Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (7 page)

And then along came Annabelle. Her life, her happiness, her chance to grow up and take on the world—suddenly that was what mattered to him. To raise his little girl up right was more than enough. He didn't need that special woman, after all.

Or so he'd believed until twelve nights ago.

Until Chloe led him into her house and straight to her bed.

Chloe.

She had it all—everything he'd already accepted he wasn't going to find. And no one had ever tasted so good.

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss.

She stared up at him, eyes full of stars. “Come back to my house? Be with me tonight?”

“Damn, Chloe. I was afraid you'd never ask.”

* * *

Her belly all aflutter with anticipation, her pulse a rushing sound in her ears and her cheeks feeling way hotter than they should, Chloe ushered Quinn in her front door and then turned to engage the lock and reset the alarm. “You can hang your jacket there.” She gestured at the coatrack. He hung up his jacket, and she grabbed his hand. “This way...”

But he held back, tugging her close, into the hard, hot circle of his arms. He kissed her, a slow one that had her knees going weak and a meltdown happening in her core.

However, when he lifted his head that time, his eyes were way too serious.

She frowned, suddenly struck with concern for whatever might be bothering him. “What is it? What's wrong?”

He pulled her close again. And he whispered in her ear, “I want to take all your clothes off and see you naked. I want to kiss every inch of you.”

She sighed. “We are definitely on the same page about that.”

“But...”

She pushed him away enough that she could see his eyes. “Oh, no. There
is
something. What?”

“Don't look so worried.” With his big thumb, he smoothed the scrunched place between her eyebrows. “It's nothing bad. I just have some things I want to say first.”

Would she rather be kissing him? Absolutely. But then again, whatever he wanted to say, she wanted to hear. “So...coffee or something?”

“Sure.”

She led him into the kitchen and whipped him up a quick cup, pouring cream in a little pitcher because she'd watched him at dinner and knew he took cream.

“Aren't you having any?” he asked.

Her tummy was all fluttery, what with wondering what kind of thing he just
had
to say to her. Coffee would only make it worse. “Maybe later. How about the living area? It's more comfortable there.”

“Good enough.” He poured in the cream, picked up his cup and followed her to the sofa.

They sat down together, and he set his cup on the coffee table. She folded her hands tightly in her lap. He'd said it was nothing awful, but he seemed so intense suddenly...

Was there going to be drama? Oh, she hoped not. She'd had enough drama to last her a lifetime, and then some.

He said, “There are things about me I want you to know.”

Uh-oh. She gulped down the giant lump in her throat and gave him a nod to continue.

“First, about Annabelle's mother.”

Chloe realized she'd been holding her breath. She let it out slowly. Annabelle's mother. Actually, she really wanted to know about Annabelle's mother...

“Her name is Sandrine Cox. She's an actress and model. We went out a few times. She got pregnant. She came to me, told me she was fairly certain it was my baby and she felt I had a right to know.”

Chloe studied his wonderful face. He seemed...relaxed when he talked about his little girl's mother. Relaxed and accepting. “You believed her.”

“Yeah. Sandrine was always straight ahead about things. I believed that
she
believed the baby was mine. Then later, right after Annabelle was born, a paternity test proved Sandrine was right. Annabelle's mine. And I knew from the moment Sandrine told me she was pregnant that I wanted the baby. Sandrine didn't. She didn't want to be a mom. She liked her single life and she had a lot of ambition, a heavy focus on her career. I made her an offer. I would pay her a large lump sum to have the baby and then she would sign over all rights to me.”

“And that's what happened?”

He nodded. “She kept her end of the bargain. I kept mine.”

“You haven't heard from her since Annabelle was born?”

“No. I doubt I ever will.”

“But with something as important as a child, Quinn, you never know. Someday Annabelle's mother might regret her choice, change her mind.”

“Anything's possible.”

“And if she did come to you, if she wanted to meet Annabelle?”

“Can't say for certain. If she was as honest and up-front as before, we would work something out so that she could know Annabelle and Annabelle could know her.”

Chloe liked his answer. It could be difficult for him to make room for his daughter's mother in their lives. But it was the right thing. “That sounds good. For Annabelle, most of all. It's very likely, as she grows to adulthood, that she's going to want to know about her birth mother and meet her, if possible.”

“Maybe. But it's like you told me that first night. I'm not going to borrow trouble. I'll answer Annabelle's questions and pay attention to the signals she gives me. And then take it from there.” He loosened his tie. “I didn't want you to wonder anymore about how I ended up with sole custody of my little girl and no mother in sight.”

Tenderness washed through her—for him, for the kind of man he was. A good man. Honest. True-hearted. A man who would do what was right even if it wasn't the best or easiest thing for him, personally.

She reached out and brushed his hand. “Let me...”

He sat so still, so watchful, as she undid the tie completely. It made a soft, slithering sound as she slipped it from around his neck. She laid it carefully over the arm of the sofa. Then she turned to him again and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his snowy dress shirt, smoothing the collar open, revealing the powerful column of his neck and the sharp black point of one of those intricate tattoos that covered his shoulder and twined halfway down his arm.

“Better?” she asked.

They shared a smile as he nodded. He said, “There's more.”

She took his right hand and turned it over, revealing his cuff buttons. One by one, she undid them. “Tell me.”

“I'm dyslexic,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, freighted with something wary, something wounded. “You know what dyslexia is?”

“I think I do. I think I remember reading that it's when a person has difficulty in learning to read or interpret words, letters and other symbols?”

“That's pretty close to the generally accepted definition.”

She took his left hand and unbuttoned that cuff, too.

He spoke again. “Most people think dyslexia is what you just said. A learning disorder, period. It's more. It's a challenge, a tough one. But it's a gift, too.” She sat with his hand in her lap, the buttons undone, drinking in every word, as he explained, “You remember how I was as a kid. Trouble. Always getting in fights. Everyone thought I was stupid because I couldn't get the hang of reading. I hated school, hated being the slow kid. I acted out constantly. Only later did I figure out that my problem was I couldn't learn the way most kids learn. A traditional school environment did nothing for me. I don't get phonics, don't get learning things in rote sequence. It completely overloads me. So I would lash out.”

She did remember that troubled boy so well. “You always seemed so angry.”

“You bet I was. By the time I was eleven, my mother was at the end of her rope with me. As a last-ditch effort to find something I could do well, she enrolled me in a karate class—and everything changed for me. For once, I got something, really
got
it. Yeah, I have to work my ass off to try and get the meaning out of a line of letters across a page. But I'd always been damn good at fighting. The way my brain is wired makes me more capable than most people of visualizing the moves of my opponents in advance. I see the whole picture, I guess you could say. And that makes me more willing to follow my instincts. So I was good at karate, and finally being good at something was damn motivating. It got me going, gave me hope. I was driven to excel.” He took her hand then and wove his fingers with hers.

It felt so good, her hand in his. She held on tight. “Answer me a question...”

“Name it.”

“You seemed nervous about telling me this. Were you?”

He squeezed her fingers. “Yeah, I was.”

“But I can't see why you would be, not after the way your life's worked out.”

“There's more. And you need to hear it.”

She
needed
to hear it? She almost asked him why, but then decided that the whys could wait. “All right...”

“Dyslexia is often genetic.”

She frowned. “So you're telling me that Annabelle is dyslexic?”

“No. So far, Annabelle shows none of the signs. Already, she can recognize her alphabet and sound out simple words. But you should know that any child of mine could possibly be dyslexic.”

She
should know? It was an odd way to phrase it.

And he still had more to say. “I plan to be proactive. If a kid of mine showed signs of dyslexia, I would be on it, arranging for early testing, providing alternative learning systems and support, working with the school so everyone's on the same page about what needs to be done. If one of my kids was dyslexic, I would see to it that he didn't have to go through the crap I went through. I would make sure any kid of mine never had to feel stupid and incompetent and lag way behind the learning curve.” He tipped his head then and asked with wry good humor, “You still with me, Chloe?”

“Absolutely. Yes. And I'm so sorry, Quinn. That you felt stupid and incompetent when you were little. No child should have to feel that way.”

“I got past it.”

“That doesn't make it right.” At his chuckle, she chided, “It's nothing to joke about, Quinn.”

He shrugged. “Tell me something.”

She had that odd feeling again; there was more going on here than she was picking up. “Of course.”

He let go of her hand, reached for his coffee—and said just what she'd been thinking. “Do you have any clue why I'm laying all this on you?”

She watched him take a sip. “Whatever your reasons, I have to say it's really nice to have a guy just sit right down and talk to me about the toughest things. It's rare.”

“Right.” He set the cup down again and rolled one of his unbuttoned cuffs to the elbow. “It's what women love. A guy who won't shut up...”

“I don't know about ‘women.' But I know what
I
like. And you telling me about what matters to you, about what made you who you are? I do like that. A lot.”

“Well, all right.” He rolled the other cuff. She watched him, admiring the hard shape of his arms, thick with muscle, roped with tendons, dusted with light brown hair, nicked here and there with small white ridges of scar tissue. He went on, “But I do have a reason for loading you up with way more info than you asked for.”

“And I keep trying to make you see that you don't
need
a reason.”

He slanted her a teasing look. “Got that.”

A low laugh escaped her. “Well, okay, then. I get it. You're trying to tell me the reason—so go ahead. I'm ready for it.”

“You sure?”

She groaned and executed a major eye roll. “Will you
please
stop teasing me?”

Now he looked at her so steadily, a look that made her warm all over, especially down in the center of her. “All right.” And then, just like that, he said, “I want to marry you, Chloe.”

Chapter Five

Q
uinn wasn't finished. “I want to build a life with you, have kids with you. Like I said, I'm a guy who follows my intuition, a guy who has trouble sounding out a word—but also a guy who gets the big picture. And once I know what I want, I go for it. I want you, Chloe, for my wife. I want you for my little girl, too, because I know you'll be the mother Annabelle needs.”

Chloe just stared at him. Words? They'd completely deserted her.

He put up a hand. “It's okay. You don't have to say anything now. All you have to do is take your time. Think it over. And you should know the kids aren't a deal breaker for me. I want more. But if you don't, I can live with that. Annabelle will be enough.”

“I, um...” She had no idea what to say next.

That didn't seem to bother him. He simply waited.

And she found that she couldn't sit still. She got up, eased from behind the coffee table and then kept going to the sliding door, the one she'd slipped out that first night, when he came up the hill and she took him to her bed.

He didn't try to stop her. He didn't say a word, only sat there, patiently waiting for her to process all he'd just said.

She appreciated his silence and stillness now, appreciated it every bit as much as she did all that he'd told her moments before. She flipped on the deck lights and stared out at the two empty cedar chairs.

Was this really happening? Just like that, out of nowhere, he wanted to marry her?

But then again, no. Not out of nowhere, not really. He was such a focused sort of man. Of course, he would decide what he wanted and lay it all out for her so honestly and directly.

She fiddled with the pearls her dad had given her years ago, when she thought she knew everything and saw so clearly how her life would go.

What about love? Quinn hadn't mentioned love.

Should that bother her?

Well, it didn't. She'd had enough declarations of love from her rotten-hearted ex-husband to last her into the next century. And where had all that love talk gotten her but wounded, divorced and bitterly disappointed?

This, what Quinn offered, was better.

It wasn't a fantasy, not perfect. But it was honest. It felt real.

Quinn spoke then. “One more thing. About Manny...” He waited for her to look at him, and then for acknowledgement that she'd heard what he said. When she gulped and nodded, he went on. “Manny's part of the family. So you would not only be getting me and Annabelle. There's Manny, too. He can be a pain in the ass, I know. But he's not going anywhere. If you said yes, you would need to deal with him, work with him.”

She felt a soft smile tremble across her mouth. “I would never for a second expect it to be any other way.”

He didn't smile. But his eyes were so bright. “Well, all right, then.”

The part about Manny had been so easy to answer. But the rest of it... She really didn't know what to say. She stared out the sliding door again.

He asked into the heavy silence, “Want me to go?”

Turning from her study of the empty deck chairs, she faced him once more. “No way. I want you to stay.”

He stood. “Will you think about it, consider my offer?”

“I will.”

He came for her then. She waited, her whole body humming with sweet anticipation as he approached.

And when he was close enough that the heat he generated seemed to reach out and touch her, she canted her chin higher and gazed straight into those beautiful eyes. “You are like no one I've ever known.”

“That's good, I hope?”

“Oh, yes. It's very good.”

“Angel.” He lifted a big hand and brushed a finger down the curve of her cheek, stirring up goose bumps, making her sigh. And then he lowered that wonderful mouth of his and brushed those lips, so gently, back and forth across her own.

She smiled into his kiss, brought her hands up between them and went to work undoing the rest of the buttons down the front of his shirt. It didn't take long. She spread the shirt wide and pressed her palms to his broad chest, to that beautiful tattoo with his little girl's name in the middle of it. His skin was hot, wonderfully so. Sandy hair formed a tempting T across.

And down.

Best of all, she could count the strong beats of his big heart. She whispered against those velvety lips of his, “I should have made a move on you back in high school.”

He chuckled, the low rumble sending a thrill shivering straight to the core of her. “That wasn't your style—and I wasn't your type.”

“Oh, but Quinn. You
were
my type. What a fool I was then. I took what I thought was the safe way—and it wasn't safe in the least. It turned out all wrong.”

“Hey.” His voice was heaven, the perfect blend of rough and tender. He kissed the tip of her nose. “No regrets, huh?”

“But I do have regrets.” She slid her hands up over his thick, hard shoulders, and clasped them around his neck. “And I can't just wish them away.”

He shrugged out of his shirt and let it fall. Then he bent his head lower, smoothed her hair aside and pressed his hot mouth to the crook of her neck. “Forget 'em, then.” His breath so hot across her skin, branding her, burning her. “For now, at least?”

She threaded her eager fingers up into his hair. “Help me with that?”

“Happy to.” He breathed in through his nose. “You smell so good...” And then he scraped his teeth where his lips had been.

She shivered and moaned as he kissed his way back up over the curve of her jaw to claim her lips again. She opened for him. Heat speared through her as his tongue swept her mouth.

He lifted her hair off her neck with one hand. With the other, he took down the long zipper at the back of her dress and guided the dress off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor. She broke the lovely kiss in order to step out of it. He bent, picked it up and tossed it on the nearest chair.

Unbuttoning and unzipping, flinging articles of clothing toward the chair as soon as they had them off, they undressed each other.

Finally, when the only thing left was her pearls, he ordered gruffly, “Turn around.”

She showed him her back. He unhooked the diamond clasp and took the necklace away. She faced him again in time to watch him reach over and lay the double strand on the nearby side table.

That was it. They were naked. Completely naked. And it seemed such a very long way to the bedroom.

Good thing she'd planned ahead.

He asked roughly, “What are you smiling about?”

And she pulled open the little drawer in the side table and took out the condom she'd tucked in there. Just in case.

“God. Chloe.” He hauled her close, licked her ear and whispered in it, “You think of everything.”

She whispered back, “A design teacher I had once told me that what I lack in imagination, I make up for in efficiency and good planning. I was really insulted at the time.”

He took her earlobe between his teeth and tugged on it, biting down just a little harder than he needed to.

It felt so good it made her moan.

He whispered, “Put it on me.”

She pulled back a little, far enough to meet his eyes. They were the color of some tropical sea right then, so deep, going down and down to deeper blue. Focused so completely on her. “Right now?”

For that she got a slow, deliberate nod from him.

She started to tear the top off the pouch.

“On second thought...” He caught her hand. “Wait...” And he pulled her close and kissed her some more. She gave herself up to that, to the taste of his mouth and the heat of his breath, to the feel of him, fully erect against her belly, making her burn for him.

Making her moan. She eased her free hand between them and wrapped her fingers around him, stroking. Oh, he felt so good—his powerful body pressed close, his mouth covering hers, the long, hard length of him held tight in her grip.

He kissed her endlessly, kissed her and caressed her, his fingers tracing magical patterns over her skin, teasing her breasts, first cradling them so gently, then catching the nipples, rolling them, so that she moaned some more. He seemed to really like it when she moaned.

He made a wonderful growling sound low in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Like that?”

She couldn't say “Yes” fast enough. So she said it again, moving her hand up and down the thick length of him. “Yes...” And again, “Oh, yes, Quinn. Like that...”

And then his hand went lower, all the way to the feminine heart of her.

She cried out as he stroked her, opening her. She felt her own wetness, her readiness for him. She didn't want to wait a second longer. She couldn't wait...

“I...” She got that word out, and then couldn't for the life of her remember what she'd meant to say next.

“Yeah?” He was kissing his way along the line of her jaw, biting a little, licking some, too. Below, his fingers kept up their clever, thrilling play on her wet, secret flesh.

Oh, she was lost in the best way, totally gone. She kept her left hand wrapped around him, holding on for dear life. In her right, she still clutched the unused condom. She kind of waved it at him. “I...” Just that word. Nothing more. It was the only word she seemed to have at her disposal at the moment.

And apparently it was enough. He took the condom from her. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, dazed. Transported.

He lifted the small pouch, caught the corner between his teeth and tore the top off, all the while staring directly into her eyes, his other hand continuing to do amazing things to her below.

“Here,” she whispered, holding out her free hand. He gave it back. She let go of him to use both hands, removing the wrapper and dropping it on the little table next to her pearls. And then she rolled the protection down over him. He moaned. And she granted him a small, triumphant smile. “There.”

He reached for her, clasping her waist. She gasped in surprise. His right hand was slick and wet. It was
her
wetness, her desire. She was shocked at herself, at her own complete abandon.

Shocked. Amazed.

And gratified.

It was the same as that other night. Only better. He took her, claimed her, carried her right out of herself. He just swept her away—at the same time as he made her feel that she'd somehow come home, that nothing and no one would ever hurt her again.

And then he was lifting her. He did it so effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing. She grabbed for him, hungry for the feel of him, for her flesh pressed to his flesh, hot and tight and hard. She wrapped her arms and legs around him.

He whispered her name.

“Quinn,” she whispered in return. “Oh, yes.” She sank her teeth into his neck and when he growled at her, a dark, hot laugh escaped her. He bent to nuzzle her and she turned her face to his and claimed his mouth.

The kiss went deeper, wetter, hotter. And he was moving, with her all twined around him like a vine. He went to the short section of bare wall beside the entry closet, just walked her right up to it.

And then he lifted her, positioning her just so...

She felt him there, nudging her, right where she wanted him. And she pressed down.

He made the deepest, hottest, hungriest sound then, as she lowered herself onto him. He was wonderfully thick and large. Still, her body took him easily, gliding down around him until he filled her all the way.

They froze. She let her head fall back and her eyes drift shut. He had her perfectly braced, with the wall to give them stability. He canted his upper body slightly away from her, while below, he held her so close, just right, big hands cradling her open thighs. She clutched his shoulders, fingers gripping tight, her legs locked securely behind his waist.

She was...gone, lost in wonder, swept up in the connection, her breathing harsh and hungry, just like his.

“Chloe...”

And she opened her eyes and looked at him. His blue-green gaze was right there, waiting for her. He gripped her thighs tighter, pushing them wider, pressing his lower body closer, sliding into her that fraction deeper.

That did it. She felt the gathering, the build—and the lovely, hot sensation, as though all of her was blooming.

She asked, “Quinn?” For permission? Acknowledgment?

She had no idea which.

But he seemed to understand, even if she didn't. “Yeah,” he answered, one corner of that soft, bad boy's mouth of his curling upward. “Go for it, angel.”

And she did. She let go, let it happen, let it roll out from her in a hot, endless wave. Pleasure cascaded from the core of her, sizzling along every nerve, hitting the tips of her toes and the top of her head, spilling all through her in a flood of light and glory. He stayed with her, pressing up into her hard and tight, as the fire flamed so bright and then slowly faded down to a lovely, glowing ember.

And right then, when she thought it was over, when she was more than ready to ease her shaking legs to the floor, he started to move again.

She groaned in sexual overload and shoved fitfully at his rocklike shoulders. But he didn't release her.

And, well, could she blame him? After all, it
was
his turn. He'd swept her right off her feet and straight to paradise. The least she could do was stick with him now.

With a sigh of surrender, she stopped pushing him away and held on instead, bracing to ride it out.

But then, out of nowhere, all at once, it became more than just sticking with it for his sake. So much more.

In a split second, she was catching fire again.

“Oh... Oh, my!” She yanked him tight against her.

He let out a laugh, deep and knowing. Full of heat and joy.

She moaned his name as she pressed her open mouth to his, her body moving in time with his, picking up speed, finding the hard, insistent rhythm he set—and matching it, giving it back to him.

Time whirled away. The edge of the world was waiting for her. Waiting for both of them. She spun toward it, dizzy with the thrill of it. She hovered on the brink—and went over.