Reaching For Risks

by Jemi Fraser

  Everything on the first floor was going to get a fresh coat of paint. Her brother’s wedding might be small but she was going to make sure it was as perfect as it could be for him. Their parents would be so thrilled that he’d found someone wonderful to spend his life with. It might be only the two of them now but she’d try to make that enough.

  She’d have to dig out some old photos to set up in the sitting room. Her parents’ wedding. Sawyer as a kid. His sports photos. Definitely a few of him in uniform. She had a feeling Myla would like those.

  “What’s got you smiling? Paint fumes?”

  Quinn.

  Darby whirled to find him leaning against the door jamb, blocking her exit from the small room. Her heart raced against her ribs and robbed her of the ability to speak. She needed more time to figure out what to say, how to apologize. How to make it all go away.

  She’d thrown herself at this man.

  And he’d rejected her.

  Was there a good cliche for that?

  Quinn raised an eyebrow and studied her. She needed to speak. Apologize or ignore it? Or ask him to help her out with Number Nine. Fling time?

  With a gigantic effort, Darby pulled in the reigns of her fantasy. The man didn’t want to kiss her. Didn’t want to be attracted to her so he sure didn’t want to have a fling with her. If she only focused on someone who didn’t want her, she’d never complete anything new on the Risk List.

  But she’d rather have something with him than anything new on the list.

  Unable to speak yet, she gave a shaky smile and knelt down to tap the lids on the paint cans.

  “Good color choice. My influence, I presume?”

  Paint. Good. She could talk about paint. “I decided the whole B&B didn’t need to appeal to older women. They’re only part of my clientele. I get lots of young couples, too. I think the bright blue is fun and pretty modern yet still kind of ties in with the rest of the house. So yes, I’d say the color is your influence. Thank you.” Darby clamped her lips together to stop babbling. He already thought she was pathetic, no need for him to think she was idiot, too.

  “Okay.” He drew the word again. Definitely thought she was nuts. Who could blame him? “You said a carpet needed to be ripped out and replaced. Which room?”

  “Mrs. Reyes’ room. The one right next to yours.”

  “Should have guessed. Is that yellow or white on those walls?”

  Her grin felt slightly more natural. They were going to ignore the kiss. All good. “It’s yellow. Soft Sunrise, I believe.”

  Quinn snorted. “It matches. Okay. I’ll start moving furniture. Does it matter where I put it?”

  They finished the awkward conversation and Darby breathed a sigh of relief when Quinn left the room. At least there was an end in sight. At the end of the following weekend, he’d be gone.

  And that wasn’t sadness or disappointment she felt, it was relief.

  Sure it was.

  Darby picked up her supplies and headed to the mudroom to clean them. It was bad enough Sawyer had coerced Quinn into staying with her. Then she’d attacked him. Now he was kind enough to ignore it and try to have a normal conversation. She’d been so stiff, she might as well have cracked.

  How was she supposed to learn when she couldn’t have a normal conversation with a man she’d kissed with every ounce of passion she possessed? She was such a loser.

  Philip Charters had a lot to answer for.

  Darby dropped the brushes in the sink and leaned against it. She hadn’t thought of Philip in hours. Not when she’d approached Quinn in the shadows when he’d looked destroyed. Not when she’d searched his eyes for what troubled him. And certainly not while she’d had her tongue in his mouth.

  He’d had his hands on her. Under her shirt. On her breasts. And not once had she thought of Philip. Not once had she flashed back to the feel of his hands trying to touch her. Not during the sleepless night while she’d worried over the whole mess.

  Unable to process it Darby dropped to the floor in front of the sink. What did it mean? Had she moved on? Left the creep and his hold on her behind?

  If she could kiss Quinn with her soul she must be healed. Or at least healing.

  For ten years, she’d only been able to see his brother in Quinn’s eyes. Her attraction to him had been suppressed by her revulsion to Philip but it hadn’t killed it. Hadn’t killed her ability to be a real woman.

  She’d tried the whole sex thing in college and while she’d gone through with it none of it had been very interesting or pleasurable.

  Last night proved she could do it.

  She could be normal again.

  Thanks to Quinn.

  The man who didn’t want anything to do with her.

  QUINN poured all of his frustration into dragging the heavy pieces of furniture into the hallway. The sweat felt good. Not as good as it would feel to drag Darby into the bedroom and pour his frustration into her but good.

  Those eyes of hers had haunted him all night. Faced with their reality this morning in that back bedroom she’d painted, he’d nearly tackled her.

  Without a single worry about her. Nope. It was all about him and his needs. Like last night when he’d used her to avoid thinking about his father. Jerk. He hadn’t even apologized, which he couldn’t because he wasn’t even the least bit sorry. He’d be reliving those kisses for years to come.

  His bastard of a father had called at exactly one minute past nine. At least he’d followed instructions. Quinn checked the time but he still had an hour before he planned to leave for the meeting. His stomach clenched at the thought. What was he going to hear? What was he going to do?

  If it was half as bad as a quarter of the things he’d imagined during the endless night, it would be horrific. A million times, he’d considered calling off the meeting and telling the man to go to hell but in the end, he couldn’t.

  Family.

  No matter how many ways he looked at it, they shared blood. They’d given him life. He couldn’t turn them away without a hearing. Even if the thought of sharing DNA with the man scared the hell out of him.

  By the time he needed to shower—again—Quinn had cleared the room and ripped up the rug. Knowing he’d need to deal with more frustration after talking with his father, he left the rug in the room so he could tussle with it later.

  Five minutes before meeting time he hollered to Darby he needed to head out for a few hours and left. No eye contact. She’d see his thoughts and that wouldn’t end well. Once he’d gotten rid of his father and the shame attached to him he’d be able to face her again. Apologize. Start over.

  The motel was on the outskirts of town so he took his truck and still arrived with two minutes to spare. He took the time to compose his face and his nerves. Ready as he’d ever be, Quinn stepped down from the truck and knocked on the hotel room door. It opened instantly and he faced his father again. Another tailored suit with a fancy tie and matching pocket square. In his whole life, he’d rarely seen the man dress in anything else.

  The motel was like millions all over the States. Clean, generic, boring. It lifted Quinn’s spirits to think of how frustrated his father would be lowering himself to stay in a room where the art on the walls didn’t even boast a signature. “I’m here. Let’s hear it.”

  Lionel gestured to the tiny table with two wooden chairs in the corner and Quinn sat. When his father took the opposite chair Quinn couldn’t avoid truly looking at him anymore. Older. Grey complexion. The lines around his mouth and eyes had deepened. Whatever he’d gotten involved with hadn’t treated him well. Or the internal nastiness was leaking into the outer layer.

  Lionel cleared his throat and laid his hands on top of the folder he’d placed on the table. Studied them rather than look at his son. “As you know, our family has always invested money as a way of ensuring our financial stability.”

  Quinn avoided rolling his eyes and remained silent.

  “Some of those investments have not been successful. A
s you know, investments are risks, and the higher the risk, the higher the reward.”

  “In other words, you dumped a ton of money into a dud.”

  His father’s eyes pinched and his lips thinned. “Must you be so crude?”

  Instead of answering, Quinn raised an eyebrow and waited.

  It took almost a full minute but his father finally let out a huff of breath. “You are, essentially, correct.”

  “As I told you yesterday I’m not rich. I pay my mortgage for the shop on time every month and I put aside some of the profits for myself and some to improve the shop. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, my resources aren’t enough to fund a rescue.” He huffed out a breath of his own. “How much are we talking about?”

  “That is not relevant.”

  Quinn leaned forward and slapped his hand on the table. “Of course it’s relevant. It’s why you’re here. I don’t see how it could be any more relevant.”

  If Lionel’s lips kept thinning, they were going to disappear altogether. “I am not here to ask you for your money. I am here simply because I require your signature.”

  He hadn’t expected that. Quinn leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “My signature. On what?”

  No eye contact. Uptight and upright posture. Disappearing lips. Not good at all.

  Lionel flipped open the folder and shuffled the papers. He ended with the same one on the top that had started there. Definitely not good.

  “When you were a child, a fund was started in the family name.” First Quinn had heard of it. “It’s always advantageous to spread out one’s assets into diverse portfolios.” Tax evasion? “Through a complex series of investments this fund has grown. It is sufficient to solve the other financial issues. All I require is your signature on a few papers and the situation will be resolved.”

  Easy as that.

  Except none of it sounded exactly legal or ethical. “I’ll have my lawyer look over the papers and get back to you in a few days.”

  Quinn reached for the folder but Lionel snapped it closed and pulled it back. “We are family. There is no need to have lawyers involved. All that is required is a signature or two.”

  “Which you won’t get until I have a lawyer look through the papers.”

  “Why?”

  Quinn crossed his arms again. Better than punching the man. “Why? Because I don’t trust you.”

  Lionel shoved to his feet taking the folder with him. He stared down at his son trying to use intimidation and disappointment to influence him to change his mind.

  “Not going to work, pops.” Fury flared in Lionel’s eyes and Quinn shoved to his own feet, bringing them eye to eye. “You lost your chance at intimidating me the day you raised that cane. You lost your chance at respect and trust long before that. When you’re willing to have me take those papers to the lawyer you can send them in the mail.”

  Quinn waited for a few moments but Lionel didn’t have a response so he turned and walked out the motel door, closing it softly behind him. No slamming to let the old man know he’d gotten to him. No need to spare him any emotion at all.

  Keeping his pace and body casual Quinn walked to the truck and got in. While he wanted to slam his fist against the wheel and rev the engine he focused on keeping everything about his movements and face neutral. Unconcerned.

  Undamaged.

  Once he was around the corner, Quinn decided on a destination. His first instinct was to go to Darby. To talk it all out with her, get her take on the matter. Instead, he aimed the truck for the highway. He’d done enough damage last night, no need to burden her with his family issues. She didn’t need any more of his shit dumped on her.

  The best thing he could do for her was to stay the hell away.

  Checking Off #7

  Darby studied her latest list, wondering what she’d missed.

  As if reading her mind, Myla spoke. “I’m sure you’ve got everything covered. And then some.” Myla shook her head and sipped at her coffee. “You’ve got to be the more organized person I know. Your lists are legendary and I’m thrilled you’ve got one for us.”

  Darby laughed. “I want to make sure your wedding day is perfect.”

  “I’m marrying Sawyer so it will be.” Myla’s smile made Darby sigh. She was so glad her brother had found this woman. So glad he’d found that kind of love. Would she ever feel that? At least she was closer now than she’d been in years. She was able to feel lust—lots and lots of lust—and that had to be a good sign.

  Myla leaned across the kitchen island and tapped the notebook. “How’s the other list coming?”

  “Pretty good. Quinn’s been very helpful.”

  Myla choked on her coffee as she laughed. “I’m so glad he’s been helpful. I’ll bet he’s enjoyed the flirting part. Or maybe it’s the lingerie? Which color is his favorite?”

  Darby’s face flushed and she couldn’t meet her friend’s eye. “The Reno List. He’s been helping me with that list. We’ve almost got everything painted—“

  Myla waved her to a stop. “Don’t care. I want to hear about the Risk List. How’s it going? What have you checked off since our shopping expedition? And how has Quinn been helpful on that list?”

  No way was Darby talking about Numbers Eight and Nine from the other night. They probably shouldn’t count anyway when the man wished she hadn’t kissed him in the first place.

  Quinn had been polite and distant since then. She missed the friendship that had deepened once he’d moved into the B&B. He made her laugh like no one else ever had. Conversations with him were never boring and often unexpected. But she’d blown it. Big time.

  “Spill.”

  Darby forced herself to make eye contact. “There’s nothing to spill. I haven’t had time to work on that list.” Time to change the subject before Myla realized something was up. “Are you sure you don’t want to have two wedding cakes? It wouldn’t be hard at all. One could be chocolate, the other lemon. That way everyone has a choice.”

  Myla shook her head. “Not going to work. We’re done talking about the Wedding List, the Reno List and me. We’re going to talk Risk List. What number was flirting? Never mind. The number doesn’t matter. That’s got to be the next step. If Quinn doesn’t have you flirting with him yet, he’s a lost cause.”

  Myla tipped her head and studied Darby, who battled the need to look away. “I find that surprising, though, given the way he was watching you the other night. Did you have a fight or did he do something weird?”

  Weird. Yes. Lots of weird had happened since then and all of it her fault. Myla pressed but Darby managed to deflect all of her questions. “If anything, the last couple of days have proven I don’t have a clue what to do when it comes to men.”

  Myla shook her head. “I doubt that. Sounds like Quinn’s being a blockhead to me. Besides, I believe the flirting was supposed to be with a hot stranger, and while Quinn may be hot as molten lava you’ve known him for years. You need a stranger. Have you picked a line to use yet?”

  “I haven’t looked up the fine art of flirting online.”

  Myla waved that away. “You’ve watched movies, watched people here in the B&B. Make one up. Let’s see.” Myla tapped her finger on the table for a few seconds then grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “The tourists are getting hotter every year. Need a tour guide for tonight? Glad the ice cream parlor’s open, it’s suddenly hot out here.” The suggestions got worse and worse until both women were blinking back tears of laughter.

  When Myla’s phone buzzed, her face brightened as she read the text. “It’s Sawyer. He’s back in from that overnight fishing and camping thing with those tourists. I think I’ll go welcome him back to town.”

  Her grin made Darby cover her ears so she would stop talking. “It’s only been one night and I don’t want to hear you talking about sex with my brother.”

  “You’re no fun.” Myla smiled as she picked up her purse and hopped off the stool. “Can I ask one favor tho
ugh?”

  “As long as you stop talking about sex with my brother you can ask me anything.” The wicked grin told Darby she’d been too quick to agree.

  “I’m going to text you after supper tonight. At that time you will have completed Number Five or Six or whichever one is about flirting with a hot stranger. No excuses. No wimping out.”

  Darby tried to protest but Myla ignored her and kept talking. “Nope. You said I could have a favor and this is it. You said you needed to pick up some new paintbrushes anyway so go pick up a guy at the same time. Flirt. Have fun. And if you have the chance, aim for a kiss too.”

  Myla moved to the door as she reeled off instructions. She started to close it behind her then leaned back in to point her finger. “No excuses. Have fun.” Then she was gone.

  Darby slumped onto her stool. She didn’t have to do it. No. It was her list she could make her own decisions about it.

  Except Myla was right. She’d totally wimped out on the list. She’d been distracted by Quinn who didn’t want anything to do with her. Maybe she should. She hadn’t had Quinn in mind when she’d made the list. It wasn’t about him, it was about her.

  Flirting didn’t mean anything. People flirted all the time. Quinn flirted with women all the time. Pretty much with every woman who shopped in his store. And everywhere else.

  Harmless flirting.

  She could do it.

  Would do it.

  But her hands shook when she stood up.

  Guilt was a very real thing and Myla was a master at delivering it. A text arrived when Darby stepped into her room. No backing out. Show off those sexy legs and have fun!

  Darby sighed then changed into one of the sundresses she’d bought and put on some makeup. A quick check in the mirror showed a decent enough image if you ignored the scowl. She pasted on a smile but that looked like she was auditioning for a part in a horror movie. A B level horror movie. Maybe D level.

  How hard could it be?