One corner of Quinn’s mouth quirked in one of his fleeting half grins. “Makes me a bit hesitant to continue working with someone who can choose to ignore the fine print on a contract when it pleases her.”
Geneva relaxed back in her seat, enjoying their exchange in spite of the circumstances. “You should learn to take advantage of a weakness or an opportunity when it presents itself.”
“Maybe I’m hesitant to do that, too,” he said, “considering my history of being the party with the weaknesses and lost opportunities.”
“Misplaced honor, Mr. Quinn?”
“Just Quinn. And yes, I misplaced my honor a long time ago.”
They exchanged mild, understanding smiles as Missy brought their breakfasts. His troubles hadn’t diminished his appetite, Geneva was relieved to notice.
“I’ve asked my investigator to speak with Reed Oberman,” she said when Missy had left.
“What information does he have for the police?”
“Not much. But he does have a witness.”
“To the vandalism?”
“To some suspicious activity.” Geneva sipped her orange juice. “However, this witness isn’t the most reliable source. It’s the gentleman who spends so much of his time on the docks, fishing. Ed Morton.”
“I know Ed. He may be a little strange, but I’ve never known him to rant or hallucinate.” Quinn frowned. “Still, it doesn’t help our case when the only witness so far is known to most people in the Cove as Crazy Ed.”
“No, it doesn’t. But I’m inclined to believe Ed, considering the way the information was obtained.” Geneva glanced beyond Quinn’s shoulder at the rest of the room, checking to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “The investigator was very careful not to ask any leading questions. There wasn’t much Ed could tell him, but he did say he’s seen a blue truck near the site, late in the evening.”
“How late?”
“After midnight.”
“After midnight it’s too dark to tell what color a truck is,” Quinn pointed out.
“Ed said there’s a very distinctive sticker on the rear fender.” Geneva leaned forward. “Do you know of anyone who drives a blue pickup truck?”
“Yeah.” Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “I do.”
“Does this person have any motive for sabotaging Tidewaters?”
“I thought so, at first, but now…” Quinn shook his head. “The spill doesn’t fit. It doesn’t help him, not the way he was looking for help. And he’s not smart enough to figure out something like that on his own.”
“Are you saying he might have been responsible for the first two incidents?”
“I’ve never considered the damage to the backhoe to be anything other than criminal mischief. Guess I should reconsider.” He gave her a hard look. “But I’ve always had my own suspicions about how Ned got hurt.”
“I’ll arrange for you to meet with my investigator.”
Geneva chatted pleasantly with Missy for a few minutes when the young woman returned to ask if their breakfasts were satisfactory, and she chose to maintain the same conversational tone when Missy had left. “How is your daughter?” she asked Quinn.
“Looking forward to the start of summer vacation.” He forked up a piece of waffle. “Friday is the last day of school. I haven’t figured out yet what to do with her. She keeps insisting she’s old enough to stay by herself, and I know she’s right, but not in this case.”
“How old is she?”
“Ten.”
“Ah, yes. I recall that age. Too old for a babysitter, but not old enough to be without supervision for an extended period of time.” Geneva smiled. “Parenthood is never easy, particularly when it’s done alone.”
“My wife never complained,” he said.
Geneva admired his attempt at fairness. “Your ex-wife,” she clarified.
“Yes.”
“I heard she’s in Oregon.”
“That’s right.”
“And yet Rosie is with you.”
“It’s my turn.”
“To avoid complaining,” Geneva said as she lifted her tea for another sip.
“I’m lucky to have my daughter with me,” he said. “I intend to keep her.”
“In spite of the fine print?”
He leveled a bland gaze across the table, and Geneva knew she’d stepped into dangerous territory. “We were discussing,” she said, “the difficulties of keeping her supervised during the summer. Have you looked into any educational programs or camps?”
“No.”
“Have you asked Tess for help?”
His gaze sharpened. “Why would I ask her?”
“Because she might know of something,” Geneva said casually. “I understand she’s recently spent some time in the Adams Elementary School office.”
His face lit with amusement. “Yes, she has.”
“She seems quite fond of your daughter.”
The amusement faded. “I suppose so.”
“Have you asked her?”
“We don’t discuss Rosie.”
“Perhaps you should,” Geneva said. “My granddaughter may surprise you, Quinn.”
“She already has,” he said with an unreadable expression.
“Good.” Geneva lifted her napkin to her mouth. “I believe that’s all I wanted to discuss with you today. If you’ll excuse me…”
He rose as she exited the booth, and they exchanged polite goodbyes. She noticed, as she drove away, that he was still sitting in the booth, staring out the window.
The man had a great deal on his mind. Tess alone was enough to make any man sit and stare, pondering, for quite a long while.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TESS GLANCED UP from her monitor when her little bell jangled shortly after lunch on Monday. Quinn strode toward her desk, dropped into one of her visitor’s chairs and stared at her floor.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“Bad enough. There’s no way to know for sure.”
“What are you going to do?”
“How do you feel about a water feature in front of the building?”
“What kind of water feature?”
“A small lake.”
She swallowed, and she was sure she could actually feel her face pale beneath her carefully applied makeup. “That’s not in the budget,” she said.
“There is no budget.” He raised his eyes to hers. “This project is now officially out of control. And you and I both know there are forces at work behind the scenes trying to make sure this thing never gets resolved satisfactorily.”
“Cobb.”
“Among others.” Quinn shifted and settled more heavily in his chair. “He wasn’t the only one contesting the environmental impact report’s conclusions.”
“I’ll talk with Geneva and—”
“I’ve talked with her. I met with her this morning. For breakfast. And before you start giving me grief over that,” he said, raising his hand, “you told me you don’t do mornings.”
She closed her file and rolled the mouse precisely to the center of its pad. “I would have made an exception in this case.” Again.
“The thing is,” he said in his irritatingly reasonable tone, “you’ve already been paid the lion’s share of what you’ll make on this project. The design is done, bought and paid for. I’ve got a payroll to meet and men who are wondering when the next one will be. Your design isn’t the problem. Getting it built is mine.”
“Isn’t there some way to continue to work around the cleanup?” she asked.
“Not for a while. A week, maybe.”
“What will you do?”
He stood and paced to one of her models and stared down at it, his hands in his pockets. The winery, the one he’d admired. He’d surprised her, not so long ago, with his concise, spot-on summary of the heart of her design.
He looked so big, looming over her model, so strong and sure. She often forgot how many people were counting on him, how many responsibilities he b
ore on a daily basis. “Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “I can always find work.” He gave her a wry smile. “Men with tool belts are very popular.”
She rose from her seat and went to him. “They’re very attractive, too.”
He cupped her face in his big, strong, sure hands. “Think so?”
“One of the main reasons I went into this line of work. For the view.”
His gaze softly touched all her features. “We’ll be okay, Tess. We’ll find some way to work around this.”
“All right.”
“What?” He drew back. “No argument?”
She wrapped her fingers around his wrists. “Actually, I don’t think much of your water-feature idea.”
“Okay. I can compromise on that.” He brushed a sweet kiss across her lips, paused and moved in for another. And then another, as the familiar heat simmered and snapped between them. He dropped his hands to her waist and yanked her close. “Tess.”
“I’m here.”
“Yes,” he murmured against her throat. “You are.”
She grabbed his collar and hung on tight while he carried them both away from their troubles for a few moments, and then she floated back to earth on a sigh. “I like what you can do to me, Quinn.”
“Good. Because I plan on doing it a lot.”
He shifted an inch away and took her by the chin. “I wasn’t sure why I came here today or what I’d say when I walked through your door. But I’m glad I did.”
“I’m glad, too,” she said as he left.
She moved to her window and watched him shove two quarters into the meter near her car. And ordered herself not to fall in love with him.
QUINN STALKED into his office trailer on Saturday morning and threw a fistful of invoices on his counter. He’d been able to cling to his insurance so far, and he’d received permission to continue work on the building while the En-Tech engineers hauled away the contaminated soil. They’d been lucky; there was no sign yet of a leak into the bay.
He should be grateful he was still here, making progress, but sometimes the daily dose of insanity got to be too much. “Goddamn it,” he muttered.
“Dad.” Rosie swiveled in his chair, spinning in a clumsy circle. “You’re not setting a very good example for the kid.”
He grinned at her use of Tess’s term, relieved the two women in his life had begun to reach some sort of understanding. The basis for that understanding made him a little nervous—and he was too cowardly to examine it too closely—but at least it was an improvement on that disastrous first dinner scene.
Enough of an improvement, perhaps, to try his luck with the next step. He may have been having more success recently managing his urges to take a drink, but his craving for a certain woman’s company seemed beyond his control. “I’m thinking about taking Tess out for dinner.”
Rosie halted her swiveling and frowned.
“Or not,” Quinn said.
She tilted her head, and her frown tugged to one side. “I guess it’s your turn.”
“What do you mean?”
“She brought the food last time.”
He leaned his elbows on the counter. “I’m thinking this dinner with Tess would be like…like a date.”
“Like a date?”
“Okay. A date.” His face was heating. “Which means you’re not invited.”
She shrugged. “That’s cool.”
“It is?”
“Yeah.” She resumed her swiveling. “If you leave me with a pizza. And a new video. Maybe that one about the spaceship and the pirates.”
“And Neva.”
Rosie’s skinny chest lifted and collapsed with a grown-up-size sigh. “Two videos, then.”
“That’s extortion.”
“Is that like blackmail?”
Quinn muttered an oath under his breath as he gathered the invoices and tapped their edges into a neater stack. “Tess was right to wonder about the crap they’re teaching you in school these days.”
TESS STOOD outside Quinn’s apartment door, waiting for the flutters in her stomach to quiet. She knew what was coming—a few scorching glances, some deliciously teasing verbal foreplay and then a frenzied, mindless, glorious bout of lovemaking. It would all leave her exhilarated and exhausted and struggling to resurrect clear boundaries between lust and longing.
Boundaries she was considering ahead of schedule.
This had to stop. She was a woman who knew how to handle an affair, a woman who knew how to keep things casual and make a smooth exit.
The trouble was she’d lost sight of the exit sign.
Her hand, when she raised it to knock on his door, was trembling. And her heart, when he opened his door and pulled her inside, seemed to stumble and stop.
It wasn’t the soft jazz whispering from Rosie’s purple player in the corner, or the tangled iris stalks stuffed inexpertly into a juice pitcher on the small table, or the candles burning beside them or the kiss he brushed over her knuckles that made her nerves bubble and her breath catch in a jerky sigh. It was the look in his eyes, the intense gaze that told her he had no doubts about this evening. No reasons to hide anything from her—his desire, his affection, his delight in what they would share.
And oh, she wanted that, too—that certainty that everything would work out in the end, that they could make love and remain friends. Surely that was the reason her face was so warm and her mouth was so dry.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.
“A drink? Yes. I—Yes. Water. Please.”
She dropped her purse on the sofa and walked to the window, rubbing her hands over her arms. She thought she recognized the tune floating through the air, and bits of phrases flitted through her mind as she tried to piece together the lyrics. She focused on the words, trying to sort out the rest of the song. It was easier than trying to sort the sensations tangling and knotting inside her.
“Tess.” Quinn’s voice was a caress as he handed her the glass. He waited patiently as she sipped, and then he gently tugged the drink from her hand, placed it on the windowsill and slowly pulled her into a dancer’s embrace.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Dancing with you.” His fingers spread in a warm fan across the small of her back, urging her closer.
“Why?”
“Why not?” He rested his cheek against hers, so softly. So sweetly. “I’ve been wanting to hold you all week.”
“You can do that later. In bed.” Could he hear the panic in her voice?
“I’ve been wanting that, too. Waiting for that.” He took her hand and curled her fingers in his, against his chest. “Imagining how it will be.”
“Last time was pretty good.” She reminded herself to wrap her arms around his neck, to press her body against his, to take the lead and get things moving. But they were already moving, and she couldn’t seem to find her balance, couldn’t take control.
“Have you been waiting?” he asked, ignoring her remark.
“Of course I have.” She let out a sigh that sounded more shaky than disgusted. “Quinn, I—”
He pressed a soft, moist kiss to her temple. “Hmm?”
“I…um…” Whatever point she’d been about to make, the thought disappeared as his lips skimmed along her cheek. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you.”
“No, you’re not.”
He smiled as he guided her through an easy turn and then rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not?”
“No.” She sighed as he touched his mouth to hers, once, twice, as light as a wish. “You’re up to something.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” She pulled away and stared at him, searching his face for some sign of the serious, cynical man she’d come to know so well. But he wasn’t here tonight.
He took her hand, the one cupped in his, and flattened it against his chest. Beneath her palm, beneath his soft sweater, his heart beat steadily. So strong, so sure.
“I want
tonight to be different,” he said.
“Does this mean we’re going to eat first?”
“If you’d like.”
His beautiful mouth turned up at the edges, and his smile warmed her clear through and scared her to death. “I want to seduce you, Tess.”
She swallowed. “That would explain the flowers and candles.”
“Mere props.” His hand brushed up her back, and his fingers stroked her nape, sending ice chips and sparks skittering up and down her spine. “I’ve got more than music and mood to offer tonight.”
“I don’t need those things. I’m here. I’m ready and willing. What more do you want?”
“More.” He pulled her closer. “This. Everything we can do together. Be together.”
“I already told you,” she said in a voice gone breathless, “I’m willing to do whatever you want.”
“Be mine.” He stilled and lifted her fingers to his mouth to graze her knuckles with his lips. “For tonight. Let me make you feel as though it’s forever.”
Oh, no. No. Not this—not romance. She couldn’t take it, couldn’t handle it, not from him. Not from Quinn, of all people, and not now, not when she was trembling and weakening with every ridiculous dance step in this slightly shabby setting. “I don’t—”
“Tess.” He released her and cradled her face in his hands. “Kiss me, Tess.”
And then she was kissing him and sliding into his steady, strong embrace, and letting go, just a little. Enjoying the moment, as much as she could. Part of her was still terrified of what he could do to her, of what he could make her feel, if she let him.
He spun the kiss out, tender and sweet, testing and savoring. Another tune began, something hinting of heartbreak with the sly purr of a throaty clarinet. On the street below, a passing car tooted its horn, and someone shouted a rough response. She curled her fingers into his sweater, holding on, holding tight. Trying to hold back, to keep a part of herself safe and secure.
The effort made her dizzy. That’s what it was—it couldn’t be a mere kiss that had left her so lightheaded.
“I think I need more water,” she said when he inched back to stare at her. “I’m feeling a little…um…”
A Small-Town Homecoming Page 18