By Invitation Only (19 page)

“Powerful stuff, huh?” Quinn spoke from just a couple of feet away. He’d moved closer while she’d been reminiscing. “Makes you think about things. And while you’re examining your life, think about this. You weren’t exactly a fount of truthfulness when I first met you, Professor Monahan.” His gaze roamed down her body. She’d worn her usual professor clothes—long khaki pants, a polo shirt buttoned all the way up and an old corduroy jacket, complete with elbow patches.

“I’ve done a little checking on you since I got back in town.” He fingered the top button of her shirt. “Is this the real you? Or are you the woman who went to bed with a complete stranger?”

She blinked at him, unable to answer. She didn’t know.

“Want to know what I think?” He closed the distance between them, encroaching on her personal space. “I think you hide the real Peyton behind these wrinkled clothes and the old lady hairdo. The woman I knew on the island was brave and exciting.”

Brave? Exciting? Was that how he saw her? That wasn’t the real Peyton. Or was it? She was so confused. All those messy emotions she’d had no trouble ignoring the past twenty-odd years churned inside her, causing her to doubt everything she’d always held as fact.

Suck it up, Monahan.
She tried shoving all her feelings back into the box she’d duct-taped closed and labeled Too Much Drama as a teen. Back where they belonged, never to be dealt with again. It was bad enough she’d caused a scene in front of a room full of businesspeople.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We don’t have to ever see each other again.” She moved around Quinn and grabbed the door handle.

Quinn caught her wrist and twirled her to face him. “This is
so
not over.” He backed her against the door, leaning into her. “The truth is I lied about who I was that morning because I wanted more time with you.” His lips were inches from hers, his light brown eyes glittering. “If I had told you I represented Prescott Industries, you would have left that day and we’d have never gone parasailing over the Caribbean.” He brought a hand up and smoothed a strand of her hair away from her cheek and followed his fingers with his mouth. “Spending that day with you was one of my best days ever.”

“It was?” Peyton closed her eyes as his warm breath touched her temple.

He drew back and she opened her eyes to find his gaze on hers. Before she could draw a breath, he was kissing her. Desperate, hungry kisses, angling his head to take her mouth one way, then the other. She was falling, surrendering to the onslaught of his mouth, of his arms holding her tight. Of his words.
He’d wanted more time with her.

“Peyton,” he whispered, pulling her hair loose from its knot. “I sent that damn check hoping it would bring you back to me somehow.” He kissed down her jaw. “I had to see you again.”

“Why?”

“Over the years, working for the old man, I’d somehow lost myself. Spending time with you, I got a piece of Quinn Smith back. Something about you reminds me to be me.”

She shuddered and gave in. She dug her nails into his scalp and kissed him back. In seconds, he’d helped her shed her jacket. He dragged his lips down the hollow of her throat and at the same time wrenched off his suit coat and tie.

He touched his forehead to hers and stilled. “But I also sent that check because, no matter what, I want you to find that cave. The monk and his princess risked their lives to save those Mayan writings, and they deserve to be seen by the world.”

Peyton blinked back tears. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

“I know.
You
made me see that. That Spanish monk was one romantic dude. ‘She makes me feel alive and terrified and tender all at once,’” he quoted.

“The monk wrote that.” She gasped. “The diary! You have it?”

“You left it in my room. It must have fallen out of your bag.”

“You read it?”

He shrugged. “It’s a great story.”

She shook her head in awe. He’d read the whole diary? How many men would bother to read a four-hundred-year old diary?

“I remembered that line because that’s how I feel about you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Alive—” he kissed her forehead “—and terrified—” then he kissed her temple “—and tender.”

“Me, too.” The words slipped out before she thought.

Quinn stepped back, his hands cupping her elbows. “You feel that way about me?”

She thought back to their day—and nights—together. How he’d enjoyed life and lived every moment to the fullest. His enthusiasm had been contagious. By comparison, her life seemed dull and routine.

The monk’s love for the Mayan woman had completely disrupted his world. They’d had to flee for their lives and start over in a strange city. But their love for each other couldn’t be denied.

Peyton had a small circle of friends, but how many weekends could one spend playing Trivial Pursuit? Life with Quinn had been exciting and unexpected. But he was also responsible and caring.

She’d experienced more joy with Quinn this past weekend than ever before in her life. And more pain. Did opening oneself up to emotions always have to be painful? In just these few short moments with Quinn, she’d somehow let go of her anger at her father. Years of pain dissolved.

Maybe that was the secret. To be open to life and tenderness, one had to be open to terror and pain, as well. But it was worth it to feel this kind of…love?

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “I’m terrified, but so alive. I want to take a chance on us. I want to jump off a cliff with you again.”

He grinned. “You like living life on the edge?”

She returned his smile. “It’s exciting.” Some things were worth all the drama and crisis.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced heavenward. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Hey.” She pretended to pout. “I was crashing weddings before I ever met you.”

“Weddings, offices… That’s twice you’ve crashed into my life, Monahan.”

“Hmm, maybe you should send me an engraved invitation next time.” Pulling his mouth to hers, she kissed him.