by Jenna Sutton
She turned away from her tormenter with the intention of meeting Teagan, but the other woman was already within sight and heading toward them with brisk steps. She pasted a fake smile on her face, hoping Teagan either couldn’t tell the difference or at least wouldn’t notice.
Teagan grinned when she saw them. “Cal said he’d left you two back here a while ago.”
Reaching the table, she pointed at Amelia, her fingernails a bold and aggressive red. “This is your party, Amelia. You can run, but you can’t hide,” she teased.
Despite the lingering tension from her interaction with Quinn, Amelia laughed. “I wasn’t running or hiding,” she denied.
She eyed Quinn. Night had fallen over the city, and despite the festive lightbulbs strung around the garden and the glow from nearby buildings, she couldn’t see the expression on his face.
He straightened abruptly, acknowledging his sister with a brief, unfriendly nod. “I’m going to get another drink,” he bit out, quickly making his way from the table with a long-legged, masculine stride that made her mouth go dry.
Teagan stared after Quinn, a small crease between her brows. “What’s his problem?”
Amelia hesitated before answering. Her first instinct was to keep her discussion with Quinn private, but then she realized his distress over Shelby’s presentation could present an opportunity. Now that he realized the seriousness of the situation, he might be willing to embrace Teagan’s plan to revamp the women’s division, and they wouldn’t have to go behind his back.
“He’s upset by the information Shelby presented today.”
“He should be.”
Amelia frowned at Teagan’s tone. It was not only devoid of any sympathy but downright frosty. She felt compelled to defend Quinn, although she had no idea why.
“I think he was truly surprised by the results of the research. I don’t think he realized how much the competition had eroded the company’s market share, and not just for the women’s division.”
“He shouldn’t have been surprised. I’ve been telling him the same thing since he took over when my dad got sick. He just chose to ignore me because he’s an arrogant ass.”
She bristled at Teagan’s description of Quinn. “Well, he realizes it now, and I think we should look at this as an opportunity to share your plan—”
“No,” she said sharply. “Absolutely not.”
“But I think he’d be willing to listen now.”
Teagan stared at Amelia, her eyes cool behind her black-framed glasses. “There’s no discussion, Amelia. I hired you to redesign our women’s jeans, and you agreed to do it. You knew Quinn wasn’t on board, and I’m not sure why you suddenly have a problem with our agreement.” She paused meaningfully. “Of course you still have the option of not being involved with Riley O’Brien & Co. in any way.”
Teagan’s warning was clear, and Amelia tensed, unsure how to respond. Everything Teagan had said was true.
“I know my brother, and his feelings on the subject haven’t changed, regardless of that presentation. Trust me. We need to stick to the plan, and when the designs are complete and you have samples, we can present them to him as a done deal.”
A cool breeze swept across the rooftop, and Amelia shivered. She didn’t have a good feeling about this project any longer. But she knew she couldn’t walk away from this opportunity, not when it would give her everything she’d ever wanted.
She decided it was well past time to return to the party. “We should head back,” she suggested, and Teagan nodded her agreement.
As they made their way back to the party, Amelia thought about what Teagan had interrupted. She was appalled she had just stood there and let Quinn touch her.
She growled beneath her breath, and Teagan glanced sharply at her. She summoned a smile and a plausible lie.
“My feet hurt.”
“Yeah, those boots rock, but you’re going to be in some serious pain later tonight.”
Amelia was glad to hear Teagan’s voice had lost some of its edge. She didn’t want their relationship to be tense. They had reached the area where the bar and band were situated, and Teagan touched Amelia’s elbow to get her attention.
“Are we on the same page?”
Amelia nodded but was unable to speak because several people had made their way over to the two of them, eager to meet her. With a smile on her face, she answered their questions and participated in casual chitchat, but the whole time she talked, her eyes scanned the garden for Quinn.
She finally spied him leaning with his back against the living wall, his booted feet crossed at the ankles and his arms over his chest. He was more tempting than the most decadent caramel brownies, and even though she tried to resist their chocolaty goodness, she always gave in.
And that wasn’t the worst of it. When she finally gave in, she was never satisfied with just a little taste. She always had to have the whole thing.
Yum.
Chapter 12
Quinn tossed the baseball up and grabbed it out of the air as it came back down toward his face. He was stretched out on his beloved denim sofa, his feet propped on the armrest and crossed at the ankles.
It was his favorite thinking position and, God knew, he had plenty to think about. He threw the ball over and over, hoping the monotonous movement would calm him, physically and mentally.
Yesterday had not been one of his best days, and he cringed when he thought about the time he’d spent with Amelia in the garden. She had done her best to make him feel better during the party, and he’d repaid her efforts by grabbing her and squeezing her and licking her . . .
Damn. He had to stop thinking about Amelia and all the dirty things he wanted to do to her, or do with her since he’d really prefer her participation.
On the way to work this morning, he’d had a long talk with himself. He explained that Amelia was a crucial element of Riley O’Brien & Co.’s future success, and that scaring her off with his Neanderthal behavior was a big no-no.
Recalling Cal’s suggestion about keeping her happy, he had decided to buy her a gift. He had taken a long lunch and made the trip to nearby Union Center to visit the Williams-Sonoma there. He spent almost forty minutes reviewing the juicing machines on display and quizzing the customer service rep about the difference between a slow juicer and a regular one before making his purchase.
He’d walked out of the store with the best juicer on the market, or so the rep had assured him. Supposedly this model worked equally well on crisp fruits and vegetables without mangling softer produce.
He grunted. Who knew juicing was so complicated?
Quinn placed the baseball in the crook of his elbow and pulled back his cuff to look at his watch. Six thirty p.m. She should be back in the penthouse by now.
Rising from the sofa, he placed the baseball back in its holder and hefted the cardboard box that held the juicer. He had three bags of organic produce in his Audi, but he hadn’t been able to carry in everything when he’d returned from lunch. He would have to go back down and get those later.
The trip to the thirty-second floor took less than a minute. Bracing the box against the penthouse’s door to free one of his hands, he knocked loudly. He didn’t hear any movement from inside, so he repeated the motion, this time with more force.
Nothing.
He dropped his head against the maple door. He’d thought about Amelia all day, almost to the point of obsession, which wasn’t like him at all. And now he felt like a kid who had waited in line forever for an ice cream cone only to drop it the minute he had it in his hands.
He stood there for a moment, wondering if he should take the juicer back downstairs or let himself into the penthouse and drop it off. If he waited to give it to her, he’d be able to witness her excitement when she saw it. If he let himself in, he could unpack the juicer, and she would have a nice surprise when she finally arrived
.
He smiled at the thought of surprising her and quickly keyed in the code to open the door. The penthouse was designed in a large, open floor plan. The kitchen, dining, and living areas flowed together, flanked on both sides by a bedroom and en suite bathroom.
Once inside, he made his way to the kitchen, which was separated from the dining area by a long granite bar. A matching island split the kitchen, and that’s where he unloaded the box.
Pulling a Swiss Army knife from the front pocket of his jeans, he sliced open the box and got to work unpacking the juicer. He’d just placed it on the island when he heard a high-pitched scream from behind him.
Startled, he spun around to see Amelia standing in the dining area wearing a fuzzy, pink robe. Her long hair was in soggy spirals around her face, her mouth was open in a big O, and her eyes were bugged out with surprise.
Shit. She was here, and he’d obviously just scared her to death.
“It’s just me,” he said and then wanted to roll his eyes at the stupidity of that statement.
When she didn’t respond, he held up his arms like she was a police officer who’d just shouted, “hands up.” He rushed to explain. “I’m sorry. I knocked. Loudly. When you didn’t answer, I thought you weren’t here. So I let myself in. I wanted to surprise you—”
She’d clearly found her voice because she interrupted him. “I’d say you were successful,” she said dryly. “What are you doing here, Quinn?”
Dropping his arms back down to his sides, he leaned his butt against the island, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. “I brought you a gift. But now I have a much greater appreciation for the wise person who first realized that no good deed goes unpunished.”
• • •
Amelia couldn’t help but laugh at the mix of chagrin and embarrassment on Quinn’s face. She turned back toward the bedroom.
“Give me a second to get dressed, and you can show me the gift,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Then I’ll decide if you need to be punished.”
Once inside the bedroom, she leaned against the door and tried to calm her furiously beating heart. She hadn’t heard his knocks, and the last thing she’d expected to see when she had walked out of the bathroom was a man in the kitchen.
That had been more than enough to get her heart racing. But her heart had nearly burst from her chest when she had realized she was naked under her robe, and the object of her X-rated fantasies stood less than ten feet away.
Pushing herself away from the door, she grabbed a pair of stretchy yoga pants from the dresser along with a T-shirt and hoodie. She started to pull on the pants before she realized she hadn’t put on any underwear.
Geez, get a grip, Amelia!
Hopping on one leg, she extricated herself from the black pants before jerking open another drawer. She rummaged through it until she found a pair of panties and an underwire bra—her girls needed every bit of help they could get—and slipped on the pieces of stretchy lace before pulling on the rest of her clothes.
Whew!
Now she needed to do something with her hair. Left to dry naturally, it would end up a kinky, frizzy mess, and there was no way she was going to let Quinn O’Brien see that horror show. She contained her curls with a pair of enamel chopsticks and a quick twist.
Quinn had his back to her when she returned to the dining area. He wore a maroon waffle-knit Henley that hugged his broad shoulders and his requisite Rileys. The shirt ended just below his waist, and she was able to get a quick look at his butt before he turned around.
Oh, mama.
Why did he pay Nick Priest to model Rileys when he had the goods? She thought she might need to fan herself.
Deciding not to tempt herself by moving any closer, she leaned her elbows against the bar. “So, do you break into women’s homes often?”
He smiled, showing his even, white teeth. Obviously, his parents had sprung for braces. “No. Usually they beg me to come in.”
She snorted. She had no doubt his dates were more than happy to progress from good-night kisses to good-night gropes and beyond.
“I’m not sure this penthouse has enough room for you, me, and your ego.”
He laughed before beckoning her toward him. “Come see what I brought you.”
Edging around the bar, she came to stand next to him. “Oooh,” she breathed. “You bought me a Breville Juice Fountain Duo.”
She ran her hand across the juicer’s stainless steel body. Quinn might be the star of her lusty daydreams, but the Breville was a supporting cast member. Her juicer at home wasn’t nearly as nice, and she couldn’t wait to get this one alone.
He moved closer until they touched from shoulder to hip. She looked up at him, and he stared into her eyes.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, so much.”
He let out a breath like he’d been afraid of her answer before smiling boyishly. “It’s a combination welcome gift and an apology for last night.”
She tensed. She didn’t want to think about last night and how close she’d come to doing something very stupid.
“I also have some fruit and vegetables for you in my car.”
She was stunned. He’d not only bought her an expensive juicer, but he had remembered to buy the ingredients she needed to use it?
She had to lock her knees to keep from jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. Except for Ava Grace, no one had ever done anything this nice for her. In fact, she’d never received a gift from anyone other than her best friend.
When she just stood there silently, he said, “So, no punishment?”
She shook her head. “Hardly. You deserve a reward for being so thoughtful.”
“A reward, huh?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with blue fire from the overhead can lights.
His look made warmth trickle through her. “I can see that you have something in mind. What?”
“Dinner. Tonight.” He cleared his throat. “With me,” he clarified as if he were worried she would misunderstand his invitation.
She knew she shouldn’t go. This was exactly what she had worried about. She feared her fascination with Quinn and her desire to spend time with him would derail her career goals.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s late and—”
He interrupted her. “It’s only seven thirty.” He looked closely at her. “Do you have other plans?”
At that moment, Amelia wished she had taken Teagan up on her offer for dinner. She thought about lying but then admitted she didn’t have anything else to do.
“Then what were you planning to eat?”
She shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Think about it now,” Quinn urged. “We can go somewhere close by, somewhere casual. You don’t even have to change.”
She really wanted to spend more time with him, but she couldn’t risk a repeat of what had happened at the party.
“I have dinner with business partners and colleagues all the time,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”
Finally, she nodded her acceptance. “Okay.”
He smiled slowly, obviously pleased she’d given in. “Don’t forget your shoes, Juice,” he advised, christening her with a new nickname.
Chapter 13
Quinn took Amelia to a small pizzeria near Riley Plaza. He’d promised casual and close by, and he had delivered.
When he had made his way to the penthouse earlier, he’d had no intention of inviting Amelia to dinner. He was a big boy, and he knew better than to play with fire. And after last night, he had no doubt she would burn him alive.
But once he’d seen her again, he had been eager to spend more time with her. He had dreaded the thought of going back downstairs and heading home to his empty house, and he’d felt an overwhelming sense of relief when she had agre
ed to dinner.
She sat across from him in the wood-backed booth, studying the leather-encased menu. Her dusky purple T-shirt and matching hooded jacket made her red hair look darker. It was finally drying from her earlier shower, and ringlets were springing out around her face.
Her head was tilted down, and he evaluated the two black things anchoring her topknot. Damned if they didn’t look like pieces from the game pick-up sticks. He’d seen Teagan wear similar hair ornamentation, and the vagaries of women’s fashion baffled the hell out of him.
With Amelia fully occupied with the menu, he took advantage of the opportunity to study her. He’d told her to take her time getting ready, but he could tell by the constellation of freckles on her face she hadn’t put on any makeup. They were more obvious than usual, and his fingers itched with the need to trace them, especially the ones on the crests of her cheeks.
She must have put some kind of gloss on her lips, though, because they were shiny and wet-looking. Clenching his fist against his thigh, he turned his attention from her pink lips because he was getting hard.
This woman had reduced him to a horny teenager, and he didn’t know whether he should laugh or get drunk. He decided a couple of glasses of wine wouldn’t be amiss.
“Do you want some wine? We could share a bottle,” he suggested.
She looked up, pursing her luscious lips. “I don’t drink alcohol. But I don’t mind if you want to get something.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “But you had a drink last night at the party. I saw you,” he said, somewhat accusingly.
She shook her head. “Still water and a lime. Fools people into thinking I’m drinking.”
He was surprised. Stunned, really. She didn’t drink coffee, and she didn’t drink alcohol. Was she a member of a church that forbade tasty beverages?
She noticed the expression on his face. “It’s not a religious thing,” she said, clearly reading his mind. “It’s just a personal choice.”
He was interested in hearing more about her personal choices, especially when they involved giving up two of life’s greatest pleasures. “So what else don’t you do?”