Murphy's Law (7 page)

“Or Jude,” Denny added.

“Call
someone
—but me first. Promise me, Ashley.”

Denny started to object, and Ashley put the back of her hand to her forehead. “First no men, now two are fighting over me. How dramatic.”

Quinton leaned across the table, caught her shoulders, and pulled her up. Ashley thought he was about to curl her toes again, but he only put an affectionate peck on her forehead. “Promise?”

“Yeah, sure. I'll put you on speed dial.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her once more. “Be very careful, and we'll talk soon.”

With that, he left.

Slowly, Ashley sank back in her seat. “I need some ice water.”

“All that growling give you a dry throat?”

“No. I think I have a fever.”

Denny eyed her while switching over to Quinton's side of the booth. “So you like your new beau, huh?”

“He's not a beau.”

“I think he'd tell it differently.” Denny signaled the waitress in a request for coffee.

She hustled over, her smile too bright, her eyes dreamy. After she'd produced another cup and filled it, Denny thanked her with more affection than necessary, and she floated away on a sigh.

Another woman smitten. Amazing. Denny made the whole woman/man game look so easy. If only she didn't struggle so badly with it. “For an ornery old codger, you sure rack up the babes.”

“It's my charm.”

“It's something, all right.” Ashley considered him, then asked, “So what about Zara?”

“What about her?”

“You still seeing her?”

“Here and there. She won't be at the wedding, if you're worried about Quinton running into her.”

That made her laugh. “After seeing her with you, I haven't given it another thought. I figured you'd ruined her for all other men.”

“I'm sure you're right.”

Grinning, Ashley glanced at the clock on the wall. “I wonder where he's going so early.”

“Who? Quinton?”

“He's dressed all casual when he usually wears suits, and it's too early for him to be going to the office.”

“Want me to find out?” When she just stared at him, Denny said, “Well, I can, you know.”

“Don't even think about actually checking up on him.” Her order didn't faze Denny one bit. “I mean it, old man. He's driving me nuts, but—”

“He's bothering you?” And then in a growl, “Maybe I don't like him after all.”

“Oh God, don't start cracking your knuckles. It's not like that.” Quinton was a handful all on his own. She didn't need to juggle Denny now, too.

“Then how is it?”

“You've got gonads. Put it together.”

“Ah.” Denny's ears actually lifted, he smiled so big. “He's bothering you
that
way. I get it.”

In that moment Denny seemed like a damn fine confidante. She didn't have anyone else to talk to except May, and May had an upcoming wedding to deal with. She was euphoric, and Ashley didn't want to bring her down with her petty concerns. “If you stop grinning like the village idiot, I'd like to get your thoughts on this mess.”

“Mess?”

“Exactly.” She propped her head in both hands. “Before meeting Quinton, I liked my life just fine.”

“No, you didn't. You just accepted it.”

Because she'd never envisioned anything different. “Maybe.”

“So what's the problem? Quinton putting a kink in the works?”

“In a big way. Since meeting him, I feel half sick most of the time. I can't get him off my mind, which means I'm falling behind at work, and I can't study worth a damn, and—”

Very matter-of-factly, Denny said, “Hey, if you're feeling froggy, leap. It'll solve your problems, and then some.”

Such a down-to-earth way of looking at all things sexual boggled her mind. “You think sex is a regular cure-all, huh?”

He saluted her with the coffee cup. “I guarantee it'll cure what ails you.”

“Maybe, but it's not that simple.”

“Seems simple enough to me. You're a grown, intelligent, independent woman.”

“Well, hallelujah, you've finally admitted it.”

“And he seems like a responsible guy.” Denny shrugged. “Go for it.”

“It'll complicate things.”

“Baloney.” He rubbed his jaw, scrutinizing her. “You're not an inhibited girl. You obviously want the man. I'm surprised you haven't used him up already.”

“Do I look like a hoochie or something?”

He ignored that to ask, “What's really going on here, Ashley? Why all the hesitation?”

“We're as different as night and day.”

“Since you're like the Tasmanian devil in neon,
no one
is like you. You might as well get used to it and not let it stand in the way of some fun.”

Ashley wrinkled her nose at him. “That's not what I mean, smart-ass. He's filthy rich. Socially affluent. And so damned cultured.”

“Ah. He scares you.”

“Get outta here.” Actually, it was her reaction to him that left her frightened.

Denny's gaze, filled with understanding, settled on her face. “You know, you don't have to be a hard case all the time. Everyone is entitled to be a chickenshit every now and then.”

“Including you?”

“Sure.” He fashioned a lofty look. “I'm secure enough to admit to my weaknesses.”

Clutching her chest in melodrama, Ashley gasped. “You have weaknesses, Denny? Say it isn't so.”

“I do.” He nodded toward her. “And you're one of them.”

Her heart expanded. She wasn't used to anyone being so open in his feelings. “If that's your excuse for bossing me around, you can forget it.”

He flashed his silver-toothed grin. “As to differences, look at May and Jude. She didn't let a little thing like Jude being a wealthy, well-known fighter and movie star get in her way.”

May had never let the opinions of others get in her way of being Ashley's friend, either. But in so many ways, May was stronger. “I'm not looking to marry the man, Denny.”

“Start at step one and go from there.”

Step one. She wrinkled her nose. “The thing is…I told him to keep his hands to himself until after the wedding.”

One bushy brow lifted. “He'll need his hands to make you happy, girl.”

Ashley shook her head at him. “God, Denny, you are so…”

“Earthy?”

“I was going to say full of it.” She softened that insult with a smile but quickly grew serious again. “I've never talked about this stuff with anyone before.”

“I'm honored.” He reached for her hands and held them in his meaty fists. “I mean that. You're too much of a loner.”

“Let's not turn this into a chick-flick moment, okay?”

He shook his head at her. “I know your daddy wasn't there for you when you needed him. Your mom, either. May has told me some things—”

“May's a snitch.” But May had already spoken to Ashley about it, warning her that she'd shared some of their childhood with Denny and Jude. She didn't begrudge May that openness with her new family, but it still embarrassed her to think of anyone having intimate details of her very failed childhood.

“May loves you, and she figured if I understood you, I might not strangle you.”

“As if.” It was an odd feeling, but Ashley knew Denny cared for her. With no ulterior motives. Without coercion. And without pity. He had no blood tie to her, but he treated her more like a daughter than the people who'd raised her ever had. “Thanks, Denny. Really. I appreciate the advice.”

“But?”

“I've been on my own an awfully long time.” Not since she'd left home had she worried about making time for anyone other than May.

“Hey, even ballbusters have to take a day off every once in a while.” His crooked smile encouraged her. “I'd like to see you happy, so go for it.”

“But what if I do this, if I…let him in, and then he makes me unhappy?”

Denny mouth curled in a wicked grin—and he cracked his knuckles.

He heard the whistling and knew it was Ashley. His uncle was in the middle of a diatribe about keeping up appearances, but Quinton didn't care. He strode out from behind his desk, leaving his uncle to gape at him, and opened his office door.

And there she stood. She didn't look up; the headphones on her ears kept her oblivious to his scrutiny. Tonight she wore her rich brown hair braided down her back. A double layering of teal and navy tank tops topped a long colorful gypsy skirt with bells sewn in at the waistband. Flat flip-flops finished the outfit.

Quinton found himself smiling. God, she was so adorable.

As she pushed the noisy vacuum along the hallway, her hips sashayed in time to the music, and he could barely detect the tinkling of the tiny bells on her skirt. He propped a shoulder against the door frame and watched her, waiting for her to get close enough to notice him.

She wouldn't expect to see him, but this time he had a legitimate reason for staying over. His uncle joined him in the doorway. “What are you—” He spotted Ashley and stared. “Who in the world is that?”

“An employee for the building. She cleans during night shift.”

“She dresses like that to clean?”

“From what I've been able to deduce, she dresses any way that piques her fancy.” Still grinning, Quinton looked over his shoulder at his uncle. “And she likes color.”

“So I see.”

Ashley started to sing along with the music, and Quinton laughed. She had a terrible voice, but she exhibited a lot of enthusiasm.

“Good God. Please don't tell me she interests you.”

Quinton's humor disappeared. “She does, and I trust you'll keep your opinions on the matter to yourself.”

“But she's—”

Quinton tuned him out. Ashley had just caught sight of them and she went mute. In very precise movements, she yanked off the headphones, turned off the vacuum, and slowly stomped toward him. The jingling of bells accompanied her every step.

When she was practically nose to nose with him, she stopped. “What,” she demanded, “do you think you're doing?”

“Watching you dance.” His mouth twitched with humor. “And listening to you sing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I won't blush.”

Very softly, still amused, he said, “I know.”

“You should have been gone already. The floor should be empty.”

He held out his arms. “And yet, here I am.” He grinned. “But acquit me of plotting. It just so happens I had legitimate business tonight that kept me over.”

Her eyes slanted toward his uncle, and with a tip of her head in his direction, she asked, “Who's this?”

“Warren Murphy, my uncle.” Quinton put his arm around her waist. “Uncle, this is Ashley Miles.”

Ashley thrust out her hand. “How's it going?”

It infuriated Quinton that his uncle stared at her hand a moment before taking it. “It's going…well. Thank you. And how are you?”

“Behind schedule, actually—which is your nephew's fault.”

“How am I to blame?” Quinton asked.

“I got almost no sleep, thanks to you.”

Warren puckered up. “I'm sure I don't need to hear details. If you'll both excuse me…”

Ashley
did
blush then—but with annoyance, not embarrassment. “Oh, no, hey, get your mind out of the gutter. I didn't mean…that is, we had breakfast. After I finished my shift last night. Or rather this morning. But then I had classes so I didn't get much of a nap in between…” She halted in mid-sentence. “There wasn't any hanky-panky going on.”

Because Warren looked more discomfited by the moment, Quinton pulled Ashley closer and said, “You might as well head on home, Uncle. I'd like to talk to Ashley for a few minutes.”

“We have more to discuss.”

“No, we don't. I told you I'm not interested.” Ashley tried to ease away, but he clamped her a little tighter. Forcing a smile, he said, “Tell Aunt Ivana I appreciate the invite, but I'll be otherwise engaged.”

“She expects you there.”

“She'll survive the disappointment.”

Warren aimed a glare of exasperation toward Ashley.

She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. With a too sugary smile, she said, “Quinton resembles you a lot, especially when he's in a snit like that.”

Warren stiffened.

“But you're wasting that look on me. I'd be out of here if Quinton would turn me loose. He's the one keeping me here, so if you want privacy, you should be killing him with your glares, not me.”

“She doesn't intimidate easily,” Quinton told his uncle, who responded by giving them
both
a nasty look before disappearing back in the office.

“Ouch.” Ashley clutched her stomach. “I think that last one was fatal.”

Staring down at her hand, knotted just beneath her navel, Quinton said, “Hmmm. Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

She ducked out from under his arm. Bells jingled and Ashley laughed. “No.” Her lashes swept down to hide her eyes. “At least, not here and not now.”

Quinton went still, a dozen lascivious images flashing through his brain. He took a step toward Ashley—and his uncle reappeared, briefcase in hand.

“You're making a big mistake,” Warren said one more time. “It'd be beneficial to all of us.”

“I don't need those kinds of benefits.”

“You are so damned stubborn.”

Quinton saluted him. “A family trait, or so I'm told.”

Warren visibly gave up. Good manners dictated that he nod in Ashley's direction, and a minute later, he was on the elevator and the doors had closed.

“Wow,” Ashley said. “Look at the steam he left behind. What'd you do to make him so mad?”

“My aunt wants to play matchmaker. But I have a wedding to go to.”

Predictably enough, Ashley went stiff as a poker. “Well, hey, don't let me stand in your way. By all means, make Auntie happy.”

“I don't want to.” He reached out to trail his fingers over her shoulder, down to her wrist. He captured her hand and tugged her forward. “I told you, you're the only woman I'm thinking about.” Backstepping, Quinton drew her into his office.

“Your uncle doesn't like me.”

“He doesn't know you. Don't worry about him.” He nudged the door shut, then trapped her against it. “Now.” He flattened a hand on either side of her head. “Let's talk about the wedding.”

“The wedding? Really?” She started breathing a little faster. “What about it?”

Bending his elbows brought him in closer until only an inch separated them. “I still need some details.” He brushed a featherlight kiss against her temple. “What time should I pick you up?”

“Is one o'clock okay? The wedding doesn't start until five, but May wants me there—”

He shushed her with a soft, lingering smooch. “One is fine.” While kissing a path to her throat, he said, “Jamison lives in Stillbrooke?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head and closed her eyes. “It…it takes only about fifteen minutes to get there from my apartment.”

“I'm going to need your address.” He drew the soft flesh where her shoulder met her throat against his teeth, and she moaned.

“I don't know.”

“You don't know what?”

“Where I live. I can't think when you're doing that.”

“Can you think when I do this?” Holding her gaze with his, he pressed his hips inward until his fly nudged between her thighs.

“No.” She grabbed his neck and smashed her mouth against his.

Chuckling, Quinton trailed one hand down her back to her bottom. Despite her protests to the contrary, she had a great body, all lean and tone but soft. Against her lips, he whispered, “Damn, you feel good.”

“You do, too.” She flexed her fingers into his shoulders, down to his chest. “Real good.”

“Open your lips a little for me.” As soon as she did, he teased with his tongue, being careful not to go too fast or too far.

She didn't show the same reserve. Just as he'd suspected, she took what she wanted. She sucked his tongue in deeper, then groaned and went on her tiptoes to better align their bodies.

He wanted to touch her everywhere, and doing so in his office assured that things wouldn't get out of hand, as per their agreement.

He paid very close attention to her every reaction, no matter how subtle, so he felt her stiffening as he brought his hand up her side, toward her breast. Anticipation? He certainly felt it. At that moment he wanted to explore her breasts more than anything.

But still he went slow, caressing her waist, tracing each rib, all the while kissing her, feasting off her mouth. And still, when he'd just curved his fingers over her breast, she pushed away.

The sudden distance rocked him. They stared at each other, both breathing deeply, she wary, he confused. He saw the excitement in her rosy, swollen lips, her dazed eyes, yet she'd stopped him. She looked incredible and hot and he didn't understand her sudden retreat.

Laboring for breath, he waited to see what she'd do. Her gaze took a quick trip over his body, then shot back to his groin, where she stared.

“What's wrong?”

She shook her head, then licked her lips. Her hand lifted toward him, as if reaching for his erection, and he held his breath. But then she dropped her hand back to her side and said, “I don't have any boobs.”

“What?”

Fingers spread wide, her hands covered her chest, one over each breast. “Your fingers went wandering, but I don't have much here to tempt you.”

One big step had him close enough to grip her shoulders. “That's nonsense, Ashley. You tempt me so damn much I'm a hair away from exploding.”

She looked up into his eyes, still a little foggy.

“It's why I have an erection, damn it. I kiss you, and it's as effective as foreplay.”

As if instructing him, her voice flat, she said, “Men like women who are busty.”

“I like
you
.” She still had her hands over herself, and it was making him nuts. “Every part of you.”

Her gaze dipped to his mouth, and she leaned forward to give him an ultrasoft, lingering peck. Relieved, he thought they were back on track—until she smiled at him. “Thanks, but I'd rather you leave that part of me alone.”

Quinton hesitated, trying to settle on how to proceed. Then he decided, to hell with it. He'd give her the truth and she could deal with it.

“That's not going to happen.”

“What isn't?”

He cupped her face and kissed her quick and hard. “We're going to make love, and when we do, we'll both be naked and you can damn well be assured I'll look at, touch, and taste every part of you. No way in hell will I leave your breasts alone.”

She tucked in her chin. “Taste?”

“Every. Part.”

“Oh.” She blinked fast, then quirked her mouth to one side. “That sounds…” She cleared her throat. “Well, for now, I'd rather you didn't. If I was built like May…That girl is stacked. But me…No, I'd rather wait before you start doing…any of that stuff. Touching or tasting. Or even looking.”

She said so many things at one time, Quinton nearly got lost. “If you don't want me looking, then you should wear a bra.”

“What for? I'm barely an A-cup. Sometimes A-cups are too big. Bras just get in my way. They're uncomfortable. I don't need a bra.”

Quinton stared at her. How was it they kept ending up in the strangest discussions? “I can see your nipples, Ashley.”

She snorted. “You can not.” Then she looked down, realized her nipples were tightly puckered, pressing against the tank tops, and she slapped her hands over herself again. “That's your fault!”

“I know.” God, but he enjoyed talking with her, even when the subject was absurd. He nodded at her breasts. “They want me to touch them.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again and she laughed. “They do, huh? Well, I'm running this ship, not my unruly hormones, and I say no touching right now.”

“All right.” He snuggled her closer to kiss her cheek. “I'll wait. But not for too long.”

“Okay then.” Hands still cupping herself, she walked around him to his desk. Keeping her back to him, she tore a sheet of paper off a note pad and picked up his gold pen to do some fast writing. When she faced him again, she had one arm shielding herself. “Here's my address.”

“Thank you.”

She hesitated. “I need to get back to work, but…”

“Yes?”

“The stupid dress I have to wear.”