Drive Me Crazy

CHAPTER Sixteen


As soon as the words were out, Elise wanted to take them back. Needed to take them back. But she couldn’t. They were out there, raging between them like a hurricane, and there was nothing to do now but wait. Wait for his answer. Wait to get flattened.

Quinn didn’t answer right away. Instead, he picked up his beer, drained it in one long sip before rolling the bottle around between the elegant cage of his long, musician fingers. And then he just looked at her, his eyes burning into her own until every hair on her body felt like it was standing straight up, every nerve ending she had shocking with heat, with hurt, with need.

The silence stretched between them, taut as a harp string but with none of the beauty, and Elise had just decided that Quinn wasn’t going to answer, when he did.

“I had to leave. I was suffocating.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I couldn’t be what he wanted me to be—”

“That isn’t what I asked,” she said again, more forcefully. “I know why you had to leave. I’ve never once blamed you for going, even the way you did it.”

Something flashed in his eyes then, some emotion she couldn’t quite distinguish before it was gone.

“But I did blame you for not calling me. For not emailing. For just dropping off the face of the earth and not letting me know that you were all right. That you were alive. I did blame you for that.”

“I thought it would be easier.”

“For you, yeah. Absolutely. You got to start a new life and didn’t have to worry about the people you left behind. You got to start over. But the rest of us were still there. Ellington, me. We worried about you. I worried about you.”

“I figured you’d be mad at me for leaving like I did. It’s not like you didn’t have a reason to be. I guess I figured it would be better to just let you get on with your life than to keep being interrupted by me.”

“I loved you. And though you wouldn’t talk to me about it, I knew what he was doing to you. I knew what kind of monster your father was—”

“You couldn’t—

“Bullshit. I saw the bruises. I saw the bruised and twisted fingers you had to play with. And I saw the emptiness in your eyes when no one was looking and the happy fa?ade you wore when people were. I knew, Quinn. I knew. And when you disappeared, there was a part of me that was thrilled you’d gotten away. But there was another part that was terrified that you hadn’t gone anywhere. I was terrified that he had killed you and no one would ever know.”

She choked on a sob, forced it back down. Because she didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to make him feel guilty for what had happened. But she needed him to understand how important he’d been to her. How important he still was. Because she loved him, yes, but because he was an incredible human being. One who would always be loved, always be missed.

Oh, she knew he didn’t understand that—couldn’t, with his father—but she still wanted him to hear it.

“Elise, sweetheart.” He was out of his chair and crouching down beside her own, his hand tightly clasping hers. “It never occurred to me that you would think that. I was drowning in my guilt over what had happened to you. I couldn’t stand that he might hurt you, couldn’t stand the idea of you being sucked into my disaster of a life. You didn’t deserve that, couldn’t want that—”

“You never asked me what I wanted. Because if you did, you would have known that the answer was you. Always you. I loved you. I don’t think you have a clue how much I loved you back then. How much Ellington did. So much of your time was spent dodging your father’s fists and hiding the marks when you couldn’t, that you never understood how amazing you were.”

He shook his head, looked a little sick at her words. It was the last thing she wanted. “Come on,” she told him, pulling his hand to her mouth and pressing a kiss right in the middle of his palm. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What? Right now?”

“Right now. I want to be alone with you.”

For a second, she thought he was going to say no. That he was going to make excuses—they weren’t done with their dinner, the check hadn’t come, they needed to talk more. But she was done talking, done living in the past. She loved Quinn Bradford and she was going to grab onto every second she had with him.

He shook his head, but he stood up, pulled out his wallet. Dropped some bills on the table. Then grabbed her hand and said, “Let’s go,” in a voice gone husky with the same desire, the same warmth, the same love, that was filling her up from the inside out.

…

They took the long way home, Quinn driving them around the lake on his tricked out Harley while she clung to him, her arms wrapped around his waist and her head pressed against his shoulder.

There was a part of her that wanted to stay like this forever, with the wind in her face, the powerful roar of the motorcycle between her thighs, Quinn’s warmth pressed against her from shoulder to thigh. The road he took her on was beautiful. Dark and winding, but gorgeous in the delicate light cast by the full moon shining above them.

She looked up once, saw the stars that hovered in the midnight sky. They were beautiful, bright and glowing and inviting, so inviting. She wanted to reach up and scoop one out of the sky, wanted to hold it in the palm of her hand and bask in its glow. But that was impossible—of course it was—and for the first time she thought of Quinn’s constellation tattoo. Of what it meant. And even as she held him tight, she couldn’t help wondering if he was just another brilliant star she’d never be able to hold.

The thought made her shiver, though the night air was warm around her, Quinn slowed down enough to ask, “Cold?”

She wasn’t, not really, but agreeing was easier than admitting to what had actually made her shake. At least until a few minutes later when Quinn pulled onto the long driveway that led to his house.


“Already?” she asked, feeling like a little girl whose lollipop had been taken from her.

“You were cold,” he said, pulling his Harley into the garage. “Plus, I was afraid your hand would be hurting. You’ve already missed one pain pill.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” He pulled her close, then took her good hand and rested it on his very full, very hard erection. “Having you pressed that closely to me was driving me crazy.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, rubbing him gently through the fabric of his jeans. She relished the way his cock twitched under her hand, his hips thrusting against her in an effort to increase the stimulation. “And what am I supposed to do about this?”

Quinn smiled, and it was his bad-boy rocker smile, the one that had women all over the world throwing their panties on stage and clawing their way through crowds in a desperate attempt to just touch him. “Do you want me to tell you, or do you think you can figure it out?”

“Oh, I definitely think you should tell me. In very specific detail.” She backed her words up with a twist of her palm that had his breath breaking and his eyes going hazy.

She reveled in his response; at least until he leaned down and whispered in her ear exactly what he wanted her to do. By the time he was done, he wasn’t the only one having trouble breathing.

…

Elise’s whole body was sore and tingly when she woke up the next morning. Not that that was exactly a surprise after everything she and Quinn had done the night before. Still, it made getting out of bed seem particularly uninviting, especially when she had nothing she actually had to do that day. Nothing but figure out what Quinn’s newest prank was—he always pulled them while she was asleep, the coward—and then decide how she was going to get back at him. And she could totally plot revenge while she was lying in bed.

Except the longer she lay there, the colder she became. And when she reached for the covers, she came away with only air. Which was strange enough to have her sitting up, looking around the room. They weren’t on the bed, weren’t on the floor, weren’t anywhere to be seen at all. Which had her eyes narrowing as she climbed out of bed and tried to figure out what was up. Why would Quinn steal her covers? It didn’t make sense. Once she was up for the day, it wasn’t like she needed sheets and a bedspread, right? Unless…

The thought that occurred to her was so horrible that for a second, she wouldn’t even entertain it. But this was Quinn she was dealing with, of the goldfish in the bathtub and the stolen underwear. She didn’t think anything was beneath him—especially after she’d humiliated him in front of at least half of his very large fan base yesterday.

Diving for the dresser, she pulled out the drawer where she usually kept her pajamas and yoga pants. There was nothing there. She went for her T-shirt drawer. Still nothing. Her jeans. Nothing. There was nothing in any of the drawers—or the closet—except a red sequined G-string. A very tiny, very sparkly red sequined G-string.

As if.

More amused than annoyed at that point, she headed into the bathroom only to find he had stripped it of everything bigger than a washcloth. Seriously, how had she managed to sleep through this? The towel closet had been well stocked enough that it should have taken him a few trips to empty the thing.

Well played, Quinn Bradford. Well played.

After checking the room for anything he might have forgotten, which was nothing except the bottom sheet she’d been sleeping on (and which she really didn’t want to spend the day wearing considering all the activities that had taken place on it the night before), she headed down the hall to his bedroom.

She had no problem wearing his clothes until she could get a hold of Jamison. Sure, his sweats would fall off of her, but surely she could pin them or roll them or something.

Except, when she got to his bedroom, every single article of clothing had been cleared out of there as well. There were no T-shirts, no ridiculously shredded jeans, not even a robe or pair of pajamas. And his bed had been stripped completely, his towel closet emptied as well.

The bastard. The unbelievable bastard. She was actually stuck upstairs with nothing to wear but that ridiculous G-string. The same G-string she was even now making plans to shove down his throat.

She thought about saying to hell with it and going downstairs exactly as she was. There was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to march through the house completely naked for no other reason than she was sure Quinn didn’t think she would do it. After all, she had no problem making coffee while nude. Besides, she knew there was an apron down there—she’d seen Quinn wear it that first time after they’d made love.

And yet…and yet, his band mates had been there two days in a row working on the album. What were the odds that they would be there again today? Pretty high, she figured, and while she didn’t mind parading around naked in front of Quinn, there was no way she was going to do it in front of Jared and Ryder. No freaking way.

But she also wasn’t going to be a prisoner in her room all day, either. Wasn’t going to let Quinn win this round, though she had to admit, he’d done a pretty good job of it. Which meant she had to find something to cover herself.

After searching all the available options, she came to one conclusion. She was going to have to pull a Sound of Music and wear one of the window curtains as a toga. Not exactly her first choice of attire, but at this point, she just wanted to cover enough of her body to get downstairs and kill Quinn. Slowly and painfully.

She decided on the valance in the bathroom, because it was long, but not so wide that it would drag on the floor and trip her. Plus, it was black, the same color as Quinn’s evil soul and she could appreciate the symbolism.

It took her a few minutes, but she managed to get it off the wall without too many mishaps. But fastening it into a toga proved a little more challenging. Still, she was determined to get out of her room sometime in the next decade, so she refused to give up until she’d fashioned a one-shouldered garment that covered her from chest to knee.

Then, after a quick face wash and teeth brushing, she slipped her feet into her flip-flops—Quinn had been kind enough to leave her all of her shoes (wasn’t that sweet)—and headed downstairs.

Sure enough, she’d barely gotten down the stairs before she heard familiar male voices drifting in from the kitchen. Jared and Ryder were definitely here. Terrific. Quinn was so going to pay for this and he was going to pay big.

Squaring her shoulders, Elise made sure everything vital was covered and then headed for the kitchen. She really needed a cup of coffee—and to slam Quinn’s head in the refrigerator. Not that she was bitter or anything.

When she got to the kitchen, it was to find the three musicians crowded around the table, eating pancakes and talking over each other while Quinn recorded something on a piece of paper.

“Hey, guys,” she said with feigned nonchalance. She even managed to cross to the coffeepot without tugging on her makeshift garment. It was hard, though, especially since she could tell they were all staring at her.

“Hey, Elise!” Jared bounded to his feet and came over to her. “You want some pancakes? We’ve got more batter.”

She smiled at him—after all, it wasn’t his fault his best friend was a diabolical monster—and answered, “I think I’ll just stick with coffee for now. I’m not very hungry.”

He shrugged. “Well, it’s there if you want it.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

She glanced over at the table to find Quinn glaring at his former curtain with obvious annoyance while Ryder kept looking between them in bemusement.

“Where did you get that?” Quinn asked, after a minute.

“Not even going to pretend it wasn’t you, huh?” she answered in the snottiest voice she could muster.

“You had half the world thinking I listen to Justin Bieber in my free time. You’re damn right I’m not going to pretend. But I was careful. I made sure there was nothing up there. So where did you get that?”

“This old thing? I believe I found it hanging in your bathroom.”

“That’s impossible. I took all the towels out of there.”

“Oh, it’s not a towel.”

“What are you guys even talking about?” Ryder asked, sliding back from the table. “What did you do this time, Bradford?”

“Wait a minute,” Quinn asked, after reaching a hand out to touch the fabric. She slapped it away, but he must have felt enough because his eyes widened. “Is that one of my curtains?”

“Perhaps.”

“You’re wearing my curtains?”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not wearing that monstrosity of a G-string you left for me.”

“I kind of liked it. Red’s always looked good on you.”

She flipped him off, then went to move around him, but Ryder was there, once again laughing his ass off. Seriously, she was beginning to think the man had a problem.

“Are you f*cking kidding me with this, Quinn?” he finally asked when he had his guffaws under some semblance of control. “This is how you treat your female guests? You steal their underwear and their clothes and force them to wear your window coverings?”


“No wonder you had to kidnap her to get her here,” Jared added.

“I never told you I had to kidnap her.”

“No, but Wyatt did. He wanted to know how it went.”

“Wait until he hears about this.” Ryder took out his camera, snapped a picture. “He’s never going to believe it.”

“In my defense, I did leave her a G-string.”

“Which would have done me so much good with your friends in the house, right? Can you imagine me walking down here in that and nothing else?”

His eyes darkened from onyx to obsidian at the thought and Elise mentally patted herself on her back for getting a rise out of him.

“I wouldn’t have complained,” Jared told her, smiling charmingly.

“Yeah, well, Quinn might have,” Ryder told him.

“Then he should have left her clothes.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Quinn asked him with a glare.

“Your girlfriend’s, obviously.” He shrugged out of his shirt and handed it to her. “Here, this might be more comfortable than a curtain.”

“Thanks,” she told him, taking the shirt gratefully. He was even bigger than Quinn, so the thing might very well come all the way to her knees. “I appreciate it.”

As she left the kitchen to go change, she heard Quinn hiss, “Was that really necessary? I was trying to make a point.”

“Dude, I saw what she did to you yesterday. There’s no way I want to be on the receiving end of one of her revenge plots.”

“He has a point,” Ryder agreed. “Maybe I’ll just go offer her my pants.”

Elise laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Yes, this was a shit week and yes, her career and her life was in shambles. But she’d found Quinn again and might even have found a few friends, to boot, so at least things weren’t all bad.

Besides, she’d figured out exactly what she wanted to do to get back at Quinn. Now all she needed to do was call Jamison and ask her to bring over some hot pink paint and some rhinestones.