Fantasy Man

by Barbara Meyers

  With no help from Tony, Vinnie had tracked Quinn to the safe house and got Pops’ approval to send in a team which had failed to eliminate her.

  Tony swore he had no idea where she was now. Vinnie didn’t believe him, but he’d convinced Pops. After Tony left, Pops had instructed Vinnie to find Quinn Fontana and to eliminate any possibility of her testifying.

  Vinnie glowed remembering how Pops had clapped him on the back and called him “my boy.”

  Vinnie wasn’t worried. He was used to cleaning up messes for Pops. And if Pops was on his way out, whoever took his place would understand Vinnie’s value to the organization. Maybe even the big boss in Jersey would take notice.

  First Vinnie would find Quinn Fontana again. If at all possible, he’d use her to prove his nose was right about Tony. Then he’d get rid of them both. Slowly. Painfully.

  Failure was not an option. One way or another Vinnie would earn his rightful place in the family.

  Chapter Five

  Reif gazed at the sea of mattresses before him. How did anyone choose a mattress? They all looked virtually the same and the claims touted by their signs were meaningless to him. What difference did it make how many coils were inside or if the springs were created with state-of-the-art bowling ball bouncing technology? A mattress was a mattress was a mattress as far as he was concerned. But maybe Quinn felt differently.

  How had he gotten himself into a situation where he was picking out bedroom furniture—and a mattress for chrissakes—with a woman he barely knew?

  But you do know her, his subconscious insisted.

  Barely.

  No. Intimately.

  Reif clenched his jaw, wishing his conscience or subconscious would knock off feeding him these unwanted reminders of his less than stellar behavior. He also wished Quinn had been a less appealing companion than she was. Then he could stop thinking about what he’d like to do with her on every single one of these mattresses.

  Instead, she’d expressed interest in looking at furniture, and apparently they had the same taste and sense of style. He’d committed to a bedroom set in a pale oak wash with clean lines. Simple, straightforward, functional and sturdy. They’d both rejected art deco, four posters and wrought iron.

  Now all they needed was a mattress set and they could wrap this up, arrange for delivery and Quinn would have a room to call her own. When she left he’d have a fully furnished guest room. Win-win.

  The salesman who’d been following them since they’d arrived was busy writing up the sale for the furniture and attempting to arrange same day delivery. Reif hadn’t been above bribing both him and the delivery driver to make it happen.

  “How do you choose a mattress?” Quinn asked. “I’ve never done it before.”

  Reif wondered if that comment was intended as some kind of double entendre, but he doubted it. She was pushing down on one of the mattresses when she said it, seeming as confounded by the array of choices as Reif was.

  “This one feels hard,” she said. She pushed down on the mattress again. “Really hard.”

  “How hard is it?”

  “I wouldn’t mind sitting on it for a while, but I wouldn’t want to sleep on top of it all night.”

  Reif chuckled, pretty sure they were still talking about the mattress.

  He trailed her down the aisle as she tested each one with her hands. Every time she bent over he couldn’t help but notice the sweet curve of her backside, covered by the short skirt. He decided he might be falling in love by the time he reached the backs of her knees and the few inches of thigh just above.

  “How about this one?” She stopped in front of a pillow top mattress, bent over and pressed down. “This feels good,” she decided. “Firm, but not too hard. Just the way it’s supposed to be. Let’s try it out.”

  She sat on the edge, laid back, kicked off her shoes and swung her legs up. She brushed her arm up and down the fabric, as if she were making half a snow angel.

  “Lay down. See what you think.”

  “That’s okay. I trust your judgment.” Reif had sworn to himself that he’d never find himself in a bed with Quinn again. He wasn’t about to break that promise within a matter of hours, even if it was a purely innocent situation.

  “Yeah, but you’re the one buying it. You’ll have to live with it even after I’m gone.”

  “I don’t imagine I’ll be sleeping in the guest room often.”

  “You should at least try it out.”

  To placate her Reif leaned over and pressed down on the mattress once, then quickly backed away. “Feels good to me,” he said.

  “Oh, come on. I’m not going to bite you. Besides, you can’t tell from that. What if you have two guests sharing it? You ought to see how it is with two people instead of just one. Maybe there’s no support and they’ll be rolling into each other all night.”

  He supposed she had a point there. He sat and then lay back, letting his feet dangle over the edge. He wasn’t going to take his shoes off as she had.

  The mattress was much smaller than his king. He was sure he was taking up more than half of it and Quinn was awfully close to him. Too close. She’d curled on her side facing him, arm tucked under her head. “What do you think?”

  On the pretext of testing the mattress he turned on his side as well, which put them face to face just inches away from each other. What did he think? He thought he should never get horizontal with Quinn ever again. He could too easily imagine himself in this much smaller bed, on this much smaller mattress, with fewer clothes, lights and no other shoppers around them.

  He could imagine, no, he could remember the silky texture of her skin, the taste of her, her response to him. She’d be looking at him with that mischievous glint in her eyes and he’d find her impossible to resist. Then he’d hate himself in the morning. He made a sound in his throat.

  “It’s not too hard, is it?”

  Hard? “What?”

  “The mattress.”

  “Oh, yeah. Um…not too hard.” But if he didn’t get off this bed right now, the same wouldn’t be true of him. Frankly, he didn’t need anything else to be embarrassed about today.

  He rolled away from her and stood just as the salesman reappeared. “We’ll take this one,” he informed the man, not looking at Quinn again.

  The salesman promised them delivery and set-up by early evening. They made another stop to buy linens for Quinn’s new bed. Reif let her be completely in charge of the decision, but he liked what she chose—neutral colors, geometric designs, flattering accents.

  Later, on the way to the grocery store Reif gave Quinn a guided tour of the area near his home. Tropicana Bay was just one of the numerous small communities which had been absorbed into the greater LA sprawl. But it was a neighborhood on its own merit, sporting a decent shopping area, well-kept homes and even a small marina.

  Before they reached the supermarket Quinn asked if they could stop at a drugstore. “Sure,” Reif said. “What do you need?”

  Quinn hesitated. “Just a few personal items.”

  Reif wisely shut his mouth. At a CVS, Quinn headed to the back of the store near the pharmacy counter and Reif aimlessly strolled the aisles, examining the brands of shaving cream and men’s body wash. Scented body washes seemed to be all the rage now, although as far as he knew, a bar of soap still did the job.

  When he saw Quinn get in line to pay he joined her. He glanced at the single item she’d chosen. Plan B. At least she wasn’t taking any chances, in spite of her earlier certainty that she couldn’t possibly be pregnant.

  “Why don’t you let me pay for that?” he said in a hushed tone.

  Quinn didn’t look at him. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

  The line snaked forward and two more shoppers got in line behind them.

  “I’d like to take responsibility for this,” Reif said, ca
reful to keep his voice down. “Since I’m the one who’s to blame.”

  “Again with the blame,” Quinn hissed. “You didn’t even know what you were doing, remember?”

  Reif felt himself color again. He could almost see the ears of the woman behind them perk up.

  “Even more of a reason to let me pay,” he insisted. Was the woman actually leaning forward so she could listen in on their conversation? Reif turned and glared at her. She gave him an amused smile, then turned to loudly whisper to the man next to her, “She said he doesn’t know what he’s doing in bed so she’s not going to let him pay.”

  “That doesn’t seem right,” the man whispered back. “He probably enjoyed himself even if she didn’t.”

  Since the floor showed no signs of opening up beneath him so he could escape, Reif decided to pretend he couldn’t hear them.

  They moved up another few inches toward the cashier. “I don’t know why you have to be so difficult.”

  “I’m not being difficult,” Quinn said in her normal tone of voice. “You’re being overbearing.”

  “I am not! You’re the one who insisted you weren’t pregnant.”

  “I’m not,” she said evenly, looking him in the eye.

  “But you’re not sure.” Reif felt compelled to point that out.

  “I’m about ninety-five percent sure, but I’m not an idiot, either. This is my body, my responsibility. My choice.” She pressed her lips into a thin line.

  Reif sighed. “You could at least let me pay half.”

  Quinn seemed to think about this as the cashier handed a bag to the customer in front of them. “Fine. You can pay half.”

  “You go girl,” said the woman behind them. “She’s letting him pay half.”

  “Equality. That’s what I like to see,” her companion said.

  Reif wondered if it was too late to move to another city.

  Quinn was obviously someone who was used to running a household. When they got back, she stowed the food in the refrigerator and pantry in an organized fashion and washed the sheets and pillowcases before making up the bed. In less than twenty-four hours since her arrival, she’d somehow managed to make his house feel like more of a home than he’d been able to in the two months he’d been there.

  Maybe it had nothing to do with food in the refrigerator and clean linens on the bed. Maybe it had to do with a woman’s presence. No, not just any woman. Quinn. She seemed to fit, somehow. In his house and in his life.

  In his bed. Bow-chicka-bow-wow!

  No, he warned himself for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Not in your bed. Never again. Not going to happen.

  He grilled salmon steaks for dinner and Quinn put together a salad. They sat outside and shared a bottle of wine, but sipped slowly, both wary of overdoing it.

  Darkness fell, the air grew cool and still they sat talking long after they’d finished their meal. Quinn told him about growing up in Coral Bay, her mother’s death, her father and brother’s over protectiveness of her, which she resented but understood. She was close to finishing her Master’s in social work and had arranged to delay completing her classes until the trial was over. Meanwhile, she planned to finish work on her thesis.

  Reif told her about his family, his three younger sisters, about establishing his business, the places he’d travelled to, his love of sailing.

  Eventually, Quinn yawned. “It’s not you,” she assured him. “I think the time change is catching up with me. What is it, three hours?”

  She scooted her chair back and stood. Leaning down, she kissed him lightly on the lips. “I had a wonderful time, today. Thank you.”

  Reif watched her disappear into the house. Her footsteps faded as she went up the stairs to her room. Because of her, he’d had a wonderful day too. Sort of.

  * * * * *

  On Sunday he took Quinn sailing. She unwittingly endeared herself to him further by oohing and aahing over his sailboat, Argosy. Though more familiar with power boats, she had a rudimentary knowledge of sailing and seemed delighted to learn more.

  If Quinn hadn’t been around he probably would have sailed alone or maybe called one of his buddies, but he liked having her with him. She stood next to him while he steered, wearing sunglasses and a Rays ball cap. She’d known how to dress for boating, in deck shoes and a jacket. Nothing bothered her; not the rudimentary sanitary facilities or the wind messing up her hair.

  Reif had dated women in the past who’d feigned enthusiasm for his sailboat, but they had clearly seen it more as an accessory to a lifestyle, like a purse-bound Chihuahua. They hadn’t been able to hide their dismay at the reality of actually sailing, fussing over their makeup if the salt spray touched it, moaning over a broken nail after he’d requested help with the lines, anxious about their hair when they finally returned to shore.

  Maybe it was Quinn’s Florida upbringing that made her different. She’d grown up near the beach, and was accustomed to the consequences of wind and salt water. She didn’t seem to mind any of it. In fact, she seemed to revel in it. Her handling of the lines under his direction was impressive. She was agile and surefooted as she moved around the boat. Her fingernails weren’t too long and all natural. No fake acrylic nails for Quinn, Reif thought fondly.

  Fondly?

  Okay, he could admit that much. In two short days he’d grown fond of Quinn. She was a pleasant, stimulating companion. They could talk or not talk, but he never felt pressured to make conversation. If they were quiet, it wasn’t in an awkward way. More like a natural pause. Quinn didn’t chatter as so many women he’d known, saying something without saying anything, just to fill in a silence. That kind of behavior got on a guy’s nerves after a while.

  Quinn reminded him a lot of Tony. Both possessed the same sort of easygoing charm, and a natural reserve that never felt like shyness or aloofness. Rather it was that they were confident in their own identities. They knew who they were. Self-confidence, Reif supposed, was always appealing.

  Back at the marina, he treated Quinn to a cheeseburger and fries from the club grill and chatted with a few acquaintances who eyed Quinn with curiosity, though he didn’t introduce her. He decided both she and her name were too memorable so he erred on the side of poor manners. He didn’t want to leave an easy trail for anyone trying to find her.

  When they were seated in a corner booth waiting for their order to arrive, Reif asked, “Did Tony tell you just how low of a profile you’re supposed to keep?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure exactly where the boundaries are. I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell people your name. I’m not even sure I should take you out in public.”

  “Relax. I told you they thought it was unlikely anyone would connect me to you.”

  “Unlikely doesn’t mean it can’t happen, or that it won’t.”

  Quinn shrugged. “You want to talk to Tony about specifics, go ahead. But I’ve disrupted my life as much as I’m going to by coming here. It wasn’t my idea. It was Tony’s.”

  “To keep you safe.”

  Quinn grinned, her mood switching from annoyance to humor so quickly Reif had a hard time keeping up. “Yes, I’m sure that was his intention. Guess he should have been more specific about from what.”

  “Touché,” Reif replied under his breath, shifting his gaze to look out the window. Boats were returning to the marina, owners swabbing decks and buttoning them down for the night. Both he and Quinn knew she wasn’t safe with him. Wasn’t safe from him. For all of Tony’s good intentions.

  “Beating yourself up again?” Quinn asked lightly before taking a sip of her soda through the straw.

  Reif held back his grunt of frustration and decided to ignore her reference to their one night together. “Your life could be in danger, you know. Is in danger. You don’t seem to take it very seriously.”

  “I�
��m here, aren’t I?”

  Reif stared moodily at his drink, turning it in circles on the coaster, watching the condensation soak into the little paper square.

  “They’re still sifting through evidence. Still doing interviews. Even with my testimony there’s no guarantee they have a case.”

  “They’ve filed charges, haven’t they?”

  “Sure. But crime syndicates like this one also have the best legal teams dirty money can buy. If the Coral Bay police or the FBI didn’t dot every I and cross every T, they won’t be able to convict anyone on anything. The cases they’re hoping to prosecute might not even go to trial.”

  “At least then you could go back to your old life.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Sick of me already?” She continued before he could reply. “Whether I testify or not I can’t stay here with you indefinitely, now can I?”

  Reif continued to study his glass, rubbing his thumb down the bottom third as he turned it. You could if you married me.

  The reply was in his head so fast, he could only be glad it didn’t make it to his mouth. He could hear Quinn’s giggles if he voiced that thought. She thought him ridiculously old-fashioned for suggesting it the first time. And he had to admit, it was. An attitude like that made no damn sense in the twenty-first century. But that didn’t stop his gut from feeling the way it did. Plus the only reason he’d offered to marry her was because she might be pregnant. And because of his friendship with Tony. Honest.

  Reif sighed. He saw the server coming with their food. Thank God. A distraction. Maybe what he should start thinking about was whether his gut would still want to marry Quinn if her brother wasn’t his best friend. Just in case he ever got the ridiculous urge to ask her again.

  Chapter Six

  Monday morning Reif left for his office before Quinn was up. He left coffee in the pot for her and a note. Home around six.