“Can’t? Or don’t want to?” Quinn had asked.
Man, if that guy had any idea just how much she’d love to have the complication of him in her life . . . Even if it was just a quick, torrid affair. Hell, a fricking one-night stand, even. She’d been living without the things she wanted, the things she needed for so long, she yearned for the chance to reach out and take, gobble up any and every indulgence she could have.
Spending a night under Quinn Rafferty would be one hell of an indulgence, she already knew.
Too dangerous, though. He was too dangerous. She’d recognized that almost from the beginning. If she’d been smart, if she wasn’t so damned tired of running, she would have already left St. Louis.
Left Quinn behind before he could become a threat.
“Too late,” she muttered morosely. He was already a threat, just not the kind of threat that she was used to avoiding. He was a threat to her sanity, to her heart. He’d gotten to her. The first time she’d looked at him, she’d thought wounded warrior and she’d been right. He had scars on his soul. Wounds that still struggled to heal.
She wanted to help.
Wanted to stroke, comfort, soothe . . . and then she wanted to strip that long, rangy body naked and ride him until neither of them could take any more.
She suspected she could get lost in him.
It was a luxury she didn’t have and some of the darker dreams from last night had driven that fact home hard. Very hard. She squeezed her eyes closed as one of the more vicious scenes from the nightmares danced through her head. Fists clenched. Bruises, blood, and screams. The echo of a low, ugly voice that promised more pain the next time.
Then the knife. She hadn’t even realized she was holding it . . .
“What are you going to do with that knife?”
“Use it on you, if you come even a step closer.”
“You don’t have the guts.” He smiled as he said it.
“Take another step and we’ll see if I’ve got the guts or not.”
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