Page 34 of Quinlan

“Right. Bye, Quinlan.”

“Bye, Mom.” I wipe my wet cheek with the back of my palm. Look up and blink.

I stay there, still as a statue, until the delivery guy comes with the food.

Then it’s back to business as usual.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rome

Paying Quinlan a visityesterday evening didn’t pan out.

Not for a lack of wanting. I wanted to. Very fucking much.

Wanted and couldn’t due to a very inconvenient work emergency.

We had to go to an early morning meeting with the latest company we acquired.

Until he got there, Damien was there to remind them of the consequences of breaking their contract.

I was there to tower over them. Circle them like a shark while they shook in their seats. Issued silent threats that terrified them.

Liam, despite being late, freaked them the fuck out by staring at them.

Of course he didn’t bother telling Damien that he went to see Quinlan. He left home at the same hour as us and got there almost an hour later, smelling faintly of smoke.

He was with her.

Got caught up in trafficand a shrug was all Damien and I got.

I wasn’t jealous. In less than a week, Quinlan would be ours. Didn’t matter what we did between now and then. Didn’t matter one fucking bit.

Except I was jealous. I cared. The urge to have my hand around her slender neck has been banging against my skull for years. Hear her say my name. Say my friends’ names.

There was nothing I could do with it.

We had work stuff to take care of. The infuriating meeting stretched well into noon, then there were other fires to put out in the office.

Stalking Quinlan, touching her, had to wait. She jogs four times a week, takes the same path each time. I knew she’d be there the next day. It annoyed me, but what choice did I have? None.

It put me on edge, nonetheless. All of it. The punching bag at our gym took the brunt of my anger the next morning. No gloves. No hand gauzes. Bare and furious fists that went at the punching bag again and again.

Until the wounds in my knuckles opened. Until they bled.

The tightness in my chest loosened after that. The pain helped. Knowing that this evening, once I leave the office, she’s mine, made things even better.

I’ll do more than bump into her while she jogs. More than mess with her head and her heart. I’ll touch her. Have my hands on her. My mouth on hers.

My biceps pulse beneath my charcoal-gray suit. My teeth grind.

That’s the least I’m owed for having to wait. For being the last in line.

No, that’s not accurate. I’m not owed a damn thing.

But I crave it. The fuck I do.

The anticipation has followed me around everywhere. It’s right here with me as I’m typing an email.

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