by Reid, Penny
“Tell Janie I said she’s too good for you.”
“Bye.” I disconnected the call before he could make another smartass remark. I would have to ask him to be my best man later.
One of the nicest things about working with my best childhood friend is that I can always count on him to tell me exactly what he thinks.
One of the worst things about working with my best childhood friend is that he’s always going to tell me exactly what he thinks.
* * *
Janie was on the phone when I got back—the hotel phone.
Even though she’d had the cell phone for going on six months, I still couldn’t get her to use it voluntarily. She’d text me infrequently, but she didn’t like using it for calls. Something about inconclusive research surrounding cell phone radiation exposure and brain tumors.
I stepped behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist. She was wearing only a bathrobe. Torturing myself, and hopefully her, I slipped my hand inside the opening at her chest and massaged her breast. I barely contained my groan when she arched her back at the contact, her bottom pressing against my groin.
I didn’t know who she was talking to, but it sounded like business. If it had been one of her friends, I might have continued. But I’d found out a few months ago that she didn’t like it when I distracted her from business calls.
She said I was being unprofessional.
Which, for her and given the fact that I was her boss, was basically a crime against humanity.
So I kissed her neck, withdrew my hands to her hips, then stroked her through the terry cloth one more time. I left her and headed to the shower, planning to make it a cold one. I turned to take in one last look at her.
Janie glanced over her shoulder at me, covered the phone receiver, and whispered psst. She had a small smile on her full, pink lips, and she mouthed, Thank you.
I let my eyes roam over her body, back lit by the window, and promised myself I’d mess up her makeup tonight in the limo.
On that cheerful thought, I showered and dressed in a rush. I was leaving just as Janie finished her call.
“You’re leaving?” She turned her wide, amber eyes to me. She held the bathrobe shut at her neck. This was fucking adorable.
“Yeah, I have a meeting at nine with a private client. I’ll be back around noon to pick you up for lunch before we meet with Grinsham’s people.” I took a kiss from her soft, stunned mouth, and shrugged on my overcoat.
The Grinsham group—of Grinsham Credit and Banking Systems—was the only corporate client we were meeting during this trip. Janie had already done an amazing job on the specs and account itemization. All that was left was winning over their security liaison.
“Oh. Okay.” She nodded and pressed her fingertips to her lips. “I have everything ready for the specs meeting. I guess I’ll see you at noon.”
“Sounds good,” I called over my shoulder and reached for my suitcase.
My hand hovered over the button to call the elevator when I stopped.
I set the case on the floor. I turned to her. I closed the distance between us in five steps, backed her against the wall, and gave her the kiss she deserved, every place she deserved it.
When I finally left, it was with deep satisfaction of a job well done, and the knowledge that I was going to be late.
* * *
Ten minutes later, I was three steps out of the hotel before I realized I’d left my phone upstairs in our suite. I should have been annoyed. After all, I was already late.
Instead, I smiled.
Janie would be out of the shower by now, and she probably thought I was long gone.
An image of her towel drying droplets of water from the white, soft skin of her stomach, her generous breasts, the sweet spot between her thighs flashed through my mind. Her hair was probably still wet.
My body tensed and hardened. I glanced at my watch, turned, and walked back to the elevator. Once there, I jammed my thumb against the button. The doors immediately opened, and I boarded it for the fourth time that morning.
Leaving her was never easy, and even more difficult this morning. She was going to be my wife. What better way to celebrate than an idle morning in bed with Janie and her soft, pliant body.
I was going to be very late.
I reasoned that I didn’t have to be present for the pre-meeting. Steven’s plane arrived this morning. He would be jetlagged, but he didn’t need me there. He’d be surprised, but he’d handle it. Strategically it would work to my advantage. I’d been spending too much time with the Wickfords over the last few days anyway. Tactically it made sense to show them that I already considered our relationship less of a priority.
I was careful to keep my steps quiet as I exited the elevator that opened directly into our suite. I paused, listening for the shower, and heard only silence.
I removed my shoes and strolled to the bedroom, smiled even as my body readied with anticipation of her soft submission.
The door to our room was ajar. I pushed it slowly open. It made no sound. I leaned inside to see where she was, my eyes scanned the master bedroom. I found her squatting on the floor in the same white, terry cloth bathrobe from before.
She was next to my bag.
She was going through my bag.
She was digging, searching.
I could barely believe my eyes and spoke her name automatically. “Janie?”
She bolted upright, jumped away from my luggage, and stared at me with stunned alarm.
I glanced at my suitcase, the spot where she’d been rummaging, then back at her. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes were wide, plainly rimmed with guilt and alarm.
I stepped into the room but didn’t cross to her.
“Janie.”
“What?”
“Are you going through my things?”
She shook her head; then she offered a delayed, “No.”
My gut flooded with displeasure and something else—something like fear. I stared at her, waited for her to tell me the truth.
When I said nothing, she added, “I wasn’t. I promise I wasn’t going through your things.”
I ground my teeth and focused on keeping my voice soft and level because the fear was starting to resemble panic. “You’re lying.”
Did she suspect? Or did she know already about the private clients? Did she know how I’d built my business? What was she looking for?
No. If she knew for sure she’d have left already, or she’d likely be looking at me now with suspicion instead of guilt. Just the thought made my breath catch.
“No, Quinn, I promise I was not going through your stuff. Really.” She started to move toward me, reach her hand out, but then quickly halted and hid something behind her back. “Really, I swear.”
I forced myself to stay calm, study her, and listen to her words instead of jump to conclusions. She was ashamed, but her words and expression were honest. She was telling the truth. Yet the fact remained that I’d just walked into our room and found her crouched over my suitcase digging through it.
I subdued the spike of adrenaline. “Then what were you doing in my suitcase?”
“Nothing.”
That was a lie.
Her neck and cheeks were red. She was blushing like a pole-dancing virgin.
I stalked slowly toward her. “Why were you going through my bag, Janie?”
She shook her head, obviously torn, her face a grimace. “I…I don’t want to tell you.”
“Tell me.” I stopped three feet from her, close enough to catch her if she tried to run.
Abruptly she blurted, “As able consumers we must be accountable for our purchasing practices. It’s not just enough to buy local; we must also be certain that farmers employ responsible techniques, both in the use of labor and the land itself.” She shut her eyes, her hands still behind her back, hiding something.
She was hiding something from me.
Panic, a new kind of panic, coi
led in my stomach and chest, the kind that drives a man insane, the kind that is fueled by jealousy.
I worked daily to suppress my baser instincts. But I couldn’t yet control my selfish nature or the accompanying possessiveness.
I knew owning a person wasn’t possible, but I wished it were, because I would have given anything to truly own Janie. I wanted every part of her—all her love, loyalty, fears, secrets, desires—even if that made me a bad guy.
I allowed my voice to betray some of my concern and lack of patience. “What’s going on?”
“Seven hundred and eighty million dollars a year spent on chemical products that can cause devastation to ecosystems and….”
My patience snapped and I charged her, took advantage of her closed eyes, and reached for her wrists.
She sucked in a breath, and her eyes flew open just as I wrenched the hidden item from her grip. My other hand pinned her in place, crushed her against me. She landed against my chest with such force that an oof escaped her lips. I lifted the item out and away from her reach.
I looked at it.
I blinked at it.
I frowned at it.
I rubbed my thumb over it.
What the hell…?
I glanced down at Janie and found her head bowed against my chest. I could tell that she was holding her breath.
“Janie, this is underwear.”
“Yes,” came her muffled reply. She sounded downright despondent.
I stared at the top of her wet head. My panic dissipated. I required several seconds to find my next words.
“Why were you trying to hide underwear from me?”
Her hands now gripped the front of my suit as though she was afraid I’d leave her.
“Gah!” was her response.
I glanced at the underwear again. It was white cotton, surprisingly soft, modestly cut. I could find nothing nefarious about it.
“What is going on?”
She suddenly lifted her head, but her hands still held my jacket front. “I just love it so much.”
“The underwear?”
“Yes! The underwear! The cotton is organically produced in North Carolina. It’s so soft, and it only gets softer each time I wash it, which doesn’t make any sense! How do they do that?”
“But….” I searched her face, my brain, the room, the ceiling; I was so confused. “What does that have to do with my bag?”
She heaved a defeated sigh. “When we packed for this trip, I hid several pairs in your bag, in the zippered compartment I know you don’t use. I’ve been….” she paused, chewed on her lip, “I’ve been putting them on after you leave in the morning. I’ve been changing out of the lace panties and wearing the white underwear instead. Then, before you get back, I put on the sexy panties again.”
“But, why there? Why my bag?”
“Because I suspect that you go through my stuff—which, honestly, I don’t care if you do and I’ve accepted this strangeness about you because I love you—but I knew you would never search your own bag. And, I want to be sexy for you, I want you to think of me that way, not as someone who is always wearing granny panties. And, dammit Quinn, you have a deplorable habit of hiding my underwear!”
I stared at her anguished face, her golden, pleading eyes, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
God, how I loved her.
Chapter Five
*Janie*
Steven wanted high tea.
He’d heard of this boutique hotel near the British Museum that had absolutely fabulous high tea.
Therefore, after our specs meeting with Grinsham Banking and Credit Systems, Steven and I left Quinn with Dan and we took the Tube. We could have taken a car, but it felt ridiculous when one of the world’s best public transportation systems was at our disposal.
Despite his self-proclaimed dislike of people, Steven displayed a good deal of enthusiasm when I proposed the idea of riding mass transit.
My three guards dutifully surrounded us, though they looked less than happy with our choice. It would have been nice to walk freely, without the escort, to experience London like a native or even a typical tourist. Alas, Steven and I sat quietly, exchanging glances instead of talking, while my guards continually swept the train.
We didn’t have any real privacy for conversation until we were seated in the tearoom of the hotel.
The hotel was quite small, but it was lovely—exactly the kind of place I would have wanted to stay had Quinn and I been in town for pleasure rather than business.
The lobby was petite, but decorated in black and white. The floor was black and white marble, and four high-backed chairs were covered in black and white fabric with a scrolling flowers design.
A sitting room off to the right was appointed with luxurious antique furniture and red velvet upholstered chairs and sofas, and the wooden floor beneath creaked its welcome as we were ushered up four stairs to the tearoom.
The tearoom was really just three small wooden tables and ten richly upholstered damask chairs in a well-lit space. It jutted out into and looked over a moderately sized garden, and reminded me of an atrium, but not quite. The ceiling was normal and enclosed. Since all the walls were glass, it gave me the sense of sitting in the garden itself, but without the frigid temperature.
Spring flowers were just starting to show signs of life. A stubborn looking pale pink rose bush positioned just beyond the windowpane nearest our table proudly displayed five giant blooms. The yellow rose bush next to it was larger, yet contained only three buds.
“We’ll have the Empress tea, please.” Steven winked at me as he ordered for both of us. It was a running joke between us that I’d forgotten how to order for myself.
“And what champagne?” Our waitress smiled prettily at Steven. Her accent told me she was from Eastern Europe. “We have Monet Chandon and….”
“We’ll take a bottle of Henri Billiot, because I think we’re celebrating a momentous event.” Steven wagged his eyebrows at me then winked again. Wagging eyebrows plus a double wink meant that Steven’s excitement was nearing critical mass.
I was actually surprised he’d held it in all through the client meeting, Tube ride, and walk to the hotel.
No sooner had she left us than Steven reached for my left hand—without permission—and pulled it to his side of the table for intense scrutiny. “Egads, Sugarplum! That’s what I call an engagement ring!”
I laughed at his abrupt focusing of the conversation. “Yes, it’s just so….”
He interrupted me. “Give me all the details—inquiring minds want to know. How did he do it? Are you pregnant? Should I not have ordered alcohol? I can’t believe it! It seems sudden, but then the Boss never takes very long to make up his mind. Damn, he has good taste. But I already knew that.”
“I’m not pregnant, and….”
“But you will be.”
“Steven….”
“I’m serious. Quinn Sullivan is a hunter-gatherer. I’ve known him longer than you have. I’ve seen how he is in business—and that’s just money. How do you think he’s going to be with the woman who is his wife?” Steven tsked and released my hand. “My guess is that he’ll be at least as domineering and protective about you—I mean, have you seen that ring you’re wearing? Already marking his territory. Has he peed on you?”
“Steven!”
“You’re right, it’s none of my business.” He held up his hands, then reached for his napkin and shook it with a flick of his wrist before laying it on his lap. “You two are going to have the tallest and best looking children. They’ll be supermodels, and basketball players, and Navy SEALs.”
My stomach warmed with the thought of little Quinn Navy SEALs running around the penthouse, causing mischief and throwing taciturn tantrums. Perhaps executing covert ops to extract cookies from the kitchen. “We haven’t discussed that yet.”
“What?” Steven placed an elbow on the table, then rested his chin in his palm and gazed at me.
“Children.”
“You haven’t discussed children?” His eyebrows arched over his gray eyes. “Well, don’t you think you need to? Seeing as how you’re going to marry the guy. You should find out if he wants an even or odd number—you know, like seven or ten.”
“Honestly, he took me completely by surprise. I wasn’t expecting it at all.”
“But you said yes?”
“Yes. Of course I said yes.”
“Why of course?”
I sighed, but was forced to delay my response when our waitress returned with lovely little sandwiches and the bottle of Crystal. She assured us that petit fours, scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam, and Earl Grey tea would be forthcoming.
Steven lifted his glass of champagne as she left and encouraged me to lift mine. “Clink me, we’ll make a toast later after I find out why you of course said yes.”
“Well, first of all, I’m in love him.”
“You and I both know that’s not a good reason. I’m in love with my white couch, but you don’t see me getting a marriage license.”
I ignored his comment and selected a delicate looking egg salad sandwich with no crust from the serving tray. “Secondly, I like him.”
“Ah! Now we’re getting somewhere. Care to expand on what you like about him? Other than the obvious.”
“The obvious?”
“His face, body, and bank account.”
I twisted my mouth to the side and crossed my arms over my chest. “He’s more than just a face, body, and bank account.” I both loved and liked his face and body. I had mixed feelings about the bank account.
“Well, he’s got brains too, I’ll give you that.” Steven popped a chicken salad sandwich into his mouth and spoke while he chewed; miraculously, all the food stayed within. “You’re a sensible girl, probably smarter than he is in the traditional way.” He gulped half the glass of champagne to wash down the sandwich then continued. “All I’m saying is that I could find a dozen Quinn Sullivans—handsome millionaire manwhores—but I’ve only encountered one Janie Morris.”