Beneath the Surface by Melynda Price Page B

You were just trying to be nice—”
    “I don’t want your apology, Quinn. It’s not necessary.”
    Apparently it was, because he was clearly pissed off at her. “How long are you going to keep this up?” she asked, frustration edging her toward her boiling point. She stepped into the kitchen and snatched her purse off the counter, shouldering the strap.
    “Keep what up?”
    As if he didn’t know. “Acting like a dick.”
    He closed the lid on the breadbox with more force than necessary. The sharp rap against the granite countertop startled her. He turned to face her, his expression locked down except for the lines of tension bracketing his mouth and that little muscle flexing near his jaw. Okaaay, so she wasn’t the only one close to losing their shit right now.
    “What do you want from me, Quinn?” he barked impatiently.
    Did he really not know, or did he just want to hear her swallow her pride and say it? One thing she knew about this man, which admittedly wasn’t a lot—especially now that he was censoring her media exposure—was that he wasn’t stupid. “This tension between us . . . It has to stop. We have to figure out a way to get along.”
    “How about you stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”
    “That’s it? That’s your big plan?”
    “You got a better one?” he asked, pulling his charcoal-colored Henley down over the back of his jeans and heading for the door.
    His dismissive attitude made it obvious he didn’t want to talk, but too damn bad. She was determined to resolve this tension between them and find some common ground. Quinn wasn’t too prideful to admit her part in this strife. The least he could do was meet her halfway. “Maybe we should, you know, try to be friends.”
    That got her a surprised look and a dark chuckle that was anything but friendly. “Friends? Like ‘Kumbaya’ and campfires? I don’t think so, Quinn. Thanks anyway, though.”
    He turned to walk out on her when she shouted after him, hot on his heels. “No, you jackass. Friends like ‘I’m going to go grab a beer—you want one too?’ ‘Sure. Thanks for asking.’ Or ‘How was your day?’ ‘Great. How about yours?’”
    He stopped abruptly and spun back around. She almost ran smack into his chest. “The beer is in the fridge. Help yourself. And I think you know exactly how my day has been, seeing as how you’re practically on top of me. Listen, Quinn, I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but I don’t want to be your friend.”
    His words hit her like a stinging slap across the face and she took an involuntary step back, trying like hell not to let the shock and hurt reflect on her face. “I can’t be your friend and do my job, because the moment I start caring about you is when I’m going to make a mistake. I can’t afford the distraction, Quinn. I can’t get emotionally involved with you. Perhaps I gave you the wrong impression this morning, and you think I wanted there to be something here.” He waved his hand between them. “If I’ve done that, I apologize. But I want to be very clear, my job is to keep you safe and nothing more. I’m not here to be your friend or meet any other needs you may have. That’s how it has to be because that’s the only way I’m going to be able to keep you alive.”
    He didn’t wait for her to respond before turning away and heading to the truck. It was just as well. For the first time in her life, she was actually speechless.

CHAPTER
    9
    A re you about finished in there?”
    The sharp rap of knuckles against the dressing-room door startled Quinn as she unzipped the back of a sundress she’d tried on. The zipper caught between her shoulder blades, snagging on the daisy-printed fabric. Great. Now she was stuck.
    “Just a minute,” she snapped, struggling to reach behind her back as she spun around, trying to get a look in the three-sided mirror to see where she was hung up.
    “It’s been thirty. I’m standing in a women’s