The words brought her winging back to reality. The idea that he might have taken a different turn in life and not be sitting in front of her nearly dropped her to her knees. He’d almost sacrificed everything. For what, she didn’t know, but she was clear that nothing in the story bordered on exaggeration. If Wren stated he’d been on the edge then he really had been.
“Quint also provided me with this group of people like me who I know I can count on, even today, if I need anything.”
“Does that ever happen?” She couldn’t imagine him reaching out for help, despite the history he may share with the other person, but he acted like the bond had never been broken.
He nodded. “Now and then. We work in different areas of business, but we trade intel and feed each other leads.”
He might deny it or not understand it, but this was his version of family, which made her wonder about his actual one.
“We now think of ourselves as Quint Associates. It’s sort of an informal social club. An ode to the old man.” A note of affection weaved into his voice. “But I do use what I learned from him to fix problems.”
The fixer thing. A murky concept even without the history. “By ruining people’s lives and reputations?”
“By finding weaknesses and exploiting them.”
“You’re the judge and jury these days?” There wasn’t any heat behind her question. True, the concept of vigilantism scared her. There were so many risks and the idea of being wrong paralyzed her. But she’d seen awful things in her job. She knew well that evil lurked out there, ready to pounce. She didn’t exactly hate the idea of a group of competent men waiting to even the score.
“I’m not Robin Hood, Emery. I don’t pretend to be a saint either. I get paid to solve problems, and I’m damn good at that job.” His hand lay open, palm up, right next to hers. “So?”
The question hung there as she stared at his palm then at his face again. “What do you expect me to say?”
“I’m waiting to see if you kick me out and run as far away as possible.”
She waited for that instinct to kick in, for the wailing alarm to scream in her head. But nothing. She didn’t feel fear or worry. Watching him now, with his protective wall lowered just enough for her to peek in, the driving need to know more plowed into her. The thought of walking away, abandoning him, came into her head and left just as fast.
Not being either a danger or adrenaline junky, her reaction didn’t make much sense. He was all but telling her how he lived his life in the gray areas. The reality didn’t scare her at all. “I don’t want to.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is that sufficient to let me stay?”
The time had come for a decision. She could step out and keep their relationship about business and Tiffany. That would allow her to watch over him and make sure he stayed on the right side of the line. Or she could plunge in.
When it came right down to it there wasn’t much of a debate in her mind. She knew what she wanted. A self-made man wrapped in a mystery. A true lover of secrets. Imperfect, determined and flawed. She wanted him.
She stood up.
He looked up without making a move. “Am I leaving?”
Silly man. She held out a hand. “We’re going into the bedroom.”
“This isn’t the reaction I expected.” But he was up with his arms around her, her body folded against his.
This felt right. Perfect even.
“Don’t talk.” She eased her body deeper into his. Let her fingers slide around his shoulders to the back of his neck to slip into his hair. “For a few minutes I don’t want to think and analyze or regret the past. I just want to enjoy. Feel.”
All the tension and worry eased from his face. “I think we can do better than a few minutes.”
That lightness inside her came zinging back. “I was counting on that.”
“If my clothes are coming off we’re going to make it worthwhile.” He winked at her.
That did it. “Enough talk. Now is the time to really impress me.”
CHAPTER 16
Wren hadn’t meant to share any of that. He’d stopped before spilling every last detail, but still. He’d run on about the life he had before. The life he declared over when he dropped his father’s last name and moved out of Michigan years ago.
Now that he talked about Quint and the past, his mind dwelled there. Memories lingered. The splash of blood his father burned off the wall with cleaning products. To this day, the sharp smell of bleach started a rapid punching in Wren’s gut that he had a hard time controlling.
Then there was the rug that disappeared from his parents’ bedroom, along with every photo that proved it ever existed. All the questions from detectives. The way his father drummed his version of their family life into his head until the line between truth and fiction blurred and blinked out.
He’d been young when it happened, but Wren remembered it all. A therapist once told him about how some people blocked out emotional trauma. The pieces slipped away and never came back. He’d never been that lucky. He’d never found anything to drown out the memory of the camera lights and all those microphones as the press descended.