by Jenna Sutton
He hadn’t meant for the question to come out with any sexual overtones, but he wasn’t surprised it had. He’d been thinking about sex since he had seen her wrapped in a robe and looking like a Hostess Sno Ball snack cake.
Her russet eyebrows rose. “I have a whole list.”
“Tell me.” When she looked at him doubtfully, he added, “Please, I really want to know.”
And he did. It went beyond mere curiosity. He had an overwhelming urge to understand her, to know what made her tick.
“You already know about the coffee and the alcohol.”
He nodded for her to continue. Her sigh indicated she didn’t want to pursue this conversation.
“Fine, I’ll tell you.” She paused, obviously gathering her thoughts. “I don’t drink out of straws. I don’t swear. I don’t open my mail on the day I get it. I don’t go to church. And I don’t wear orange or any color in the orange family, ever.”
He silently considered her list for a moment. “I can see why wearing orange is a don’t,” he said finally, nodding toward her coppery hair. “But if you don’t swear, what do you say when you’re angry?”
She shrugged, and he could tell she was embarrassed. “United States presidents.”
He was confused. “You say, ‘United States presidents,’” he repeated.
“No, I say their names, like John Fitzgerald Kennedy or Franklin Delano Roosevelt.”
The thought of Amelia screaming out a president’s name in anger put him into hysterics. Who knew why it set him off, but he let out a deep belly laugh like he hadn’t enjoyed in months, maybe even years. Since his dad’s cancer diagnosis, there hadn’t been a lot of laughter in his family, although they all had tried to maintain a positive attitude.
He laughed so hard his eyes watered, and other people in the restaurant stared. The harder he laughed, the pinker Amelia’s face became.
“So, let’s say you stub your toe, and instead of saying ‘damn’ or ‘shit,’ you take our presidents’ names in vain,” he clarified.
She nodded. “You should try it. It’s a good history lesson,” she said prissily, which got him going again.
When he had finally stopped chortling and caught his breath, he moved on to another don’t that had caught his attention. “Why don’t you open your mail on the day it arrives?”
She frowned. “I never agreed to tell you why I don’t do certain things.”
“Maybe one day you will.”
He really hoped she would, although he didn’t know why it mattered so much to him that she would trust him with something so personal. “Is that all that’s on your list?”
She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. The movement drew his attention to the V neck of her shirt where the upper curves of her breasts were visible, and he started to sweat.
“No, that’s not all, but it’s all I’m going to tell you right now.”
Now he was really intrigued. He raised a brow, indicating that he wanted her to continue. She shook her head.
“Why don’t you tell me about some of the things you don’t do?”
“A better question is what haven’t I done yet?”
She smiled at his quip but didn’t speak. She looked at him expectantly, and he took a few moments before answering her question as honestly as he could.
“I don’t eat avocadoes. I don’t fly coach. I don’t lie to people I love. I don’t wear pajamas to bed. I don’t have one-night stands.” She gave him a skeptical look, compelling him to add “anymore” to his last statement.
She was silent for a moment. “We have some don’ts in common.”
“Which ones?”
She sent him an arch look. “What do you think?”
Before Quinn could blink, his mind had conjured up an image of Amelia in his bed, sans pajamas. Talk about wishful thinking.
“I’m not going to guess.”
She smirked at his cowardice. “I’ll give you one. I don’t lie to people I love, either.”
He nodded his approval. It was a good rule to live by.
“Why no avocadoes?”
“I’m allergic to them. I break out in hives.”
It was really too bad since he loved guacamole, but if he didn’t resist the temptation, he ended up in the ER. There had been a couple of times when he’d actually thought it was worth it. Of course, he’d been a stupid kid at the time. He was smarter now and had more self-control.
Just keep telling yourself that, chief.
She nodded. “Then that’s definitely a good don’t.”
He realized the whole exercise, which had seemed silly at first, made him feel strangely exposed.
It felt like Amelia knew more about him than anyone he’d ever dated, and that intimacy sent conflicting emotions of delight and dismay swirling through him. He looked at her and instinctively knew she felt the same way. Fortunately, the server stopped by to take their order, and Quinn was able to direct the conversation to a safer topic.
“I read that you moved to Nashville with Ava Grace after she won American Star. Do you like living there?”
She nodded. “Yes, I love it.”
“I’ve only been to Nashville a couple of times, but I really liked it.”
“Why did you visit? Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure. I was visiting Nick Priest. Do you know him?”
“Yes, I know Nick.” She smiled, her brown eyes dreamy. “His picture must be in the dictionary beside the words ‘eye candy.’”
He felt a surge of irritation at her statement. Did every female on the planet think Nick Priest was God’s gift to women?
He groaned. “Not you, too.”
She shrugged. “I appreciate a good-looking guy as much as the next girl.”
“Do you also appreciate silence?” he joked because Priest rarely spoke. Apparently his lack of verbal skills didn’t hurt his standing with the ladies.
She laughed, the husky sound rippling across Quinn’s senses. He shifted, trying to lessen the pressure in his jeans. He couldn’t believe he was getting a goddamn hard-on while Amelia sat across from him talking about another man.
He took a big swig of his beer, hoping it would cool him down. He desperately tried to concentrate on Amelia’s words instead of imagining her propped on the edge of the table with his head between her legs and his tongue against her clit. He caught the end of her sentence—something to do with Ava Grace—and picked up the thread of conversation.
“You and Ava Grace seem to have a unique relationship.”
By all accounts, the pair was devoted to one another, and he found their relationship very interesting, what little he knew about it, anyway.
Amelia nodded. “We’re each other’s biggest fan.”
He wondered where her family fit into things. His parents and siblings were his biggest fans. He also had a handful of buddies. Priest was one of those guys, although he didn’t talk to Quinn much more than he talked to anyone else.
“When Ava Grace gets compliments on the stuff I’ve designed for her, she sees it as an invitation to tell everyone how fabulous I am. She’s been doing that for most of our lives.”
Her comments were heavy with self-deprecation, and that surprised him. He was under the impression her designs were hot commodities, and most fashion designers he knew were well aware of their status.
Before he could delve into that conundrum, their food arrived. They’d decided to share a pepperoni pizza, and the decadent smell wafting from the gooey pie made his mouth water.
He quickly served up a piece to Amelia before placing two slices on his plate. He took a big bite, moaning around a mouthful of cheesy deliciousness. Cheese, any kind of cheese, was his favorite food, hands down.
He looked up to find Amelia staring at him, her own slice of pizza frozen at her lips. He coul
dn’t decipher the look on her face, but he figured she was appalled by his lack of manners. When it came to food (and sex), he tended to be more caveman than gentleman.
• • •
Amelia couldn’t take her eyes off Quinn’s face. His reaction to the pizza gave new meaning to the phrase “making love to your food,” and when he’d let out that sexy sound, her panties got damp.
Realizing she had pizza hanging from her mouth, she took a quick bite. It was good, but it wasn’t as fantastic as his moans had led her to believe.
They ate in silence for a while, and with her mind left to wander, she had a brief fantasy of what could have happened if Quinn had arrived at the penthouse just a few minutes earlier while she’d been in the shower. She imagined him joining her under the hot water, turning her toward the tile wall, and pressing his tall body against her back before pushing her legs apart and thrusting his hardness inside her.
“Amelia.” She glanced up to find Quinn waving his hand in front of her face. “Hey, there you are.”
William Jefferson Clinton!
How long had she sat here fantasizing about getting down and dirty with Quinn? She’d known going to dinner with him was a bad idea.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry. I was just lost in how great this pizza tastes.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you like it. This is one of my favorite places.”
She let her gaze wander around the restaurant. She and Quinn definitely had different ideas of casual.
Although small, the pizzeria was well designed and sported high-end finishes. Metal sconces highlighted the exposed brick walls and gleaming hardwood floors. Pendant lights hung over the booths, which were upholstered in buttery-soft leather.
“It’s not as casual as the restaurants I’m used to. Nashville isn’t a fancy place.”
When she and Ava Grace had been poor teenagers stuck in a dinky, dirty town, they’d had dreams just like all the other people who hated their lives. Amelia had dreamed of studying fashion and eventually moving to New York, and Ava Grace had dreamed of nabbing a record deal and touring with country music stars like Carrie Underwood and Miranda Lambert.
Their dreams had seemed as far away as the moon, especially for girls who bought their clothes at the thrift store and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for most of their meals.
But Amelia and Ava Grace were pragmatists at heart, and while dreams were nice, the two of them had possessed something even better. They’d had plans.
In Amelia’s mind, dreams rarely came true, but plans . . . Well, they were a different animal altogether. A smart woman with a good plan and the gumption to stick to it could change her life.
So Amelia and Ava Grace had plotted, devising a plan to move to Nashville. They had considered Austin, but both of them had wanted to get away from Texas and any reminders of the way they’d grown up.
“I stayed with Priest when I visited,” Quinn said, “and it seemed pretty fancy to me. Do you live near him?”
She laughed at the thought. Nick’s huge house was located in one of the most expensive enclaves in suburban Nashville, a far cry from the home she and Ava Grace shared.
“No. We live way out of the city in an old farmhouse.”
Quinn’s dark eyebrows rose. “That seems like an odd choice for a country music star and an up-and-coming fashion designer.”
“I’d agree, but Ava Grace is not the typical country music star, and I needed room for my workshop.”
When she and Ava Grace had first arrived in Nashville, everyone had recommended they rent an apartment downtown or lease a bungalow in one of the trendy neighborhoods where a lot of other musicians lived. But Ava Grace had been insistent that they choose a place with a workshop for Amelia.
“Speaking of workshops, what do you think of the ones at Riley Plaza?” Quinn asked.
“They’re fine.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a diva, you know.”
His oh-so-kissable lips quirked at her statement. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Juice, but during our first meeting you were ready to tell me to fu—kiss off if I didn’t agree to let you work in your own workshop.”
She smiled when Quinn quickly changed his word choice, obviously respecting her “no swearing.” She didn’t really mind if other people used bad language; she just wasn’t going to.
Her mother had been unable to say a single sentence without dropping the F-bomb, and Amelia had vowed she would do everything she could to not be like her mother. That was also the reason why she didn’t drink.
“You’re a smart guy. You know I can work anywhere. I just thought I’d do my best work in familiar surroundings.”
Liar. You were afraid this would happen.
He snapped his fingers. “Finally, you’ve found something nice to say about me.”
Although she laughed at his quip, she was disturbed to realize she could find plenty of nice things to say about him. The more time she spent with him, the more she liked him. And liking him was dangerous.
Spending time with Quinn was like walking along the edge of a ravine. Sooner or later, she’d stumble and fall, crossing the line from colleagues to . . . something more.
And that would be a disaster. A catastrophe of gigantic proportions.
She didn’t want people to think she slept her way to success, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The secret deal with Teagan made it impossible for them to be anything more than colleagues, not even friends.
Friends didn’t go behind each other’s back . . . except for Brutus, of course. He stabbed Julius Caesar in the back—literally. She didn’t want to be a Brutus, so she had to keep her distance from Quinn.
He gestured toward their empty plates and the pizza pan. They were bare except for a couple of crumbs.
“I’m kind of disappointed there aren’t any leftovers. Now I have to find something else for breakfast.”
She chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. Was he serious? Only college kids ate pizza for breakfast. Adults ate yogurt and egg-white omelets.
“Unbelievable. You eat pizza for breakfast, and you still look like that.”
She clamped her mouth shut before she blurted out a truly regrettable comment about what her butt would look like if she made such poor dietary choices. He gazed at her intently.
“Look like what?”
Tall, dark, and handsome, that’s what. And he totally knew it.
Their interactions had given her plenty of evidence his self-esteem was healthy. In fact, it was so healthy it probably participated in marathons.
“Please,” she scoffed. “You don’t need me to stroke your ego.”
At the word “stroke,” his gaze heated and fell to her lips. When he brought his eyes back to hers, the dark blue irises were nearly obliterated by the pupils. The proof of his arousal made her lightheaded.
“You’re right,” he said huskily. “My ego’s just fine.”
Chapter 14
Amelia tapped her ballet flat against the polished concrete floor as she waited for Quinn in Riley Plaza’s second-floor reception area. After they’d finished dinner at the pizzeria and walked back to the high-rise, he left her at the elevator bank while he detoured to the parking garage to get her fruits and veggies.
She wondered if he had bought any leafy greens like spinach and kale. If not, she might have to make a trip to the store. She would probably need to pick up some coconut water, too, since it was unlikely he’d thought to buy that. If he had, she’d have no choice but to rip off his clothes and have her way with him.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal Quinn. His muscular arms held two large canvas bags, and another bag sat on the floor near his feet. All three overflowed with a variety of produce, filling the elevator with the tangy scent of citrus and the sweet aroma of mangoes, peaches, and strawberries.
He be
ckoned her into the elevator with a tilt of his head. “Get in,” he ordered tersely.
She wondered what had happened to make him so cranky. He’d seemed fine at the restaurant.
Once they arrived at the penthouse, she placed her canvas bag on the floor to key in the code. He must have made a serious dent in the produce section, and her bag was so heavy she had to carry it with both arms.
She held the door open for Quinn, and as he passed through it, his forearm brushed against her breasts. She sucked in a breath at the brief contact, and he turned his head sharply toward her. She was sure her desire was obvious on her face, and she averted it, hoping he wouldn’t see how much she wanted him.
After returning to the hall to grab her bag of produce, she had just stepped inside when she ran into him. Without a word, he took the bag from her and headed back to the kitchen to deposit it on the island.
She followed behind him, appreciating the way his Rileys hugged his rear. She was a little overheated, so she shrugged out of her purple hoodie and hung it on the back of one of the tall, wooden chairs situated near the bar.
“Thank you so much for the juicer, Quinn. And for the produce. And for dinner.”
He didn’t respond to her words of gratitude. Instead, he unpacked the bags, disgorging a kaleidoscope of colorful produce onto the granite island. The bright hues of bananas, lemons, oranges, and carrots contrasted sharply with the intense red of strawberries and apples, the deep indigo of blueberries, and the dark green of spinach.
He remembered to buy leafy vegetables!
She moved to the island to help him unload the rest of the goodies, and he stiffened slightly when her arm brushed against his. She looked up, and they stared at each other, barely breathing, until he leaned down. His nose brushed the top of her hair, and he took a deep breath.
“You smell good. What is it?”
The vibrations of his deep voice near her ear made her whole body break out in goose bumps. She was so affected by his nearness she had a hard time pulling in a deep breath.
“Almond oil,” she gasped. “I use it on my hair to keep it from getting frizzy.”
