Drive Me Crazy

CHAPTER Seven


Confused, Elise watched Quinn back away like her hair had suddenly caught fire. Or like he was repulsed by her and what they’d done. But she’d felt his arousal in every too fast breath and too heavy beat of his heart. Felt it in the way his hands clutched at her and the way his lips plundered hers, taking and taking and taking.

Her head was still spinning from the kiss, while he was halfway across the kitchen calmly talking about what they should have for dinner—like the last ten minutes had never happened.

Then again, wasn’t that what he was good at? Getting close to her, making her crazy, and then backing off so fast she felt like she was in a flat spin, with nothing and no one to grab onto? He’d done it to her a million times before, and after the last time she’d sworn it would never happen again. And yet here she was, three days after he’d popped back into her life and she was all but throwing herself at him. Giving him everything he asked for and more, and then freaking out when he turned away.

Damn it. Wasn’t it just fifteen minutes ago that she’d promised herself she wouldn’t be drawn into this vortex? That she would stay here, with him, as long as it worked for her but that as soon as things got too heavy or too weird, she would walk away.

Things were already heavy, already weird, and yet here she sat, watching him. She could tell herself that after that kiss her knees were still too weak for her to walk anywhere, but she knew the truth. She didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not yet, when things were just getting interesting.

She lifted a hand to her mouth, probed her aching lips with gentle fingers. She’d been kissed since Quinn—of course she had—but no one else had ever made her feel so much after so little. No one else had ever had her hot and wet and aching with just the stroke of his tongue against her own.

No, she wasn’t ready to call uncle yet. To demand that he take her back to the hotel.

The “kidnapping.”

The fountain.

The kiss.

They were locked in a wicked game, one unlike any other they had ever played before, and she—for one—wanted to see where it would end up. Because no matter what happened, she was determined that this time, she would be the winner. She’d already lost too much to be satisfied with any other outcome.

Feeling steadier now that the decision had been made, she pushed to her feet. Joined Quinn near the refrigerator. And grinned just a little when he jumped at the slide of her hand across his shoulders.

“So, what did you decide on for dinner?” she asked, innocently leaning forward so that her breasts brushed against his arm.

He responded by pushing the door further back and moving with it, so that he opened up more space between them. “I’ve got chicken breasts or steaks. What would you prefer?”

She pushed closer, crowding him. Nearly laughed at the look on his face. Then said, “Steak sounds good,” mainly because it was furthest away from her and reaching for it required her to crowd him even more. Not to mention bend over.

She swore she could feel his eyes on her hips while she retrieved the meat, and added an extra little wiggle just to torment him. And because it was fun. Ten years ago, he’d held all the cards and called all the shots. And she’d let him. But those days were long gone. Now it was her turn.

Straightening up, she risked a glance at Quinn through her lashes—and nearly dropped the steaks at the look on his face. Oh, there was desire, just like she’d been hoping for. Even need. But overlying it all was a look of utter calculation, like he’d figured out exactly what she was up to. And was now trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to do about it.

She took a couple steps backward before she could think better of it, then cursed herself as he smiled at her obvious retreat. She needed to do better than this if she had any hope of holding her own, let alone winning.

Except it was easier to tell herself that than it was to actually do it, especially when Quinn closed the fridge and started toward her with a predatory look on his face.

She took another step back, then another and another as he stalked her across the kitchen. With each step, she told herself that it was the last. That she would stand her ground. But then he’d move closer, all lean sinew and burning eyes and she would retreat just a little more. Standing her ground was one thing, being an idiot was another.

Except, eventually, she ran out of room to retreat. And that’s when he made his move, when she was backed up against the pantry door with nowhere else to go. Bracing his arms on either side of her head, he stepped forward until his body was just brushing hers.

“Going somewhere?” he asked silkily, his dark gaze holding hers.

She knew this was it. This was the moment when she either gave it all up to him or showed him, once and for all, that she was a worthy adversary. And since she had no intention of giving up an inch…

Injecting her voice with every ounce of confidence and brashness she could, Elise tossed her hair and said, “I was going to check the pantry for some potatoes. I thought you might be able to do them on the grill with the steaks. But—” She pushed lightly against his chest with her injured hand, since she was still carrying the package of meat in her other hand. “It’s kind of hard to get into the pantry when you’re holding the door closed.”

Before he could assimilate her words let alone formulate an answer, she ducked under his right arm. Then sauntered across the kitchen to the center aisle and laid the steaks on the black granite countertop. “Oh, and if you have some garlic in there, that’d be awesome. I know a great marinade.”

Quinn muttered something beneath his breath, but before she could ask him to repeat himself, he’d pulled open the pantry and walked inside. A couple minutes later, he emerged with two huge baking potatoes, a head of garlic, and a peppermill.

“Go for it,” he said as he laid them on the counter. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.” As she watched him walk toward the patio to start the grill, she couldn’t help thinking that they probably weren’t talking about the marinade anymore.

…

After a dinner that was surprisingly comfortable and easy considering the undercurrents that had swirled around them all during the meal’s preparation, he banished Elise from the kitchen while he cleared up the dishes. She offered to help, but he insisted. And she hadn’t argued. Not when her hand was throbbing and she was exhausted—both mentally and physically—from everything that had happened that day.

Settling down on the couch, she reached for the remote control and turned on some mindless program, more for the noise than because she actually wanted to watch it. Within five minutes she was groggy and five minutes after that, she was asleep.

That’s how Quinn found her fifteen minutes later, after he’d dealt with the dishes and carried her suitcase and backpack in from the car. He wanted to wake her, to get her to take a pain pill and then move her to the guest bedroom that was closest to his, but she looked so exhausted that he didn’t have the heart. Not when she’d been out of the hospital less than six hours.


So, instead, he covered her with a light blanket, then settled on the couch opposite hers, just in case she woke up and needed anything. He didn’t know if she was down for the night or if this was just a quick nap. Either way, he wasn’t comfortable leaving her alone.

But after spending much of the previous night composing music for the new album, he was pretty damn exhausted himself. It didn’t take long before he, too, started to drift, so that he was half watching the TV and half sleeping. The television show, which was a top-ranked crime drama, had lots of screaming and sirens and gunshots, and as he drifted, the sounds worked their way into his subconscious, into the dreams that weren’t quite dreams but that weren’t not either.

That was why, when he first heard whimpering, he chalked it up to the show, or some twisted hybrid that lived only in his imagination. But as the sounds grew louder, he stumbled into consciousness only to realize that the cries he was hearing weren’t coming from the TV at all. They were coming from Elise.

Bounding off the couch, he all but leaped the distance between them. He ended up in a crouch next to her head, one hand on her hip while the other brushed at her hair. She was half crying now, her injured hand cradled by the other and clutched against her chest. He cursed himself even as he soothed her, murmuring low sounds that were more nonsense than words. He should have made her take the pain pill, should have carried her upstairs where she’d be more comfortable. Should have done a lot of things to make this day, and night, easier for her.

“Lissy, baby, wake up,” he murmured, when she continued to cry out. He was stroking his hand over her forehead, burying his fingers in her hair. He didn’t want to startle her, didn’t want to shake her awake, but if she didn’t wake up soon he was going to lose his mind. The sounds she was making were painful, heart-wrenching. Disturbing in the extreme.

“Lissy, come on.” He made his voice a little firmer, more commanding. Did the same with the hand on her hip. He didn’t want to jar her, but she needed to snap out of whatever nightmarish world she was currently in. “Look at me, baby. Look at me.”

Her eyes snapped open, stared directly into his. And then she screamed, loud and piercing and so terrifying that it nearly stopped his heart.

“Lissy, it’s me.” He pulled his hands off her, held them up in the universal gesture of surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated as the tortured look slowly faded from her eyes.

“Quinn?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.”

She nodded, closed her eyes again, and he sank gratefully onto his ass. She might not be shaken from what had just happened, but it had scared the hell out of him. He needed a minute to recover.

He didn’t get a minute, though, because Elise gingerly pushed herself into a sitting position, making sure to keep her injured hand cradled against her chest. “Hey, take it easy,” he told her, getting back to his feet.

“I’m okay,” she said, but her voice was hoarse. Whether from the nightmare or her scream, he wasn’t sure. Either way, she certainly didn’t sound fine. Not that he was going to tell her that.

“Of course you are.” He sat down next to her on the couch, rubbed her back in soothing circles. “Can I get you some water? Or one of your pain pills?”

“No. I’m—”

“Elise.” He cut her off, then put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and deep pain grooves carved around her mouth. “You don’t have to front for me. It’s okay if you’re hurting.”

She pressed her lips together, nodded. But then she looked away. “Some water would be good.”

“And a pain pill?”

She sighed. “And a pain pill. They’re in my backpack.”

“Okay.” He retrieved the bag from the guest bedroom where he’d put it, then went into the kitchen to get her some water. He ended up cutting some fruit for her as well, since a lot of pain medication needed to be taken with food and she hadn’t eaten that much at dinner—no matter how much he’d badgered her.

Then figuring, what the hell, he started the kettle going on the stove. When they’d been younger, she’d always had a cup of tea around somewhere. Maybe she could use one now, too.

But when he brought the tray of fruit and water out to her, she was pretty out of it, her body slack and her eyelids getting a little heavier with each second that passed. Her painkillers were nowhere in sight, though, so he decided to take matters into his own hands and dug through the backpack for them. When he felt a little creepy for invading her privacy, he reminded himself it was his backpack and he’d put just about everything in it there himself.

He found the pills all the way at the bottom—of course. His little control freak really hadn’t intended to take them. But he’d be damned if he let her suffer when she didn’t have to. Popping the lid open, he pulled out one of the white pills. Then he grabbed the glass of water and did his best to get her attention.

“Elise.” No answer.

“Elise.” Still no response.

“Come on, Lissy. Take the pill and then I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

She groaned at him, but eventually she came around enough to do as he asked. Then she fell back into the couch cushions and just sat there, looking dazed.

Deciding to hell with it, he went into the kitchen and turned off the teakettle. Then returned to the couch, where he reached for Elise’s hand. “All right, then. Let’s get you up to bed.”

…

She nearly moaned in defeat. Why couldn’t Quinn just let her stay here? She didn’t want to go up to bed, didn’t want to lie in some empty guest room with nothing better to do than to count the stars outside her window. Again and again and again. It was the story of her life, and she was sick of it. Didn’t want to do it anymore. Sure as hell didn’t want to do it tonight when that damn dream was still dragging at her.

It had been years since she’d had a nightmare as bad as this one, even longer since she’d had this specific one, which was why it had caught her completely unaware tonight. It had been no less terrifying for its unexpectedness. Especially since it wasn’t about the car crash or her injury, as the doctors had warned her to expect. No, this had been about tumbling into an abyss and falling, falling, falling. Not until she fell, but until she became nothing. Until everything, and everyone, she cared for disappeared.

She supposed there was no real surprise that she’d had it tonight, when everything in her life was in such disarray. After all, she’d first had the dream after Quinn had left. She’d been terrified, devastated, frantic—and a whole bunch of other emotions she didn’t care to name. But when she thought back on those awful months, all she remembered was being unable to sleep, unable to breathe, without thinking about Quinn. Without worrying about him.

Though he’d left behind a pack of Twinkies—his favorite junk food and one he used to annoy her with all the time—in her concert bag in what she’d assumed was some screwed up attempt at letting her know he was okay, she hadn’t been able to trust it. Hadn’t been able to believe that he was really all right, that something hadn’t happened to him. That he was just going along living his life. Without her.

Finding out he was alive a few years ago, and the keyboardist in a successful rock band, had been an epic relief. So much so that the dreams had stopped—until tonight.

But as Quinn leaned over her, concern in his eyes, she couldn’t tell him what her nightmare was about. Couldn’t tell him that, too often, when she closed her eyes she was the lost and frightened girl who was afraid that without him to see her—really see her—she would just disappear. And she sure as hell couldn’t tell him that for months after he left, all she saw when she closed her eyes was his bruised and battered body. Or worse, him lying dead somewhere that she couldn’t reach him.

Unpleasant shivers worked their way down her spine and she responded by shoving the old nightmare down deep, back into her subconscious where it belonged. Then she pushed to her feet. Took a few steps toward the stairs. But before she could get very far, Quinn swept her up into his arms for the second time that day.

“I can walk, you know.” More, she wanted to walk. Because being close to him when she was lucid and at her fighting best was one thing. Having him hold her now, when she was shaky and vulnerable and just a little off, was something else entirely.

“Shut it, Lissy,” he told her firmly. “I know you’ve got some control issues, but sometimes it’s better to just let go of the reins. Let someone else take care of you for a while.”

“I don’t know how to do that.” The words slipped out before she could stop them—a perfect example of why she’d wanted to walk. When he was touching her, her guard went down and she said stuff she had no business saying.

The words hung in the air between them and somehow made her feel a million times more vulnerable than being carried by him did.

Quinn didn’t say anything for long seconds. Didn’t move. Hell, she wasn’t sure he even breathed. But eventually he let out a long sigh, rubbed his stubbly cheek against her smooth one. “You don’t have to know how,” her murmured as he headed toward the stairs. “Because I do. Just this once, let me take care of you, Elise. I promise, you can trust me.”


The words were absurd, the idea even more so. Trust him when he’d already proven himself to be completely untrustworthy?

Trust him when he’d already shredded her heart into so many pieces she’d never been able to get them to fit together properly again?

Trust him when she’d never before felt this vulnerable?

Not likely.

And yet, she didn’t protest as he carried her up the stairs.

Or as he laid her on the bed.

Or as he rifled through her suitcase for a pair of pajamas.

And she still didn’t protest when he slipped off the blouse and jeans Jamison had given her to replace her torn and bloodied clothing. She stopped breathing, but she didn’t protest.

Then she was dressed in her oldest, comfiest pair of pajamas and tucked beneath a soft red comforter.

“Sleep, baby,” he murmured, stroking a hand over her hair.

Except she couldn’t sleep, not with echoes of the nightmare still zipping along her nerves. Not when she was terrified of being thrust back into that world the moment she closed her eyes again.

Though she knew it was a bad idea—knew that she’d regret it in the morning—she turned her head into Quinn’s hand, nuzzled his palm with her cheek. “Stay.”

He stiffened beside her. “What did you say?”

At first, she didn’t answer him. How could she when to do so would show him just how vulnerable she was? She’d spent the last ten years of her life trying to shore up every weakness she had, so that the wall around her thoughts—and her heart—was impenetrable.

No matter how much of a fuss she’d originally put up about going back to her hotel, no matter what untruths she told herself during the light of day—that she would play Quinn’s game and beat him at it—in the dead of night, it was a lot harder to lie to herself. A lot harder to deny the truth, which was that she didn’t want to be alone. Not when she could be lying next to the only man she’d ever really wanted.

“Stay,” she rasped again. Her voice was rusty, the word almost inaudible this second time around. But it was the best she could do—she’d spent so much of her life begging for some small scrap of attention outside of her piano playing, all to no avail. So it went against everything inside of her to ask for Quinn’s now.

But the alternative was letting him walk out of this room, and she wasn’t prepared to do that. Not now, while her hand, and the rest of her, ached badly enough to bring tears to her eyes.

She looked down, not wanting Quinn to see just how badly she needed him to say yes. Asking him to stay was one thing. Guilting him into it was another thing altogether.

He wouldn’t let her get away with the evasion though.

“Elise.” He tilted her face up so that he could see her eyes even though she made it obvious she didn’t want to look at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” She swallowed back the tears, forced herself to ignore the lump in her throat that was growing exponentially bigger with each second that passed.

“Are you hurting that badly?”

More than she could ever tell him. “Of course not. The pain pill’s already kicked in.”

“Then, why—”

“Never mind. It was stupid.” She closed her eyes, turned her face away from him. “I’ll see you in the morning, Quinn.”

For long seconds, he didn’t say anything, though she could feel his eyes on her. Knew he was trying to figure her out. But she was a puzzle with mismatched pieces. There was no way he could ever fit all of them back together again, even if she was inclined to let him try. Which she wasn’t.

She heard him shift behind her, knew he was crouching down by the side of the bed. And still she refused to look at him. She couldn’t, not when the tears weren’t going away. Goddamn pain medication. It lowered every defense she had, made her hope for things she knew she couldn’t have.

“Talk to me, baby.” His voice was soft, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

She shook her head. There was nothing else for her to say. She’d opened herself up and he’d slapped her down. Not that that was a shock. How could it be when it was the story of her life?

When, oh when, was she going to learn? She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was already one a.m. Only five more hours before dawn broke across the sky. She could handle five hours. Three hundred minutes. She’d be just fine by herself tonight. It wasn’t like she hadn’t handled worse before.

Quinn cursed then, long and low “What can I do for you?” he asked when the litany of swear words had run out.

She shook her head again. She’d already told him the answer to that question. She wouldn’t open herself up again.

But he wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. Then again, when had he ever? “Damn it, Elise. Earlier you were demanding that I take you home. Now, when you’re obviously high on Vicodin, you ask me to stay with you. I don’t want to overstep here, not when I don’t know what it is you really want.”

Something in his voice broke through her reticence. Or at least cracked it. She didn’t turn back to him, but she did ask, very softly, “Will you hold me, Quinn? Just for tonight. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

He didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t so much as breathe. She knew because she was listening for a response, any response. He gave her nothing.

Except then he did. She heard him stand, heard the rustle that came with shoes being kicked off. And then he was there, beside her. His arm draped over her waist. The front of his long, lean body burning against the back of her own.

“Quinn?” she asked, hating the way her voice trembled. But it had been so long since someone had held her, so long since someone had touched her in more than the most impersonal way. She’d told herself that it didn’t bother her, that she liked her solitude, the impenetrable wall that kept people from seeing the real her. But this was Quinn. Ten years might have passed, but that hadn’t changed. And neither had her soul-deep response to him.

“Relax,” he murmured. His mouth was right next to her ear, the vibrations from his whispers sending a whole different kind of shiver down her spine than the ones she’d felt just a little while before. “Go to sleep.”

It was easier said than done. Yes, she’d pushed for him to lie down next to her, to keep her from being alone, but now that his body—hot and hard and masculine—was pressed against her own, all she could do was think about what had happened in the kitchen. What it had been like to be held by him, kissed by him. To be made love to by him. There was a part of her—a big part—that wanted to melt against him, to feel that pleasure again. But because she couldn’t—of course she couldn’t—she kept herself rigid against him.

“Relax,” Quinn whispered, his huge pianist’s hand coming to rest on her hip. He patted her lightly, rubbed in circles that she knew he meant to be soothing, but which were more arousing than anything else.

Instinctively, she pressed against him…and nearly felt herself melt when she realized he was as aroused as she was. She could feel his erection against her ass, could feel his heart racing against her back.

“Quinn—” she murmured, without a clue what else she was going to say.

He turned her over then, his mouth swooping down and capturing hers in a kiss that was dark and bruising and good, so good, for all its brevity. And then he was turning her around, spooning himself up against her so that his cock rested hot and heavy against her ass.

His lips skimmed down her neck, over her shoulder, his piercing cool against her skin. She pressed back against him and could practically feel her own heart beating out of her chest as he groaned, just a little. She pressed back against him and he groaned, just a little. She started to rock against him—she couldn’t help herself. He felt so good and it had been so long and this was Quinn, Quinn, who was holding her. Who was kissing her. And even if she regretted it in the morning, she didn’t care.

But then his mouth was gone. And while he didn’t move away, while he kept his body curved protectively against hers, she knew the moment was over. His hand, now resting on her stomach, was back to making soothing circles and his breath was no longer quite so fast, quite so hot, against her cheek.

“Go to sleep, Elise,” he told her again. His voice was strained, but there was an underlying resolve to it that both embarrassed her and made her feel safe. She didn’t understand how that could be, but there it was.

“Are you—” Her voice broke. “Are you going to leave?” She closed her eyes, held herself rigid as she waited for his answer.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Though it left her more vulnerable than she wanted to be, though it told him more than she wanted him to know, she shook her head rapidly. “No.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, his hair cool and silky against her jaw. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here.”

And because she believed him, because she was no longer alone in the darkness, she did.