SOMEONE KNOCKED ON the door.
Sitting at her kitchen table, a textbook open to her left, a notebook to her right and her laptop dead center, Quinn lifted her head and frowned.
She’d been back in Little Creek for just over a year and could count on one hand the number of visitors she’d had during that time.
And that included the mailman and the lady who’d fixed the toilet a few months back.
Now, in the span of—she checked her phone—an hour and a half, she was on her second unexpected guest of the day.
Guess she was enjoying a resurgence of her old high school popularity.
Hooray.
Whoever it was knocked again, and she stood with a sigh then crossed her tiny kitchen into the equally small living room and opened the door.
Well, well, well. What did she have here?
Okay, she knew what she had. She had Xander Bennett, all clean-cut yumminess in faded jeans, a black T-shirt and aviator sunglasses, standing on her stoop.
God, he was pretty.
Then again, looks weren’t everything.
A fact she understood better than most.
“Hello, Quinn,” he said, using her name as if he knew damn well hearing him say it made her insides go all soft and squishy.
As if he knew, exactly, what she’d done after he’d left her a quivering mass of unfulfilled desire last night. How she’d thought of him as she’d lain in bed. How she’d wished he was with her.
She leaned against the doorjamb—not exactly blocking the entrance, but not opening her arms wide and inviting him in, either. “Do you and your brother do everything together?”
He grinned, slow and sexy, and that soft, squishiness in her belly warmed. “Not everything, no.”
The way he said it made it clear there was one very important thing they didn’t do together.
Which was fine by her. She’d never been big on the whole ménage à trois thing. She preferred sex to be one-on-one.
Xander cleared his throat. Shifted. “There a reason you’re asking about Zane?”
His tone was casual. Too casual. It bothered him, she realized, her bringing up his brother.
Men. Such sensitive creatures.
“I didn’t ask about Zane,” she pointed out. “I was just...curious about the whole wonder-twin power thing.”
Mainly because ninety minutes ago, twin number one had stood in the exact same spot that twin number two currently occupied.
“Curious,” Xander repeated flatly, his expression set. “About Zane. The same way you were curious last night?”
She remembered what she’d said to Xander last night when she’d pressed for his kiss.
I want to appease my curiosity.
“No,” she said, for some reason not wanting Xander to think she had the same level of interest in Zane that she held for him. “Not the same. Not at all.”
But she didn’t tell him Zane had been here. That he’d flirted with her last night at the bar. That she’d flirted back.
A girl was entitled to a few secrets, after all.
“Now it’s your turn,” she continued when he remained silent. “You get to answer one of my questions. Like...oh, I don’t know, why are you here?”
“I brought you something.”
He thrust a small plastic bag at her. Her gaze narrowed. He and Zane had to be psychically linked.
Because Zane had brought her something, too. A cupcake from the Little Creek Bakery, a gorgeous cupcake topped with whipped cream, a perfectly ripe strawberry and glittery sprinkles. It had almost been too pretty to eat.
She had eaten it, of course. She wasn’t an idiot.
It had tasted even better than it looked.
She took the bag and reached inside. Stared at the object. Zane had brought her a pretty, sweet treat and Xander had brought her...
“A dead bolt?” She looked from the dead bolt to him and back again. “You’re giving me a dead bolt. Wow. And it’s not even my birthday.”
“It’s for your door.”
“Yes. I figured that. I didn’t think you wanted me to put it on my shorts.”
He blushed, either due to his stating the obvious or her smartass reply. Color climbed his neck. Stained his cheeks.
It was adorable.
“You need one,” he said then cursed under his breath. “On the door. One well-placed kick and anyone could get through the regular lock.”
“I’ll take your word for it as I don’t have all that much door-kicking experience.” She handed him the dead bolt. “Have at it. But I hope you brought your own toolbox. I don’t have one. The last time I had to tighten a screw, I used a butter knife.”
“I did. But I’m not installing it.” He gave it back to her. “You are.”
“Yet another thing I don’t have any experience with.” And not what she had planned on her list of things to do today. “Sorry.”
“I’ll teach you. And we’ll go over a few self-defense moves. Carrying pepper spray is great—and smart,” he added quickly, “but you need to be able to protect yourself in case an attacker gets physical.”
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she studied him. “You want to show me how to install a dead bolt and give me a lesson in self-defense?” He nodded. “Don’t you have better things to do? Like spend time with your family or see your old friends or, I don’t know, drive around town, soaking up the memories?”
He took off his sunglasses and met her eyes. “There’s nothing I’d rather be doing, nowhere I’d rather be.”
It was a line. It had to be. But it was a good one and, God, the way he said it like that with warmth in his eyes, sincerity in his tone...
She couldn’t help but believe him.
Couldn’t help but trust him.
Despite the little voice inside her head screaming at her not to.
* * *
SHE WAS A fast learner, Xander thought later.
Fast enough that he barely evaded having his balls shoved up to his throat by her knee.
“Good,” he told her, rolling out of the way when she went for his eyes.
She had the right take-no-prisoners attitude and decent muscle tone in her long, lean body. But they’d been at it since she’d finished installing the dead bolt almost forty-five minutes ago and she was getting tired.
And that led to being sloppy. To making mistakes.
“That’s enough for today,” he said, and she collapsed into a heap on her living room floor.
“Oh, thank God.” Her breathing was heavy and did some really interesting things to her tight tank top. “I thought the only way to get you to stop was by killing you, and I didn’t want to get any bloodstains in here. I’m hoping to get my deposit back on this place.”
He went into the kitchen and found the glasses in an upper cabinet. After filling one with water from the faucet, he went back to the living room, crouched down and handed it to her.
With a groan she sat up and took the glass. Sipped. “Thanks.”
“You don’t plan on staying here?”
“Here as in this apartment? Or here as in Little Creek?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter, as the answer to both is no. I’m only back in town temporarily.”
“Until...?”
Her mouth flattened and he didn’t think she’d answer. That she’d evade or change the subject like she did whenever he asked her a personal question. Whenever he got too close.
Instead, she surprised him.
“Until I pay off my debts.” She gave a stiff, uncomfortable shrug. “Contrary to popular belief, getting a divorce isn’t always the cheap and easy option. At least it wasn’t either in my case. But it was still worth it. Even if I never manage to climb out this financial hole I dug for myself.”
Taking her free hand, he tugged her to her feet, the move bringing their bodies flush. Desire flashed through him, hard and fast. He tamped it down. “You will.”
“Oh? You’re a fortune-teller now?”
“I don’t have to see the future,” he said, unable to hide the huskiness of his tone. He slid his hand up her arm then down again, reveling in her small tremble. “I see you. And you can do anything you set your mind to.”
Her soft exhale was shaky. “You make it so hard,” she murmured.
Biting his cheek so he didn’t smile, he nodded. “Ditto.”
She stilled for a moment then burst out laughing. He grinned. He liked making her laugh.
He liked it a lot.
“I meant you make it hard for me to remember to be smart. When you say things like that, when you look at me that way...you make me feel like the girl I used to be.” She shook her head and stepped back, out of his arms. “But I can’t be her anymore. I don’t want to be her.”
“You’re the same person, Quinn. People don’t change. Not completely.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Her mouth thinned and she crossed her arms. “I have. I won’t go back. Not for anything.”
Not for you.
She didn’t say it but he heard her meaning loud and clear.
“Was she so bad?” he asked softly. “The girl you used to be?”
Something flashed in her eyes, something that told him she missed that girl more than she was willing to admit. “She wasn’t real. That’s what you don’t get. What no one got. She was whatever people wanted her to be, whoever they needed her to be. I’m just me. No longer gullible or willing to play a part. No longer reckless.”
He pulled her to him once more, the move slow enough, easy enough that she could stop it any time she wanted.
She didn’t.
He settled his hands on her waist, slid his fingers under the hem of her tank top and lightly caressed her warm, soft skin. “What’s life without a little risk?”
“Safe,” she whispered. “It’s safe.”
“Sounds boring.”
She rolled her eyes and once again slipped away from him, this time to carry her glass into the kitchen. “Says the man who gets shot at for a living.”
He followed her, leaning against the partition separating the rooms as she put her glass in the sink. “Not every day.”
Though on more occasions than he could admit.
Mainly because most of those times had been classified missions.
“Yeah, well, boring or not, I’m going to stick with it.” She sent him a long look over her shoulder. “But that’s not to say I’m against finding myself a little excitement when the mood strikes.”
“A little excitement?”
“Well, I’m hoping it’s at least average-sized, but a girl never can tell.”
“Hoping?” he asked, not about to set her straight on the size of his excitement. It would sound like bragging. Or lying. “Does that mean the mood has struck?”
“Now who’s the one who’s hoping?”
“It’s what gets me through the day.”
She laughed. “How about we just say that I’m...considering my options.”
Considering her options. At least she wasn’t kicking his ass to the curb.
He’d take it.
And do everything in his power to make sure that after she’d considered those options, she chose him.