by Ava Miles
Alice’s eyes widened. “I’d have paid big money to hear that conversation.”
Frankly, so would she.
Why hadn’t Quinn told her? Had he known how angry it would make her? They didn’t used to keep secrets from each other.
“This only drills home what we already knew,” Alice said. “Your father knows everything. Remember how thoroughly he had his people check me out?”
Georges Maroun hadn’t known what to make of Francesca hiring a personal assistant whom she also thought of as a friend.
In his world, everyone had a purpose—to serve his needs. She was no different. Which was why she thought his oil salvo was a ruse. If he truly knew something, he would tell her—if for no other reason than it would reflect poorly on him if she ran Merriam into the ground.
“I should never have made that damn New Year’s resolution. Peace with him is impossible.”
“You always say that.”
She did, and that angered her too. Part of her still hoped he could change and become the kind of father who’d actually listen to her and support her wishes. But it seemed less likely every time they spoke.
Clenching her hands around her bag, she said, “He thinks Quinn is luring me to his failing company on the heat of an old fling. Like I’m thinking with my dick or something.”
“Your father is a jerk,” Alice said like the good friend she was. “If you had a dick, you’d never let it run your life.”
“Thank you!” The force of her anger was like a champagne cork working its way out. “And how dare I work for another company and not the family’s? He apparently thinks I’m good enough to help run his company, but whenever I try to do anything else, he implies I’m weak. Weak? Me? Oh, I’m so sick of his manipulations.”
“I know you are, which is why you made that resolution.” Alice rubbed her hand. “I hesitate to say this while there’s smoke coming out of your ears, but the resolution is about finding peace with your father. It doesn’t mean your father has to make peace back.”
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You don’t think we can improve our relationship?”
Her friend lifted a shoulder, her big brown eyes soft. “It doesn’t matter what I think. He’s not my father. Do you think it’s possible?”
“I don’t know.” She gave the footrest an unladylike kick. “I’ve always hoped so. But after today—”
“That’s the problem. Your hope is an attachment. What if he won’t or can’t change? That’s why you need to make peace with who he is, not who you want him to be. Once you have that, it won’t matter what he says or does.”
“Dammit. That sounds hard.”
She laughed. “If it were easy, there wouldn’t be a self-help market.”
Nodding, she gestured to the road. “Let’s go. I’m putting one stubborn man behind me and heading off to stay with another, although at least this one respects me. Am I crazy, Alice? Maybe a glutton for punishment?”
“You’re no glutton and the crazy part is negligible.”
That had her smiling. “Thanks.”
She put her seat belt back on and gestured for Francesca to do the same. “No problem. Before we finally get back on the road, I want to say one more thing about my matchmaking role. Usually you’re crystal clear on how you want things to go. You haven’t been this time, so I’ll have to follow my own intuition about you guys. Are you good with that?”
“That might be best,” she answered, staring out the window at the rolling hills. “He’s going to press his case the minute we arrive.” He would see yesterday as a victory and keep marching the rest of the way to her heart. She knew that. Respected it even. In his shoes, she would have done the same.
“Then you might consider putting your arm around Arthur when you arrive and sticking close to him. Quinn won’t be able to put his hands on you that way, and Arthur is too much of a gentleman to push you toward him. I’d hold your hand, but it would look weird.”
Her laughter sputtered out. “Oh, Alice. I’m so happy you’re my friend.”
“You know it. Now, sit back and gather yourself. We’ve got twenty minutes according to Google.”
When they pulled into the private drive and slowed to follow the winding road, Francesca gripped her knees. Then the flint-colored house came into view, and her heart trembled. All lingering emotions from her call with her father evaporated. The two-story house sat on the ocean, its style somehow both modern and classic with several large windows designed to make the most of the view. They’d always had similar taste in architecture, but this house…
She would have chosen it for herself.
“Wow,” Alice said in a breathy voice.
Francesca reached into her purse to reapply her favorite lipstick, using the simple ministration to gather herself.
“From the limo in front, I’d say his family has already arrived,” Alice said. “Arthur was so funny, teasing Clara about using a limo, especially in their small town.”
“He was,” she said, closing her lipstick slowly and putting it back. But she still didn’t feel gathered. “Everything is going to be fine. I’m a grown woman. I’ve consulted with the world’s most powerful businessmen.”
When Quinn strode out the front door with purpose, his long strides spanning the distance between them, her heart squeezed painfully.
“Brace yourself, Effie,” Alice muttered.
Alice’s ongoing use of the Mrs. Doubtfire line usually made Francesca laugh. Not this time. She found herself tensing as the car pulled to a halt and Quinn came around the hood to open her door.
“’Bout time you arrived,” he said, extending a hand to her. “I was getting restless. Anything happen on the drive up?”
Other than her father’s call? She thought again about her father’s mention of his attempt to interfere in their relationship and how he’d come away respecting Quinn despite his feelings.
He’d been wrong about Quinn, and he was wrong about Merriam Enterprises too. She was going to prove that by saving it. Francesca had already started working on her proposal for the Merriams because she hadn’t been able to stop tossing and turning last night. Thinking of Quinn’s family and the way she’d felt wanted and accepted, something she’d never felt with her father.
Thinking also about that hot, tempestuous kiss…
Alice gestured at the view. “We took our time. Pulled over to enjoy the vista. It’s beautiful here.”
He waved his hand impatiently at Francesca to indicate she was dillydallying, and that popped her out of her reserve. “Your restlessness is evident, Quinn. But it is lovely up here, and your house is magnificent.”
“I got lucky. Some Hollywood type was moving back to L.A. The whole thing went like clockwork. Just the way I like it. Are you going to take my hand or what? You look beautiful, by the way.”
“Comments on my beauty aren’t allowed when we’re working,” she told him, finally taking his hand and letting him help her out of the Audi.
When she tried to extract her fingers, he held firm and stepped closer. “We both know yesterday changed things.”
Perhaps it was best he’d brought it up now. They needed to clear the air. “I still need some other…items answered. Nothing new came from the moment you’re thinking about.”
He laughed and kissed her cheek. “You don’t think it counts as ‘new’ that we’re hotter together than ever? Or that you fit in with my family like you’ve always known them? You’re usually more honest than this.”
He was right, but she couldn’t admit he was right, not when the future still felt so uncertain. “You don’t know… Oh, why am I arguing with you? You have a head like a bull sometimes. Let’s get started. Where are our rooms? We’ll bring our luggage inside.”
“Not in a million years. Alice, pop the back, will ya? I’ll bring your stuff in.”
“I’m glad you didn’t call for Hargreaves,” Francesca said as he went to the back of the car.
He shot her a loo
k of outraged male pride. “He’s not my butler, and I wouldn’t have asked even if Aunt Clara had given her nod.”
Hefting two of their suitcases, he started to wheel them toward the front door. “You coming? I’ll grab the rest in a moment. I’m glad you still bring everything you need when you travel.”
He’d teased her about overpacking on their first weekend trip to the Lake District, but she’d explained why she’d taken so many things—that she’d learned to make a home wherever she went, starting in boarding school—and he’d stopped teasing her. He’d even encouraged her to pack more things on other outings.
When Alice headed to the back to secure a smaller piece, Francesca waved her off. “Let him do it. He’s determined.” Also, she knew he liked to take care of her like this.
Alice was biting her lip to keep from smiling. “He’s something. Oh, good morning, Clara. You beat us up here.”
“We settled in after brunch yesterday,” Clara said, grandly striding forward in a teal yoga outfit and kissing Alice’s cheek before turning to warmly do the same with Francesca. “Ignore Quinn’s restlessness. Blame it on deeper emotions that leave a man like him unsettled. Come inside. Hargreaves is preparing tea and a snack. Arthur is reading a newspaper, per his usual morning routine, while I do yoga. He pretends not to watch, but truthfully, it’s flattering to know I’m more captivating than the news to a seasoned journalist like him.”
“Yoga!” Alice said, following Clara to the house. “I’ll do yoga with you, Clara. If you don’t mind, that is.”
“Not at all, dear. Hargreaves prefers tai chi and Qigong, which we do three times a week. You’re welcome to join those practices as well. Both of you.”
Francesca appreciated the invitation, but she was here to work. “Thank you.”
“Well, you finally made it.” Arthur laughed as they entered the house. “I thought Quinn was going to burn a hole through his watch after all the times he looked at it.”
“I told Francesca it was a compliment,” Clara said. “So, what do you think of the house? Isn’t it gorgeous? I love the open floor plan.”
“A man’s got no privacy,” Arthur grumbled, but he shot them a wink. “I’m going to have to hang out in the bathroom to find some peace and quiet.”
“Oh, Arthur, you don’t talk about spending time in the bathroom in mixed company.”
He kissed her sweetly on the cheek. “She can’t take me anywhere, but yet, we still go. What does that say about you?”
“That love is stronger than sense,” she shot back, pushing him gently in the chest and making him laugh. “Hargreaves, dear. Our new friends have arrived.”
Alice beamed at the mention. “Friends! I was just saying the same thing on the way up. Right, Francesca?”
“Right.” She surveyed the lower level with its tall ceilings. Decorated in sea blue and gray with beach wood accents, the different segments were set off with either a few steps or wooden beams. The family room had two steps leading down to it while the dining room was raised up two steps. Both spaces boasted gorgeous views of the ocean and the beach below. Two large beams demarcated the designer kitchen at the back with a cozy nook facing the ocean. Somehow it was casual and yet elegant.
“Do you like it?” Quinn asked, close to her ear.
She took a moment to savor the feel of him, so close, then turned and took a step back. “I do.”
“Good. Come see your room.” He took her hand before she saw it coming, his touch familiar yet new, comforting yet exciting. It felt right in a way no other man’s hand ever had. Was it foolish of her to keep holding back?
She thought of the look of anguish on Quinn’s face when she’d refused his proposal. If they couldn’t think of a plan to make it work, all the way, she couldn’t risk breaking both of their hearts again. She just couldn’t. The last time had nearly destroyed her, and it had clearly been no easier on him.
“Yes, Alice, come and see our rooms,” she called, exerting a gentle effort to untangle their connection.
He shot her a grin, but he let her hand go with a knowing look. “First room at the top of the stairs, Alice.”
Her friend saluted and started up the modern rustic wood staircase, and Francesca trailed after her, very aware of Quinn at her right. The steps were a free floating design, and she liked the ladder-like feel of them. “Is mine next to yours? I hope you weren’t that predictable.”
His laugh was husky. “No, yours is next to Alice’s. Mine is at the end of the hall. Hargreaves is between us.”
Turning her head, she studied him. “You have something else in mind. What?”
He shrugged. “You and I were way too loud in the past, remember?”
Her thighs tightened at the memory of their cries blending together in their London apartments. They’d laughed more than once about it, but they hadn’t been able to come together quietly.
“Plus, they’re my family,” he said when she didn’t respond. “I wouldn’t sneak around with you in the house with them here.”
She shot him another look. “I know you’re up to something.”
This time his laughter was a rich baritone. “You’re right. I kept the guesthouse on the property free.”
Oh, dear Lord. She was sure her face flamed red. “I see.”
“The former owner used it as a studio, but I’ve outfitted it with—”
“I get the picture.” She could already see her legs locked around him with her back against the wall.
He paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, looking almost as vulnerable as that little boy in the photograph at his parents’ house, but his gaze caught hers, and heat sparked in his eyes again. “I’ve arranged for vases of jasmine to be there every day. Anytime you want to visit them, you should. Hopefully, you’ll let me visit with you soon.”
Their eyes held, and the thudding of her heart was so loud she was sure he heard it.
He traced her cheekbone before stepping away. “Alice, does this work?”
“Most definitely! The view is totally chill.”
Francesca ducked her head in, needing space. A king bed was situated in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a small sea blue couch and rosewood desk sat in front of the other, the furniture situated to make the most of the view. “Chill is right.”
“Wait until you see your room,” Quinn said, nodding to the hallway.
They walked to the next doorway, and she smelled the roses before she entered. The flowers were the first thing she noticed when she walked in—a big vase of them sitting on a side table.
“Roses are for here,” he whispered behind her. “Jasmine is for there. I wanted to be clear about the flowers. I know how much significance you put on them.”
He knew roses meant love while jasmine held a rich legacy. It was the flower of home and of welcome. He wanted her to welcome him back into her home, back into her heart. The gesture grabbed her throat, and she nodded. Hadn’t she chosen those pastries from her homeland to convey the message that she wanted to offer him the sweetness of life again? They were both awash in romantic subtext.
“The guesthouse is to the right down on the cliffs,” he continued, his voice mesmerizing. “Do you see it?”
The single-story Payne’s gray house was small but perfect. Bay windows flanked the sides, and a trio of windows marked the front of the building. The door was a rich ochre, and she could already see it opening to welcome her.
“When we finally make love,” he said from behind her, “I want you to smell jasmine everywhere. I want your every breath to take it in and then later remind you what it feels like when we come together.”
She could already smell the thick, lush scent. Her hands clenched as she fought the images his words were inspiring in her mind. She could see them sneaking out of the main house and making love in that quaint little house, his green eyes always on her.
“Francesca, look at me.”
Turning to him, she stood tall under his intense regard.
“I can’t answer your questions if you don’t let me in. I’m scared too. Don’t…torture us both any longer than necessary.”
The agony of longing was a torture she well knew. “I hear you.”
Crossing to her, he kissed the top of her head and then retreated to the doorway. “I’ll let you settle in.”
The walls and furnishings were done in the same sea blues and grays, which only made the soft aubergine blanket on the end of the bed and the violet throw on the winter white chaise lounge by the window pop more. Purple was her favorite color.
“Do you like it?”
His quiet voice surprised her, and she turned slowly toward the door. “You said you were going.”
“I couldn’t.” His face fell for a moment, and the years apart seemed to crease his usually youthful face. “It’s good to have you here, Francesca. I thought you might like to curl up with your work on the chaise lounge. You always did like those girly couches.”
“You were kind to remember,” she said, her voice also laced with an emotion she couldn’t control.
His smile was bittersweet. “I told you. I always remember.”
He remembered the past, yes, but how did he see their future? She hoped he would tell her, here in the shadow of the jasmine-scented cottage.
But he simply said, “I’ll see you downstairs,” and turned and walked away.
She walked over to the roses and plucked one out of the vase. Walking over to the window, she surveyed the vast ocean. The white waves curled into the watery depths with an unstoppable power, the same power Quinn seemed to still possess over her heart.
She felt like she’d come home, and the feeling was as bittersweet to her as his memories seemed to be to him.
Chapter 9
When Francesca entered his office, Quinn stood immediately, noting how she’d changed into ecru wool trousers and a red cashmere sweater. He figured his tan slacks and white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows would pass muster with her usual elegance. “I’m glad we agree on dressing more casually. I don’t want to restructure anything with my tie strangling me.”