Quinn gave another cute little sigh but he couldn’t drift away with the prosthetic on. He needed to take it and the stump’s shrinker sock off. If she glimpsed his body, she would pity him. He’d faced enough—no point breaking the last spindly straw of his pride. As much as he hated leaving her, it was better if he crashed in the guest room. That way he could set his alarm early, be showered and dressed before she woke. Before she could see. He pulled away, jaw clenching as she let out an unconscious whimper of protest. How many people had ever missed him when he’d left their beds? No one. That had always been his goal with women. Use them and let them use him in turn. A physical release was fine. Emotions? Hell no. He sat and, in the distance, the waterfall laughed. Go ahead, let the water have its fucking snigger. It wasn’t as if it would get to run wild and free to the ocean. Soon it would be rerouted, sucked into some aqueduct to feed the insatiable, thirsty millions in Southern California.
