Lost in Love (18 page)

That was the problem. She swallowed. “Okay.”

He smiled and stretched to put his wine glass on the table. “Are you ready?”

No. “Yes.”

Leaning forward, he pulled a tray on the table closer. “It’s really better to do this in bed.”

She looked around. She’d never had sex on the couch before.

He held something up to her. “Here. Try it.”

She frowned, confused. “What is it?”

“Caviar. Your item.”

She blinked at the little piece of toast that he’d prepared, with the black mound and dab of sour cream. “Caviar?”

“You had caviar on your list, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I didn’t—” She shook her head as she took the square of toast. “I don’t know how you remember the details of my list.”

“I pay attention. Try it.”

She bit into it carefully. It burst with flavor in her mouth, salty and creamy, and she hummed.

“Good?” he asked as he made one for himself.

“Mmm.” She finished chewing and took a sip of wine. Of course Quinn had paired the two so they’d complement each other. She enjoyed the lingering taste of them in her mouth. “My father liked caviar. I remember him sitting on the couch with my mom when I was little, feeding her directly from the jar with a little spoon.”

“It’s best that way, with a plastic ice cream spoon.” Quinn handed her another piece. “I prefer it in bed though, like I said.”

She imagined him feeding it to her, both of them naked, and she shivered.

“If your father liked caviar, I’m surprised you didn’t try any before now,” he continued.

“My father passed away when I was five.”

Quinn paused, studying her. “I didn’t know.”

She shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“Your mother is married.”

“My mother’s been married many times. It’s what she does best,” she said with a wry smile. “What about your parents?”

“They’re disgustingly happy. My sisters and their families all live close to them, and they have big Sunday dinners.” He smiled. “You look shocked.”

“I didn’t know you had sisters.”

“Three of them, all younger. They still torture me,” he said fondly, refilling her wine. “They’d like you.”

“Would they?” She’d never had sisters. She’d never missed it, but after spending that evening with Portia and her sisters she’d wondered what it’d be like.

“They’d want to borrow your fabulous clothing.” He ran a finger across her collarbone, just above her sweater. “I’d be all for letting them have a couple of your layers now.”

She blushed. “I could take my sweater off.”

“Only if you want.”

Unbuttoning it, she watched him become absolutely still as she slowly stripped the cardigan off. He watched as though entranced, and she could feel him hold himself back rigidly.

Like he wanted to jump on her.

It was a heady feeling, knowing she affected him so powerfully. She wondered if he could tell how much she wanted him, if he could see how her nipples had hardened.

He stood and held his hand out. “Do you trust me?”

She put her hand in his and stood. She thought he’d take her to his bed, so she was surprised when he led her to a dining room chair.

Pulling it out, he gestured to it. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

Confused, she watched him stride into another room. He came back a moment later with something white in his hands. “Put your arms on the armrests.”

She hesitated, not sure what game they were playing, but she wanted to know, so she did as he asked.

He bent down and kissed her, like he was hungry and the caviar had only increased his appetite. Abruptly, he kneeled in front of her.

She watched him wind a scarf around each wrist, so loose that she was surprised they didn’t just slip off. “What are you doing?”

“I’d think that’d be obvious.”

“But I’ll be able to move.”

“Move and I’ll stop.” Sitting back on his heels, his eyes raked over her. He ran his hands up her calves, kneading the muscles.

She didn’t want him to stop. She sat still, watching the silk, afraid that even a breath would make it fall away.

Her legs fell apart despite herself. She held her breath, waiting for him to slide his palms higher, to push her dress out of the way.

Instead he stopped touching her. He studied her the way a starving man would look at a feast spread before him.

Without warning, he untied her dress.

She stilled, ready to stop him if he pushed her dress open—to ask him to turn the lights low.

He didn’t. He simply let it stay loosely in place.

She glanced down at herself, seeing the black lace of her bra exposed. She felt a throb of need between her legs, made worse because she couldn’t suppress it by squeezing her thighs together, not with Quinn kneeling between them.

He placed a hand at her neck, slowly trailing it down until it slipped inside her bra’s cup. His palm felt hot against her skin and a little rough as he rubbed it against her nipple. She leaned forward, wanting more.

He took his hand out.

Gasping with disappointment, she shook her head. “I—”

“Just wait.” He pressed a kiss in the center of her chest, at the swell of her breasts, as he pushed the bra strap down on one side. Her dress went with it, exposing one shoulder. Then he tugged the lace down, exposing just one side.

They both looked at her breast, the rosy nipple hard.

Quinn took it between his fingers and rolled it.

A searing shot of pleasure streaked through her entire body. Crying out, she dropped her head back, her chest arched.

“Don’t move or I’ll stop,” he reminded her, his voice low, as he grasped the tip over and over.

It wasn’t enough, and it was too much. Was he going to kiss her? Where would he touch her next? Would he slip his fingers under her dress to see how wet she was?

His fingers left her.

Her eyes flew open. She was about to protest when his lips closed over her breast.

She moaned, gripping the armrests, trying not to move but not able to sit still. With each suck of his mouth, she felt a reciprocal tug in her belly. She slid her hips forward, needing pressure there. “Maybe we should go to your bed.”

“I’m going have you here first, just like this.” He licked her again, and again.

She gasped. “Then we should dim the lights.”

“I want to see you, Meredith,” he murmured against her breast. “One day I’m going to have you in the sun, with the light pouring all over you, glorious and fiery.”

She froze. “In the sun?”

“Would you like that? Having both the sun and me caress your body?”

No, because that’d mean he’d see her scar and ask questions. She didn’t want questions—she just wanted pleasure. “I’d really prefer to have the lights off.”

He sat back and studied her. “Something’s wrong.”

“I just like doing this in the dark.”

“So you don’t want to see me?”

She’d love to see him—she just didn’t want him to see too much of her.

“Do you think of someone else when you have sex?” he asked.

“
No.
” She shook her head. “Of course not.”

Frowning, he crossed his arms. “There’s no
of course
about it, Meredith.”

Great—she ruined this. Tears swelled into her eyes, and she tugged her wrists out from the scarves. She covered herself back up. “I should just go.”

Quinn put his hands on her knees. “You should stay and talk to me.”

Shaking her head, unable to talk for the tears clogging her throat, she pushed the chair back and extricated herself from it and him. “It’s better this way.”

“The hell it is.” He straightened his glasses as he stood. “Did I do something you didn’t like? Are you upset with me?”

“You’re pushing me too hard,” she said, picking up her sweater.

“I’m not pushing you nearly as hard as I’d like.” He crossed his arms and watched her, his frustration and anger blazing from behind his lenses. “If it were up to me, you’d be writhing in pleasure right now. I’d keep you here all night.”

She swallowed, shocked by her body’s immediate surge of desire.

He stepped toward her. “If I were pushing, I’d make you marry me so I could hold you every night and wake you up every morning with my mouth all over you.”

“Marry you?” She gaped at him, not sure what surprised her more: that he wanted to marry her or the leap her heart gave at his declaration.

“What did you think was happening here, Meredith? A casual, little fling?” He crowded her, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck. “There’s nothing casual about this.”

He kissed her, and like every one of his kisses it raged over her. She whimpered, wanting this—wanting him.

Shaking her head, she pushed him back. “I need to think.”

He stared at her, not saying a word, just watching her silently as she grabbed her coat and ran away.

Chapter Twenty-four

When Portia went down for breakfast, she was surprised to find Luca sitting at the table in the kitchen with her mother. Not that she was surprised that Luca was there—what surprised her was that he was up and chipper, seemingly without a hangover.

He’d shown up inebriated on their doorstep the night before. He’d been babbling something about Bea, but neither she nor Summer could figure out what he was saying. They couldn’t let him leave in that state, so in the end they’d decided it was best if they stuck him in a guest room until morning.

He grinned at her as she walked in, the devil in his gaze.

He was up to something. She slowed, approaching cautiously. “What is it?”

“I was having an interesting conversation with your mother.” He sipped his coffee, his expression sly.

She glanced between the two of them as she nodded her thanks to Franny, who offered her a fresh scone. Pouring herself a cup from the carafe on the table, she sat to have her breakfast.

“Aren’t you going to ask what sort of conversation?” Luca asked.

“No.” She spread clotted cream on a piece of her scone and popped it in her mouth.

Luca frowned at her. “Sometimes,
cara
, you are no fun.”

Franny snorted. “Can we call someone who sneaks a man to her room no fun?”

Portia felt all their gazes on her. Her cheeks begin to heat, but otherwise she didn’t pay any attention to them. Perhaps if she ignored them they’d go away.

She forgot she was dealing with Luca, who was dastardly in his charming, Italian way. He leaned his chin on a fist and stared at her pleasantly. “Now, I say to Lady Jacs, ‘Portia cannot possibly be in a relationship, because she has not mentioned any such thing to me, her dear friend Luca.’ But the great lady assures me that I am mistaken.”

“Is that a question, Luca?” Portia asked, sipping her coffee.

“It appears that is a fact. So.” His gaze sharpened. “Who is this man you take to your room? And in your mama’s home.” He tsked at her.

“He’s American,” her mother said over the brim of her teacup.

“Portia and an American?” Luca gasped. “Is it this cowboy Niamh spoke of? I thought she joked, because you could not possibly love a cowboy.”

She pictured Jackson’s boots and his silly cowboy hat, and she grinned. She’d have thought it’d be unlikely, too, but Jackson was exceptional.

“Although I see from her face it is.” Luca reached across the table and, with a finger under her chin, lifted her head. “Who is this man, and when do I meet him?”

Shaking him away, she turned to her mother. “If this is what having a brother is like, I’m glad I don’t have one.”

Jacqueline smiled. “I’m rather partial to my girls as well.”

Portia’s mobile rang, startling her. Who’d call her this early in the morning? Jackson?

Without looking at the phone number, she answered it. “Hello?”

“Lady Portia?” a nasally voice asked.

“Mr. Weasel—er, Wexler,” she said with a wince. “This is a surprise.”

“I’m calling about the tiara.”

Of course he was. He called practically every other day. He didn’t always leave a message, but she always saw the missed call.

“Do you have an estimated day you can hand over the tiara?” he asked with saccharine politeness.

It made her cringe. “I was going to call you.”

“Were you?” he said, his tone laden with disbelief.

She frowned. “Yes. I’ll be able to start work in two weeks,” she said. She really had one more week of work at the auction house, but adding an extra week seemed safe.

“The tiara was what I asked about.”

Something in his voice made her go still. “You’ll have the tiara when I begin.”

The pause on the other end of the line stretched far too long.

“What?” she asked, standing up with concern. “The offer still stands, doesn’t it?”

“Well …”

She touched her necklace and took a deep breath. She would not panic. She had the upper hand here. “If there’s no position, there’s no tiara.”

“Of course there’s a position,” he said quickly. “However, I’m concerned about how long you’ve taken to decide about this.”

The Weasel. She narrowed her eyes, glad she wasn’t in the same room with him because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep herself from tapping his pointy rodent nose. “I’m sure you understand that the tiara is an important family heirloom. The decision to part with it doesn’t come easy.”

“Hmm.”

“I thought you’d understand,” she said with exaggerated sweetness. “I’ll speak to you at the end of next week to arrange the details.”

“I—”

She hung up and stared at the phone, her heart racing. She’d done it. She’d been strong and forceful, like Bea—or Catherine.

Smiling, she touched her pearls in thanks and slipped her mobile back in her purse. She stopped short when she saw everyone staring at her. “What is it?”

Her mother smiled, a strange expression in her eyes. “Nothing, Portia.”

Frowning, she set her dishes in the sink and gathered her things.

“I go with you,” Luca said, standing. He kissed Jacqueline’s upraised cheek and gave Franny a swat on her rear, making her giggle like a young girl.

Shaking her head, Portia walked out in front of him.

He caught up without any trouble. “I will drive you,” he told her.