“Would you rather I take you to bed?” Quinn whispered, his lips brushing against her neck.
Margot stifled a shiver of pleasure. Oh, oui…she wanted him to take her to bed, but...
“Is that all you want from me?” she asked quietly in return.
Quinn stiffened behind her but he did not pull away. She was not sure if it was a good sign or bad.
“I...no…it’s not, but I really don’t know what I can offer you in a relationship,” he rasped and dropped his forehead to her shoulder.
Margot’s heart broke for him. “Why would you say that? You have plenty to offer a woman,” she murmured, nuzzling her face against his.
Quinn shook his head on her shoulder and took a deep breath. He then straightened up and let her go. “No, I don’t. You can’t touch me, I have secrets that I’m not willing to share, and I have trust issues. Most women can’t deal with all of that so I doubt you can,” Quinn said and started for the front door.
“Quinn! Where are you going?” Margot called after him. She was not really in the position to chase him.
Quinn shook his head. He turned around but kept backing up. “You deserve better than me, Margot. I shouldn’t have kissed you earlier and I shouldn’t have come onto you just now. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said tightly then left without giving her a chance to respond.
Merde! Stupid pigheaded American man! Margot was so frustrated. What could she do to make him understand that she wanted to be with him? He was good enough for her. She did not care that she could not touch him, she was sure they could work on that. Margot was not going to let him go without a fight. Quinn deserved to have someone fight for him.
Margot finished making her dinner and ate it alone. It turned out fairly good in her opinion. She was not the most magnificent cook in the world, but she could definitely fend for herself. She put the dishes in the dishwasher then sat on the couch to watch some TV. She put her foot up, as Quinn wanted her to. Maybe five minutes passed when her cell phone started ringing. Margot picked it up off the couch next to her, hoping that it would possibly be Quinn calling to say he changed his mind, but no, it was her sister, Colette, who was in France.
Margot answered the phone in French. “Bonjour?”
“Margot,” her sister sobbed into the phone.
Margot sat straight up, dread spoiling the food in her stomach. “Colette? What is it? What is wrong?” she asked rapidly in French.
“It is papa…he…he has passed away…” Colette choked.
NO! No, no, no!
“What? I do not…how?” Margot croaked, her eyes started to well up with tears.
“The medical examiner suspects a heart attack…”
Colette explained how they were eating dinner like always when their father suddenly got a surprised look of his face, then fell forward, face in his food. He was dead instantly. Margot was in shock. Not her papa! Why did this have to happen when she was not home? She had not spoken to him in a week, but now she would never have the chance again. Margot wanted to scream. She hung up with Colette because there was really nothing else to say. She would try to get home as soon as she could, but right now, she was overcome by her grief, and she could do nothing but sob.
~~~~~
Quinn walked into his brother, Christian’s, house after giving the customary double knock. Christian’s head popped over the railing of the second floor hallway. He gave Quinn a nod and said he would be right down. Quinn went into Christian’s living room and plopped down onto the tan suede couch. He came right here from Margot’s, and was in need of someone to unload his thoughts on.
Christian walked in a moment later. He was wearing dark jeans and a crisp pale pink dress shirt that was tucked into his jeans. Quinn smirked. The man never dressed down. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t Christian ever get uncomfortable and just want to wear sweatpants and a T-shirt?
“Hey Quinn, what’s going on?” Christian said, clapping Quinn on the shoulder as he skirted the couch to sit down next to him.
Quinn sighed and dropped his head onto the back of the couch. “I needed to talk to someone who will take me seriously and not fuck around with me,” he murmured.
The small smile on Christian’s face faded. “Well, you know you can talk to me. I’ll take you seriously,” he said.
Quinn smiled warmly at his younger brother. Christian was twenty-seven, three years younger than Quinn, but he was extremely mature for his age. Sometimes Quinn forgot that Christian was the youngest of all of them, especially with the way Henry and Sebastian sometimes fucked around as they did. Christian was blessed with the trademark Beck blonde hair, but he acquired the brown eyes like Quinn. Christian had that boyishly handsome look about him with that clean shaven face of his, but with his height and muscular build, there was no way anyone could mistake him for a boy. Quinn patted Christian’s knee.