All the Right Places (RILEY O'BRIEN & CO #1)

by Jenna Sutton

  “You need to squeeze those oranges to see if they’re ripe,” she suggested, her eyes letting him know she was ripe.

  She stuck out her hand. “Charlotte. But my friends call me Charlie.”

  Charlie had known exactly what she wanted, and she wasn’t shy about getting it. While she had fondled the fruit, she asked him out for a drink.

  “Let’s go right now,” she suggested when he agreed, taking his arm and leading him out of the store.

  They’d ended up at Murray’s, a hole-in-the-wall bar located just a few blocks from his house. During their walk, they had chatted a bit about their jobs. She was an accountant for one of the big firms, and she had fished a business card out of her purse as soon as they found a table.

  “In case you need someone good,” she said, somehow making that innocuous statement sexual.

  Two drinks later, Charlie’s hand had been on his crotch, and her mouth had been sucking his earlobe. He had mentioned he lived nearby, and she must have tucked that information away for future use because she whispered, “Take me back to your place and fuck me. Right now.”

  Like any normal man, he’d had a hard-on, and he had been ready to end his dry spell with Charlie. He had already figured out the fastest way to get to his house and get his dick in her mouth. But then Amelia and her damn brown-sugar freckles popped into his head, and he lost all interest in the blonde sitting next to him.

  So he’d removed himself from her talented hands and mouth, thrown a fifty-dollar bill on the table, and said good night. He had gone to bed alone, thinking of Amelia, and he’d woken up alone with a painfully hard erection after dreaming about her all night.

  He finished dressing, buckled his belt, turned off his bedroom light, and returned to the kitchen. Cal looked up as he entered the room.

  “You want to drive?” his brother asked.

  “Hell, yes. I’m embarrassed to be seen in your car.”

  For reasons known only to himself and God, Cal drove a huge powder blue Cadillac their Grandma Violet used to own. It was old enough to be vintage, but it wasn’t “cool” vintage; it was just ancient. Even worse, it was a gas-guzzler.

  Cal shrugged, clearly unaffected by his scorn. “Belva gets the job done.”

  He smirked. “I’ve always wanted to know . . . since you named your car, did you also name your penis?”

  “No, I didn’t, but Saika did,” Cal answered, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “She calls it ‘Drill Sergeant.’”

  With a laugh, he grabbed his keys off the counter. “Then you must be doing something right, little brother.”

  • • •

  Quinn shoved his four wood back into his golf bag. He and Cal were at the sixth hole at the Olympic Club’s Lake course, and he’d just hooked his drive left, sending his ball into the deep rough next to a tree.

  “Nice shot,” Cal jeered.

  He shrugged, resisting the impulse to ram his fist into his brother’s face. With a handicap of zero, Cal was a scratch golfer. Playing with him always dinged Quinn’s ego.

  The Lake course was one of the top golf courses in the nation, and it had fantastic views of Golden Gate Park and the Golden Gate Bridge. As they zoomed down the cart path toward Quinn’s poorly positioned ball, he enjoyed the amazing panorama.

  The O’Briens had been members of the Olympic Club since it opened in the early 1900s. Quinn, Cal, and their dad had played the club’s three courses regularly until James got sick. They didn’t play as frequently as they used to, primarily because Quinn was busy with work and Cal spent most weekends with his girlfriend and her daughter.

  “Why aren’t you with Saika and Valerie today?” he asked as he swerved to avoid a squirrel that clearly had a death wish since it’d stopped right in the middle of the path.

  Grabbing the dashboard, Cal shot him an evil glare. “They’re visiting her sister in Los Angeles,” he answered curtly.

  Quinn took in the frown on his brother’s face. “Are you annoyed because you almost fell out of the cart or are you having trouble with Saika?”

  “Your driving sucks, no matter if we’re in your Audi or in a golf cart.” Cal crossed his arms over his chest. “And yes, Saika and I aren’t doing so great right now.”

  Quinn was sorry to hear things weren’t going well between the two of them. He really liked Saika, and her daughter had the sweetest giggle. You couldn’t help but smile when you heard it.

  He didn’t want to turn their outing into some kind of pathetic therapy session, but he also didn’t want Cal to think he didn’t care. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  He brought the cart to a stop and was about to hop out when Cal turned his head and gave him a penetrating look. “Do you want to talk about what’s going on between you and Amelia?”

  Quinn froze, jerking his eyes away from his brother’s prying glance. He clenched the cart’s steering wheel but didn’t say anything.

  “I thought you were acting strange at the party, and then Teagan told me that you bought Amelia an expensive gift and took her to dinner. Was it just coincidence she flew home the next morning when she’d told me that she planned to sightsee this weekend?”

  He blew out a breath in frustration. “No, it wasn’t coincidence. But I didn’t interrogate you about Saika, and I expect you to return the favor.”

  “Too bad, because I’m not going to. I want to know what happened.”

  Stepping out of the cart, he began to search the rough for his golf ball. Cal came up beside him and, in less than a half a second, the bastard found the ball.

  Quinn stalked back to the cart to grab his five iron and returned to his ball. After a few seconds of evaluation, he assumed his stance and was ready to take a swing when Cal spoke.

  “Try not to shank it this time,” he advised.

  Quinn growled. “Shut up, or I’ll hit you with this club.”

  He took his shot and watched helplessly as the ball soared directly toward the water hazard, falling into it with a loud plop.

  “Shit.”

  Cal laughed as he scratched his head. “That was masterful. Way to go, Jack Nicklaus.”

  Leaning on his golf club, Quinn stared at the water hazard. Maybe it was a metaphor for his life. He’d tried to avoid doing something stupid with Amelia, but he hadn’t been able to, and now he had to figure out how to move forward.

  He turned to Cal. “You know how you said we needed to keep Amelia happy? Well, I’m pretty sure I did something that made her very unhappy.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, let’s see . . . I groped her at the party. I broke into the penthouse and scared her to death just as she got out of the shower. And after I took her out for pizza, I groped her some more.”

  Cal stared at him as if he’d just witnessed an alien emerging from his forehead. After a moment of stunned silence, he let out a roaring laugh that sent the birds flying from the trees.

  When Cal’s mirth had died down, he pointed at Quinn. “Sounds like you had a busy week.” He slapped him on the back. “Honestly, I’m relieved to hear you’ve still got the urge. It’s been so long since you’ve had sex I was worried you were planning to take vows and become a priest.”

  Quinn tried to smile at Cal’s joke, but it must have looked like a grimace because his brother threw his arm around his shoulders and gave him a manly one-armed hug. “It could be worse, brother. At least it didn’t go any further.”

  “But I wanted it to.”

  The truth slipped out before Quinn could swallow it. And now that he’d said it out loud, he decided he might as well go all in.

  “I want Amelia,” he admitted in a low voice. “It’s like I’m obsessed with her or something.” He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “I thought it might be because I haven’t gotten laid in a while, but a hot blonde begg
ed me to fuck her last night, and I turned her down.”

  “Where did you meet a hot blonde?”

  Trust Cal to get hung up on the one detail that didn’t matter. Quinn told him about Charlie, and his brother’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead almost to his hairline.

  “Why did you turn her down, man?”

  When he didn’t respond, Cal laughed in disbelief. “You turned her down because of Amelia?”

  Quinn turned to walk back to the golf cart, and Cal grabbed his arm. “Is that why?”

  He threw off his brother’s hold. “Yes. I’m not going to have sex with one woman while I’m thinking about another one.”

  He had before, and he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t willing to now.

  Cal snorted. “Why not? I’d bet most married men do that every single time they have sex with their wives.”

  He scowled. “If that’s what you really think, no wonder you and Saika are having problems.”

  Cal’s expression turned ugly. “Careful. My relationship with Saika is not up for discussion.”

  Quinn noticed another golf cart coming down the path and motioned for Cal to get into their cart.

  “Fine. Let’s stop talking.”

  Cal protested. “No, I want to continue our conversation about you and Amelia.”

  After releasing the cart’s brake, Quinn headed toward the fairway. “There is no me and Amelia.”

  “But there could be.”

  He shook his head. “It’s a bad idea even if it’s not officially sexual harassment. It’s unprofessional, and it makes us both look bad.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “Okay. How about the fact that she’s an integral part of the company’s future success? Do you really want me to mess around with her and ruin it for all of us?”

  Cal sat silently for quite a while, and when Quinn looked over at him, his brother’s eyes were closed. Had he fallen asleep?

  “I’m not sleeping,” Cal said, obviously sensing Quinn’s gaze on him. “I’m thinking. And do you want to know what I think?”

  His question was clearly rhetorical because he continued without pause. “I think you never put yourself above this company. I think you should find a way to get what you want, even if you want Amelia. I think you can maintain a professional relationship in public while privately screwing Amelia’s brains out every chance you get. And I think you can handle any potential fallout. That’s what I think.”

  Quinn had some serious doubts about that. At the same time, however, he also felt a thrill at the thought of screwing Amelia’s brains out, as his brother had so colorfully put it.

  “So you wouldn’t let a professional relationship stop you from moving forward with a personal relationship? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Cal nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The only thing that would stop me is if the woman didn’t want me the way I wanted her.”

  Quinn’s heart thudded heavily. That was the most important question of all.

  Chapter 18

  Amelia flipped through the fabric swatches Riley O’Brien & Co.’s procurement department had provided. She wasn’t happy with the selection, but she wasn’t sure if the swatches were truly inferior or if she was just cranky from traveling. Even though it was Tuesday, it felt like Monday because she’d wasted an entire day flying back from Nashville.

  Pulling a swatch from the rack, she studied the floral pattern. She might be a little cranky, but this fabric was a lot ugly.

  Amelia approached design in two distinct ways: she either drew inspiration from a person or relied on a specific material to guide her. With the Riley O’Brien accessories, she wasn’t sure if she should design her pieces with an eye toward the people who would wear them or if she should find materials she loved and then create designs to show off the materials.

  She knew she approached the design process differently than other designers, and she blamed it on her lack of formal training. Without question, nearly every other designer she had ever known possessed more training and experience than she did.

  It made her deeply insecure, and although she recognized she had talent, she wished she had a degree or an apprenticeship to back it up. And though she knew it was pathetic, she always felt inferior to people with fancy degrees from expensive universities.

  Earlier in the year, she’d applied to the Savannah College of Art and Design in Georgia to attend its fashion design program. She had thought the school was her best choice because Savannah was close enough to Nashville that she’d be able to visit Ava Grace regularly.

  She hadn’t told anyone about her application, so the disappointment had been hers alone when she had received notice she hadn’t been accepted to the program. She hadn’t really been surprised. Her academic background was unimpressive, according to the school’s dean, and that was a kind description.

  In truth, her high school grades had been atrocious. She liked to think they would have been better if she hadn’t spent most nights fending off horny truck drivers while working as a waitress.

  Despite her poor grades, she had learned the basics of her trade in high school. Because of the school’s rural environment, the curriculum emphasized agricultural, vocational, and technical programs, and all students had been required to take courses that would help them find a job once they graduated.

  At the time, she had been uninterested in all the courses. She hadn’t wanted to be a nail technician, a mechanic, or a ranch hand, so she’d picked textile design and management by process of elimination.

  Moving to the next clothes rack, she flipped through more leather swatches. She wasn’t a fan of the grain, texture, or color.

  Three strikes and you’re out.

  She stepped back from the racks and returned to her worktable. There were at least seven hundred fabric and leather samples in the workshop, and she’d found three swatches she liked. Maybe she hadn’t been specific enough when she’d talked to the woman in charge of finding and buying materials and supplies.

  Amelia wondered if it would be possible to visit some textile suppliers and fabricators. She wanted to slap herself for not suggesting it sooner because touching and feeling was a much better way to approach the process.

  At the thought of touching and feeling, her mind made a sudden detour from textiles to Quinn. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since that night in the penthouse, and she was torn between relief and regret. She’d never met a man who appealed to her more, and that scared her since he was so tangled up in her career goals.

  Ava Grace had been right when she’d said Amelia’s behavior was out of character. Because her mother had been so promiscuous, Amelia had gone the opposite direction, determined to be very cautious and deliberate in her sexual relationships.

  She hadn’t even considered having sex until she and Ava Grace had shaken the Texas dust from their boots. Once she’d arrived in Nashville, though, she’d carefully evaluated potential partners.

  She had settled on Derek Jacobson, one of the young attorneys who worked for the entertainment law firm that represented Ava Grace. After several dates, she had told Derek she was a virgin and that she’d like for him to be her first lover. She’d made it clear her virginity was just a nuisance, and that he shouldn’t read anything into the fact that he’d be her first.

  Ava Grace had warned Amelia that her approach wouldn’t work. She said guys were more than happy to use women, but they didn’t like being used.

  Her best friend loved being right, and in that instance, she’d been dead-on. Derek hadn’t even driven Amelia home after her explanation. He’d left her at the restaurant.

  When she had identified another prospective sexual partner, she hadn’t said anything about her virginity or her lack of experience. That’s why the encounter had been so painful and embarrassing, for her partner, not for her.

 
“I hope you don’t think this means anything,” he’d sputtered while she was still naked in his bed. Her ego had taken a bit of a beating at his obvious dismay.

  Since her first sexual experience had only been so-so, and she hadn’t even had an orgasm, she’d decided to give it one more go. Ava Grace had set her up on a blind date with a guitar player who had “long, capable fingers,” according to her best friend, and she had found out just how long and capable those fingers really were.

  The sound of the workshop door opening and closing interrupted her musings. The tall racks of swatches surrounding the table made it impossible to see her visitor.

  “I’m over here,” she called.

  Hard, heavy footsteps headed her way, and her heart began to pound. Her palms dampened at the thought it might be Quinn.

  She turned toward the footsteps just as Quinn’s dark head poked around the closest rack. Her spirits lifted at the sight of his handsome face, and she realized she’d missed him.

  How is that possible?

  “Hey there,” he said, stopping about three feet away from her.

  His Rileys were so old and so worn they were nearly white with faint shadows of blue along the seams. The hem and pockets were frayed, and there were worn patches in some very interesting places. His brown cowboy boots looked just as worn as his jeans, conforming to the slope of his foot.

  He’d topped his ancient Rileys with a sweater patterned in thin stripes of light gray, navy, and orange. It clung to his broad shoulders, outlining his muscular arms, and she recalled how easily he’d lifted her to the kitchen island.

  She was desperate to shape those muscles with her hands and run her fingers over his chest. She hadn’t had the opportunity that night in the penthouse, and she squeezed her hands into fists to keep from reaching out.

  Pulling her gaze from his chest, she immediately noticed he’d gotten a haircut. The shiny, dark strands were cut close to his head in short layers around the back and sides and a little longer on top, and she wanted to run her fingers through the thickness. She didn’t know if it was the haircut or the fact that she hadn’t seen him in four days, but his eyes looked bluer, and his cheekbones seemed sharper.