by Jenna Sutton
The finely woven black wool suit coat outlined his broad shoulders and emphasized his lean waist, while the matching pants were just tight enough to show some definition in the crotch and thigh area. The bright white of his dress shirt set off his dark hair and made his blue eyes glimmer.
She looked down at his feet. Cowboy boots, of course. She would estimate this particular pair cost several thousand dollars, more evidence he lived in a different world than most people, her included.
While she’d checked him out, he had done the same to her. “Amelia,” he said hoarsely before clearing his throat.
Raising her head, she looked into his face. Her strange mood had morphed into something that felt remarkably like grief, and a horrible pressure filled her chest.
He stepped toward her, touching a loose curl that rested on her bare shoulder. “There are so many things I want to say to you,” he murmured, rubbing the strands between his thumb and forefinger. “But I’m going to start with this: we’re late.”
Chapter 38
Quinn opened the fourth cabinet door and finally found the drinking glasses. He grabbed one and pressed it against the water dispenser in the fridge’s door, filling it to the brim.
Leaning against the granite island, he took a big gulp. Champagne always made him thirsty, and he’d had more than his fair share of the bubbly tonight, even though Ava Grace hadn’t won the award for Best Female Artist.
Amelia had already made her way upstairs, and as he took another drink, he let his gaze wander over the farmhouse’s kitchen. He smiled when he saw a shiny juicer on the counter next to the sink and several pots of herbs on the windowsill above it.
Her personality was stamped all over this house, and he wondered how he was going to convince her to move to San Francisco. She loved living in Nashville, and more important, Ava Grace was here.
He might have to think about splitting his time between the West Coast and Tennessee. It wouldn’t be ideal, but if it was the only way he could be with Amelia, he would make it work.
Placing the glass on the island, he rubbed the back of his neck with both hands. Amelia had been subdued all evening. Although she’d seemed fine when she had gone upstairs to get ready, her mood had been as dark as her dress when they’d left.
At first he’d attributed her silence to nervous excitement. He had expected her to relax after Ava Grace had performed and the winner had been announced, even though she had been disappointed her best friend had lost.
But after the show had ended and they’d done the after-party rounds, she had remained quiet and withdrawn. He couldn’t figure out what had happened.
Maybe she was upset he hadn’t complimented her when he’d first seen her all dressed up. There were a lot of words he could have used to tell her how beautiful she had looked, but the first thing that had popped into his head was mine, followed quickly by I love you.
Prior to Amelia, he hadn’t realized how possessive he was. In fact, he’d always considered those guys kind of pathetic and insecure. At worst, he had wondered if they knocked around their women at home.
But Amelia brought out all kinds of new emotions in him. Some of them, like the possessiveness, were surprising. His overwhelming desire for her was another surprise. It didn’t matter how often he got her naked; it wasn’t enough.
She seemed to want him just as much. Her obvious delight when he’d arrived had given him hope that she felt more for him than just lust and casual affection. Her admission that she’d thought about him while they’d been apart had given him a boost of confidence to tell her that he loved her.
But now . . . well, now he wasn’t so sure. He knew she was a lot more reserved than he was, so he didn’t expect her to be effusive or clingy. But all evening, he’d had the impression she would rather be anywhere else but with him at the awards show.
He was worried. And there was also a part of him that was a little resentful, a tiny bit angry. He felt powerless, out of control, and he wasn’t used to feeling that way.
He didn’t like it.
Flipping off the kitchen light, he headed upstairs to Amelia’s bedroom, his sock-covered feet silent on the wood surface. He hadn’t had the opportunity to see her bedroom earlier, and he was more than a little curious about where she slept in her bacon-and-egg-printed pajamas.
As he pushed open the door, his breath seized. Amelia was hanging up her dress in her closet, and she stood with her back to him wearing nothing but a cream-colored bustier, matching thong panties, and her heels.
Blood rushed from his head to his cock so quickly he felt dizzy. He shook his head, more than a little annoyed by his unruly body.
He should be exhausted from the long flight and the excitement of the awards show. But his body said otherwise. In fact, it told him it wanted her. Several times.
She turned her head, the sparkly pins in her hair catching the light. When she caught sight of him, her eyes widened. He wondered what she saw in his expression.
Hunger? Possession? Love? Probably all three.
As he walked toward her, he pulled the tails of his dress shirt from his suit pants and removed his cufflinks, placing them in his pocket before beginning to unbutton his shirt. He wanted his skin against hers.
She turned to face him, and he barely managed to hold back a groan. The bustier pushed up her breasts, and because it was almost sheer in the front, he could see her nipples through it. The tiny triangle of material masquerading as panties barely covered her pussy, and he could see the shadow of her red curls.
He shrugged off his shirt and grabbed the hem of his undershirt to pull it over his head. Throwing it to the floor, he placed his hands on her hips and drew her toward him.
She braced her palms against his chest, and he shivered a little at how cool they were against his hot skin. She caressed him, running her fingers lightly across his nipples.
“I’m sorry for not telling you how beautiful you looked tonight. You took my breath away. I was speechless.”
The corners of her lips tipped up. “I don’t believe it. You always have something to say.”
“That’s true. Do you like what I have to say?”
He laughed softly when she blushed and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I hope you’re not too tired because I want to spend the rest of the night inside you. Loving you.”
She shuddered against him, and he pulled back to stare down into her face. Her eyes were dark and shiny, like she was on the verge of tears.
With a frown, he cupped his hands around her face, his fingers edging into her thick hair. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Shaking her head, she pushed his hands away from her face. He let them drop to his sides, and she stepped away from him.
“We need to talk,” she said.
The expression on her face and the tone of her voice warned him that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. His heart began to pound, and he broke out in a cold sweat. His knees were a little shaky, and he searched the room for a place to sit. The bed was the obvious choice, but he didn’t want to sit there.
An overstuffed chair occupied the corner, and he sank into it, propping his leg on his knee and settling his hands on his thighs. She hadn’t moved, and he nodded, a silent demand for her to talk.
She swallowed and looked down. “Quinn, I . . .”
She looked up again and drew in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. It seemed unlikely she planned to profess her undying love, and he waited, praying she wouldn’t end things.
He shifted and something poked his upper thigh, just below his right butt cheek. He squirmed, and whatever it was jabbed into him. He grunted, and she looked at him quizzically.
Leaning over to reach beneath him, he found what poked him, a hard piece of metal. As he felt around it, he realized it was an article of clothing—jeans from the feel of the material.
Gripping the denim, he pulled until it came loose. He placed the jeans in his lap and leaned back before looking down at them.
They were a dark indigo wash with white contrast stitching along the seams, and he turned them over to see what had stabbed him. Several small metal studs decorated the pockets, and he ran his finger over them and then across the pocket flap where the Rileys logo was sewn into the material.
Looking up from the jeans, he caught Amelia’s eyes. “What are these?”
• • •
Quinn held a pair of jeans in his big hands, but they weren’t just any pair of jeans. They were one of the new pairs she had designed for Teagan.
The secret was out . . . just when she’d finally mustered the courage to tell him about it.
Quinn tilted his head. “Amelia?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a tortured gasp. She shot him a pleading glance, and he stared back at her with narrowed eyes.
“What are these?” he repeated.
She massaged the tense muscles of her throat with the tips of her fingers, and finally she was able to squeeze out a single raspy word. “Jeans.”
“I can see that. But we don’t manufacture any Rileys that look like the pair I’m holding. Where did they come from?”
His question made her tremble, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I made them in my workshop . . . I designed them.”
Late last night, she’d brought them back to the house so she could try them on. She had wanted to check the fit and see how they looked on a real woman instead of a tailor’s pants form.
His eyebrows shot up. “You did?”
“Yes.”
He seemed intrigued rather than incensed, and the tight knot of panic inside her started to unravel. Maybe Teagan had been right when she predicted that Quinn would react more favorably to the redesign if he could see the goods.
“Are these the kind of jeans you think female consumers want?”
“Yes. They’re stylish and upscale enough to be considered designer denim. They could be dressed up with a jacket and heels. Or they could be casual with a sweater and flats.” Her anxiety made her babble. “They probably wouldn’t look that great with tennis shoes, but a nice pair of sandals would be okay. And boots, of course. Everything looks good with boots. Well, not an evening gown.”
He brought the jeans close to his face as he inspected them, paying close attention to the seams. She had incorporated elements from traditional Rileys including the rivets and black pocket tag.
“They fit differently, too,” she added, gesturing toward her hips. “They’re made for a woman’s body . . . one with hips and a booty and even a little bit of a belly. Part of the problem with the old design is that you have to be shapeless to look good in them.”
He traced the shape of the hip and outer-thigh area with the tip of his finger before bringing his attention back to her. “I really like these,” he murmured. “I thought your accessories were impressive, but these are awesome.”
Amelia shook her head in disbelief. His reaction was the exact opposite of what she had expected. Had Teagan somehow misconstrued Quinn’s feelings about the women’s division? Had their deception been unnecessary?
Had she agonized for weeks over nothing?
“Did you design anything else?”
She nodded. “About twenty different styles of jeans. And I also designed some skirts, dresses, shirts, and jackets.”
She had worked hard to come up with some really unique designs including a suede jacket with leather pockets and a denim minidress. She also had made a few pairs of jeans from colored denim. Her favorite was a pair of coral-colored skinny jeans with a low-rise waistband and triangular back pockets.
His eyes widened. “When did you have time to do all that work? It must have taken hundreds of hours.”
Since she had returned home, she’d spent nearly every waking moment working on the redesign. She’d sketched and sewn until her eyes were blurry and her fingers were stiff and sore.
He carefully folded the jeans before placing them on the arm of the chair. “I’m sure Teagan told you that I didn’t support her idea to partner with you for the accessories. I doubted your design talent. I thought you were only popular because of your connection to Ava Grace.”
A little dart of pain pierced her, but she tried to ignore it. “Yes, she told me.”
“I was wrong about you, and I knew it the moment I saw your boots. You’re exceptionally talented. We’re damn lucky to have you, and I’m impressed you took the initiative to expand your work beyond the scope of accessories.”
“You’re not mad?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Hell, no, I’m not mad. I’m excited to see your other designs. Maybe you can model them for me . . . show me how good those jeans look on a woman with a sweet round ass.” He tilted his head. “Why would you think that I’d be mad, Juice?”
“Because you made it clear during our first meeting that you thought the women’s division was a lost cause. You said it was a short, skinny branch on the Riley O’Brien & Co. tree.”
“It is a short, skinny branch. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think it’s time for it to grow into a big branch . . . maybe the biggest branch on the tree.”
She gasped. “You do?”
He met her in the middle of the room and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. “Yes. And I’ve been thinking a lot about you and me, too.” Tightening his hold, he drew her closer to him. “I think we make a good team.”
“A good team?” she echoed dumbly.
“Yes. Don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, which was good because she was speechless.
“Together, I think we can make women fall in love with Rileys again,” he continued. “If you’re willing, I want you to head up the women’s division. Your work to redesign the jeans proves how much you care about Riley O’Brien & Co. and how much you care about me.” He dropped his head to kiss her, his lips warm against hers. “You’re perfect for the company, and you’re perfect for me.”
As Amelia stared into Quinn’s eyes, she realized that everything she had ever wanted was within her reach. She could have her chain of boutiques. She could have a high-profile design job with one of the most iconic apparel brands in the world. She could have an extraordinary man in her life and in her bed.
She could have it all as long as she kept her mouth shut about her deal with Teagan. She could have it all as long as she continued to lie to the only man she had ever loved.
Chapter 39
Quinn impatiently waited for Amelia to respond to his job offer to run the women’s division. If she accepted it, maybe she would accept another offer . . . one that involved a ring and his last name.
He couldn’t believe he’d been lucky enough to find a woman who understood how important Riley O’Brien & Co. was to him. It would be much more difficult to lead the company if his wife wasn’t supportive.
She stared at him for several moments before a resigned expression came over her face. “I didn’t redesign the jeans because I care about Riley O’Brien & Co.,” she stated flatly. “And I didn’t do it because I care about you, either.”
He frowned. “Then why did you do it?”
“Because Teagan hired me to redesign Rileys for women and to expand the product line.”
“I don’t understand.”
She stared into his face, her eyes dark and solemn. “Yes, you do.”
He dropped his hands from her waist. Her face was nearly colorless in the overhead lighting, the remnants of her makeup looking like heavy brushstrokes.
“No,” he countered, “I’m not sure I do understand. Are you saying that you and Teagan have been working behind my back?”
She nodded. “Teagan thought you needed to see the potential for the women’s divi
sion so she hired me to give it a makeover. She didn’t want you to know what we were doing because she thought you would put a stop to it. She wanted to keep it a secret until I was finished with the new designs, and then she wanted to present them to you as a done deal.”
For years, Teagan had talked about giving the women’s division a makeover. His dad had always put her off, not ignoring her, exactly, but not listening to her, either.
When Quinn had stepped in as the interim president and CEO, she’d become even more insistent. He’d tried to explain that what she had in mind needed a lot of planning and money. He had done his best to make her understand how risky her idea was, but she’d been undeterred.
He backed away from her. “A done deal? She can’t force me to accept your designs. I’m the one who makes the final decisions.”
When she didn’t reply, he thought about what he’d said. He wasn’t the one who made the final decisions, not yet. His dad hadn’t officially stepped down, and even when Quinn took control of the company, he’d still have to answer to investors and financiers.
“What were her plans if I didn’t like your new designs?” She looked away, but he placed his fingers under her chin and forced her eyes back to him. “Tell me.”
“She planned to go to the board.”
He digested her answer. “And you were okay with that? You didn’t care that I could lose my job, my birthright . . . everything I care about?”
She didn’t reply, and an ugly wave of rage and despair washed over him. “I guess it didn’t matter since you would get paid regardless of what happened,” he said bitterly.
She swallowed. “No, that’s not the deal.”
“Then what is the deal?” he asked harshly.
She stared up at him, and he swore he could hear their hearts beating in the silence of the room.
“Teagan agreed to invest in my chain of boutiques . . . to provide the start-up financing.”
“How much?”
