I Can Love You Page 7

  Quinton laughed. He pressed a button, stopping the music before playing what he had recorded thus far. “Tell me if you remember this.”

  A few bars into the song they dubbed “My Own,” Tara recalled the melody from the night they spent writing together at her apartment. “It sounds great.”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to surprise you with it. I think it has the potential to be a big one. I even see an Oscar once it’s tightened up a bit and placed with the right movie.”

  “Really? You think so?” She smiled. “That’s a dream in itself, but I’m closer to retirement than setting myself down that path.”

  Quinton reached for the button that would stop everything and pressed it. “Retire? You’re just getting started.”

  “You’re right, but after I turn in this project, I can walk, and some days, I’m tempted. But what else can I do besides sing, anyway? I would love to go to school and finally earn a degree, or I could spend the rest of my days traveling. You know that I’ve been to nearly every corner of the world but haven’t seen it? Every day that goes by, the closer I get to wanting to announce that I’m done with this.”

  “You have too much left in you that’s yet to come out. Don’t even think of quitting on me now.” He made some adjustments to the track using his computer and clicked to save those changes before releasing a wireless mouse. “Tara, can we try something different with this song?”

  “Like what?”

  He pressed a button on a remote, casting a red glow around the room, setting a whole new vibe for what was about to go down. “For once, try to sing about being in love. I want to promise you a song that makes everything you sacrificed to get here worth it.”

  * * *

  Tara stared at a blank sheet of paper in her notebook. “Quinton, I give up.”

  “Baby, you just started. Let’s try it like this,” Quinton prodded, taking a sip of the Moscow Mule he made for himself. He lifted the copper mug and ice clinked together inside. It was his second with Tara still working on the first he mixed up an hour ago.

  Quinton moved from the chair across from Tara and sat next to her on the black leather sofa. His next move was to take the notebook from her.

  “I need my space and please would be nice.”

  Quinton’s only response was to tap her on the leg and signal for her to scoot over. He made himself comfortable, stretching an arm across the back of the sofa. He scooped her legs at the knees and shifted her body to stretch her legs across his lap. Once settled, Quinton set the notebook in front of him, using her legs as a surface to work on.

  She watched him skim the lyrics that would not come together for her and hold out his hand for the pen that she gladly handed over. He hummed the melody, jotting a few lines on the pad with Tara peering over his shoulders when he started writing faster.

  “Oh, I like where you’re going with that.” Not liking the feeling of idle hands, she reached for her mug and took another sip. “I don’t think I’ll be any good in there. You made this on the strong side.” Tara pointed toward the mug. On the opposite side of the partitioned wall, he set up her favorite microphone ready for her to record vocals.

  “Lightweight.” Quinton winked at her. “Okay, here is the tricky part. Now close your eyes. What does a man’s touch feel like to you if we put it to music?”

  “You know what it’s like to touch a woman.”

  Quinton smiled, showing off his dimples. “I know a lot about touching women, but we’re writing for you. What that feels like to you.” He added, “And I’m not talking about the motherfucker you hook up with from time to time. I know he ain’t doing a damn thing for you.”

  Tara pushed into his shoulder and laughed. “Phil is touching me just fine, thank you.”

  Quinton looked at her out the side of his eye before returning his attention to writing. “You lie so well, Blue.”

  “I’m not a liar.”

  “How can you go weeks, even months without seeing ol’ boy?’

  “Our schedules. You know that. I’ve been recording and touring nonstop, and Phil works.”

  “He’s a vet.”

  “Dentist.”

  “That’s worse. I know if I were your man, the only mouth I couldn’t wait to tend to every motherfuckin’ day would belong to those lips right there. Where he at anyway? You’re not working.”

  “I’m not, but he is. We have an understanding. I told you before it’s not that serious between Phil and me. I can’t do serious with anyone, including Phil.”

  “That’s ‘cause it ain’t shit happening with him.”

  “Because you know so damn much.”

  “I do. I fuck my woman 'til I need a restraining order just to keep her from stalking the dick in search of more.”

  Tara rolled her eyes and giggled. “You are good at issuing those.”

  He laughed with her. Quinton put pen to paper and scratched out a section before he scribbled something else. “Back to work. How about this? I don’t want you to touch it anymore.”

  “Say what now?”

  “The song. You wrote that you wanted him to touch you. A kiss is better. Hotter. A kiss has legs. Let’s talk about that instead. Close your eyes, think about being kissed, and say whatever comes to mind.”

  “Why can’t I be the one doing the kissing instead of the receiver?”

  “Then go there. Shit, do whatever the fuck feels good. Just close your eyes and write.”

  So she did.

  With eyes closed, Tara sensed Quinton watching her.

  One man kissed her in ways she’d never forget, and that was Marcus. She searched her memory, almost ashamed that she had to dig so far back to recall a kiss worth writing about.

  Tara remembered a sunny afternoon. Her throat was sore, and her voice gone after spending the night before working with an inexperienced producer. The producer took advantage of her octave range, and he seemed to ask her to perform notes for his enjoyment rather than the song they were working on. New in the business, Tara was afraid to complain.

  She was there to perform background vocals for Pure. However, once Tara’s voice became overstrained and hoarse, they dismissed her from the recording session. Instead of returning to the apartment, she took a train to the apartment Marcus shared with his best friend, Steve.

  Memories of Tara and Marcus secluded in his room while he nursed her throat back to health brought a smile to her face, and she held on trying to recall just what his lips felt like, how his tongue tasted. All the sensations she tucked away after experiencing a first love like theirs, but the memory of him closing the door helped that smile fade away just as quick as it came.

  She felt Quinton’s hand rubbing against her thigh, coaxing her to speak. “Hey, why am I losing you?” he asked.

  Tara opened her eyes to stare into his smoldering black ones. His look held her without him even touching her.

  “I’m still here.”

  “I see.”

  His teeth slowly grazed his bottom lip. A bold, confident move that was so simple and meaningless, yet left Tara wanting to follow behind with her tongue to see if his lips taste as sinful as the sensation the gesture caused.

  “I-I was just trying to remember something.”

  “A kiss?”

  Tara nodded.

  “What are you feeling?” Quinton asked gently.

  “Huh?”

  “Earth to Tara?” he said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Get back in your zone.”

  “Kiss me.”

  He asked, his tone guarded. “What about the kiss?”

  Tara reached for his shirt to pull his body closer. “I said kiss me, Q. Help me get into that zone. I want to kiss you. That’s what this whole song is basically about now, right? A kiss?”

  “Blue, you crazy.” He laughed it off, turning his head away.

  “Quin.”

  “Nah. You ain’t ready,” he teased, but his dead set eyes and serious face zeroed in on hers.

&nb
sp; “Remember when we were shooting the video, and we were so close to kissing each other? That was a vibe worth capturing. Let’s go there.”

  Quinton looked back, and she saw his warm gaze. “What does an old video have to do with us writing this song?”

  “I can describe what I feel as it’s happening.” She said aloud to convince them both. “This is art. We’re creating art. The same way a painter can look at a nude model, and it means nothing, we should be able to act this stuff out to some extent.”

  “I can paint you naked after this?”

  “Never. Are we going to do this or not? Just one kiss. We go in, we capture it, and we move on.”

  “Sounds so clinical. You sure you want this?” He moved closer to comply but held back. Restraint in his stance, as if what she asked would change everything, and she needed to convince him it wouldn’t. Or would it?

  Their faces inched closer, drawing Quinton and Tara into dangerous territory. She inhaled the scent of his cologne, smooth, sensual, and sexy with fresh citrus notes. “You’re right. It was a dumb idea,” she said as soft as a whisper.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Q replied, not needing her to repeat herself.

  His steady gaze brought the gap between them to a close. Quinton set his drink down, keeping his eyes on hers while backing her into the corner of the sofa. She felt his fingers running through her hair and the hardness of his body pressing into hers as they became more familiar with each other. Reacquainted in ways that were once interrupted and without the prying eyes of a video crew present.

  Quinton pulled back to get one last look at her before his hand cupped her face and long fingers lifted her chin toward his, guiding her lips to him.

  His tongue swiped at her lips, coaxing her to invite him to enter. One she eagerly offered. Their mouths merged, and tongues mingled, drawing them closer, further blurring the line she claimed she’d never cross with him.

  An orgasmic sensation coursed through her core daring Tara to move closer to the edge of bliss and leap into an abyss she never knew she needed, yet also kept locked within her secret desires.

  As he moved to deepen the kiss, probing her mouth, letting her taste the bite of ginger and bursts of lime, he left her parched. Longing for more. She felt him grow harder against her thigh and curled her body into his, parting her legs. He pressed himself into the juncture of her thighs. Tara wanted to say something, something to either stop the sensation she was feeling or bring him closer sooner, and when he ran his hand up her side to cup her breast, she felt an intense awakening taking her back to a time when everything felt this right.

  “Damn, baby.” Quinton murmured against her alluring mouth. “I like the way you write.”

  A loud knock on the door jolted Quinton pulling their faces away.

  “Yeah,” Quinton nervously huffed, moving back, so he was sitting.

  Logan walked in and assessed the sexual tension in the room. “I’m running around the corner to grab a bite. Want anything?”

  Quinton shook his head. “We’re calling it a night, Logan. Something came up.” Logan looked in Tara’s direction, but she was hiding her blushing face from view, and he left.

  Quinton started turning off the equipment while Tara blew out the candles. She kept her distance by remaining on the opposite side of the room, and the silence was loud.

  “Why don’t we shake this mood? Feel like going to a club tonight?” Quinton asked.

  Tara readily agreed, saying, “I’d love to.” Grateful for the distraction.

  * * *

  “How did you lose Grim?” Quinton asked as they entered the elevator. He looked across the small space at her studying her for signs of what brought on their kiss. “I’m surprised he didn’t come with you to the studio.”

  “I got out of Philadelphia in such a rush that I left him behind,” Tara said with a laugh. “Long story. He should be on his way back now. I’ll tell you on the way to the club. Where do you want to go?”

  The elevator doors parted, and Quinton led her out into a stark, narrow black and white lobby void of furniture excerpt for a high counter security station where staff scanned identifications and restricted unauthorized visitors. All the trappings of his award-winning studio, one would expect to find, were visible on the floors above. “I’m not sure. I better call my boys since you don’t have your people.”

  Quinton took out his phone to make a call to one of his bodyguards, a group of men he hired to keep off the streets rather than his need for safety, and the two finalized plans determining the best meeting point. Two members of his security, who worked whenever he was in the building, stood and walked toward the couple to escort them outside.

  Outside the building, the sound of tires peeling stopped all four of them.

  “Gun!” The warning shout set off a chain of events that sent everything into slow motion around them.

  His first and only reaction was to protect the woman beside him and pray they made it out alive.

  * * *

  In an instant, Tara’s body became a rag doll being yanked and throttled against her will. Quinton had grabbed her, turning Tara away from the chaos. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pressed her face against his chest to shield her, and with a tight grip, held her while ducking for cover.

  Someone in a car fired off multiple shots in rapid succession. Where the bullets travelled or if they found their target, Tara didn’t know. All she saw was darkness from beneath Quinton’s body as another hail of bullets fired above her.

  The screams. The echoes. The sound of glass shattering around them and fire blazed metal piercing the concrete jungle surrounding them filled the air.

  As quickly as it happened, it stopped.

  Tara opened her eyes when the shattering of glass ended, and she heard police sirens. She recognized one man rushing to help her. Tara didn’t move. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Something substantial was on top of her, dead weight that pinned her, pushing her entire body into the asphalt.

  She turned her head, feeling the wetness of the ground on her cheek. A body lay on the sidewalk nearby. The guy was motionless in a pool of blood that was spreading to meet the one she, too, lay in.

  Blood.

  Tara froze.

  Someone moved the weight from on top of her. Once free, she filled her lungs with the frigid air. They needed to get out of there. She needed Quinton so they could go.

  “Damn,” a voice that sounded like Quinton’s bodyguard said. “No. No. No.”

  Quinton.

  He was with her. Holding her. Grabbing her. Protecting her.

  No.

  “Tara?” the voice called out to her. “Tara, can you hear me?” He repeatedly asked her to respond to him. Then someone else insisted that she remain still, but Tara wanted to get up. Her head was throbbing, but she needed to find him. She eased her body up slightly but collapsed into the arms of whoever was tending to her.

  “Somebody call 911!” one of the bodyguards shouted. “Hold on. Help is on the way. Hold on, guys.”

  “I’m fine. I just need to . . . ” Tara began, forgetting what she had intended to do already. She stopped moving against their grasp when she saw the blood staining her jacket and streaking her skirt.

  Quinton.

  Snow flurries started to drift down, the slight accumulation of white flakes turning a scarlet red once they landed. Tara focused on staying strong. The worst was over. Then she saw her hand inside Quinton’s blood-stained lifeless one, and her body gave in. Everything around her faded to black.

  Chapter 6

  Tara heard sounds—people talking, machines beeping—but she kept her eyes tightly closed, afraid of what she might see. Blood. His blood was the last thing she remembered before blacking out. She braced herself and then opened her eyes.

  Blinking rapidly, Tara tried to make out the blurred images around her.

  “Dr. Barden, I think she’s coming back to us,” a nurse said.

  “Wh . . . where
. . . am . . .”

  “Shh . . . Shh, doll, don’t strain yourself. You are in the hospital. They brought you in early this morning. Try to relax. I’ll check your vitals now.”

  “Quinton. Where’s Quinton?” Tara anxiously asked.

  “Shh . . . Shh, just a second. We’ll find your friend in a minute. A man is here with you, but he must have stepped out.”

  Quinton.

  Relieved, Tara rested her head against the pillow. Then the sharp smell of antiseptics invaded her nostrils, causing her body to tense as she became more fully aware of where she was. Hospitals always upset her. She said goodbye to her mother in a hospital, lost her father in another, and gave away her child in one. Hospitals and losses were the same.

  They called numbers out. Someone was holding Tara’s eyes open as they flashed a light in each one. More machines beeped. Voices murmured. Then silence.

  Even with all the commotion going on around her, Tara barely noticed.

  “I need to find Quinton.”

  “Here’s your friend now,” the nurse said. Gesturing at a dark figure in the room’s doorway. “I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”

  “Grim?” Tara asked.

  “Surprised to see me? I guess you would be,” Grim noted once the room had cleared out. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “What do you mean?” Tara asked.

  “It’s bad enough, you run in and out of town unchaperoned, but this takes the cake. What in the world possessed you to run off and leave me in Philly? You are so irresponsible, sometimes! Too many times.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes.

  “Where is he?”

  Grim paused, turning away and walking to the window. “He’s in ICU. Barely alive when he got here. They don’t know if he will make it.”

  Tara’s body trembled beneath the bedcovers, and the tears fell. “What do you mean? He was fine. He was there with me. He has to be all right.”

  “Tara, he lost a lot of blood. They had him in surgery all day,” Grim said, his tone softened. He walked back to her bed and stood beside it, allowing her a glimpse at the dark circles under his eyes and fatigued appearance. Tapping the bedrail as he spoke, Grim made a lethal promise. “Whoever did this will pay for what they did to my wife’s family. Do you recall anything? See anyone?”