Rules of Attraction (9 page)

Q
uinn couldn't remember ever showing up for a date with candy and flowers. Too clichéd, he always thought. Yet it seemed the right thing to do for Claire. And when she buried her face in the blooms and drew a long breath of their scent, he was glad he'd gone with his instincts about her.

“They're beautiful,” she said, her eyes alight.

“I left a vase in the hall.” He'd wanted to hand her a real bouquet, not an arrangement already in glass. “I'll get it.”

He was glad for something to do. He hadn't counted on the awkwardness of a real date. Until now he'd been comfortable around her. Horny, but comfortable. He laughed at the thought as he filled the vase with water from the bathroom then took it to her. She already had the box of chocolates open and was choosing one. She nibbled a bite of it then extended the box toward him.

“After dinner, maybe,” he said.

“Life's short. Eat dessert first. My mother reminded me of that as she was dying.”

He couldn't very well refuse. He popped one in his mouth. She took another small taste of hers, then put the final bite in her mouth and closed her eyes as she savored it, making an experience of eating it.

“You had that dress hidden in your purse, I guess?” he asked.

She brushed a hand down the soft, silky fabric. He'd noticed right away when she opened the door that she wasn't wearing a bra, that she had perfect-size breasts and nipples that stayed hard.

“I decided to splurge,” she said of the dress. “It'll be a memento of the trip.”

It was good she'd put aside the prison experience and could focus on the pleasure of the hotel stay instead. He wished he could. He still had a decision to make. And memories to bury again. He'd been blindsided—

Stop. Let it go for tonight.

A few minutes later, they were seated by a restaurant window. They toasted the sunset with a crisp Napa Valley zinfandel then lingered over dinner. He shared a few work stories. She flirted with him, using body language and words. They split a death-by-chocolate dessert and sipped brandy.

“Did you want to go for a walk on the beach?” he asked when they couldn't drag out the two-hour meal any longer.

She shook her head.

“Go back to your room?”

“That'd be fine.”

Even though he suspected she wanted the evening to end in bed, as he did, he waited for her to give the go
ahead, either with words or action, but for once, she was being subtle.

They sat in chairs on her balcony, the sound of the ocean taking the place of conversation as he put an arm around her. Her head came to rest against his shoulder. The fragrance distinctly hers filled his head. He thought she'd gone to sleep until she sighed.

“Tired?” he asked, unsure of the next step.

She hesitated. “A little.”

They hadn't known each other long but he knew one thing about her—making love wouldn't be casual to her. He couldn't rush her, even though he wanted her more than he could remember wanting anyone. She seemed to embody the goal of his recent life changes, a deliberate risk he'd taken by going from a one-man business to a partnership and a slightly more visible presence. People at least knew his name now, and he wasn't hiding in the shadows anymore. The transition from loner to involved citizen had been huge for him.

Which didn't help him in his current dilemma. Did she want to sleep with him or not? Was he misreading her? Were there rules that applied here? And how would she amend them?

It occurred to him that she might be waiting for him to make the move, then he rejected the idea. She hadn't hesitated before now to state her opinion or set him straight on any issue. This situation wouldn't be any different. Just turn your head for a kiss, he told her silently.

But as hesitation-filled seconds became minutes, then minutes added up to insecurity-filled longer minutes, he pulled away, mentally, at least. Obviously it was too soon for her. Perhaps for him, too, or he would be making some moves to gauge her response.

“Maybe I should leave and let you rest,” he said.

The sound of waves hitting the shore intensified her silence.

“Thanks for the nice evening.” He stood. She didn't look at him for a few seconds. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“G'night,” she said quietly.

He couldn't get out of there fast enough. He felt seventeen again, and filled with doubts.

Women,
he thought, exasperated.

 

Claire didn't move. He was gone. Just like that. No kiss goodbye, not even a handshake. Just thanks and so long.

She gripped the arms of the chair, wondering what had just happened. She'd thought for sure that he was interested in…well, more than a kiss, anyway. He'd brought her flowers and candy. He'd wooed her through dinner with engaging conversation and seemed to respond to her teasing in return. What changed?

It wasn't like she could unbutton his shirt the way she'd wanted to, then press her lips to his chest the way she'd craved to. Or shove him onto that enormous bed and have her way with him. Men didn't like forward women. At least not the men she knew.

Of course, he was totally different from any man she'd known. Maybe he had been waiting for her to signal him. She hadn't let him know, had she? She rubbed her temples. No. She hadn't. Idiot. Why not?

Because she wanted to be wanted by him. Uncontrollably. Completely.

Well. Did you give him a chance to show that he did or didn't?

No.

Idiot.

How could she fix it—short of going next door and throwing herself at him?

A knock on her door had her on her feet instantly. He'd come back—

She flung open the door.

“Housekeeping,” said a petite, uniformed woman. “May I turn down your bed?”

“Um.” She swallowed her disappointment and backed up. “Yes. Thanks.”

The woman worked quietly and efficiently, leaving a chocolate mint on her pillow then smiling at Claire as she left. The room suddenly seemed mammoth and deafeningly quiet. He would've come back by now if he'd thought it over, as she had done, and decided maybe he'd made a mistake, too.

She turned on the stereo and chose music to suit her mood. A hard beat pounded her body with unrelenting force. She turned off the lights, stripped off her dress—her unlucky dress—peeled off her panties and yanked her robe on. She moved around the room restlessly, wishing for a glass of wine, then danced her way onto the balcony and almost tripped over her own feet at what she saw.

Quinn stood on his balcony next door, his back stiff, his arms crossed, staring at the ocean. He wore the khaki shorts from earlier, but he'd left the shirt behind. He glanced in her direction, saying nothing. Nothing.

“Can't sleep?” he asked after a few seconds, his jaw barely moving.

“No.”

He nodded and turned away.

Her eyes stung.
Talk to me. Please talk to me.

“What happened tonight, Claire?” he asked, looking at her again.

“I don't know.”

“Did I read you wrong? I thought…”

At his pause she moved closer. Apparently he was as confused as she was. It gave her hope. “I thought, too.”

“Did we—” He stopped, frowned at her, then started again. “Did I just make an idiot of myself?”

“No. I did. I was waiting for you to take the lead,” she said.

“I was waiting for you to give me a signal you were ready. I didn't want to rush you.”

Ten seconds passed. Confusion gave way to relief and then hope. “Could we pretend you never left?” she asked.

He didn't hesitate for a second but climbed onto his balcony railing. She gasped. “What are you doing?” she almost screamed.

“Coming over.”

“No! Absolutely not. You'll break your neck.” Her heart thumped so hard, she could barely hear anything else.

“I'll be fine.”

Panic gripped her. “I'll unlock the door. Just come around.”

“Then we couldn't pretend I never left. It would feel like starting over instead of continuing on.”

“I am perfectly content with starting over,” she said in a rush as he teetered on the rail. It was at least a three-foot jump, without a running start.

“Move back.”

She pressed her hands to her mouth and stumbled back several steps. He leaped, lurched a bit on the landing but gave her a cocky grin as he windmilled his arms to keep him from tumbling.

“That was totally uncalled for,” she said primly, her relief immense.

“Was it?” He moved in on her.

“Yes.” But oh, my, was he sexy when he was intent. And was he ever intent. His gaze didn't stray from hers for a second. She didn't budge. He took her hand and walked her into the bedroom.

“Interesting choice of music,” he commented, stopping to listen.

“It suited the moment.”

“You were mad?”

“At myself.”

He kept her hand in his as he walked to the stereo and changed the selection. The crystal clear notes of a clarinet pierced the night, enticing, luring. Promising. A little jazzy, a little bluesy. A lot sensual.

He turned on a lamp before taking both of her hands in his. “Do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Put the dress back on.”

Her hotel-supplied bathrobe was made of thick, fluffy terry cloth. She had no problem filling his request. “Turn around.”

He did. She grabbed the dress from where she'd thrown it across the foot of the bed. Then, turning her back, too, she dropped the robe and shimmied into the dress, skipping the underwear, which she scooped up with her toes to grab and toss them aside.

“Okay,” she said, spinning around.

After he faced her he hooked a thumb toward the wall behind him. A mirror mounted there had given him a clear and easy view of her backside while she changed.

“You could've said something,” she muttered.

“I've never looked a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Still—”

He moved in on her. “Tell you what, P.A. I'll turn
around and drop my shorts for three seconds. Then we'll be even.”

“Ahh. The old even-Steven rule. Okay.”

He hadn't expected that, she could tell. She laughed.

He hauled her to him. “Nothing happens tonight that you don't want to happen, okay?”

“I'll make you a deal, M.Q.,” she said, brushing her fingers over his chest, enjoying the friction of the dark hair against her fingertips. “Unless I tell you to stop, you can assume that whatever you're doing is fine with me.”

All traces of their miscommunication disappeared in his slow, sexy, sure smile. “Deal. As long as you promise the same.”

“Want to shake hands on it?”

“I thought we might seal it with a…”

She waited, her breath frozen in her throat, as he dragged his lips along her jaw then toyed with her earlobe. Shivers rippled through her. She held on to him as her knees went weak.

“Dance,” he finished.

She liked this playful side of him. Happily she put her arms around his neck, as his arms encircled her, as well. They moved to the music. His hands drifted lower to rest along her waist, bringing her closer.

“I'm glad you told me to take back my promise,” he said, his lips grazing her temple.

“Me, too.” She wouldn't have missed this moment for anything, no matter what it yielded in the future. That she was already a little bit in love with him—well, maybe more than that—meant she might have regrets later, especially since he'd told her he wasn't a long-term kind of guy. But the potential pleasure seemed worth the potential regret. In the past few weeks she'd made a conscious effort to take risks, to seek discom
fort in her life. She needed not to feel as safe as she used to. Safe was boring.

This was far from boring.

And he needed her.

The song ended. A new one began, a little more uptempo, a little less predictable in rhythm, more jazz than blues. Not dance music. Still, they swayed to it. He slid his hands over her rear and lifted her to her tiptoes, aligning their hips. She drew a quick breath, let it out shakily as they continued to move to the music, sustaining the slow arousal, the tempting contact and the promise of much, much more.

“You're sure of this?” he asked quietly, letting her heels touch the floor again but not releasing his intimate hold.

Stop being so nice, she thought, impatient. She wanted him. Wanted him bad. Wanted him now. She didn't want to think or plan or debate or even talk.

She just wanted to enjoy him.

When she didn't answer, he bent his knees until his eyes were level with hers. She laid her hands along his face.

“When it comes to you,
doubt
is not a word in my vocabulary,” she said. “Are you looking for an escape?”

“I'm looking not to scare you with how much I want you.”

Oh. Nice. Very nice. “Okay, then. I'm on the Pill, by the way.”

“I brought protection.”

“Then I think the need for conversation is done,” she said, kissing him lightly, intending more.

“You don't like to talk during, P.A.?”

“I just want to feel.” Forever. This feeling, forever.

“Feel this, perhaps?” He set himself on a course to arouse her, his lips drifting down her neck, the tip of his tongue teasing her flesh until her skin rose in bumps and
her breath went shallow. He followed the curved path of her neckline then moved lower still, his mouth settling over her nipple, over the fabric.

It seemed like she'd been waiting forever for him, for this. As if he'd been there all along, a dream waiting to be manifested, a future waiting to be fulfilled. He needed her, she knew that. But she needed him, too.

She sighed his name….

He swooped her up and whirled her around. Tipping her head back, she laughed in heady surprise. The romantic gesture thrilled her.