“So, as you can see, that’s the boathouse.” He gestured to the room beyond the glass. “Most of our fundraising goes to the upkeep of the boat and the equipment. I’ll show you the crew facilities.” Quinn tapped my shoulder gently as he passed, walking to a door that read Crew Only. I swear my shoulder throbbed even though he’d barely touched me.
Quinn led me into what looked like a small break room. There was a tiny kitchenette, a coffee machine, water dispenser, kettle, and refrigerator along two walls and then two tables and chairs in the middle. “Crew room …” He gestured and then guided me through the door at the end of that room. It had lockers and open wardrobes. Heavy-duty weatherproof boots sat on cabinets beside helmets, the same for the jackets and waterproof outer layers that hung in the wardrobes. Trays were filled with gloves.
“Kit room.” Quinn then pushed open a door that led onto the walkway. I followed him and instantly inhaled the scent of sea air mixed with machine oil. It was much cooler in the boathouse. Gesturing over the walkway banister, he explained, “Down behind the launch is the mechanic’s workshop. Forde’s playground.”
I nodded, avoiding Quinn’s gaze. “Where’s the communications room?”
Quinn jerked his head back toward the door we’d exited through. I failed to not ogle his very broad shoulders and tapered waist in his dark Henley as he strode through the building. He was more filled out now than he had been at nineteen, and apparently it was all muscle.
Damn the man.
Couldn’t he have gotten less attractive over the years?
I had a feeling Quinn could be bald with a dad bod and I’d still find him as attractive as ever.
What was between us was chemical, something beyond mere physical attraction.
So unfair.
I followed him all the way through the kit and crew rooms and out into reception. He strolled to the wall behind the reception desk where there was another door labeled Crew Only.
He pushed it open and then waved at me to come in. “This is where we’ll spend most of the evening.”
The problem was Quinn had made no effort to walk inside first. He stood halfway in the door, forcing me to squeeze past him. Trying to keep my expression blank, I leaned past Quinn to venture inside. I inhaled his woodsy, citrusy aftershave, and tingles shivered down my spine. Ignoring my reaction to his proximity, I frowned at the small room. Thankfully, there were windows looking out toward the sea above what was a desk cluttered with radio equipment.
“How the hell am I supposed to use this?” I murmured, feeling out of my depth and hating it.
Quinn stepped behind me, so close I could feel the heat of him. I tried not to tense as he replied, “I’ll show you. But honestly, most of our rescues are via the coast guard, and they page us. We call them back for the details.”
Scowling, I whirled on him, forgetting how close he was and immediately taking a defensive step back when our noses almost touched. Flushing inwardly, I huffed. “Why am I here if the coast guard doesn’t even radio in?”
“Because now and then we do pick up distress calls on VHF. And the rest of the island knows that and uses the radio communications if there’s an emergency.”
Damn it.
“Then I guess you better show me how this works.”
11.Quinn
December, Nineteen Years Ago
If this guy touched Taran’s knee one more time, I was going to fucking lose it.
I’d never considered myself an angry bloke. In most situations I could keep calm, even when someone was pushing my buttons.
Unfortunately, I was already on edge before I’d even arrived in Glasgow, never mind to the pub in the west end of the city near the university campus.
Taran was off. Distant. When she moved to Glasgow at the end of August for her first year at uni, she’d been determined to make our relationship work. But about a month in, her calls and texts came fewer and farther between. I told myself it was just because she had a heavy workload. She was always studying. When she was supposed to come home for the weekend, she’d cancel because of an essay she had to write. Yet, when we did finally catch up with each other, she was full of chat about this party she went to and that bar crawl she did or the pub quiz sheand her pals won. She wasn’t too busy to socialize. Just too busy for me.
I’d come to Glasgow several times to spend the weekend with her. It was strained between us at first, which I hated because until now, being with each other had always been easy. However, by the end of my stay, we felt like us again. I didn’t like some of her new friends. They made me feel small and uneducated. I hated not knowing what Taran was talking about, so I’d find used copies of the books she was reading for her lit class to read myself. Then I could at least follow along with the conversation if anyone, including Taran, ever decided to ask my opinion.
They never did.
She never did.
So I kept quiet. Then we’d get back to her dorm, and she’d accuse me of being cold toward her pretentious new friends.
And then there was this guy.
