Page 56 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

He grins. “We’re a good team.”

The place between my thighs gives an achy throb. “I think I can vouch for that.”

We both laugh, and it feels good, like it’s softening the harsh edges of this difficult conversation.

“And then what?” I ask, bracing myself for the answer.

“You mean after?” His eyebrows arch.

“Yeah. You said no relationships, so…it ends, right?”

His playful smile turns tense, and he glances to the window. “That’s how it’s been, yeah.”

“And you find women who are okay with this?”

Quinn’s playful smile is back. “We make it worth their while.”

I cross my arms. “Cocky much?”

“Wanna find out?”

With a shake of my head, I slide the fillet knife from the chopping block and point it at the chair on the other side of the island. “Keep me company.”

“Can’t I help?”

“You can try the bruschetta.” I slice the fillet while Quinn opens the wine and pours a glass for each of us.

We toast, and I take a sip. It’s bright on my tongue, like pepper, but rich, like cherries. I don’t know much about wine, but it’s tasty. “How did you meet Dawson?”

“We were roommates at Hawthorne,” he says.

“Did your parents send you there too?”

He purses his lips, like he’s taking his time formulating a reply. “No. Hawthorne was an opportunity.”

“So Dawson’s father sent him there as some sort of punishment, and you were there willingly. That must have been interesting.”

I’ve caught him with his mouth full of bruschetta. “We both had a lot to learn,” he says once he’s swallowed his bite.

The timer for the rice chimes, and I give it a stir before tasting a grain for doneness. “Is that how you became so close?”

“We learned to rely on each other. He helped me in school, and I helped him survive the treks.”

“What do you mean by ‘survive’?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “The treks were designed to test our limits, but sometimes the leaders took things too far. They intimidated us, lied to us. The conditions were brutal at times. For some of us, it made us stronger. For a few, it broke them.”

“Dawson?”

Quinn nods. “He needed something different.”

I heat the cast iron pan with a pat of butter, the pain of what Dawson experienced heavy on my heart. He was betrayed by the people who were supposed to love and protect him.

“We survived.” His eyes turn glassy and he swallows. “I’d do anything for him.”

“And I’d do the same,” Dawson says from the door frame.

I lock eyes with him, my heart pattering into my throat. He’s dressed down in black jeans a faded blue hoody. His scuffed boots tap the floor with each step, creating a vibration that tingles up my thighs.

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