California Man - The Author's Cut Edition

by EC Sheedy

  "Yeah. One straightjacket away from the Cuckoo's nest, that's me." She tried a laugh, failed.

  Lynn gave her a contemplative look. "My guess is that we wouldn't be rehashing all this if it weren't for the man you had to dinner tonight. Right?"

  Emily started to deny it, then said, "He has started me thinking again. He said—"

  "Go on."

  "He said he was interested in me," she stammered. "He kissed me, Lynn. It's been a long time since I've been kissed. So very long." And his mouth on mine... Heaven. With a bit of hell's heat tossed in for good measure.

  "Good for him. He's a smart guy." Lynn took her hand. "It's okay, Emmi. It's a good thing. Just relax. Enjoy yourself—enjoy him! Don't let a couple of yesterdays ruin all your tomorrows. I know you're shy, I know you panic, but give him a chance—try not to let your fear win. Promise me you'll try. Just try."

  Emily nodded. "I will." She heard Lynn, agreed with her, but it was Quinn's words that stayed in her mind. Demons. That was how he'd described fear. For the first time, Emily gave her anxiety a face, a nasty, gray face with bloody, beady eyes and twisted, sneering lips. She didn't like to think such a monstrous thing was inside of her.

  "Good. And on that upbeat note, I'm going to leave you musing on the beach. James is waiting for me." She stood. "I'll tell him about the dog-sitting."

  Emily rose from the log. "Actually, I'd better go in, too. I've mused enough for one night, and it's getting cold. Thanks for listening." Emily hugged her. "I'm lucky to have such a special friend."

  "Aren't you, though?" Lynn replied, giving Emily a good squeeze. "Think of all the people out there who are stumbling through life without the benefit of my advice. Poor dears." She laughed. "Now if I could find a way to coach James in track and field, I'd have it made."

  Emily looked startled for a moment and then asked, "Not going well, huh?"

  "It's not my thing, you know?" Lynn rolled her eyes.

  "Like biking wasn't mine?"

  "Touché."

  "Maybe you can find someone to help." Emily was determined to ask Quinn to help James but didn't want to get Lynn's hopes up—or James's. She would ask first.

  "I'm looking. I'd really like James to do well. It means so much to him. That kid's got focus, I can tell you." Lynn gave Emily a quick kiss on the cheek. "'Nite, Em. Have a good time tomorrow. That's an order." Lynn waved a stern finger as her parting shot.

  Emily watched her walk up the beach to her house. Lynn was right about her panics and fears. She needed to follow James's lead. She needed to focus on the positive—not her fears. She needed to get over herself.

  "Bailly, come on, boy. Let's go home. We've got to go home and screw my head on straight. You up for that?

  His furiously wagging tail said he was.

  * * *

  At quarter to twelve, Emily heard Quinn's Rover pull into the driveway. A cord tensed in her stomach, and she took a deep breath. She turned back to her computer screen, finished the line of dialogue she was working on, quickly typed an idea for the next scene below it, saved her file, and turned off the computer.

  She glanced out the window in time to see Quinn settle on his haunches and rub Bailly's big soft head, talking to James as he did so. James's reaction surprised her. He wasn't shy, but he was always cautious with strangers, but she could see he'd warmed to Quinn. She was about to start for the door, when she saw Quinn stand, apparently in deep conversation with James.

  Suddenly James took off at a run. Then, as quickly as he started, he stopped and turned back to look at Quinn. At the boy's questioning glance, he beckoned him to come back. When he did, Quinn crouched, taking the start position for a race. He lifted one hand and pointed to the position of his feet as he explained something. James watched intently.

  Curious, Emily went out and joined them. It took a couple of moments before the two even noticed her. Quinn saw her first, nodded and smiled.

  "Hi," he said.

  She mumbled a hi back, then looked at James, and said, "Is this for boys only, or can I watch?" Her eyes lifted to Quinn. She hadn't spent half of last night telling herself not to act like the village idiot to fail at the first hello.

  "We were going over a couple of basics for the hundred-meter," he said. "I think James here is a natural runner." He rested a big male hand on the boy's shoulder.

  James's face was flushed and excited. "Mr. Ramsay raced too, Emmi. Did you know that? The same race I'm going in. He said he'd help me. Didn't you, Mr. Ramsay?"

  "I did," he said, "but call me Quinn, James. It'll be easier for both of us." He turned to Emily then. "He says the games are in three weeks. I'll still be here, so it should work out fine. Do you think his mother will mind?"

  "Lynn? Mind? She'll be ecstatic. As a matter of fact, I talked to her about the race last night. I was going to ask you if you could help out." If I got up the courage.

  "Consider it done." Quinn wondered why it made him feel good that she was going to ask him a favor. He looked at James. "Maybe I should meet your mom, though. How about it, buddy? You want to make some introductions?"

  "You want to go now?" James asked.

  "Why not? You don't mind, do you, Emily? I'll only be a minute."

  "Go ahead. They live just behind that row of trees. I'll wait."

  Quinn touched her cheek and smiled. His hand was cool, his touch light. "You'd better," he teased. "I don't intend to hike alone."

  Emily watched the pair walk away. James was nearly as tall as Quinn and almost as wide through the shoulders, but he lacked the strength, the fullness of Quinn's adult masculinity.

  When she turned back to the house, she touched the warmth left on her cheek by Quinn's light caress.

  What could he possibly see in her?

  * * *

  "We could have stopped sooner, you know." Quinn's words were accompanied by a knowing grin as he watched Emily trying to stretch and bend the fatigue from her back. "Are you tired?"

  "I'm fine. One hundred percent," she said.

  He studied her, looked skeptical. "One hundred percent?"

  Emily grimaced. "Well, maybe... sixty-five percent. But that's a pass, right?"

  "Definitely a pass," he agreed and reached for his backpack.

  Quinn spread a blanket on the dry grass. They were in Ruckle Park, just above a tiny cove lined with arbutus and sky-hugging Douglas firs. The beach below was marked by outcroppings of rock and a strip of sand left wet and swollen by the retreating tide. The sun shone fully now, and the grass was bright and warm.

  Emily smoothed the end of the blanket and eased her beaten body wearily to its surface, thinking maybe she hadn't passed after all. Her legs, not fully recovered from the bike ride, were screaming at their unfair treatment. I guess going from zero to a total of seven hours of exercise is pushing my luck—but damn it, I should be able to keep up. She envied Quinn, who looked more as if he'd had a short walk in the park than a three mile trek over hilly, wooded terrain, and vowed never to get so out of shape again.

  "Can I help?" she asked when she noticed him rifling around in his pack for their lunch.

  "No. It's okay. Lean back and relax."

  Happy enough to follow his instructions, she lay back, and closed her eyes, letting a woozy sense of fatigue slacken and ease her complaining muscles.

  Quinn dug into his backpack, then spread their lunch out on the blanket. "I think I've got everything. Chicken, salad, and—" He dug deeper. "Juice. I'm starved. What about you?"

  No answer had him glancing down at her. Lying there with her eyes closed, she looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen her. He watched her tongue move over the pale fullness of her bottom lip, moistening it, as she took a deep, satisfied breath. Her hands were above her head. For the first time since they'd met she looked open, unfolded like a flower reacting to the power of the sun.

  Vulnerable was the next word jumping into his mind. Emily had been in his head since last night. It had been difficult to stop with one kiss—a
nd not something he was used to. He'd wanted her then. Hell, he wanted her now. Easy enough to figure that out. Figuring her out? Not so easy. And until he did, best he be damn careful. Take this slow...

  He brushed his knuckles across her cheek; surprisingly, she didn't jump at the touch. So he shifted some stray tendrils of hair off her forehead. A clear high forehead. Soft, soft skin. Her eyes opened slowly, all languid and soft—until she realized he'd was watching her. Instantly, she tensed.

  "It's okay," he said, running the back of his hand slowly down her cheek, before reaching the curve between neck and shoulder. He rested his thumb lightly on the pulse of her throat. He felt her swallow—hard, her tension turn to rigidity. But she didn't push him away. It was as if she were facing some kind of test. Whether it was of him or her, he didn't know.

  He bent his head to the hollow of her throat, kissed her there, keeping his hands on safe territory, determined not to frighten her. Easy. Easy...

  Quinn's lips were warm, his breath barely a whisper against the taut cords of her neck, yet Emily lay paralyzed. She beat back her familiar urge to jump and run, fought against the residue of her own fears.

  She didn't want to run from Quinn; she wanted to trust him. When his lips moved from the base of her neck to below her ear, she rolled her head to expose the contour of her throat, and let herself savor the quick inhalation of his breath in response. A swell of heat moved through her, a slow, creeping tide lapping at and eroding her restraint, gently, insistently. Quinn untied her hair and ran his fingers through it. Lifting it from her nape, he kissed her first behind her ear, then below it. When his hands tightened on her shoulders, and he lifted his head, Emily's throat was burning along the path taken by his lips. When she looked at him, it was with eyes blind to anything but the blueness of his gaze.

  "I want to kiss you, shy Emily. Very much." There was no smile in his eyes, only an odd intensity, a male ardor unknown to her. His pupils were dark with it, dark and hot. "Would you like that?" He toyed with a strand of her hair.

  She didn't speak, afraid the sound of her voice would break the fragile thread of magic between them.

  His hand still rested on her neck, and when she made no sound, he slid his fingers under the neck of her cotton T-shirt, stretching stitches to expose her shoulder. He bent his head, tasted the newly exposed skin. The rasp of his tongue, its moist roughness on her skin, confused, agitated, then excited her. She waited for the fear, the rush of panic. Her hand crept to the edge of the blanket and clutched the cool grass. The fear hovered, waiting. Again she heard his voice in her ear.

  "Can I kiss you? Do you want me to?" His question was urgent now.

  "Yes." She barely whispered the word, then watched, mesmerized, as his mouth came down to meet hers. Her heart racing, her breath stopped, and her world receded as she stepped across the threshold of her own terror.

  Seven years of loneliness entered into the kiss, seven years of denial with all its fire and pain. Hot, trembling under his mouth, sensation stunned and assaulted her. Closer, she needed him closer. She dug her nails into his arms. His skin was smooth, his muscles hard and taut. When he shifted his upper body over her breasts, she pressed up and into the weight of him.

  Still, not enough.

  When her mouth opened wider under his, she heard him groan. The groan a shard that pierced her addled brain.

  Dear God... I'm giving him more than a kiss. I'll embarrass him. Embarrass myself.

  Planting her two hands against his hard chest, she pushed.

  He drew back instantly, his eyes the color of midnight. He took a deep breath, sighed it out, and gazed down at her. His expression questioning, until a slow smile bent his lips.

  He ran his thumb across her lips.

  "If you honestly want me to stop, you shouldn't be looking at me like that." He paused. "But you do want me to stop—right?

  She nodded her lie and looked at his mouth, couldn't take her eyes off it. She wanted it back on hers, wanted him to kiss her forever. She was so stupid!

  He dipped his head and grazed her kiss-swollen lips with his own, breathing deeply as he did so. "Smart woman. I didn't exactly come prepared to make love with you. Much as I want to—and God, do I want to."

  He rolled away from her, lying on his back beside her, a forearm over his eyes. She heard his deep breathing, saw his chest rise and fall, while she worked to calm the heat and wind blowing through her body. So lost in her own efforts at control, she'd almost missed his last words, let the may breeze lift them away. Almost. "What did you say?" She turned her head to look at him.

  Quinn shifted to his side, propped his head on his palm, and looked down at her. "I said you're a smart woman. You are, you know." He moved a stray lock of hair to behind her ear.

  "After that."

  "You mean the part about not being prepared?"

  She nodded.

  "I didn't bring any protection," he said matter-of-factly. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

  Emily flushed a vivid scalding red and turned her eyes.

  "Obviously, that wasn't what you wanted to hear. Let me see." He appeared to think a moment, then added quietly, "I also said I wanted to make love to you."

  She didn't think it possible, but her skin grew hotter still. Thinking she must show purple by now, she averted her face.

  Quinn studied her glowing blush. "I've embarrassed you. I'm sorry."

  "No! No, it's not that. I'm just surprised, I guess."

  "Surprised? That I want to make love with you?" He frowned slightly.

  After a long pause, she mumbled, "Yes."

  He said nothing for a second, then, "Then I guess I should fess up, because I've had dishonorable designs on you since that first day in the bookstore."

  "You have?"

  He smiled a bit, then rolled away from her to again lie on his back. It was her turn to prop her head in her palm and look at him.

  He shaded his eyes with one hand, and said, "You remember that bean pole kid? The one you asked about... whether he was still inside, and I said yes he was sometimes."

  She nodded.

  "When I look at you, I'm a bit like that kid again. You make me... hesitate. I'm not sure what to do about you." He reached for her then and pulled her across his chest. "Got any ideas?" he asked as the line of his mouth curved into a bold, sensuous smile.

  She tried to organize her breathing. What was there about this man that made her feel so good? Almost lighthearted—definitely light-headed. Was he a demon slayer? Her demon slayer? She didn't know, but she did know she wanted him to be. She wanted him to be with every reluctant, timid bone and sinew in her body.

  She met his gaze, and like sun breaking through cloud, she felt a smile emerge, her face soften—not a mere turning up of the lips smile, not cursory. Deeper, broader, like a ray of happiness turning inward to lighten her heart. A smile like no other she'd smiled in years.

  "Hey," Quinn said. "That smile looks good on you."

  She sat up and hugged her knees to her breasts, looking much like a fisherman with a full net. She looked back down at him. "Thanks, Quinn."

  "Thanks?" he echoed, looking vaguely bewildered. "What for."

  She ran a tentative index finger down his cheek. "For the silver medal."

  When he started to speak, she stopped him by pressing two fingers firmly against his lips.

  "Let's not talk any more for a while. You said you were hungry, remember? So why don't we eat Blanche's wonderful lunch?"

  Chapter 5

  "Old tub, I don't know what I'd do without you. And to think I came close to replacing you with a shower." The water tucked around Emily as she lowered her sore, stiff body into the steaming tub. "Ahh!" she murmured. "You're a friend in need." She sank deep, ignoring the too hot water. It didn't matter. Neither did she care that her bones ached to the point of torment. Her sense of wonder, the marvel—the magic—that was Quinn Ramsay filled her mind. For whatever trick of fate that brought him into
her life, she was madly grateful. Today, for the first time, she'd felt... wanted. New to her, this sexy, seductive sense of herself, and it was all because of him.

  She blew the bubbles away from her breasts and smiled.

  She soaped herself and smiled.

  She looked at her toes curling over the water faucets at the end of the big tub and smiled.

  She'd smile even more if Quinn were in the tub with her. The erotic thought burned her flesh, and she submerged herself, head and all, in the soapy water.

  And came up—smiling.

  * * *

  At three in the morning, Quinn threw on a pair of jeans, snagged some orange juice from the fridge, and walked out on the deck. When the night breeze chilled his flesh, he shivered.

  Exactly what he needed, to cool down.

  It was heat that had driven him from bed. This thing with Emily... It was messing him up. Distracting him. Somehow she was burrowing into him—deep. And it wouldn't work, no good for either of them. He took a long drink of juice and leaned on the deck rail. The juice was unsweetened. His memory of their kiss anything but.

  That sunrise smile of hers had unnerved him, reached inside and twisted his gut like the hand of a spirit. A smile so... glorious, so full of trust it made him ache. And scared the hell out of him. Something was happening here. Something he hadn't planned for—and wasn't sure he could handle.

  He thought of Gina Manzoni. They'd shared some good times, in bed and out, but she'd never affected him like Emily did. She'd never made him feel protective or... responsible. Gina had shark genes; she looked out for herself. And she was typical of the women he'd been with in the past few years, confident, assertive, and coolly in charge of their lives. He'd been a necessary adjunct to their image as they'd been to his. Just two careers passing in the night. Right now, with Emily on his mind, he couldn't remember any of their faces, not even Gina's. Especially Gina's.

  He walked to the edge of the deck, the glass of orange juice dangling from his hand, and looked over the channel. The surface of the dark water was broken by a yellow moon ribbon, a stream of fragile gold that rippled and shifted with the wind and tide. Emily was like that ribbon of moon, delicate, so incredibly delicate. He could hurt her. That thought chilled him deeper than the cold night air. He shouldn't be playing around with her life.