Skin Deep: The O'Hurleys

by Nora Roberts

  Reed wasn’t so sure. He wanted to see Maddy, touch her, if only for a minute, to assure himself it was all real. Abby smiled at him with warm, sympathetic eyes, but she didn’t budge. Chantel signed the receipt for the wine without moving from the doorway.

  “Go down to the eighth floor and have a drink with Pop,” she advised.

  “I just want to—”

  “Forget it.” Then she softened and kissed his cheek. “Just a couple of hours, Reed. Believe me, it’ll be worth the wait.”

  Only minutes before, Reed had managed to talk his way around Dylan and override Frank’s objections. But he knew when he was out of his depth. “Would you give her this?” He took a small box from his pocket. “It was my grandmother’s. I was going to give it to her later, but, well, I’d like her to wear it today.”

  “She’ll wear it.” She started to hustle him out again, then stopped. “Reed.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Welcome to the family.” Then she shut the door in his face. “Lord, another minute of that and I’d have been in tears again. Let her out.”

  “What did he give you?” Maddy was already nudging past her sister. She took the box from Chantel and opened it. Inside was a tiny heart of diamonds on a thin silver chain. “Oh, isn’t it lovely?”

  “It’s going to look even lovelier against your dress.” Abby ran a fingertip over the stones. “Here, I’ll clasp it for you.”

  “Now, I’m going to cry.” Maddy closed her hand over the heart. He was going to be hers, truly hers, in a matter of hours. And her new life would begin.

  “No more tears.” Chantel released the cork from the wine with a swoosh. It landed on the carpet, to be ignored as she poured wine to overflowing into three glasses. “We’re going to get just a little drunk— Well, two of us are going to get a little drunk, and Abby’s going to have half a glass. Then, between the three of us, we’re going to create the most beautiful bride to ever walk down the aisle at St. Pat’s. Here’s to you, little sister.”

  “No.” Maddy touched her glass to Chantel’s, then to Abby’s. “Here’s to us. As long as we have each other, we’re never alone.”

  Chapter 11

  At Chantel’s insistence, she and Quinn caught the red-eye to L.A. Saturday night. New York hadn’t been the haven she’d hoped for. With the wedding over and her sister off on a Caribbean honeymoon, Chantel could only think of getting home.

  The reception had been a strain. She’d caught herself watching strangers, studying familiar faces and wondering. Even when she willed herself to sleep on the plane, she promised herself that the next time she came back to New York, it would be without fear.

  And what could she say to Quinn? She felt betrayed by his silence, yet had she, by the extent of her dependence on him, asked for it? Was she so weak, so cowardly, that he felt it necessary to shield her from everything? She wanted his protection, but she also wanted his respect. Had she forfeited that by refusing to listen to his reports, by allowing him to intercept the notes and keep the contents from her? It was time that stopped. All her life, except for one brief period, she had had her hand on the controls. Now, through fear, she’d relinquished them. Starting now, she was taking back the helm.

  Quinn wondered how long it would take her to unfreeze. She’d certainly been cool enough throughout the afternoon and evening. Cool, aloof, distant. It was something he had no choice but to accept. Yet when he’d seen her walking down the aisle in front of her sister, wearing that pale blue dress, all filmy and romantic, he’d wanted to step out of his seat, scoop her up and carry her off. Somewhere. Anywhere.

  He wondered what it would feel like to stand where Reed Valentine had stood, to watch Chantel, as Reed had watched Maddy, walk toward him wearing white lace. What would it be like to hear her make the promises her sister had made? He shook himself out of the mood.

  They were almost ready to land, and Chantel was dozing restlessly beside him. Couldn’t she understand that he’d done what he’d done for her sake, because he’d needed so badly to see her relax, even if only for a couple of days? She didn’t understand, or wouldn’t, and he hadn’t tried to explain. He didn’t know how.

  He didn’t have the flair of one of her leading men. He didn’t have the words all neatly typed in a script he could memorize. He had only what was inside him, and there didn’t seem to be a way to explain that. Words weren’t feelings. Phrases weren’t emotions. And emotions were all he had.

  When they landed, Chantel looked fresh and rested, as though she’d spent eight hours sleeping on a soft bed rather than snatching naps on a plane. They got their luggage without incident and within twenty minutes were riding in the back of a limo toward Beverly Hills.

  Chantel lighted a cigarette, then glanced casually at her watch. Right now she felt wired, restless. Jet lag would hit tomorrow, but she would function.

  “I’d like to see your reports, all of your reports, by noon tomorrow.”

  Streetlights flashed intermittently against the windows. His face was in shadow, but Chantel doubted she would have been able to read his expression in any case. “Fine. I have the file at your place.”

  “I’d also like an update on anything you came up with in New York.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “I’m glad you remember that.”

  He could have strangled her. He thought about ways that were quick and quiet, but instead he simply sat back and bided his time. He stepped out of the limo at the gate. Though Chantel had been gone, he’d thought it best to leave the twenty-four-hour guard in place. A few brief words and he was back in the limo, gliding through the open gates.

  At the entrance, Chantel sailed past him. She had reached the head of the main staircase before he caught her.

  “Something eating you, angel?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You will excuse me now, Quinn?” Delicately she peeled his fingers from her arm. “I want to take a long, hot bath.”

  No one did it better. He had to give her that as he watched her walk down the hall to her room. She could, with a look, with an inflection, slice a man in half without leaving a drop of blood.

  He thought he was calm. He thought he was controlled—until the moment he heard the lock click on her door. Then the rage he’d held in throughout the day clawed free. He didn’t hesitate. Maybe he wasn’t even thinking. Quinn walked to her bedroom door and kicked it in.

  She wasn’t often speechless. Chantel just stood there. The jacket of her suit had already been discarded, leaving her in a pale pink teddy and a rose-colored skirt. One hand remained frozen on top of her head where she had begun to pin up her hair.

  She’d seen fury before, real and simulated, but she’d never seen anything like what was boiling in Quinn’s eyes.

  “Don’t you ever lock a door on me.” His voice was so quiet after the crash of splintering wood that she shivered. “Don’t you ever walk away from me.”

  Slowly she lowered her hand so that her hair tumbled to her shoulders. “I want you to leave.”

  “Maybe it’s time you learned even you can’t have everything you want. I’m here to stay. You’re going to have to do a hell of a lot more than turn a key to keep me out.”

  When he came toward her, she stiffened but refused to retreat. She was through backing away from anything, even him. He took her hair and wrapped it around his hand.

  “You wanted to slap me down, and that’s fine. But I’ll be damned if I’ll take it from you for doing my job.”

  “I won’t be treated like a fool or a weakling.” The lace of the teddy trembled over her breasts as she took an unsteady breath. “You knew he was going to follow me to New York. You knew I’d be no safer there than I was here.”

  “That’s right. I knew you didn’t. And you had one night when you didn’t toss in your sleep.”

  “You had no right—”

  “I had every right.” The hand in her hair tightened. She wanted to wince, but she didn’t seem t
o be able to move at all. “I have the right to do anything, everything, to keep you safe, to give you some peace of mind. And I’m going to keep on doing it, because there’s nothing that matters to me more than you.”

  Chantel let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. She’d seen it in his eyes, beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, but she hadn’t been certain she could believe it. “Is that your—” She stopped, pressing her lips together. It wouldn’t do for her voice to tremble now. She wanted to be strong, for him, as well as herself. “Is that your way of telling me you love me?”

  He stared down at her, a good deal more stunned by his announcement than she. He hadn’t meant to throw it at her like a threat. He’d wanted to give them both time, to give them both room, so that he could coax her along until she realized she needed him. But he’d never been good at coaxing.

  “Take it or leave it.”

  “Take it or leave it,” she repeated in a murmur. How like him. “Would you mind letting go of my hair? I need it for a couple of scenes on Monday. Besides, that way you’d have both arms to put around me.”

  Before he could, she was pressed against him, holding tight and hard and praying it wasn’t a dream.

  “I guess this means you’re taking it.” He buried his face in her hair and wondered how he’d ever survived without her scent, without her touch.

  “Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to make you fall in love with me so you wouldn’t be able to walk away.” She tossed her head back to look at him. “Tell me you’re not going to walk away.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Then he found her mouth and made it a promise. “Let me hear you say it.” He took her hair again but drew it back gently until their eyes met. “Look at me and say it. No lights, no camera, no script.”

  “I love you, Quinn, more than I thought it was possible to love. It scares the hell out of me.”

  “Good.” He kissed her again, harder. “It scares the hell out of me, too.”

  “We’ve got so many things to talk about.”

  “Later.” He was already drawing down the zipper of her skirt.

  “Later,” she agreed, tugging his shirt out of the waistband of his slacks. “Want to take a bath?” As she asked, she yanked his shirt over his shoulders.

  “Yeah.”

  “Before?” With a laugh, she nipped at his chin. “Or after?”

  “After.” And he pulled her with him onto the bed.

  It had been wild before, fierce, violent, passionate, and it had also shimmered with gentleness. But now there was love, felt, spoken, answered. She’d stopped believing that her life would lead her to this—love, acceptance, understanding. In the end she’d only had to open her hand and take it. In a burst of emotion they were caught close, mouths open and hungry, bodies heated and aware. She heard his long indrawn breath as he buried his face in her hair, as if he, too, had just realized what a gift they’d been given.

  She thought he trembled. Her hands, pressed against his back, felt the quick tensing of muscle. She didn’t want to soothe it. She wanted him to be as she was: stunned, a little afraid and deliriously happy. When she pressed her lips to his throat, she felt the throb of excitement, tasted the heat. In one long, possessive stroke she ran her hands down his back, then up again. He was hers. From this moment, he was hers.

  She was there for him, soft, yielding, yet strong enough to hold him. He’d never looked for her. Quinn understood himself well enough to know he’d never looked for anyone to share his life. Still, he’d found her, and in her he’d found everything. A mate. There was something primitive yet soothing in the word. It meant someone to tumble between the sheets with on hot, sultry nights. It meant someone to wake with in the cool, lazy mornings. It was someone to confide in, someone to protect, someone to reach out to.

  Just the thought of it made him close his eyes, as if to keep the fantasy trapped forever. With his fingertips he traced her face so that her image hovered there, in his mind.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured. “Here …” His finger lingered on her cheek. “And here.” Slowly he slid his hand down her body. Then he opened his eyes to look into hers. “And inside.”

  “No, I—”

  “Don’t contradict the man who loves you.” He brought her palm to his lips, watching her. He turned her hand over, kissing each finger. A diamond glittered on one, a symbol of what she was to the world. Cool sex, glamour with a hard polish. Her hand trembled like a young girl’s.

  He brushed kisses along her jawline, and her breath came in slow, quiet gasps. She could almost hear her skin hum as his fingers whispered over it. With each touch she drifted deeper into a dark, liquid world where sensations were her only guide.

  Only he could make her forget the boundaries she’d once set for herself. Only he could make her forget that when you loved, you risked. With him she could give without fear, without reservations or restrictions. There would be a tomorrow with Quinn. There would be a lifetime of tomorrows.

  He wasn’t sure he knew how to show her how he felt. He wasn’t used to pampering. Romance was for books, for movies, for the young and foolish. Yet he had a need, a growing one, to show her that his feelings went so far beyond desire that he couldn’t measure them.

  Rising to his elbow, he brushed the hair carefully away from her face, combing his fingers through it as it fell, silvery blond, over the spread. Gently, as though she might crumble at the slightest touch, he cupped her face in his hand. Could she be more beautiful now? Somehow it seemed so to him as he watched the first beams of daylight steal through the windows and over her skin.

  He ran his thumb over her lips, fascinated by the shape, by the softness, by the flavor he imagined would linger on his own flesh. As if it were the first time—and perhaps it was—he touched his lips to hers.

  Her body went weak. As his lips lingered, the hand she had pressed to his back slipped down, limp. She’d thought she understood possession, but she’d been wrong. She’d thought she could imagine what it was like to be loved, loved fully. But she’d had no idea. Something fluttered through her, so softly that it might have been a dream. But it expanded within her, and a promise was made.

  The heat centered, focused and grew. Strength flooded back into her, and with it a passion so rich that she moaned from the pleasure. Together they rolled until she lay over him. Together they let themselves go.

  His hands were quick, but no more urgent than hers. His lips were hungry, but his desperation had met its match. Sanity was discarded as easily as silk and lace. They came together like thunder in a storm that lingered into the morning. As dawn rose, they took each other into the dark.

  * * *

  “I’m so glad it’s Sunday.” Chantel eased her shoulders down into the hot, frothy water. She picked up a wineglass from the side of the tub and laughed at Quinn over the rim. “You’re not supposed to scowl at the bubbles. You’re supposed to enjoy them.”

  Quinn shifted to reach for his own glass. Chantel’s tub was easily big enough for two, and the skylight overhead showed a perfect blue sky. The water that lapped nearly to the edge was layered with white, fragrant bubbles.

  “I’m going to smell like a woman.”

  “Darling.” She touched her tongue to the rim of her glass. “No one’s going to smell you but me.”

  “With all the stuff you dumped in here, I’ll be lucky if it wears off in a week.” He shifted again, and his leg slid over hers. “But it has its compensations.”

  “Mmmm.” With her eyes half-closed, she leaned back. “For both of us. I need this. The shooting schedule next week is murder. There are three scenes in particular that I know will leave me limp. The one where Brad and Hailey nearly die in the fire is the worst.”

  “What fire?”

  “Read the script,” she said lazily, smiling when he tossed bubbles at her. “I trust special effects, but it doesn’t make it any easier to crawl around in a shack on the back lot or on the set on the sound
stage while they’re shooting flames and pumping smoke in. That’s why it’s especially nice that it’s Sunday, and I can lie in the tub and think about making love with you.” She looked at him through eyes that were hardly more than slits. “Again.”

  “You can lie in the tub and make love with me.” He twisted his body, bringing it forward until his face was close to hers. “At the same time.”

  Chantel laughed and linked her hands behind his head as water lapped over the tub and onto the floor. “Too much water.”

  “You filled it up.”

  “My mistake. I usually bathe alone.”

  “Not anymore.” Bubbles burst between them as he kissed her. “Why don’t you pull the plug?”

  “Can’t get to it.” She tilted her head to change the angle of the next kiss. “It’s, ah, behind me. Now I bet a big strong man like you could manage it all by himself.”

  “Back here?” His hand trailed over her breast, then slipped to her rib cage.

  “Close. Very close.” She felt his fingers slide over her hip. “Getting closer. Why don’t we—” The words were cut off as she found herself submerged, his mouth hard on hers. Up again, she drew in air, swiped at her face and squinted at him. “Quinn!”

  “Slipped.” He found the lever easily and flipped it down.

  “I bet. Now I’ve got soap in my eyes.” He started to grin, but his mouth went dry when she rose up, magnificent, and let water drain from her skin as she reached for a towel. “Remind me to bring a snorkel next time we take a bath.”

  “Chantel.”

  She was holding the towel to her face, but she lowered it with a half smile that faded when he stood beside her. Without a word, he gathered her to him. They stood where they were while the bubbles drained beneath them and dried on their skin.

  “I never knew it could be like this,” she murmured. “Not like this.”