Calculated Risk (9 page)

Quintin squinted at the five musicians
who gyrated amid spectacular lighting and fireworks displays. “I
love the lack of sound, but I think your color is slightly
off.”

“No, the Pit Stops do have green
hair.”

He sighed and pulled a wad of napkins
from the pocket of his leather coat, before tossing the jacket on
the ottoman. “Isn’t there a group that looks perfectly
normal?”

“I do have more than a few,” she said,
laughing as they settle cross-legged on the carpet, the low glass
table adding Chinese ambience to their Italian meal. “The Pit Stops
are a very talented group. Their first single went platinum and
their new album gold after thirty days. The green-striped hair is
their new punk look.” She handed Quintin a slice of pizza. “They’re
a young group, the oldest is twenty-two, and they are very
impatient. They want to have a record in all categories at the same
time. So yesterday they made their first sojourn into heavy
metal.”

His long denim-clad legs stretched out
more comfortably beneath the table. “You sound as though you
disagreed with that decision.”

Stevie picked at a slice of pepperoni
that was caught in a cloak of creamy mozzarella cheese. “Let’s just
say I wasn’t thrilled. The Pit Stops’ original sound was a mix of
rock and blues that went over big. They did a concert tour last
month that got rave reviews, fabulous ticket sales and was recorded
for HBO.

“We had a strategy meeting Friday
morning to show them that the change would be more con than pro.
The more we resisted, the more the group insisted. I don’t know.
The record industry is so changeable; what’s ‘in’ today is ‘out’ by
tomorrow. So I guess we’ll wait and see.” Her teeth sank into the
thick crust, the rich tomato sauce exciting her taste
buds.

Quintin looked triumphant. “You just
proved my point,” he told her. “You said no and they said yes. Same
with Rob. Once I approved his interest in you, he just sat their
speechless and blinking.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I hope you’re
right. Forfeiting a few bucks on a record is quite different from
losing the trust of your son. I don’t want anything to jeopardize
your relationship with Rob.”

“Your saying that means a lot. Don’t
worry, nothing is going to happen.” Quintin smiled and reached for
another slice of pizza. “My plan is brilliant!”

“Famous last words!” Stevie plucked the
string of mozzarella that looped from his mouth to the pizza. “I
have some wine in the fridge.” Her finger pointed into the box.
“Don’t touch that piece right there.”

“Have you thought about your plan of
attack for tomorrow?” He called, pilfering an extra pepperoni off
her chosen slice and trying to rearrange the others so she wouldn’t
notice the indentation in the cheese.

“No I haven’t.” She was carrying a
glass of burgundy in each hand. “You’re the man with all the
brilliant ideas.” Stevie’s tone and manner were nonchalant. “What
would you suggest I do?”

After carefully setting the crystal
goblets on the table, his fingers circled her wrists, pulling her
down on her knees. “I suppose I could give you a few pointers.” He
manufactured a long sigh, his dark eyes taking on a lustrous sheen.
“This is purely in the interest of furthering your education, of
course.”

“Purely,” she returned.

“You have to be subtle,” he instructed.
His fingers laced amid the auburn curls that swirled to her
shoulders. “Take things slow and easy.” He glimpsed the tender
curve of her ear through the fiery tendrils. “Never scare.” Quintin
leaned close. “This is always nice.” His warm breath caressed her
inner ear.

“Hmmm.” Closing her eyes, Stevie
willingly succumbed to the sweet sensations he was
producing.

“And this.” His tongue made a teasing
exploration of the curves and hollows and played with the tiny gold
loop that accented the lobe. Despite the volume of fabric that
cloaked her body, Quintin’s hands discovered the rounded symmetry
of her female form.

“Perhaps even this.” His teeth nipped a
gentle bite into the tender skin below her ear. The mysterious
blend that was her perfume tantalized his senses. “Of course, the
problem with all this,” Quintin whispered, his head nuzzling the
juncture of her neck and shoulder, “is that you’re making it very
difficult for me to sit still.”

He pulled her more fully into his arms,
letting his dark gaze savor every aspect of her flushed features.
“Despite all my fears about Rob –“ Quintin’s hand settled
possessively in the curve of her waist “—I’d dearly love to thank
him for introducing me to you.”

At the mention of his son, Stevie’s
expression turned sober, her body became rigid. “I really like Rob.
I’m afraid all this is going to boomerang and he’ll end up hurting
and hate me.” Even, white teeth snagged at her lower lip. “It’s a
terrible thing to discover the person you love has been lying and
deceiving you.”

His left hand warmly cupped the side of
her neck, his thumb caressing the velvety line of her jaw. “Will
you tell me about it?” Quintin’s voice was low and
compelling.

Stevie briefly wondered about sharing
her past with him but discovered an urgent need to know his
reaction. “You’re not the only one who’s ever made the mistake of
loving the wrong person,” she recounted, her tone bitter. “I was
engaged to a very cunning man. Paul not only fooled me but my
parents as well.

“He was charming and attentive and very
romantic.” Her fingers straightened the high collar on Quintin’s
turtleneck, her palm taking comfort in the sinewy strength beneath
the beige sweater. “While I was mature and sensible when it came to
business and higher learning, I was a very naïve twenty-four when
it came to men.

“I fell very quickly and very hard
under Paul’s spell, perhaps more girlishly in love with the romance
he provided than the man himself. My days were spent planning the
perfect June garden wedding; Paul’s days were spent planning to
take over as head of my father’s business. What better way than to
marry the boss’s daughter!

“He played up to my parents, especially
my dad, becoming the son Steven Brandt had never had. But when Paul
found out that the presidency of the company was still to be mine
along with a prenup, all his avowed declarations of love splintered
during a blazing fight.”

Stevie was silent for a moment, and
despite the ensuing five years she could still vividly remember how
hurt and used and unclean she felt. “It made this lady very, very
cautious,” she added finally and moved to slide off Quintin’s
lap.

His hands hindered her departure.
“Speaking from a purely selfish viewpoint –“ he turned her face
toward his “—I’m glad you’ve been cautious.” He spoke against her
lips. “Very, very glad.”

She exhaled a musical sigh. “I seem to
have thrown caution to the wind where you’re concerned, Mr. Ward,”
came her tart rebuke. “But it’s Rob that I’m worried about, and his
reactions and feelings and –“

“I respect your fears,” he interrupted,
his fingers combing amid the silky depths of her hair, “but I’m
positive everything is going to work out perfectly.”

Stevie reached for the wineglasses,
handed him one; the crystal clicked together in a mutual toast. “I
guess we’ll know tomorrow!”

Chapter 5

“Rob came home whistling.” Quintin’s
tone was harsh. “He smiled all the way up the stairs to finish his
homework.” The front door of Stevie’s townhouse was fiercely
slammed shut.

Feeling the reverberation in her head,
Stevie winced and emitted a low groan. “No noise.” The washcloth
that was pressed against her forehead was opened and placed over
her entire face. “Whisper. I have a Kangaroo-man
headache.”

Quintin lifted the navy terrycloth and
breathed in sharply with disgust after viewing her blanched,
pinched features. “This is the way Rob was supposed to look, not
you.” His arms formed a comforting belt that encircled her waist.
“What the hell happened?”

“Health food and Turbo Smash.” Her lips
mumbled the cryptic explanation into the open V-neck of his
burgundy sweater. The woodsy masculine cologne that clung to his
skin proved to be the perfect panacea for her frazzled nerves.
“What’s the matter with teenagers today? Don’t they eat good,
greasy junk food and listen to music anymore?”

He half-carried, half-dragged her weary
body onto the comfortable confines of the living room’s wide pit
group. “Give me a blow-by-blow.”

“Please, that’s exactly what’s going on
in my head and stomach.”

Quintin made appropriate clucking
noises while he guided Stevie’s throbbing head into position across
his gray-tweed-covered thighs. “You poor baby.” He replaced the
damp compress over her eyes.

Stevie sighed her pleasure during the
soothing massage that was bestowed on her forehead and temples.
“You would have been proud of me, Quint,” she said at length. “I
was subtle but provocative. Robbie stuttered and stammered over
issuing the dinner invitation, and when I said yes, he walked into
the doorframe and dropped the outgoing mail basket.

“At six o’clock, I wedged my body into
the front seat of his VW beetle and we were off.” She lifted the
cloth, one hazel eye opened to level an accusing stare. “You could
have fixed the car’s heater and replaced the glass in the
passenger’s side window. The wind really whips right through that
cardboard.”

Masculine fingertips tenderly closed
her eyelid. “Why do you think Rob needed an after-school job? That
damn car is forever undergoing major reconstructive
surgery!”

“That is little consolation to a woman
with an earache!” She felt his ministering fingers roam to the spot
in question. “Hmmmm.”

“Where did you have dinner?”

“Rob took me to the Bountiful Harvest.”
Her eye opened again. “I do not call tofu and lettuce covered with
fuzzy bean sprouts and wheat germ plus a glass of yeast-ladened
papaya juice dinner.”

Quintin snickered. “What do you call
it?”

“Physical cruelty,” came her sharp
retort. She removed the cloth from her face, turned her head, and
let an impertinent index finger press into his flat stomach. “I
doubt if you subsist on rabbit food, Mr. Ward; more like steak and
potatoes?”

An indentation formed in Quintin’s
right cheek. “Rare and one inch thick, with a baked potato dripping
with melted butter and sour cream and sprinkled with
chives.”

The tip of her tongue poked a silent
comment. “That’s mental cruelty; you could have lied.” She groaned
again and closed her eyes. “I have a tummy ache. My digestive tract
doesn’t know what to do with health food; it’s been thoroughly
corrupted by years of such perverse pleasures as pizza and
hot-fudge sundaes and tacos and fried chicken.”

His thumb traced the oval curve of her
jaw down her throat to blaze a sinuous trail through the valley of
her breasts; his large palm conformed to the softly rounded
contours of her stomach. “Feel better?”

The erotic warmth of his hand quickly
permeated her sweater dress. Her body blossomed under his touch,
overtly and without shame. Voluptuous ripples of pleasure washed
over her, making the sensitive nipples of her breast peak beneath
their lacy brassiere prison. “You’ve got a wonderful healing
touch.”

Quintin’s index finger outlined her
full lips. “You should sample by bedside manner.” His silky,
resonant voice revealed his own undisguised desire.

The black pupils were ringed by narrow
amber bands. “I’ll keep your invitation in mind,” came her sultry
promise. For a long moment, Stevie indulged herself by mapping the
virile contours of Quintin’s face. His blunt jaw and chiseled
features had a very unsettling effect on her usually stoic
emotions.

Abruptly, she closed her eyes and
determinedly refocused her attention on the subject of his son.
Stevie cleared her throat and continued. “After feasting on that
magnificent, vitamin-enriched dinner, Rob took me to Wizard’s
Arcade. Video games surrounded me. Everything beebeed and whizzed,
zapped and kappowed, exploded and crashed or played loud, cute
little tunes that signified something big was eating something
small.” She shuddered in remembrance.

“I have worked with sound all my life,”
she grumbled to Quintin, “but that place charted new decibel
levels.” Her fingers coaxed his to massage a spot above the bridge
of her nose. “Kids say those machines improve their reflexes and
their eye-to-hand coordination, but you couldn’t prove it by
me.

“There are no instructions on any of
the games, Quint. And all those moving colors and sounds made me
nervous and frustrated. Submariner’s Revenge gobbled up four tokens
and I only scored ten points. Weasel Kong was a complete wipeout,
and I’ll bet anything I’m going to have nightmares about the ghost
of Atomic Man chasing me, and – Quintin! Stop that laughing,”
Stevie ordered. Grabbing his shoulders, she struggled to a sitting
position on his lap. “Actually I don’t understand how Rob could
have come home happy. I was a terrible date.”

He turned his laughter into a cough and
valiantly tried to compose himself. “Just how were you so
terrible?” Quintin smoothed her auburn hair.