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

by Janice Maynard

  “Fine. I won’t buy a suit. But let’s dress up and have fun tonight,” he cajoled. “It won’t hurt, I promise. Stone River Outdoors can afford to buy a valuable employee a little black dress.”

  She chewed her lip. Hard. He could see the hesitation in her body language and in her eyes. “I don’t know...”

  “No strings attached. I swear.”

  When she swallowed, he saw the muscles in her delicate throat ripple. “I can’t even imagine what a dress like that will cost,” she said. “I don’t like pushy, condescending salesclerks. They intimidate me.”

  Quin chuckled. “One of Zach’s old girlfriend’s works three blocks from here. I sent her a text earlier and told her we might drop by after lunch. She promised to pull a few things out of stock for you, so it won’t take forever. Her name is Katiya. She’s Bulgarian, I think. You’ll like her.”

  Katie scowled. “Did you date her after Zach did? Is that why you’re so chummy?”

  He held up his hands. “Wow. Suspicious much? My brothers and I don’t share lady friends. Zachary and Katiya spent a lot of time in Maine, so I know her pretty well.”

  “Fine. We’ll go see her. But if she doesn’t have anything appropriate, I don’t want to spend the whole day shopping. It’s my first time in New York. You promised me the Met.”

  “So I did.” He nodded in surrender, wanting to laugh, but knowing it wasn’t the moment. Just then, his phone dinged. The text made him smile. He showed it to Katie. “Zach and Farrell are in Midtown for a meeting. They want to know if we’d like to have dinner with them before they fly back to Portland. We don’t have to,” he added quickly. “We can wait until after the show.” Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted his aggravating brothers horning in on his night out with Katie. Still, having two chaperones might keep him from doing something recklessly stupid.

  Katie hunched her shoulders and looked around her as if someone might be listening to their conversation. “I know it’s probably incredibly unsophisticated,” she whispered, “but I hate the idea of eating a big meal at ten thirty at night. Tell them yes. We’d love to.”

  “Even if it has to be early? Entering the theater after the lights go down is frowned upon.”

  “Whenever you say,” she said. “It will be fun getting to know Zachary better.”

  Quin chewed on that unpleasant thought. Women loved Zachary. Come to think of it, Zach and Katie probably would hit it off. Katie never met a stranger, and Zach had been charming females since he was in kindergarten.

  Before Quin could resolve his unease, someone held the door open for them and they stepped out onto the sidewalk, blinded by the July sunshine and a blast of heat. New York City in the summer could be rainy or brutally hot. Quin would take the heat any day, but he didn’t know about his companion.

  “Shall I get a cab?” he asked, moving toward the curb.

  Katie grabbed his arm. “You said it was only three blocks. Let’s walk.” She paused, visibly stricken. “Unless your knee is bothering you. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Again, Quin ground his jaw. “Good Lord, Kat. I can stroll down the damned street. Come on. It’s this way.”

  In his frustration, he had shortened her name without thinking. The affectionate Kat was what he had called her in the midst of their wild affair. Did she even notice his slip?

  They headed off along the sunbaked sidewalk, dodging other pedestrians. Katie didn’t say a word, her expression subdued. She had shed her jacket. Her bare arms were slender and defined with attractive muscles. Did she work out? It occurred to him that many aspects of her life were a mystery to him. Their time together had been relatively brief and more focused on sex than standard getting-to-know-you dates.

  When they arrived at the well-known French fashion house, Katie almost balked again. “Couldn’t we try something a little less pricey?”

  He opened the plate glass door with the gold lettering and steered her inside. The cool air-conditioned air washed over them like a benediction. “Quit worrying. As thrifty as you are, you’ll probably still be wearing this same dress a dozen years from now. Do the amortization. You’re good at math. It will make you feel better.”

  Katiya sauntered up to greet them, her slender feet clad in five-inch heels that made Katie’s eyes widen. “Quin,” Katiya said, smiling broadly. She kissed him on both cheeks. “It’s been too long. I was sorry to hear about your father. And your leg.” She looked him over. “You seem to be doing well.”

  Quin returned the kisses. “I’m great. This is a friend of mine, Katie Duncan. We came to the city on short notice, and she needs a dress. Broadway show. Dinner with Farrell and Zachary. You know the deal.”

  Katiya kissed Katie on both cheeks, as well. “I have exactly the thing. Since dear Quin gave me a heads-up—I think that’s the expression—I had time to pick and choose. The weather is hot as Hades this weekend. I thought perhaps plenty of bare skin.”

  Quin nodded soberly. “Bare skin. I like it already.”

  Katie punched his arm. “Go read your email.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Katiya gave him an arch smile. “We’ll be in the back. There’s coffee and champagne and treats. Make yourself at home.”

  * * *

  Katie trailed behind the gorgeous woman with the jet-black hair and felt her self-esteem plummet. This was the kind of female Stone men dated. Glamorous. Worldly. Fabulously dressed.

  The jacket and pants Katie wore were from the clearance rack. With an extra coupon.

  As Katiya swooshed open the thick damask curtain of a spacious fitting room, Katie couldn’t contain her curiosity. “So how long were you and Zachary together?”

  The woman who must have been a model at one point in her life shot a tiny smile over her elegant shoulder. “Not quite a year. It was a long time ago. We decided we were better off as friends.” Katiya held up her left hand. “After that, I met the most wonderful history professor at NYU and married him six months later.”

  A history professor? “Congratulations,” Katie said.

  “Thank you. He is my soulmate. What can I say? True love is wonderful.” The saleswoman waved Katie into the little nook. “Strip down to your undies. I’ll grab what we need.”

  Back at the hotel, Katie had some kick-ass new underwear in her suitcase. Just in case. The fact that she had taken it to Maine meant her subconscious was more honest than she was.

  Today, though, she wore solid white cotton. Too bad. She wished she had known that Quin meant for them to shop for a dress immediately. She would like to have worn something more upscale. Too late now.

  Katiya returned with an armful of black. “I brought long and above-the-knee both. Either will be appropriate. It’s your personal preference. Try this halter dress first, though. You have the figure to pull it off, and in the heat, you’ll be glad you’re mostly naked. I’ll leave the rest of them on this hook just outside the cubicle. If you need me, press the button.”

  Mostly naked? Katie gulped. She took the dress the other woman handed her and examined it at arm’s length. The black crepe fabric was light as air and had a lovely, subtle crinkle pattern. No bra with this one.

  She was down to her bikini panties. Though she had been hot before, now she shivered in the extremely efficient air-conditioning. Or maybe her tremors were the result of anticipation about the evening ahead. She was torn in two opposing directions. Throw caution to the wind and sleep with Quinten Stone? Or play it safe and not make the same mistake twice.

  When she slipped the gown over her head, it fell like a whisper to her ankles. The design of the dress left her shoulders bare, as promised. But it also plunged to the base of her spine in back and halfway to her navel in the front. Good grief. Where was a sweater when you needed one?

  Katiya appeared without warning. She peeked through the curtain. “How do you think?�
�

  The odd expression was endearing. Katie inhaled and glanced at herself in the mirror. She wrinkled her nose. “I do like it. But this is a lot of bare skin. A. Lot.”

  The other woman chuckled. “You look stunning.” She put her hands on Katie’s waist. “See how it slides over your curves? This is one time when small breasts are a plus.”

  Katie loved her reflection in the mirror. The couture gown made her feel like the proverbial million bucks. But she didn’t have the courage to wear this in front of Quin. How could she? He would take this sensual dress as an outright invitation.

  “Let me try the others,” she said.

  Katiya shook her head vehemently. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you walk away from this choice. It’s perfection. You know I’m right.”

  “I suppose.” Katie smoothed her hands over her flat stomach, already imagining the expression on Quin’s face when he saw her in this.

  “Will you need shoes and a clutch?” Katiya asked.

  Katie pondered the possibility of finding a discount store in this zip code. “I suppose so.”

  It took another half hour to select accessories and jewelry. Even the costume stuff was outrageously expensive. Some of the necklaces cost more than Katie’s monthly rent.

  Apparently, Katiya and Quin had been communicating via text. Before Katie could lodge a further protest, the steamroller saleswoman had swaddled the new dress in layers of tissue and tucked it into a glossy shopping bag—on top of the shoebox.

  The jewelry, safely stowed in a mauve linen drawstring bag, nestled in a deep corner. Katiya had already arranged to have Katie’s purchases delivered to the hotel.

  Katie put on her own clothes again, feeling alarmingly out of her element. This fantasy shopping spree was delightful, but it gave her an odd feeling under the circumstances. The hour of decision was fast approaching.

  Why had she told Quin she still wanted him? Was her subconscious trying to force the issue? Did she want Quin to play the role of seducer? It seemed more honest to simply admit she would like to sleep with him again. As he had said earlier—no strings attached.

  Truthfully, she wanted strings. Lots of them. She wanted Quin to care about the things she cared about—to woo her in a way that said he understood her discomfort with his money. That said he understood her. Was that even possible?

  Her time with Quin was half over already. Soon, she would be back in her pleasant condo in Portland, going about her ordinary routine. She might see him now and again in passing, but their day-to-day lives wouldn’t intersect. Her six-week stint in the Maine woods would be only a memory.

  If she said yes tonight, could she be satisfied with so much less than she yearned for?

  Back at the front of the store, Quin and Katiya had their heads together, deep in conversation.

  Quin looked up when Katie approached. “What? No fashion show?”

  His lazy grin lit a spark in her belly. Her legs trembled. “Get over yourself,” she said. “That’s old-school cinema. You’re not Richard Gere, and I’m not Julia Roberts.”

  His eyebrows raised in tandem. “I should hope not. We Stone men may have our faults, but doing the Pygmalion thing with charming hookers isn’t one of them.” Her comment had apparently insulted him.

  “I was kidding,” she said. “Chill out. Lighten up. I thought we were having fun.”

  Katiya giggled. “I like her, Quin.” She gave Katie a charming smile. “I’m happy to meet you.” Then she paused. “Our names are the same, you know? Katie. Katiya. Maybe we be friends.”

  Katie shook the other woman’s hand, touched by the woman’s apparent sincerity. “I’d like that. Thanks for your help.”

  “Enjoy the dress.”

  “Enjoy the history professor.”

  Out on the sidewalk, Quin shot her a puzzled look. “What was that all about?”

  “After Katiya and Zachary called it quits, she found a history professor and married him. He’s her soulmate. Her words. Not mine.”

  “Soulmate?”

  “Some people think it’s a real thing.”

  He pulled her beneath the shade of an awning. “And what about you, Katie Duncan. Are you looking for your soulmate?”

  Six

  Katie sucked in a sharp breath, shocked to her core. She hadn’t anticipated such a loaded question in the middle of the street in broad daylight. Weren’t men supposed to lead up to this kind of thing?

  Quin looked dead serious. His vivid sapphire eyes seemed to burn from within. In about three seconds she was going to melt into a puddle on the sidewalk. And not from the summer heat.

  She swallowed hard. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to breathe. Maybe it was the exhaust fumes from all those yellow cabs making her gulp for oxygen.

  He touched her bottom lip with a single fingertip, barely stroking. “Weighing the odds. Gauging my chances.”

  “Chances of what?”

  His mouth quirked at the corner. “You told me you still wanted me. Did you mean that?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Liar...”

  The intensity in his gaze made her shiver despite the temperature. “Maybe I was joking,” she said. “I’m always sticking my foot in my mouth.”

  He cupped her face, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. “Don’t be afraid, Kat. I can’t explain what happened before. In fact, I’ve racked my brain trying to remember what dumbass thing I did to drive you away.”

  “It wasn’t you,” she muttered, suddenly near tears. “It was me.”

  He frowned. “You’re not making sense.”

  She took a deep breath. This wasn’t the time to fall apart. “You and I are not soulmates,” she said firmly. “I never thought we were. That’s the answer to your question. I suppose most women want to believe that their perfect match, their perfect man, is out there somewhere. You’re wonderful, Quin, but you and me together...” She trailed off, searching for the exact words to make him understand. “We’re fun. We’re hot in the sack. But we’re not soulmates. I walked away two years ago, because I didn’t want to have my heart broken.”

  There. That was about as honest as she could be.

  Something flickered in his eyes. Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to be so blunt. “I see.”

  “I shouldn’t have said I still wanted you.”

  “Because it’s not true?” Now the set of his jaw was grim.

  “Because it would be a mistake, and we’re both old enough to learn from our mistakes.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I’m the guy who plunged down a mountain with a bum knee and almost killed myself. Because I was too stubborn and impatient to wait for the all clear. I’m not known for being levelheaded when it comes to things I want.”

  “Like skiing?”

  “Like you.”

  His honesty deserved honesty in return. She tilted her face to his. “Then let’s make our mistakes, Quin. Kiss me.”

  He slid his hand behind her neck, pulling her close. When his lips touched hers, she leaned into him with a mortifying whimper of pleasure and shock and delight. Eight million people in the big city, and all Katie could hear was the sound of labored breathing—Quin’s and her own.

  She had forgotten how good he tasted. A tiny hint of chocolate from the mini éclairs at the fancy salon lingered at the corner of his mouth. She kissed it away. Quin groaned and shuddered. It had always been like this whenever they touched. Raw insanity. Endless need.

  “Quin...” She whispered his name, dizzy with wanting him. She had tried to be good and smart and careful with her emotions. But it all came down to this. The laser focus that had made him a champion raked her into his orbit.

  He cursed under his breath and backed away. Streams of humanity ebbed and flowed around them. “We should head for the museu
m,” he said gruffly. “If not, we won’t make our dinner reservation. I’m sure you want time to shower and relax before we go.”

  She swallowed, nodding. “That would be nice.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Truce?”

  He nodded, his fingers warm and firm against hers. “Truce.” Without asking, he hailed a cab. Katie would have been happy to walk, but Quin was right. If she was to see any of the Met at all and still have time to change, there was no opportunity to dawdle.

  When the cabbie dropped them at the curb on Fifth Avenue, Katie stared up at the large flight of steps. “I had no idea the building was so big.”

  Quin curled an arm around her waist, guiding her among clumps of tourists. “In 1870, when the Met was founded, it owned not a single work of art. Now, some 150 years later, the permanent collection numbers around two million items, only a fraction of which are on display. And that begs the question—where do you want to start?”

  Katie grinned, happy despite the simmering tension between them. “Van Gogh, Renoir and the Tiffany glass. That will do for today.”

  Quin blinked. “I didn’t expect you to be quite so prepared.”

  “I’m a planner. Farrell can tell you that. There’s a time and place for spontaneity, but my initial foray into the third most visited museum in the world is an occasion for careful attack.”

  He kissed her cheek and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Your wish is my command.”

  Quin bought their tickets and grabbed several brochures. After studying the maps to refresh his memory, he nodded. “One level up.” He steered her without hesitation to the second-floor gallery that included French Impressionists. When Quin took her hand, her heart turned over in her chest. They saw the Manets and the Monets. The Cézannes and the Cassatts. Van Gogh. Degas. Pissarro.

  It was too much. Room after room of art. The color and light and passion that had survived through the centuries and across the miles. She felt overwhelmed. She and Quin turned a corner, and suddenly, she found what she was looking for. “Here it is,” she said softly, speaking more to herself than to her companion. Standing in front of the large canvas, she felt her eyes burn.