I was sixteen, I asked him if I could work at Thacker in the holidays. I wanted to ride into work with him, show him I could be useful, that he could be proud of me.
‘It took a bit of time, but things got better. We were getting on, doing all right, but then...’ He looked into her eyes. Was she seeing it, getting it yet? He didn’t want to actually say it—couldn’t.
And then suddenly it was there in her gaze—recognition. Then tears welling.
‘Then I came...’ She blinked, throat working. ‘I came between you, didn’t I?’
He felt his heart seizing. ‘You didn’t mean to, I know that.’
‘That’s why...’ Her gaze turned inwards. ‘Oh, how could I have been so blind? So much is making sense now. You were always backing out of rooms at home. You never spent holidays at the cottage.’ Her eyes came back to his, glistening. ‘You couldn’t bear the sight of me, could you?’
His heart wilted. ‘For a long time, no...’ This had better prove cathartic in the end because it was causing a lot of pain. He swallowed. ‘At Dad’s sixtieth, you were dazzling. I wanted to come over. I wanted to dance with you, hold you, and I couldn’t bear myself for wanting it, because you had Dad’s ear, his time, all the things I didn’t, so I left. But it wasn’t your fault. Any of it. It was Dad’s. I made an effort for him, but he never did the same for me. He never got me, Quinn, never even tried...’ He could feel the burn again, the tearing ache, the boy inside howling. ‘He never loved me because I wasn’t Pete. I wasn’t golden, good enough, ever! No matter what I did, no matter how many hours I put in at Thacker.’
‘No, Will! No!’ She was shaking her head now, throat working. ‘You’re wrong, so wrong, about your father.’
His heart pulsed. Was she actually defending the old man?
‘What do you mean?’
‘Anthony loved you, Will... So much.’
Wet eyes, reaching in, making it worse somehow, making his blood pound.
‘Well, excuse me if that went right past me.’
‘He did! He was sorry for everything that went wrong between you.’
His body tightened like a zip. ‘Which you would know, of course, because he talked to you, didn’t he?’ He could feel his gorge rising, dredging all the old animosity back, and for some reason, maybe because she seemed to be siding with Dad, he couldn’t make himself stow it. ‘Dear old Dad, bending your ear, confessing to his favourite saint, instead of—here’s an idea—taking the direct route—taking the time and trouble to talk to me. You never thought to tell him that!’
