Sweet Stuff

by Donna Kauffman

  “No, I don’t think so. I didn’t on the boat ride here, anyway.”

  “Is that the only time you’ve ever been on a boat?”

  “Yes, why?”

  He grinned. “It’s funny to think someone who’s never been in or around boats, lives on one.”

  “I know. I feel the same. And yet, here I am. I have to admit, I have come to really like it.”

  “So, why don’t we take her out for a spin?”

  “Because I finagled a space on the docks here by promising I wouldn’t stay long. No one has said anything, but I’m afraid if I take it out they won’t let me back.”

  “Don’t you have a contract or something?”

  She shook her head. “Just month to month. I dump an envelope in the slot at Biggers’ and they leave me to my own devices.”

  He surprised her by sliding her body over and more fully on top of his much bigger body, making her feel lithe, and petite and anything other than how she’d always felt before. “Well, maybe I could put David on that for you. He’s very good at making things happen.”

  “Why?” she asked. “I mean, thank you. I would feel better if I had something in writing.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s purely selfish. I’d like a sunset cruise around the sound with you. That’s where my grandfather and I sailed in the evenings after work. I’d like to share something of that with you.”

  She softened, and her heart teetered dangerously. This was the intimacy she wanted, the kind of opening up and sharing. “That sounds very lovely. If David can work his magic, I accept the invitation.”

  “Good.” He looked inordinately pleased.

  Riley braced herself, mentally anyway, for the fears to kick in. Making Quinn happy—she wanted to do that, and much more—but the fact that she could implied she mattered to him. That should scare her.

  It did ... but it didn’t make her want to hide. She considered it forward progress made, and left it at that. “Fair warning, though. I don’t know if I’ll make any better a first mate than I do a captain.”

  He slid his hands down and cupped her bottom, then lightly pinched the soft flesh. “You’re doing really well on the mating scale so far.”

  “Ha, ha,” she said, but felt the warmth of pleasure at his comment fill her cheeks. She leaned down and kissed him. “So are you, Captain.” She moved to roll her weight off him, but he wrapped his arms around her and kept her there.

  “Few more minutes. You don’t have to go yet, do you?”

  She shook her head. And probably would have stayed, even if she knew she’d be late. Just a few more minutes sounded like heaven.

  “I have one other request.”

  She slid her hands down his sides and pinched the side of his butt. “Getting awful cheeky,” she said, enjoying the surprised snort of laughter that got from him. “What is the request?”

  “Will you mind if I stay here to work while you’re at the bungalow? Tell me honestly, because I can find another place—”

  “No. I kind of like the idea of you being here. Uh, could I maybe ask a favor in return? Would you mind if I left Brutus with you? Say no if you’d rather not. I know you need to concentrate. But he’s really no trouble. Just walk him down to the end of the pier to the grassy area every once in a while. He’ll let you know.”

  As if on cue, there was a jarring thud overhead, then a big, panting dog face appeared in the tiny window in the wall above their heads.

  “Would that constitute letting me know? And how the hell did he get up on the fly deck?”

  “There’s a ramp. Sort of.”

  “A sort of ramp. I probably don’t want to know.”

  “I think he likes the windier breeze up there. Or maybe he just likes playing king of the world.” Riley grinned. “But right now I need to get the king out for his royal stroll. It’ll just take a minute. And I ... need to shower, before I go. I’d ask you to share, but it’s tiny.”

  “Asking was nice.” He tugged her down for one last fast, hard, and very hot kiss before letting her crawl off him and off the bed to search for her shorts and T-shirt.

  Riley’s thoughts flashed back to that hot and hard kiss Baxter had dropped on Lani the night they’d announced the cookbook deal. The one that had got her wondering all over again, and really questioning what she wanted in her life—who she wanted in it—and how she was going to get to where she could have it. She smiled privately to herself as she quickly pulled on her clothes. Maybe what she had with Quinn wasn’t the love affair of the century, like the Dunnes’ was, but, for what it was right now ... it would do. It would certainly do.

  “A shame,” Quinn said.

  Riley looked over her shoulder to find him sprawled back, sheet half over his naked body, arms propped behind his head. She was surprised she didn’t outright drool, but it didn’t keep the you lucky dog thought from skimming through her mind. “What is?” she asked him, wondering what he thought when he looked at her. He certainly didn’t seem put off.

  “Putting clothes on that body. When we take our sunset cruise, can we have naked sailing time?”

  Her responding grin was swift and honest. He made her feel good about herself, and just ... good in general. Even swifter than the grin was the infusion of warmth his sincerity gave her ... not to mention the healthy boost it gave her ego. Maybe she shouldn’t need that, but after everything she’d been through, and all the self-examination that had followed, she was too human to deny it felt pretty damn good.

  “Only if you have five billion level sun block.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

  She shot him a dry smile. “Of course you will.”

  Brutus scratched at the window.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming. Keep your collar on.”

  “When you come back down, why don’t you grab the stuff from the diner. We can nuke it, have a little reheated breakfast, and—”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh what?”

  “I forgot about that. About the food. Someone distracted me.”

  Quinn grinned, quite broadly and somewhat smugly. “And?”

  “And I’m pretty sure I won’t have to feed Brutus this morning.”

  It was entertaining how quickly Quinn’s smug grin turned into a droop of disappointment. “Oh.”

  “Right. But I can put something together for you.”

  “Do you have eggs, some bacon? I can fix us something quick while you walk the dog. I’ve cooked onboard before.”

  “Which is dandy, because I have not. Hence no eggs, no bacon.”

  “You’re in a cupcake baking club.”

  “We keep the spoilables in the shop kitchen so we don’t have to haul everything back and forth. Char, Dre, and Franco come over the causeway from Savannah, sometimes straight from a job or school, so it helps to keep all refrigerated stuff on-site. I just bring the dry ingredients, or replace what I use of Lani’s.”

  “Makes sense. But I wasn’t referring to the lack of eggs. You’re a food stylist. You have culinary training of some kind to do that, right?”

  “I’m a trained chef, yes, though I didn’t work in the field as one. My slant was always the photography aspect, though I ended up in design and styling.” She grinned and shrugged. “I love food, trying new things. Not so much preparing all the intricate and involved dishes myself, but I have great respect for those who do, as well as for the final result of the food itself. When I figured out I could combine my love of photography with my love of international cuisine, and make a living at it, it seemed like a no-brainer to me.”

  “So you don’t cook,” he repeated. “At all?”

  “I said I don’t cook onboard.” She gestured to herself. “Clearly I’m not wasting away here, so I manage. I either nuke stuff—you’d be amazed how much cooking you can actually do in a convection microwave—or I beg, pout, and say pretty, pretty please, and Carlo sends in with Char on club nights whatever dish he’s experimenting on.”

 
She held up her arm so he could see the Bullwinkle Band-Aid on the back of her tricep. “Rope burn from tying down the deck stuff before that storm—when the water was still flat as glass and there was no wind.” She turned sideways and lifted the hem of her shorts to show a faint, almost healed bruise. “Banging against the dining room table, off-loading bags of groceries. The boat barely even rocked. No way am I turning on anything with the potential to catch fire.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.” He sat up, stretched, and the sheet slid farther ... and farther, down his lap. “Would you mind if I gave it a go?”

  “Knock yourself out—not literally of course—but like I said, there’s nothing in the pantry to be cooked. Nuked, yes, Grilled, fried, or scrambled, not so much.”

  He slid from the bed, making her entire body wobble with want, and walked to her buck naked, simply too good to be true. He framed her face, bent down, and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “That’s why they make markets. I’ll go pick up some stuff and make us dinner. You’ll be back by then, right?”

  All she could do was nod, and whimper a little. How could she ache all over again? She should be a walking collection of sore muscles in need of great recuperation time. But had he even nodded toward the bed, she might have been the one to drag him there. Or to the floor. Or the nearest wall.

  A huge, thundering woof made them jump.

  “Right. Sorry, Brutus,” she called out, then looked back at Quinn, whimpered again, turned and fled. It was that or attack him.

  That she heard him chuckling all the way as she dashed though the main cabin and out the back sliding door didn’t help matters any. She really needed a better poker face.

  She checked that thought and changed her mind as she clipped the lead on the dancing dog. Did it matter if Quinn could read her every thought if he seemed to be of like mind?

  Brutus leaped from the boat to the pier. Riley tried her best to keep him from dislocating her shoulder on his mad dash to the grass, but her thoughts were still back on the boat. And with Quinn. She definitely hadn’t seen this morning happening. . . not like it had, anyway. But she was thankful and relieved. If he’d called and asked to see her on some kind of official date, she’d have been a nervous wreck. She’d have overthought her choice of clothes, overthought how she should act, overthought how the whole transition from date to possible sex might go, not to mention the getting naked part—speaking for herself anyway—followed by spending far too much time worrying about every single aspect of that dynamic.

  Instead, he’d just shown up, been funny, charming, sexy, and somehow made her feel the same, despite being in dorky sleep clothes with massive bed head. He had literally swept her off her feet and taken her to bed, where they’d had the most amazing sex she’d ever experienced.

  It had been thrilling and fierce. He made her feel like a femme fatale siren goddess. For that alone, she’d be forever in his debt.

  Brutus bumped his head against her leg and she got a bag, cleaned up after him, then started back to the boat after depositing it in the big trash can.

  What she and Quinn had done hadn’t been anything like lovemaking, not really. It had been hot, but not necessarily intimate. Of course, for a first time ... She paused as Brutus sniffed some particularly intriguing fishy smells, and her thoughts drifted to after, when he’d pulled her close to him, and then after that, when they’d kissed.

  She sighed deeply. Her body felt all warm and achy—in a good way—just thinking about that kiss. Hands down, that had been the most intimate act they’d shared. It had gone on and on, and she’d felt truly connected to the part of him that mattered.

  He knew his way around a woman’s body—like a violinist intent on making a Stradivarius weep. But he’d been the first one to admit that his relationships never got past that part.

  She’d loved the snuggling, the banter, after they’d woken up together, and how he’d wanted to keep her there with him. He’d made her feel alive and desirable in her own skin, not just comfortable, but sexy and naturally at ease. He was a hedonist, making her aware of every single cell in her body at all times, and making her feel good about it.

  She remembered how he’d laid himself bare to her, standing in his foyer, when she’d cracked under the pressure of her own fears. She knew he could open up and be more than a very skilled lover. A whole lot more. Would those two parts of him eventually blend? Could he open himself up fully and make love to her?

  And, more important, would he want to?

  She shook her head, and smiled dryly at her own thoughts. “He makes you feel like Cleopatra and Sophia Loren all wrapped into one exotic package and you’re already worrying about what happens next?” She let Brutus lead her back to the boat, thinking about the irony that Jeremy had loved her for her mind, her offbeat humor, and her skills with the work they shared. He’d made her feel strong, respected, valued ... but he’d never made her feel comfortable in her own skin. In fact, she’d always suspected that while he claimed to love her body, the lushness of it had always been a little too much for his true personal taste. He was taller than she was by a few inches, but slender. In fact, they weighed close to the same. She’d never sprawled herself across his body as she had Quinn’s. As years went by, they learned to satisfy each other’s needs and their sex life remained a healthy enough one. Was it any surprise she’d assumed he’d come to love her body as he’d come to love her? Just like she’d come to love his skinny, long bird legs and the complete lack of hair on his chest?

  Wasn’t that what a couple did?

  She thought again about how Quinn had brought every part of her body to a feverish pitch, kept her there, vibrating on the edge, then effortlessly teased her up and over, again and again, to a series of the strongest climaxes she’d ever had. Or known she was capable of having. She was not a screamer. She smiled privately. I am now. That had certainly not been in the repertoire with Jeremy. Their lovemaking had been ardent at times, but much more ... staid. Jeremy wasn’t particularly earthy.

  Riley let Brutus hop onboard, then followed him along the walkway and on deck. Something smelled amazing. She’d thought it had been coming from one of the other boats, but almost all of them were battened down for the winter.

  “Quinn?” She climbed down the companionway and found him in the galley.

  Tousled hair, rumpled khaki slacks, no shirt, towel tucked sideways in the waistband of his pants like a short apron. He looked up, spatula in one hand, and grinned. Her heart fluttered, flipped, then did a lovely little freefall—which made no sense. He always looked hot. And had shot her that sexy grin more than once.

  Of course, this time he was half naked in her own kitchen, but still. She thought her heart had higher standards than that. Or at least more integrity than to be swayed by a hunky chef. Who plays your body like a violin, her little voice reminded her. Needlessly.

  “Come taste this,” he said, lifting up the spoon.

  Rather than duck past the galley for her shower, and the very wise distance and time it would give her to sort through her jumbled thoughts, she walked right over to him. “What did you even find to make?”

  He carefully tipped the spoon to her lips. “Rice, cheese, and mushrooms. Some flour from your baking supply stash, milk, and a few of your spices to make a sauce. Here, try.”

  She took a nibble, then felt her eyebrows climb halfway up her forehead as the rich, creamy, incredible flavors burst all over her tongue. She closed her eyes and groaned as she finished off the nibble. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  He shrugged. “Necessity. I hate eating out all the time. And you forget, I was chief biscuit cutter in Grams’ kitchen.”

  “Right, right. Never underestimate the culinary powers of Grandma.”

  “Did you learn to cook from yours?”

  “What? No. I never knew my grandparents. Two of them were alive when I was born, but infirm. We were stationed overseas.” She shrugged. “They were both gone by the time we returned st
ateside.”

  “Military brat then?” he asked.

  She nodded. “My dad was killed by a land mine when I was little. I don’t remember him.”

  “I’m sorry, Riley.”

  “It’s okay. I lived on base, so I wasn’t the only kid who went through it. Maybe because of that it was—well, it wasn’t normal, of course—but it was part of the culture of that life. You got yourself through it, as those around you did. “

  “And your mom?”

  “Also military.” When he looked surprised, she said, “That made it hard—she was gone a lot. I got shuffled around a lot. But I kind of liked the freedom I had ... and the security of knowing I lived on a military base. It was an interesting combination.”

  “And now? Your mom? Still serving?”

  Riley shook her head. “She passed when I was in college. Complications from pneumonia.”

  Quinn’s expression was tender and sad. “I’m sorry for that. I know what it’s like.”

  “Thank you. It’s okay now. I was thankful—very—that I’d grown up as independent as I had. Helped me move forward and be okay.”

  “It explains a lot about you,” he said.

  It was her turn to look surprised. “As in?”

  “All good,” he said, echoing her words from the beach that day, when she’d been describing how she saw him. “You have this innate strength and you’ve definitely tackled life, even when it hands you rough stuff. You hung in, you pushed through. Maybe there is something about losing parents young that makes us wary of allowing ourselves to want something, or to let someone else contribute to our feelings of security. We know, quite literally, how fleeting life can be.”

  She thought about that, and nodded. “You probably have a point. I think, in my case, though I avidly pursued my career, I was too eager for the sense of security that came with someone suddenly being there for me. Maybe because my parents largely hadn’t been, even when they were alive? I don’t know. I do know that I sucked it all in, draped it all over myself, and paraded it around. I loved everything about being half of two, rather than only one.”

  “I can see that. Reacting that way. It helps me understand how you went the other direction after it was over. I’m glad you told me.”