Murphy's Law (17 page)

Quinton blindly reached out to turn off the water.

Maybe through sex, he'd be able to become a priority in her life. He'd certainly do his best.

 

Ashley woke early the next morning, cocooned in Quinton's warmth. Before she even had her eyes opened, she smiled. Who knew sleeping with a bed hog could be so pleasant? Thank God his bed was specially made, even bigger than a king.

It seemed no matter where she'd curled up, Quinton had found her through the night. He tended to sprawl, and whenever he “bumped” her, he snuggled her in tight. At one point she'd actually been sleeping atop him, her head under his chin, their heartbeats aligned, and his hands over her bottom holding her secure.

She lifted her head enough to see the clock. Five-thirty
A
.
M
. Time for her to drag her lazy butt out of the bed. She had studying to do before class on Monday, and she had to work tonight. Lethargy pulled at her, but she forced herself to slip out from under Quinton's heavy arm. He barely stirred.

Naked beside the bed, she stared down at him. Despite what she'd told him—and herself—she knew she was falling hard. Just looking at him made her heart ache for things she knew she couldn't have.

Just sex, she reminded herself, and really, that should be enough. He'd made love to her three times, and each time had been better than the time before, when it had started off pretty mind-blowing. The last time, she'd actually screamed with the sharp pleasure of it. She'd cried afterward, too, though she didn't think Quinton had noticed. She hoped not. He knew too much about her already.

The muscles in her thighs ached, her breasts were sore, and deep inside her, between her legs, she burned.

But if he woke up right now and reached for her, she knew she'd willingly climb back into the bed.

Dangerous. To her goals, her peace of mind, and her heart.

Silently, she turned her back on the bed and searched for something to wear. If she rooted through his closets, she might wake him, and she didn't want to do that. Not only did she not want to disturb him, but she wasn't ready to face him yet. She needed some time to get her defenses back into place. After the excess of the long night, she felt stripped emotionally, vulnerable, and more than a little scared.

She spied her gown on the floor, but no way could she put it back on. Lying in a bunched-up ball had wrinkled it beyond decency. Besides, she'd need to put the awful bra back on to wear it, and she refused to do that.

His dress shirt, however, looked none the worse for their adventure, so she slipped it on. The sleeves hung past the middle of her thighs, and the hem reached her knees.

She pulled the collar together and inhaled his scent, all man and hot sensuality. Her stomach went taut in delight, and that insidious twinge of need came to life again.

Buttoning the shirt as she walked, she left the room to search out coffee. Quinton hadn't shown her much of his house yet. They'd made a beeline for the bedroom and then hadn't left it, except to use the adjoined bathroom. But she remembered the direction to the kitchen.

Once there, she had a hard time finding things. He was immaculate in the extreme, everything put in a specific, orderly place, not a speck of dirt or clutter to be found.

No regular coffee for Quinton Murphy, CEO. Nope. He had only special blends, but luckily, he did have a coffeemaker beside the espresso machine.

Ashley measured up a strong pot and then, while waiting for the machine to finish brewing, she wandered his house. Everywhere she looked, she saw signs of his wealth. A leisure room included a wall of windows, a cast stone mantel, and a fireplace surrounded with built-in cabinetry. Plush, comfortable furniture in soft shades of cream, white, and tan gave the room a monochromatic color scheme.

As she moseyed from room to room, she counted the baths. Including the master bath that she'd used last night, he had five. Some were smaller than others, but six bathrooms for one man? Indulgent.

His office included not only a colossal desk, but a wet bar, snack bar, built-in microwave, wall oven and refrigerator. Specialty cabinets hid most of the office equipment. Two leather couches flanked a tall fireplace.

How could he possibly use all this space?

She knew the coffee would be done by now, but curiosity drove her downstairs to the lower level. She found a fifth bedroom with two sets of bunk beds, another bathroom—which made six total—an exercise room, theater room, and what appeared to be a play area, complete with foosball, air hockey, basketball nets, pinball machines, and shelves filled with puzzles and games.

Confused, she noticed subdued light flickering against the double glass doors. She crossed the room and pressed her hands to the glass to peer out. Landscape lights, mostly hidden by lush greenery, reflected off a koi pond stirred by large golden fish. Beyond that, a lagoon-style pool with waterslide, rock bridge, and diving board glistened with blue lights.

Amazing. Was there anything he didn't have? She reached for the door handle, anxious to examine the pool further, and a noise sounded behind her.

She jerked around and found Quinton propping a shoulder against the door frame—gloriously naked.

“Looking for something?” he asked.

For only a moment, he thought Ashley looked guilty, then not a speck of remorse shone in her beautiful brown eyes.

She even smiled as she turned back to the door. “Your yard is gorgeous. I had no idea you were hiding all that out back.”

She hadn't answered his question, and that sharpened his irritation. Resolute, Quinton strode across the room and took her shoulders. “You should have awakened me if you wanted a tour.”

“Why?” With a mixture of hurt and defiance, she turned her face up to his. “Your house is big, but I don't think I'd get lost.” She tried a half grin and teasingly put her fingertips against his sternum. “Besides, you were sound asleep, and after all that energy you expended last night, I figured you could use the rest.”

When he didn't grin with her, her smile faded.

But damn it, if she'd gone outside, she'd have seen things he didn't want to explain. As it was, she stood in the middle of the activity room. That room alone was enough to rouse a million questions he didn't want to answer.

Putting his hand at her back, he urged her out of the room. She went grudgingly, and with each step a frown became more pronounced. “Where are we going?”

“The kitchen, where I assume you helped yourself.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I made coffee, if that's what you mean.”

“I smelled it. That's what woke me.” And the second he saw her missing from the bed, a knot had formed in his gut.

“I see. So you were in such a rush for a cup that you didn't bother putting on pants?”

She more or less stomped up the stairs ahead of him, and the angry swish of her derrière beneath his shirt drew his hand. He was annoyed with her, feeling suspicious, and still he couldn't help cuddling her naked buttocks. “You're not wearing pants, either.”

She stepped a little quicker, trying to move out of his reach. “At least I covered up.”

Safe upstairs, well away from telltale evidence, he snagged her elbow, backed her into the wall, and plastered himself against her. Annoyed or not, he wanted her, as much now as ever. He stared at her compressed lips and wanted to lick them. “You look sexy in my shirt,” he told her, and added in a husky whisper, “but you'd look sexier out of it.”

Face flushing, she put her hands flat to his chest. His gaze drifted up to hers, and he saw her narrowed eyes. “You're one fickle son of a bitch, Murphy, did you know that?”

Uh-oh. She sounded really angry. Hopeful of redirecting her thoughts to more carnal ground, Quinton wedged one leg between hers. “No.” He leaned in closer, hoping to steal a kiss.

She shoved him back a foot. If she hadn't taken him by surprise, he might not have staggered away so easily, giving her room to duck away and rush off down the hall.

“Ashley.” Hot on her heels, Quinton followed her into the kitchen, then watched as she opened and closed cabinets in a furious search.

Crossing his arms, he demanded, “What are you doing?”

“Casing the joint, what else?”

This was not how he'd planned to spend the morning. “If you tell me what you're looking for, perhaps I can help you find it.”

“I need a cup, damn it.” She stretched up, causing the shirt to rise and putting two very fine half moons on display.

Quinton was so entranced by the image she presented that he almost missed her angry outburst when she added, “You're being a jerk, and I want some coffee to clear my head before I tell you to go to hell.”

“
I'm
being a jerk? You're the one who went secretly rummaging through my home—”

“Yeah, stealing everything in sight, right?” She sneered at him, her expression mean and provoking. “You want to check my pockets? Oh wait, I don't
have
any pockets!”

She yanked open another cabinet, saw it held only boxes of cereal, and closed it again.

Quinton dropped his arms in dawning awareness. Ashley was truly insulted, but it was her hurt that made him feel like an ass.

Silently cursing himself, he went to her. Standing very near, he said softly, “No one mentioned stealing.”

She whipped around to face him. “But that's what you think, right? Why else would you care if I walked around?”

He reached over her; she ducked, but he only retrieved two mugs from the highest shelf. Handing one to her, he explained, “You invaded my privacy.”

She snatched the mug away from him and retreated to the other end of the counter. “Whoopee. I saw your couches and chairs and gazillion bathrooms.”

“Six bathrooms.”

“For one man?” She snorted. “You're so spoiled.”

“They came with the house, Ashley. I didn't add in any extras.”

She wasn't listening. “It's not like I went through your drawers or anything.” Then she froze, and her mouth flattened. “Well, only the drawers in the kitchen. But that was just to find the coffee. I didn't expect to uncover company secrets or skeletons from your closet or super-private stuff. I mean, it's a
kitchen
.”

She gave him her back while she dumped three spoonfuls of sugar into the cup, then poured in the coffee.

Quinton saw that her hands were shaking. “Ash—”

In a quieter voice filled with distress, she said, “I've never had the proverbial morning after, so I didn't know coffee was a grave mistake.”

So she wasn't going to mention the toys or games, the additional twin beds? Did she chalk those up as the vagaries of the rich? Possibly.

Seeing her hunched shoulders, the way she hugged herself with one arm while sipping her coffee, Quinton felt like a bastard. He'd taken her first sexual experience and ruined it with ugly accusations.

“I'm sorry.”

She curled a little tighter and muttered, “Fuck off.”

Shocked, Quinton stared at her, but within seconds, he started to grin. Leave it to Ashley to take him by surprise at the best and worst of times. “Wow, when you get angry, you go all out, don't you?”

Giving him the meanest look he'd ever seen on a female's face, she downed the rest of her coffee, put her cup in the sink, and thrust up her chin. “I'm leaving now.”

“Why don't we talk for a little bit first?”

She struggled to keep her gaze on his face but lost. Staring at his body, her voice filled with disgust, she said, “Why don't you put on some damned clothes?”

“No.”

She glared at him. “So you're an exhibitionist? Who knew? I still have to go.”

He smiled. “I like the way you look at me. I like it that you like my body.”

“Yeah, well, I liked it fine last night, but last night you were nice.”

“I'm nice now. You just…I've never had a woman roam my home uninvited.”

“You already knew that I'm a freak of social behavior,” she stated. “So what did you expect?” She started out of the room, but Quinton put himself in her path.

“Please. Let's talk.”

She accepted with a scowl. “Okay, later,
maybe
. But for right now, I have to go.”

She was dead serious. They'd made love all night, slept curled together, and because of one misunderstanding, she intended to bolt.

Quinton braced his feet apart and crossed his arms. “Where can you possibly need to be the morning after your best friend's wedding, on a Sunday, at barely six
A
.
M
.?”

“I have some work to do, and I need to study.” She waited defiantly for him to question her on that.

He decided that, in her present mood, it'd be best not to push her. “All right.” He wrapped his hands around her upper arms, caressed her, and tried for a compromise. “How about we shower first, then I'll drive you home.”

“You shower.” Her chin went a little higher, and her nose wrinkled. “I'm going to put my bra and dress back on, then call a cab.”

Stubborn. Quinton closed his eyes and counted to ten. “I really am sorry, honey. I reacted badly. The truth is, I've never had another woman in this house.”

Her look was one of blatant disbelief. “Right.”

“I'm not a liar, love, so please don't infer otherwise.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, so she closed it again. After several seconds, she conceded with ill grace. “All right, fine.” Before he could relax, she added, “But don't call me love, don't yell at me or accuse me, and for crying out loud, cover yourself up.”

Confident that the storm had passed, Quinton relaxed. Leave it to Ashley to lose her anger as quickly as she had gained it. “I'm not uncomfortable naked.”

She wiggled out of his hold and went back to the coffeepot. “Yeah, I can tell. But you're enough to make a freshly initiated ex-virgin blush.”

“Maybe you just need to take off the shirt, so we're on equal ground.”

“Sorry, no can do.” She leaned back on the counter and looked him over from toes to head and back again. “I really do have to study, and not even you in all your naked glory will sway me from my course. So get a move on, Murphy. If you want to be gallant and drive me home, I'll give you ten minutes to get yourself decent. After that, I'm calling a cab.”

 

At six o'clock that night Quinton and his assistant, Adrianna Perkins, ushered fifteen boys between the ages of five and twelve into the upscale restaurant. They were spiffed up in the new clothes he'd bought them, wide-eyed with awe, and giddy at the chance to be out and about. They didn't get to eat in restaurants often, and most of their transportation occurred on a bus.

Quinton had rented a limo for them because, as he'd explained, they wouldn't all fit in his Bentley. A few days ago, they'd very much enjoyed taking turns tooling around town with him in his newest car. They were every bit as car crazy as he was, but without his privileges.

They'd loved riding in the limo.

He loved doing things for them and with them.

These boys, part of society's outcasts, some of the forgotten, were his passion. He took more pleasure in handing out gifts to them than he did in sealing a multimillion-dollar long-term deal. They were each and every one of them unique, fun, and so imperfect that they kept him on his toes.

Uncle Warren didn't understand it, but Quinton loved them.

The youngest, Rupert, clung to Quinton's pants leg and walked in tiny, shuffling, uncertain steps. The din from their excited and anxious chatter turned the heads of the rest of the patrons in the restaurant. Not that Quinton minded. He'd called ahead for reservations and had procured the back half of the dining room.

“Let's go.” He swung Rupert up into his arms and the hostess, like the Pied Piper, led the way. Adrianna brought up the rear, making certain no stragglers got left behind.

Two long tables were pushed together to accommodate them all, and as they clamored for seats, dinnerware rattled and a tablecloth was almost removed.

The smiling hostess set a stack of menus on the table and said, “Your waitress will be right with you to tell you the specials of the day. Enjoy your meal.”

Quinton thanked her and heard an echo from the boys as, one by one, they mumbled or squealed or yelled their thanks as well. He shook his head, as always amused by them and their varying personalities.

“Now,” he said, standing at the head of the combined tables, “everyone sit still and listen. Adrianna, get Neil's attention for me, please. Thank you. Now we're going to quietly read the menus—Rupert, I'll read it to you—and we'll each decide what we'd like for dinner.”

“What can we haf?” one boy asked around two missing front teeth.

“Anything you want. This is your day out. You have my blessing to go hog wild—” A roaring cheer arose, prompting him to laughingly add, “But please, do so
quietly
so they don't toss us to the curb.”

The noise dropped an octave, but it was still pretty up there in the decibel level. They were all so wound up, they couldn't sit still, and as Quinton looked from one animated face to another, he wished he had the time to take them out each night. Somehow he'd find a way to incorporate it into their routines. Each month they had theater day, and museum day, and sports day. Why not dinner day?

He was grinning at Oliver, a boy with a clunky hearing aid in his left ear, when he heard, “Quinton Murphy, what are you doing?”

Shock rippled down his spine. He knew that sassy female voice. But what in the world would Ashley be doing in such a restaurant? She claimed to live a frugal life, and the whole point of the restaurant was extravagance.

Slowly, a staged smile firmly in place, he pivoted to face her—and got another jolt of shock.

She wore a uniform.

Or rather, she wore the homogeneous black slacks and white dress shirt required by the restaurant.
A waitress?
But she already had a job. And school. He shook his head. “What are you doing here?”