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The Good Girl's Second Chance
Christine Rimmer
THE LITTLEST MATCHMAKER OF THEM ALL….Quinn Bravo is a committed single dad – emphasis on single. The millionaire bachelor is focused on his four-year-old daughter and his fitness business. So while he's intrigued by his beautiful new interior decorator, Quinn resolves to keep the chemistry at a simmer. Until one night together causes their attraction to burst into flame…After her ex-husband betrayed her, local good girl Chloe Winchester returned to Justice Creek, determined not to risk her heart again. Still, maybe she can live out some teenage fantasies with sexy Quinn while redecorating his house. But first Chloe will have to avoid falling for one adorable little girl and the man of her dreams!



To raise his little girl up right was more than enough. He didn’t need that special woman, after all.
Or so he’d believed until twelve nights ago.
Until Chloe led him into her house and straight to her bed.
Chloe.
She had it all—everything he’d already accepted he wasn’t going to find. And no one had ever tasted so good.
Reluctantly, he broke the kiss.
She stared up at him, eyes full of stars. “Come back to my house? Be with me tonight?”
“Damn, Chloe. I was afraid you’d never ask.”
* * *
The Bravos of Justice Creek: Where bold hearts collide under Western skies
The Good Girl’s Second Chance
Christine Rimmer


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at www.christinerimmer.com (http://www.christinerimmer.com).
For Kimberly Fletcher, aka Kimalicious, Kimalovely, Kimhilarious—and more.
You warm my heart and make me smile. I’m so happy to call you my friend. And this one’s for you!
Contents
Cover (#u5ce5afd7-b031-57a4-bd93-5c9a90233b08)
Excerpt (#u921b86e9-bece-560d-9fed-08d27612f70b)
About the Author (#u46038e58-2b6e-5b35-aeb0-fe9387b8eeee)
Title Page (#u5a88a1fe-7e97-547a-b420-afe03137f309)
Dedication (#u1b1390d3-393c-559e-bd8d-30cf58b3b6cc)
Chapter One (#u6b380db9-0efc-5d53-b246-d30ab5cff289)
Chapter Two (#u02d8b16c-901c-5bec-a05d-6d9cc637ca86)
Chapter Three (#ueab6a9aa-0856-503b-96cb-8a1aafa6f093)
Chapter Four (#ua1732340-329f-530f-82cb-d19739cb74a3)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_9f91eaf7-d4d4-594a-96d0-25bdbf2971b7)
Chloe Winchester woke with a startled cry.
She popped straight up in bed as her heart trip-hammered against her ribs. Splaying a hand to her heaving chest, she sent a frantic, frightened glance around the darkened room.
No threat. None.
Just her shadowed bedroom in the middle of the night, silvery moonlight streaming in the high, narrow window over the curtained sliding glass door.
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” she whispered aloud between gasps for air. “A nightmare.” More specifically, it was the nightmare, the one starring her ultrasuccessful, über-controlling, bad-tempered ex-husband, Ted.
Not real, she reminded herself. Not anymore.
Ted Davies was the past. He held no threat for her now.
Chloe smoothed a shaking hand over her hair, pressed her cool fingers to her flushed cheek and took long, deep breaths until her racing heart slowed. Finally, when her pulse had settled to a normal rhythm and the dew of fear-sweat had dried on her skin, she plumped her pillow, settled back under the covers and closed her eyes.
Sleep didn’t come.
She tossed and turned for a while, and then tried to make herself lie still as she stared up at the ceiling and willed herself to feel drowsy again.
Not happening.
Finally, with a weary sigh, she shoved back the covers and went to the kitchen. She heated milk and sweetened it with honey. Then she carried her mug to the living area, where she turned a single lamp on low. Gazing out the two stories of windows that faced her back deck, she sipped slowly and tried to clear her mind of everything but the beauty of the Colorado night.
She could see a light on in the big house down the hill from her. Quinn Bravo lived there with his little daughter, Annabelle, and that funny old guy, Manny. They’d moved in a few months before.
Chloe smiled to herself. So. Somebody down there couldn’t sleep, either. Maybe Quinn? Could the tough martial arts star suffer from bad dreams, too?
Unlikely. Quinn “the Crusher” Bravo was world-famous for taking down the most unbeatable opponents. No mere nightmare would dare keep him awake. She wished she could be more like him, impervious and strong. He seemed so very self-confident in his quiet, watchful way.
And so different, really, from the boy he’d once been, the one she remembered from when they were children, the wild, angry boy with a chip the size of Denver on his shoulder who was always getting in fights.
Different also from the boy he’d become by high school, still rough-edged, but quieter, with a seething intensity about him. She’d avoided him then, the same as she had when they were children. All the nice girls avoided dangerous and unpredictable Quinn Bravo.
Even if, secretly, he made their hearts beat faster...
* * *
Quinn Bravo stood in his living room wearing an old pair of sweats, worn mocs and a Prime Sports and Fitness T-shirt. He stared blankly out the window at the faint gleam of light from the house up the hill. Beyond that house, the almost-full face of the moon hung suspended above the peaks of the Colorado mountains.
He should go back to bed. But he knew he wouldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about what his four-year-old daughter had asked him when he tucked her in that night.
A faint movement beyond the wall of windows up the hill caught his eye. Must be Chloe. She lived there alone. Beautiful, smart Chloe Winchester, who’d gone off to college at Stanford and married some big-shot lawyer as everyone always knew she would. The big shot had carried her off to live the high life down in Southern California.
Quinn didn’t know the whole story. He just knew that the marriage hadn’t lasted. When he moved back to town several months ago, there was Chloe, minus the rich husband, with no kids, on her own in her old hometown, living in the shadow of the Rockies on the street up the hill from him.
Maybe a little fresh air would clear his head, relax him.
Quinn pulled open the French doors that led onto the back deck. It was a clear July night, almost balmy, the moon very close to full. He stepped outside and quietly shut the doors behind him. Crossing to the deck railing, he folded his arms across his chest, braced his legs wide and stared up at the light in Chloe’s house. He indulged himself, allowing his mind to dwell on her a little, to wonder about her, about what might have messed up the smooth trajectory of her life and brought her back to Justice Creek alone.
True, it was none of his business, whatever had happened to bring Chloe back where she’d started. But focusing on what might have gone wrong for a woman he didn’t really know took his mind off his little girl and her questions that he had no clue how to answer.
He noted movement again up there on the hill, a glass door sliding open.
And out she came, the one and only Chloe Winchester. Damn, she was gorgeous, even from a hundred yards away. Gorgeous, even in a baggy pink shirt. That long golden hair shone silvery in the moonlight and her fine, bare legs gleamed.
Quinn had no time for chasing women. He had a daughter to raise and a new business to build. But hot damn. Any man with a pulse would want to cut himself off a nice big slice of that.
Chloe went to the railing and rested her hands on it. For a long count of ten, she stared down at him as he looked up at her. She wasn’t inviting him up exactly. But he definitely felt the pull.
And how could he help enjoying the moment? Hell. Chloe Winchester giving him the look? Never in a million years would he have guessed that would happen.
And the more they stared at each other, the more certain he became that a hundred yards was too much distance between them. He would much rather look at her up close. Manny was home if Annabelle woke up.
So he went back to the doors, pushed one open and engaged the lock, drawing it shut and hearing the click that meant his daughter was safe inside. When he turned again toward the woman up the hill, she hadn’t moved. She remained at the railing, her head tipped slightly down and aimed in his direction, almost certainly watching him.
Fair enough, then.
He descended the back stairs, glancing up when he reached the bottom. She hadn’t moved.
So he crossed his small patch of landscaped ground and began ascending the hill between their houses, skirting rocky outcroppings and ponderosa pines, the native grasses whispering beneath the leather soles of his mocs. He took it slow, glancing up at her now and then, expecting any moment that she would turn and retreat inside—at which point he would calmly wheel around and go home where he belonged.
But Chloe stood her ground.
When he reached the base of the stairs leading up to her deck, he paused, giving her a chance to...what?
Run away? Order him off her property?
When she only continued to gaze directly down at him, her eyes steady, her expression composed, he mounted the steps.
And she did move then. She came toward him, meeting him at the top where the steps opened wide. “Quinn,” she said.
He nodded. “Chloe.”
“Pretty night.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“How have you been?”
“Doing okay. You?”
A tiny smile flickered at the corner of her lush mouth. “Getting by.” With that, she turned and led the way to a pair of cedar armchairs positioned close together in front of her great room windows. She dropped into one of those chairs, a move so graceful it stole his breath, and then gestured with a small, regal sweep of her hand for him to sit beside her.
He sat. And for several minutes, neither of them spoke. They stared up at the clear night sky and the milky smear of the faraway stars. The slight breeze brought her scent to him—like some exotic flower. Jasmine, maybe. And not only that, something...a little bit musky and a whole lot womanly.
Finally, she spoke again. “What keeps you awake, Quinn?” Her voice was low for a woman, low and calm and pleasing.
He turned and looked at her. Her eyes were a pale, glowing shade of blue, her face a smooth oval, that tempting mouth so soft and full. She really was a prize, every red-blooded man’s fantasy of the perfect woman, a woman who would make a man a beautiful home and provide him with handsome, smart, upwardly mobile children.
And as to her question? He didn’t plan to answer her. But then he opened his mouth and the truth fell out. “My daughter asked about her mother for the first time tonight. I’m trying to decide what to tell her.”
Chloe hummed, a thoughtful sort of sound. “Her name is Annabelle, right?”
“That’s right.”
“So I’m assuming Annabelle doesn’t know her mother?”
“No, she doesn’t. I doubt she ever will.”
“Ah.” Chloe waited, her head tipped to the side, her eyes alert, giving him a chance to say more. When he remained silent, she suggested, “Tell her only the truth, but tell it carefully. She’s how old?”
“Four.”
“She wants to know that you love her. She wants to know she’s safe and that her mother loves her, too—or would, if she knew her. She wants to know it’s not her fault, whatever happened that you and her mother aren’t together and her mother isn’t in her life.” Chloe smiled. God. What he wouldn’t give to taste that mouth. “But don’t load it on her all at once. Well-meaning parents have a tendency to overexplain. Try to get a sense of what she’s ready for and just answer the questions she actually asks.”
He faced front again and stared out at the night. She was so tasty to look at, with full breasts, the points of her nipples visible under that pink shirt. She had endless legs, slender arms and that perfect angel’s face. He needed to take all that beauty in careful doses. He said, “I thought you didn’t have kids.”
“I don’t. But I like kids.” The beautiful voice was weighted with sadness. “Before I moved back home, I did volunteer day care with a San Diego family shelter. I helped out with special-needs children, too. And in college, I took just about every child development class available. I had big plans in college. I was going to be the perfect wife to a very important man—and the mother of at least three healthy, bright, happy children.”
Strange. Looking away wasn’t working for him. Why deprive himself of the sight of her? He turned his head and faced her once more, something down inside him going tight and hot when he met her eyes. “I remember you always seemed like you knew exactly where you were going.”
“Yes, I did. I used to think I knew everything, used to be so sure of how my life would be.” A husky chuckle escaped her. The sound rubbed along his nerve endings, stirring up sparks. “And that’s what keeps me up nights, Quinn. All my big plans that came to dust...”
Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled. Quinn considered what, exactly, he ought to say next, if anything. He was still trying to find the right words when she stood.
He let his gaze track upward over those fine legs and her little pink terry-cloth shorts, over the womanly curves under the oversize shirt. The view was amazing. And he needed to thank her for the advice, say good-night and hustle his ass back down the hill.
But then she offered him her delicate, ladylike hand. He eyed it warily, glancing up again to meet those ice-blue eyes. No mistaking what he saw in those eyes: invitation.
It was the middle of the night and he didn’t have time for this. He should be home in his own damn bed.
So, was he going to turn such beauty down?
Not. A. Chance.
He took the hand she offered. Her skin was cool and silky. Heat shot up his arm, down through the center of him and straight to his groin. Stifling a groan, he rose to stand with her.
She turned quickly, pulling him along behind her, pushing open the slider, leading him inside, across her two-story great room and down a short hall to her bedroom, which was as beautiful and tasteful as the woman herself, so feminine and orderly—except for the tangled covers on the unmade bed.
She bent and turned on the nightstand lamp, then stood tall to meet his eyes once more. “Somehow I feel...safe with you,” she said in that fine alto voice that turned him on almost as much as her face and her body did. “I’ve noticed...” Her voice trailed away. She glanced down, swallowed and then, finally, raised her head to meet his gaze again.
He couldn’t resist. He lifted a hand, nice and slow so as not to spook her, and ran the back of his index finger along the silky skin of her throat. She trembled and sucked in a sharp little gasp of breath, but didn’t duck away. And he asked, “You’ve noticed what?”
Her mouth twisted, as though the words were hard to come by. “Since you, uh, came back to town, you seem... I don’t know. So calm. Kind of thoughtful. I admire that, I really do.”
What could he say to that? Thanks? That seemed kind of lame, so he didn’t say anything, just ran the back of his finger down the outside of her arm, enjoying the satiny feel of her skin, loving the way her mouth formed a soft O and her eyes went hazy in response to his touch.
She said, “I’ve been with one man in my life—my husband, who was supposed to be loving and tender and protective, but turned out to be one rotten, abusive, cheating SOB.” She moved slightly away from him again, reaching over to pull open the bedside drawer. “I’ve been out a few times with nice men, in the year since I came home. I keep thinking I need to take the plunge again, take a chance again and be with someone new. So I bought these.” She raised her hand and he saw that she held a strip of condoms. They unrolled from her palm with a snap. “To be prepared, you know?” A soft, rueful smile. “I haven’t used a single one. I didn’t want to. It never felt right. But tonight, with you... Quinn, I...” Her fine voice gone breathless, she said, “Back in high school, sometimes, I used to think about what it might be like, to be with you...”
Those words hit him right where he lived. “I used to think about you, too, Chloe.”
Her amazing face glowed up at him. “You did?”
“Oh, yeah.” Not that she ever would have gone out with him if he asked her. She’d had her plans for her life and they didn’t include a wannabe cage fighter who could barely read. Plus, her snotty parents would’ve disowned her if she started in with one of Willow Mooney’s boys, the ones they called the bastard Bravos because his mother hadn’t married his father, Frank Bravo, until after Frank’s rich first wife, Sondra, died.
Uh-uh. No way Linda Winchester would have let her precious only daughter get near him, one of Willow’s boys—and the “slow” one, at that. And Chloe was always a good girl who did what her mama expected of her.
Chloe scanned his face, her expression suddenly anxious. “I have this feeling that somehow I should explain myself, give you a better reason to stay with me tonight...”
“Uh-uh.” He stepped even closer—close enough that her body touched his. Her soft breasts brushed his chest, and the dizzying scent of her swam around him. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his hand and speared his fingers into that glorious mane of yellow hair. Like a curtain of silk, that hair. He loved the feel of it so much that he balled his fist and wrapped the thick strands around his wrist, pulling her even closer, right up against him, nice and tight.
“Oh!” she said on a shaky breath, baby blue eyes saucer-wide staring up into his.
All that softness and beauty, his for the night. He bent enough to suck in a deep breath through his nose. God, the scent of her. She smelled of everything womanly, everything most wanted—everything he’d never thought to hold, not even for a single night. He buried his face against her long, silky throat. “You don’t need to explain anything, angel.” He nuzzled her neck and then scraped his teeth across her tender skin. She gasped. He muttered, “Not a damn thing.”
“I’m not an angel.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“Just for tonight, yeah?” She wrapped those slim arms around him, clutching him to her, tipping her head back, offering him more, offering him everything. “Just this one time...”
“However you want it.”
“Just kiss me. Just...hold me. Just make me forget.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_3ce257bc-2e61-5dce-be7e-c0abb8e71040)
Quinn took her by the shoulders and gently set her at arm’s length. She swayed a little on her bare feet, gazing up at him, breathless, eyes starry with need.
He said, “First, I want to see you.”
A soft gasp. “Okay.”
“All of you.”
“Okay.”
He took her big pink shirt by the hem. “Raise your arms.”
She obeyed without hesitation. He lifted the shirt up over her head, past the pink-painted tips of her fingers and tossed it away. Her hair settled, so shiny and thick, spilling past her shoulders, down her back, over her breasts. She let her arms fall back to her sides and gazed up at him expectantly.
Impossible. Chloe Winchester, naked to the waist, standing right in front of him.
He cupped one fine, full breast in his hand and flicked the pretty nipple. His breath clogged in his throat, and the ache in his groin intensified. “You’re so damn beautiful, Chloe.”
“I...” She didn’t seem to know what to say next. Which was fine. He was getting one night with her. And it wasn’t going to be about what either of them might have to say.
He leaned close again, because he couldn’t stop himself. He stuck out his tongue and licked her temple. She moaned. He blew on the place he’d just moistened, guiding her hair out of the way and whispering into the perfect pink shell of her ear “Take off those little shorts.”
She whipped them down and off in an instant, so fast that he couldn’t help smiling. And then she stood tall again, completely naked in front of him, an answering smile trembling its way across her mouth. “Quinn?”
“Shh. Let me look.”
She widened her eyes—and then she shut them. And then she just stood there, eyes closed tight, and let him gaze his fill.
Touching followed. How could he help reaching for her? She was smooth and round and firm and soft. And she was standing right in front of him, Chloe Winchester, who had starred in more than one of his wild and impossible sexual fantasies when he was growing up.
He pulled her close again, wrapped his arms around the slim, yet curvy shape of her and pressed his lips into her hair. “Beautiful.”
She lifted her face and gazed up at him. “You, too, please.” He must have looked confused, because she added, “I want to see you, too.”
He chuckled and stepped back. “Yes, ma’am.” It took about ten seconds. He kicked off the mocs, reached back over his shoulders and pulled his shirt up and off. He eased the sweats over his erection and pushed them down, dropping them to the floor and stepping free of them.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, Quinn...” She reached out and ran her palm over his belly and then over the series of tats that covered his left arm. And then she touched the one for Annabelle, the angel’s wings and the green vines, the trumpet flowers and his little girl’s name, written right where it should be written, over his heart. “I never thought...you and me. Like this...?”
“Hey. Me, neither.”
“Life can be so awful.”
“Yeah.”
“But then there are surprising, magical moments—like this one, huh?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” He turned and shoved the tangled sheets and blankets out of the way. And then he took her by the waist, lifted her and set her on the bed. “Lie down.”
She obeyed, stretching out on her side with a sigh. He went down to the mattress with her. He kissed her, tasting her mouth for the first time, finding it as sweet as the rest of her. Her tongue came out to play and for a while, they just lay there, on their sides, kissing and kissing, as if nothing else mattered in the whole damn world, nothing but his mouth and her mouth, the scrape of white teeth, the tangle of tongues.
One night they had together. He wanted to stretch every second just short of the breaking point, enjoy every touch, every sigh, every soft, tempting curve. He wanted to share her breath and the tender, urgent beat of her heart.
After he kissed her mouth, he kissed her everywhere else, too, taking forever about it, getting carried away, using his teeth as well as his tongue. He knew he left marks, marks he soothed with softer, gentler kisses. She never once objected when he used his teeth.
Far from it. She gasped and cried out her pleasure, clutching him close, telling him “Yes” and “More” and “Again, Quinn. Oh, again...”
He gave her more. More strokes, more kisses, trailing his mouth down the center of her, biting a little, trying not to be too rough, opening her, dipping his tongue in. He pushed her legs wide and settled between them for a long time.
She came twice then, as he played her with his mouth and his hands. She had his name on her lips, over and over. He loved that most of all: Chloe Winchester, calling his name as she came.
After that second time, when she was boneless and open for him, he rose to his knees between her spread thighs. Ripping the first condom off the strip, he took off the wrapper and rolled it down over his length, easing it into place nice and tight. She stared up at him, dazed and flushed and softly smiling.
“Quinn.” She reached for him. “Please...”
And he went down to her, taking most of his weight on his arms. She slipped her hand between them, closing those slim fingers around him. He was the one groaning then, the one calling her name.
She guided him in. He sank into her slowly, carefully, little by little, stretching her and the moment, making it last. She felt so good—better than anything he’d ever known, soft and welcoming, and a little bit tight.
He varied the rhythm, watching her face, matching his strokes to her pleasured moans, her hungry cries. Somehow he stayed with her, until she went over for the third time. After that, there was no holding back. He was rough and fast, and she clung to him, nice and tight, all the way to the peak and over the edge.
She cradled him close then, stroking his shoulders and his arms, whispering “So good. Just right,” laughing a little. “Who knew, really? Whoever would have thought...?”
“Beautiful,” he said. “Never would have guessed.”
They must have dozed for a while.
He woke to find her sleeping peacefully, one arm across his chest. He’d been hoping that maybe they would have time to play some more.
But it was later than he’d thought. The clock by the bed said 5:05 in the morning. The first glow of daylight would be bleeding the night from the sky all too soon. The houses in their neighborhood were spaced far apart, built to conform to the shape of the land, with plenty of big trees between them. He might make it down the hill in broad daylight with no one the wiser.
But why take that chance? It was nobody’s business, this one unforgettable night they’d shared.
With care, he eased out from under her arm. She sighed and rolled to her back, but didn’t wake. He slid from the bed. Before settling the covers over her, he stole another long glance at her and got struck by a last hot bolt of pure lust at the sight of the faint marks he’d left on her perfect breasts, her pretty belly.
They would fade soon, those marks. He tried not to wish...
Uh-uh. Never mind. One night. That was the deal.
He pulled on his clothes and went out the way he’d come in, noting that she hadn’t rearmed the alarm on the wall by the slider when she led him inside.
Good. That meant he didn’t have to wake her to go. He locked the slider and then went out through the front door, which he could also lock behind him, thus securing her inside.
He ran around the side of the house and then on down the hill.
At home, he got the spare key from its hiding place under the stairs and let himself in. The house was just as he’d left it. Silent and dark.
He stepped inside and shut the doors with barely a sound—and found Manny, his former trainer and longtime business partner, sitting in one of the big chairs by the moss rock fireplace. The old fighter switched on the lamp beside him. He wore a knowing grin on that roadmap of a face. “Hey, Crush. Where you been?”
Quinn locked the doors. “Since when are you my mother?”
Manny rumbled out a low laugh. “You and that gorgeous uptown blonde up the hill? I never had a clue.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Quinn headed for the stairs.
Manny watched him go. “She’s a fine one. I find I am lookin’ at you with new respect.”
“Night, Manny.”
“Got news for you, Crush. It’s tomorrow already.”
Quinn just kept walking. Manny’s knowing cackle followed him up the stairs.
* * *
Chloe was sound asleep when her alarm went off at seven.
She woke with a smile, feeling thoroughly rested and a little bit sore. If it weren’t for that soreness and the small, already-fading red marks and bruises on her breasts and stomach, she almost might have been able to tell herself that the night before was all a dream.
Not that she wanted to deny what had happened. It had been glorious. She’d loved every minute of it.
As she sat up and stretched, yawning with gusto, she couldn’t help wishing she hadn’t told Quinn that she only wanted one night. Because he was remarkable. He’d given her hope that love and passion and tenderness weren’t all just some fantasy, some bright, naive dream that could never come true.
She would love to spend more time with him.
But she let her arms drop and her shoulders droop with a sigh.
No. They had a deal and she would stick by it. He’d been great and the sex had been mind-blowing. Now she knew for certain that there were better lovers out there than Ted. She would be grateful for that and eventually, maybe, she’d find someone who made her want to take another chance on forever.
She got ready for work and then had breakfast. The house phone rang just as she was heading out the door. Probably her mother. She’d check her messages later and call her back then.
As she was pulling out of the driveway, her cell rang. She slipped the SUV into Park and checked the display. With a sigh, she gave in and answered. “Hi, Mom. Just on my way over to the showroom.”
“But it’s not even nine yet,” Linda Winchester complained. “You have time to stop by the house. Let me fix you some breakfast.”
“I’ve already eaten. And I have to get the shop opened.”
“Sweetheart, it’s your shop. You’re the boss. No need to rush over there at the crack of dawn.”
“Come on, Mom. A successful business doesn’t run itself.” Not that Your Way Interior Design was all that successful. Yet.
“I hardly see you lately. We need to chat.”
Chatting with her mother was the last thing she needed. They hadn’t been getting along all that well since Chloe’s divorce. And it had only gotten worse after she returned to Justice Creek. Linda knew what was right for her only child and she never missed an opportunity to lecture Chloe on all she’d done wrong. And somehow, whenever they “chatted,” her mother always managed to bring up Ted and the perfect life Chloe had thrown away. “Mom, I’ll have to call you later. I need to get to work.”
“But, sweetheart, I want to—”
“Call you tonight, Mom.”
Her mother was still protesting as Chloe disconnected the call.
She drove to her showroom and unlocked the doors at nine, an hour before most of the businesses on Central Street opened. She had a good location and an attractive shop, with neutral walls and sleek, modern cabinetry and red and yellow accents to give it energy and interest. Her motto was Your Space, Your Way. She had attractive displays, and plenty of them, lots of table space for spreading out samples. And she was trained in every aspect of home design, from blueprints up.
Her website looked great and she stayed active on Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter and Tumblr. She kept a blog where she gave free tips on great ways to spiff up your living space. During the school year, she ran a workshop right there in her showroom for high school students interested in interior design. She contributed her expertise to local churches, helping them spruce up their Sunday school rooms and social halls. And she worked right along with the other shop owners in Justice Creek on various chamber of commerce projects.
Still, it took time to build a business. Chloe had found a real shark of a divorce lawyer who’d put the screws to Ted and got her a nice lump settlement, which Chloe had asked for. The onetime payout was less than monthly alimony would have been in total, but the last thing she wanted was to be getting regular checks from Ted. With the settlement, she’d been able to cut ties with him completely.
She’d tried to spend her money wisely. She loved her house, which she’d redone herself, and she was proud of her business. But the past couple of months, she had more to worry about than putting Ted behind her and whether or not there might someday be love in her future.
Chloe’s nest egg was shrinking. Your Way needed to start paying its way.
That day, as it turned out, was better than most. She had steady walk-in traffic. A new couple in town came in and hired her to do all the window treatments in the house they’d just bought. She scheduled three appointments to give estimates: two living room redesigns and a kitchen upgrade. When her assistant, Tai Stockard, a design student home from CU for the summer, came in at one, Chloe sent her to the Library Café for takeout paninis. It was turning into a profitable day and they might as well enjoy a nice lunch.
Chloe went home smiling—until she remembered she owed her mother a call.
“Come on over for dinner,” her mother coaxed. “I’ve got lamb chops and twice-baked potatoes just the way you love them. We’re leaving for Maui tomorrow.” Chloe’s mom and dad would be gone for two weeks, staying at a luxury resort where her mother could enjoy the spa and the lavish meals and her father could play golf. “I want to see you before we go.”
Chloe went to dinner at the house where she’d grown up. It wasn’t that bad. Linda managed not to say a single word about Ted. And it was good to see her dad. An orthodontist with a successful practice, Doug Winchester had a dry sense of humor and never tried to tell his only daughter how to live her life.
By nine, Chloe was back at home. She got ready for bed, settled under the covers with the latest bestseller and tried not to let her mind wander to the question of what Quinn Bravo might be doing that night.
* * *
Quinn heard the soft whisper of small feet across the tiled floor as he stared out the window at the single light shining from inside Chloe’s house. “Go back to bed, Annabanana,” he said softly without turning.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“The monsters are very noisy. And I’m not a banana. You know that, Daddy.”
“Yes, you are.” He turned and dropped to a crouch. “You’re my favorite banana.”
Dragging her ancient pink blanket and her one-eyed teddy bear, Annabelle marched right up to him and put one of her little hands on his shoulder. “No, I’m not. I’m a girl.”
He leaned closer and whispered, “Ah. Gotta remember that.”
“Pick me up, Daddy,” she instructed. “Get the flashlight.”
He wrapped his arms around her and stood. She giggled and hugged his neck, shoving her musty old teddy bear into the side of his face. He detoured to the kitchen, where he got the flashlight from a drawer. Then he returned to the living room and mounted the stairs.
She didn’t object as he carried her up to her room, set her down on the bed, flicked on the lamp and then pulled the covers up over her and the stuffed bear, smoothing the ancient blanket atop her butterfly-printed bedspread.
“Closet,” she said, when he bent to kiss her plump cheek.
He went to the closet, pushed the door open and shone the light around inside. “Nothing in here.”
“You have to tell them,” she said patiently. “You know that.”
He ran the light over her neatly hung-up dresses and the row of little shoes and said in his deepest, gruffest voice, “Monsters, get lost.” He rolled the door shut. “That should do it.”
But Annabelle didn’t agree. “Now under the bed.”
So he knelt by the bed and lifted up the frilly bed skirt and shone the light around underneath. “Holiday Barbie’s down here. With her dress over her head.”
The bed skirt on the other side rustled as small hands lifted it and Annabelle appeared, upside down. “Oops.” She snatched up the doll and let the bed skirt drop. “Okay, tell them.”
“Monsters, get lost.” He gave a long, threatening growl for good measure. On the bed, his daughter laughed, a delighted peal of sound that had him smiling to himself. “So, all right,” he said. “They’re gone.” And then he got up and sat on the bed and tucked her in again, bending close to press a kiss on her cheek and breathe in the little-girl smell of her. Toothpaste and baby shampoo, so familiar. So sweet. “Anything else?” he asked, suddenly worried about how she might answer, recalling Chloe’s wise advice of the night before. She wants to know it’s not her fault, whatever happened that you and her mother aren’t together and her mother isn’t in her life...
Annabelle shook her head. “That’s all.”
He felt equal parts guilt and relief. Guilt that he wasn’t as good a father as Annabelle deserved. Relief that he wouldn’t have to tackle the tough questions tonight, after all. “You know there are really no monsters in your room, right?”
She nodded slowly. “But I like it when you scare them away.”
He got up. “Sleep now, princess.”
She beamed at him. “Princess is good. Not banana.”
“Close your eyes...”
“I want a princess room. All the princesses. Snow White and Cinderella and Mulan and Elsa and Belle and Merida and—”
“Time for sleep. Close your eyes...” He heard Chloe’s rich alto again, as though she whispered in his ear. She wants to know that you love her. “I love you, princess.”
“Love you, Daddy.” With a little sigh, Annabelle closed her eyes. He turned off the light and shut the door silently behind him on the way out.
Back downstairs, all was quiet. Manny had gone to Boulder for the night to visit his current lady friend. Quinn took up his vigil at the wall of windows in the living room. Up at Chloe’s the light remained on. He could see it glowing through the pale curtains that covered the slider in her bedroom. He pictured her, wearing that big pink shirt, propped up against the pillows in her bed, with her laptop or maybe a good book, which she would read effortlessly, turning the pages fast to find out what would happen next.
And then, well, after last night, he couldn’t help picturing her other ways—like, say, naked beneath him, moaning his name in that low, sexy voice that drove him crazy. He told himself it was a good thing that Manny wasn’t there to watch over Annabelle if he stepped out.
Because climbing that hill again?
Way too much on his mind.
* * *
“Crush, I gotta say it,” Manny grumbled. “I’m disappointed in you.”
It was Friday night, five nights since the one Quinn had spent with Chloe. Annabelle had been tucked safely in bed, the monsters chased away. Quinn and Manny sat out on the deck having a beer under the clear, starry sky. Quinn took a long, cool swallow and said nothing.
Manny wiggled his white eyebrows. They grew every which way and he never bothered to trim them. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why?”
Quinn gave a low chuckle. “We both know you’ll tell me anyway.”
Manny snorted. “Yes, I will. I’ve spent over a decade makin’ sure you learn what you need to know. No reason to change now.”
Quinn only looked at him, waiting.
Manny announced, “Romance is like everything else worth doin’ in life. You gotta follow up, put some energy into it, or it goes nowhere.”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”
“I’ll give you a hint. Chloe Winchester. Only a fool would pass up his chance with a woman like that.”
“That’s given that he had a chance in the first place.”
“See there? That’s defeat talkin’. Quinn the Crusher, he spits in the face of defeat.”
“Quinn the Crusher retired, remember?”
“From the Octagon, sure. But not from life. Last time I checked, you still got a pulse.”
“Leave it alone, Manny.”
Manny did no such thing. “A woman like that, she lets you in her house in the middle of the night, you got a chance. You got more than a chance.”
“You need to stop sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Somebody’s likely to break it.”
“Won’t be the first time.” A raspy cackle. “Or the second or the third.” Manny swiped a gnarled, big-knuckled hand back over his buzz cut and then took a pull off the longneck in his other fist. “I will repeat. Momentum is everything.”
Quinn got up from his deck chair and headed for the French doors. “Night, Manny.”
“Where you going?”
“I’m halfway through A Tale of Two Cities.” He had it in audio book, and tried to get in a few chapters a night. Little by little, he was working his way through the great books of Western literature.
Manny wasn’t impressed with Quinn’s highbrow reading. “It’s just dandy, you improving your mind and all, but a man needs more than a book to keep him warm at night.”
There was no winning an argument with Manny. Quinn knew that from years of experience. “Lock up when you come in.” He stepped inside and shut the doors before the old fighter could get going again.
* * *
The following Monday, Chloe was selling new carpet to Agnes Oldfield, a pillar of the Justice Creek community and a longtime friend of her mother’s, when who should walk in the door but Manny Aldovino? Quinn’s little girl was with him, looking like a pint-size princess in an ankle-length dress with a hot pink top, a wide white sash at the waist and a gathered cotton skirt decorated with rickrack in a rainbow of bright colors.
Chloe ignored the fluttering sensation beneath her breastbone that came with being reminded of Quinn, and greeted the newcomers with a cheery “Hi, Manny. Annabelle. Have a look around. I’ll be right with you. Crayons and paper in the hutch by the window treatment display, in case Annabelle would like to color. And there’s coffee, too.” She gestured at the table not far from the door.
“Sounds good,” said Manny. He winked at Agnes. “How you doin’ there, Agnes?”
“Mr. Aldovino.” Agnes gave Manny an icy, dismissive nod. She’d always been a terrible snob and she looked down on anyone she didn’t consider of her social standing. Also, Quinn’s father’s first wife, Sondra, had been Agnes’s beloved niece. Agnes thoroughly disapproved of Quinn’s mother, Willow, and of all of Willow’s children. Now Agnes pointedly turned her back on Manny and said to Chloe, “Please continue, dear.”
Agnes’s attitude could use adjusting. But Chloe reminded herself that she needed the business and she couldn’t afford to offend a customer. She sent Manny an apologetic smile and waited on the old woman, who wanted new carpet for three rooms. She’d already settled on a quality plush in a pretty dove gray. Chloe accepted her deposit and gave her the number to call to arrange a time to have the spaces measured.
In her eighties, Agnes always dressed as though she’d been invited to tea with the Queen of England. She adjusted the giant, jeweled lizard brooch on her pink silk Chanel suit and said, “Thank you, my dear.”
“Have a great day, Agnes.”
The old lady sailed out the door.
“Wound a little tight, that one,” Manny remarked drily once Agnes was gone.
With a sigh and a shrug, Chloe joined the old man and the little girl at one of the worktables. “Now. What can I do for you?”
Annabelle glanced up from coloring an enormous, smiling yellow sun. Chloe saw Quinn in the shape of his daughter’s eyes and the directness of her gaze. Really, the little girl was downright enchanting, with that heart-shaped face and those chipmunk cheeks. Chloe felt a bittersweet tug at her heartstrings. Annabelle reminded her of the children she should have had.
But after that first time Ted punched her, having kids had never felt right. And Ted hadn’t really cared about children anyway. He wanted his wife focused on him.
“I want a princess room,” the little girl announced. Chloe gladly put away her grim thoughts of Ted to focus on the sprite in the darling dress. “Manny says you can make me one.”
“Yes, I can.”
“I want all the princesses. Belle and Merida and—” Manny chuckled and tapped the little girl on the arm. She glanced up at him. “But, Manny—”
“I know, I know. You want all the princesses and you’re gonna get ’em, but what did we talk about?”
Annabelle huffed. “To wait my turn and not be rude.”
The old man beamed. “That’s right.”
Annabelle leaned close to him, batted those big eyes and whispered, “But I want my princess room.”
“It’s yours. Promise. But the grown-ups have to talk now.”
“Okay.” Annabelle bent to her smiling sun again.
Manny spoke to Chloe then. “Quinn’s pretty busy getting the business off the ground.” His gym, Prime Sports and Fitness, was just down the street from Chloe’s showroom, at the intersection of West Central and Marmot Drive. “You know Quinn, don’t you?”
“Of course. We...went to school together.”
“Right. So Quinn takes care of the business. I look after Annabelle and run the house. You ever seen the inside of our house?”
Chloe blinked away a mental image of Quinn, up on his knees between her legs. Quinn, gloriously naked, his beautiful blue-green eyes burning down at her. “Erm, your house? No, I haven’t been inside.”
“It’s a good house, big rooms, great light, four thousand square feet. But built in the eighties, and looks like it. Too much ceramic tile and ugly carpet.”
“So it needs a little loving care?” she asked, trying to sound cool and professional and fearing the old man could see right inside her head to the X-rated images of Annabelle’s dad.
“What it needs is a boatload of cash and a good decorator. Starting on the ground floor and moving on up.”
“You want to redo every room?” That would be good for her. Very good. Not only for the money, but for Your Way’s reputation. She could put up a whole new website area, if Quinn and Manny agreed, showing the before and after of at least the main rooms. Their housing development was an upscale one. However, like Quinn’s house, most of the homes were more than twenty years old. Doing a full-on interior redesign always got the neighbors’ attention, got them thinking that their houses could stand a little sprucing up, too. She could end up with a lot of new business from the job Manny described. She asked, “What about the bathrooms and the kitchen?”
“Like I said, all of it. Every room.”
She couldn’t help wondering if Quinn was behind this? “What will you need from me? I’ll be happy to show you examples of my work—my portfolio? We can take a look at the website so you’ll have a better feel of what I can do. As for references, I—”
“Naw. I already looked at the website and I liked what I saw.”
Was she blushing? Manny had a gruff way about him, but he also knew how to turn on the charm. She really liked him. She liked his way with Annabelle, liked that teasing twinkle in his watery eyes. “Well, thank you.”
“I got a good feeling about you, Chloe. A real good feeling.” The old guy smiled, deepening the network of wrinkles on his craggy face. She really did wonder exactly how much he knew about her and Quinn and what had happened between them eight nights ago. He went on. “I’m thinking you should come over to the house. I’ll show you around, show you what I want done and then you can come up with some drawings and blueprints and all that. We can start right away, as soon as you’re ready to go...”
“Do you have an architect or any contractors you want to use?”
“Bravo Construction, if they give you a decent bid on the job—and if you’re okay with them. You’ll be running this, so you gotta be happy with the people you’re working with.”
Chloe nodded. “I know them, of course.” Quinn’s older brother, Garrett, ran the company, from what Chloe had heard. And his youngest sister, Nell, worked there, too. Garrett had been three years or so ahead of Chloe in school, so she didn’t remember all that much about him. And Nell was four years younger than Chloe. Still, Chloe vaguely remembered her. Gorgeous, and something of a wild child, wasn’t she? Never one to back down from a fight. She told Manny brightly, “They have a great reputation. I’ll ask them for a bid, absolutely.”
Manny winked at her. “Might as well try and keep it in the family.”
Chloe got the message. Manny did want her to use the Bravos. “Sounds good to me.” She made a mental note to go with them if at all possible.
Half an hour later, when Manny and Annabelle left, Chloe had an appointment at Quinn’s house for two in the afternoon the next day.
She was thrilled.
But then again, come on. It was too much of a coincidence. She suspected rough-edged old Manny of matchmaking, because it just didn’t seem like something Quinn would engineer. Quinn Bravo was more direct than that. If he wanted to see her again, he would just say so.
Wouldn’t he?
She had to admit she couldn’t be sure. Maybe Quinn hesitated to ask her out now, after she’d made such a point of that one night being the only night the two of them would ever share.
Maybe he knew nothing about Manny’s plans to tear their house apart and redo it, top to bottom.
Maybe, come to think of it, Quinn had no desire at all to ask her out. What if he ended up hating the idea that his daughter’s caregiver planned to hire the woman up the hill, with whom he’d had a one-night stand? What if he wanted nothing to do with her now? If she took the job, she would be in and out of his house for weeks.
That would be awful, if it turned out that Quinn really didn’t want her around. Here she was, gloating over this plum job that had magically fallen in her lap, when Quinn might know nothing about it—and not be the least bit happy when he found out.
By the time Tai arrived at one, Chloe had made up her mind.
Before she went to Quinn’s house tomorrow and consulted with Manny on the changes he wanted made, she needed to know for sure what Quinn really thought of her being there.
And the only way to know for sure was to ask the man himself.
Chapter Three (#ulink_bd698f8c-b464-56ef-aa25-19fa637b5ad7)
Chloe sent Tai to get takeout again. They shared lunch. And then she left Tai in charge and walked the two blocks to Prime Sports and Fitness, her heart hammering at her ribs all the way.
Quinn’s gym filled a three-story brick building directly across the street from the popular Irish-style pub, McKellan’s. Chloe hesitated outside on the sidewalk, ordering her pulse to slow down a little, noting the good location and the clean, modern lines of the building itself. There were lots of windows and various athletic activities visible from the street. In one room, some kind of martial arts class was in progress. Another room took up most of the second floor and held rows of cardio equipment, with people in exercise gear working out on stationary bikes, treadmills and elliptical trainers.
She stood there staring up for a couple of minutes at least. Until she finally had to accept that her nervousness hadn’t faded at all. In fact, it was worse. So she smoothed the front of her narrow white pants, tugged on the hem of the light, short blazer she wore over a featherweight black tank, squared her shoulders and went in.
The gorgeous, hardbody brunette at the front desk said that Quinn was just finishing up leading a boxing conditioning class. Chloe could wait in his office. It shouldn’t be long.
So Chloe sat in his office, where the walls were lined with pictures of Quinn in his fighting days and more than one big, shiny trophy stood on display. She had become absolutely certain that she’d made a horrible mistake in coming here and was just about to rise and bolt from the building, when the door swung open and there he was, looking sweaty and spectacular in gray boxing shorts and a muscle-hugging T.
* * *
“Hello, Chloe.” Quinn thought he’d never seen anyone so smooth and beautiful, in those perfect white pants and pointy little shoes, not a single golden hair out of place.
“Quinn.” She sounded breathless. He liked that. And she bounced to her feet. “I... How are you?” She held out her hand.
“Good. Real good.” He stepped forward and took it, already regretting he hadn’t run to the locker room and grabbed a quick shower after class. Her slim fingers were cool and dry in his sweaty paw.
But she didn’t seem to mind. She held on and he held on and they stood and stared at each other. She looked a little stunned, but in a good way. And he had no doubt his expression mirrored hers.
Finally, she said in a breathless rush, “I need... Well, there’s something I really have to discuss with you.”
“Sure.” He made himself release her hand and went back to shut the door as she returned to the chair. “Something to drink? Juice? Tea?” When she shook her head, he slid in behind his desk and gestured for her to sit back down. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“I, uh, had a visit from Manny and Annabelle today, at my design showroom. Manny offered me a really good project, redoing all the rooms in your house.” She paused to swallow and smooth her already perfect hair. “I agreed to meet him at your house tomorrow in the afternoon to go over the changes he wants. If he still wants to hire me, I’ll work out the numbers and put together a contract.”
This was all news to Quinn. But not bad news. He asked cautiously, “And this is a problem somehow?”
“Well, after Manny and Annabelle left, I started wondering if you even knew that he was planning to hire me. I thought I should, you know, check with you, make certain you’re on board with Manny’s plan...” Her voice trailed off.
He watched her try not to fidget. And the longer he sat there looking at her, the more he came to grips with the fact that the one night he’d had with her wasn’t enough. Luckily for him, her signal came through loud and clear: she felt the same way.
No, he had no time for romance.
But for a woman like Chloe, he might just have to make time.
Should he be pissed off at Manny for taking the situation into his battered old hands? Probably. Manny had no business butting in.
But Quinn had just spent a week keeping himself from climbing the hill to get to her. Manny’s bold move had brought her right to him. Pissed off? Hardly. Downright grateful was more like it.
Not that he’d ever admit that to Manny.
A small, embarrassed sound escaped her. “Oh, God. You didn’t know, did you?”
“Doesn’t matter. Manny’s in charge of the house and we agreed when we bought the place that it would need major upgrades. It’s his call who he hires to make that happen.”
“So you’re okay with it—with me, working in your house?”
He was more than just okay with it. “Sounds like a good idea to me—I mean, if you’re willing.”
She gave him one of those glowing smiles that could light up the blackest night. “Well, then. Yes. I’m willing, definitely.” She got up. “So, then, I guess I should be...”
He couldn’t let her go. Not yet. He pushed back his chair. “Now that you’re here, how ’bout I show you around?”
“The gym, you mean?”
“That’s right.”
“Yes. Yes, I would like that.”
“Well, okay, then. This way...”
* * *
Chloe followed Quinn past the reception area, into a series of wood-floored classrooms with mirrored walls and different kinds of equipment stacked in the corners. In one, a fitness ball class was in progress. In another, the participants were paired up for intense stretching. They went upstairs to the second floor and the giant cardio room as well as a room with all kinds of weight machines and one with boxing equipment and two rings.
He explained that Prime Fitness tried to offer something for everyone. “We have martial arts for all ages, boxing, kickboxing, general fitness and yoga classes...”
She listened and nodded, just glad to be walking along beside him, glad that he seemed to want to keep her there longer, to be drawing the moments out before she left.
On the top floor there was a beginning women’s self-defense class in progress. They watched through the observation window as a big guy in a padded suit tried to take down a woman about Chloe’s size. The woman shouted and fought him off violently, kicking and slugging at him, spinning away and sprinting off as soon as she got the guy to let go of her.
Watching that made Chloe’s mouth go dry and her palms feel clammy. It made her think of Ted and how she ought to be better prepared if anyone ever hit her or threatened her again.
“What do you think?” Quinn asked.
She turned to him, met those wonderful, watchful eyes. “I think I might want to take a class like this.”
There was a bench a few feet away. He backed up and sat down. She left the viewing window and sat beside him.
He said, “This class is wrapping up. A new one will start next week, and there’s an evening class, too. Starts in two weeks. It’s an eight-week course, one two-hour class per week.”
“I’ll be fighting off guys in padded suits for eight weeks?”
He shook his head. “No. Initially there are sessions on staying out of violent confrontations in the first place.”
“How?”
He chuckled. “What? You want an outline of the course?”
“Can you give me one?”
“You’re serious?”
“I am, yes.”
He watched her for a long moment. And then he shrugged. “Well, all right. The class starts with a section on the nature of predators. Basically there are two types. Resource and process. Resource predators want your stuff. Process predators are in it for the power and the thrill. They want to mess you over. They actually enjoy committing crimes. The class shows you how to identify what kind of scumbag you’re faced with and how to deal with him. Next comes a study of avoidance, because the best option is always steering clear of any situation where you could get hurt. After avoidance, there’s a section on deescalating conflict. If you can’t escape trouble before it happens, the second-best option is to diffuse it. And finally you’ll learn how to fight off an attack.”
“Wow,” she said, and wondered if any guy ever looked as good in shorts and a T-shirt as Quinn did. And he smelled so good, too. Clean. Just sweaty enough to be exciting...
He grunted. “See? More information than you needed or wanted.”
She shook her head. “That was exactly what I wanted to know. And how do you know all that? Do you teach this kind of class yourself?”
“No. But I’ve been through every class that we offer here. I run the place. It’s my job to know what I’m selling. I want to franchise this operation. This location will be the model for Prime Sports and Fitness gyms all over the country.”
“You dream big.”
“Hey. Balls to the wall. It’s the only way to go.”
She made a decision. “I’m taking the next evening class.”
“Am I a salesman, or what?” He got up. “Come on.” He put his big hand at the small of her back. Such a light touch to wreak such total havoc through every quivering cell in her body. “We’ll sign you up.”
At the front desk, Quinn tried to comp her the class. She shook her head and whipped out her checkbook. Once she’d paid for the course, he walked her out the door.
He caught her arm as the door eased shut behind them. “So, Chloe...”
She was achingly aware of him, so close, his big, warm fingers wrapped lightly around her upper arm. He walked her forward several feet along the sidewalk and then pulled her gently around to face him.
“Yeah?” she asked low, her voice barely a whisper.
He stepped in closer and spoke for her ears alone. “The other night...?”
Her breath tangled in her throat. “Yeah?”
“You said just for that night, just that once. But you’re here and I’m looking in those fine blue eyes and I’m wondering, did you really mean that?”
Her stupid throat had clutched up tight. She swallowed convulsively, and then shook her head hard.
His brow rumpled in a frown, but the hint of a smile seemed to tug on his mouth. “I’m still not sure what you’re telling me here.”
And somehow she found her voice again. “Sorry...”
“Nothing to be sorry for. You just say it right out loud, whatever your answer is. I can take it, I promise you.”
She cleared her throat to get her going. “Ahem. That night, I needed to find a way to give myself permission to do something I wanted to do but had never done before. That night, I needed to think of it as just that one time and never again. But since then...”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, Quinn. I wish I hadn’t said what I said. Because I’ve been thinking about you a lot. And it’s really good to see you again.”
Those fine eyes were gleaming. “Yeah?”
And she was eagerly nodding, her head bouncing up and down like a bobblehead doll’s.
“So, then...” He started walking backward toward the doors.
She resisted the urge to reach out and stop him—and also the one that demanded she follow him. Instead, she held her ground and asked hopefully, “So, then, what?”
He stopped at the doors. “How ’bout Friday night? You and me. Dinner.”
“Dinner...” How could one simple word hold so much promise?
“Yeah.” He was definitely smiling now. “You know, like people do.”
“I would like that.” She knew she wore a giant, silly grin. And somehow she had gone on tiptoe. Her body felt lighter than air.
“Pick you up at seven?”
She settled back onto her heels and nodded. “Seven is great.”
A trim, fortyish woman in workout clothes approached the doors. Quinn opened one and ushered her in. Then, with a final nod in Chloe’s direction, he went in, too.
That lighter-than-air feeling? It stayed with her. Her feet barely touched the ground the whole way back to the showroom.
Strange how everything could change for the better in the course of one afternoon.
All at once, the world, so cruel to her in recent years, was a good and hopeful place again. Suddenly everything looked brighter.
Yeah, okay. It was just a date. But it was a date with a man who thrilled her—and made her feel safe and protected and cherished and capable, all at the same time.
* * *
That night, Chloe made chocolate chip cookies. Once they’d cooled, she packed them up into two bright decorator tins. She took them to the showroom the next morning. One she offered at the coffee table.
The other she carried with her when she went to meet with Manny at Quinn’s house after lunch.
“Cookies!” Annabelle nodded her approval. “I like cookies.” She sent Manny a regretful glance. “Manny’s cookies are not very good.”
Manny told Chloe, “Never was a baker—or that much of a cook, when you come right down to it. I enjoy cooking, though. Too bad nobody appreciates my efforts.” He wiggled his bushy eyebrows at Annabelle. “And what do you say when someone brings you really good cookies?”
“Thank you, Chloe.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned those sweet brown eyes on Manny again. “Can I have one now?”
“That could be arranged.” Manny led them to the kitchen, which had appliances that had been state-of-the-art back in the late eighties, a fruit-patterned wallpaper border up near the ceiling and acres of white ceramic tile. Annabelle made short work of two cookies and a glass of milk, after which she wanted to take Chloe up to her room.
Chloe looked to Manny. The old guy shrugged. “Don’t keep her up there all day,” he said to the little girl.
“Manny, I want all the princesses, but it won’t take that long.” She reached right up and grabbed Chloe’s hand, at which point Chloe’s heart pretty much melted. “Okay, Chloe. Let’s go.”
After half an hour with Quinn’s daughter, Chloe knew exactly which princesses Annabelle wanted represented in her new room, as well as her favorite colors. They went back downstairs, and Chloe spent a couple of hours with Manny, going through the house, bottom to top, talking hard and soft surfaces, color choices, style preferences and the benefits of knocking out a wall or two. Chloe jotted notes and took pictures of existing furniture and fixtures that would be included in the new design.
Before she left at four-thirty, she promised to crunch the numbers. The contract would be ready for his and Quinn’s approval early next week.
“Give me a call,” said Manny. “We can decide then whether to meet here or at your showroom.”
“That’ll work.”
Annabelle urged her to “Come back and see me soon, Chloe. And bring cookies.”
Chloe promised that she would. She drove to the showroom, let Tai go home and got to work on the contract, planning out the estimated costs, room by room. At six, she closed up and headed for her house, a big, fat smile on her face and a thousand ideas for the redesign swirling in her brain.
She parked in her detached garage and was halfway along the short breezeway to the front door when she caught sight of the gorgeous bouquet of orchids and roses waiting in a clear, square vase on the porch. It must be from Quinn. The arrangement was so simple and lovely and the gesture so thoughtful, she let out a happy cry just at the sight of it.
Okay, it was a little silly to be so giddy at his thoughtfulness. But she hadn’t had flowers in so long. Ted used to buy them for her, and since the divorce, well, she had no desire to buy them for herself. To her, a gorgeous bouquet of flowers just reminded her of Ted and all the ways she’d messed up her life. But if Quinn gave her flowers, she could start to see a beautiful arrangement in a whole new light.
She disarmed her alarm and unlocked the door—and then scooped up the vase and carried it in.
Dropping her purse on the entry bench, she took the vase straight to the kitchen peninsula, where she set it carefully down. The card had a red amaryllis on the front and the single word, Bloom. Bloom was the shop that belonged to Quinn’s sister, Jody.
Whipping the little card off its plastic holder, she flipped it open and read Beautiful flowers always remind me of you. I hate that it went so wrong for us. I miss you.
Ted
Chapter Four (#ulink_582a4013-26c9-568c-97c9-28892106c31b)
“No!” Chloe shouted right out loud, not even caring that she sounded like some crazy person, yelling at thin air. “No, you do not get to do that. You do not.” She tore the note in half and then in half again and she dropped it on the floor and stomped on it for good measure. They were divorced, for God’s sake. He had a new wife. And all she wanted from him for now and forever was never to see or hear from him again.
Her heart racing with a sick kind of fury that he’d dared to encroach on her new life where he had no business being, Chloe whipped the beautiful flowers from the vase. Dripping water across the counter and onto the floor, too, she dropped them in the trash compactor, shoved it shut and turned the motor on. The compactor rumbled. She felt way too much satisfaction as the machine crushed the bright blooms to a pulp.
Once the flowers were toast, she poured the water from the vase into the sink, whipped the compactor open again and dropped the vase on top of the mashed flowers. She ran the motor a second time, grinning like a madwoman when she heard that loud, scary pop that meant the vase was nothing but shards of broken glass. After that, she picked up the little bits of card, every one, threw them in with the shattered vase and the pulped flowers, took the plastic bag out of the compactor, lugged it out to the trash bin and threw it in.
Good riddance to bad trash.
She spent a while stewing, considering calling Ted and giving him a large piece of her mind.
But no. She wanted nothing to do with him and she certainly didn’t want to make contact with him again. That might just encourage him.
She wondered if the flowers and the creepy note could be considered the act of a stalker.
But then she reminded herself that Ted and his bride, Larissa, lived more than a thousand miles away in San Diego. It was one thing for Ted to have his assistant send her flowers just to freak her out, but something else again for him to show up on her doorstep in person.
Wasn’t going to happen. He was just being a jerk, an activity at which he excelled.
God. She had married him. How could she have been such an utter, complete fool?
Back in the house, she changed into jeans and a tank top. Then she took her time cooking an excellent dinner of fresh broiled trout with lemon butter, green beans and slivered almonds and her favorite salad of field greens, blueberries, Gorgonzola cheese and toasted walnuts, with a balsamic vinaigrette.
When it was ready, she set the table with her best dishes, lit a candle, poured herself a glass of really nice sauvignon blanc and sat down. She ate slowly, savoring every delicious bite.
A little later, she took a long scented bath and put on a comfy sleep shirt and shorts. Even after the bath, she was still buzzing with anger at the loser she’d once had the bad judgment to marry. Streaming a movie or reading a book was not going to settle her down. She needed a serious distraction.
So she went to the cozy room on the lower floor that she used as a home office and lost herself in the plans for Quinn’s house. Within a few minutes of sitting down at her desk, the only thing on her mind was the rooms taking shape in her imagination—and on her sketch pad. And the numbers coming together for each room, for the project as a whole. She worked for hours and hardly noticed the time passing.
When she finally went back upstairs to the main floor, it was almost midnight. Time for bed.
But she didn’t go to bed. It was cool out that evening. So she put on a big sweater over her sleep shirt, pulled on a pair of fluffy pink booties and went out onto her deck. It was something she had not done after dark since the night Quinn spent in her bed.
But she was doing it tonight.
She padded to the deck railing and stared down at Quinn’s house.
Was she actually expecting him to be watching, waiting for the moment when she wandered out under the stars?
Not really. It just felt...reassuring somehow. To gaze down at his house, to know that she would see him again, would share dinner with him on Friday night.
When the French doors opened and he emerged, she let out a laugh of pure delight and waved to signal him up.
He didn’t even hesitate, just went on down the steps at the side of his deck and forged up the hill. She went to meet him at the top of her stairs, feeling breathless and wonderful.
Tonight, he wore ripped old jeans, a white T-shirt that seemed to glow in the dark and the same moccasins he’d been wearing that other night. He said, “Love those furry boots.” When she laughed, he added, “I was getting worried you might never come outside.”
“And I was absolutely certain there was no way you might be glancing up to see if I was looking down for you.” She held out her hand. He took it. His skin was warm, his palm callous. Just his touch made her body sing. “Come sit with me?”
He looked at her as though she were the only other person in the world. “Whatever you want, Chloe.”
She tugged him over to the two chairs they’d sat in that other night and pulled him down beside her.
Silence.
But it was a good silence. They just sat there, staring out at the clear night and the distant mountains. A slight wind came up, rustling the nearby pines. And an owl hooted off in the shadows somewhere between his house and hers.
Finally, she said, “I met with Manny. I think it went well.”
“He says so, too.”
“And I’m in love with your daughter.”
He chuckled, a rough and tempting sound. “She has that effect on people. Manny’s tough, but Annabelle still manages to wrap him around her little finger. Truth is she rules the house. We just try to keep up with her.”
She looked over at him. “Has she asked you about her mother again?”
“Not yet.” He met her eyes through the shadows. “I know, I know. Wait until she asks. And then don’t load her up with more information than she’s ready for.”
“That’s the way.” She thought of the flowers she’d crushed in the compactor—and then pushed them out of her mind. Why ruin a lovely moment by bringing Ted into it?
Instead, she asked him how he had met Manny. He explained that the old ex-fighter had been his first professional trainer. “I met him at the first gym I walked into after leaving home. Downtown Gym, it was called, in Albuquerque. Manny ran the place and worked with the fighters who trained there. We got along. When I moved on, he went with me. I had a lot of trainers. And over time, Manny became more like my manager, I guess you could say. And kind of a cross between a best friend and a dad.” He shot her a warning look. “But don’t tell him I said that.”
She grinned. “Why not?”
“He already thinks he knows what’s best for me. If he ever heard I said I thought of him as a father, he’d never shut up with the advice and instructions.”
She softly advised, “But I’ll bet it would mean the world to him to know how you really feel.”
“He knows. Hearing it out loud would only make him more impossible to live with.” Quinn faked a dangerous scowl. “So keep your mouth shut.”
She laughed and held up both hands. “I swear I’ll never say a word.”
“Good.”
“So, how did he end up back here in Justice Creek with you and Annabelle?”
“I don’t think either of us really considered a different option. He moved in with me when Annabelle was a baby, to help out.”
When Annabelle was a baby...
So the little girl had been with her dad from the first? What had happened to the mother, the one Quinn said Annabelle would most likely never meet?
So many questions.
But Chloe had such a good feeling about the man beside her. She trusted him to tell her everything in his own good time.
He said, “When I decided to retire from the Octagon last year, Manny was already taking care of Annabelle full-time.” Chloe knew what the Octagon was: the eight-sided ring in which Ultimate Fighting Championship mixed-martial-arts fighters competed. During the rough years when she was still married to Ted, she’d watched more than one of Quinn’s televised UFC fights. It had lifted her spirits to see how far the wild, angry boy from her hometown had come. He continued, “I asked Manny to stick with me when I moved back home. He agreed right off, said he supposed it was about time he settled down. Annabelle’s a handful, but so far he’s managing.”
“From what I’ve seen, he’s great with her. He’s patient, encourages her to express herself and make some of her own decisions—but he stays in charge, too.”
“Yeah. He’s a champ with her, all right...” Quinn’s voice kind of trailed off and there was another silence, one somehow not as comfortable as the first.
She glanced over at him again and found him watching her. “Whatever it is, you might as well just say it.”
“I got a question, but I don’t want to freak you out.”
An unpleasant shiver traveled down the backs of her arms and she thought of Ted again. Because if her freaking out could be involved, it probably had to do with Ted.
Then again, how would Quinn know that? She’d mentioned her ex once, on the night that Quinn came to her bed. What she’d told him had been far from flattering to Ted, but she’d said nothing about how thinking of him made her want to crush flowers and break expensive vases.
“Ask me,” she said. “I can take it.” The words came out sounding so confident. She was proud of them.
“All right, then. Does your mama know you’re going out to dinner with me?”
Her mother. Of course. “No.”
“It’s Justice Creek, Chloe.”
“Meaning she will know?”
“I’d say the odds are better than fifty-fifty, wouldn’t you?”
Chloe kept her gaze steady on his. It was no hardship. Looking at him made her think of hot sex. And safety. And that combination really worked for her. “That girl—the mama’s girl I was in high school?”
“Yeah?”
She slanted him a teasing glance. “You’re not even going to argue that I was never a mama’s girl?”
“Hey. You called it, not me.”
And she made a low, rueful noise in her throat. “Yes, I did. And I was. But I’m not anymore. I tried living my life my mother’s way. It didn’t work for me. I’m all grown up now and my mother doesn’t get to tell me what to do or whom to spend my time with.”
One side of his beautiful mouth curved up then. It was a smirk, heavy on the irony, more like the old, dangerous, edgy Quinn from back in high school than the one she’d been getting to know lately. “Whom. Always so ladylike.”
“Don’t tease me. I’m serious.”
His smirk vanished. “So you’re admitting that your mother’s not gonna like it, you and me spending time together?”
“What I’m telling you is that she doesn’t have a say, so it doesn’t matter whether she likes it or not.”
He reached out his hand between their chairs. She put hers in it, and he lifted it to that wonderful mouth of his. Hot shivers cascaded down her arm and straight to the core of her, just at the feel of his soft lips against her skin. Then he rubbed his chin where his lips had been, teasing her with the rough brush of beard stubble, reminding her of their one night together, making her long to jump up and drag him inside.
But she didn’t.
A moment later, he let go of her hand. He started talking again—about his plans for Prime Sports. She told him how much she appreciated the chance to rework the interiors at his house and then she shared with him some of the ideas she and Manny had discussed for upgrading the kitchen and opening up the living-room space.
A couple of hours passed as they sat there talking quietly under the waning moon. She even told him a little about her failed marriage—no, not about the flowers, and not about the times Ted had struck her. This thing with Quinn was so new and sweet and heady. Sharing ugly stories about her ex would definitely dim the romantic glow. Instead, she tried to explain how disappointed she was in the way things had turned out.
“It hurts so much,” she confessed, “when something that should have been so right somehow goes all wrong. And I feel... I don’t know, less, I guess. Shamed, that I didn’t make better choices.”
He regarded her for several seconds in that steady way he had. “You said the other night that the guy was abusive...”
She held his gaze as she shook her head.
He frowned. “I’ll need more than a head shake to get what you’re trying to tell me.”
She let out a hard sigh. “Oh, Quinn. It’s a beautiful night. And you’re here beside me. It’s good, you and me, talking like this.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I probably shouldn’t even have brought up my divorce.”
“Yeah, you should. Whatever you want to tell me, that’s what I want to hear.”
“That’s just it. I really don’t want to go into any of that old garbage right now.”
He gave her another of those long, thoughtful looks. And then, “All right.”
And just like that, he let it go.
How amazing. He let it go. She’d grown up with a mother who never let anything go. And Ted? He would hound a person to hell and back to find out something he wanted to know.
But not Quinn. She said she didn’t want to talk about it—and he just let it go. He said, “Whatever that story is, whatever happened in the past, you’re going to be fine.”
She made a low, rueful sound. “You’re sure about that, huh?”
And he nodded. “You’re brave and beautiful, Chloe—and not only on the outside. You’re beautiful in your heart, where it matters. I admire the hell out of you.”
Tears burned in her eyes at such praise. She blinked them away and whispered a soft, sincere “Thank you...”
By then, she really wanted to take him inside and spend a few more thrilling hours in his arms. But she felt somehow shyer now than that other night—shy and tentative.
And other than kissing her hand that one time, he’d made no move on her.
It was two in the morning when he said good-night. She stood at the railing watching him jog down the hill to his house, and felt disappointed in herself that she’d let him go without so much as a single shared kiss.
But then, he had asked her out. She would see him again on Friday night...
* * *
Friday evening, Quinn arrived five minutes early. “Better grab a scarf,” he warned.
She ran and got one, then followed him out across the breezeway and around the garage to the side parking space, where a gorgeous old convertible Buick coupe waited—top down, of course. With sidewalls so white they were blinding even in the shade.
“Wow.” She couldn’t resist gliding her palm over the glossy maroon paint. “It looks brand-new.” The bright chrome gleamed in the fading early-evening light. It had round vents on the front fenders and an enormous, toothy grille.
“It’s one of Carter’s rebuilds. A ’49 Buick Roadmaster.” Carter, Quinn’s oldest brother, designed and built custom cars. “I saw it at his shop a couple of weeks ago. Don’t know what came over me, but I wanted it. So I bought it.” He opened the door for her. She slid in onto the snow-white, tuck-and-roll bench seat. “Had him put seat belts in it, along with a decent sound system and power windows.” He was leaning on the open door, bending close to her, his gray suit jacket already off and slung over his shoulder, hanging by a finger.
She got a hint of his aftershave, which was manly and fresh. He looked so good, in a white shirt and gray slacks, with a dark blue tie. She thought about kissing him, and turned away to run her hand over the leather seat in an effort to distract herself from a sudden, vivid memory of how pliant and hot his lips felt pressed to hers. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, altogether too breathlessly.

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