Chapter 13
Caution: Slippery When Wet
What an ass!
Sarah huffed and puffed into the kitchen. “Jerk! Why do I even try talking to the man? And why, oh why, do I let him get under my skin?”
“What did you say, Sunshine?” His closeness caught her by surprise, and she wheeled and yelped. When had he come up behind her?
“I need to hang a bell around your neck.”
He snorted. “Not gonna happen. Now what did you say?”
Instead of backing away, she pulled herself upright with all the kick-ass she had and waved him off.
“You talk as if I’d be helpless to resist the Mighty Quinn if you decided I was your type.
” What was wrong with her? She knew better than to goad him, damn it!
Even knowing she was playing into his hands, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Amusement flickered in his warm cocoa eyes, and his fresh man-and-soap scent wafted up her nose.
She gave herself an inner shake and reminded herself how everything about him irritated the hell out of her.
Except he’d gone to special lengths to make sure she and Archer were well accommodated—hell, Sparky wasn’t even a dog lover—not to mention how generous he’d been with her salary.
He’d opened up his house to her, making her feel as though she belonged there.
Crap, he’d even thanked her for how she’d been treating his mom, as if it were a big burden, which it wasn’t.
With a shrug and a smirk, he plucked a trio of limes from a bowl on the counter and began juggling. “Lots of women seem to like the Mighty Quinn.”
“Is that a pet name for your dick?” She let out an unabashed bahaha.
He ignored her.
“Just because you’re a hotshot hockey player with a great smile doesn’t mean you know what a woman wants in the sack.”
Eyes trained on the limes, he broadened his grin, displaying his pearly whites. “You think I have a great smile?”
“Seriously? That’s all you got out of that?
” Her eyes followed the circling green mini-footballs, then came to rest on his handsome face, decorated in day-old scruff, as he concentrated on what he was doing.
His tongue protruded, caught between his teeth.
Yeah, add that sculpted body to the mix, and she got why women fell all over themselves for this cocky, class-A jerk.
He’d be hard to resist once he pulled out all the charm stops.
Well, not hard for her to resist because she knew who and what he was.
That probably didn’t apply to the rest of the female population, however—especially blond bimbos in danger of being dragged down from the weight of their boobs and lack of anything in their heads.
“No, I got the whole thing. But I gotta say—and not to brag or anything—if we’re scoring by orgasms, I’m pretty sure I’m okay in the sack. The Mighty Quinn doesn’t do anything halfway.” He caught all three limes and leveled a devilish look at her.
Heat surged in her core, and she burst out with a laugh to mask it. “You do understand women fake orgasms. All. The. Time.”
“Yeah, well, that may be …” He sounded mildly irritated, which made her smirk. Snatching up the limes once more, he tossed them in the air.
Whoa! He’s pretty damn good at juggling. “How long have you been doing that?” She tracked the limes, letting them lull her.
He didn’t take his eyes off the spinning fruit. “Juggling or having sex?”
She stifled the urge to reach out and snatch one of his stupid limes just to watch him screw up. “Juggling. I don’t give a flip about your sex life.”
“Since I was a kid. Mom got me started. It was one way to keep me distracted so I didn’t drive her crazy.
” He smoothly caught the limes and flashed Sarah another grin.
“Ask her sometime. I was a handful. She used to drop me off at the rink for hours at a time. She was trying to wear me out so she could deal with me.”
“Like Michael Phelps, but on ice? Turned out well for MP.”
“Yeah, I guess it turned out well for me too.” His expression suddenly morphed into something akin to sadness. In that moment, his eyes reminded her of hot fudge sauce. Warm, dark, deep.
She gave herself another inner shake. “Was it a bad thing that it turned out well for you?”
“It was for my dad and my brother, Ronan.” He stared at her for a beat, as if he had something else he wanted to say.
Instead, he seemed to snap back from wherever he’d gone.
“Welp, if I’m gonna get another workout in, I’d better hop to it and let you get back to your trashy novels.
” His teasing tone was back, and he winked at her.
It should have annoyed the hell out of her, but something—she had no idea what—had temporarily dulled her desire to fire back an insult.
“I thought you were done working out?”
“I’m a little restless.”
“Any luck with the TP?”
“No.” He suddenly looked stricken. “Oh shit! I totally forgot about the flour.”
“I’ll go tomorrow.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have laundry to wrangle? I’ll go. It was my screw-up.” He turned and trotted away.
What? Somewhere in her addled brain, it occurred to her that the last few sentences of their conversation made up a rare civilized exchange between them since she’d moved to Denver.
They were cleaning up after dinner while Liz was engrossed in a romcom and petting Archer, who was, as usual, by her side in the family room.
Quinn stacked plates beside the sink for Sarah to rinse. “So. Wolf. Is that short for Wolfgang? Like the composer or Eddie Van Halen’s kid?”
She whipped her head toward him but didn’t see a telltale smirk. Still, her stomach clenched. “No. Just Wolf.”
“That should’ve been your first clue the guy was a piece of work.” He laughed out loud, and her clench turned to flaring white heat.
“Meaning what?” She shoved the rinsed plates at him and barked, “Dishwasher,” not bothering to hold back her irritation.
Quinn flinched but managed to take the stack from her. “Meaning he’s a tweeze because he was raised by parents who named him after a shaggy animal that howls. And if they’re not the ones guilty of giving him the lame name, it means he named himself, which makes him an even bigger tweeze.”
This brought her to an abrupt stop. She turned and faced him, fist on her hip. “As usual, you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. I think the name is incredibly strong and sexy.”
“Yeah, well, you would.” As he arranged the dishes in the dishwasher, he calmly added, “Jar, Sunshine.”
“For what?” she whisper-screeched.
“You said ‘no fucking clue.’ That’s a fiver.”
A laugh from the family room startled them both. They peeked from the kitchen and spied Liz rubbing her hands together. She did that a lot whenever one of them tossed out a blue word. “This is by far the easiest job I’ve ever had! And the best paying!”
Shit! What else did Liz hear? A flush crept up Sarah’s neck, and she tiptoed back to the sink, out of sight, stifling a groan.
Quinn retreated too. “Who says the money in the jar is for you, Mom?” He stabbed his finger toward the family room and whispered to Sarah, “Mom radar.” Then he pointed to the back of his head, then at his eyes.
“She might be worse than my mom,” Sarah mouthed back. They shared a snicker, which surprised her because she felt as though she’d just landed in the Quinn camp. Oddly nice.
“Well, then, what are you going to do with it all? There’s a small fortune in those jars,” his mother called back.
Without missing a beat, he yelled, “Thought I’d donate it to help out folks who are losing their jobs because of COVID.”
Sarah’s eyes shot to his, but he wasn’t looking at her. Is he serious? A cursory sweep of his face told her he was. She could’ve been knocked over with a feather at this unexpected gesture.
“Oh, Quinnie, that’s a wonderful idea. You’re always so thoughtful like that.”
“It’s not that big a deal, Mom.” There was a trace of peevishness in his voice. His cheekbones were flushed bright pink, and he fidgeted, seeming to avoid Sarah’s stare. When he finally darted a glance at her, he tossed out an annoyed-sounding, “What? Don’t you need to finish cleaning up?”
She opened her mouth automatically to hurl a barb as yet unformed but stopped herself. Why wasn’t this egomaniac soaking up the compliment and growing even cockier? Instead, he seemed embarrassed, almost as if he’d been outed for a good deed.
Abruptly, he headed for his wing with a “’Night.”
Huh. What other surprises was Quinn Hadley hiding?
Restless and unsure why, Quinn retreated to the gym for one more session once dinner finally settled in his stomach.
Two hours later, his jolting energy somewhat dissipated, he walked into a deserted kitchen.
He pulled a cold bottle of water from the fridge and placed it against his sweaty forehead while he caught his breath.
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the under-cabinet lighting.
Where was everybody? Even Archer was MIA.
A faint noise tickled his ears, and he paused to listen.
It sounded like … high-pitched voices? He wandered to the French doors that led outside and peered through.
The deck was submerged in darkness. Then a motion caught his eye, and he lasered in on it.
Two dark shapes hovered by the hot tub. He’d solved the mystery of the noise only to ponder a new one.
What the hell were his mom and Sarah up to?
A motion-sensor light came on—triggered, apparently, by Archer’s madly swinging tail—and the forms froze.
His mom’s wide eyes were clearly visible as she lay across the edge of the hot tub.
Sarah, whose back was to him, appeared to be helping her climb out.
Though she was muffled through the thick glass, he distinctly heard his mother whoop.
Then she burst out laughing, and Sarah folded over, bracing herself on the rim of the hot tub as her shoulders shook.