“Oh my God. I think this conversation is over.”
Farrell chuckled. “It’s going to be a rough couple of days. Stay safe, Quin. And take care of Katie.”
* * *
Quin decided to avoid Katie as much as possible for the next eight hours. His conversation with Farrell had upended the status quo to an alarming degree. Actually, it wasn’t Farrell’s fault at all. Quin was waking slowly, like a man who had been in a coma for weeks or months.
For the first time since he was ten years old, skiing was no longer the primary thing on his mind. Nor was he obsessing about his bum knee and how quickly—or not—it was healing.
Even though the storm was still hours away, the ocean was unsettled, the heavens above an angry gray. Clouds scudded across the sky so quickly it was clear that something ominous was just over the horizon.
He grabbed a handful of cashews for lunch and kept at his self-imposed list of chores. Though he didn’t have storm shutters, he did have several sheets of plywood. They were Farrell’s, actually. Picked up during a recent run to a building supply store. Farrell was planning to use them in his new lab. Now Quin conscripted them for a more urgent need.
He balanced them one at a time on a wheelbarrow and moved them around to the front of the house. It didn’t take long to realize that he needed Katie’s help. Damn it. Even if he didn’t have a weak knee at the moment, the heavy plywood would have been awkward for one person to carry up the front stairs.
When he texted her, she came and found him right away. “Quin. Is it really going to be that bad?” She assessed his project immediately.
“Farrell says yes. I remembered this plywood. I need you to help me get it up the stairs and then steady it while I hammer the nails. I’ve already taken the stepladder up to the porch.”
Her glare was full-on warrior Katie. “Farrell and Zachary sent me here to keep you from doing something stupid—remember?”
Quin ground his jaw. “I don’t call protecting my property stupid.”
She crossed her arms. “You are not climbing that ladder. Capisce?”
He wanted to argue. He really did. But his knee was already aching like hell from everything he had done yesterday and today. “Fine,” he grumbled. “You can climb the ladder. But it’s still going to take both of us to carry each piece of plywood up these stupid stairs.”
She kissed his cheek and nuzzled his nose with hers. “The stairs are beautiful. Quit being grumpy.”
He didn’t have an answer for that. How could he tell her he’d had an epiphany that morning? And that it seemed like an eternity until they would both be in bed together again?
In the end, it took them half an hour to get all the plywood up to the porch. Katie got a splinter. Quin wrenched his good knee, because he was favoring the one that had had surgery.
They were both breathing hard and drenched with sweat.
He turned to glance at Katie. She was dressed as casually as he was, with her hair caught up in a ponytail, and long legs that were mostly bare thanks to tiny khaki shorts that made him drool. “Do you even know how to hammer?” he asked.
Katie lifted her nose and sniffed. Disdainfully. “I’ve hung pictures at your brother’s office. Does that count?” She wiped beads of moisture from her forehead. “Come on. Let’s get this done. I want to go back inside and bask in the air-conditioning before we lose power.”
The oncoming storm had pushed thick humid air ahead of it. Maine summers were rarely this hot and sticky. The uncomfortable atmosphere was oppressive.
Quin set up the ladder. If Katie stood on the next-to-top step, she would be just tall enough to reach the highest part of the window. As much as it galled him to admit it, this was the only way. Aside from his recovering knee, if they reversed positions, he doubted whether Katie would be able to support the heavy piece of plywood long enough for him to get it nailed into place.
He handed her the hammer. “Put the nails in your pocket. I’ll steady the ladder. Put a hand on my shoulder if you need to.”
Katie climbed the ladder easily. Only now, he was on eye level with her shapely calves. If he looked upward...
He cleared his throat. “You okay up there?”
“Yep. Just tell me what to do.”
“I’m going to pick up the first piece of wood. I’ll slide it up the side of the house, and you’ll have to tell me when it’s in a good spot.”
“Got it.”
Lifting the plywood over his head was no piece of cake. Again, it struck him that his long convalescence had robbed him of his usual level of fitness. The strength of a skier’s arms and shoulders was as integral to peak performance as thighs and knees. He needed to get back to the weight room soon.
In the meantime, he and Katie had to manage this somehow. Ignoring the slender legs in his peripheral vision, he inched the wood up the wall, completely covering the window.
“That’s good,” Katie said.
“Don’t worry about messing up the window frame. It can be replaced. If you don’t hit the right spot, get another nail and try again.”
Fifteen
Katie’s entire body ached. She and Quin had been at this for over three hours. Now they were on the last window.
So far, she had smashed her finger twice and had to redo seven crooked nails. The chore was frustrating and difficult.
At last, she climbed down the ladder and groaned. “Please tell me we’re done.”
Quin collapsed the ladder. “Yeah. No more wood.”
“What about the windows on the second-floor porch?”
“We’ll just have to hope for the best. If we weren’t so exposed here on this bluff, I wouldn’t worry. The two big trees at the corner of the house will provide a little protection.”
“Then that’s it...right? We’ve done all we can do?”
He ruffled the ends of her hair. “Looks that way.”
“Would you like me to fix spaghetti for dinner? Mrs. Peterson left us a container of homemade sauce.”
“That’s something we can cook on the propane stove if we lose power. What if I grill steaks outside, and you bake some potatoes and do a salad and garlic bread? We might as well have a feast while we can.”
“Okay. You want first shower?”
His grin made her stomach flip. “Don’t be silly, Kat. I need you to wash my back.”
In the end, the shower lasted far longer than was good for the water supply. Once they were done teasing each other with soap and water, they curled up in Quin’s bed, made love and napped. If it weren’t for the prospect of a tropical storm, it would have been the perfect afternoon.
Katie was the first one to wake up. She slid out of bed, found clean clothes and went to check the weather. Figaro had only now been downgraded from a hurricane to a tropical storm. The images of damage from Cape Cod were sobering. The storm had meandered out to sea at one point and was now headed west. Prepared to make a second landfall between Bar Harbor and the Stone brothers’ property.
She shut off the TV, too unsettled to watch any more news. Might as well get the potatoes in the oven. Quin tracked her down in the kitchen. “You hungry?” he asked.
“Getting there.” His jaw was shadowed with two days’ growth of beard. He’d slept with damp hair, which now stuck out at weird angles. A plain white cotton T-shirt stretched across his impressive chest. The jeans that rode low on his body exposed tantalizing glimpses of hip bone.
He was the sexiest man she had ever seen.
Katie braced herself against the edge of the counter. “You sure you want to use the grill? It’s getting dark outside...way too soon.”
“It’s the fastest way. Just tell me when you want the steaks ready and how you like yours.”
She glanced at the clock. “Thirty minutes from now. Medium well.”
Quin nodded. “Got it.”
While she worked, she kept checking the weather app on her iPad. Quin was right. It looked as if the eye of the storm—or what was left of it—would pass almost directly over Stone River. Because of the way the brothers’ houses were situated, all three would take a hit.
She couldn’t deny that she was nervous. Still, with Quin around, she knew they would be okay. She trusted his intuition, and she felt safe when she was with him. Even so, as the wind began to blow with increasing force, her apprehension deepened.
All of the pieces of their final dinner came together right on time. Quin grabbed a platter for the steaks, and moments later brought them in to the table. He slammed the back door and locked it, shutting out the storm. His shirt was spattered with raindrops. He rubbed his hands together, surveying the food. “A condemned man’s last meal.”
She punched his arm. “Don’t say that. We’re still going to eat, even with no power.”
“True.” He held her chair until she was seated. “But it won’t be this good. Canned food never is. We’ll eat what’s in the fridge as fast as we can before it spoils. After that, we’ll be roughing it.”
“Maybe we won’t lose power.”
As if on cue, the entire house went dark.
Quin chuckled. “Right on time.” He stood and rummaged in a cabinet for candles and matches. Soon, quiet, flickering flames cast a cozy glow. He kissed the top of her head and sat back down. “Isn’t this romantic...”
“Don’t make fun of romance, Quin. That’s a cheap shot.” She scanned his face, searching for proof that he was being condescending.
He held up his hands. “I wasn’t. I swear. This is nice.”
He wasn’t wrong. A scrumptious dinner with a handsome man. The rain beating at the windows. It was the perfect script for a rom-com. Except that Katie didn’t feel like laughing. She had let herself get in way too deep with this relationship—with this fling that was supposed to be fun and temporary. Now the storm had cut off any escape.
Katie picked at her food. “I’m going to check the weather,” she said.
“Do you still have a phone signal?”
She nodded. “One bar. For the moment.” She clicked over to radar and showed the screen to Quin. The lopsided red and yellow spiral was almost on top of them.
He cursed beneath his breath. “Look how wide it is.”
“And the rainfall totals...”
“Yes. The fact that it still has sustained winds over seventy miles an hour means it’s barely below hurricane strength. This house is built to modern codes. We’ll just have to hope for the best.”
When dinner was done, Katie prowled from room to room, too nervous to sit. Quin settled back in the living room with a book and a candle and those sexy glasses. She loved to read, but she didn’t see how he could concentrate with all the racket from outside.
The house actually shook. If this wasn’t an actual hurricane, she couldn’t imagine a Cat 4 or a Cat 5. That would be terrifying. Tropical Storm Figaro was bad enough.
Finally, she grabbed her yoga mat from Quin’s bedroom, put it down on the runner in the hallway and ran through a familiar, comfortable sequence of poses. The more she stretched and tried to quiet her mind, the louder the storm became.
Now the wind howled. Like a banshee. It sounded as if every shingle was being ripped from the roof one at a time, though that was probably her imagination. By this point in her exercise routine, she had typically found her center, her breathing deep and restorative.
Tonight, she was toast. Her yoga teacher would be very disappointed.
Finally, she gave up. Her body was limber and warm, sweaty actually, but her anxiety was out of control. It was the not knowing that was the hardest. How could Quin sit there so calmly? Was this how he prepared for a huge downhill race? Was he so good at focusing his mind that he could shut out the storm entirely?
She poked her head into the room where he sat reading. “I’m going to take another shower.”
Quin didn’t look up from his book, but he waved a hand to acknowledge that he heard her. She grabbed a change of clothes and closed herself in the bathroom. At this rate, she’d soon be forced to do laundry in the sink. The house was still cool so far. That would change.
The hot, stinging spray on her bare skin actually helped. But when she shut off the shower, immediately the storm was in the room with her. How long did a tropical storm last? Two hours? Four?
She was surprised Quin hadn’t suggested sex as a way to pass the time, but he probably realized they wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Or at least Katie wouldn’t. Men had a knack for shutting out the entire world when it came to sex.
It dawned on her suddenly that she was missing her contacts. She had probably forgotten to unload one of the drawers in the guest bath. In a minute, she would fetch them. But she couldn’t resist the urge to join Quin on the sofa. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kept reading.
It was a biography. A book about a Swiss skiing legend.
She snuggled closer. “Is it good? The book, I mean.”
He gave her a quick glance. “Actually, yes.” He shut the book, but kept his finger in as a bookmark. “Are you okay, Katie?”
“Yes. No. I’m rattled.”
His lips curled upward in one of those mouthwatering grins that made her stomach wobble. “Farrell always describes you as unflappable.”
She snorted. “Your brother has never subjected me to a hurricane.”
“Tropical storm. Don’t exaggerate.”
“ToMAYto, toMAHto.”
“You can’t blame me for this. I don’t control the weather. Are you really scared?”
“Not so much scared as antsy.” She shrugged. “It would help if I could take a walk or chop some wood.”
His lips twitched. “Chop wood?”
“It’s a metaphor. For somebody who reads so much, I’d think you would know about metaphors.”
He put the book on the coffee table. “You’re getting snippy now. Maybe we need a distraction.”
“Oh no,” she said, jumping to her feet. “No funny business from Mr. Sexy Stud. I have to make sure this storm is going to leave us.”
“So you’re tempted, but I have to sublimate my male desires so you can boss around a hurricane?”
“Tropical storm.”
He threw back his head and chuckled. She loved making him laugh.
Quin tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa. Maybe he wasn’t as calm as he seemed. “I thought you were reading a book in bed last night.”
“I was. Can’t concentrate on the words right now. Besides, I think I left my little case of contacts upstairs. I wear the disposable dailies. I’m going to run and get them. Be right back.”
* * *
She was gone before Quin could stop her.
He was probably at least as concerned as Katie, but he knew if he confessed that the storm was more dangerous than he had expected, it would only make matters worse. He didn’t like the idea of her being on the second floor without him. The roof might fly off. Who the hell knew?
This was his first tropical storm, too.
Suddenly, a ferocious crash echoed through the house accompanied by a female scream—a Katie scream. He shot down the hall and up the stairs, barely pausing to acknowledge the strain on his new knee.
Up here the storm was even louder. And then he saw the worst part. A huge limb had ripped loose from one of the nearby trees. The wind had hurled it through the window, a projectile that shattered glass and let in sheets of rain and the fury of Figaro.
Katie was kneeling just inside the
door of the bedroom, holding her arm. It was too damn dark. He reached for her, crunching through large shards of glass. “Are you hurt?”
He didn’t mean to shout, but he was terrified, and he could barely hear his own words over the cacophony of the gale.
She stood up. “I’m bleeding.” Her voice wobbled.
Quin ripped off his T-shirt and tried to wrap her injury. Katie jerked backward. “Don’t touch me, please. The glass is still in my arm.”
Nausea heaved in his belly. “Stay calm, Kat. Let’s get you downstairs so I can take a look.”
“We have to cover the window,” she said. “The water will ruin your floor.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the floor, crazy woman.” He started to scoop her up into his arms and then groaned. If he tried to carry her down the stairs, they might both end up dead.
“We’re going to walk down slowly,” he said, moderating his tone. Yelling at Katie wasn’t going to help a thing.
“Okay,” she whispered.
It felt like a million hours before they made it to the bottom of the staircase. The only illumination came from the candle he had left burning in the living room.
Katie whimpered, the sound quiet and heartbreaking. He wasn’t even sure she knew she was doing it.
On the bottom step, he stopped her. “We need to take off our shoes. So we don’t track broken glass through the house.”
She nodded. “Let me hold your shoulder.”
Clumsily, she shed her slippers one at a time and stepped onto the floor below. Then it was Quin’s turn. His deck shoes were not too bad to toe off. He left both of them on that same step and joined Katie.
“First things first,” he said. “Let me get the flashlights. We don’t want to drain our phone batteries.” He felt like a fool for waiting until now. His only excuse was that Katie had seemed to enjoy the ambience of the candlelight. She’d obviously used her cell phone light when she ran upstairs.
He put her in a living room chair. “Don’t move.” She was still holding her arm, so he couldn’t gauge the extent of her injury. “I’m only going to the kitchen. Won’t take but a minute.”
After Hours Seduction Page 13