Page 38 of Mine

Chapter Eleven

“Let me put some ice on it.”

Phoebe moseyed up to Quentin as he stood staring out the window of his vintage condo. With his arms crossed and his jaw locked, his brooding attitude sucked the air out of the entire room. With a wet cloth in her hand, Phoebe reached to wipe the now dried-up blood from Quentin’s lip when he stopped her, reaching to grab her wrist.

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice thunderous.

Phoebe held her breath for a split second then released it, feeling defeated. When they left the sports bar, Phoebe jumped into Quentin’s 1966 Ford Mustang. During the entire drive over to his place, he’d been quiet, withdrawn, and slightly intimidating. Sinking down to the floor, Phoebe pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. Quentin glanced down at her, knowing he wasn’t the only one who felt like the weight of the world rode his shoulders.

Phoebe’s head fell to her knees, and she cried softly. Moving from his idle position in front of the window pane, Quentin followed her to the carpet and pulled her into his lap. Phoebe snuggled there, resting her head against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said tenderly. “I never intended for things to get so out of control. I don’t think I realized how anal my brothers would be if we dated.”

Jonathon tugged her nose. “That makes one of us,” he said.

Phoebe glanced into his dark chocolate face, and Quentin brushed his lips against her forehead.

“You’ll understand one day,” he said. His thoughts were naturally all over the place. That much Phoebe could tell.

“This is wrong in so many ways.”

“But not in the ways you think,” he murmured.

“What does that mean?”

Quentin sighed. “I usually pride myself on being a man of my word,” he said. “Can’t say that much now.”

Phoebe’s forehead creased. “I don’t know why you made that ridiculous agreement anyway,” she said.

“At the time, it wasn’t so ridiculous. I had no plan of pursuing you, so it was easy. We were young, but we did agree.”

“And now?”

Quentin sighed again. “Now I think I just lost the only brothers I’ve ever known.”

They both became silent, and the silence thickened around them.

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe said again as a few tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

Quentin kissed her face, then each eye, then her lips. “It’s not your fault,” he spoke into her mouth. “This one’s on me.”

Phoebe wanted to refute his words, but she found herself leaning into his mouth again. They kissed slow and steady, and with his tongue, Quentin tasted the corners of her mouth. She was so sweet and intoxicating just from a mere kiss that he could only imagine what making love to her would be like. Phoebe’s hungry kisses accelerated, and before long she’d found herself turning full circle to straddle his lap.

Quentin’s hands trailed up her shoulders, and he removed her jean jacket. Her skin was warm to the touch, smooth, and soft like silk. They kissed each other’s face, trailing down the side of their jaw then neck. Quentin’s erection hardened in his pants, and his muscle leaped to pat Phoebe against her crotch. A simmering heat coursed through their loins as they both found themselves passionately enchanted with one another.

“Make love to me, Quentin,” Phoebe moaned. She shivered at the heat from his lips touching her shoulder, but he never made a move to remove her clothes. “Baby,” she cooed, please…” she panted, hotter than she’d ever been before.

Quentin kissed up her shoulder blade to her neck and nibbled on her ear. His tongue swirled around her lobe, and again Phoebe trembled.

“Don’t beg me,” his deep voice strummed. “I’ve broken enough promises as it is.” He kissed the side of her face, but Phoebe stiffened.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” she said, turning to look at him head-on.

Quentin pulled his mouth from her skin and gazed at her.

“I promised Jordan we wouldn’t have sex unless I married you.”

Aghast, Phoebe’s eyes stretched. “Why would you say that!?”

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