Ignite (Savage Disciples MC Book 4) Page 5

  Right. “Got it.”

  I half-jogged downstairs to the kitchen. In the cabinet with the mismatched glasses and mugs was a pink Minnie Mouse cup with a lid and straw left behind from when Sketch, Ash, and their daughter, Emmy, lived here. Now, it was probably stored for when the little princess was around. I stared at it for a second before grabbing it, figuring the straw might be easier for Quinn. Letting the water run for a minute to get it cold, I filled the cup and went back upstairs.

  At the door to my room, I stopped. This was because Quinn wasn’t in the fucking bed. Turning, I saw the door to the bathroom down the hall closed, light lining the bottom edge. I moved that way and stood just out of the doorway, waiting.

  When it opened a minute later and she stepped out, I said, “You should have waited for me.”

  She was wrapped in the comforter from the hotel. “‘M fine,” she croaked in return.

  I didn’t argue. I didn’t want her to keep trying to talk, but her leaning all her weight into me as soon as she could told me she was not fucking fine.

  Getting Quinn back into bed only took a minute. She didn’t fight me or object. I expected it, even braced for it when her attention settled on me. There was a lot churning behind the fog of her fever, but she let me take care of her. She was finishing off the water when the door opened downstairs.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told Quinn before heading to the stairs. When I got to the bottom, Ember was there with a grocery bag on her arm.

  “Hey,” she greeted. “I didn’t want to call up in case she’s asleep.”

  “She’s up,” I answered. “You get a thermometer?”

  Reaching into the bag, Ember pulled out the plastic package and handed it over. A quick look had me grabbing my pocketknife to cut the fucking thing open rather than wrestling with it for ten minutes.

  “The pharmacist said you need to go to the hospital if her fever is over one-oh-four,” Ember explained.

  “Right,” I answered, wrapping an arm around her. “Thanks for getting this shit, babe.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like you gave me much choice. You sounded a bit caveman-like on that phone there,” she sassed, then grunted, “You, woman, get medicine for sick mate.”

  I shook my head, going back up the stairs, her footsteps not far behind me.

  Quinn was curled up again. I sat on the side of the bed in the curve of her body. A quick test with the back of my hand against her forehead told me she was still burning up. Fuck.

  “Baby, I need to take your temperature.”

  Her eyes cracked open. It wasn’t clear whether she was groggy or trying to glare at me, but she opened her mouth either way. The wait and the damn beeping grated against my nerves.

  “One-oh-three,” I read out when it went off.

  That was high. Really high. Ember had said above 104 was hospital territory, but every instinct I had was fucking screaming to take Quinn to an urgent care center at least.

  “Maybe we should get her to a doctor,” I said, not directing the statement at either of them.

  “No,” Quinn half-groaned.

  “Really, Ace, it’s fine for now. Unless her symptoms get worse or her temp goes up, she’s fine here,” Ember assured me.

  I didn’t feel fucking assured. I felt like my wife was sick and I was doing fuck all to help.

  The bag on Ember’s arm rustled, then she spoke again, this time to Quinn. “Here, you need to take two of these. Hopefully they’ll help bring the fever down.” Her hand was extended, a soft smile on her face.

  My girl shifted so she was propped up on the pillows more but still shy of sitting up. Even that effort seemed to drain her. She eyed Ember as she took the pills from her hand, then rasped, “Thank you.”

  Grabbing the discarded princess cup from the nightstand, I muttered, “I’ll get you more water.”

  “Let me,” Ember insisted, snatching it from my hold and taking off.

  Quinn looked from the pills in her hand to the door, then her eyes moved in my direction, but didn’t come to meet mine.

  “She’s pretty,” came her hoarse voice.

  I was about to tell her to stop trying to talk when the words actually registered. Yeah, Ember was gorgeous, but why the hell was Quinn pointing it out?

  “Sorry?”

  “You guys seemed close the other day,” she said, voice growing more rough as she went on. “You look good together.”

  She had to be fucking kidding.

  “Babe, tell me you’re shitting me,” I demanded.

  She didn’t answer, just focused on rolling the pills around in her palm with her thumb. I snatched the damn things out of her hand and put them down on the nightstand. If they rolled off, there was a whole bottle left. I didn’t give a shit.

  “You really fucking think I’d have a woman when we’re fucking married?”

  “It’s been two years,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, and this was something I was going to wait to get into until you were feeling better, but last night, in your room?” I didn’t wait for her to acknowledge she knew what I was talking about since I wasn’t speaking in code. “That’s the most action I’ve had since I left Eugene.”

  She gave a little gasp that turned into a coughing fit, which served to remind me why it wasn’t the fucking time for that conversation. Still, I wasn’t about to let her head go where it had been.

  “Yeah, I haven’t touched a woman—not one. Not even when I told myself I should just do what you wanted, sign those fucking papers, and let you go. Never. I can’t lie and say I haven’t been tempted when I convinced myself I’d never see you again, but the one time I even came close, I felt sick to my fucking stomach at the thought of having anyone but my wife.

  “Ember is not that. Not for me. She’s got a man, and he’s my brother.” I ignored the bile that rose at that statement—at the memory it dredged up. It was a road I hadn’t let myself go down even once since seeing Quinn again. I knew it was something that would have to come up if I wanted my shot at fixing my marriage, but my brother—my real, blood brother—was not a topic I was ready to cover, even in my own head.

  “She’s happy,” I forced myself onward with what I had to say to Quinn. “He’s happy for the first fucking time any of us has ever seen. She’s here because she’s a friend, and because she’s nice enough to be worried about you based only on knowing what you mean to me. We’ve got a lot of shit to sort, but there is not one thing you have to worry about with her.”

  While I laid all that out, there were a couple times she looked like she might have had something to say, but in the end, she just gave me an, “Okay.”

  It was a fuck of a lot better than shutting down or kicking me out, so I’d take it. She also seemed to believe me, because when Ember returned with a full cup of water, she accepted it graciously. Drinking it down and taking the pills, Quinn settled back into the bed. It was obvious she was fading fast.

  “Get some rest, little bird,” I insisted, giving her hot forehead a kiss as her eyes drifted shut.

  I walked Ember out, getting more instructions from her about how to handle Quinn’s fever. Then, with nothing to do but wait, I went back up to lay beside my wife and hoped like hell she felt better when she woke.

  I was awake in bed, but I didn’t move. No, I stayed still and listened. My eyes remained closed. It would look to all the world like I was still sleeping.

  More importantly, it would look to Jack like I was still sleeping.

  It was his bed I was in. Well, I was assuming I was anyway. My memories weren’t all clear, but I knew he’d taken me from the hotel. How many days ago that was, I couldn’t be sure.

  I remembered waking up a few times and Jack was there. Sometimes, he would take my temperature, or offer me water or soup. Sometimes, he would actually wake me to make me swallow more pills. That woman from the party who gave me the first dose had been back once that I knew of.

  “I haven’t touched a woman—not one.”


  I remembered that too. At least…I was almost certain it was a memory. Every time it came to mind, though, I questioned whether the whole conversation had been a crazy fever dream. Thinking it was a dream made more sense.

  Not knowing, and generally being kind of a coward, was what had me playing possum. I was waiting for some sign as to whether Jack was in the room. What exactly I planned to do if he wasn’t, I had no clue. If he was, I was leaning toward keeping my eyes closed until I managed to fall asleep again.

  As I thought this, I heard his muffled voice from a distance, presumably the hallway.

  “Yeah, got it.” Silence, then, “She’s still out. Temp’s down last I checked.” Another pause. He must have been on his phone. “Yeah, I’ll take care of it once she’s doing better.” Pause. “Got it, brother.”

  After a second, the doorknob rattled and he came in the room. I focused on keeping my body relaxed and my breathing even so he wouldn’t catch on. Jack came right to the bed, seating himself next to me. His hand settled on my forehead, testing my temperature again. He said nothing, so I kept up my charade. The TV came on, the volume low. He was settling in to stay.

  Crap.

  The bed shifted as he moved around, then his arms were on me. It took everything in me not to tense as he pulled me across the bed, eliminating the few inches separating us, and settled my head on his stomach. He was reclining against the headboard, and the position he’d put me in had my body flush against the side of his. His fingers went to my hair, smoothing it back and sifting through the strands. It felt nice. Too nice.

  So nice, in just minutes, I fell asleep again for real.

  The next time I woke, I was in the same position. I didn’t know how long it had been, but the stiffness in my muscles indicated it hadn’t been a ten minute power-nap. Still, even though my tense shoulders begged me to, I didn’t move.

  I lay there for several minutes, long enough to figure out he was watching some kind of fight, when he spoke.

  “How much longer do you want to keep pretendin’, babe?”

  Crap.

  Well, clearly the gig was up, but my stupid self decided to keep going with it. I didn’t move, didn’t even pretend to stir from him talking full volume. Because that was totally believable.

  “In case you didn’t catch it, I know you’re awake, Quinn. Knew you were awake when I came in here earlier too. You really want to keep up the charade?”

  I very strongly considered doing just that. I’d already dug my hole, it seemed like going deeper wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever had. No, that title was being held in contention between marrying a man I’d only known about two weeks and tracking him down after he ran out on me two years ago.

  So help me, I really needed to get my shit together and not make any more genius moves that would be added to that race.

  “Babe,” Jack called again, sounding less amused and more impatient.

  Right, time was up. I didn’t bother feigning waking up. We both knew that was a lie, and to be frank, I was a terrible actress. Instead, I just opened my eyes and moved to sit up. It was slow going. Beyond the sore muscles was a weakness being sick had left. I got myself upright, but Jack had taken advantage of my sluggish movements and slung an arm low around my hips, barring me from backing away. I was stuck close, facing him as he straightened from his reclined position. He was less than a foot away from me and I was trapped by more than just his hold.

  If I ever got myself out of this situation, if Jack ever let me go, I’d learn an important lesson from this. Never marry a super hot guy. It was a terrible idea. They had too much power. I’d been getting flustered by him since the first time he approached me…

  I was staring at the shelf thinking I really needed to catalog my home library and make some sort of document where I could track the books I was looking for. I loved the old, messy, second-hand store I visited at least monthly, but every time I came in, I was faced with the question of whether I already owned that book or just read it from a library. I had at least a dozen unintentional duplicates at home already because of edition variations—no, I just had trouble keeping track of all my beauties.

  Right then, I was pondering how I was almost certain I owned a copy of The Secret Garden, but mine definitely wasn't the old, gorgeous hardcover I was looking at. Older is always better, right?

  “Excuse me,” a deep, smooth voice said from behind me. It was low, quiet, like we were in a library where silence was always the golden rule instead of a store. I liked that. I was the same way.

  I turned, ready to respond, when every thought went flying from my head.

  The man standing there was beautiful. No, that wasn’t the word. That was too soft for him. He was…hot. Just that. Scorching freaking hot.

  He had closely cropped brown hair, dark eyes, and a jawline my fingers itched to trace. He was muscular, but not in that body-builder, spend-too-many-hours-at-the-gym way. No, there was an edge to him that said muscle was all about being able to use his body in a variety of ways, like holding his own in a fight or making a woman come until she passed out.

  On sight, he was the kind of man—and he was definitely all man even though he looked my age at twenty-one—you just knew was trouble, but made trouble look really, really appealing.

  It was then it occurred to me I was staring like a fool and my brain snapped back into gear. Feeling my cheeks flush, I ducked my head and stepped to the side so I was up against the shelf, opening the aisle.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  He didn’t walk past me, though. He stayed still for so long, I couldn’t resist looking up at him.

  He was grinning at me. It wasn’t much, not some huge, cheesy grin I would probably give him if I tried to smile right then. It was just a kick up one corner and a decided warmth to his eyes. It was the most incredible smile I’d ever seen.

  It was also directed my way, and I had no idea what to do with that, so the word vomit started.

  “Um…can I help you find something?” I asked, like I worked there or something—which I did not, despite the fact that I’d made it clear to the owner I was in the market for a job if she ever had an opening.

  “Saw you from outside,” he replied, nodding his head toward the panes of glass making up the front of the store. Then, he held his hand out and said, “Jack,” as an introduction.

  Shifting the old copy of my preferred Frances Hodgson Burnett title to my left hand, I shook his. “Quinn.”

  “You working?” he asked.

  “Oh, ugh…no. I don’t work here,” I stuttered, and those lips shifted into a definite smirk as he recognized my offer as the nervous reaction it was, not the rehearsed line of an employee.

  “So, Quinn Who Doesn't Work Here,” he teased, “does that mean you’re free to grab coffee with me?”

  Whoa. Okay. I was not expecting that.

  “Yes,” I squeaked out. Actually squeaked, like a mouse.

  The embarrassment lasted only a second though, because then he really smiled at me, and if I hadn’t still been pressed up against the shelf behind me, I might have fallen over.

  He had me, absolutely, from that moment. I let him take me for coffee. I didn’t even put up much of a fight when he bought that copy of The Secret Garden for me. In the weeks that followed, I found a stand so I could give that book a special place on the shelves where it would always be prominent. There was a framed picture of us the day we were married next to it. I never took those down, even though I became very adept at avoiding looking at that shelf.

  I’d been awkward the whole time we walked over to the coffee shop and for most of the two hours we sat there getting to know each other. Why? Because he was gorgeous and it intimidated me. I was the type of woman who was very comfortable with my looks. Sure, there were days for anyone when looking in the mirror was a less stellar experience than others, but on the whole, I was confident. Even as Jack bolstered that confidence daily, both with intent and just by being with me, his l
ooks flustered me.

  They’d done it that day in the bookstore, and when he proposed an impromptu road trip a week later. They’d done it when he pointed out the courthouse, and they still did it two years later, sitting on that bed.

  If I ever decided to get married again, I was not allowing myself to pick a man who had that effect on me—not again.

  Before I could say anything about how he should let me go—in every sense—he spoke again. “How’re you feeling?”

  Ugh. He was being sweet. Great. That was the last hit my determination to get him out of my life needed.

  “Better,” I answered. My throat was still sore, though not nearly as much as it had been. Before, speaking felt like swallowing sandpaper. Now, it felt like I needed a lot of water. I had a touch of a headache, but whether that had to do with being sick was anyone’s guess.

  “Your fever broke yesterday. Last time I checked, you were only running a little high,” he explained.

  Yesterday was not a helpful clue to how long I’d been there, so it was time to just ask. “What day is it?”

  “Friday,” he replied.

  Friday. I was supposed to meet him on Tuesday. I hadn’t expected it had been that long.

  “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  His hand came up, his fingers skimming down my cheek. They were cool compared to my still fever-flushed skin.

  “My job, baby,” he said. “I’ve done a shit job of it. That’s about to change.”

  I didn’t want to hear his promises. We’d made a host of them, and he hadn’t just broken them, he’d defaulted on having to keep them at all.

  “I need to go back to the hotel,” I said in response.

  His jaw clenched, but his voice was calm when he said, “I had one of my brothers check you out. I’ve got your stuff here.”

  He did what?

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re staying here, and I don’t mean for however long you were planning to be in town,” he said.

  “I’m not staying,” I insisted.