Hatched

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Robyn." Quinn whispered, completely closing the gap between them, dress cast aside. The fabric pooled on the bed. "I know you aren't weak." He took her in his arms, lips barely moving against her ear, speaking in low soothing tones. "From the moment I met you, you have proved to be the most capable woman I've ever known."

Her head flopped dejectedly against his strong shoulder and she wept freely: crying for the years of longing, of lost family, of forgotten love.

She sobbed into his strong chest for what seemed like an eternity. She'd been swept into a black hole, forces tugging her between two harsh realities: the one she'd lost and the one standing before her. The tears were more angry than sad, and poured out all the regret and resentment she felt for being left alone, and also for not being able to truly live.

In the dim light of the lamps she thought she saw hope in the later. The warm, sure arms around her tightened, drawing her closer, their heat engulfing her in a comfort she had forgotten. Perhaps the man standing in front of her was the motivation she needed to move forward. Though they argued incessantly, and he never ceased to be the most haughty, insufferable person she'd ever met, she enjoyed their banter. Happiness was elusive for her, but somehow, amid the verbal disagreements and sly sideways glances, Quinn made her feel it.

The sudden recognition jerked her out of her stupor, and she responded to Quinn's soothing hands running over her cold back by bringing her trembling ones around his waist and wrapping them there with a snug resoluteness.

"You can do this." He whispered encouragingly, gently tipping her tear stained chin upward. His stormy eyes bore into hers and she allowed herself to feel an understanding, a pact with those deep grey pools.

"Everything's going to be okay."

"How do you know?" She huffed.

"I don't," he replied calmly, running his hand through her hair and tucking a wayward strand behind her ear "but considering my occupation, I have to be hopeful."

Robyn fought to ignore the pleasurable shiver that spread from where his hand rested, tangled casually in her hair. "To what purpose?"

"Honestly? I convince myself that I make a difference. That way, I do. It's a choice." He shrugged. "Nothing more. I'm not any more intelligent than you, or stronger than you, or even as objective as you. In fact, that's something I struggle with."

Robyn sniffed. "You seem so sure of yourself. How is it that you do not have faith in yourself?"

"I would ask you that same question, but it would be pointless. 'Beating a dead horse', shall I say." He chuckled, pulling back a bit and smiling gently at her. "You can do this, Robyn."

Robyn thought she felt him stiffen as she ran her hands contentedly down his back. His sure touch calmed her nerves; this was the closest she'd felt to a man in years. It scared her how good his gentle fingertips felt on her cool skin, how much she liked the scent of his aftershave, how tender his breath felt on her cheek as he whispered sweet encouragement.

Robyn felt herself physically relaxing, breathing in his scent deeply.

"Are you okay now?" He whispered, lips inches from hers.

"Yes." She breathed back, struck by a sudden, irrational longing for his mouth to meet hers.

"Good." He stated calmly, pulling back and picking up the forgotten dress. "You can put this on."

"What?"

"You need to change. We only have an hour till the benefit." He said, settling himself in the armchair by her bookcase. "I'll be here waiting."