Peering at the cards, she began to hum. “Did you look at my hand while I was gone? I think we need to start over.”
“What? No! Of course not. I don’t do shit like that. I may be a lot of things, but I’m no cheater.”
“Well, aren’t you the rare one?” She picked up and arranged her cards, her eyes dancing just above them, mesmerizing him so he didn’t register what she’d just said.
He dragged his gaze away and picked up his own cards.
They played in silence for a few minutes, the music soft in the background. Finally, he couldn’t take not talking.
“Been reading more smokin’-hot romances to my mother?”
“Why do you ask? Want me to read to you sometime?” Her voice dropped low and husky on the last words, shooting straight to his groin, where a fire threatened to break out. So not helping.
He gulped down a groan, more aware than ever that he was harboring a boatload of steam that needed letting off. Time to change the subject.
“Speaking of romance … Are you going to answer me about Wolf, or should I just let it go?”
Mossy-green eyes snapped up to his, full of surprise. It took her a moment to recover, but her voice was soft when she spoke. “You really want to know?”
He gave his cards a quick once-over, though he didn’t see a damn thing. “Yeah, I really do.”
“I think I need more beer.” She picked up the bottle and tipped it back, taking a long, hard swallow. He followed suit and waited. She didn’t hold back when she launched into the story of how they met, how she fell—which stirred all kinds of other uncomfortable feelings in him he wasn’t willing to examine—and how she later found out he was banging someone else.
He took a pull of his own beer. “So she was what, some piece of ass he picked up in a bar?”
She shook her head, and a sad, faraway look stole into her eyes. She folded her cards in her lap. “I was the piece of ass.”
“What?”
Her gaze locked onto his. “He supposedly left for Sweden, and I was alone, so when some work colleagues asked if I wanted to join them at this new restaurant, I thought why not? It beat sitting home alone.” She pulled in a huge breath. “So I’m having dinner, and who walks in but Mister-I’m-In-Sweden with a beautiful blond on his arm.” Another tug on her beer. Quinn flicked his eyes to the bottle, satisfied it was still half-full. “He didn’t see me at first, and I was … frozen in place. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around what I was seeing. I kept thinking up excuses for why he was there with her—she was a client, a relative, a family friend—though it didn’t explain why he was in Seattle.”
Sarah set down her cards. “She was stunning.” She whispered the last words reverently, like she believed this woman was far above her. It occurred to Quinn the woman couldn’t have been, though he’d never set eyes on her.
“They were in my line of sight, all cuddled up. He kissed her, and I … Well, let’s just say”—she pointed her bottle at Quinn before chugging the rest of her brew—“there was no mistaking the body language.”
Her words slammed into his heart. They were raw, exposing her soft underbelly, and her vulnerability tugged at him. A voice whispered in his head that the finger point, the chug-a-lug—in fact her whole demeanor—were part of an elaborate defense mechanism she kept locked in place. She was giving him a rare peek behind her walls.
In an exquisite moment of clarity he might’ve missed had he been sober, he got it. He understood why she hated his guts. In her eyes, he wasWolf. Except he wasn’t. Was he? The question dizzied his mind.
She wiggled her empty at him. “More beer?” Her voice came out choked, and her eyes were glossy.
All of him wanted to do something, but he had no clue what, so he simply said, “Aw, shit, Sunshine. Jesus,” and drained his own beer before staggering upright to get more.
He returned with fresh bottles. She was sniffling, though he saw no tears. Archer’s head lay in her lap, and Quinn felt a rush of affection for the furry mutt.
“Oh crap. I still need to throw down some cards,” she muttered as her fingers tapped the small stack.
“Doesn’t matter.” Quinn fastened every iota of his attention on her. “Tell me what happened.” He held his breath, praying she’d keep going, praying she didn’t. Push, pull. This woman seemed to do that to him. A lot.
A huge intake of breath, an equally robust exhale, a pull on her beer bottle. “After I came out of my daze, I got up and headed toward them with no idea what I was going to say or do. He saw me coming, and he slid his arm from her shoulders and put on a cool-as-a-cucumber mask. Imagine my surprise when he introduced me as a business associate to Ingrid, his wife. I was so damn stunned I just stood there like an idiot. When I finally got my brain and my mouth connected, all I could say was, ‘Nice to meet you, Ingrid.’ Who does that? It turns out he’d been married for fifteen years—to the mother of two children I had no idea he had.
“I … I didn’t know what to do, so I just walked away. I needed to go someplace where I could sort things
