Chapter 29
Who Invented Morning and Why?
Sarah’s eyes shifted back and forth. Had he gone too far, revealed too much?
Too bad he couldn’t have taken a crash course from the fictional duke in how to say the right things in the right order.
He’d have been the first to sign up because, Jesus, he didn’t want to fuck this up, but her expression told him he probably already had.
He continued stroking the back of her hand. She hadn’t told him not to, hadn’t flinched under his touch, and her skin felt too good to stop. “You okay over there?”
She straightened but didn’t pull her hand away. “Fine. Just … processing.”
An inner sigh of relief eased his shoulders. “Well, while you’re processing, I’m going to clear these dishes and get dessert.”
He rose and began stacking plates on the tray. Following suit, she stood beside him, her shimmering hazel eyes riveted on his. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
He leaned down and kissed her. “You don’t need to say anything. Except maybe, ‘What’s for dessert?’”
She wrapped her hands around his arm, rested her head against his shoulder, and laughed.
This version of Sarah was not the prickly porcupine he’d been sidestepping these past few months, and he stood still, taking her in.
It occurred to him she was letting down her barriers, showing him her well-guarded, well-disguised, innermost self. And damn, he loved it. He wanted more.
“I don’t think I can eat another bite right now, but tell me what’s for dessert.” Her voice held an amused lilt.
You. “Something I can’t pronounce, but it’s chocolate.”
“That’s all that matters.”
He hoisted the tray, hovering it at his midsection to hide the very obvious effect her touch, her voice, her scent had on him.
His boxers did abso-fucking-lutely nothing to contain the problem, but still, he had to chuckle inside as he veered toward the kitchen.
What was a first and should have been all kinds of weird—the two of them, nearly naked, eating a romantic dinner in his bedroom—hadn’t felt weird.
Instead, words like comfortable, simple, and nice came to mind.
He pictured the cleaned-up version of the story he and Sarah would tell their kids one day when they asked about their parents’ first date.
Whoa. Where had that come from? Quinn had never given any thought to a family before, but somehow that didn’t feel weird either—which was weird.
Maybe with the right partner … What the fuck was going on with him?
Lost in unraveling the answer to that particular question, he unloaded the tray and stacked the dishes in the sink.
When he returned to the bedroom, Sarah lay on her side in the middle of the bed, facing away from him with her eyes closed and the sheet tucked under her arms. Missing were the few clothes she’d had on during dinner, and her smooth back was exposed to the flare of her hips, giving him an intriguing peek at those dimples.
He paused a few beats to soak in the sight, and his cock sprang to life, declaring its appreciation.
In the past, with any other woman, alarms would have been screeching in his head by now, and he’d be calculating the most expedient way to escape.
But Sarah belonged right where she was, and when she stirred and let out a sweet little sigh, he stripped off his underwear and slid between the sheets, his front to her back.
He gathered her in his arms, all warmth and silk, and she hummed, “You’re finally back.” She wrapped one arm around his. With the other, she reached behind and started playing with his hair, sending little shock waves racing along his spine, straight to his aching cock.
“Miss me?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yeah, I missed you.” Her voice was dozy and cute, and it touched something deep in his chest.
He kissed her shoulder. “I missed you too.” And he meant it.
She rolled over, her soft breasts squashed against his chest, and sealed his mouth with hers.
With long, slow slides of their tongues, the kisses grew deeper, then messier as hands glided and explored and skin blazed against skin.
His last lucid thought was of the yearning to climb inside her and never let go.
He’d cut away his anchor, and the slim tether of control he’d clung to his entire adult life had gone with it.
In that moment, he was lost. He might drown, washed away in a sea of Sarah, and he didn’t care.
Sarah drifted out of a sleepy fog and blinked.
On her back, she scanned the dim room to get her bearings—as if the overgrown koala bear wrapped around her wouldn’t have been reminder enough.
Quinn’s head was on her chest, his heavy arm and heavier leg pinning her in place.
Steady breathing—and the weight of his head—told her he was asleep.
She pointed her toes—the only part she could move for being trapped—stretching, triggering soreness in parts that hadn’t been exercised for a long while. It felt wonderful.
His hair tickled her chin, but trying to nudge him off her was as futile as trying to break free from a determined boa constrictor. He gripped her like his own personal body pillow.
What time is it?
A quick glance at a shuttered window brought a surprise. Was that daylight leaking through? Oh shit! Is Liz up? Where’s Archer?
As if in answer, a soft scratching sounded on Quinn’s door, followed by a whimper. Shoving at Quinn’s arm, she bucked in panic. He shifted with an “Mmph,” only to double down on his hold. She blew out an exasperated breath.
“Quinn!” she hissed. “Let me up!”
He rubbed his head against her chest as if he were trying to adjust said body pillow.
Ooh, that feels kinda good. As she was admonishing herself for getting distracted, he raised his head, planted his chin, and gave her a sleepy smile.
“You’re still here,” he mumbled. His hands began gliding up her sides, each one targeting a breast.
“Of course I am. Someone’s got his Death Star tractor beam locked on me, and I can’t escape.”
His eyes opened fully, and he slid off of her. “Shit. Sorry. My bad.”
A pang of remorse jabbed her. “It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just that it’s morning, and Archer’s on the other side of the door trying to get in.”
Realization seemed to dawn, and his eyes grew wide. “Oh shit! Mom can’t be far behind.”
If last night had been all deep, velvet sensuality, this morning was its antithesis. Sarah scrambled from one side of the bed, Quinn mirroring her movements, and both of them frantically snatched at clothes, tossing them between each other in a scene straight out of an old slapstick movie.
“You stay here,” he whisper-shouted as he dragged on his boxers and a pair of jeans he pulled from his closet floor. “I’ll take care of Archer.” He began hopping in place to get his second leg in.
Panties on, she wrangled with the bra clasp at her back. She engaged one hook and called it good before pulling on her torn dress and getting it stuck on her head. Quinn was beside her, yanking the garment over her shoulders.
“Quinnie?” Liz’s voice floated from behind his door. “You awake, son?”
He and Sarah came to a grinding halt, exchanging round-eyed looks. “Oh shit!” they mouthed at the same time.
“Almost, Mom,” he called back.
Now came Liz’s muffled chuckle. “It’s nearly eight. I guess that’s why Archer’s trying to wake you up. I’m not sure where Sarah is, but I’ll go look for her.”
“Uh,” he yelled, “I think she was going for a run this morning. I’ll take care of him.”
“Odd that she’d run without him.”
He buttoned his jeans, grabbed a T-shirt from a dresser drawer, and winked at Sarah. “‘Odd’ sounds just like Sarah, Mom.”
Sarah returned her best glittering glare. He stepped over to her and planted a kiss on her mouth that fired up her insides and left her nearly speechless.
“I’ll make up an excuse and keep her distracted so you can get back to your room,” he whispered. “Then change your clothes and get your cute little ass to the kitchen. Act like you just finished a run or got out of bed. Piece of cake.”
She stifled a laugh. “Depends on whose cake!”
After dodging her way back to her room like a curfew-breaking teen trying not to get caught, Sarah took a quick shower. Much as she hated to wash away Quinn’s scent, she didn’t need Archer—or Liz—sniffing it off of her.
Rather than her usual ratty pair of sweats and a sloppy T-shirt, Sarah pulled on a pair of butt-hugging jeans, topped with a red tank that read, “Blink If You Want Me.”
Heart pounding relentlessly against her ribcage, she faked a casual air and sauntered into the kitchen, where Liz and Quinn huddled at the counter drinking coffee. Archer charged her and buried his nose in her crotch. So much for washing the scent off.
She moved the dog away. “Hey, now. Stop that.”
Quinn raised his head at the sound of her voice, scanned her T-shirt, and blinked. One corner of his mouth quirked, and he blinked rapidly so many times she lost count. A flush ignited on her chest and spread northward. Why hadn’t she thrown something on over the tank?
Liz turned slowly and smiled. “Well, there you are. I swear Archer was nearly frantic when I got up. I think he thought you were hiding in Quinn’s room because he insisted on going that way.
” Liz seemed to realize what she’d implied—no doubt alerted by the deep pink staining Sarah’s exposed skin by now—and quickly pressed her lips together as though stifling a laugh.
Sarah ruffled Archer’s neck. “Crossed signals, I guess. I wasn’t hiding.” Not a lie, not a confession, but not much of an answer either. Hopefully, Liz didn’t notice. Meanwhile, Quinn’s eyebrows bounced with amusement.
Several awkward moments later, Sarah had settled down with a cup of coffee and was asking Liz when she wanted to hit the gym.
“Not today, doll. I think I’ll head back to my room for a while.”