She smiled. “Oh, good.”
By the time they reached her front porch, Huck scooped her up and carried her inside to the bedroom, clean and tidy, everything back in order after Steve’s panicked search for the missing pills. Citalopram. That was what Alicia had taken, thanks to Steve, who was pressured by Travis Lubec, who’d believed he was acting on orders from Oliver Crawford through Sharon Riccardi. Only it was Sharon, not Crawford, who’d wanted Alicia dead.
It was all a mess, one still getting sorted out by local, state and federal authorities.
Huck laid her on the bed, easing on top of her. “Quinn?” He smoothed back her hair and touched the tears at the corners of her eyes. “I can tell you’re thinking.”
She smiled. “I’m always thinking.”
“Stop.”
He kissed her softly, briefly, then kept his mouth close to hers. She stared into his eyes, noticing how dark they were, how intent they were on her. He had such focus and control, and yet he was, she thought, one of the kindest men she’d ever known.
“Quinn?” He gave her a mock frown. “You’re thinking, aren’t you?”
This time she laughed. The afternoon sun filled the small room, the curtains fluttering in a warm breeze. She wrapped her arms around him and felt the weight of him on her, the hard muscles of his legs, his arms, his back. A wild mix of sensations made her head spin.
“Okay,” she whispered, pressing him onto her, feeling his urgency. “No more thinking.”
This time, their kiss was neither soft nor brief, deepening quickly, his hands sliding up her bare legs and over her hips to the waistband of her shorts. Quinn didn’t try to stop or control her reaction, or hide it from him. She helped him slide down her shorts, dispatch with them, and then her shirt and bra. He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, and, placing his strong hands just under her breasts, he held her up from him and gazed at her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “Damn, Quinn—I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
He smoothed his palms over her breasts, and she caught her breath, surprised at the sheer enormity of her reaction, until, finally, he drew her down to him, capturing one nipple in his mouth. She helped get him out of his clothes, and by the time they cast his jeans off, the anticipation of making love to him had her aching.
“I can’t…wait anymore,” she said.
He smiled. “Good.”
She lay on her back, taking him with her, into her. For a moment, neither breathed. Then he moved, a slow, erotic thrust, and she clutched his arms, digging in her fingers, and lifted her hips to take in all of him, exulting in the feel of him inside her. It was all the cue he needed. He deepened, quickened his thrusts, and she responded, never having experienced such a powerful mix of emotions and sensations.
When she came, she cried out his name, but he was coming too, falling hard with her, until they were, exhausted, spent, clinging to each other in the afternoon breeze.
They made love again, taking their time, exploring each other at length, holding back nothing.
Quinn couldn’t imagine not having him in her life.
Afterward, they drank iced tea on the porch, the tide out, dusk coming more slowly now that it was late spring.
“Now,” Quinn said, “about Fredericksburg and my grandfather…”
Huck stretched out his thick legs. “You didn’t tell me he dresses like Rhett Butler.”
She laughed. “You’re making that up.”
His eyes glinted with humor. “Ah, the things your grandpapa’s never told you.”
“Who did you tell him you were?”
“The lawman in love with his granddaughter.”
“Huck.”
“He liked it that I’m a marshal. He’s probably one of about a dozen people who knows that the Marshals Service is the oldest law enforcement agency in America.”
“That’s not what—”
He wasn’t listening. “I told him that his granddaughter is a romantic adventurer at heart. He liked that, too, because it shows that I know you.”
Unable to hold on to her tea glass, Quinn set it down. “Huck, my grandfather isn’t an adventurer.”
“I don’t know. In some ways, he’s the biggest adventurer of all you Harlowes. He’s not afraid of asking questions, of seeing people in all their complexity. I told him I’m not a perfect man.” Huck set down his own tea and got up. “I told him that I know I have to prove to you that you’re the one for me. The only one.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“Quinn—”
This time, she was the one who didn’t listen. “Diego says I should see the McCabe family hotel in San Francisco.”
Huck grinned. “He likes the towels. I should get him a set.”
“I’ve only been to San Francisco once,” she said.
“All right. We’ll stay at the McCabe family nuthouse—I mean, hotel—for a few days.” He put his arms around her waist, his eyes serious now. “But we’re not honeymooning there. No—don’t talk. I love you, Quinn. I want to marry you and be with you for the rest of our lives.”
“We fell hard for each other, didn’t we? Damn, Huck, I’m starting to cry!”
“A hard-ass Harlowe like you?” He grinned. “We need to get a move on. Diego’s waiting for us.”
“But he went back to California.”
“Nah. He had to come out here one last time. As himself. Without the Yankees shirt, not playing fisherman. Smoking one last cigarette.” Huck winked at her. “He wants to take us out on his boat.”
“I love you, Huck. I don’t think I said that—”
“I kind of got that feeling.” He tightened his hold on her. “We need to put some ghosts to rest, Quinn. You, me, Diego. We’ll go out on the water and drink a toast to lost friends, and we’ll make this place special again.”
Quinn looked out at the water, mirrorlike under the blue-gray sky. “I was thinking I’d have to sell my cottage.”
“Then I’d have to buy it. I can’t think of a better spot for a honeymoon than right here.”
She thought of Alicia, and knew somehow that her friend would approve.
An osprey circled out at the mouth of her cove. When they’d gone back for Alicia’s bag, the FBI evidence team had taken care not to disturb the nest. Now, there were osprey babies.
“Ospreys mate for life, you know,” Quinn said.
“My kind of birds.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s take a walk and go find Diego.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3348-9
BREAKWATER
Copyright © 2006 by Carla Neggers.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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