by Jenna Sutton
As she stared at Quinn, he smiled slowly. “I’m glad you came back. I’m really happy to see you.”
She was unable to look away from his mouth as those beautiful lips shaped his words. When she didn’t reply, he cleared his throat.
“I wanted to talk to you about what happened in the penthouse. I wanted to talk about where we should go from here.”
Realizing she had barely grasped a word he’d said, she jerked her eyes from his lips only to fall headlong into his deep blue gaze. He shot her an alert glance, stepping closer to her.
She could smell him, and his scent was no longer unfamiliar to her. She recognized it on a cellular level, and she knew she would be able to identify him in a room full of other men even if she was blindfolded.
Amelia could feel herself unraveling. She had to get herself under control. She’d promised Ava Grace she would stay away from Quinn. But here she was . . . alone with him in a room that offered plenty of privacy.
Ava Grace’s voice echoed in her head, Amelia Deanne Winger, you know better!
Walk away! Just walk away from him.
• • •
Quinn looked closely at Amelia’s face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her dark brown eyes were glazed. She hadn’t said a single word to him since he’d entered the room, not even hello.
“Amelia.” He touched her arm lightly. “Sweetheart, did you hear me?”
Shaking her head slightly, she took several steps away from him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said,” she responded coolly, her face closed and lacking the animation and warmth he’d come to expect. “Can you repeat it?”
She looked at him, but it felt as if she looked through him. He realized she was sending a clear, albeit silent, message. She had no interest in getting involved with him, and she would barely tolerate him professionally.
“It wasn’t important,” he said, his voice sounding like he had swallowed gravel.
Disappointment swamped him, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to pursue a woman who was clearly not interested. Hell, he’d never had to chase a woman in his life, and he wasn’t going to start now.
Amelia nodded. “Okay. If you didn’t need anything, I’m going to just . . . go,” she said, stumbling over the last few words.
As she moved toward the door, he got a good look at her clothes. “What the hell are you wearing?” he barked.
She spun around to face him, and he pointed at her short denim skirt. It ended several inches above the enticing dimples of her knees, and she’d paired it with a gauzy, cream-colored top with a drawstring around the neck, a brown leather vest, and brown cowboy boots.
He didn’t understand how she could look so cute and so sexy at the same time. There should be a law against that kind of thing.
She looked down in confusion. “What?”
“You’re wearing a skirt with the name of my number one competitor stamped on your ass. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Her pink mouth dropped open, and she reached behind her as if she wanted to cover the logos. The movement pushed out her chest, outlining her breasts and the hard little points of her nipples against the cotton.
Aggression flooded his veins. He had the ridiculous thought that if Amelia wanted to brand herself with someone’s name, it damn well better be his name. He felt like pulling her down across his lap, jerking up that damn skirt, and spanking her sweet round cheeks right where his competitor’s logos were located.
Before his mind could even think about what to do next, his body moved toward her. When she saw him coming, she pivoted and darted toward the exit. He reached her just as she opened the door, slamming a palm against it and forcing it closed with a bang.
Her lush little body was sandwiched between him and the door, and he crowded even closer until she had to turn her head to the side to keep from smashing her nose. He put his mouth to her ear.
“Don’t ever wear another piece of denim that doesn’t have my name on it,” he growled.
She gasped. “Riley skirts don’t even exist.”
“Say ‘Quinn, I won’t ever wear another piece of denim that doesn’t have your name on it.’”
She pushed back against him, trying to break his hold, and all that wiggling made him hard. He ran one of his hands down her side to her behind until he reached the logo on the skirt.
He squeezed. “Say it.”
She let out a tiny squeal. “Quinn O’Brien! What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”
He was breathing hard, and his brain felt like mush, but her words finally penetrated. When they did, he dropped his forehead against the door next to her face and let his hands fall to his sides.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.
He took a deep breath, the sweet smell of her hair flooding his lungs. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You make me crazy. I don’t know why, but you do. I do crazy things when I’m around you. I say crazy things that I . . .”
He let his sentence trail off, backing away from her so she could turn around. She looked up at him and licked her lips before pulling her bottom lip under her front teeth.
“I make you crazy,” she said, somehow making it sound like both a question and a statement. The overhead lights in the workshop made her eyes sparkle and her skin glow.
He nodded. “Yeah. You really—”
He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because Amelia launched herself at him, fisting a hand in his hair and pulling his mouth down to hers. She devoured his mouth, and he moaned against her lips.
God, she tastes so good.
He wanted this woman like he’d never wanted another, and he was going to take what she offered. Hooking his arm under Amelia’s butt, he pulled her against him. The movement raised her tiny skirt, and she spread her legs and wrapped them around his waist.
With his mouth still sealed to hers, he stumbled toward the door until her back pressed against it. He shoved his hands under her skirt, gripping the smooth globes of her ass. Her panties had slipped into the crease between her cheeks, and he followed them until his fingers met in the damp crevice.
She gasped against his mouth and pulled his head back so she could look into his eyes. “I need to stay away from you.”
“No. That’s not what you need,” he said roughly before giving her another deep kiss.
He couldn’t get enough of her mouth, and he sipped at her lips until they were both breathless. Drawing back, he sucked in a lungful of air before nuzzling the corner of her mouth and moving toward her neck.
She turned her head, arching her neck to give him access. He licked the silky skin below her ear before trailing his tongue down her throat until he got to the top of her breasts.
Using his teeth, he undid the drawstring tie on her shirt. The edges of her shirt gaped open, revealing freckled breasts encased in a lacy, flesh-colored bra. He ran his tongue across the top edge of the bra, taking time to suck on her smooth skin.
“Oh, God, Quinn,” she moaned.
Letting go of his head, she slipped her hands under his sweater. She ran her fingers across his back before delving under the waistband of his Rileys. They were cool against his hot skin, and he broke out in goose bumps. She dipped her fingers into his boxer briefs, tugging him closer, and he ground his denim-covered erection against her.
He moved his lips back to hers. “This is what you need,” he whispered against her mouth before kissing her again.
Sliding his fingers under her panties, he parted her slick folds with the tips of two fingers, dragging them gently against her flesh until he reached her clit. He circled it tenderly, flicking his fingernails against it. She moaned loudly, the sound reverberating through his body.
“This is what you need,” he repeated hoarsely.
She panted against his ear, hot little gusts of breath, and he squeezed his eyes shut
. He was on the verge of coming just from the feel of her pussy against his fingers. She was so hot and silky, and he wanted to unbutton his fly and go into her so deeply he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.
He shifted his hand to plunge two fingers into her and pressed his thumb on her clit. She jerked against him, gasping softly.
“That feels so good,” she breathed. “More.”
He gave her what she wanted, thrusting his fingers into her again and again while circling and flicking her clit with his thumb. She began to ride his hand, and he knew she was close when she threw back her head and dug her nails into his back.
Pressing hard on her clit, he pushed deep inside her. With a raspy cry, she came apart. He fed her a deep kiss as her pussy squeezed and convulsed around his fingers.
Resting his face against the hollow of her throat, he waited until her pussy had stopped pulsating before removing his fingers and tugging her panties back into place. As she pulled her hands from his jeans, he leaned back to look into her face. Her eyes were slumberous, her lips plump and rosy.
She ran her hand through his hair. “You got your hair cut.”
It was not what he’d expected her to say, and it took him a moment to formulate a reply. “I wanted to look good when you saw me again.”
“You always look good to me.”
He leaned in and kissed her softly, sucking gently on her lower lip before pulling back. “Obviously, you look good to me, too.”
She laughed huskily, wiggling in a silent demand that he let her down. He complied, watching as she adjusted her skirt and retied her blouse. She kept her face averted and fiddled with her neckline for a moment.
Her body language warned him that he wasn’t going to like what she’d say next. He tensed, knowing he was about to do battle.
“Quinn, we can’t do this again.”
Reaching under her fiery hair, he settled his hand on the back of her neck. He pulled her to him, forcing her head to tilt so he could see her face.
“Why not?”
“It’s too risky. We’re business partners, and we should keep things professional. If anyone found out, it could blemish our reputations, maybe even the reputation of Riley O’Brien & Co.”
“I know the risks, Amelia. I’ve considered them, and I still want to see where this goes.”
She swallowed deeply. “I can’t.”
“We can handle a personal relationship without jeopardizing our professional relationship,” he replied, his voice cajoling. “Give it a chance.”
“No.”
Her voice was resolute, and he dropped his hand. She immediately stepped away from him, and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from jerking her back to him.
“I don’t understand. I’m damn sure you want me as much as I want you.”
“Please.” Misery filled her face, and his heart pinched a little. “Please just accept my decision.”
“Are you saying you want to forget this ever happened? That you want to go back to the way things were before?”
She nodded. “Yes, exactly.”
“Forget it,” he said curtly. “My life moves forward, not backward.”
She turned her face away without replying. After a moment, he forced his feet to move forward, taking him out of the workshop and away from her.
Chapter 19
Amelia grabbed her towel and wiped the sweat off her face. The barre exercise class was kicking her butt, and she knew she would feel some pain tomorrow.
Even though the instructor was a meanie, Amelia was glad she’d decided to come to the class. It had helped take her mind off what had happened with Quinn in the workshop yesterday.
She had discovered barre exercise shortly after moving to Nashville. The classes combined ballet, Pilates, and yoga and provided a low-impact, high-intensity workout.
After only a few minutes of her first class, Amelia had known she’d found the exercise that would work for her. She was convinced it was the only thing standing between her and a butt that would require its own zip code.
One of the first things she had done when she’d arrived in San Francisco was search for a barre studio. The instructor for her class at home wasn’t nearly as demanding as the one who currently shouted out orders like she was in charge of an all-female army.
Amelia had the fanciful thought that the instructor was punishing her for the deplorable lack of self-control she’d shown with Quinn. She knew she deserved some form of castigation for her behavior.
She had been so close to escaping the workshop without making the situation between them any worse. But then he’d touched her, pressing his hard body against hers like he had in so many of her X-rated fantasies, and she’d just combusted.
Boom!
Her face burned when she thought about how she’d attacked Quinn, jumping into his arms, squeezing her legs around his lean waist, and grabbing his hair. When he had given her the best orgasm of her life, she’d rebuffed him and kicked him out of the workshop. She was such a horrible person, a liar and a user and an opportunist all rolled into one short, freckled body.
Mercifully, her thoughts were diverted when the tough instructor signaled an end to the class. Eager to get back to the penthouse and take a shower, she quickly gathered her bag, mat, and water bottle.
She was ready to leave when she saw a voicemail on her mobile phone from someone with a 323 area code. Recognizing the number as Los Angeles, she pressed the button to listen to the message, holding the phone to her ear as she left the studio.
“Amelia, it’s Gary Garson. I need you to call me. Cherry won’t need any of the pieces you designed for her. We should probably talk about compensation since you’ve already done some of the work. Call me.”
Her stomach dropped to her toes, and she came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Cherry had dumped her. No, she corrected herself, Cherry’s manager had done the actual dumping. It didn’t really matter, though, because the result was still the same.
One of the other pedestrians on the sidewalk bumped into her. “Get out of the way,” he snarled before stepping around her.
Forcing her feet to move, she stumbled toward the edge of the sidewalk where she leaned against one of the glass storefronts. Why didn’t Cherry want her designs? Had they been that bad?
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to suppress them. All that work for nothing. What did I do wrong?
She tried to pull in a deep breath, but it felt like something was crushing her chest. Probably disappointment.
She had been so excited to work with Cherry. She had wanted it too much, and she should have known it wouldn’t work out. She wondered if the singer had found another designer, maybe someone she liked better or someone who had the training and experience Amelia lacked.
She looked down. She still clutched her phone, and she dropped it into her shoulder bag. Pushing away from the storefront, she started the trek back to Riley Plaza.
As she walked, she was swamped with doubt about her design abilities. Cherry had only wanted ten designs.
Ten simple little designs.
Amelia hadn’t been able to deliver. Well . . . that wasn’t entirely accurate. She had delivered. Cherry just hadn’t liked what she’d done.
She shook her head in disgust. She couldn’t even do a small project like Cherry’s. How was she supposed to create an entirely new line of accessories for Riley O’Brien & Co., not to mention the redesign for the women’s division?
She was an idiot for thinking she could do it. And the O’Briens were even bigger idiots for hiring her when they should have chosen someone far more qualified and established.
Her best course of action was to sit down with Teagan and bow out of the projects. She was not the right person for the job, and she didn’t want to mess things up for the company. An
d most important, she didn’t want to mess things up for Quinn, whose commitment and devotion to his family company could not be doubted.
She had conflicting emotions at the thought of not working with Riley O’Brien & Co. The overwhelming one was relief, even if that relief felt remarkably like despair.
Yes, she was relieved to let go of the pressure involved in such huge projects. And if she wasn’t working on them anymore, she wouldn’t be forced to deceive Quinn. She wasn’t ready to think about how that could change things between them.
Amelia managed to make it back to the penthouse without running into anyone she didn’t want to see, which was just about everyone. Once inside, she dumped her bag and exercise mat on the sofa and grabbed her phone to call Gary. He picked up immediately, as if he’d been on the phone all morning.
“Amelia. Thanks for calling me back so quickly.”
“I’m sorry I missed your call earlier.”
“It’s no problem. I’m sorry we won’t be using your designs.”
She clenched the phone in her hand. She needed to know what had gone wrong, but at the same time, she was afraid to hear it.
“What happened? Did Cherry not like them?” She hated that her voice sounded so pathetic and wimpy.
“No, she loved them. You wouldn’t believe the noise she made when she received the FedEx with the sketches.”
She was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I’m confused. If she loved them, why doesn’t she want me to finish the pieces?”
Gary sighed gustily. “The little twit is pregnant, if you can believe that bullshit,” he said, his voice full of disgust. “The news leaked last night. Someone in her gynecologist’s office blasted it all over the web.”
She gasped. She hadn’t heard anything about it, but she could understand the gravity of the situation. Cherry wasn’t a teenager anymore, but her pregnancy would certainly damage her squeaky-clean image. The media would probably brand her a slut, and she’d end up losing millions of fans.
