by Violet Duke
Reese proceeded to dance around the fire—behind the line—and hoot and cheer every time he sprinkled more sugar flashes on the fire.
Quinn couldn’t help but watch Rylan grinning at Reese with that eye-crinkling smile of his that did crazy things to her insides.
“Aw.” Reese made a sad puppy dog look and showed them both the empty ziploc bag.
“We’ll do more another time, bud. Let’s get some food in you before your mom comes home. She’ll be here any minute.”
Reese hopped back over and took a big bite out of his ketchup and mustard slathered half of a hot dog. Rylan had the other half on his plate.
“He only eats half?” she asked in surprise. “Cooper can put away and entire hot dog, easily.”
“So can Reese. But I only give him half at a time. I hold the rest hostage so he eats his veggies.” He ruffled Reese’s hair affectionately.
Oh boy, her ovaries just swooned.
Rylan reached behind him for a long sleeve flannel shirt and handed it to her. “It’s cold,” he said simply.
Her instant melting over his brand of gruff sweetness was when she didn’t just know the truth, but accepted it as well. The same truth she’d been trying to deny on the car ride over here. The same one she’d been ignoring for the past few weeks.
She had a big, insane crush on a gambling musician.
And it was growing by the minute.
* * * * *
AS HE LISTENED to Reese and Marcy walk back over to their house, Rylan pulled his chair closer to Quinn’s and waited for whatever question had been patiently poised on her lips all night. She’d come over to ask him a question, he was certain of it.
“You said you don’t gamble for money,” began Quinn finally, looking him square in the eye. “So what do you gamble on?”
And there it was.
He wasn’t oblivious. Over the past few weeks, he’d seen her flinch every time he mentioned gambling. But he hadn’t wanted to push. The flashes of pain in her eyes following punched him in the gut each time.
So he’d waited, knowing that if she asked the question, then it would mean she cared enough about him not to want him doing the one thing seemingly attached to nightmares in her past.
“Chores,” he answered softly. “We bet on chores.”
Quinn shot her eyes up to meet his to see if he was kidding.
He never kidded about chores.
The slow, glorious smile that bloomed across her face. “And this is the high stakes game the town is always talking about?” she asked, amusement dancing across her features.
“You bet,” he replied in an utterly serious tone. “Everyone in my weekly game has a set of chores we absolutely hate to do. And every week, at the end of the night, whoever won the pot gets to make the first one who ran out of chips do those chores.”
A relieved, mirth-filled laugh escaped Quinn. “Are we talking take-out-my-garbage type chores or clean-my-swimming-pool-with-a-toothbrush type chores?
“A cross between the two, I’d say. For example, Sienna, surprisingly, really hates washing her car. Belly aches over having to do it. So that’s usually what she wagers every week.”
Quinn raised a brow in surprise. “That doesn’t sound all that bad.”
“That’s because you’ve never seen Sienna’s truck. The time Levi lost to her, he spent an entire NFL Sunday working on that truck, which, apparently had a month’s worth of mud, tree sap, bird poop, and what he suspected was a new species of fungus. Personally, I think she just drove through every mud puddle in the state and parked under every bird-crowded telephone line after he made her wash his two giant German Shepherds, both of whom she’s threatened to get a restraining order against whenever they’re in heat…which seems to be whenever she’s around.”
Rylan proceeded to recite the top ten worst chore bets they had on record—from the house full of dirty dishes to the one that took top honors…outlet mall shopping with Tucker’s wife.
“I love Cindy but I tell you, I make extra sure I don’t ever lose to Tucker. We all do. Sadistic woman got Aidan up at six in the morning, and made him drive three hours away to the first of seven Outlet Malls. By nine o’clock that night he was calling all of us practically crying.”
At this point, Quinn was laughing just as loudly as he was.
God, he loved watching her laugh.
“So,” he snagged her gaze and held on, “does this officially wipe the slate clean before I see you on Dani’s group date thing tomorrow night?”
The look on her face was priceless—a lip-twitching smile that had just tangled with a sour lemon, if he had to describe it.
She made a show of glancing at her watch in Oscar-worthy shock. “Oh wow, look at the time. It’s getting late, I have to get going.” She backed away toward the gate, a teasing lilt to her voice he’d never once heard before. “I had fun tonight, Rylan. You make a mean s’more.”
“Compliments aren’t going to distract me, woman. Are you going to answer my question?”
“Nope!” She pivoted and closed the gate behind her, hand stretched up in a backward wave.
He grinned. “I’m choosing to take that as a yes then,” he called out, arms draped over the gate as he watched her walk the sexiest damn walk he’d ever seen down the driveway to her car.
“There’s still thirty-six hours between now and the group date,” she tossed back. “I’m fairly certain you’ll find some other way to piss me off before then.”
And then she was gone.
Ah, hell.
Yeah, okay. He lied before.
He definitely wanted to keep her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
QUINN HADN’T KNOWN what to expect of the group date that Dani had arranged.
The surprise indoor rock climbing part of the evening had turned out to be ridiculously fun, due entirely to the fact that her wearing a skirt had limited her to just climbing high enough to torture Rylan directly below her, but not completely flash the man.
There was just something so enticing about a gruff, granite-hard man doing his damndest to be a gentleman.
Definitely a highlight of the night.
Of course, the dinner and ice cream afterward had been memorable as well. Her ice cream had looked even better splattered on the back of Luke’s shirt than it had on her cone. Four years of softball in high school, thank you very much.
Good times.
But, without a doubt, the entire evening simply paled in comparison to this moment right here on her front porch.
Rylan was at it again.
Flashing that special little frown that seemed to be reserved for the many, many instances when he was irrationally worrying over her. “Sweetheart, I’m serious, you need a brighter porch light. Better security.” Peering at the door, he added, “And you need a stronger door lock—this one has to be decades old. It’s not so much the case here in Cactus Creek, but break-ins do happen.” He frowned deeper. “I’m going to bring by a new knob and deadbolt set for you tomorrow. One of Lia’s brothers is a security whiz. I’ll have him get me something state-of-the-art.” After jiggling the door knob again, and scanning the dark side yard for any suspicious shadows, she half expected him to get out his phone and call Lia right now.
Holy hell, the man was so unbelievably cute.
She sighed. “You don’t know how hard I’m trying not to kiss you right now,” she whispered softly, trailing her eyes up all six-feet-plus of his gorgeous, sculpted body.
That effectively erased his adorable frown.
Leaving in its place, a sizzling hot look she felt spark and tingle across every inch of her skin.
He stared at her for a split second before exhaling roughly and taking three steps forward, slowly backing her up until she felt the door touching her shoulder blades.
Palms flat against the door, he effectively caged her in.
“Folks are going to talk if I kiss you,” he murmured, inches away from her lips.
She didn’t dou
bt it. If she wasn’t mistaken, a car just slowed down in front of her house. That’s when she realized what he was doing. He was blocking her from any nosy onlookers.
Dang it, the man was just so sweet.
She gazed up at him and said the first thing that came to mind. “If you kiss me, just so we’re clear, you’re not coming in this house afterward. It’ll be just kissing.”
Lips twitching to the side, Rylan shook his head. “If I ever find these so called men you’ve dated in the past, I’m kicking all their asses. Every single one.” Then his mouth curved up into a full-blown smile as his hands flattened against the door behind her. “And sweetheart," he murmured, his lips grazing her ear, "I happen to like ‘just kissing.’”
Oh lord. With him, she had no doubt she’d like that too. Very, very much.
“Now it’s my turn.” He drew back and tilted her face up to his, pinning her with a single look so hot, so possessive, so male, she had to grip his shoulders to keep from melting on the spot.
His eyes burned hotter at the touch. “If I kiss you, just so we’re clear, I’m not waiting two days or playing any of those other dating games." He slid both hands up to cradle her face gently. "I’m calling you tomorrow."
“That okay with you, sweetheart?”
Was what okay? Did he ask her a question? Everything was getting so hazy. God, he smelled good. What on earth was he waiting for?
He bent down and repeated his question in her ear. “Can I call you tomorrow, honey? Just to talk and see how your day is going?”
Seriously? The gentleman thing? Was the man trying to slay her heart on the spot? “I gave you my number. It was pretty much implied,” she replied, trying not to shiver when she felt his lips ghost down her neck.
“That’s not the same thing as you wanting me to call you.”
His lips were finally on her skin and he was still talking.
“Do you?” he asked as his mouth skimmed back up to her ear. “Do you want me to call you?”
“Yes. Okay, yes. I’ve wanted you to call me even before I gave you my—”
His lips captured hers before she could finish.
Goodness, the man could kiss.
He slanted his mouth to deepen, dominate the kiss. An erotic web of electricity blanketed over her, made her skin tingle as she felt his tongue slip past her lips and explore, tease, torture.
And all the while, his entire body covered hers, wrapped her in a cocoon of hot, hard muscles carved to perfection.
He tugged her hips closer and moved a hand up to cup the back of her neck as he took control of the kiss, deepening it until she whimpered, slipped her hands under his shirt—
“Hi Rylan! Hi Mom!”
Quinn almost jumped right out of her skin.
Penny, hand in hand with Cooper, gave her an apologetic look. “Just so you know, we made A LOT of noise coming up the walkway.”
They did?
One look at Rylan confirmed he hadn’t heard anything either.
That was a hell of a kiss.
Penny was smiling ear to ear as she gave Rylan a thorough once-over. “I’m Penny, by the way. Quinn’s sister.”
Rylan offered her his hand—always the gentleman—and replied warmly, “I’ve heard a lot about you from both Quinn and Cooper. Your babysitting stories are pretty legendary.”
She beamed. “I do my best.”
Rylan chuckled. “Well, they’re both lucky to have you.”
Penny sighed, head nodding as if he were the smartest man in the world. “I tell Quinn that every day.”
Uh oh.
Poor Luke. Quinn was pretty sure she was going to have to break the news to him that he now had to compete with Rylan for Penny’s utter adoration.
* * * * *
IT WAS NEARLY one a.m. when Rylan managed to disentangle Cooper’s octopus grip on his neck and move him from the rocking chair to the bed.
Man, that was one cute kid. Rylan was growing really fond of the little guy.
Closing the door quietly behind him, he made his way over to the kitchen, where Quinn was waiting for him with a cold beer.
“I’m sorry he shanghaied you into reading him all those stories,” apologized Quinn. “You could’ve stopped after seven books.”
“I tried,” he chuckled, remembering the stubborn look on Cooper’s face when he’d tried to tuck him in five stories ago. “But I do believe he was hopped up on caramel corn from the fair Penny took him to.”
He nodded at all the various prescription boxes and bottles lining the counter beside them. “That breathing machine he was on for the last half hour. Is that for asthma? All these medications, too?” He’d heard Cooper wheezing that first day he’d met him, and again today. It’d sounded pretty bad.
“Yes, unfortunately. Cooper has had asthma since he was born and needs the nebulizer nightly, sometimes twice a day. He actually had life-threatening respiratory complications right after delivery and he’d had to undergo seven surgeries all in the first six months of his life.” Quinn sighed at all the medications. “The cold, dry weather makes it worse. Same thing with too much exertion, which is such a pity because Coop’s a natural at sports.”
Rylan made a mental note to go learn more about asthma so he could be prepared in case Cooper ever had an attack. “Poor guy. You’d never know it from how happy and energetic he is all the time.”
“I’ve tried to do what I can to keep it that way, but there’s only so much he can do. All these steroids aren’t good for him to take for his whole life but so far, it’s our only option. He’s had pneumonia four times since he started preschool, and he’s been to the E.R. over a dozen times already.”
Seeing the glum expression on Quinn’s face in the silence that followed, his heart went out to her. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how tough all this must have been for her. “Hey,” he ventured then, “have I ever told you that I make the world’s best hot cocoa?” It was an utterly random conversational one-eighty for sure, but he hated the idea of her ending her night on a sad note after all the fun they’d had earlier. “I could be persuaded to make you a cup.” Without waiting for an answer—because really, who could turn down his hot cocoa—he headed straight for her pantry in search of some ingredients.
With a silent, smiling headshake, she opened a cupboard for some mugs. “Anything I can do to help?”
“You could find us a deck of cards to keep us company while everything is heating up.”
She furrowed her brow in thought for a second and then brightened, turning to rummage around in a few drawers before emerging triumphantly with a slightly larger than casino-standard deck of cards.
He chuckled. “A Disney Princess deck of cards? Things just got serious.”
She fanned out the colorful deck with a smile. “My nieces are still smack dab in the royal Disney phase. So what do you want to play?”
“You know how to play poker?”
Pause. “Yes. But I don’t actually like poker.”
That was an understatement. The mere word seemed to give her a visibly visceral reaction.
“Then what say we play a few easy rounds of High-Card-Draw,” he suggested without missing a beat, determined to keep the dark shadows back. “It’s a total luck-based game so we—and by that, I mean you—have an equal chance to win.” He tossed the last over his shoulder with just the right amount of goading to ruffle her feathers right up.
Hearing her snap the cards up into a testy shuffle, and deliver a potent glare that was drilling a hole into the back of his head, he kept his smiling gaze on the stove as he continued his explanation, “Simple rules. We each make a wager, we each pull a card, and the high card wins.”
After getting the milk in the pot, he rejoined her. “Okay, so what are you going to wager?”
“I don’t know.” She studied him carefully. “How big a bet are you going in with?”
Smart girl—keeping her cards close to her chest. He’d make a gambler out of her yet.
Grinning, he said simply, “If I win, I get to pick what we do on our next date. Anything I want, no questions asked.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Will we have our clothes on?”
His knees almost gave way. “Good lord, woman, don’t put those kind of images in my head.” He shifted his jeans uncomfortably and slid behind the kitchen island.
Her lips twitched to the side but she said nothing.
“Yes,” he finally remembered to answer. “We’ll have our clothes on the entire time. But again, no questions asked. Anything I want.”
“‘Anything you want’ is way too broad—”
“Nope. No trying to change the wager,” he cut in. “This wouldn’t be gambling unless you felt some amount of risk.”
“Fine. IF you win, we’ll do anything you want with our clothes on.” Suddenly, a big mischievous smile lit up her face. “Okay then, if I win, you have to do all the laundry in this house for a month—me, Cooper, and the dog’s.”
He blanched. “Honey, let’s not get crazy here. I wagered with a pebble and you’re countering with the moon—”
“Nope. No trying to change the wager,” she parroted him. “Take it or leave it.”
Ah, the thrill of the game. Seeing her dancing eyes, he raised a brow. “See. You’re feeling it too, aren’t you? The appeal of gambling. The fun.”
Her grin faltered, and then she started chuckling. “I guess you’re right. Now quit stalling. You taking the bet or what?”
He slid the colorful princess deck of cards—so wrong to be gambling with these—forward. “Want to cut the deck?”
She tapped a finger on it.
“Okay, sugar, you pull first.” She picked up half the deck and they both looked at the card.
“Nine of hearts.”
She shuffled the deck and slid it forward. “Your turn.”
He loved that excited little smile on her face. She was having fun. Eyes locked on hers, he picked up about a third of the deck and lifted it up.
Nice.
“Ace of Spades.”
“I win!” she declared quickly.
