The bikers, transients who’d been well behaved and heavy tippers, waved as they left at twelve thirty. To Quinn’s relief, the place was empty of customers within fifteen minutes. For a moment, she watched the waitresses and busboy wiping down tables and flipping chairs while Sam counted cash at the old-fashioned register.
Resigned to the coming confrontation and wanting to get it over with, she said, “Why don’t you guys go home? We can handle the rest of this.” No one argued. As they filed out, chorusing their good nights, Quinn braced herself for Sam’s first salvo.
“Did you talk to Nick again?” he asked, surprising her.
“No.” She ducked under the bar pass-through and crossed to the door to lock it, peering out the small pane of glass onto the gravel lot for the millionth time. “I tried to call, but I still can’t get through.”
“He’s never come this early before.” Sam flipped one of the heavy oak chairs up onto a hewn and polished tabletop. “What do you think is going on?”
“There’s no point speculating.” She went to the other side of the room to help him. “Let’s not start listing all the possible reasons. That’s too stressful.” She didn’t want to tell Sam that Nick had told her to stay close to him. That would increase his worry and maybe keep him from going home. She desperately needed some space to get through the next few hours without giving in to the moon lust.
“Okay. So we’ll talk about us.” Sam pulled down a chair and sat in front of her.
“Can I say no?”
He just looked at her.
“Fine.” She sighed and half sat on a nearby table. Sam waited, his eyebrows raised, his mouth cocked, as if he already knew what she was going to say and found it absurd.
“You’re twenty-eight, Sam.”
“I know how old I am.”
Quinn folded her arms. “I’m ten years older than you.”
“I know how old you are, too.”
“I don’t want to keep you from fulfilling your destiny.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “And what’s my destiny?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She steeled herself, ignoring the slow roll of need in her gut. “It’s not me.”
He sobered. “Quinn…”
“No, Sam.” She made an effort to keep her voice steady. “You deserve a chance to find someone right for you. But that’s not the main issue.” She sighed. “It’s time.”
She didn’t want to talk about the way he’d been watching her. She recognized something in him that she’d buried deep inside herself, didn’t even acknowledge anymore. The belief that there was nothing else out there that could give him what he was missing. She’d tried to fill a hole in herself with Sam, using the moon lust as an excuse, not realizing it or seeing that she was creating a matching hole in him. And now she couldn’t believe she’d been so blind and selfish.
“I don’t get it.” He spread his arms wide. “I’m not looking for someone else!”
“That’s the problem!” she shot back. “I’m holding you back from finding something real and lasting. A relationship with a woman who won’t relegate you to one week every month, for one thing.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You need me.”
He meant it in a general sense, but it resonated physically. Need of the more carnal variety pulsed in half a dozen places. Quinn clenched her thighs, shifted her folded arms, and fought the impulse to reassure him. She’d told him the first week he worked for her that she would never lie to him. If she said she didn’t need him, he’d recognize the deception, and that would hurt him more than not being needed would.
“I’m not going to die if I don’t have sex,” she said instead. “I’ve managed three months already.”
“Yeah, and it took its toll. You had to work harder to do the same things this month, didn’t you?”
“No.” That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t completely true, either. When Sam raised his eyebrows, she said, “I got tired faster. But I need more sleep, that’s all. I should be able to manage this another way.” Frustrated, she pulled the bar towel off her shoulder and slapped it on the tabletop behind her.
“You’ve tried,” Sam said. “You told me so, back when you first hired me. It never worked, and the need grew. So why do you think it will be different now?”
“Because I’m older.”
“And more powerful. Wouldn’t that make the need worse?”
Damn him, he had an answer for everything. “I’ll find someone else.” Her gut twisted. The consequence of her heritage would be much easier to deal with if she didn’t care whom she slept with, but she always had. As much as it balanced her physically, sex with strangers or acquaintances left her more emotionally bereft, especially after her parents died.
Then came Sam. He’d filled so many holes in her life. Business manager, friend, family. Quinn knew that if she let him, he’d take that even further, marry her and raise children with her, and as blissful as the fantasy was, it would never be as perfect as he wanted it to be. She couldn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved.
“Who else?” He spread his hands and looked around. “Where are you going to find a guy like me? Available whenever you need him, able to take what you give—and give what you demand—and be safe? Not in here, I’ll tell you that much.”
Quinn didn’t respond. He was right. She’d tried before. She’d figured one-night stands were every guy’s dream, so it would be easy. But too much got in the way. Locals wanted her to do it on their schedule. Basic standards, like avoiding disease and not having sex with attached men, were impossible if she targeted travelers. Most of all, though, was the compulsion that grew as she got older and used more power. The sexual need for mental and physical balance wasn’t something she could rein in once unleashed. Sam was the only man who had managed to withstand the intensity long-term. The only one who hadn’t called her a freak.
Sam sprawled in his chair in front of her, his long legs so close, the frayed cuff of his jeans brushed her ankle. To keep from moving away, she gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles cracked. Retreat would be an admission that she couldn’t handle it. “I’ve managed fine so far.”
“Have you?” He held out a hand, a knowing in his eyes that she couldn’t refute. The moon had risen hours ago, close enough to last quarter that she could do only the smallest tasks, but it fed her passion.
I have. The words caught in her throat. Her palms itched, wanting her to reach out and touch him. Take in the smoothness of his hot skin, get her close enough to breathe him in again. She’d climb onto his lap with the friction of denim on denim, his hard thighs between her legs, the rails of the chair digging into her knees. For an instant, the image was so real she thought she’d done it, given in. She blinked and found herself still standing, the involuntary ache almost unbearable. She curled her fists harder around the table edge until her knuckles ached, determined not to make the hallucination reality. She finally managed a nod to answer his question.
“Really.” He pushed out of the chair and slowly unfolded his body to stand inches away, deliberately testing her. She held herself still, hoping he couldn’t see the pounding of her heart beneath her white button-down shirt. She closed her eyes as he gathered her in to him, his arms loose around her back.
Her hands rose to rest against his chest. Her fingertips dug in to the resistant muscle, and her breath came out almost as a groan. Tension eased out of him as her body gave in, relief sending tingles head to toe as it curved toward him. “Dammit, Sam.” Her thoughts blurred under the intensity of Sam’s body heat. She couldn’t fight it anymore. Fight him.
“Tell me what you want, Quinn.” His voice rumbled through the swishing, thumping pulse in her ears. She dragged her focus back from the soft fabric beneath her palms, the delicious pressure of his hardness against her belly.