Authors: Donna Kauffman
Sweet Stuff (24 page)
Chapter 17
Q
uinn knocked on the side of the boat before stepping on board. “Honey, I’m home!” he called out, hoping the greeting would make her smile. Truth be told, he was nervous, though he couldn’t have said exactly why.
uinn knocked on the side of the boat before stepping on board. “Honey, I’m home!” he called out, hoping the greeting would make her smile. Truth be told, he was nervous, though he couldn’t have said exactly why.
He hadn’t seen or talked to Riley since the rather ragtag assemblage had finally converged on the bungalow two nights ago. It turned out Alva had come by to talk about the poker tournament. The production trucks had been pulling into his drive when he’d opened the door to her.
Quinn was pretty damn sure that without Alva ever laying eyes on Riley, her eagle sharp senses had picked up on enough little signals to know she’d interrupted something more than a production meeting. Fortunately Baxter, Lani, and a gaggle of production crew types had rolled in as he was still chatting with Alva on his front porch.
He’d made alternate plans with Alva, which they’d completed yesterday afternoon, over lunch at Laura Jo’s. While Baxter and crew had swarmed his kitchen, he’d opted to take his laptop out on the deck and pretended to do just about anything but pay attention to what was going on inside his house. He’d had no clue how well he and Riley were concealing anything from the equally sharp intellects of Baxter and Lani, so decided leaving the field of play was the better part of valor, along with the best shot of preserving Riley’s privacy.
Baxter had come out at the end to set up another shoot date and confirm his plans to move forward.
Quinn knew from their preliminary talks that Baxter intended to lease the place after Quinn moved out. Had his life stayed on the planned course, it would have been by the year’s end. He wasn’t so sure about that anymore.
It was, in part, why he was standing on the dock next to Riley’s houseboat early on Monday morning. The sun had barely crept up to cast thin, pink streamers of light over the line of sails moored on the far pier.
“Quinn?” Pushing a mass of blond curls from her still sleepy face, looking lush and warm and soft and delectable wearing an ever-so-alluring pair of pink and green flannel boxers and an old, faded Bulls T-shirt, she poked her head through the rear glass doors, blinking a few times in the spare dregs of morning light. “What are you doing here?”
He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and slowly wake her rumpled, sleepy self with a long, deep, slow kiss. He wanted to feel her come alive and alert, until she smiled up at him, that full-dimpled, rich-chocolate-brown-eyed smile. And he wanted to drag her straight back to her stateroom like a caveman and tear the clothes from her warm, delectable, voluptuous body—with his teeth—and sink every last hard inch of himself into the welcoming and ready hot, wet core of her.
He shifted his stance, and angled the slim black leather satchel he carried so it was in front of him. He hadn’t known what to expect from her with this surprise visit, but he supposed he should have known better what to expect of himself. He lifted the cardboard tray balanced in his other hand. “I come bearing Laura Jo’s coffee and egg sandwiches. I think she snuck two apple Danishes in there, too.” He tried for an endearing, please-don’t-shoot-the-delivery-boy grin, knowing Riley would see right through it, which somehow made it even more fun to try. “She took pity when I explained about my plans. I didn’t know if you were a morning person or not, but she seemed to think maybe something sweet might be in order.”
“I am a morning person,” she grumbled. “But this isn’t morning. This is just nighttime thinking about becoming morning. Eventually. What time is it, anyway? Why didn’t you call first?”
“I don’t have your number.” And he hadn’t wanted to risk her turning him down.
“Sure you do. It’s on all the paperwork from the leased furniture and stuff.”
“I sent all that to David, since he’s handling it, and it didn’t occur to me until after the fact that I’d shipped off your contact information with it.” He smiled briefly. “At the time, I didn’t think I’d be needing it. If something went wrong with anything at the house, I’d have had David contact you anyway. Just to spare you any awkwardness.”
“Unlike now, you mean.”
He shrugged and tried for abashed. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Because, what, the bungalow washed out to sea last night?”
“No, because Baxter’s crew showed up before the crack of dawn this morning to start with the lighting setup and staging. I can’t work with all the noise. I figured you’d be at the bungalow to do whatever is on the schedule to be done today, so I’d talk you into swapping spots for the day. Or however long you’ll be over there.”
“Really.”
He nodded. “Truly.” He lifted the coffee offering again. “I did come bearing gifts.”
She didn’t look at the tray of coffee and food. She was still staring rather grumpily at him. Say what she wanted, she was
not
a morning person. It should have been a clear warning to him regarding just how far off the cliff he’d already dived when he found that fact rather endearing.
not
a morning person. It should have been a clear warning to him regarding just how far off the cliff he’d already dived when he found that fact rather endearing.
“So, is that why I haven’t heard from you about continuing the ... conversation? Because you lost my number?”
“We started that ... conversation, a little more than forty-eight hours ago,” he reminded her. “We’ve both been rather busy during that time, with all this accelerated cookbook sampler stuff going on.”
“So?”
He grinned at that. He couldn’t help it.
“What’s funny?”
“Not a thing.” Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he slid his satchel to the deck, and set the tray down on one of the fish wells. Then he stepped over to her and simply pulled her through the door and right into his arms.
“What makes you think you can just climb on my boat and have your way with my person?” she asked, blinking up at him, making absolutely no effort whatsoever to extract herself from his hold.
“This.” He bent down and kissed her.
She didn’t respond, for at least the span of three seconds. Then there was a little ... whimpering sound, and he felt her body soften against his. She gave a soft little moan in the back of her throat, then gave up entirely and slid her hands behind his neck, and molded his mouth more firmly to hers.
He’d only intended that slow, sweet, warm, good morning kiss he’d imagined earlier, but it was quickly moving along toward the caveman scenario by the time he managed to break free and lift his head. She was smiling up at him just as he’d hoped, only there was a bit of smugness there. Probably because his heart was beating like a wild man, and he looked and sounded a bit the part, as well.
“Well,” she said. “When you put it that way.”
He grinned at that. “You weren’t changing your mind, were you?”
“I might have been.” She was a terrible liar. “Of course, you wouldn’t know, since you didn’t bother to call, come by, send smoke signals. A tasteful carrier pigeon would have been welcome.”
“I know. But if you recall, you all were at that first shoot until three or four in the morning. I didn’t see or hear from you Saturday.”
“I was unconscious Saturday. I haven’t done that kind of work in a couple years.”
“I did come by here that afternoon—”
“You did? Oh. I drove into Savannah. I had a ton of things to replace, put my tool kit back together, all the tricks of my trade. Char and Carlo asked me out to dinner. I wanted to call you, tell you to come meet us ... but I didn’t have your number, either. And I hadn’t heard anything. Where were you yesterday? I came by the bungalow.”
“You did?” He grinned. “You know, we might want to avail ourselves of some modern technology.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Good. I had to drive to Atlanta to do some press stuff for the book that’s out now. I didn’t get back until late last night.”
“You were in Atlanta yesterday?”
He nodded. “Being away was torture—which should appease your need to punish me if you feel the need to do so.”
“I’m not disagreeing with that part, but next time, punish yourself some other way, will ya? Depriving you, deprives me.”
“Well,” he said, echoing her earlier statement. “When you put it that way.”
And the caveman scenario won.
She squealed when he scooped her over his shoulder. “You can’t haul me off my feet and—”
“Can too. And I prefer the more romantic
sweep
, if you don’t mind.”
sweep
, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, I don’t sweep easily, either.” She giggled when he slid his hands up her waist and adjusted her so they could make it down the narrow passageway to her stateroom.
Sliding her down his body, he ducked and cleared his head through the opening to the stateroom.
“I have no idea how you managed that,” she said on a breathless laugh. “I can hardly make it down that hall without elbow bumps and bruises to show for it, and probably would even if this thing didn’t bob and sway.”
He smoothly whirled her into his arms and around in a tight circle, without either of them clearing a thing off any surface. “That’s why you need me around. I’ll keep you safe from all the bobbing and swaying.”
She looped her arms around his neck and let him whirl her again. “Is that right?” She squealed again when he scooped her up against him so her feet left the floor.
“In fact, it’s possible we can find a way to make the bobbing and swaying work to our benefit.” He wiggled his eyebrows and made her laugh again. Then he slid his hands up and under the edge of her flannel boxers, cupping the soft, delectably full curves of her buttocks, turning the laughter into gasps.
“What time are you due at the bungalow?” he said, nuzzling her neck.
He felt her fingertips dig into his back as he continued nuzzling, which tugged the thin cotton across her plump, hard nipples.
“Eight,” she breathed.
“Good.” He stepped up so he could lower them to the bed. “It’s possible you might still get there on time.”
The boat rocked just as he was lifting her onto the bed, which landed her closer to the middle. She laughed again, and covered the top of her head to keep it from bumping the headboard. Quinn tugged off his polo shirt and levered himself up ... and over her.
“You have way too many clothes on,” he said, bracing himself above her.
“The same could be said about you,” she replied, sinking back into the tousled linens of the unmade bed she’d just crawled from.
He grinned. “We could probably fix that.”
“Probably.” She started to reach for the hem of her tee, but he stopped her.
“That’s no fun.”
“No?”
He nudged her hands away and levered himself so he could sprawl on the bed next to her. The bed itself was wide, though a bit short for his long legs. “Well, more fun for me, if I get to do it—which may mean more fun for you.”
She lifted her hands away and let them rest over her head. “Really? Huh,” she said, trying for insouciance, but the gleam in her dark eyes betrayed her anticipation. “Who knew?”
“I could explain—”
“You are very good with words.”
“—but as writers, we’re taught to show, rather than tell.”
“Is that so?” She lifted one hand to toy with his hair, just above where it brushed his ear. “This would be another one of those things about your work that fascinates me.” She ruffled his hair. “It’s grown. Since you’ve been here.”
“I haven’t found a barber. Or looked, really.”
“Don’t.” She smiled when he lifted his eyebrows. “Not on my account, anyway. It makes you look—”
“Heathenish?”
“I was going to say a little rough around the edges. Less like that book jacket guy.” She teased his hair with her fingertips. “You’re always so effortlessly groomed. This makes you seem, I don’t know ... more like us mere mortals.”
“Good to know. Being godlike can be such a burden.” He leaned down and placed his lips over one plump nipple, making her gasp and her hips buck up.
“I can only imagine,” she managed, her hands falling limply next to her head when he shifted his attention to her other nipple. “Oh ... God,” she gasped, when he used his fingers to gently rub and massage one nipple, while suckling the other hard through the thin cotton of her shirt.
“Yes?” he said, lifting his head and giving her his best celestial leer.
She snorted out a laugh, then almost choked on a sharp indrawn breath, her hips bucking again as he went back to teasing and tormenting first one tight tip, then the other.
She fisted her hands in the loose linens as he nuzzled the hem of her shirt up, exposing the creamy white skin of her tummy. “You have the softest skin.”
“With freckles galore,” she said. “Everywhere. If you squint in the right light, they look just like a tan.”
“I like them just the way they are,” he said, kissing one, then another. “In fact, I think I’ll make it my mission to catalog each and every one.” Quinn lifted his head to look at her. “After all, I’m very good at research and keeping track of lots of tiny details.”
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