In Hot Pursuit (28 page)

“Were you attracted to him?” Leave it to Ruthie to be right on target.

“Attracted? Sure, but come on, I'm divorced, with kids, and about to be a grandmother. He's a good-looking and wealthy bachelor. How could I be attractive to him?” A wave of heaviness slid down Quinn's spine. Her life was upside down and she had no control to turn it around.

“You are so hard on yourself,” Ruthie said.

“No, I'm honest. I told him I'm a bad picker and he was safe with me.”

Ruthie rolled her eyes, “You're so dumb at times.”

“Dumb? What the hell does that mean?”

“You think you'll never find love again. Because you made a mistake at eighteen. Jonathon was a one-man convincing machine and you were powerless against him. I say this with love, Quinn, but … get over it.”

Was Ruthie right? Had Quinn used her divorce as an excuse to hibernate and not date? Had she deliberately shut down her heart for the past ten years? She knew without a doubt the answer to each question was “yes.”

Everything made sense. She had been using her lousy marriage with Jonathan as
the excuse
to stay away from a possible relationship. She was only forty-four, not eighty-four. She had plenty of time to fall in love, and even get married again.

“What are you thinking?” Ruthie asked. “You've got that look you get when you're up to something.”

“I'm not up to anything. But I have been thinking … and, you're right.”

Her eyes rounded, big as saucers. “I am?”

“Yep, I've been using my divorce as an excuse. Don't get excited. I'm just saying it's time to turn over a new leaf.”

“Fantastic.” Ruthie clapped her hands. “Who knows, you may be the one to marry after me.”

Quinn sliced the air with a hand in front of her chest. “No way, I'm not talking about marriage. I'm saying I'll go on a date with the right attitude.”

“That's a start.” Ruthie grinned, tilted her head to one side. “Would you consider going out with Logan?”

Quinn looked at her like she had fallen off a alien space ship. “Are you nuts?”

“All right, I get it.” She changed tactics. “Did you take any pictures in Rome?”

“No. We weren't tourists.”

“Hmm, did Logan enjoy Rome?”

“He'd been there before so he knew his way around, once he told me,” Quinn said. “It's a habit with him.”

“What? Knowing Rome?”

“Hell no, keeping things from me.”

“You're talking about him being with the FBI?”

“Come on, Ruthie, wouldn't that tick you off?” Her chest tightened. “It's like me not telling him I have kids.”

“I see your point. But … isn't it possible you're overreacting?”

“Overreacting! How can you say that to me?”

Ruthie stroked Quinn's arm. “Calm down, engage that analytical brain of yours. Just because he didn't tell you right off the bat doesn't mean he's a conniving jerk.”

“He said he really enjoyed the work and wasn't happy about quitting. It had something to do with his grandfather dying and pressure from his grandmother,” Quinn said. Maybe that's why he didn't tell her.

“So … isn't it possible your punishment doesn't fit his crime?” Ruthie smiled. “I think you should reconsider Logan and his flowers. Seems to me, he's working hard to apologize to you.”

The flowers were beautiful and he was trying. And, Quinn screwed it up by pushing him away.

She sighed. “I doubt he'll try again. I was a bitch to him after the council meeting.”

“Did you tell him thank you for the flowers?”

“No … no, I didn't.”

“There you go.” Ruthie nodded, satisfaction beaming across her face. “That's your reason to call him. But you still have a problem.”

“What's that?”

“Whether or not you tell Logan you've fallen for him,” Ruthie replied.

Oh, yes, there was that.

Sunday, 1:42
P.M.

Twenty-four hours and seven minutes had passed since Quinn promised she would call Logan to thank him for the two bouquets of flowers. Had she called him? No. She'd picked up the phone at least a dozen times. She simply didn't know what to say. “Sorry, I've been such an ass” didn't sound quite right. “I want to jump your bones” sounded even worse. And the third option, “I really, really like you” would put her on the cover of
Psychiatry Today
.

Actually, there was no rush. Quinn would call Logan before the end of the day. Monday definitely.

That settled, she poured another cup of coffee and planted herself in the chair to read the Sunday newspaper. As soon as she found the business page, the doorbell chimed. She opened the door, not expecting a visitor.

Her mouth opened then shut, her stomach plummeted to the floor while her heart galloped down the street.

Silence. No words were spoken as they stared at each other. Finally, her heart slowed and she recovered her ability to join words in a complete sentence.

“Logan, what brings you here?” Her cool as a cucumber attitude returned.

He lifted a picnic basket in one hand and held a grocery sack in the other arm. He wore a sexy smile as well.

“I'm here to grovel,” he said.

“Grovel?”

“I need to talk with you and I brought lunch.”

She stepped back, giving him room to pass in front of her, swaying when she caught a whiff of his cologne.

He moved past her toward the kitchen. She followed him like a Doberman stalking a thirty-two ounce T-bone.

He pulled two bottles of champagne from the grocery sack.

Quinn raised a hand. “Stop.”

“What?” He placed the bottles on the counter.

“Why are you really here?”

His jaw clenched, his eyes slightly narrowed. “I'm here to grovel, to explain myself … please.”

She looked at his handsome face, licking her lips nervously. Could she trust him? “Why two bottles of champagne?”

“One for today and a second for a return visit.” He stowed one bottle in the refrigerator.

She automatically opened a cabinet for glasses while he moved next to her. He kissed the back of her neck. “Hmm.” Suddenly, she felt warm.

He backed off. “Good,” he said with a satisfied grin. “We can have a glass before lunch.” The cork made a soft pssfft as it exited the bottle.

After she rinsed two flutes, Logan poured the wine. The bubbles reminded her of their last glass of champagne together — in Rome and before they had, uh, gotten friendly.

Logan suggested they sit on the patio. It was cloudy and pleasant, most unusual for June along the Texas gulf coast. They relaxed opposite each other in rattan deck chairs.

Logan lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

She did the same. “Ditto.”

Logan looked around. “Nice patio.”

“Thanks.”

Silence, uncomfortable silence.

“Quinn — ”

“Yes.”

“So … what was your favorite part of Rome?”

Jiminy Christmas, that's all he could say? “I loved Rome, in theory, as I didn't have much time to enjoy the sights, looking for a thief and all. It was great, right up to the point on the sidewalk where I was shot.” She tasted the champagne and looked at him, challenging him to top that.

“The shooting was certainly my worst part.” He leaned forward, holding the flute in both hands. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“Not to worry.” She raised her left arm. “All healed.”

He looked so uncomfortable she almost laughed. Maybe she should tell him she loved the flowers.

“I need to tell you something.”

“But first … I want to say thank you for the flowers, both deliveries. I should have said it before. I'm sorry for being tardy with my acknowledgment.”

Logan's face brightened. She must have said the magic words.

“You're very welcome,” he said.

“How's it going at work now that you're back?” Quinn asked.

“Work's fine, the usual. Nothing changes.” He closed his eyes for a moment then looked at her. “I really am sorry I didn't tell you I worked for the FBI. I know I should have but … I screwed up.”

“I know.”

“You'll accept my apology?” He grinned as though he realized he had vaulted over the last hurdle of a thousand yard race.

“Yes, I will.” She grinned back at him. “But you're still a jerk for not being totally open with me.”

“You're right. I truly am sorry. I'd like to put this behind us.”

“Agreed,” she said. Whew, the worst was over.

The sky had darkened while they talked. Thunder rolled across the sky, the hanging baskets began to dance and rain spattered the patio.

“We better get inside.” Logan rose and opened the door.

They ended up in the kitchen. Quinn started to open the picnic basket, but Logan stopped her and pulled her into his arms.

“I've missed you,” he whispered and kissed her, not gently, but with a sudden urgency that drew a startled gasp from Quinn. She wrapped her arms around his waist, remembering the solid feel of him. He nuzzled her neck and shivers tumbled over her abdomen. Her heart bounded, her blood warmed. She captured his mouth, enjoying the taste of champagne.

She pushed gently at his chest, kissed his jaw. “Let's go upstairs.”

“Show me the way.”

She took his hand and quickly led him to the master bedroom. The room was dark except for flashes of lightening visible through the half-open slats of wooden blinds. The storm had unleashed its fury. Rain pounded on the window and trees swooshed in the yard.

“Ooh, it's cold.” She rubbed her arms.

Logan stood behind her and placed his hands at her waist while his breath feathered the back of her neck. His nearness overwhelmed her sense of balance.

Quinn turned around. “Logan, I, uh … . ” Her voice stopped at the tenderness of his smile. Its sweetness almost broke her heart in two. Her arms stretched up and wrapped around his neck. “I'm so glad you're here.”

“Me, too,” he murmured as his lips traced a sensuous path along her jaw to her mouth.

He smelled so good and his chest felt even better — hard and so very masculine. With her mouth under assault, she transitioned from chilly to toasty warm in a matter of seconds. She whimpered.

He understood perfectly and pushed her gently to the bed. Quinn peeled his polo shirt up and over his head, dropped it to the floor. Her finger traced the pattern of a heart over his chest, touching the skin ever so lightly. She felt his sharp intake of breath before she heard a soft whistle.

Logan's hand captured hers and brought it to his lips. “I really am sorry.” He caressed the top of each knuckle with a kiss.

She couldn't think about his apology or anything else but the man who lay alongside her. “No more talking,” she whispered.

His voice fractured with huskiness. “All right then.”

The gentle touch of his lips on her mouth erased the last residue of anger. He drew her in with his hands and his mouth as her body pressed against his, eager for every point of contact.

A crash of thunder outside the window had them diving under the smooth yellow sheets.

Logan snuggled with Quinn once again, patted her hip, and tugged her against him. “My girl,” he murmured against her temple.

Quinn's heart opened, this was all she wanted, had ever wished for. The sweetness, the heat, the possibility those two words offered. She felt dizzy from the cascade of feelings zigzagging inside her. She cuddled against his neck, breathing in the scent of sandalwood. His hand found the curve of her breast and her pulse spiked.

Within minutes, flesh warmed flesh and one heart beat pressed against the other. When she arched to meet him, she panted his name and lost herself.

After their breathing slowed and Logan again lay alongside her, Quinn realized she now knew what she wanted. But she wouldn't share the discovery with Logan — all in good time.

They rested, sharing a caress and a tender touch. Quinn tingled from the ends of her hair to her toes. Suddenly, Logan moved to the edge of the bed, pulled on his shorts, turned back to her with a devastating grin. “How about a glass of champagne?”

“Great idea.” She scrambled off the bed and threw on a robe.

Five minutes later, they settled back on the bed, toasted each other, and nestled under the covers.

Rain beat gently against the window. The thunder was in the distance now, the storm moving on down the road. Quinn gazed at Logan, unsure of what was next. Did this mean they were friends? Really good friends? Lovers?

Maybe just maybe, they were on the edge of something deeper than friendship. She honestly didn't know but she understood her girly genes were getting ahead of her brain genes. Her bad picker mentality sat on her shoulder, telling her to take it slow, not to jump off that relationship cliff, to be cautious.

Logan squeezed her hand. “Why so quiet?”

“Just thinking,” she said.

“And I know what you're thinking about.” He rolled on his side, looked at her with a knowing grin.

“Sure you do.”

“I agree with you. We need to take this slow.” His finger stroked her cheek. “In fact, I think we should go on a proper date.”

Damn. “You mean where you call me, ask me out, and we go out to dinner?”

“That's what I was thinking.” He leaned over and kissed her hard. “We can have our first real boy-girl date.”

She leaned over and kissed him back. “Deal.”

The phone rang and she picked it up.

“Quinn, where have you been? I've left two messages.”

The message light was blinking. They had ignored the phone. Dirk sounded excited.

“Is it Liz?” She sat up. “Are you going to the hospital?”

Logan scrambled out of bed, began pulling on his clothes.