by Peggy Jaeger
Moira just stared at him.
“Anything I say right now will be twisted by you, so I’m going to ignore you.” She turned to her mother. “I won’t be home for dinner. Can I have the car?”
“Of course, Baby.”
“Where are you going?” Pat asked.
“None of your business.” Smiling at her mother, and pointedly ignoring her twin, she left them and went up to her room.
Chapter Eighteen
From her bedroom window Moira heard Pat’s car turning down the drive.
“Goon,” she scolded. Rob Roy lifted his head from her pillow.
“Not you, boy,” she said, rubbing him behind his ears. She’d finished the call to her agent, declining to do the CD at the present time, but did give her the freedom to see how long it would take to get legal permission for several key pieces. The next call she made ended with a meeting scheduled within the next hour. Moira quickly changed and before heading out, stopped at the studio to tell her mother her plans.
“I’ll see you when you get home,” Serena told her, bussing her cheek.
“Don’t wait up,” she said automatically, then smiled. “Like telling the sun not to shine. Kiss daddy for me.”
“I’ll give him one for me, too.”
Three hours later, Moira sent a quick text and got one back immediately.
Just finishing up. The door’s open. I’ll c u in a few.
She walked up the porch steps to his house and let herself in, her arms filled with grocery bags.
Tonight she was determined they were going to eat and finish an actual meal.
She’d bought a rotisserie chicken at the market, and all the fixings she knew Quentin loved: sweet potatoes, green beans and crescent rolls. She turned the oven on low to heat up the chicken, and tossed the gallon of Rocky Road she’d bought into his freezer. Next, she pulled the sunflowers she’d purchased at the flower shop from their wrapper and, finding a vase in a cabinet above the sink, filled it with water and placed it in the center of the table, which she set.
After making sure everything was to her satisfaction, she decided to do the one thing she hadn’t yet: see the rest of the house. The times she’d been in it the past few days had been spent mostly in Quentin’s bedroom and downstairs in the man-cave. She wanted to see what her mother and Delilah had done with the rest of the rooms in the enormous house.
She got through the first floor easily, its open airy design she’d loved the moment she’d seen it. She ran up to the second floor and stole a quick peek into his bedroom. The bed was made and the room was tidy.
Predictable as rain.
The room directly to the right of his had an adjoining door Moira had noticed the first night. It was perfect for a nursery. The room wasn’t too large, but it had the same wall width windows along the same side as the master bedroom. The room was bare of furniture but had been painted a pale, soft yellow. In the next room to the right of this was a smaller one Quentin had fashioned as a home office. There were books and journals strewn everywhere around a colossal desk. Moira recognized it immediately as the one Quentin’s father David, used to have in his office at the clinic. She remembered it had belonged to his own father, Q’s grandfather, also a country vet. She was charmed his grandson now owned it. On top of the desk in the one corner not covered by books, stood a lone photograph in a plain wooden frame. Moira moved closer to the picture, eyes widening when she came to it. She picked it up and felt tears starting in the corners of her eyes. Quentin smiled straight at the camera, tall, tan, and gorgeous in his black tuxedo, his arm swung casually over Moira’s shoulder, a laugh on his face. She was looking at him, a smile as wide as heaven dancing on hers. The sapphire colored strapless gown she wore billowed about in the breeze surrounding them. Delilah had snapped the photo minutes before they’d left for the junior prom Quentin had volunteered to take her to, after she’d been dumped by Jimmy Payson.
Moira looked all around the room. The walls were covered with framed pictures of horses, many with Quentin in them, but no one else. She put the frame back on the desk and swiped at a tear before it could fall.
“You don’t look so bad in the picture, M. Don’t cry.”
She turned and found him leaning against the doorjamb, his jacket casually tossed over one shoulder. The teasing smile on his face complimented the laughter in his eyes.
“I can’t believe you have this on your desk.”
Quentin threw his jacket onto a chair and took her in his arms. When her hands automatically wrapped around his neck, he pulled her body to completely settle against his. Dropping a quick kiss to her nose, he said, “My mother made it for me when she moved Dad’s old desk in here.”
“Why? Why this picture? I’m sure there are dozens that are better. This one is so…I don’t know…random,” she said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.
Quentin’s lips twitched at the corners. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you why she loves the picture so much, or why she knew I would. Not now. For now,” his hands slipped down passed her waist to settle on her butt. When he pulled the lower half of her body intimately against his, Moira’s heart skipped a few beats when she felt him, already rock hard, against her.
“For now,” he repeated, dropping his head down to kiss her sweetly once on the lips, “I want to tell you what I’ve been thinking about doing all day. No. Even better. I’ll show you.”
Moira burst out laughing when he threw her over his shoulder and turned to head into his bedroom.
“Wait, you goon,” she said through laughs. “I’ve got food in the oven. I wanted us to act like grown ups tonight and eat a real meal. I don’t want it to burn.”
“I already turned the oven off,” he said, dropping her onto the bed and onto her a second later. “And as for acting like grownups, this is the most adult thing I know how to do.”
He took her breath away when his mouth devoured hers. Moira couldn’t think, wouldn’t have been able to form a sentence if she tried. All she could do was feel Quentin’s lips as they nipped and lapped at her own. His tongue wove with hers, mated, then slowly began suckling. A spark of sexual dynamite flashed from her mouth straight to her core. His hands were everywhere, sliding the dress off her shoulders, kneading her breasts as he passed them. His mouth left hers to capture one already swollen nipple, gently tugging it with his lips until it was hard and beaded, engorged to the hilt. He moved to the other and gave it the same devotion. His hands skated down her legs to push her shoes off and then trailed back up again, feather-light, as he skimmed over the pulse at the back of her knee and then onto the soft vee at the top of her thighs.
Moira did not lie there idly. Her own hands were quick and adroit, pulling off his shirt and tie, unzipping his pants and shoving them down over his—God bless him—boxers, to cup his butt cheeks in her hands. She ground the lower edge of her body into his. When there was finally nothing between them but skin, their movements simultaneously slowed.
With every touch of Quentin’s hand, Moira felt her skin enveloped in heat. His lips enjoyed trailing everywhere his fingers had blazed and soon her insides felt like an overwound spring, ready and needing to uncoil and find release.
“Q, please,” she said between quick and deep breaths. “I need you so much. Please.”
“Not as much as I need you,” he whispered in her ear as he pushed all of himself into her in one quick thrust.
She screamed his name and came instantly, the waves of pleasure cresting and peaking with each movement of his hips. When she felt him let go and enjoy his own release, Moira truly felt for the first time in her life what it meant to complete someone.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his face nuzzling her neck, taking in large gulps of air with each word.
“No. I think I died,” she said. “Is this heaven?”
He smiled into her hair and pulled up to rest on his elbows “It is from where I am.”
She cupped his cheek in her hand and kissed him. “You�
�re just too sweet.”
In the next instant her stomach rumbled. Loudly.
With a laugh he said, “Okay, I guess I’ll have to feed you now.” He rose and pulled her with him.
“Who’s feeding who?” she asked, reaching for his shirt. “I brought dinner. I even set the table and placed flowers.”
He cocked one eye at her dressed in his shirt as he put his pants back on. “Did you bring dessert?”
Smiling sweetly, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and said, “I thought we just had dessert.”
He grabbed her and yanked her up off her toes and into his arms. While she wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands on her bare bottom, he told her, “No, Baby. That was the appetizer.”
Laughing, she kissed his chin as he started walking her down the stairs.
“So the ice cream I brought is for dessert, then.”
Bouncing her in his arms down the stairs, he said, “We’re grownups, Moira, remember? We can have more than one dessert.”
Whatever she had been about to say died on her lips when Quentin suddenly stopped dead in the kitchen.
“Well, isn’t this interesting.”
Moira turned her head to the sound of the voice.
Her brother’s voice.
“Pat.”
“What are you doing here?” Quentin asked, slowly setting Moira down on her bare feet, mindful his shirt kept her naked body covered.
“Apparently, interrupting,” he said. His flat tone barely controlled the anger seeping through it. “I didn’t know you had plans. Or with whom.”
Moira blushed scarlet at the accusatory lift of his brows.
“I wanted to talk to you so I figured I’d bring something for us to eat and drink.” He pointed to the boxed pizza from Mike’s and the six-pack of beer he’d put on the counter.
“You should have called, Pat,” Quentin said, never moving from Moira’s side, his hand staying on her waist.
“I should have done a lot of things,” Pat said, the temper which rivaled his mother’s legendary one now pushing forward. “First was to never ask you to keep an eye on my sister.”
“What?” Moira said, moving toward him. Quentin very adroitly stepped in the way, barring her.
“Oh, you didn’t know? He never mentioned it?” Pat asked, laying one hand on his hip, the other grabbing one of the kitchen chair tops. “I asked him to try and get you to talk about what the hell happened in Europe to make you so sick, because we all knew it sure wasn’t just an infection. I figured he might be able to get you to open up about it. I never realized by keeping an eye on you he interpreted it as an okay to seduce you.”
“Watch your mouth, Padric,” Quentin said, his jaw visibly clenching.
“Is this true?” Moira turned to him, hearing her voice shake. “Did he ask you to keep an eye on me?”
Quentin swiped his hands through his hair and said, “Yes, but I would have anyway, Moira.” He closed the space between them and his eyes widened when she recoiled. “I hadn’t seen you in so long, and I just wanted to be with you as much as I could. Finally. Everyone was so worried about you, me included. I just wanted to get you back to yourself. To help.”
“To help?” she repeated, her stomach beginning to cramp as it had days earlier. “That’s what you call all this,” she splayed her hand in the air, “helping?”
When he tried to come close to her again, she put the other hand up and said, “No. Don’t touch me.”
He didn’t listen. Instead, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. “Moira don’t do this. You know how I feel about you, how much I love you.”
Pat’s eyebrows rose all the way to his hairline.
“Do I? Really?”
“Yes. I wanted you to stay home this time, not run back to touring so I could finally convince you of it. It was my idea to have you help at the clinic. Pat may have been the one to ask me to keep an eye on you, but believe me, it was a means to an end to get you to stay home, here, with me.”
“Well, too bad for you your plan didn’t work,” Pat said, nastily.
Quentin turned to him and then back to Moira. “What does he mean?”
“She didn’t tell you?” The vein in Pat’s left temple was throbbing, an indication of how truly mad he was. “The head of the symphony paid a visit to Carvan today and presented a very special incentive to Moira to rejoin the company. Her eyes almost went out of her head when she heard it. Did you book your flights yet, sis?”
“Who are you?” Her voice was deathly quiet in the kitchen. “You’ve never been this mean before. To anyone, Pat. What’s going on?”
“Forget him,” Quentin said, taking her arm and forcing her attention back on him. “Is this true? You’re going back? Is that what this little grownup dinner was tonight? A goodbye? When were you going to tell me, Moira? When the plane was boarding?”
Stunned at his reaction, she pulled back and frowned up at him. Her eyes narrowed. “You think this is what tonight was? A kiss off?”
“You tell me.”
“When was I supposed to have told you, Quentin?” She kept her voice low and calm, but the ice filtering through it was biting. “Five seconds after you walked through the door we were in your bed—-”
“I need to sit down,” Pat said, plopping into a chair. He put his head in his hands and added, “That image is burned in my retinas forever now.”
“Shut up, Pat,” they told him together.
“Answer me,” Quentin said, squeezing her arm, turning her attention back to him. “Are you leaving again?”
Moira stared up at him, tears swimming in her eyes. “You believe I would, don’t you? You believe after everything, everything we’ve done and said, I’d leave again?”
“I don’t know what to believe, Moira. I honestly don’t.”
She nodded. “And that hurts most of all.”
And it did. Because if she knew one truth, it was she could always trust him. He, obviously, didn’t feel the same about her.
Quentin moved in closer but was shot down when her hand came up again. “Don’t. I’m going upstairs to get dressed. Do not, I repeat, do not follow me.”
She ran from the room and bounded up the stairs.
****
Left alone in the kitchen, the best friends eyed each other warily. Quentin leaned against the counter, his arms crossed in front of his bare chest. His entire world had just collapsed in front of him and the cause was staring at him across the kitchen table.
Pat finally broke the silence. “So,” he said, folding his hands in front of him on top of the table. “Are you really in love with my sister?”
Quentin glanced over at him, rolled his eyes, and then dropped down in a chair across from his oldest friend. “So much I can’t think or breathe sometimes.” He laid his arms down on the table and folded them in front of him.
Pat looked across at him, bewilderment and confusion lining his brows. “Since when?” He pulled out a beer from the six-pack and popped it open.
“Since we were kids.”
When Pat didn’t respond, just sat there, staring, the beer can in his hands; Quentin took in a deep breath.
“What? How come I never knew? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Pat asked.
Quentin trailed his hands down his face and then ran them across his temples and through his hair. “Because, best friend,” he said, “you would have made my life miserable if you’d known.”
“I would not have,” Pat said.
His face had pulled into a pout and Quentin let out a dry laugh. “Yes you would’ve, and you know it. Besides, she needed to know about it first.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
“So,” Pat said, after taking a deep swallow of his beer, “what are you gonna do now?”
“I want to marry her, but I don’t think she’s ready to hear it yet.”
The can stopped half way to Pat’s mouth again. “Seriously?”
“She’s the only woman I
’ve ever loved, Pat. The only one I’ve ever wanted.”
“Moira?”
He looked so comical with his mouth open, his eyes bugged and the beer can dangling in the air, Quentin’s anger fled.
“Close your mouth. You look like a moron,” he said. “Stop talking and just drink your beer. I need to figure out how to fix this situation.”
“So now I’m a situation?” Moira asked from the bottom of the stairs.
She was dressed, her hair pulled back into a pony tail, her car keys dangling from her hand.
Quentin sprang from his chair.
“No.” Moira said. “Do not touch me.”
Her voice was so calm and so soft. Too calm and soft, he realized. They all knew where one twin gave vent to his anger like their mother, by unleashing it like a cyclone for all to witness, the other had a more silent and deadly approach.
A shiver reeled down his spine.
“Sit down, Quentin, please. I have something to say to the both of you before I leave.”
Slowly, shoulders slumped, he did. His eyes never left her face as she took a deep, cleansing breath.
“For the record, I know what you both did, you did out of love for me. You saw me broken and hurting and wanted to help. I get it. I would have done the same for either of you.”
“Then—” Quentin was silenced by her hand coming up again.
“The difference being,” she continued when he shut his mouth, “I would never have treated either of you like the child you think I am. A child who has to be handled with care and petted. A child who doesn’t know right from wrong and needs to be shown the way by you two goons. I’m a grown woman and I have been for quite some time. I make mistakes, I have conquests, I have failures and disappointments. I can think for myself and I do. I do not, I repeat, do not, need either of you to figure out what it best for me. I know what is best for me.”
Turning her attention fully to her brother, she added, “This afternoon you pissed me off royally when you told me somebody needed to make proper decisions for me, since I couldn’t for myself. I was so mad I never corrected you when you thought I might leave on tour again. I wanted you to stew in what you’d said, Pat. Petty perhaps. But you needed to stop treating me like a child who doesn’t know any better and can’t be relied upon to make adult decisions.”