The Gritty Truth (The Whiskeys Dark Knights at Peaceful Harbor #7) - Melissa Foster Page 0,15
too.”
Their eyes held for a long silent moment, heat and something deeper filling the space between them. His face was so close, she could see thin white scars above his left eyebrow and along his cheek. She wondered how he’d gotten them but was too distracted by the desires simmering inside her to hold on to the thought. She felt his fingers twitch on her hand, and he licked his lips, his eyes drilling into hers. She wondered if he was going to kiss her—and was surprised by how desperately she wanted him to. His fingers tightened around her hand, and her pulse quickened.
Kiss me…
QUINCY’S FINGERS ACHED to tangle in her hair, to cup her jaw and feel her beauty and her passion as he devoured the mouth he’d been fantasizing about for all these months. Damn, he loved her full lips. Angelina Jolie had nothing on her. But he’d promised himself he would take it slow so as not to scare her off. The problem was, Quincy had no idea how to do this. He knew how to fuck, and he knew how to be a friend, but he had no experience with the deeper emotions consuming him every time he saw Roni or texted with her. He had the urge to protect her, and at the same time, he felt a visceral need to be closer to her—and he wanted to explore all of it, to learn everything about her, to touch her, to hold her naked body while they lost themselves in each other.
What. The. Hell?
He’d never picked apart anything like this, much less a physical connection. But he had a feeling that sex with Roni wouldn’t be sex as he knew it, just like this date was different from anything he’d ever experienced or imagined. He and Penny had spent plenty of nights talking, but in all the time he’d known her, he’d never once felt anything even close to this. If he didn’t put on the brakes, he was going to take that kiss, and whatever this was would be over before they even got started.
He reluctantly moved his hand, instantly wanting to reclaim the connection. Instead, he took a swig of his water and cleared his throat in an attempt to calm his desires.
Yeah, that didn’t work.
He’d known since the first time he saw Roni there would be no tempering, but hell, he had to try. He went for a change in subject to steer his brain to a safer track and said, “Where did you grow up?”
“Not in this idyllic town, that’s for sure. I grew up over the bridge, in an awful, drug-infested neighborhood. My grandmother had lived there all her life and refused to move. But she wanted me to get out as soon as I graduated high school, which was why she pushed me so hard.”
“It’s strange that she wouldn’t have moved you out of there when you were younger.”
“The area wasn’t like that when she was growing up, and she said she wasn’t going to let anyone run her out of her home.”
“That’s gutsy. Did you stay clean?”
“Of course. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. My grandmother smoked a pack a day right up until the month she died. She would have throttled me if I’d so much as tried to smoke.”
“That’s good. That’s love.” That’s what Truman had done for him before going to prison. “Are your parents still around?”
Her gaze drifted to what was left of her salad, and she pushed the food around with her fork. “I don’t know who my mother is. My father left home when he was eighteen, and six years later he came back to live with my grandmother with me in his arms. I was about a week old. He was a drinker and a gambler, and he was in and out of my life for the first few years. He stole from my grandmother and he was mean. One day he showed up drunk, demanding money and tearing the apartment apart. My grandmother pulled a gun on him and told him to get out and never come back or she’d have him arrested.”
Bad memories resurfaced of the night Quincy had shown up at Truman’s place asking for money to pay off his debt to Puck. He’d never forget the disgusted, and so fucking disappointed, look on Truman’s face as he’d sent Quincy away and said, You made this fucking mess of a life you’re living. Unless you want to get