The Good Girl's Second Chance (The Bravos Of Justice Creek 2)

by Christine Rimmer

  Those words hit him right where he lived. “I used to think about you, too, Chloe.”

  Her amazing face glowed up at him. “You did?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Not that she ever would have gone out with him if he asked her. She’d had her plans for her life and they didn’t include a wannabe cage fighter who could barely read. Plus, her snotty parents would’ve disowned her if she started in with one of Willow Mooney’s boys, the ones they called the bastard Bravos because his mother hadn’t married his father, Frank Bravo, until after Frank’s rich first wife, Sondra, died.

  Uh-uh. No way Linda Winchester would have let her precious only daughter get near him, one of Willow’s boys—and the “slow” one, at that. And Chloe was always a good girl who did what her mama expected of her.

  Chloe scanned his face, her expression suddenly anxious. “I have this feeling that somehow I should explain myself, give you a better reason to stay with me tonight...”

  “Uh-uh.” He stepped even closer—close enough that her body touched his. Her soft breasts brushed his chest, and the dizzying scent of her swam around him. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his hand and speared his fingers into that glorious mane of yellow hair. Like a curtain of silk, that hair. He loved the feel of it so much that he balled his fist and wrapped the thick strands around his wrist, pulling her even closer, right up against him, nice and tight.

  “Oh!” she said on a shaky breath, baby blue eyes saucer-wide staring up into his.

  All that softness and beauty, his for the night. He bent enough to suck in a deep breath through his nose. God, the scent of her. She smelled of everything womanly, everything most wanted—everything he’d never thought to hold, not even for a single night. He buried his face against her long, silky throat. “You don’t need to explain anything, angel.” He nuzzled her neck and then scraped his teeth across her tender skin. She gasped. He muttered, “Not a damn thing.”

  “I’m not an angel.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “Just for tonight, yeah?” She wrapped those slim arms around him, clutching him to her, tipping her head back, offering him more, offering him everything. “Just this one time...”

  “However you want it.”

  “Just kiss me. Just...hold me. Just make me forget.”

  Chapter Two

  Quinn took her by the shoulders and gently set her at arm’s length. She swayed a little on her bare feet, gazing up at him, breathless, eyes starry with need.

  He said, “First, I want to see you.”

  A soft gasp. “Okay.”

  “All of you.”

  “Okay.”

  He took her big pink shirt by the hem. “Raise your arms.”

  She obeyed without hesitation. He lifted the shirt up over her head, past the pink-painted tips of her fingers and tossed it away. Her hair settled, so shiny and thick, spilling past her shoulders, down her back, over her breasts. She let her arms fall back to her sides and gazed up at him expectantly.

  Impossible. Chloe Winchester, naked to the waist, standing right in front of him.

  He cupped one fine, full breast in his hand and flicked the pretty nipple. His breath clogged in his throat, and the ache in his groin intensified. “You’re so damn beautiful, Chloe.”

  “I...” She didn’t seem to know what to say next. Which was fine. He was getting one night with her. And it wasn’t going to be about what either of them might have to say.

  He leaned close again, because he couldn’t stop himself. He stuck out his tongue and licked her temple. She moaned. He blew on the place he’d just moistened, guiding her hair out of the way and whispering into the perfect pink shell of her ear “Take off those little shorts.”

  She whipped them down and off in an instant, so fast that he couldn’t help smiling. And then she stood tall again, completely naked in front of him, an answering smile trembling its way across her mouth. “Quinn?”

  “Shh. Let me look.”

  She widened her eyes—and then she shut them. And then she just stood there, eyes closed tight, and let him gaze his fill.

  Touching followed. How could he help reaching for her? She was smooth and round and firm and soft. And she was standing right in front of him, Chloe Winchester, who had starred in more than one of his wild and impossible sexual fantasies when he was growing up.

  He pulled her close again, wrapped his arms around the slim, yet curvy shape of her and pressed his lips into her hair. “Beautiful.”

  She lifted her face and gazed up at him. “You, too, please.” He must have looked confused, because she added, “I want to see you, too.”

  He chuckled and stepped back. “Yes, ma’am.” It took about ten seconds. He kicked off the mocs, reached back over his shoulders and pulled his shirt up and off. He eased the sweats over his erection and pushed them down, dropping them to the floor and stepping free of them.

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh, Quinn...” She reached out and ran her palm over his belly and then over the series of tats that covered his left arm. And then she touched the one for Annabelle, the angel’s wings and the green vines, the trumpet flowers and his little girl’s name, written right where it should be written, over his heart. “I never thought...you and me. Like this...?”

  “Hey. Me, neither.”

  “Life can be so awful.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But then there are surprising, magical moments—like this one, huh?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.” He turned and shoved the tangled sheets and blankets out of the way. And then he took her by the waist, lifted her and set her on the bed. “Lie down.”

  She obeyed, stretching out on her side with a sigh. He went down to the mattress with her. He kissed her, tasting her mouth for the first time, finding it as sweet as the rest of her. Her tongue came out to play and for a while, they just lay there, on their sides, kissing and kissing, as if nothing else mattered in the whole damn world, nothing but his mouth and her mouth, the scrape of white teeth, the tangle of tongues.

  One night they had together. He wanted to stretch every second just short of the breaking point, enjoy every touch, every sigh, every soft, tempting curve. He wanted to share her breath and the tender, urgent beat of her heart.

  After he kissed her mouth, he kissed her everywhere else, too, taking forever about it, getting carried away, using his teeth as well as his tongue. He knew he left marks, marks he soothed with softer, gentler kisses. She never once objected when he used his teeth.

  Far from it. She gasped and cried out her pleasure, clutching him close, telling him “Yes” and “More” and “Again, Quinn. Oh, again...”

  He gave her more. More strokes, more kisses, trailing his mouth down the center of her, biting a little, trying not to be too rough, opening her, dipping his tongue in. He pushed her legs wide and settled between them for a long time.

  She came twice then, as he played her with his mouth and his hands. She had his name on her lips, over and over. He loved that most of all: Chloe Winchester, calling his name as she came.

  After that second time, when she was boneless and open for him, he rose to his knees between her spread thighs. Ripping the first condom off the strip, he took off the wrapper and rolled it down over his length, easing it into place nice and tight. She stared up at him, dazed and flushed and softly smiling.

  “Quinn.” She reached for him. “Please...”

  And he went down to her, taking most of his weight on his arms. She slipped her hand between them, closing those slim fingers around him. He was the one groaning then, the one calling her name.

  She guided him in. He sank into her slowly, carefully, little by little, stretching her and the moment, making it last. She felt so good—better than anything he’d ever known, soft and welcoming, and a little bit tight.

  He varied the rhythm, watching her face, matching his strokes to her pleasured moans, her hungry cries. Somehow he stayed with her, until she went over for the third time. After that, there was no holding back. He
was rough and fast, and she clung to him, nice and tight, all the way to the peak and over the edge.

  She cradled him close then, stroking his shoulders and his arms, whispering “So good. Just right,” laughing a little. “Who knew, really? Whoever would have thought...?”

  “Beautiful,” he said. “Never would have guessed.”

  They must have dozed for a while.

  He woke to find her sleeping peacefully, one arm across his chest. He’d been hoping that maybe they would have time to play some more.

  But it was later than he’d thought. The clock by the bed said 5:05 in the morning. The first glow of daylight would be bleeding the night from the sky all too soon. The houses in their neighborhood were spaced far apart, built to conform to the shape of the land, with plenty of big trees between them. He might make it down the hill in broad daylight with no one the wiser.

  But why take that chance? It was nobody’s business, this one unforgettable night they’d shared.

  With care, he eased out from under her arm. She sighed and rolled to her back, but didn’t wake. He slid from the bed. Before settling the covers over her, he stole another long glance at her and got struck by a last hot bolt of pure lust at the sight of the faint marks he’d left on her perfect breasts, her pretty belly.

  They would fade soon, those marks. He tried not to wish...

  Uh-uh. Never mind. One night. That was the deal.

  He pulled on his clothes and went out the way he’d come in, noting that she hadn’t rearmed the alarm on the wall by the slider when she led him inside.

  Good. That meant he didn’t have to wake her to go. He locked the slider and then went out through the front door, which he could also lock behind him, thus securing her inside.

  He ran around the side of the house and then on down the hill.

  At home, he got the spare key from its hiding place under the stairs and let himself in. The house was just as he’d left it. Silent and dark.

  He stepped inside and shut the doors with barely a sound—and found Manny, his former trainer and longtime business partner, sitting in one of the big chairs by the moss rock fireplace. The old fighter switched on the lamp beside him. He wore a knowing grin on that roadmap of a face. “Hey, Crush. Where you been?”

  Quinn locked the doors. “Since when are you my mother?”

  Manny rumbled out a low laugh. “You and that gorgeous uptown blonde up the hill? I never had a clue.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Quinn headed for the stairs.

  Manny watched him go. “She’s a fine one. I find I am lookin’ at you with new respect.”

  “Night, Manny.”

  “Got news for you, Crush. It’s tomorrow already.”

  Quinn just kept walking. Manny’s knowing cackle followed him up the stairs.

  * * *

  Chloe was sound asleep when her alarm went off at seven.

  She woke with a smile, feeling thoroughly rested and a little bit sore. If it weren’t for that soreness and the small, already-fading red marks and bruises on her breasts and stomach, she almost might have been able to tell herself that the night before was all a dream.

  Not that she wanted to deny what had happened. It had been glorious. She’d loved every minute of it.

  As she sat up and stretched, yawning with gusto, she couldn’t help wishing she hadn’t told Quinn that she only wanted one night. Because he was remarkable. He’d given her hope that love and passion and tenderness weren’t all just some fantasy, some bright, naive dream that could never come true.

  She would love to spend more time with him.

  But she let her arms drop and her shoulders droop with a sigh.

  No. They had a deal and she would stick by it. He’d been great and the sex had been mind-blowing. Now she knew for certain that there were better lovers out there than Ted. She would be grateful for that and eventually, maybe, she’d find someone who made her want to take another chance on forever.

  She got ready for work and then had breakfast. The house phone rang just as she was heading out the door. Probably her mother. She’d check her messages later and call her back then.

  As she was pulling out of the driveway, her cell rang. She slipped the SUV into Park and checked the display. With a sigh, she gave in and answered. “Hi, Mom. Just on my way over to the showroom.”

  “But it’s not even nine yet,” Linda Winchester complained. “You have time to stop by the house. Let me fix you some breakfast.”

  “I’ve already eaten. And I have to get the shop opened.”

  “Sweetheart, it’s your shop. You’re the boss. No need to rush over there at the crack of dawn.”

  “Come on, Mom. A successful business doesn’t run itself.” Not that Your Way Interior Design was all that successful. Yet.

  “I hardly see you lately. We need to chat.”

  Chatting with her mother was the last thing she needed. They hadn’t been getting along all that well since Chloe’s divorce. And it had only gotten worse after she returned to Justice Creek. Linda knew what was right for her only child and she never missed an opportunity to lecture Chloe on all she’d done wrong. And somehow, whenever they “chatted,” her mother always managed to bring up Ted and the perfect life Chloe had thrown away. “Mom, I’ll have to call you later. I need to get to work.”

  “But, sweetheart, I want to—”

  “Call you tonight, Mom.”

  Her mother was still protesting as Chloe disconnected the call.

  She drove to her showroom and unlocked the doors at nine, an hour before most of the businesses on Central Street opened. She had a good location and an attractive shop, with neutral walls and sleek, modern cabinetry and red and yellow accents to give it energy and interest. Her motto was Your Space, Your Way. She had attractive displays, and plenty of them, lots of table space for spreading out samples. And she was trained in every aspect of home design, from blueprints up.

  Her website looked great and she stayed active on Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter and Tumblr. She kept a blog where she gave free tips on great ways to spiff up your living space. During the school year, she ran a workshop right there in her showroom for high school students interested in interior design. She contributed her expertise to local churches, helping them spruce up their Sunday school rooms and social halls. And she worked right along with the other shop owners in Justice Creek on various chamber of commerce projects.

  Still, it took time to build a business. Chloe had found a real shark of a divorce lawyer who’d put the screws to Ted and got her a nice lump settlement, which Chloe had asked for. The onetime payout was less than monthly alimony would have been in total, but the last thing she wanted was to be getting regular checks from Ted. With the settlement, she’d been able to cut ties with him completely.

  She’d tried to spend her money wisely. She loved her house, which she’d redone herself, and she was proud of her business. But the past couple of months, she had more to worry about than putting Ted behind her and whether or not there might someday be love in her future.

  Chloe’s nest egg was shrinking. Your Way needed to start paying its way.

  That day, as it turned out, was better than most. She had steady walk-in traffic. A new couple in town came in and hired her to do all the window treatments in the house they’d just bought. She scheduled three appointments to give estimates: two living room redesigns and a kitchen upgrade. When her assistant, Tai Stockard, a design student home from CU for the summer, came in at one, Chloe sent her to the Library Café for takeout paninis. It was turning into a profitable day and they might as well enjoy a nice lunch.

  Chloe went home smiling—until she remembered she owed her mother a call.

  “Come on over for dinner,” her mother coaxed. “I’ve got lamb chops and twice-baked potatoes just the way you love them. We’re leaving for Maui tomorrow.” Chloe’s mom and dad would be gone for two weeks, staying at a luxury resort where her mother could enjoy the spa an
d the lavish meals and her father could play golf. “I want to see you before we go.”

  Chloe went to dinner at the house where she’d grown up. It wasn’t that bad. Linda managed not to say a single word about Ted. And it was good to see her dad. An orthodontist with a successful practice, Doug Winchester had a dry sense of humor and never tried to tell his only daughter how to live her life.

  By nine, Chloe was back at home. She got ready for bed, settled under the covers with the latest bestseller and tried not to let her mind wander to the question of what Quinn Bravo might be doing that night.

  * * *

  Quinn heard the soft whisper of small feet across the tiled floor as he stared out the window at the single light shining from inside Chloe’s house. “Go back to bed, Annabanana,” he said softly without turning.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “The monsters are very noisy. And I’m not a banana. You know that, Daddy.”

  “Yes, you are.” He turned and dropped to a crouch. “You’re my favorite banana.”

  Dragging her ancient pink blanket and her one-eyed teddy bear, Annabelle marched right up to him and put one of her little hands on his shoulder. “No, I’m not. I’m a girl.”

  He leaned closer and whispered, “Ah. Gotta remember that.”

  “Pick me up, Daddy,” she instructed. “Get the flashlight.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and stood. She giggled and hugged his neck, shoving her musty old teddy bear into the side of his face. He detoured to the kitchen, where he got the flashlight from a drawer. Then he returned to the living room and mounted the stairs.