The Sweet Under His Skin (47 page)

Quentin brushed his hand down the side of her face. "You be exactly how you are, babe. I wouldn't want it any other way. But don't be embarrassed over this. It was too fucking fantastic to regret."

She felt a smile that she didn't volunteer. "It was," she agreed.

"You called me: Q," he teased.

"I did?" she hissed, mortified. "I did, didn't I?"

His smile was slow and sexy, but she was too exhausted to get all in a titter about it. "I liked it a lot."

"I liked all of it," she admitted, feeling her face grow warm again.

Quentin kissed the end of her nose and rolled to his back, dragging her with him so she was plastered to his side and secured under his arm. "I liked all of it too, babe."

Quentin was woken when Arielle rolled away from him to her side, and he was struck with fear by the film of sweat she'd left along his ribs, the air highlighting it by rushing between them to fill the void, suddenly cold.

He rubbed his face down, rolled up to one elbow and put his hand on her shoulder. It was soaking wet; she was sweating like she'd just run a marathon. "Arielle?" he whispered, running his hand down her arm, alarmed now. "Babe, you okay?" She mumbled something he couldn't make out and his heart froze. "Arielle," he repeated, firmer. "What's wrong?"

No response.

Fuck.

He got up, pulled his jeans on and crouched next to the bed in front of her. He cupped her face in his hands. "Arielle? What's wrong?"

Eventually she blinked, eyes focusing. "What?" she whispered, covering one of his hands with hers. "What's wrong?"

"Jesus, you're sweating like crazy. And you're out of it."

She wiped her forehead. "It's probably a fever," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "It's one of the side effects."

Shit, what had he done to her?

"What do we do about it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. It goes away. I'm okay, Quentin. I promise."

"You're scaring me," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She opened her eyes again, smiling. "Can you run me a slightly-warm bath?"

"Okay." He was immediately up and at it, flicking the bathroom light on and heading for the tub. He plugged the drain, turned the hot and cold on, feeling the temperature with his hand. It felt room temperature to him.

Then he returned to the bedroom just as Arielle sat up on the edge of the bed. He was struck then by her scars, the missing breast. When he made love to her he scarcely noticed it, but now he did. A brutal reminder of why she was sick on the first place. And he couldn't just give her a day to sleep? That thought was further beaten home by the fresh bruises on her hip bones and arms.

Fucking. Idiot.

"Hey," he scolded her, leaning down to scoop her up in both arms. "Let me do that."

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. He had a moment to realize she probably was fine. She was letting him take care of her to calm him down, give him something to do.

Clever little minx.

He set her on her feet next to the tub. She stepped over the edge and he held her by the hips like she might fall. He hovered while she eased down into the water, hands on both sides of the tub, sighing as she settled into place.

"Is the temperature okay?" He was fretting like a fucking new parent.

"It's fine. Quentin, please, relax." She held her hand out. "Sit down."

He did, kneeling next to the tub, taking her hand in his. "Want your soap?" he asked.

Arielle kept that kind smile on him. "Sure." Then she pointed. "The white bottle."

He popped the top and squirted the clear-pink crap into the stream from the tap, the smell hitting him and making him feel better. Once he'd put the bottle back Quentin leaned back against the wall and settled on his ass, knees up in front of him to rest him arms on. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Panic felt exactly the same as his chest being crushed.

"Are you okay?" she asked, head tilted towards him.

He clasped his hands together. "I'm fine, babe. Just worried about you." She sat up and reached out to turn the taps off, then leaned back again.

"I'm not that breakable, Quentin. I thought I was, but as it turns out, I'm pretty fucking tough."

Her swearing was enough to make him take notice. He'd liked it during the dirty talk before, but like this he was somewhat surprised. Then he had to grin. "Yeah, you are pretty fucking tough."

"I'm sorry I scared you," she said softly.

He shook his head. "Don't worry about me." Groaning, he got to his feet. "Relax, okay? Don't get out unless I'm here. I'll be right back."

He shut her in the bathroom, door closed tight, pulled on a T-shirt and boots and left his dorm room to find out what the hell she should eat next.

"Hey," he snapped at the bent-over form of a crawler who was grabbing something out from under the bar. "Where's T-bone?"

It was the blonde from the night before. She straightened and gave him her brightest grin. "Quentin, if you're looking for a threesome I'm right here."

"Jesus, take an hour off," he mumbled. "Where's T-bone?"

"I think he's in the bar. Can I help?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Go change my sheets. They're a mess and the kid's sleeping here again tonight."

She paled, staring after him as he made his way out. The bar doors were open and he headed for them, squinting against the sun. "T-bone!" he shouted, catching sight of that bald head.

"What?" the kid shouted back.

"Come here," he gestured with a hand, T-bone meeting him on the concrete. "Arielle's not doing so well. She's got a fever. What do I give her?"

T-bone blinked. "I'm not a doctor, Quentin."

"I know that, smart ass. But what do you think I should give her?"

"I think you're supposed to starve a fever but she needs liquids, too. There's a ton of fruit in the kitchen. Blend a bunch of it together."

"Not gonna taste like shit, is it?"

T-bone shook his head. "Not if it's all fruit."

"Thanks man."

"And maybe give her the rest of the day off," T-bone added knowingly. "She needs her strength."

Quentin was grinning, even though he spat out a reactionary "Fuck you" before heading into the clubhouse.

Before he was through the door he heard his name and turned, catching sight of Bishop heading his way. "We gotta talk," Bishop said, motioning with his hand for Quentin to follow him.

So Quentin did, following his prez into the clubhouse and finding a dark corner. Bishop leaned an elbow on the bar, eyes skirting the room. Quentin took up the same position, facing his president and rubbing his chin, waiting for the word.

"What's up?" he asked eventually.

"Dante's men want to know what Arielle's sister looks like so they can keep an eye out for her. Well, that what they say anyway."

Quentin frowned. "What? Why else would they want to see her?"

Bishop exhaled. "She owed Dante, too. Not a lot, just a few hundred, but she paid him in bunk bills when she was here. She told him her real goddamn name."

Quentin sighed. "You gotta be kidding me."

"If she turns up in Portus Felix, using again, I want them to let us know. For the sake of your girlie. Because if she is, we can't trust her. She'll rat you out to cover her own ass, you know that."

"I know, Bishop," Quentin assured him. "That's why Thelma took her out to the farm."

"Get a photo from Arielle, I'll pass it along to Dante. And I'll ask him to let her debt slide for the time being."

"Christ, if it's just a few hundred I'll cover it if it's up his ass that much."

Bishop gave him a look of disbelief. "Don't you dare start paying that bitch's bills." Quentin looked away, not in the mood to argue. "I mean it, Quentin. Don't pull her bullshit into this club. We'll protect your girl but that junkie is a disaster waiting to happen. Can't trust them, don't forget that."

"I know," he answered, meeting Bishop's gaze straight on.

"If anything feels off to you, you let me know. It makes me nervous as shit that Arielle's sister knows as much as she does and is just out there in the wind."

Quentin and Bishop held eye contact, and something in that moment was unsettling. Quentin's instincts were firing off like mad. Right then he knew that if shit went sour, Jolene was absolutely expendable. And if she betrayed them, she was dead. What would that mean for Arielle?

Quentin swallowed and nodded. "Okay. I'll get Arielle to check on her regularly, too. Maybe some guilt will keep her smarter."

Bishop nodded. "Good. Dante's guys are meeting with one of Reuben's lieutenants tomorrow. They're going to find out where Reuben is right now, see what his next moves are. Or, at least as much as a street-level dealer is allowed to know."

"Thanks, by the way, for letting Arielle and the kid stay here," Quentin added diplomatically. He wanted to buffer Arielle from Bishop's opinion of Jolene as much as possible. "She doesn't know what all the dangers are. I’ve no idea what she can handle."

Bishop bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. "I think she can handle more than you're giving her credit for. Make sure she tells you everything she knows, Quentin. And then tell us, okay."

"She will. And yeah, will do, man.I’m still part of this club."

"Yeah… Not that I doubt your skills with the ladies, but sex doesn't forge trust."

"It does with her," Quentin insisted. "But she'll tell me anyway. She has a limited tolerance for her sister, too. She's not an enabler."

Bishop nodded again. "Good. She doing okay?"

"She's running a fever. Apparently it's a side effect. Scared the shit out of me."

"You need anything call Mandy, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course."

He made his way back to the dorms, passing the blonde bitch on the way without sparing her a glance, re-entering his room and smiling that the bed was all done up again.

In the bathroom the water was draining and Arielle was standing in the tub, towel wrapped around her. She smiled at him, raising a leg to step over the side of the tub. He moved in immediately, scooping her up again in his arms.

"Quentin," she said, exasperated. "I'm fine, I'm feeling better."

"I don't care," he replied, carrying her into his room.

"Who made the bed?"

"The hired help," he replied, setting her down. He yanked open the dresser drawers and was surprised to see he did have some clothes there. A folded T-shirt with Dead Men was the first thing he saw, and he grabbed it, sniffed it, and turned back to Arielle as she was pulling the bedding back. He yanked the towel off of her, and she was spinning around to give him shit when he handed her the shirt. "Wear this," he asked, smiling.

She grabbed it out an obvious need to not be naked anymore. She pulled it on and it was huge on her, damn near hanging to her knees. The sleeves fell halfway between her elbows and wrists. Fuck, that shirt would likely be too big on him. He had no idea whose it was.

"It's really soft," she said, rubbing the sleeves with both hands.

Sweet
, he thought to himself. She was the personification of
sweet
, standing there in the clubhouse in a Dead Men shirt.

For the first time a twinge in his chest made him wonder what the hell he was doing. His nerves had him doubting his ability to do right by her.
I’m still part of this club…

Then Arielle smiled and climbed into his bed. He lost the thought immediately and went off to fix her some fruit juice.

"Aunt Arielle! Look!" Calvin shouted from the boxing ring, waving hands over his head that were encased in under-sized boxing gloves.

She had to laugh. "I see! Pretty cool. Where'd you find those?"

Quentin gave her a wink. "They're Dillon’s. Unfortunate about those tiny hands, yeah?"

She just shook her head, taking a sip of her tea and settling onto the chair to watch Calvin's P.E. class. She didn't have a moment to question why she was letting this happen; Calvin was so happy, so confident, and getting actual exercise. His homework had to be done before he could get in the ring, which was a joke because homework for him was about as challenging as it was for her to drink her tea.

Mandy made her way over to where she sat on fantastic high-heel boots, slim fit jeans, a locked and loaded leather jacket and a warm smile.

Arielle returned the smile with a wave and Mandy took a seat right next to her, exhaling. "How you doing, honey?"

Arielle shrugged, holding the tea on her leg. "The fevers aren't quite over. Had one this afternoon. It freaked Quentin out, bad."

Mandy smiled. "Those are normal, right?"

"Yeah. The chemo messes with everything. I bruise easily, too. Quentin thought he'd hurt me and that freaked him out."

Mandy gave a laugh. "Poor Quentin. He's not used to giving a shit." Arielle chuckled along with her. "And your little man's learning to throw down?" Mandy gestured to the ring.

"I don't mind it, actually. There's a certain…gentleman-code to what he's learning."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He's learning not to throw the first punch. If he ever needs to defend himself, I feel better knowing he can. And I trust him to always try walking away first. He's a smart kid. He knows why bullies bully."

"Any word on your sister?" Mandy asked after a moment of watching Calvin plow a few jabs into Quentin’s hands.

Arielle shook her head. "No,” she answered, taking another sip of tea. “Thelma's monitoring her phone calls to make sure nothing weird is happening. I'm just hoping this is the event that sobers her up."

Mandy opened her purse. "Speaking of substance abuse," she said wryly, "I brought you a bit more ganga to help with your appetite." She kept the bag below the edge of her bag, out of sight. "Might be good in a brownie."

Arielle looked around, like they might actually get busted here. "Oh. Thank you. Umm, T-bone brought me pot muffins, too. They're really good."

Mandy nodded and closed her purse again. "Good. Glad my boys are taking care of you."

"They really are. Everyone is."

"And don't worry about the bitches around here. You're a Dead Men's woman, you don't have to deal with that shit. Remember that."