Damn Ben Lawson and his determination to run an organized police department. His persistent inquiries were working, at least on her. She’d spent hours lying in bed last night, trying to puzzle out this mystery. What had changed in his life? What had shifted?
She’d gone to college, yes. But how could that have inspired a crime? A mysterious drifter hadn’t moved into her room. What else? There hadn’t been any personnel changes, according to the records. Sometimes her dad had paid the occasional worker off the books, though. She’d have to ask Joe about that.
But there was one other thing that had changed while she was gone. A big change for her father.
He’d bought that land.
He’d purchased it just a month before his attack. Seemingly out of the blue. He hadn’t mentioned it to her until after the purchase, and Lori had been too wrapped up in college life to ask any questions.
Aside from this house on a lot chock-full of ecological hazards, that riverfront land was the only thing of value her father had owned.
Yet another developer had called about it on Monday. So at least two developers were interested in that twenty-acre plot. Why?
Lori covered her face in frustration.
If her father really had been assaulted, and if it had been premeditated, the land was the only motive she could think of. And that was the extent of her revelation. No who or how or why. She was going to have to spend the day going through his records, and those would probably tell her nothing at all.
“Crap,” she muttered, as she pushed herself off the bed. The red numbers of her clock glared 5:30 a.m. at her, as if she’d done something wrong. Dawn would be breaking by now, and if she couldn’t sleep, she needed to walk, wandering bears be damned.
She pulled on the sweatpants and T-shirt she’d left next to the bed and padded to the bathroom to brush her teeth and fix her hair. Her curls were the only thing pretty and feminine about her, as far as she was concerned. Her nose was a bit too snub, her eyes and mouth nothing special. But since she’d learned to tame her hair into big loose curls with some very expensive product, she made sure never to leave the house without fixing it. If she let it get frizzy and dry, she’d look as washed-up as she felt.
Once she felt bouncy and minty-fresh, Lori tugged on her running shoes and headed for the door. The purple light of the rising sun only hinted at warmth, but she didn’t mind. It fit her strange and icy mood.
Birdsong swelled in the silence of the morning. But once again when her shoes hit the gravel of the parking lot, she couldn’t hear anything but that hated sound, so Lori pivoted and hurried directly for Main Street. Her destination was the river, and she could actually reach it through the junkyard, but there was no path along that stretch. Plus she really didn’t care to pick her way through ancient tires and rusted struts.
Several large pickup trucks passed her as she walked, kicking up diesel fumes as drivers raised a solemn hand in greeting. The old-timers didn’t really wave around here. Too much emotion. The cowboys in the movie Brokeback Mountain had reminded her of most of the men of Tumble Creek, minus the secret gay sex, she supposed. Though if it were secret, what the hell would she know about it? Regardless, the men of Tumble Creek and the surrounding ranches were stoic and hardworking and not inclined to superfluous laughter. Or words.
They certainly weren’t artistic and funny, not like Quinn.
The thought of Quinn made her mouth pull up into a smile as she passed The Bar. Quinn hadn’t called on Monday, despite his threat. If he were any other man, she’d assume he’d gone home, thought over the offer to be her lover and decided a quick disappearing act was in order. But it was Quinn, and she had no doubt he’d been locked in his office, furiously sketching out architectural plans for twelve hours straight and giving not one thought to his scandalous offer.
He would call at some point, when he returned to the real world, and he’d apologize profusely for his forgetfulness, but Lori was thankful for the brief reprieve. She had no idea what to say if he pressed the issue. “No,” probably. If she had any sense at all. Quinn was not the man to act out her fantasies with. It would just be too…intimate.
Wrinkling her nose in embarrassment, Lori turned onto the steep, potholed road that led down to the river. She was so focused on her feet and the loose pebbles that threatened to roll her down the hill, she didn’t even notice that she wasn’t alone.
“Hey!” a deep voice called, startling her into a stumble that nearly took her down.
“Fuck me,” she yelped, arms flailing.
“Anytime, babe,” Aaron Thompson shouted like the idiot he was.
“Thanks for rushing up to help,” Lori snapped back. “Good way to make use of those muscles.”
Completely missing the point, Aaron smiled and flexed his bare biceps. It didn’t really matter that it was only fifty-five degrees out and much colder in the water, Aaron was already dressed for maximum exposure in a sleeveless, skintight neoprene wet suit and a lean red life vest. Lori was pretty sure he never wore underwear. He certainly didn’t have any panty lines, though she could see the clear bulge of his manly junk. As usual.
“You finally coming for that private white-water lesson I offered?”
“Not in a million years.”
“What if I bring along a friend? I did this girl in Aspen last weekend who said she was bi. I told her about you. She seemed, you know—” he wiggled his blond eyebrows “—into it.”
“Aaron,” she bit out, then made herself count to twenty. Lots of people in Tumble Creek assumed she was a lesbian because she didn’t date much and she fixed cars for a living. She’d actively encouraged this belief in Aaron’s case, because she’d grown tired of him stopping by after his last river run of the day to show off his tight neoprene package. Especially after the time she’d caught him rearranging his goods to offer his best side just before he’d stepped into the garage.
Lori shuddered at the thought and watched Aaron’s pretty blue eyes drop lower to check out her chest. She crossed her arms.
“Aaron, listen. Please. I will never sleep with you. And I will never sleep with anyone else in front of you. Nor,” she interrupted when he opened his mouth to speak, “will I sleep with someone you know and then tell you about it. Is that clear enough? Just drop it, all right?”
“But…” He looked confused, not believing even a gay woman wouldn’t want to sleep with Aaron, god of the hot river guides. A deep crease of thought appeared between his eyebrows. “But I thought we were friends.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
He shrugged, all traces of thinking gone from his face. “Whatever. Just call me if you ever decide to switch teams.”
“I…” There was no reasoning with a man who was such a bizarre combination of nature boy and gigolo. “I’ll see you later.”
He winked and turned back to the work of unknotting a thick poly rope. Lori’s eyes wandered to his ass, and he must have expected just that, because he turned his head and caught her looking.
“Reconsidering?” he offered in a smooth purr.
“No! I just…” With a growl, she spun and stomped off toward the narrow path that had been worn through the grass, Aaron’s laughter fading behind her. She didn’t want anything to do with that man’s ass, but no one could help but stare at the two perfect globes of muscles perched on top of his bulging thighs. How much time did he spend working out anyway? And how long did it take him to pour himself into that suit every morning? Jesus, she’d seen the hollows on the sides of his ass cheeks.
He’d be perfect for a fling. “If only he weren’t Aaron,” she muttered to herself, then the words hit her brain and she stopped dead in her tracks. A pebble pressed against the ball of her foot so hard that she felt it through the sole of her shoe. But she didn’t move.
Aaron was perfect for a fling because he was Aaron. He was young, hot and eager. He’d do anything she asked him to. And there was absolutely no danger o
f it developing into something deeper. Perfect.
And not the least bit tempting.
Not like Quinn.
She pressed her weight harder to her right foot until the pebble felt like a thorn. Her thoughts of Quinn held firm, unaffected by the pain. She wanted him. And she needed the distraction, really needed it. This thing with her dad, it could go on for months. And she had nothing—nothing—to distract her. Except Quinn and his offer.
Lori lifted her foot and kept walking, keeping a close eye out for any sign of bears ahead. If it were springtime, she wouldn’t be out at all. In the spring, the bears were not only hungry, they had baby bears to protect. “Eek,” she muttered.
The river rushed and roared beside her, always louder than she expected despite that she’d grown up two hundred feet from it. Once it hit Grand Valley it was a wide, smooth ribbon, but here it jumped and dropped and boiled, finding its way through sharp rocks and steep ledges. It was a little like her life, actually. Boring and calm one minute, chaotic as hell the next.
But if her life was going to be chaotic for a while, maybe she should enjoy the ride.
So Quinn wouldn’t be a perfect fling. He was too familiar. Too nice. Too smart. But he was right about one thing, he’d be better at a fling than he’d ever be at a relationship. Lori could vividly remember walking into the girls’ bathroom at a varsity basketball game to find a beautiful blond cheerleader weeping loudly into her hands.
“He never calls. Ever! And last night my parents were gone for the night, and he didn’t even show up. We were going to do it and he didn’t even remember!”
“Quinn’s just like that,” her friend had assured her.
“He hates me!”
“No, no! He’s so smart, RaeAnne. He’s got so much stuff to think about. College. Basketball.”
The cheerleader’s sobbing had grown louder, and Lori had hustled out, wide-eyed.
Smiling at the trail, she hauled herself over a fallen pine tree and jumped to the packed earth below. She’d been stunned by that conversation at the time, just the idea that Quinn—sweet, quiet, big-brother Quinn—could make a cheerleader cry. Could make a cheerleader cry about wanting to do it with him. What a strange and disturbing idea that had been.
And now here she was wanting to do it with him. Not crying over him, at least, but certainly confused. It felt strangely natural, as if that moment in that high school bathroom had been the first point on a meandering trail that led to an inevitable affair between Quinn Jennings and Lori Love.
But maybe it was a terrible idea, inevitable or not. Maybe it would end with her crying in a bathroom somewhere. Maybe she’d even be wearing a cheerleader’s uniform at that point. Just a lonely, kinky mess, wearing a short skirt and no underwear as mascara ran down her cheeks.
Her laughter bounced off the rock wall on the far side of the river, as if to confirm her decision. Sex with Quinn was a good idea, even if it turned out to be a bad one, because her nights would be spent pacing around her house, leaving angry messages for a forgetful lover, instead of tossing and turning and worrying about an investigation she couldn’t control.
She didn’t want to think about what might have been done to her father, didn’t want to imagine that someone had stolen his life and all her plans. So until Ben called to tell her his suspicions were unfounded, Lori would think about Quinn instead.
QUINN GLANCED at his watch, then back to the road that led in a straight line from his condo to his office. It would be a busy day, but he felt as relaxed as if he’d just checked out early on a Friday afternoon. An hour swimming laps would do that for you, but it was more than just the loose exhaustion in his muscles. He finally had the vision he’d been chasing for Brett Wilson’s new home. The two-acre lot halfway up Aspen Mountain was flat and perfect for building…aside from the fact that Brett wanted a view of his favorite ski run from his living room. A ski run that sat on the wrong side of a jagged wall of granite.
“Buy another lot,” had been Quinn’s first suggestion upon walking the land. The builder had insisted that Brett Wilson would pay a premium if Quinn could make it work.
Quinn would be collecting on that premium now, though it had been the challenge of the project that had driven him to take it on rather than the money. He’d spent days turning possibilities over in his head, but the swimming had finally unlocked the puzzle for him, as it often did. Something about the rhythm and the echoing solitude worked like meditation for him.
He was picturing the cantilevered jut of the suspended living room when his cell rang. The sound tossed a sudden thought into his brain, where it exploded like a white-hot cherry bomb.
It might be Lori.
“Holy crap.” Quinn scrambled to grab the phone, but the front wheel hit a slight buckle in the shoulder of the road, and when he jerked the car back onto the blacktop, the phone skittered away.
“Shit.” He’d forgotten to call her. “Shit, shit, shit.”
He pulled into a lot, threw his car into Park and dived across the seat to grab the phone.
“Hello?” he nearly shouted.
“Good morning, Mr. Jennings.” The cool voice of his office manager flowed across the ether. Jane. Just Jane.
Collapsing back into his seat, Quinn let his head hit the headrest. “Morning, Jane.”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you. I wanted to remind you of your schedule in case you were heading straight to a site this morning.”
“No. No, I’m coming in. But remind away.” He raised one eyelid to glance at the clock—8:30 a.m. Yes, he’d most definitely missed Monday by a mile.
“Here we go,” Jane said, just as she always did before running through his appointments. “You’ve got a preliminary consult with Jean-Paul D’Ozeville at ten this morning. Lunch with Peter Anton of Anton/Bliss Developers at twelve, a conference call at three about the lecture in Vancouver, and then the benefit dinner with Tessa Smith at seven.”
“The what?”
“The fund-raiser for the Aspen Music Foundation. You bought tickets weeks ago. I believe Ms. Smith wanted to meet Sting.”
Quinn thought he could detect a sardonic hint in her words, which would have surprised him if he hadn’t been busy reeling over the shock she’d just delivered.
“Tessa and I broke it off last week.”
“Well, she called yesterday to be sure you hadn’t forgotten.”
“Uh…right.” He vaguely remembered Tessa’s shouted assertion that she was not going to let him back out of such an important event.
“And,” Jane continued, “she went to dinner with you on Friday?”
“Yeah. Apparently I forgot to cancel that, too.”
His office manager cleared her throat. “I don’t see any more dates on your schedule. As long as you don’t accidentally agree to any other shared meals, this should be your last evening with Ms. Smith.”
“Good. I’m not—Jane, are you laughing at me?”
“Certainly not, Mr. Jennings. If there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” The line clicked dead, confirming his suspicion that she was, indeed, laughing at him. As he deserved. What kind of man found himself on not one, but two accidental dates?
Of course, Tessa was defined by her persistence. Quinn wasn’t normally apt to notice when women flirted with him, but women like Tessa didn’t wait for a man to notice, they simply assumed their place. So it was that one evening Quinn had looked up and found he was dating a big-breasted blonde who wore frighteningly tall heels. His developer friends had been impressed. Quinn had simply been too apathetic to break it off until Tessa had gotten clingy. Then it had been an easy decision.
Speaking of easy decisions…
Quinn dialed information, got connected to Love’s Garage, and then wiped the sweat off his brow while he waited.
“Love’s Garage,” a very feminine, very grumpy voice answered. Not good.
“Lori, it’s Quinn. Don’t hang up. I am so sorry I didn’t call yes
terday. I—”
“Forgot?” she asked sharply.
Lying would be wrong. Really wrong. “I wouldn’t say forgot, exactly…”
“It’s no problem, Quinn. It gave me time to think.”
Not good at all. He wanted sex with Lori Love. It was slipping from his grasp, making him realize just how much he wanted sex with her. Time for brutal honesty. “You’re right. I did forget. I’ve been working on this difficult site, and…Okay, you don’t want to hear that. I’m so sorry. I know it’s insulting and degrading and…” He tried to think of a few more choice adjectives that had been applied to his forgetfulness in the past.
“It’s fine, Quinn. I’m not mad.”
He would not let this slip away from him on a wave of polite distance. “Of course you’re mad,” he pressed.
“Nope.”
“Then why do you sound so strange?”
“Because I’m on my back under a car?”
“Oh. Seriously?”
“Yes.” Her voice dropped. “But it’s nice and private under here.”
Quinn turned that odd comment over in his head for a moment. Was it possible she really wasn’t angry? Or was false relief making him stupid? Still…“And you need privacy because…?”
Her long pause stretched through the distance between them, tightening their connection like a wire about to snap. She’d had time to think, and surely that was a bad thing. Planning and forethought couldn’t be the quickest route to a red-hot affair. But maybe…
“Does your offer still stand?” she blurted out in a near whisper.
Quinn’s heart turned over so quickly he felt dizzy. “Yes,” he answered with a casualness he didn’t feel.
“Because I think maybe it’s a good idea. If you still do.”
Strangely, he thought of her stretched out under that car, her feet and ankles vulnerable, available to him. He could stroke his hand down the instep of her small foot, kiss her painted toes, curl his fingers around her delicate ankle, smooth his palm up the inside of her rising calf. In his fantasy world, she only wore boots and thick denim when he wanted her to. Today, she was barefoot, wearing a little flowered skirt as she labored beneath chrome and steel. Her—
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