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

by Christine Rimmer

  She fiddled with the pearls her dad had given her years ago, when she thought she knew everything and saw so clearly how her life would go.

  What about love? Quinn hadn’t mentioned love.

  Should that bother her?

  Well, it didn’t. She’d had enough declarations of love from her rotten-hearted ex-husband to last her into the next century. And where had all that love talk gotten her but wounded, divorced and bitterly disappointed?

  This, what Quinn offered, was better.

  It wasn’t a fantasy, not perfect. But it was honest. It felt real.

  Quinn spoke then. “One more thing. About Manny...” He waited for her to look at him, and then for acknowledgement that she’d heard what he said. When she gulped and nodded, he went on. “Manny’s part of the family. So you would not only be getting me and Annabelle. There’s Manny, too. He can be a pain in the ass, I know. But he’s not going anywhere. If you said yes, you would need to deal with him, work with him.”

  She felt a soft smile tremble across her mouth. “I would never for a second expect it to be any other way.”

  He didn’t smile. But his eyes were so bright. “Well, all right, then.”

  The part about Manny had been so easy to answer. But the rest of it... She really didn’t know what to say. She stared out the sliding door again.

  He asked into the heavy silence, “Want me to go?”

  Turning from her study of the empty deck chairs, she faced him once more. “No way. I want you to stay.”

  He stood. “Will you think about it, consider my offer?”

  “I will.”

  He came for her then. She waited, her whole body humming with sweet anticipation as he approached.

  And when he was close enough that the heat he generated seemed to reach out and touch her, she canted her chin higher and gazed straight into those beautiful eyes. “You are like no one I’ve ever known.”

  “That’s good, I hope?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s very good.”

  “Angel.” He lifted a big hand and brushed a finger down the curve of her cheek, stirring up goose bumps, making her sigh. And then he lowered that wonderful mouth of his and brushed those lips, so gently, back and forth across her own.

  She smiled into his kiss, brought her hands up between them and went to work undoing the rest of the buttons down the front of his shirt. It didn’t take long. She spread the shirt wide and pressed her palms to his broad chest, to that beautiful tattoo with his little girl’s name in the middle of it. His skin was hot, wonderfully so. Sandy hair formed a tempting T across.

  And down.

  Best of all, she could count the strong beats of his big heart. She whispered against those velvety lips of his, “I should have made a move on you back in high school.”

  He chuckled, the low rumble sending a thrill shivering straight to the core of her. “That wasn’t your style—and I wasn’t your type.”

  “Oh, but Quinn. You were my type. What a fool I was then. I took what I thought was the safe way—and it wasn’t safe in the least. It turned out all wrong.”

  “Hey.” His voice was heaven, the perfect blend of rough and tender. He kissed the tip of her nose. “No regrets, huh?”

  “But I do have regrets.” She slid her hands up over his thick, hard shoulders, and clasped them around his neck. “And I can’t just wish them away.”

  He shrugged out of his shirt and let it fall. Then he bent his head lower, smoothed her hair aside and pressed his hot mouth to the crook of her neck. “Forget ’em, then.” His breath so hot across her skin, branding her, burning her. “For now, at least?”

  She threaded her eager fingers up into his hair. “Help me with that?”

  “Happy to.” He breathed in through his nose. “You smell so good...” And then he scraped his teeth where his lips had been.

  She shivered and moaned as he kissed his way back up over the curve of her jaw to claim her lips again. She opened for him. Heat speared through her as his tongue swept her mouth.

  He lifted her hair off her neck with one hand. With the other, he took down the long zipper at the back of her dress and guided the dress off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor. She broke the lovely kiss in order to step out of it. He bent, picked it up and tossed it on the nearest chair.

  Unbuttoning and unzipping, flinging articles of clothing toward the chair as soon as they had them off, they undressed each other.

  Finally, when the only thing left was her pearls, he ordered gruffly, “Turn around.”

  She showed him her back. He unhooked the diamond clasp and took the necklace away. She faced him again in time to watch him reach over and lay the double strand on the nearby side table.

  That was it. They were naked. Completely naked. And it seemed such a very long way to the bedroom.

  Good thing she’d planned ahead.

  He asked roughly, “What are you smiling about?”

  And she pulled open the little drawer in the side table and took out the condom she’d tucked in there. Just in case.

  “God. Chloe.” He hauled her close, licked her ear and whispered in it, “You think of everything.”

  She whispered back, “A design teacher I had once told me that what I lack in imagination, I make up for in efficiency and good planning. I was really insulted at the time.”

  He took her earlobe between his teeth and tugged on it, biting down just a little harder than he needed to.

  It felt so good it made her moan.

  He whispered, “Put it on me.”

  She pulled back a little, far enough to meet his eyes. They were the color of some tropical sea right then, so deep, going down and down to deeper blue. Focused so completely on her. “Right now?”

  For that she got a slow, deliberate nod from him.

  She started to tear the top off the pouch.

  “On second thought...” He caught her hand. “Wait...” And he pulled her close and kissed her some more. She gave herself up to that, to the taste of his mouth and the heat of his breath, to the feel of him, fully erect against her belly, making her burn for him.

  Making her moan. She eased her free hand between them and wrapped her fingers around him, stroking. Oh, he felt so good—his powerful body pressed close, his mouth covering hers, the long, hard length of him held tight in her grip.

  He kissed her endlessly, kissed her and caressed her, his fingers tracing magical patterns over her skin, teasing her breasts, first cradling them so gently, then catching the nipples, rolling them, so that she moaned some more. He seemed to really like it when she moaned.

  He made a wonderful growling sound low in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Like that?”

  She couldn’t say “Yes” fast enough. So she said it again, moving her hand up and down the thick length of him. “Yes...” And again, “Oh, yes, Quinn. Like that...”

  And then his hand went lower, all the way to the feminine heart of her.

  She cried out as he stroked her, opening her. She felt her own wetness, her readiness for him. She didn’t want to wait a second longer. She couldn’t wait...

  “I...” She got that word out, and then couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d meant to say next.

  “Yeah?” He was kissing his way along the line of her jaw, biting a little, licking some, too. Below, his fingers kept up their clever, thrilling play on her wet, secret flesh.

  Oh, she was lost in the best way, totally gone. She kept her left hand wrapped around him, holding on for dear life. In her right, she still clutched the unused condom. She kind of waved it at him. “I...” Just that word. Nothing more. It was the only word she seemed to have at her disposal at the moment.

  And apparently it was enough. He took the condom from her. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, dazed. Transported.

  He lifted the small pouch, caught the corner between his teeth and tore the top off, all the while staring directly into her eyes, his other hand continuing to do amazing things
to her below.

  “Here,” she whispered, holding out her free hand. He gave it back. She let go of him to use both hands, removing the wrapper and dropping it on the little table next to her pearls. And then she rolled the protection down over him. He moaned. And she granted him a small, triumphant smile. “There.”

  He reached for her, clasping her waist. She gasped in surprise. His right hand was slick and wet. It was her wetness, her desire. She was shocked at herself, at her own complete abandon.

  Shocked. Amazed.

  And gratified.

  It was the same as that other night. Only better. He took her, claimed her, carried her right out of herself. He just swept her away—at the same time as he made her feel that she’d somehow come home, that nothing and no one would ever hurt her again.

  And then he was lifting her. He did it so effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing. She grabbed for him, hungry for the feel of him, for her flesh pressed to his flesh, hot and tight and hard. She wrapped her arms and legs around him.

  He whispered her name.

  “Quinn,” she whispered in return. “Oh, yes.” She sank her teeth into his neck and when he growled at her, a dark, hot laugh escaped her. He bent to nuzzle her and she turned her face to his and claimed his mouth.

  The kiss went deeper, wetter, hotter. And he was moving, with her all twined around him like a vine. He went to the short section of bare wall beside the entry closet, just walked her right up to it.

  And then he lifted her, positioning her just so...

  She felt him there, nudging her, right where she wanted him. And she pressed down.

  He made the deepest, hottest, hungriest sound then, as she lowered herself onto him. He was wonderfully thick and large. Still, her body took him easily, gliding down around him until he filled her all the way.

  They froze. She let her head fall back and her eyes drift shut. He had her perfectly braced, with the wall to give them stability. He canted his upper body slightly away from her, while below, he held her so close, just right, big hands cradling her open thighs. She clutched his shoulders, fingers gripping tight, her legs locked securely behind his waist.

  She was...gone, lost in wonder, swept up in the connection, her breathing harsh and hungry, just like his.

  “Chloe...”

  And she opened her eyes and looked at him. His blue-green gaze was right there, waiting for her. He gripped her thighs tighter, pushing them wider, pressing his lower body closer, sliding into her that fraction deeper.

  That did it. She felt the gathering, the build—and the lovely, hot sensation, as though all of her was blooming.

  She asked, “Quinn?” For permission? Acknowledgment?

  She had no idea which.

  But he seemed to understand, even if she didn’t. “Yeah,” he answered, one corner of that soft, bad boy’s mouth of his curling upward. “Go for it, angel.”

  And she did. She let go, let it happen, let it roll out from her in a hot, endless wave. Pleasure cascaded from the core of her, sizzling along every nerve, hitting the tips of her toes and the top of her head, spilling all through her in a flood of light and glory. He stayed with her, pressing up into her hard and tight, as the fire flamed so bright and then slowly faded down to a lovely, glowing ember.

  And right then, when she thought it was over, when she was more than ready to ease her shaking legs to the floor, he started to move again.

  She groaned in sexual overload and shoved fitfully at his rocklike shoulders. But he didn’t release her.

  And, well, could she blame him? After all, it was his turn. He’d swept her right off her feet and straight to paradise. The least she could do was stick with him now.

  With a sigh of surrender, she stopped pushing him away and held on instead, bracing to ride it out.

  But then, out of nowhere, all at once, it became more than just sticking with it for his sake. So much more.

  In a split second, she was catching fire again.

  “Oh... Oh, my!” She yanked him tight against her.

  He let out a laugh, deep and knowing. Full of heat and joy.

  She moaned his name as she pressed her open mouth to his, her body moving in time with his, picking up speed, finding the hard, insistent rhythm he set—and matching it, giving it back to him.

  Time whirled away. The edge of the world was waiting for her. Waiting for both of them. She spun toward it, dizzy with the thrill of it. She hovered on the brink—and went over.

  And he was right there with her, hitting the peak a moment after she did, pulsing hard and hot within her.

  And then following her down.

  Chapter Six

  It was three-fifteen on Saturday morning when he left her.

  Chloe put on a robe and walked him out to his beautiful old car. She kissed him goodbye—a long, slow, lovely kiss.

  When he would have let her go, she grabbed him back and kissed him some more.

  He laughed when he finally lifted his head. “Hey. I’m only going around the block.”

  “I know.” She sighed, wrapped her arms around his waist, and beamed up at him. “But I want to make sure you don’t forget me.”

  “No chance of that.” He took a curl of her hair and wrapped it around his hand. “We got a special thing going, you and me.”

  “Oh, yes, we do.”

  He touched her chin with his thumb, brushed one last kiss across her upturned lips. “Get some rest.”

  She promised she would and reluctantly stepped back so he could open the car door and slide in behind the wheel. Then she waited, her arms wrapped around herself against the predawn chill, as he backed from the driveway and drove off down the street.

  As soon as his taillights disappeared, she missed him. She wanted to run inside, grab the phone and call him back.

  Which was totally silly. He’d asked her to marry him. And she was redecorating his house—both of his houses, as a matter of fact.

  One way or another, she would be seeing him very soon.

  * * *

  She saw him the next day. He called and invited her out for ice cream with him and Annabelle. Chloe spent two lovely hours with father and daughter. Annabelle enchanted her. It might be too soon to talk about falling in love with Quinn. But she had no problem admitting she was head over heels for his little girl.

  And then, that night, Quinn came up the hill to join her. He stayed for two hours. They talked about Annabelle and about Chloe’s plans for his houses—and then they made love. He left at a little past midnight.

  Same thing on Sunday night.

  Monday at nine in the morning, Quinn closed on the house across the street from Chloe. Then, at eleven, he brought Manny and Annabelle to Chloe’s showroom to see the plans and sign the contract for the redesign of the house down the hill. Chloe had cookies on offer at the coffee table, which Annabelle spotted immediately. Manny said she could have one.

  Annabelle chose a cookie, thanked Chloe sweetly—and asked if she knew how to make a fairy princess dress. “I want one, Chloe. Will you please make me one?”

  Before Chloe could reply that she absolutely could and would, Quinn said, “Anniefannie, you are pushing it.”

  “Daddy!” The little girl tipped her cute nose high in a perfect imitation of disdain. “I’m not a fannie.”

  “But will you stop pushing it?”

  Annabelle dimpled adorably. “But Chloe can make a room. I know she can make me a fairy princess dress.” She turned pleading eyes on Chloe, who longed only to give her whatever she wanted. “Pleeeaaase, Chloe.”

  Manny spoke up then. He said one word. “Annabelle.” After which he pushed back his chair and held out his hand.

  Annabelle’s lower lip started quivering. “Oh, no. Not the car. I don’t want to sit in the car. Pleeaaassse, Manny.”

  Manny let out a heavy sigh. “Are you gonna stop pestering Chloe and sit quietly at the table while we finish our business here?”

  Annabelle announced loudly, “Ye
s, I am!”

  Manny mimed locking his lips with a key.

  Annabelle straightened her small shoulders and folded her hands on the table, all the while pressing her lips together and pointedly glancing from one adult to the next.

  Finally, Manny nodded. “All right. We’ll give it a try.”

  Annabelle nodded wildly but kept her little mouth tightly shut.

  “Eat your cookie,” Quinn said in his gentlest voice.

  Annabelle made short work of the treat. And then Manny gave her a cup of crayons and some paper. She was a perfect little angel, happily coloring away as the grown-ups finished their meeting.

  That afternoon, Chloe visited Bravo Construction, which consisted of three trailers and a warehouse on the southwest edge of town. She met with Nell Bravo, who was in her late twenties and stunningly beautiful, with long auburn hair and a vivid half-sleeve tattoo down her shapely left arm. The baby of the Bravo family, Nell had always been outspoken and tough-minded. Everyone knew you didn’t mess with Nell.

  Chloe had the plans with her for Quinn’s redesign. She spent two hours in Nell’s office trailer, going over everything in detail, coming to agreement on the budget and the schedule.

  Nell would personally run the job. Tomorrow, Chloe would get busy ordering cabinets and appliances, counters and flooring. Nell would put in for the permits they would need. Demo would begin first thing next Monday morning. If all went as planned—which it rarely did—the project would take nine to ten weeks.

  At four o’clock, when they had everything pretty well hammered out, Chloe got up to leave.

  And Nell hoisted her heavy black biker boots up onto her battered desk. “Before you head out, we need to talk. Hey, Ruby?”

  The plump, motherly looking clerk at the desk near the door glanced around. “What do you need?”

  “Take fifteen?”

  “Sure.” Ruby got up from her laptop and left the trailer.

  Chloe had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  Nell proved the feeling right as soon as the door closed behind the clerk. “So, I hear you’ve had a thing for Quinn ever since high school. Is that true?”

  Chloe dropped back into her chair. “Monique Hightower’s been talking.”