Chasing a Legend

  “You made this amazing gift for some woman, and you’re an amazing guy, and she didn’t want it!” Kiera scoffed and pressed the metal heart against her chest, as if cradling it. “Well, she’s an idiot.”

  Quinn’s lips twitched. “Yeah, I thought so, too.”

  “Hmmph,” she huffed. She held the heart back out to him. She couldn’t have it in her hands another second—not when it had sent her emotions into a tailspin. A few minutes ago, she’d been sure he hated her and glad she had closed this chapter between them. This tiny, metal heart and the softness it had elicited from him had ripped hers open and she wasn’t ready. Was she? “It’s really a beautiful piece of work, Quinn. I’m impressed…amazed, even.”

  “Thanks.” His fingers closed around hers as he accepted it and then slid it into his pocket. Kiera tried to ignore the tingle that raced through her body at his touch, or how she wanted to hold on to the heart and never give it back.

  Taking a step toward the door, Quinn paused and looked back at her as if he was about to say something but was trying to decide whether it was a good idea or not.

  She smiled and gave him a small wave goodbye, wishing she had something smart to say, or that he would stay longer.

  “Hey, do you maybe want to see where I made it?” he asked, his eyes skittering around the room as if he was worried she’d say no.

  As if I could. Kiera glanced down at her watch. Technically, she could leave. She didn’t have any more patients today and was off all weekend. “Right now?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  She could think of fifteen reasons why not—professionalism, their complicated history, the heat she felt in her core when she was around him—but every rationale disappeared as she smiled. “I’d like that. I’m done for the day anyway.” She started walking back in the direction of her office. “Let me go grab my stuff. Did your mom bring you today?”

  He shook his head. “No. Taxi. Fiona needed Ma’s help to get Shea to her occupational therapist.”

  Kiera warmed at all the familiar names, a pull in her heart toward the people she viewed as her family, too. She hadn’t realized how much before, but it was really good to be home again. “How about I drive us, then?” she asked, returning from the office after putting away her doctor’s coat and gathering her purse and jacket.

  “That’d be great,” he said, his dark eyes making her shiver.

  This would be great. Fingers crossed.

  —

  Why did I invite her here? Quinn leaned down and unfastened the lock at the bottom of the garage door. It was hard to do with his weak leg, but he didn’t want to have to ask her for help, so he powered through.

  Honestly, he was confused as to why he’d asked her here in the first place. He had no interest in rehashing things between the two of them, but when he’d seen her reaction to his handmade heart…he couldn’t help himself. His ego had stepped in, and he’d wanted to show off—hell, it was the first thing he’d been able to be truly confident about since his accident.

  No one, not even his family, knew about his studio. He hadn’t even told them where he lived until recently, which had made for many an exasperated rant from his mother when she hadn’t been able to access any of his things after the accident. Even then, he hadn’t allowed them in, preferring to wear his brothers’ clothes during his recovery rather than go get his own.

  So why he was willing to show Kiera this part of himself confused him, but it felt right. He could trust her—at least about this.

  As it was, she stepped forward and helped him push the door up. They let it slide out of their hands and slam angrily against the ceiling, as if complaining that it hadn’t been opened in a while.

  Kiera’s eyes went wide as she stepped inside, and he moved over to flip on the industrial lights overhead. “Oh. My. Gosh. What is this place?”

  “My studio,” he explained, the lights buzzing as they powered on and illuminated the long concrete room. “It used to be a mechanic’s garage, but I bought it a year ago and turned it into my studio. Fixed up the top floor as an apartment.”

  “Wait, you live here, too?” She looked at him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Quinn, this is so amazing!”

  He just smiled, watching her walk around different pieces in the room, surveying everything slowly and meticulously. One entire wall was filled with broken-down motorcycles, another with shelves filled with tools, and his giant metal statues were dispersed throughout the center of the floor.

  The fascination in her eyes, the smile on her lips—he drank it in eagerly. There was an unexpected pride in his gut as he saw each of his pieces as if for the first time, through her gaze.

  “Are all of these made out of motorcycle parts?” she called to him from the other side of the room as he leaned against the wall.

  “Mostly, but there’s glass and other sheet metals thrown in here and there, too.”

  The statue she was standing by now was of a woman pushing out of a wave that looked to be drowning her. He loved this piece because, depending on the angle it was viewed from, the waves were something different—hands choking her, tears swallowing her, a rush of love consuming her. It was how he’d pictured Kiera—so overwhelmed with everything her future had to offer that she’d completely missed him standing there, wanting her, wanting to tackle that future with her.

  A silly thought, he knew, but he wondered if she saw that. She stood longer at that statue than any of the others, one arm around her waist and the other under her chin.

  He walked over to her, careful not to let his cane hit any of the pieces. “What do you think?” he asked once he was alongside her.

  She didn’t say anything at first, but he heard her sniffling.

  “Keeks?” He slid the backs of his fingers down her cheek, turning her chin to face him. “Why are you crying?”

  A small tear had trailed down her face, but she was smiling, and he could not have been more confused. “Quinn, this is so beautiful. Your work, your art…it’s masterful. It’s emotional and painful and uplifting. Everything art should be.”

  Heat rose in his cheeks, unaccustomed to such praise, particularly since only one person in the entire world knew about his hobby, and she was standing here in front of him crying over it.

  Kiera circled his waist with one of her arms, leaning her head against his shoulder. A simple, comforting pose that they’d been in hundreds of times over the years, but it felt heavier now. More meaningful.

  He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her back, and just stared at the sculpture for a little while longer.

  “I want to see how you make these,” she said, stepping away from him and wiping at her face. “Will you show me?”

  He nodded and pointed to a large workbench on one side of the room. “Yeah, I normally work standing over there, but I think I’m going to need a chair. I know it’s not very gentlemanly to ask this of a lady, but would you mind grabbing me one of the chairs from my apartment upstairs?”

  “Oh, of course,” she said, taking the key he held out to her. “You definitely shouldn’t be doing stairs, let alone carrying things right now.”

  “Thanks. It’s through that door and up the stairs. Any chair you see is fine,” he instructed, pointing to a small wooden door on the far side of the room.

  “I’ll be right back,” she promised, heading for the door.

  His gaze slid down her body. It was impossible not to notice how well she filled out her tight jeans, the fabric hugging her curves. Her hair fell down her back and swished from side to side with each step. It took all the restraint he had not to reach for her, to slide his fingers through her soft, billowing mane. He wanted to slide his tongue down the flushed skin that pressed against the top of her shirt, threatening to spill over.

  Quinn paused as he realized what he was telling himself.

  He wasn’t thinking in past tense anymore. He was considering her here and now, wanting her despite everything that had happened between the
m.

  Walls were crumbling, and he was desperately trying to rebuild them, but he’d just shared a part of himself no one else had ever seen. He’d trusted her, and she’d taken that gift and cradled it gently in her hands. She’d loved his work, validated every bit of who he was. It wasn’t as a friend so much, the way he’d expected; it was somehow deeper…more intimate.

  Maybe she wasn’t the young girl who’d overlooked him as a potential partner six years ago.

  Maybe now she saw what he’d known all along—they were meant to be.

  Chapter 6

  Quinn’s apartment was almost exactly as Kiera had pictured, all clean surfaces, industrial, and modern. Somehow, there were still warm touches here and there—soft couches and armchairs, big pillows and throw blankets. It didn’t come across as harsh, just very…masculine. She lingered briefly, not wanting him to think she was up there spying through all his things, but she couldn’t stop herself from taking a quick lap around the place.

  She paused at the fridge, smiling at the photographs pinned beneath magnets that had that signature style of his own creation. His entire family smiled back at her. Funny candids and posed stills of different Kavanaghs, plus birth announcements, wedding invitations, and even championship photos of Quinn and Kane together in the ring celebrating one of Kane’s wins. She knew Quinn had been Kane’s agent, but wasn’t sure if he was still doing that after his injury.

  Moving to the dining area next, she picked up one of his chairs—happy it wasn’t too heavy—and started for the stairs. She was eager to get back to the studio and see Quinn in action—and even more eager to see this whole new side to him. His studio, his apartment, the whole building, really, were so amazingly unique, and the sculptures he’d created were breathtaking. He’d always been a doodler when they were kids, drawing little designs on his skin in ink, and on hers, too. It was no wonder he had so many tattoos now.

  Metalwork was unexpected, though.

  Her favorite piece stood in the middle of the studio, the figure of a woman entirely made of molded motorcycle parts and dark glass. Something about it was so sad, yet optimistic at the same time. She couldn’t believe the little boy who’d once teased her for having her sixteenth birthday at a paint-your-own-pottery store was the same man who created art from rusted old junk.

  “I was beginning to think I’d have to come drag you back down here,” Quinn said as she rounded the corner and reentered the studio, carrying the chair over to his workbench.

  She grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t take that long.”

  “Keeks,” he said, a suspicious lilt to his voice as one corner of his lips tilted up into half a smile. “Were you snooping?”

  She huffed, dropping the chair down with a clatter. “I certainly was not.”

  “You’re lying,” he teased, a singsong tone to his voice as he sat down and turned to face the bench.

  “I didn’t see anything that wasn’t out there to be seen,” she vaguely argued, leaning her elbows against the wooden table as she stood catty-corner from him. “That’s not snooping.”

  “Whatever you say, Keeks.” He grabbed at some of the tools on the table and began talking her through his process.

  They started simple, and honestly, she just watched him work, enjoying how passionate he was about it. She’d always thought his eyes were so dark they were almost black, but right now, they were sparkling. He spoke animatedly, flecks of light shining in his eyes as he beamed at her. It was an entirely different Quinn than the moody, sullen patient she’d been seeing the last few weeks. It was also an entirely different Quinn from her best friend, who’d always done what everyone else wanted and gone with the flow.

  She’d never seen this side of him before—the individual who knew what he wanted, and was eagerly chasing it. He was in charge. He was commanding, and the flutter in her stomach turned into full-on heat as she watched his biceps flex while he soldered metal in front of her.

  Kiera couldn’t deny it anymore. She was unbelievably attracted to him right now.

  Not just to how he looked, because even with the cane at his side and the scars beneath his clothes, he was downright jaw-dropping. Sleek black hair that swept perfectly out of his face, dark eyes that smoldered when he looked at her, and a mouth that she’d never truly considered before, but now couldn’t stop staring at.

  But none of that was why she felt an ache in her core, or her nipples pushing against the fabric of her shirt. She loved his passion, and the way he made sure she was careful and wouldn’t be hurt. She loved the way he guided her hands as he taught her, wanting to share this part of himself with her. She loved the way the sound of his laughter rumbled inside her when she made a joke, or how he blushed when she praised his work.

  She loved Quinn—that was nothing new. But it felt different now, and she wanted to give in to every part of it. It felt like that brief flash of affection six years ago that she’d quickly shut down, sure it had been only a fluke.

  “There you go,” he said, turning to her and holding out a thin bangle cuff that they’d just made from a tailpipe. It was sleek and shiny, resembling nothing of what it had come from. “It’s yours now.”

  He slid it over her wrist, and she held out her hand, admiring the impromptu bracelet. “It’s gorgeous, Quinn.”

  Her eyes moved past the bracelet to its creator, sitting back in his chair and staring at her. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but then closed it, and the silence suddenly bothered her. The space between them bothered her. She was completely overwhelmed by everything she’d seen tonight, everything he’d said, everything he was.

  Stepping around the corner of the table, she leaned down and captured his face in her hands, pausing for only a moment to see his eyes widen and his tongue flicker across his lower lip. Then she kissed him—soft, slow brushes of her lips over his. A moan rumbled through his chest and his hands reached for her hips, grabbing and pulling her down until she was seated on his lap, both legs to one side of his body.

  The kiss deepened, and he moved his hands to the back of her neck, wove his fingers through her hair. As if restless, he dropped them to her arms and skimmed them up and down. They wandered around to her back as he explored every inch of her mouth, his tongue diving between her lips.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on as she pushed her chest against his, needing to be closer, needing to be completely lost in him.

  And she was.

  Memories of their one night together flashed through her mind—the connection, the passion, the desire—and suddenly she couldn’t remember why she’d ever wanted him to be just a onetime thing. She wasn’t sure she could ever stop kissing him, stop feeling his arms circling her body or his lips nibbling hers. He moaned into her mouth, and she panted, unable to catch her breath but not caring.

  Until suddenly, she was hoisted backward and off him.

  Kiera gasped at the sudden movement, realizing he’d lifted her from his lap and stood her in front of him. Once she’d regained her balance, he let go and dropped his eyes, his head shaking.

  “Keeks, I can’t do this,” he said, shattering the hopes she hadn’t even known she had into a million pieces. The look of pain on his face—sheer agony—wounded her as she tried to catch her breath.

  “I’m sorry. I thought we both wanted…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “No, we did…we do, I do,” he tried again. “But I can’t.”

  She waited for more, anything to explain what “I can’t” meant. She didn’t even know what she wanted him to say, not having any of the answers herself. “That’s it? You can’t?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked around the studio, mainly because she was feeling tears pricking the back of her eyes and she couldn’t let him see her cry. Instead, she cleared her throat and nodded, adjusting her shirt. “Okay. I’m going to get going.”

  “You don’t have to leave, Kiera,” he said, but she
waved her hand.

  “Oh, I definitely need to leave before I humiliate myself further.” Grabbing her purse and jacket, she headed for the garage door. “I’ll see you Monday. Don’t forget your exercises.”

  He said nothing, and she hadn’t expected him to, but it hurt nonetheless that he didn’t call after her and beg her to stay. But that was who Quinn had always been.

  He’d never asked her to stay, and if he had…maybe things would be different.

  Chapter 7

  Quinn stared at his empty doorway where Kiera had been standing moments before. Everything from six years ago came flooding back to him. Not the sex, not the love, not the moment he’d realized he was in love with her. No, this was the pain, the heartbreak, watching her walk away and doing nothing to stop her.

  He felt wholly conflicted about Kiera’s behavior…and his own. He had been flirting with her, maybe not directly, but she must have picked up on it. Hell, just bringing her to his studio was a huge move. He didn’t show his sculptures to just anyone—or anyone at all. That had been opening himself to her on a deep level he hadn’t prepared for. And making her the bracelet. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d given her jewelry, for God’s sake. Nothing subtle about that.

  Quinn sighed heavily. No wonder she’d thought he was dropping hints, wanting her to kiss him…because he had. And not just then. Every time he’d seen her for as long as he could remember, he’d wanted to feel her lips pressed against his.

  As unbelievably passionate, deliriously intoxicating a kiss as he remembered from so many years ago. All these years, he’d thought he’d hyped it up in his head. He’d convinced himself that it was a childhood crush and that’s why their night had been so amazing, so memorable. But tonight? The moment Kiera’s fingers had touched his cheeks, when her lips had touched his, or when she’d pushed against him wanting more…it was perfect.

  It was exactly the same, and yet a thousand times different.