Through the Fire. Donna Hill
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nothing like Nikita, Quinn mused, taking furtive, sidelong glances at Rae. She was tall, slender, and self-contained. And although she had an aggressive manner, there was a cautiousness about her. Her complexion reminded him of brandy—tempting and warm through and through. She was pretty in a laidback sense, not cover-model pretty like Nikita, but a comfortable beauty that gets better with age. He could see the strong strains of the ancestors in the cut of her cheekbones, the curve of her full lips, the flare of her nose. Yeah, Rae Lindsay was easy on the eye, and talented to boot—an intoxicating combination. It had been a long time since he’d thought of a woman for any more than her ability to quench the physical fire that constantly smoldered within him. But none had. None had been able to fill the longing, to stamp down the embers. What he’d been seeking was something none of them had been able to give—a sense of being home again, being able to feel again. Too much of him had gone dead inside. He knew he shouldn’t compare every woman he met with Nikita. It wasn’t fair. No one would ever be able to take her place—or at least replace the image he’d created of her. Over time the things that had once driven him mad about her were now miraculously endearing; what they’d fought over was no longer important; the way she’d wanted to rearrange his life was now cute. In his mind Nikita had evolved into the personification of perfection. It was so much easier to remember her that way. And he had yet to meet anyone able to shatter the image he’d constructed. Sometimes he thought that maybe it was better that way.
He came up short, his thoughts scattering, when Rae stopped in front of a neatly kept redbrick building.
“This is where I get off,” she said, the first words spoken since they’d left the club. “Thanks for the company.” She turned and looked up into his eyes. “And for coming down tonight.”
“It was cool—worth it.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lightweight leather jacket, more to keep from touching her than from trying to create an image.
“Well…I’d better go.” She wanted to touch him, gently brush away the lock that caressed his cheek. But she dared not.
Quinn glanced up at the darkened windows, wondering which one was hers. “When will you be performing again?” He wanted to keep her there just a moment longer—just to hold on to this feeling a little longer. Feeling. His stomach tightened.
“I’m not sure. I need to work on some songs and I’ve gotten behind my deadline.”
“You, uh, work from home or at a studio?”
“Both.” She smiled. “It depends on everyone’s schedule. Actually, studio time is scheduled for next Wednesday. Maybe…you’d like to sit in.” Oh, Lord, what am I doing?
He hadn’t set foot in a studio in nearly three years. His own CD was long overdue. He just hadn’t been able to bring himself to— “What time Wednesday?” he asked before he realized the question had crossed his lips and he couldn’t take it back.
“Nine in the morning. We’ll be at it all day.”
He shrugged. “Cool. Maybe I’ll check you out.”
Rae dug in her purse for her wallet and pulled out a business card. “Here’s the address,” she said, handing him the gold-leafed, embossed card.
Quinn reached for it. Their fingertips brushed and they were both jolted by the contact.
For a moment neither of them moved, neither dared to speak until the current had run its course.
“Thanks,” Quinn uttered, wanting to kiss her instead of saying goodbye.
“So, uh, maybe I’ll see you Wednesday.” Rae clasped the straps of her shoulder bag with both hands.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Quinn jutted his chin toward the steps of Rae’s building. “You oughta go on in.”
Rae released a nervous puff of air, smiling inanely before taking two steps back, then starting up the steps. “Good night,” she tossed over her shoulder, opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind her.
Quinn stood there for a minute until he saw lights in the third-floor window slide through the slats of the blinds. He made a note to himself, then headed back to the club to retrieve his Jeep.
Rae watched his departure from the darkened window of her bedroom and knew with certainty that Quinten Parker might be walking away, but he would be back. She didn’t know how she knew it, she just did.
Chapter 4
Quinn moved slowly through his apartment, the warmth of a new day bouncing off the plants in the window.
The spacious rooms seemed more empty than usual today, now that Jamel was back in San Francisco with his mother. He’d grown accustomed to Jamel’s early morning wake-up call of “Daddy, I’m hungry.” He smiled, pulling sheets off the bed for the laundry, while promising himself that he would call his son later in the day.
He shoved the sheets then damp towels in a laundry bag and set it by the door. It was good having someone in your life, he grudgingly admitted, hauling the bag down the stairs and out to his Jeep, hoping to slide under Mrs. Finch’s radar before she snagged him for some errand or another. He turned the key and the soothing hum of the engine vibrated beneath him.
He missed having someone to look out for, care about, someone he could come home to and share his day with. He’d always been a loner, content to do his thing by himself. Until he’d met Nikita. She’d changed all that for him. And after he’d lost her, he knew without a doubt that he’d never have those feelings again, those needs again. But having his son with him had relit the fire that had been doused by pain and disillusionment, and meeting Rae Lindsay had been like tossing kindling on the smoldering flames. But was he truly ready to walk through the fire to the promise of possibility on the other side? He was no longer sure if he knew how.
Rae sat on the piano bench, her nimble fingers tinkering with the keys. A new arrangement of notes for a song had haunted her throughout the night. Several times she’d gotten out of bed and found her way to the baby grand that sat like a Buddha in the center of her living room. The melody would come to her in bursts, then fade, and she would stumble back to bed only to be magnetically drawn back moments later.
It was always this way with her—this creative thing that she could not control. Sometimes it would creep up on her like a thief stealing all conscious thought, only leaving behind the seed of challenge. Catch me. Capture me. Expose me for all the world to see and hear. And she would be compelled to create. Compelled to play. Twist the standard notes into something never before heard. Write the words that would echo in hearts and minds for always.
She was in that space now—the zone, where nothing else mattered beyond this thing as necessary to her life as breathing. And between each note, each turn of phrase, she remembered her evening with Quinn Parker, and knew it was he who was the catalyst for this roller-coaster ride she was on.
Rae rose stiffly from the bench and arched her back to loosen the kinks that gripped her spine. Her gaze drifted toward the window. The world moved in a steady hum on the other side of the glass—removed from her—the way she always felt—disconnected. Except yesterday, for the first time in longer than she could remember.
She’d buried herself so deeply in her work these past three years, she didn’t allow herself time to think, to feel, to experience life around her. She’d been too afraid. So she surrounded herself with her music, musicians, friends, anything to keep the memories at bay, her guilt under wraps. Her music, her lyrics became the cocoon that protected her. But somehow meeting Quinn had weakened the protective covering, leaving her tender insides exposed and vulnerable. She wasn’t sure how he was able to accomplish what so many had tried and failed to do. But he had.
Rae wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, as if the action could somehow contain the brewing emotions, the awakening of sensations that bubbled with life within her.
His eyes—dark, soulful, full of seeing too much. His mouth—rich, sculpted, and tender. His voice—like the roll of waves