After Hours Seduction (The Men 0f Stone River Book 1)

by Janice Maynard

  Oh Lordy. Her head ached. A band of tension wrapped her skull. What was she going to say when she saw him? His raven’s-wing black hair and deep blue eyes were as familiar to her as her own.

  Once more, she turned and looked through the glass. The furnishings inside intrigued her, though her line of sight was partially hampered by heavy, masculine drapes in navy and burgundy. Those thick window coverings were necessary insulation in the dead of winter.

  Her pulse fluttered. She wasn’t going to faint... Was she? She was scared and rattled and desperately anxious to see him. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she took one last look before she rang the bell.

  As she lifted a finger to touch the buzzer, a sound at her back made her spin around. She tripped over her own feet and landed on her butt.

  The tall, lanky man staring down at her managed a lopsided grin. “Are you casing the joint for a robbery?”

  “Of course not,” she muttered, her face flaming. “Hello, Quinten.”

  His brief nod acknowledged her greeting. “Katie...” He grimaced. “I would help you up, but I’m still working on keeping myself upright.”

  She scrambled to her feet, desperately glad she hadn’t worn a skirt. “How are you doing?”

  He shrugged, his expression guarded. “Depends on who you ask. I’m damned tired of people worrying about my health.”

  Two

  “Maybe you should quit feeling sorry for yourself and be glad you’re not dead or paralyzed.”

  Quinten winced. Possibly this was the other reason his brothers had sicced Katie on him. She didn’t suffer fools gladly, and she didn’t tolerate whiners and slackers. She ran Farrell’s department like a tight ship. Because she was both impeccably fair and incredibly compassionate, her coworkers loved and feared her in equal measure.

  It dawned on him that he couldn’t actually offer to carry her suitcase. Well, he could offer, but the outcome wouldn’t be pretty.

  Had his silence been as long as it seemed? Seeing her like this after so very long had him tongue-tied like a middle school boy. His heart pounded and his legs were weak, even more than they had been recently. “I didn’t think you would agree to come here,” he said bluntly, wondering if the memories of what they had once shared tempted her at all.

  He sure as hell was tempted.

  She wore her sunshiny blond hair up in a ponytail today, but he remembered far too well what it felt like to have that pale silk waterfall stream across his chest.

  Big brown eyes surveyed him warily. “I didn’t think you’d allow it,” she said quietly. “So I guess we were both surprised.”

  He took a deep breath. “Maybe we should start over. Thanks for coming, Katie. I really appreciate it. So do Farrell and Zachary.”

  “You’re welcome. Happy to do it,” she said, shielding her eyes with one hand and staring out at the ocean. The surface glittered like a million diamonds flung beneath the sun. “Your home is lovely, Quin.”

  “Thank you.” The stilted conversation was polite, but it covered a thousand unspoken memories. Katie wore a pink silk button-up top with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Slim black pants hugged her legs. Simple silver sandals exposed feminine toenails painted shell pink. Was it bad that he wanted to nibble those toes? He cleared his throat. “Let’s go inside.”

  “Of course.” Katie was clearly nervous as they paused in the expansive foyer, though she was trying to hide it.

  He gazed at her intently, trying to mask his frustration at not being able to bound up the stairs. “I’ve been bunking down here since the surgery. Mrs. Peterson will show you to the guest suite on the second floor. Let me know if there’s anything you need. Anything at all. I want you to be comfortable.”

  Was it his imagination, or did Katie’s eyes widen fractionally as a hint of pink matched her cheeks to her blouse. “Okay.”

  He cleared his throat. “Take your time settling in. We’ll have dinner at seven. If you’d like a drink before that, I’ll be in the library.”

  * * *

  When Quinten disappeared down the hallway toward the back of the house, Katie exhaled forcefully. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.

  The housekeeper, possibly in her late fifties, was pleasant and welcoming as she led Katie up the massive rough wood stairs. She wore a khaki skirt and a white knit shirt. Almost a uniform, but not quite.

  “Do you live nearby?” Katie asked.

  “Call me Lydia if you like,” the other woman said. “Yes. As the crow flies. My husband is a commercial fisherman. The work has its ups and downs. We have a house we love out in the woods, but jobs for me are few and far between. When Mr. Quinten built this house five years ago and advertised for a housekeeper/caretaker, it was the perfect solution.”

  “That’s wonderful. I suppose you don’t have to be here full-time since Quin travels frequently.”

  The housekeeper pointed out a luxurious bathroom and a sitting room with a mini fridge and microwave. “Not as a rule, but since this last surgery, much more often. We’ve had an in-house physical therapist until very recently. Mr. Quinten is determined to rehab his leg.”

  “Patience is not his strong suit.”

  The housekeeper grinned. “You could say that. Mr. Quin has a fully outfitted home gym and has been following the exercise regimen the therapist left behind.”

  “I see. Do you know where I’ll be working?”

  “Yes. I can show you in the morning, but not right now. Mr. Quinten was very insistent that you have time to get comfortable and settled. The three brothers worked together last week to rearrange things downstairs. You’ll have your own work space. It’s not huge, but I think you’ll find they’ve set up everything as closely as possible to what you’re used to in Portland.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Do you need help with your bags?”

  Katie stretched her arms over her head. “Thanks, but no. After all that driving, I could use the exercise.”

  “Very well. Please let me or Mr. Quinten know if there is anything you need, anything at all.”

  Katie followed the sturdy woman downstairs and thanked her again before heading out to the car. It took three trips to bring everything inside. She had her favorite pillow, one large suitcase and an assortment of tote bags. Six weeks was a long time. Her books had silently begged to come with her. A personal laptop. Toiletries. And last but not least, a stack of files from Quinten’s office. Most everything she needed was online, but there were a few personnel and policy notes that would require Quin’s attention.

  The house was eerily quiet. Obviously, Mrs. Peterson was still there. She would be preparing dinner. Who knew where Quinten was? His stiff welcome had set Katie’s nerves on edge. Neither of them had forgotten how it felt to be naked together. She could see it in his eyes.

  She was impressed that Farrell and Zachary had convinced Quin to try this new setup. Quinten Stone was as stubborn and unmalleable as his last name. Sometimes she would swear he disagreed with people just for the heck of it.

  When she was done unpacking, she walked out onto the second-floor porch. It ran the length of the house and was furnished with a row of beautiful stained hardwood rocking chairs. She picked her favorite and sat down with a sigh. It was the first time all day she had felt truly relaxed.

  True, she still had to get through dinner, but she was working on her positive attitude. Quin was just a man. This was only a job—and a temporary one at that. A woman could cope with anything for six weeks.

  The irony of these beautiful rocking chairs moving gently back and forth in the breeze on Quinten’s porch wasn’t lost on her. The only thing he ever slowed down for was sex. Now that she thought about it, even that was sometimes fast and furious.

  Some would call it nervous energy, but Katie knew better. The man was driven. His ability to focus was legendary. He’d won
national and international skiing championships so many times he’d been called an iron man on the slopes and in the air at ski jump competitions.

  Did he still want to compete?

  While they were dating, she had wanted so badly to know the man beneath the mask. She had been intrigued by the rare glimpses into his psyche, flattered by his interest in her. But as time passed, it became clearer and clearer that Quin didn’t want anything beyond the physical relationship they shared.

  He didn’t really want to know her at all.

  His indifference had hurt. Would it be the same now?

  She dithered over what to wear to dinner. In the end, she didn’t change clothes. No reason for him to get the wrong idea. Theirs was to be a working relationship, not a meeting of the minds, and especially not a stroll down memory lane.

  She did, however, take the time to loosen her hair and brush it out. As soon as the sun went down, the evening would take on a slight chill. The ponytail either seemed too casual for dinner or bared too much of her neck.

  All the careful self-lecturing didn’t erase her anticipation about the evening to come. Her legs trembled as she descended the stairs and sought out the library. The small, intimate room was filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that overflowed with history, biography and a broad range of fiction.

  Quinten had changed clothes. He’d been casually dressed during their encounter when she arrived. Now he wore crisp navy trousers and a perfectly starched white button-down shirt. The tortoiseshell glasses that rested on the bridge of his masculine nose as he flipped through a leather-bound volume were new.

  She bit down hard on her bottom lip. The man didn’t need any help in the sex appeal department. Those studious spectacles were not at all fair to the female sex. “Were these your father’s books?” she asked lightly, searching for an innocuous topic as she entered the room. Otherwise, she might simply pounce on him.

  The small crease between Quin’s masculine eyebrows told her the question puzzled him. “No,” he said. “They’re mine.”

  She wasn’t quite able to hide her surprise. When did Quinten Stone ever sit down long enough to read? “Oh...”

  He stared at her, obviously disgruntled. “Did you really think I was nothing but a dumb jock?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “But you...”

  “What?” he demanded. “Spit it out.”

  What she wanted to say was that he seemed to have changed. That he was somehow more centered than the man she remembered. Perhaps her opinion wouldn’t please him. “Nothing,” she muttered. “May I have a drink?”

  He poured a glass of her favorite champagne and handed it to her. “Cheers,” he said gruffly.

  Their fingers brushed briefly as he released the flute. How had he remembered this little detail about her preference? “I’m surprised you recalled how much I like this.” He must have had a hundred dates since their breakup, been intimate with a dozen women. Isn’t that what the Stone men did? Sample the smorgasbord?

  Well, maybe not Farrell. As far as Katie could tell, her boss was still in love with his dead wife.

  Quinten moved a step closer, though she didn’t think he meant to crowd her. His eyes blazed with blue fire. “I remember every moment of our time together, Katie. All of them,” he said gruffly. “You’re the kind of woman who’s hard to forget.”

  Something about the way he looked at her sucked every atom of oxygen out of the room. Her heartbeat grew sluggish. For one insane moment, she nearly stepped forward into his arms.

  “I shouldn’t have come, should I?” she whispered raggedly.

  “It depends.” His gaze settled on her mouth.

  “On what?”

  “On whether you want to walk back into the fire.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later Quinten sat across the table from his new admin and cursed himself for his reckless stupidity. Katie’s chocolate-brown eyes were hazy with arousal. That wasn’t conceited conjecture on his part. He knew her. Intimately. He knew the way she looked when they had shared a night of passion and woke in each other’s arms, ready to do it all over again.

  Damn it. He hadn’t even made it twenty-four hours without stepping over the line. “I’m sorry,” he said, the apology both awkward and formal even to his own ears. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. You have my word it won’t happen again.”

  Katie stared at him. She had barely touched her roast beef and mashed potatoes. And that was after picking at her Caesar salad. “How can you be so sure?” Her guarded gaze surprised him.

  He jerked, physically disturbed by what was surely a teasing question. “Because I won’t allow it.”

  “So pompous, so arrogant.” Her gaze seemed to judge him. “We’re both adults. And this situation is temporary. Surely we couldn’t be faulted for enjoying a temporary liaison.”

  “I’m not falling for that. You’re jerking my chain, aren’t you?” Quinten shot a wild glance toward the doorway, expecting at any moment to be rescued from this surreal conversation by the imminently practical Mrs. Peterson.

  Good help was hard to find.

  “I couldn’t resist.”

  He drained his wine and tried to clear his paper-dry throat. “Still a tease, I see.”

  Katie ran her thumb up and down the stem of her glass. The sensual gesture was so damned evocative he felt gooseflesh break out all over his body. “I like playing with you, Quin,” she said. “Everyone at SRO walks on eggshells around the boss. But I know the truth. You’re a pussycat when someone rubs your fur the right way.” Her mocking smile reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart so hard he ached. But then again, that might be nothing more than raw lust.

  “Perhaps we should discuss the work we’ll be doing,” he said, still trying to regain control of the situation.

  Finally, Mrs. Peterson returned, this time bearing a silver tray with two perfectly torched crème brûlées. “I hope you saved room,” she said cheerfully. “This was my grandma’s recipe. The custard has been known to make grown men cry.”

  Katie dug into her dessert with such enthusiasm that Quin felt his forehead bead with sweat. “Omigosh,” she moaned. “This is better than sex.”

  The unflappable housekeeper chuckled. “I won’t weigh in on that one, but you two enjoy. I’ll clean up the kitchen and let myself out. See you tomorrow morning.”

  Quin had to force himself to eat the dessert. Not that it wasn’t as amazing as Katie had said, but because he was suddenly, stunningly aware of the fact that he was going to be alone in this huge house with the woman he absolutely couldn’t take into his bed.

  He forced himself to swallow the last bite. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to hit the gym and do some exercises.” He stood up awkwardly. “Is everything upstairs to your liking?”

  He was not running away. Not at all. But he couldn’t breathe when he was this close to her.

  She stared at him as if she could see inside his brain. “It’s lovely,” she said. “What time do you want to start in the morning?”

  Work, Quin. She’s talking about work.

  “Mrs. Peterson will have breakfast ready at eight thirty,” he said gruffly. “After we eat, you can bring me up to speed on whatever needs my attention.”

  “Is there an alarm set tonight?” she asked.

  “No. But we’re perfectly safe.”

  “That wasn’t why I asked. I didn’t want to disturb you if I took a walk later.”

  He frowned. “I’d rather you not do that alone.”

  “You just said I’m perfectly safe.” She wiped her mouth, tossed her napkin on the table and stood, as well.

  His jaw tightened. Other than his brothers, he was not accustomed to people arguing with him. “We get the occasional black bear, and of course, moose. Either or both can be unpredictable.”

 
“I grew up camping out with my parents,” Katie said. “I know all the right things to do during an animal encounter.”

  Quin had the oddest feeling this conversation was about more than any possible danger in the woods. “What if I join you?” he asked impulsively. “Give me an hour.”

  Her eyes widened. “Can you do that? With your leg?”

  Her question piqued his pride. “I’m not an invalid,” he snapped. “My leg is one hundred percent healed from the surgery. But soft tissue damage takes longer to get back to normal, at least another six weeks. The doc wants me to be cautious in the meantime.”

  Katie shook her head slowly, her expression hard to read. “I can’t imagine it. The man who takes chances and flies through the air. Grounded.”

  He stared at her. “I thought I might get a little sympathy from you.”

  “Is that what you want from me? Sympathy?”

  “I remember you as sweeter, kinder.”

  “Maybe you hit your head. I’m the same woman I’ve always been.”

  Something simmered between them. A sensual awareness that two long years hadn’t managed to erase. “An hour,” he said. “We’ll go for a walk together.”

  She hesitated so long his stomach clenched.

  Finally, she nodded. “Okay. I suppose that’s best since I don’t know my way around. Wouldn’t want to fall into the ocean.”

  He exhaled. “Good. I’ll meet you in the foyer at nine.”

  Three

  Katie changed into her boots and hiking pants and topped them with a thin fleece pullover. Although it was summer, the nights this far north were on the cool side. Since she and Quin weren’t tackling a strenuous trail, the extra warmth would feel good.

  Her nerves were jittery. Maybe this whole work-from-Quin’s-home thing was a terrible idea. Had she mentioned the late-night walk in hopes he would want to join her? She couldn’t trust her own motives. Her emotions were all over the map. She’d missed Quin. A lot.