Page 39 of Quinlan

I pick up the pace, riding the endorphins. Faster, faster, faster.

My lungs have warmed up. My feet carry me forward.

Lights are on in a few apartments in my neighborhood. Some shops have theclosedsign hung up.

I twist my body, sidestepping whoever comes across my path. White noise follows me as I weave through the human traffic.

The heat, that searing attention, it’s somehow stronger. And fuck, I like it. Fuck, it’s so wrong how it turns me on. I can’t stand it.

The uncertainty, the tension. I lead a simple life. The single life. I don’t know what this is and how to handle it.

Where are they?

Not to my left or right. Not behind me. Nowhere, really. There’s no one here.

“Ouch,” I huff. It hurts, bumping into a wall.

“Careful there, sweetheart.”

Uh—this isn’t a wall.

Walls don’t speak. They don’t have a low, bass voice. They don’t smell so good and clean and manly. They don’t have strong fingers that curl around my arms to balance me.

Talk about humiliating. I ran into a man. Not only that, but the same man is helping my clumsy ass to stay up on my feet. I turn my head from the street to the man who’s holding me. He doesn’t let go, even though I’m no longer in danger of face planting on the sidewalk.

First thing I notice about him is, he’s tall. As tall as Liam and the mystery man. I’m pretty sure, since I have to lift my head up in about the same angle.

And he’s broad. I’m almost swallowed up by his size. His muscles aren’thuge, but he’s definitely lean. His biceps are accentuated through his sweatshirt…and I did think I bumped into a wall.

Other than how big he is, he’s gorgeous. Even backlit by the light of a streetlamp, his beauty is evident. My eyes make out every hard edge. Every sharp line. His high cheekbones. Accentuated jawline and a neat scruff. Thick, light brown hair has been styled in a buzz cut.

His expression is just as harsh. This isn’t what sends an icy chill down my spine. It’s him.

A hurricane personified. The embodiment of a storm. All stark highlights and grave shadows. Either this or that. Nothing soft about him. Nothing in the middle.

Then he does the unexpected. The corner of his mouth quirks up. A small smirk. His eyes, though, remain dark. The kind of dark the ocean becomes in the late hours of the night.

Terrifying. There’s so much violence in him that his body buzzes with it.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

My hands are numb. Since he won’t let me go, it seems like I should do something with them. Push him away. For once in the last three days, I should do the smart thing and run in the other direction.

At least create some distance between me and this stranger I barreled into.

And I…don’t want to.

“No need to apologize.”

The smirk is still there. Eyes still icy. He scans my face, lingering on the tattoo beneath my eye. Most people do that the first time they meet me. I’m used to the ink on my face drawing attention.

This feels different. No one’s ever looked at the heart on my cheek like that.

A thrill races through me. His focus is so intense. A raw emotion flashes across his features. A quick, fleeting show of something that resembles softness.

Is that…compassion?

Impossible.

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