Sweet Stuff

by Donna Kauffman

“Spectacular as that was”—he traced her upper lip, delighting in the way her body instantly responded—“I’ve missed you every day since I met you.” That was the simple truth of it. She hadn’t left his thoughts since the day she’d first entered them. He leaned in and replaced his fingertip with his lips, taking her mouth softly, sweetly, working hard to get a grip on the more ferocious needs that ignited the instant he tasted her again. “And I missed kissing you,” he said against her lips, “before I ever tasted you.”

  She sighed, and he felt her body relax and soften on his. He continued the slow, steady exploration, urging her to open to him, languidly sliding his tongue into her mouth. Both moaned as he coaxed her tongue into his mouth, then pulled it in more deeply.

  He kept his hand cupped on the back of her neck as she lifted her mouth from his, keeping her close, in the intimacy of the moment they’d created. “Good morning.”

  She smiled at him, and it wasn’t just the obvious parts of his body that responded to the affection and light that entered her eyes. He also felt a tightening in his chest and throat. And he couldn’t stop the thought that he could easily stand to see that look in those eyes every single day for the rest of his life.

  “Good morning,” she responded. “I missed that, too. I’m sorry I didn’t know about the rules sooner.”

  “Well, I would have told you that morning on the houseboat, but you went and distracted me with your wicked, wanton ways.”

  She laughed. “Right, because baggy shorts, a basketball jersey, and crazy bed head just shout take me! to a man.”

  “You don’t need to shout,” he said, pulling her mouth back to his.

  “Why is it you always say the absolute perfect thing?” she asked, on a sigh against his lips.

  “You forget, you’re playing with a professional,” he told her, making them laugh even as their mouths stayed fused together. He shifted his kisses to the side of her jaw, then along the side of her neck. “You could be wearing a cardboard box with holes cut out for arms, and I’d still want to rip it off you.”

  She gave a mock shudder. “Ew. So would I.” Then she surprised him by turning her head and catching his mouth with hers for a fast, hard kiss. “But I like your reasons much better.” She lifted her mouth and leaned back.

  “Not to intrude on the poolside canoodling here, but do you think maybe you could let her come back inside to work sometime soon?”

  Startled by the close proximity of the new voice in the conversation, they jumped, but it was the poleaxed look on Riley’s face that got Quinn’s attention. He’d completely forgotten no one had seen them together yet. “Uh-oh,” he whispered, though he was sure Lani could hear him. “Looks like Mommy and Daddy know you have a boyfriend.” When Riley merely narrowed her eyes at him—though there was a distinct threat of a smile hovering around the corners of her mouth—he silently mouthed sorry.

  Quinn glanced up at Lani, but kept his arm locked around Riley’s waist. “Did you know that four out of five people on a survey I’m sure has been taken somewhere say workers who spend at least fifteen minutes a day canoodling perform at a much higher standard than those who don’t?”

  Lani’s lips twitched. “I hadn’t heard that. I’d have to do some independent research analysis on that, and get back to you.”

  Quinn looked at Riley. “I like her.”

  “Yeah,” Riley said. “She makes it hard not to.”

  “In the meantime,” Lani said, “could we have her return to her slave labor job?”

  Quinn consulted his watch. “I believe we need at least three more minutes. You know, for optimal performance.”

  Lani gave him a dry smile. “We’ll risk her being slightly sub-par.”

  “You both realize I’m sitting right here.”

  “Oh, I’m very aware of where you’re sitting,” Quinn said, making Lani bark out a laugh. It had the unfortunate affect of startling Brutus from his doggie dreams.

  Belying his more usual speed-of-sludge style, he heaved himself up, blinking and swinging his head around, as if looking for the source of the noise. He also heaved the top-heavy deck chair over, sending both of its occupants directly into the pool.

  Quinn reached instinctively for Riley, and pushed her to the surface first, following her a second or two later.

  Lani was standing poolside, hands on her hips, with a very innocent-looking Brutus sitting ever-so-politely beside her. “You know, some people will do anything to get their extra three minutes.” She grinned. “Of course, if it cools off some of the steam rising off that deck chair when I came out, then maybe it’s for the best. Kitchen’s hot enough.”

  Quinn guided Riley to the edge so she could hold on while scraping a mass of wet blond curls from her face. “I lost my scrunchie.”

  “I hate it when that happens.” Quinn smiled when she stuck her tongue out at him. “Careful where you aim that thing,” he warned, then helped her pull her heavy, wet hair away from her face.

  “I’m pretty sure no one has seen me so consecutively at my worst, ever. This is now officially a record.”

  “You look like a mermaid with bed head.” He leaned in and kissed her smiling mouth.

  “Oh my God,” Lani said. “You’re soaking wet and still there’s steam. I’m surprised there’s not fog over the water. Not that anyone is listening to me.”

  “I am,” Riley said. “Just let me find my way out of this pool with a tiny shred of dignity, if that’s possible. This tool belt weighs a ton wet and it’s possible I may have a serious wardrobe malfunction with my pants as I try to exit the pool area.”

  Quinn scooted behind her. “I believe I can be of some assistance with that.”

  “Oh, brother.” There was laughter in Lani’s voice. “I’m going back inside before I see things I don’t need to be seeing. Still in public!” she called out in a dead-on impression of Charlotte as she headed back to the house.

  “Says the woman who is the cause of all Charlotte’s constant admonitions,” Riley shouted back.

  Lani turned at the French doors and sketched a bow. “I may be the reigning queen of Kingdom Gettaroom, but I believe you may be in the running to topple my crown.” She waved her hand in a swirly motion in front of her forehead as she bowed. “Sim-salah-bim. Now please get your most excellent, wet royal fanny inside as soon as you can. The semifreddo is melting ... melting.” Wavering the last word, she cut loose with a fairly excellent Wicked Witch of the West cackle as she ducked inside.

  “Her skill set is even broader than one would imagine,” Quinn stated, staring at the closed patio door.

  “You have no idea. Whatever you do, don’t get her started on boy bands of the nineties.”

  “You don’t like boy bands? Huh. I’ll make a note of that. No impromptu Backstreet Boys medleys under the moonlight during our naked time dinner cruise.”

  Quinn had guided them to the set of wide stone steps leading out of the small pool, but Riley turned back. “The fact that you’re even aware of who the Backstreet Boys are is disconcerting and oddly hot.”

  Quinn leaned down and put his mouth close to her ear and sang the first two lines of the chorus from “I Want it That Way.”

  Riley clamped a hand over her mouth, whether to stifle peals of laughter or utter shock, he couldn’t be certain. Her eyebrows probably would have climbed just as high either way. She flung her arms around his shoulders, bussed his cheek with a loud kiss, and whispered in his ear, “If you ever sing that to me while we’re in bed, I will either die in sure-to-be mood-killing laughter. . . or you’ll be able to have me any way you want me. I can’t decide.”

  “I’m thinking it might be worth the risk just to find out.”

  She caught his gaze, and they snorted. Quinn put his hand over his heart as if he were about to break out into song again, which sent Riley into snickering peals of laughter. They were full-out laughing as they dragged their wet, soggy selves from the pool. Water ran from her tool belt like its own miniature waterfal
l.

  She looked down and pouted. “It took me a full day of hunting to find all my special Supergirl stuff.”

  Quinn looked down at the soggy nylon pockets. “If you give me a list, I’ll be happy to help out. I’ve got some time tomorrow.” Frowning, he reached in and pulled out a package that read ICE POWDER. He looked at her and lifted his eyebrows.

  She wiggled hers in response and snatched it back. “If you’re really nice to me, I’ll show you a few of its many uses. Only some of which are for photographic purposes.”

  Grinning, he impulsively hooked his hand on the front of her tool belt, tugged her against him, and dropped a hard, fast kiss on her mouth.

  “What was that for?” Riley asked, looking a bit dazed.

  “My life is so much better with you in it.”

  She chuckled. “Yes, well, it’s not every man who dares to live in Calamityville.”

  He framed her face. “Actually, I meant that.” He dropped a softer, sweeter kiss on her lips. “Before you say anything, or get nervous, I just mean you make me happy, that’s all.” Worried he’d pushed a little too much, he said, “Let’s get inside. I’m sure I have something you can pull on. At least you’ll be dry. I know you have work to do.”

  Inside was only a notch or two below utter and complete chaos. He brought down an old sweatshirt and sweatpants for her to change into, but that was the last he saw of her until the chefs and crew packed up shop on the far side of midnight.

  By half past twelve, he’d gone upstairs after texting her to come find him to say good night before she left.

  He woke up when he heard the vans backing out of the drive. Thinking Riley would show up at his door shortly, he debated the relative merits of talking her into staying with him, if for no other reason than it was the more expedient route to getting some sleep after what he knew had been a very, very long day for her.

  He heard another vehicle engine start up, and managed to look out his bedroom window in time to see her pull out, with Brutus enthroned in the passenger side of the Jeep.

  He glanced at the clock, and saw it was just after two in the morning. He supposed he couldn’t fault her for not coming up and disturbing him. She’d likely assumed he’d gone to sleep. He checked his phone. No text from her, either. He’d never thought of himself as a pouter, but he pushed out his bottom lip a bit right then.

  He didn’t like his chances of getting right back to sleep, so he went downstairs to grab a bottle of water. He was more than a little stunned to see that what had looked like the aftermath of a nuclear bomb the last time he’d popped his head in had been restored to his nice, clean kitchen. There were still cables, lighting, and cameras everywhere, but the immediate cooking area was spotless.

  “Well done,” he murmured, in what he thought wasn’t a bad Baxter Dunne imitation. He’d come to know the famous chef fairly well in the brief time he’d been loaning out his kitchen to him. Baxter was a likable guy, as tall as Quinn, with an effortless kind of affable charm, but there was also an intense edge about him. Quinn supposed it was the latter that had made him the rock star chef he was.

  Quinn had enjoyed the few chats they’d had, and had been surprised to find they had a lot more in common than he initially thought. Not just the books, and dealing with various aspects of celebrity—though Baxter dealt with way more than Quinn did—but also making adjustments to life on Sugarberry after city dwelling for a long time. Not to mention their involvement with two of the island’s more prominent citizens. In Baxter’s case, he’d married her and was now a full-time resident himself.

  Quinn wondered how inappropriate it would be to ask Baxter if he had any advice where Riley was concerned. He didn’t regret the comment he’d made to Riley by the pool, about his life being better with her in it. He wished he knew how to convey those happy feelings without making her nervous. He was probably overthinking it, just as she had said they both had a tendency to do. Of course, he probably wouldn’t be having wee-hour musings at all if she’d left him some kind of good night message.

  “Oh yes, old chap, you’re in veddy, veddy deep, indeed.” He popped open the door to the fridge, and spied the bone-in roast he’d optimistically moved from the freezer that morning to thaw. The stray thought that he’d better save the bone for Brutus had him shaking his head. “Deep end, deep,” he murmured. Unlike Riley ... the nerves he felt about where their relationship might be heading bred more excitement and anticipation than any sort of dread or concern. Standing in front of the open fridge door in the wee hours of the morning, he knew he was in for the duration.

  It wasn’t some revelatory epiphany. It was thinking about that spontaneous kiss by the pool, and what had motivated him to do it. His life was better with her in it. He was happy. Deep-down happy in a place he didn’t even know existed. She made him happy.

  It was that simple.

  He had to hope and trust that Riley would give herself a chance to get to that same place.

  That’s when he found the note.

  Grinning so broadly he thought he’d pull a facial muscle, he plucked the small, handwritten note off the top of the carton of eggs, which was stacked on top of the pound of bacon he’d bought at the market the day before. He straightened as he scanned what she’d written.

  I didn’t want to wake you. I was thinking maybe a round of pirate and wench at sunrise? I’ll bring the pirate ship. Your job is to bring our hearty apres-pillaging repast. Oh, and I call dibs on the good night kiss we missed. And where to deliver it. It could have something to do with my tongue being forced to walk a certain ... plank. Hope you dreamed good stuff, matey. Har har.

  —Riley

  “I don’t have to dream it,” he murmured, his heart tripping right over the edge into that fast slide straight into love. He closed the refrigerator door and shuffled back upstairs to bed, note still in hand. He propped it on his nightstand where he’d see it first thing when he opened his eyes, and buried his stupid-grin smiling face into his pillow. “I’m living the good stuff.”

  Chapter 20

  Riley woke up to the heavenly smell of bacon, decided she was clearly still dreaming, and rolled back over so she could enjoy it a little longer, delaying the harsh reality of the cold, dry breakfast cereal that actually awaited her. But, snuggling in more deeply, she still smelled bacon. Then she abruptly sat up. The note! Bacon, eggs ... and a pirate.

  She grinned. “Har har, indeed.” She hadn’t known if Quinn would see the note, much less in time to do anything about what it said. She looked down at the baseball jersey and pajama pants she’d dragged on when she’d come home in the middle of the night to a chilly stateroom. “Not exactly wenching clothes.”

  Of course, bacon was already on the griddle, so perhaps there would be no time for pillaging. They were apparently going straight to the hearty après pillage repast portion of her proposed morning’s activities. She pushed her hair out of her face and checked the clock. Seven. Fortunately call time had been moved back to eleven that morning, as Lani had no one to cover Cakes by the Cup. She had to open the shop until Alva was done with her weekly set and starch (as Lani privately called it) at Cynthia’s. Of course, Quinn probably didn’t know that.

  Hmm. A slow smile spread across her face as she wondered what Quinn’s schedule looked like that morning. And just what kind of wenching attire she could throw together in hopes of enticing him into a bit of raid and pillage.

  She slid her feet out of the covers and over the side of the bed, felt the cold air, and pulled them right back in, deciding wardrobe planning would be better undertaken while staying warm and tucked in.

  She stilled when she thought she heard something coming from the galley that sounded like ... She grinned. Quinn was singing. Not loudly, but still. She strained to make out the tune, then covered her face with a pillow so she could laugh out loud when she heard him bust out the refrain to New Kids on the Block’s “The Right Stuff.”

  She flopped back with the pillow still on her
face, but found herself wiggling her hips in the tangle of sheets as the song flooded her mind. “Oh, oh, oh,” she sang along. Flinging the pillow aside, she took a full slide into the second refrain, singing a heartfelt, “All that I needed was you!”

  “Ahoy, matey,” came a deep voice from the door.

  She slammed the pillow back on her face, immediately starting to snicker, which led to full-out laughter.

  A second later the pillow was gently peeled back from her face, sending her into a fresh peal of laughter when she spied Captain Jack Quinn looming over her, complete with handmade black patch strapped over one eye and red bandana wrapped around his head.

  “If it’s dancin’ in the sheets ye wanted”—he gave it his best Jack Sparrow—“I believe I can be of some assistance.” He tossed the pillow aside. “But first, let me usher my worthy sidekick to his observation post off the portside bow.”

  He straightened and glanced to the side, drawing her gaze downward ... where it landed on Brutus, who was also sporting an eyepatch. A bandana bowtie was attached to his collar.

  “They were out of parrots at ye olde pirate shoppe,” Captain Quinn offered by way of explanation when she lifted her gaze to his in openmouthed disbelief.

  “I can’t believe he let you do that.”

  Brutus looked up at Quinn, and his tongue lolled to one side.

  “Okay. Yes, I can.” Riley flopped back on the bed, the laughter making her breathless. “First pirates who sing sea chanteys complete with a solid bassline and synchronized dance moves, and now this. I’ve no restraint left.” She flung one arm wide and the other dramatically over her eyes. “Have your wicked, wanton way with me, Captain Quinn. I know I’ve stirred your manly ardor with my wicked, wanton attire.”

  She cracked one eye open and spied Quinn sliding off Brutus’s patch and nudging him out the stateroom door, which he promptly closed behind him. A moment later, they heard a thud, indicating Brutus had parked himself in his standard boneless heap just outside the door.