In Too Deep (10 page)

“What's
lefse?
”

“Traditional Norwegian food—”

“I thought that was
ludefiske,
” he said.

She laughed. “Also a traditional food. The one that almost no one likes. You'd like
lefse
—it's a crepe kind of thing, best right off the griddle with butter and sugar. Comfort food.” With the same single-mindedness her daughter had shown, Lily asked again, “What's your favorite?”

“I don't have one.” He took another bite of eggs. “I should have made toast or something.”

“I don't need any,” she responded. “What do you mean, you don't have one? C'mon, everybody has a favorite.”

“Well, I don't. Did you want coffee or anything?”

She shook her head, her attention now on him instead of on the food, though she continued to eat. He wished he had something to tell her other than the ugly truth that he'd had no favorite because no one had ever made one for him—
maybe with the exception of Mrs. Perkins who had figured out his fondness for blueberry pancakes.

The inevitable comparisons that he always disliked marched through his mind, the ones that began with him being an outsider—always an outsider. He watched Lily eat a moment longer before setting his fork down.

This was why he had brought her home tonight. To make her understand he had no traditions where she had many. He had no roots. He had no blueprint for building a family and she had everything he'd always dreamed of. He had…no business being here and wanting things to be different than they were.

Unable to hold her curious gaze an instant longer, he pushed away from the table and stood. He wrapped his hands around the top rung of the ladder-back chair, then said, “I have to go.” The words surprised him since he had intended to share a few choice truths with her, starting with the fact that he was no good for her, no matter how alluring the invitation in her eyes.

“Okay.” When he headed toward the mudroom door, she followed. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

“You're welcome.”

“And making me dinner.”

He shook his head. “Don't thank me for cooking you scrambled eggs.”

“Okay.”

There she was being agreeable again. Didn't she know that if she came another step closer his self-control would snap?

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” As if that somehow explained why he was torturing himself by being here.

“That's nice. Thoughtful. Thank you.”

The door to the kitchen closed behind her, making the mudroom seem private and intimate instead of utilitarian. The room was illuminated by only the porch light outside and the light that came through the glass window of the door to the kitchen. The sound of the rain pattering against the roof was louder here, and the room was chillier than the kitchen, the
white metal of the chest freezer gleaming coldly. Hot, wild sex filled his imagination. The urge to grab her and to hold on for all he was worth was about equal to his need to run.

“I'm not being nice, damn it.” He jammed his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, then set his boots on the floor so he could step into them.

She nodded as though that answer somehow made sense, and he wondered what it would take to make her mad at him.

“What are you being, then, if not nice?” she asked.

Putting on his boots lost his attention, and he raked a hand through his hair. “Hell if I even know, Lily.” He met her gaze. “I can't give you anything.”

“I haven't asked for anything,” she countered. “What's really going on?”

The only way to make her understand was to burn the bridge down so she knew how rotten he was at relationships. Maybe then, she'd be safe from him—a chasm separating them that couldn't be crossed. “I was raised in foster care. Some kids are lucky—and they get to stay with the same family for years. Some kids are unlucky—they get shuffled through the system and go from home to home to home.”

“How many?” she asked, her voice quiet, instead of asking him if he'd been one of the unlucky ones.

“Nineteen,” he said, meeting her gaze—her open, curious, interested gaze—with a challenging one of his own. It was past time that she understood he was no Boy Scout, no hero, no knight in shining armor. “From the time I was nine until I went to college, I never lived anywhere longer than a year. Ask any one of the shrinks who were in my head and they'll tell you that I have trouble with trust and I'm scared of being abandoned.” He swallowed. “You want a guy who's rotten at relationships?” He tapped his fist against his chest. “Here I am.”

“And since the last foster home?” she said in that unruffled way she had.

“I was married for a year. Right after I graduated from college.” The lack of heat in her voice made his own more
harsh. “Shelly will tell you that I made her miserable, and she'd be telling the truth. And it was no picnic for her kids, either. They hated me.”

“Most kids hate their steps.”

“My mom left me in a park when I was four years old—forgot about me.”

Lily flinched as though he had hurt her. “I see.”

The calm response made him lean toward her. “No, you don't see. That's the whole problem. My ex-wife deserved better. So do you. This chemistry between us—you don't think I feel it?”

Lily managed a smile. “I know you feel it.”

He jutted his chin. “Getting involved with me would be stupid, Lily. You know what you'd have to look forward to? The honeymoon, and, lady, I'm good at it—I'll do anything I can to make you believe you're the woman for me for life. Then I'll find six zillion reasons to dump you.”

She took a step toward him. “You would?”

He nodded. “In a heartbeat.”

“Another first, then,” she said. “I've managed to reach the ripe age of thirty-four without being dumped.”

“You wouldn't like it.”

She came closer. “No, I don't suppose I would.” She stopped with only a foot left between them. She made a vague, airy gesture with her hand. “Given all that, why are you here Quinn? Why did you bring me home?”

“B
ecause…” Quinn's voice trailed away as Lily slipped a single finger between two buttons on the placket of his shirt and tugged. His throat couldn't have been drier if he had swallowed a mouthful of sand.

“Because?” she prompted, bringing him closer with that one slender finger until they stood a breath apart. She was so small standing there, and she didn't seem to have a clue about what she was risking. He hadn't driven her away…and now…she seemed bent on driving him out of his mind. If he was an honorable man, he'd walk away from the invitation in her eyes.

Somehow this deep, deep longing for her went beyond lust, though he wanted her. Somehow this threatened his heart, strange when he had no heart to share. The things she should have, he could never give to her. He dragged in a breath through the sand clogging his throat.

“This will never work.”

“I'm pretty sure it will,” Lily said, deliberately misunderstanding him, praying that her courage would stay with
her this time. Her gaze slanted down his body. His obvious arousal made her own dance in response. “Even if you want me to think the worst of you.”

“I want you to see how things really are.” He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You should send me packing.”

“You should have thought of that before you brought me home.” Nobody's eyes should be so tortured, she thought. Wasn't it the woman who was supposed to be this uncertain, this afraid?

“I'm no good for you.” He ducked his head toward her even as indecision and regret lingered in his eyes.

“Then you'd better be very, very bad.” And she lifted her face toward his, standing on tiptoe.

Lily felt his breath merge with hers the instant before he lowered his head and brushed her mouth with his.

The man's lips trembled, and she understood that he was more vulnerable, even, than she was. Someone had to show him he was worthy without him having to do anything at all to earn it. So she kissed him chastely, silently comforting him and letting him know that he didn't have to do anything but let her cherish his mouth with her own. The most important thing…make sure he knew that she wasn't going anywhere, no matter how rigid his shoulders beneath her hands. Long, heady seconds passed as she rediscovered the pleasure of lips exploring lips.

His hunger kindled in a heartbeat, and he deepened the kiss, impatient as he claimed her mouth. He swept his tongue inside and demanded her surrender. His was what she wanted.

His deep kiss was even headier than she remembered. She moaned, or maybe he did. She wrapped her arms around him, his neck hot against her cool fingers. Against her mouth, his breathing turned ragged.

His fingers fumbled at the tie of her bathrobe and she gave up hugging him to help loosen the knot. At last it was free and he pulled her close once again, his warm, wonderful hands sliding beneath her fleece top and touching her as she
had dreamed of for these three long weeks. Through the layers of clothes that separated them she could feel his arousal pressing against her belly. All that power, all that strength, focused on her. She shuddered with desire.

She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, and pulled his shirt free of the waistband of his jeans. At last she was able to reach the bare, hot skin of his back. He trembled beneath her touch, so she did the only thing possible—press even closer so he'd know there was nothing to fear, that she'd cherish him and keep him safe. Still…if this was too unbearable—and despite the kiss that was melting her to the core, she had the sense that it was—he had to understand they could stop.

“If you don't want to do this,” she whispered against his mouth, “you need to leave right now.”

“Are you crazy?” Underneath her clothes, he cupped her breast with his warm hand. Small as she was and huge as his hand was, it felt perfect to her. When he rolled her erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger, her knees gave way.

That was his invitation to lift her so she was sitting on the lid of the freezer, the metal surface cool beneath her bottom. He stepped between her legs, so close she knew how much he wanted her.

His kisses were everywhere. At her temple. Cherishing. At the corner of her mouth. Teasing. At the base of her neck. Exciting. Cool air danced across her skin as he pushed up the fleece shirt and ducked his head, kissing the valley between her breasts, the swell above and below before pulling her achy nipple into his mouth. Her arms became tangled in the sleeves of her bathrobe and her shirt, binding her so all she could do was endure the exquisite, sharp pleasure.

She had the fanciful thought that heated, fragrant oil flowed through her veins instead of blood, bringing every nerve ending to life. When he brushed her nipple with his tongue, tiny pulses shattered and left her in a thousand shimmering pieces. As much as she had loved sex, it hadn't ever
been like this, taking her to the top of a mountain and plunging her off some dizzying height long before she was ready to make the leap.

She tried to reach for his belt buckle, and his warm, clever hands left her breasts to still her fingers.

“Protection,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I don't have any with me.”

She managed to touch his cheek and made sure he looked at her. “You don't have to protect me, Quinn,” she whispered, fiercely wishing he did. Making babies with this man…was wishing for things that could never be.

“You're sure?” His eyes were so intense, so concerned.

She nodded. John had been tested and pronounced fertile. After trying for a baby for more than ten years, she was sure.

“Ah, Lily,” he whispered against her mouth. His warm hands cupped her breasts once again. “To be naked inside you—do you have any idea how exciting that is?”

The words made her burn for him. She finally reached his belt, unzipped his jeans. With her first touch to his bare skin he tugged at her fleece pants and pulled them off her legs. Then he was back, stepping between her legs as he had before, only this time bare and hot and pressed intimately against her.

He stilled for an instant as if savoring the elemental brush of flesh against flesh. As for her, she was dying for the contact to be completed. At last her arms pushed through the constraints of her sleeves. She pulled his head toward hers, then took his mouth in a kiss intended to show him how much she wanted him. He pushed and was at last where she wanted. His throaty groan of satisfaction told her this was as good for him.

“Magic,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“That good?” He gathered her close, his arms sheltering her in a tight embrace, and he began to move.

“More than good.” She buried her face in his neck, nuzzling the collar of his shirt out of the way. The first shudders
rippled through her, so intense all she could do was hang on to the solid anchor of him.

He own climax came in the next instant. His big body shuddered beneath her hands, and his groan of, “Ah, damn, I'm not ready,” in her ear was sexy beyond belief.

She held him fiercely until his spasms ended, his breathing slowed. To her great surprise, she found that she was in the cool mudroom when she opened her eyes. Who would have thought paradise could have been found right here?

Little by little, she became aware of their surroundings. The patter of the rain against the roof. The chilly temperature of the freezer lid against her skin. The porch light outside that lit the mudroom in a protective gloom.

He stood for long moments, resting his forehead against hers, his breaths at last coming normally.

“What you do to me,” he whispered the instant before he caught her mouth in a kiss so full of longing that it made her soul burn. She held him with all her strength and wondered how she would ever convince him that he didn't have to be so scared of what was happening between them.

When he stepped away from her to pull his jeans back up and to tuck in his shirt, she wanted to experience that joining again, to feel him cradled by her body though he was no longer hard. He picked up her pants from the floor and thrust them into her hands. Then he swung her into his arms and carried her through the house to the master bedroom.

Efficiently, he swept back the bedspread and covers, and settled her on the bed. He kissed her cheek, then went into the bathroom where she heard running water. Though she wondered what he was doing, she lingered in the sweet haze of satisfaction, secure in the knowledge that he'd be back. A second later he was, carrying a washcloth. He sat on the edge of the bed, calmly parted her legs and cleaned her with the warm, damp cloth, his touch at once cherishing and unbearably intimate. The gesture was as unexpected as everything else about him tonight had been. Again, he left her without saying a word, turning off the bathroom light. When he re
turned this time he settled next to her on the bed, but on top of the covers.

“Are you going to stay?”

He didn't answer, but kissed her temple. His presence in her bed, even fully dressed as he was, was more than she had expected, less than she wanted. So she pressed her lips against his jaw and let her self sink toward sleep as she savored the feel of his warm body next to hers, the comfort of his strong arms surrounding her. She wrapped her own around him, as well, wanting him to feel as cherished as he made her feel. The man needed that, she was sure, even more than she did.

 

The following morning a brisk knock at the mudroom door interrupted Lily's breakfast with Annmarie. Hoping that Quinn had returned, Lily was smiling as she opened the door. When she had awakened without him, she thought that he'd probably left to avoid the morning-after awkwardness they'd had the last time and to avoid any questions Annmarie would undoubtedly present. Given the deep, deep wounds he had revealed to her last night, she now understood his need for self-preservation—even though she had wanted to awaken with him.

No Quinn, to her disappointment. Instead, Cal Springfield stood on the porch. The battered pickup that Frank Talbot rented out was parked next to the garage, explaining how he had gotten here from town without messing up the shine on his wingtips.

“Hello, Lily,” he said, none of last night's pleasantries evident in his expression or his voice. “We've got to talk.”

Lily glanced back through the mudroom to her daughter who was eating at the breakfast bar. Sure that she wasn't going to like anything Cal had to say, Lily stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her.

This morning was one of the cool misty ones she remembered from childhood and had missed terribly when she had first gone to college in central California. Instead of the mist
feeling like a welcoming blanket as it normally did, it chilled her. Much like Cal's presence.

“What's going on?” she asked, wrapping her cardigan more tightly around her body and moving away from the house to the edge of the porch. Through the trees, the water from the inlet slapped against the shoreline. Since she had been living with her sister until a couple of weeks ago, she gave voice to her second thought. “How did you know to find me here?”

He shrugged. “I followed you last night.” When she looked at him, he added, “I was worried about you. How much do you know about your boyfriend?”

Embarrassment and anger surfaced in equal measure that Cal might have seen anything so private as what had happened in the mudroom last night. Granted, she and Quinn had both had their clothes on—mostly—but Quinn had bared his soul. His vulnerability was a private thing, too private to be seen by anyone. “If you had knocked on the door instead of skulking around you'd know that Quinn would never harm me.”

Cal flushed and looked away.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

When he looked back at her, his gaze was troubled. “I've got bad news.”

“What is it?”

Cal stared at the still water of the cove and the shrouded silhouette of Foster Island for a long minute. “Franklin Lawrence has filed an appeal.”

“The D.A. already told me to expect that, so unless he's won it, that's not bad news.”

Cal's expression became more troubled. “Lawrence still pulls strings, Lily, like I told you he would—no matter that he's in a maximum security prison.” He stared down at her. “And he's put a contract on your life.”

Lily heard the words, but they simply didn't register. “That's so stupid,” she said, trying her best to ignore the
cold trembling in the pit of her stomach. “Even if I was dead, he'd still be in prison.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Cal's face. “You underestimate him. If he's granted a new trial, and if the state's star witness was dead—”

“What good would it do him? They'd still have my deposition.”

“Not as convincing as a live witness.”

“I'm safe here.” Even to her own ears, her insistence fell far short of convincing.

“Are you, Lily?” Cal held up a finger. “Based on what I've heard, there was an accident involving your car that is pretty suspicious.” He held up a second finger. “While I was having breakfast at the Tin Cup this morning, the gal who skippers the boat you were on yesterday had some pretty definite things to say about a malfunctioning winch.”

“It didn't malfunction—just a stupid accident because…”

“The kid on board was careless. Yeah, I heard.” Cal held up a third finger. “And you fell overboard. None of that sounds very safe, Lily.”

“You're adding two plus two and getting five.” She hated that he was voicing her own fears out loud, hated even more the possibility that he might be right. All she wanted was a normal, ordinary life with her daughter. She had done her best to create that…and she hated that her best might not be good enough. “So you're here to talk about witness security. Again.”

“Again,” he agreed. “I know your family is important to you, Lily, but it's your best, safest option.”