Free Through the Fire by Donna Hill

be sure over the rapid beating of her heart.
    “You look good,” he said from deep in his throat, standing mere inches in front of her, forcing her to look up at him.
    “So do you.”
    He shrugged. “How you been, Rae?”
    She pulled in a breath, thought about telling him how much she’d missed him, that she was willing to wait for him to figure things out, change his mind about them. That she was sorry for trying to push him. But some buried instinct told her no. That wasn’t why he’d come. He was there to unburden himself, to make his own confession in a way.
    “Good, and you?” she asked, following her instincts.
    “Missing you, Rae,” he admitted, his dark gaze unwavering.
    Relief widened Rae’s eyes, increased the beat of her heart. Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she reached out to tuck that one wayward lock behind his ear. The tip of her finger lingered for a moment near his jaw, gently stroking it.
    For an instant his eyes fluttered closed before he took her hand away, pressing her open palm to his lips.
    A shudder ran through her and she audibly moaned.
    “Can you leave?” he asked in a voice so heavy with something she couldn’t discern that it was almost unrecognizable. His free hand cupped her waist.
    She thought of all the reasons why she needed to stay. All the work that still needed to be done. This was important, her magnum opus if she did it right, put in the time, made everything perfect. How many years had she waited and worked for today, this time in her life—at all costs? How many hours, days, weeks had she spent toiling, sweating, working out every detail, every nuance, accepting nothing less than one hundred and fifty percent from everyone and even more from herself? And there was still much to be done to get ready to lay the last track. They needed her, couldn’t finish without her. She glanced over her shoulder and all that rested and waited on the other side of the control room door—a definitive step toward her musical future. “Why can’t I go with you? You promised.” The tiny voice of her daughter still haunted her. She’d chosen her career over her life once before. It was a deadly game and she’d lost. She turned to Quinn, saw the quiet patience in his eyes—and something else—a faint light of hope—the minute possibility of a different kind of future.
    She swallowed, terrified of letting go of the only life raft she’d ever known and reaching out into the dark water of the ocean, praying that she wouldn’t go under. She took his hand and he squeezed hers as if he understood the turmoil and doubt that raced through her head. He was throwing her a new life raft, after the first one had been battered and worn. The decision to cling to it would be hers.
    “If you can wait a minute…I’ll get my things.”

Chapter 10
    Q uinn stood, watching her inspect his living quarters. “Hope you don’t mind that I brought you here.”
    “No. Not at all.” She looked around with admiration at the stylishly decorated living room, the sleek furnishings, original artwork by Biggers, Catlett, Basquiat, and Lawrence. But what drew her like a moth to a flame was the large, beautifully maintained Steinway piano that dominated one corner of the room. Slowlyshe walked toward it, stroking the polished wood surface of the instrument with reverence.
    In the months that they’d been seeing each other he’d never brought her to where he lived. And if she was really honest with herself, in the back of her mind she thought that maybe he lived with someone. At least she did at first. But once she got to know him she understood that Quinten Parker was not that kind of man. If he’d allowed another woman to get that close to him, to penetrate his protective shield, he would never have allowed her to enter his life. It was a matter of respect with him. There was some other reason why he’d never brought her here. Maybe tonight she’d find out.
    “This is…beautiful, Quinn.”