by Jenna Sutton
He looked so good . . . the best thing she’d seen in her entire life, even though his hair was a little too long and there were dark circles under his eyes. She was selfish enough to hope he’d been as miserable and lonely as she had.
He cupped his hands around her face, smoothing his warm fingers against her cheeks before edging them into her hair. She closed her eyes, her whole body sighing in relief at his touch. As he leaned down, his breath fluttered against her lips. Opening her eyes, she met his gaze.
“I want you, too.”
She exhaled in relief. She’d been so scared he wouldn’t give her another chance . . . that he wouldn’t want her anymore.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated because she thought he had let her off too easily. “I understand why you didn’t believe me when I said that I loved you.”
He smoothed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Tell me again. I promise my response will be different this time.”
She gulped, trying to hold back her tears but failing. They began to trickle from her eyes.
“I love you, Quinn. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
He smiled slowly. “I believe you.” He brushed away the tears that trailed down her cheeks. “And I love you, too.”
“You do?” she asked, her voice shaded with wonder.
He laughed softly. “Why are you so surprised, sweetheart?”
“Because I wanted it too much. I wanted you too much. I wanted everything.”
“That’s an interesting statement,” he said, cocking his head. “What’s everything? Me and your boutiques?”
She frowned, worried her answer might freak him out. He smoothed the lines between her eyes with the tip of his finger.
“What’s everything?” he repeated, dropping his hands to her waist and squeezing lightly.
She bit her lip, trying to figure out what to say. She’d been too afraid to be honest with him in the past, and that was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.
“I’m not talking about my career.”
His eyes darkened before he pressed his lips against hers. She let her lips fall open, inviting him in, but he pulled back.
“Okay,” he said, his lips tilting up at the corners. “Then what’s everything?”
She took a deep breath. “Everything is marriage, children, ’til death do us part.”
His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. She’d obviously shocked him, and she felt compelled to backpedal a little bit.
“That’s just my definition. It’s okay if it means something different to you.”
She fell silent. Several seconds passed before he spoke.
“It does mean something different to me.”
Some of her happiness drained away. But then she reminded herself that she should be ecstatic he was even talking to her after what she’d done.
“In fact, I think my definition of ‘everything’ is a lot more expansive than yours, Juice.” He smiled, his eyes so intensely blue they looked like the inside of a flame. “It means marriage, children, ’til death do us part . . . but it also means I’m going to give you so much love you’re going to feel like you’re drowning in it. It means I’ll find a way to give you whatever you want, no matter what it takes. And it means you’ll have a family, our family, and you’ll never have to wonder where you belong because you’ll belong with me.”
She was sure all the blood in her body had turned into bubbly champagne. She was effervescent, almost weightless. She grinned, and he cupped his hands around her hips, pulling her closer. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead, and she brushed it back.
“What do you think about my definition?” he asked.
“I like it a lot better than mine.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said before leaning down to kiss her lightly.
She gasped as heat zinged through her. “Now that we’ve clarified the definition of ‘everything,’ I think I should add another don’t to my list.”
His hands roamed lower. “Am I going to like this don’t, Juice?” he asked as he gently squeezed her butt cheeks.
“I think so,” she answered with a nod. “I don’t live in Nashville.”
“That’s a good one,” he said, his lips quirking in a sexy smile. “And since you’re modifying the list, I’d like to add a couple.”
She drew back. “What do you have in mind?” she asked warily.
“Let’s start with this: I don’t wear bacon-and-egg-printed pajamas to bed, or anywhere else, for that matter.”
She’d had no idea he didn’t like her pajamas. That was really too bad because they were very cozy.
“You know, those are my favorite pajamas. Ava Grace bought them for me.”
His eyes widened. “She has really bad taste in sleepwear.” After a moment of consideration, he shrugged. “We’ll have to negotiate that don’t. And in the meantime, I’ll just strip you out of them whenever you put them on.”
He kissed her again, this time a little longer and a little deeper. When he finally raised his head, his erection pressed into her stomach and her knees trembled.
“I have one more don’t for you,” he said as he backed her toward his blue-jean sofa. “And it’s definitely nonnegotiable . . .”
“What is it?” she asked, more than a little breathless.
“I don’t argue with my future husband about the length of our engagement.”
Epilogue
Ten years later
Quinn grabbed his oldest son by the waistband of his jeans as he ran by, pulling him to an abrupt halt. He turned him so he could look into his brown eyes.
“Stop kicking your brothers.”
Jamie scowled, the action distorting his little face and making the freckles on it dance. “They’re annoying,” he complained, pushing a sweaty red curl off his forehead.
Quinn laughed. “Yeah, I know.”
He pulled Jamie down beside him on the bench, which was situated near one of the larger playgrounds in Golden Gate Park. “Why don’t you sit here with me until Mommy gets back from the bathroom?”
He glanced toward his other children, who were edging toward the merry-go-round. Killian was old enough to play on it, but Liam was too little to enjoy it without an adult. Since Liam had a meltdown if he couldn’t do everything Killian did, Quinn knew he needed to distract them, fast.
“Boys! Come here,” he called.
Surprisingly they obeyed, trotting toward the bench. They stopped in front of him and Jamie, and he smiled down at them. With their dark hair and blue eyes, they were little replicas of him.
He tapped both of them on their noses, making them giggle. Killian climbed up on the bench beside Jamie, and Quinn situated Liam on his lap.
“Daddy, let’s play Who’s Wearing Rileys?” Killian suggested.
It was the same game Quinn had played with his dad, and now he played it with his own children. Killian’s suggestion made Jamie bounce on the bench and Liam squeal, the sound nearly splitting Quinn’s eardrums.
He winced, and they began to chant. “Rileys, Rileys, who’s wearing Rileys?”
Despite the ringing in his ears, he laughed. Liam still had trouble pronouncing words, and his sounded more like “Wileys.”
“Okay! Okay!” he said over their childish voices. “Who can spot a lady wearing Rileys?”
His sons immediately eyed all the women around them, staring at their butts. Even Liam got in on the action.
Jamie pointed. “There, there’s one,” he said, indicating a teenage girl who had just walked by with her boyfriend.
“Me, too,” Killian chimed in, pointing his dirt-crusted finger at one of the moms on the playground.
And so the game went for several minutes until his boys caught sight of their mommy on the walking path. Jamie and Killian jumped off the ben
ch, and Quinn dropped Liam to the ground so he could join them.
“Mommy!” they called as they ran to her. “Mommy! Guess what we were doing.”
When they reached her, they gathered around her, hugging her legs and waist. Even though Jamie was only seven, the top of his head already reached Amelia’s shoulders.
Their ginger-haired son obviously took after the original Riley O’Brien. He was taller than all the other boys in his class and most of the ones in the grade above him, too. Quinn suspected there would be a lot of basketball games in their future.
Amelia’s laughter floated to where he sat, followed by the low murmur of her voice. Like always, his heart gave a big thump when he saw his wife and his children together.
All mine.
His family headed toward him, the boys skipping and running around Amelia as she slowly made her way to the bench. He would never tell her, but she was waddling, just a little.
As the boys ran off to the playground, she dropped down onto the bench beside him, exhaling loudly. With one eye on the kids, he reached over and rubbed her belly. “How’s Baby Girl O’Brien doing?”
“She’s fine, but my back hurts. I’m ready for her to come out.”
He made a sympathetic noise, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. “My maternity jeans barely fit,” she groused.
He stifled a smile. He’d heard that complaint before.
He vividly recalled the day Amelia had told him she was pregnant with their first child. He’d gone to visit her in the Riley Plaza workshop, and he had noticed a pair of Rileys with a big stretchy waistband on her worktable.
“Are you thinking we should expand into maternity wear?” he’d asked.
Their efforts to transform the women’s division had been going well and they had stolen some market share from their fiercest competitors. He’d thought Amelia was onto something . . . that maternity wear could be a good way to expand their product offerings.
She had slanted an amused look toward him. “They’re for me.”
“Why would you wear them?” he’d asked.
Her eyebrows had lifted mockingly. “Why do you think?”
Eight years later, Quinn was still embarrassed by how clueless he’d been.
A strong breeze blew one of Amelia’s curls against his face, pulling him out of the past and into the present. He brushed the strands from his stubble and settled his arm around her shoulders.
“Jake forwarded the preliminary third-quarter numbers to me last night,” he said. “Riley O’Brien & Co. officially had its best quarter ever.”
“Congratulations.” She kissed his cheek, her lips warm and soft against his skin. “Apparently, you’re not just a pretty face.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Neither are you. The women’s division also had its best quarter ever. It now accounts for seventy-five percent of all revenue.”
“The biggest branch on the tree,” she murmured as she rubbed her belly.
“The biggest and the strongest.”
As he placed his hand on top of hers, he felt the baby shift under his palm. They had planned to name their daughter Keira Grace, a moniker they both liked a lot. But then Ava Grace had begged them not to curse their child with two first names, so now they were rethinking the decision.
Regardless of what they named her, Quinn was excited for her to arrive. He had waited a long time to finally have a little girl, and he couldn’t wait to see if she would have her mother’s beautiful red hair and chocolaty eyes. He really hoped she would.
“Are you sad that you missed your grand opening?” he asked.
Amelia had opened her first boutique nearly eight years ago when she’d been pregnant with Jamie. That store, located in San Francisco’s Fillmore Street shopping district, had been a huge success. It had given Amelia the confidence to roll out an entire chain of Millie boutiques. Her twenty-fifth store had celebrated its grand opening today in Austin, Texas, but with the baby due at any time, it hadn’t been safe for her to make the trip.
She shook her head. “It’s not a big deal. There will be more grand openings.” She gave him a sideways glance. “But there will not be any more children.”
He chuckled. “If I remember correctly, that’s exactly what you said after Killian kept us up all night for seven weeks straight. And look where we are today—three little O’Briens and another one on the way.”
He scanned the playground to make sure their little boys were safe and sound. “By the way, Teagan’s going to pick up the boys later today so we can have some alone time before we have four children demanding our attention.”
She groaned softly. “I have no idea how we’re going to do it.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I let you convince me to try one more time for a girl. I’m an idiot.”
He nuzzled her hair. “You didn’t require a lot of convincing, Juice.”
She giggled, tilting her head so he could nibble on her earlobe. “You’re a terrible influence on me, Quinn O’Brien.” She lightly jabbed him in the ribs. “And you’re a terrible influence on our children. The boys said y’all were playing Who’s Wearing Rileys? I thought we agreed that staring at behinds was not the polite thing to do.”
Pulling her closer, he rubbed her arm. “Do you know your ass was the first thing I noticed about you?”
She jerked away from him. “The first thing?” she asked incredulously. “We were facing each other when Teagan introduced us.”
“That wasn’t the first time I saw you. I was behind you on the escalator that morning.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “How could I not notice your ass? It was right in front of my face, so round and perfect.”
She snorted. “After four pregnancies, it’s not so perfect anymore.” She darted a quick glance toward the playground to make sure their kids were still alive and kicking. “It’s definitely rounder though.”
He grinned but continued to share one of his fondest memories. “I wanted to reach out and squeeze it . . . until I realized you weren’t wearing Rileys.”
“You should be ashamed,” she admonished. “You’re obsessed with butts.”
“Yeah, they were my favorite part of the body.”
She shot him a quizzical glance. “Butts aren’t your favorite part of the body anymore?”
“No.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’m more of a heart man nowadays.”
Her rosy lips turned up in a small smile. “I’ll make sure to remind you of that fact the next time you grab my butt.”
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next Riley O’Brien & Co. novel,
Coming Apart at the Seams
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!
San Francisco—Present Day
Blunder. Gaffe. Misstep. Error. Snafu. Although plenty of words described the huge, life-altering mistake Nick Priest had made, none of them quite conveyed his stupidity. He’d had a chance with Teagan O’Brien, but he’d blown it. That was his biggest regret, and he had a lot of them.
As he stared at her across the ballroom, he had to remind himself to breathe. Her long red dress clung to her curvy body, just tight enough to make every man in the room wish his pants were a little looser behind the zipper.
She reminded him of a starlet from the 1950s with her abundant breasts, narrow waist, and round hips. He’d had the pleasure of shaping those hips with his hands, tonguing her rosy nipples, and sinking into her luscious body, although pleasure didn’t really describe what he’d felt when he had been with her.
She laughed, her deep blue eyes glinting in the light from the chandeliers, and her date leaned closer, licking his lips as he got an eyeful of her tits. Nick clenched his hands into fists, barely controlling the urge to ram the fucker’s head into the wall.
For more than a year and a half, he had been trying to persuade Teagan to give him another c
hance. But she hated him with all the passion she’d given him during their one and only night together.
He thought about approaching her but discarded the idea. She had become a master at avoiding him, and she would find a reason to excuse herself immediately.
Forcing himself to relax, he settled more comfortably against the wood-paneled wall. He wasn’t trying to blend in. He knew that was impossible.
His face and form were highly recognizable from years of playing pro football, and most recently, appearing in commercials for Riley O’Brien & Co., the nation’s oldest designer and manufacturer of blue jeans. Since he’d thrown his lot in with the company, he had figured he ought to attend the annual holiday party. Plus, he had known Teagan would be here.
This wasn’t the first O’Brien celebration he had attended. He’d known the family for about fifteen years. He had played football with Quinn O’Brien at the University of Southern California, and he had formed friendships with both Quinn and his younger brother, Cal.
The O’Brien brothers were Nick’s best friends, two of his favorite people. But his absolute favorite person was their little sister, Teagan. He’d known her almost as long as he had known Quinn and Cal, and before he’d messed things up, they had been friends. Best friends, in fact.
He let his gaze wander the ballroom of the Westin St. Francis in downtown San Francisco. With its lavish holiday decorations, it could have been any company party. But the huge photo banners hanging from the ceiling made this one unique.
Every black-and-white image showed a different view of Riley O’Brien & Co.’s signature blue jeans. He was pretty sure the jean-clad ass in the photos was his own.
He chuckled wryly. The banners proved what he’d always known: he was nothing but a giant ass. He had no doubt Teagan would wholeheartedly agree with that assessment.
Teagan’s date touched a curl that had fallen to her shoulder, and Nick growled under his breath when the fucker stroked the smooth skin of her upper chest. He would rather take a direct hit from a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker than watch that loser put his hands on her. Hell, he’d rather be buried under the entire defensive line than suffer the torture of watching another man paw the woman he wanted for himself.
