Just Desserts

by Tricia Quinnies

  “Capable. Right.” Sadie trudged upstairs to soak in a hot tub until her skin pruned.

  Chapter Eight

  Sadie lassoed the rope on the post and pulled close to the pier, careful to keep the aluminum boat from scraping the concrete slip. She hadn’t talked to Quinn since his stint as cook yesterday, and hoped Eddie, not him, would be on the dock so she could pass along the coolers and skedaddle.

  She had almost spewed, “Go to Hell” to her own father when he asked her to deliver the two coolers filled with veggie burgers, brats, and beer to the Wrigley mansion work crew for their barbeque celebration. I should have quit before he had a chance to fire me.

  She prayed that rowing the boat, instead of using the one-engine outboard motor, to cross the lake would spare her the humiliation of coming face-to-face with the stud who had bonked her than ran off like she’d stewed his pet bunny.

  Not to mention—she cringed thinking about it—Dad’s new best buddy seemed to be Quinn. So if she was successful in avoiding him, she still needed to plan her next disappearing act when he came to the house to fix the old oven. Great.

  Strands of Christmas tree lights twinkled on the Wrigleys’ ostentatious boathouse. The last and only boathouse left on Lake Geneva, grandfathered in before the DNR decided to care about the lake’s eroding shoreline. So the remaining descendants of big daddy Wrigley plowed millions of dollars into renovating the ten-slip Tudor style boathouse that protected a small fleet of gorgeous Chris-Craft wooden boats.

  At Lake Geneva’s annual Fourth of July Boat Show and Regatta, the collection of shiny mahogany beauties paraded around the lake and received more ooohs and aaahhs than the fireworks.

  The dock looked deserted, which didn’t surprise her. The barbeque wouldn’t be starting for another couple hours. Sadie turned her phone to vibrate, or oscillate and slid it into the pocket of her cargo shorts.

  She heard some yelling and pounding—construction type sounds from on top of the hill beyond the boathouse where the mammoth Wrigley mansion towered. Her entire life she’d heard rumors about the grand house and its illustrious contents, but never seen any of it. As a kid she dreamed Wrigley would follow Wonka’s lead and hide golden tickets in packs of Juicy Fruit to offer tours of his castle to his poor gum-chewing neighbors. She laughed, remembering she hadn’t chewed Juicy Fruit since, or Big Red.

  Sadie tightened two slipknots on the posts to secure the rowboat along the side of the pier, then levered the first cooler on the edge of the pier pushing it safely on it, without losing her balance. Water splattered her knees from between the rowboat and dock. Sadie congratulated herself when she shoved the second cooler on the pier without a splash.

  The ladder to climb onto the dock was mounted a good distance away so instead of finagling the boat, she gripped the side of the concrete pier and pulled herself up. When she stealthily stepped onto Wrigley’s pier, more like a state-of-the-art boat containment unit, she lost her footing. The toe of her Keen slipped off the edge and the length of her shin scraped down the jagged concrete edge.

  “Shit.” Dropping down on the pier, she hauled her butt and injured leg up to inspect the damage. The skin that once smoothed over her shinbone crinkled up at the top of a long bloodied skid mark. As ugly as it looked, it hurt even more.

  “Fuck,” she yelped under her breath.

  Using the post to brace herself, she stood up. All she had to do was pull the wheeled Coleman coolers to the man-door of the boathouse and shove them inside. Quinn and his crew would find them easily.

  Blood spotted her shin, but then trickled down her leg as she hopped and hobbled down the pier with the first cooler. She parked it and then sat on the top to catch her breath. The skin below her knee had turned a pretty shade of crimson.

  Ignoring the sting and burn, she wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her forearm, and got up to fetch the second cooler. Bloodied or not, she needed to finish and get the hell out of here before it got totally dark and kamikaze mosquitoes raided her on the return trip across the lake. Or she saw Quinn.

  After hauling the second cooler, she swayed, almost losing her balance. She clutched onto the cooler’s handle and opened it to check and see if her dad had packed any beer. No good. All packages of semi-frozen meat wrapped in butcher paper. She thought about her bottle of water in the rowboat but didn’t want to waste the energy. She sat on the cooler. Just five minutes.

  ***

  “A damned wasted day!” Quinn said to Eddie.

  They were shielding their eyes with hand visors and trying like hell to see over the hot house and get a better look at the hole in Wrigley’s roof.

  “The panel was supposed to be in position, yesterday.” Quinn rubbed his eyes to make the dancing dots from the blaze of the setting sun disappear. “Idiots. They actually told you that it would be delivered separately? One solar panel, today? They fucked up the order. I may be looking at that hole for months before it’s delivered.”

  “Sorry, boss,” Eddie said. “The dudes worked until late last night. I didn’t notice the missing piece until this morning.”

  Quinn corralled his frustration over the botched job. He couldn’t blame Eddie. Had he been attending to his day job yesterday instead of moonlighting as a fry-cook he might have caught the error. But he had no regrets about saving Sadie’s day at the diner.

  The installation of the skylights and solar panels on the house had been a pain in the ass all summer. And the tail end of the job would be no different. He stared at the single missing panel until sunspots blocked his vision and then put on his mirrored Ray-Bans.

  “Eddie, get a couple of the guys. Find a piece of tarp and secure it over the hole. There should be some fieldstones that we didn’t use for the hearth near the front entrance. They should be heavy enough to keep it in place, if they don’t roll off first. I’m going to get my roofer over here, I hope, by tomorrow morning.”

  “Lindy’s right; you are hot and demanding,” Eddie joked, batting his eyelashes.

  “Don’t get me started on your woman, Eddie. She was damn demanding herself last night. After Sadie left—” He broke off, distracted. “—after she left, Lindy kept selling the five o’clock dinner special, liver and onions, to piss me off. I don’t like meat but I hate innards. She pinched my ass every time I had to fry up one of those blood red fillets.”

  “Good protein, dude.”

  “Thanks, I’ll eat some pistachios.”

  “Lindy said the diner was busy last night. You did the right thing helping Sadie and Paul out.”

  “Yeah.”

  It worked out better than he’d expected. While driving Paul home after sleeping off his night of binge drinking in his Jeep, he had woken up and announced to Quinn that he’d sell him the diner. Quinn had veered off the road almost landed in a stupid country ditch.

  After he’d delivered Sadie’s dad to his front door, the man talked his ear off and before Quinn knew it, the two of them were half-done designing the diner’s expansion on scraps of paper. Had Paul not just come off a Jameson bender, Quinn would have offered him a shot to celebrate.

  But, Sadie. She undoubtedly knew the turn of events. Since he still hadn’t made amends with her after running away from her like a dickhead…no worse, dickwad. At this point, he decided that he definitely had fallen a notch lower on her pig-man totem pole. And probably sunk below hippie-boy, Bryan.

  “I’ll get on the roof, boss-man.”

  “Wait, Eddie, have you talked to Lindy this afternoon? Does she know where Sadie is?”

  “No, but I can pass her a note during study hall, dude.”

  “Ha. Go plug up my roof, asshole.”

  Eddie jogged across the well-manicured Wrigley lawn and through the trellis into the French garden.

  Quinn called the diner. He hadn’t expected Sadie to answer the phone, but was disappointed when Paul picked-up.

  “Ms. Katie’s Diner.”

  “Paul? Quinn. If Lindy’s delivering food for
the bash, can she add on a dessert of some sort?”

  “Sure. I’ll have Lindy bring it over after the dinner rush. How do the rest of your barbeque fixings look? The burgers should just be defrosted enough, in an hour, for them to seer clean on the grill.”

  “Haven’t seen any food.”

  “Should be there. Two coolers. Sadie left an hour ago and rowed it over to the boathouse. Maybe she unloaded and started up the grill, ‘cause she would’ve been back by now.”

  “Maybe. I’ll sort it out. Thanks.”

  Most of the men had left the property to clean up and come back for the party, so none were around to ask if they’d spied a woman trolling around the boathouse. He stood at the highest and most southern point of the estate. The overgrown foliage blocked his view of the boathouse. He could barely see the pier. Damn.

  He didn’t have Sadie’s cell number so he jogged into the greenhouse and found the old bird-watching binoculars. Adjusting the viewfinder, he looked down toward the lake and saw Sadie’s aluminum rowboat bobbing against the pier. But there was no sight of Sadie.

  Maybe she was in the boathouse. He looked through the binoculars again and caught sight of a shoe. Only one on the end of the pier. What the fuck?

  Quinn yelled up at Eddie laying tarp on the roof, “Can you see Sadie down by the boat house?”

  “Dude, you are whipped,” he shouted down.

  Quinn flipped him the bird, then walked, started jogging, and ran down to the lake.

  Not out of breath when he reached the back of the boathouse, but his heart and adrenaline pumped so hard he got a head rush. He used the wall as a crutch and inched his way toward the boat landing. Turning the corner, he saw Sadie, slumped over a cooler on the opposite side. He ran over. She’d baked in the sun, like Paul almost had yesterday? Another Doug?

  His levity disintegrated when he saw her leg. It looked like someone had sharpened a machete on her shin.

  Quinn stripped off his tee shirt and wrapped it around her shin as lightly as possible, cradled her in his arms then trekked back up to the mansion. She gurgled something that sounded like, beer, and held him tight around his neck. He accidentally copped a feel when he cupped her rear end.

  “Per-vert,” she slurred.

  Chapter Nine

  Most of Sadie’s usual pale skin had reddened from the sun, except for her lower left leg. It was bloody and swollen. Quinn thought it looked worse than the horrible liver.

  Sadie had mumbled jibes in his ear the entire way back to his temporary residence on the estate—the one-time servants’ quarters, which his great-grandfather had turned into a game room. She made little sense, but Quinn knew she wouldn’t die. She couldn’t die yet. At least until she had the chance to bust his balls for what a jerk he’d been. And, since she begged for beer, he figured she only suffered from mild dehydration.

  Quinn couldn’t decide where to lay her in the living room. The leather sofa seemed too rough and he didn’t want to chance it touching her tendered skin. But the bedroom…that seemed riskier. So he paced in the middle of the room with Sadie cradled in his arms and tried like hell to ignore her breasts, spilling out from a white lacey bra and low low-cut frilly tank top.

  He sat down on the couch with her nestled against his chest. She rubbed her cheek against his bare chest. She came to and blinked in confusion at him. She took in her surroundings and wiggled about in his lap. His T-shirt, spotted with blood stains, dangled on her shin and then fell to the floor.

  “Ow, damn it.” She sat up. “Where am I? Some kind of South African pool hall?”

  “It’s the game room. The old man hunted, explored, and liked safaris.”

  ***

  Sadie shuddered at all the mounted animal heads bordering the room. There were enough moose, water buffalos, and deer antlers to trot a dozen Santa sleighs…if they’d had legs. “You sleep here? A vegetarian sleeping amongst wild game? That’s a hoot.” She laughed and then bumped her leg against the leather. “Ow. Stupid pier. And your coolers. If it weren’t for your ding dang party, I’d be home making the raspberry sauce for the diner’s fig dessert.”

  Quinn picked up his T-shirt and threw it on an ornate stain glass coffee table. “Take it easy. You need to wash off your shin. Clean it out.”

  Sadie eyed him skeptically and slid off his lap.

  “Follow me.” He stood and held out a hand to help her up.

  She grasped his hand and hopped off the sofa on her one undamaged leg. He squeezed her fingers. Then she followed behind him, hobbling down a long corridor dimly lit by Tiffany glass sconces on dark wood paneled walls.

  With each step she took, her shin throbbed. She dropped Quinn’s hand and stopped to rest.

  Quinn picked her up and carried her down the rest of the hallway and into a pristine bathroom tiled with tumbled marble.

  “This is amazing.” She ogled the sunken tub beside the enormous wood-paneled sauna and shower. “I could live in here.”

  Quinn set her on a teak bench and swung open the doors of a monstrous black lacquered armoire in the corner of the bathroom. He pulled out a pile of plush towels, a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo. “I’m in and out of here so fast every morning I barely notice it.”

  “Really? It’s like a Turkish bath house.” She glanced at the massage table in the corner.

  He set down the towels next to her. “I think I’m getting tired of this jinxed job and need to finish. I want to go home and enjoy my own digs.”

  “Any aloe vera in this spa?” She popped open the top of the shampoo and sniffed. “I like lemon ginger, too.” She stretched out her sore leg. “Thought something might calm down the throb. In my shin.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and she noticed his broad bare back. It sent a shiver through her.

  “Not sure. I’ll check in the kitchen.” He stepped into the glassed-in shower and turned on the faucet. “The water will take a minute to warm up. Old plumbing.”

  “Thanks. I hate cold showers.”

  “Me, too.” He gave her a cheeky grin and held out his arm. “Grab on and let me help you rinse off the scrape.”

  Grasping his forearm, she stood and leaned toward him for support. His searing body heat caught her off guard. She stumbled slightly and her breast grazed against his chest. For a second, she thought her bra and tank top had disappeared—spontaneously combusted.

  “Careful, hon.” He gently clutched her elbow and led her into the shower. “Hold on to me and stick your leg under the water.”

  We are in the shower, clothes still on. “Sure.”

  They stood outside the perimeter of the flowing water and she extended her leg out to let the tepid water cascade over her shin and rinse out the gash. As a bonus, the water realigned a bit layer of skin that had been ripped away. “Goodie. It doesn’t look as bad but it still stings.”

  “I’ll search for something. Will you be okay alone? While I leave?”

  No. I want to peel off your jeans and kiss you. “I’ll be fine. I’ll finish taking a shower.”

  “Your arms look a little too red. I’ll try and scare up something.”

  After he left the bathroom, Sadie undressed and showered. She became more anxious than ever to get away from the exotic man cave. Quinn kept lighting her up like a Christmas tree. Desire came on quickly and so easily she felt desperate. She scrubbed her scalp with the fancy shampoo.

  After Sadie got out of the shower and dried off, she began easing her bra straps over her arms. The skin boiled under her touch. The late afternoon sun had fried most of her exposed skin while she had stupidly taken a rest on the cooler.

  She tossed away the bra and sat on the sauna bench until a sudden wooziness disappeared. She wrapped a towel around her like a sarong and tiptoed out the bathroom to find aloe, cocoa butter, or even olive oil to cool her skin before she dressed. Then she could make her escape.

  Quinn talked on the phone in the animal menagerie. She found a galley kitchen tripped out with all high-end stai
nless appliances. While searching in the slick euro cabinets to find olive oil, another sick wave hit her in the gut. This is bad.

  She slouched to the floor to keep the contents of her stomach sequestered.

  “There you are. Come on, let’s get you in bed.” Quinn came into the kitchen with a stack of sheets. He draped an ice-cold cotton sheet around her and picked her up off the marble floor.

  “The cold stone floor kept my skin from melting off me, I think,” she mumbled. “I don’t feel so well.”

  He carried her into a bedroom and laid her on top a four-poster bed covered in ice packs. The cold soothed her overheated skin.

  “Great. I wanted to escape your evil lair, but this feels too wonderful.” She contained her nausea to arrange her towel and make certain nothing spilled out. She couldn’t wait until Quinn left to flip over and cool her thighs on the icy pouches.

  “I couldn’t find any aloe, so I threw some sheets in the freezer while you were showering. There are more in there icing up. I think you’ve got a mild case of sun poisoning. You’re not going anywhere for a day, or two. I talked to your dad and told him what happened.”

  “Right. Your new best friend. You won, Quinn. Ms. Katie’s is all yours. Will you allow me to see the new and improved diner when you’re done renovating it?”

  “You, my sweetheart, will be privy to every part of the design and rebuild. I won’t even order a napkin holder unless you approve it.”

  Another wave of nausea hit her. “Seriously?”

  “Yep.” He squeezed a blob of lotion in his hand. “Close your eyes. We’ll do this nice and slow.”

  “Mmm.”

  “My specialty, so you can make yummy noises now. You don’t have to wait until dessert.” Quinn kissed her and began massaging her sun-withered body.

  “Wait, if I’m going to be your new boss, you have to promise not to run away screaming from me every time I look at you.”