Stroke of Luck - Opal Carew Page 0,17
walking, but didn’t turn.
“April, are you upset about how I acted earlier? Because I’m sorry about the way I behaved.”
She shook her head. “That’s not it.”
“Then what is it? Has something new happened?”
She drew in a shaky breath and nodded.
“Then come here and tell me.”
“No, I don’t think—”
“I said come and tell me,” he said firmly. He walked toward her and took her hand, then led her to the couch facing the window. He sat down beside her.
“I want you to understand, I’m not trying to get sympathy,” she said. “I’m not trying to get anything.”
“Noted.”
She gazed at him with wide, sorrowful eyes, still gleaming from her tears. Every protective instinct he had surged forward. She bit her lip, and his heart ached. God, he’d always loved how that made her look so sweet and innocent.
He squeezed her soft, delicate hand. “Just tell me.”
“It would be easier to show you.”
She drew her hand from his, and he hated feeling it slip away. She picked up her cell phone from the side table and flicked it on, then handed it to him.
As he read the series of texts, his chest constricted.
Hell, her ex was a fucking asshole.
He glanced at her again. “I take it he can follow through on these threats?”
She nodded.
“What about friends? Do you have anyone who can help you?”
She shook her head. “I moved straight to Lachelle when we graduated. My friends are his friends. They’re loyal to him. And I didn’t really make any of my own friends during college.”
He remembered. She’d been painfully shy. He’d had a devil of a time getting to know her himself. Then after she’d left him, whenever he saw her, she’d always been hanging out with Maurice’s friends.
“And I don’t have any family.” Her voice wavered.
Goddamn, he couldn’t help himself. He slid his arm around her and pulled her to him. She rested her head on his chest, and, fuck, feeling her close to him like this made him want so many things. Stupid things he shouldn’t let himself want. Like keeping her in his arms forever. Like marrying her and being with her for the rest of his life.
She drew in a breath, then straightened her back, easing away from him.
“But it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’ll figure something out.”
Part of him wanted to convince himself she was playing the martyr to see if he’d jump in and rescue her. But he couldn’t quite manage it.
“How?” he demanded gently.
She stood up and paced. “I don’t know. Not yet. Maybe I’ll get a job at the hotel.”
“I’m not sure they need a graphic designer. Maybe you could get a job waiting tables or cleaning rooms, but only if you’ve done it before. This is a high-end hotel. They want someone with experience. And even if you do get a job,” he said gently, “how will you find somewhere to live without first and last month’s rent?”
Her expression crumpled. She stopped pacing and faced him.
“Quinn, what do you expect me to say? I’m trying to stay positive, and you’re not making that easy.”
“I’m not trying to make it easy. I just want you to understand the reality of your situation.”
Which was pretty dismal right now.
Anger flared in her blue eyes. “You don’t think I know? Not only do I have no money, no job, and nowhere to live, I also have to figure out how to pay you back for my hotel bill.”
He frowned. “I keep telling you, that’s not an issue. I don’t want you to pay me back.”
“What you want and what I want are in complete opposition,” she said, her eyes blazing. “You don’t necessarily win.”
Why the hell did she cling to the pipe dream of paying him back? Unless she assumed she’d find a rich husband and pay Quinn with that sucker’s money.
That thought triggered the emotional upheaval simmering below the surface.
Anger flared. More likely, she was just trying to convince him that she was reliable and honest so she could get under his skin again. She’d been doing an amazingly good job of that.
His jaw clenched. “Get this straight,” he said between gritted teeth. “I don’t want your money.”
* * *
April’s eyes widened at the cold glint in Quinn’s eyes.
She had dropped her guard because he’d been so compassionate. When he’d held her in his arms, she’d felt cared for. Protected.
It had felt wonderful.
Until he’d poked at her precarious attempt to remain optimistic. Then everything had collapsed around her, leaving her stomach in a total state of