California Man - The Author's Cut Edition (16 page)

He gave her a look she couldn't read. "I know what I'd
like
to do, but I'm not sure yet whether it will work out. Like I said, I have a few things to check out. But so far things look good." He smiled then. "From where I sit they look damned good."

"I'm happy for you. It all sounds exciting and... mysterious, like you're about to embark on a grand adventure." She didn't ask any more questions. Quinn's business was
his
business. It had nothing to do with her.

"A grand adventure..." He seemed to ponder the words. "I'd like to think so. Adventure—and challenge—is exactly what I need." After a quick glance at his watch, he stood. "We've got time for a quick trial run with that new bike before I have to go. Are you game?"

Emily wasn't actress enough to hide her disappointment. "You're leaving? So soon?"

"Have to be on the seaplane to Vancouver in three hours, but I'll be back in the morning. I have a dinner meeting tonight and breakfast meeting early tomorrow. The guy I'm meeting is on a tight schedule. I probably should have stayed on in Vancouver today, but I wanted to see you. I figured a couple of hours was better than nothing." He tilted his head, arched a teasing brow. "Is that look on your face telling me you can't live without me for another night?"

"I can, but I'm not sure I want to," she answered honestly.
We have so few nights, so very few, before you leave for good
.

"Then I'll have to make it up to you. Big time. Starting tomorrow. Fair enough?" He stroked her face.

"Fair enough."

* * *

Emily still couldn't settle down. It had been two hours since Quinn left, and before long it would be dark. Restless and moody, she decided to go for another bike ride. She was amazed at what a difference it made to have a bike the right size. She was enjoying it, and Bailly loved running alongside her.

"If we keep this up, Bailly, we'll be in great shape."

They'd turned left on Morningside when she saw James. She smiled and waved. When she stopped, Bailly went to say hello.

"Hi, Emmi. Quinn gone?" James got right to the point as always.

"Uh-huh."

"But back tomorrow, he said."

"Right. Back tomorrow." She leaned on the handlebars of her new bike. "He says you're doing super well, James."

James beamed, and it made her heart pinch the tiniest bit. He'd become attached to Quinn, maybe too attached, and would be almost as disappointed as she would be when he left. And that worried her, but Lynn said not to let it, because James had to learn to say goodbye like everyone else.

"You like him coaching you, huh?"

His smile widened. "He gave me these." James lifted his left foot and pointed it toward her. It wasn't the first time he'd showed her his new running shoes with their red and blue stripes. She pretended it was.

"Cool," she said. "I bet you'll beat everybody wearing those shoes."

"Quinn says if I work hard—
really, really hard
—I'm gonna win. Want me to show you what he taught me?"

"Sure." Emily, still leaning on her bike, watched James take his start position, then hurtle down the road. He
was
fast, and he sure was motivated. Thanks to Quinn.

When he came back and stood in front of her, barely out of breath, she said, "That's great, James.
Really
great."

"Guess what? I'm gonna run in another race after this one. In..." He stopped to think for a minute. "August. It's in Vancouver. August in Vancouver," he repeated before going on. "Quinn says he'll help me. He says the games are super important. They have gold and silver medals and everything. Not just ribbons."

"I don't think—" Emily stopped. James must have his dates confused. Quinn would be gone by August, long gone. Still it wasn't like James to have it wrong. When he was told a date or month, he etched it in stone. He might not be able to relate it to the length of time, but he always remembered the specifics. She hoped Quinn hadn't misled him in a misguided effort to be kind. She'd hate to see James disappointed.

"Ja-ames. Ja-ames." It was Lynn calling. Emily looked at her watch. Nearly seven-thirty.

"You'd better go, hon. Your mom's calling."

"Okay. You coming to see me race next Saturday?"

"I hope so. But only the hundred meter. I can't stay for the relay. I have to get back to help with my play."

"Come with Quinn, okay," he instructed.

"Okay. Now you'd better get going before your mom gets mad at you for being late."

James ran back down the road, spun around once to wave, and ran on. Lynn had told her how thrilled he was about the weekend games, but Emily hadn't realized how thrilled until now. If he won, and she prayed he would, she knew it would make Quinn happy. But even if he didn't win he'd have given his best and know it. And that was winning in her book.

She got back on her bike—no crossbar—and smiled. Maybe Quinn was going to make both her and James winners.

Bailly, a few paces ahead of her on the road, tossed off an impatient bark. She started to pedal. "Okay, Bailly boy, let's roll."

* * *

The seaplane pitched and tossed as it came in for a landing on the choppy waters at the Vancouver terminal. Quinn looked at his watch. Less than half an hour to get to his room at the Four Seasons, change, and make his dinner meeting. He'd be a few minutes late, but Claude would wait. He hailed a cab. When it pulled to the curb, he opened the door and tossed in his overnighter.

"Four Seasons," he told the driver, then settled into the seat.

He smiled to himself, anticipating the surprise on Claude's face when he hit him up for money. It would be a first, that was for sure—just as this meeting was. Claude Christopher and Quinn Ramsay hadn't sat down together for at least ten years. They'd been too busy beating each other up in the marketplace.

Quinn had told him very little when he'd called him in L.A., only that he had a proposition that would be good for both of them. Claude would assume that meant money
in,
not money out.

Quinn leaned back in the seat; he felt edgy, but it was a good edgy. For the first time in years, he was excited about something. And if Claude could feel the same, they'd be good to go. His support might not be critical to the project, but it would speed up the start-up phase. Quinn had badly wanted to talk his plans over with Emily but decided to wait until things were firmly set. He still had
i's
to dot and
t's
to cross.

Too bad he hadn't been able to meet with Claude in Los Angeles, but his schedule had made it impossible. Quinn knew all about that kind of schedule and was grateful his longtime competitor agreed to a stopover in Vancouver. Otherwise it would have been back to L.A. and away from Emily.

He didn't want to be away from her. He'd made that decision during a couple of long, restless nights in Malibu. What he didn't know was how she felt about him. She was attracted to him, that he got, but he sensed a constant distance in her, a protective reserve. What that meant he didn't know, but in the next few days, he intended to find out.

He'd kept his word, given her time to think things through. A process that wreaked hell on his libido, but he hadn't rushed her. He'd scarcely touched her, for God's sake! And this morning, when she'd pulled his mouth to hers—the first openly sexual move she'd put on him—he'd damn near lost it. He could still feel her pressed against his length. His
very hard
length.

He shook his head and stared out the cab window.

You're an idiot, Ramsay.

Agreed.

But I'm an idiot who doesn't want to screw up. One who wants to make a special time—for a special woman. And if that takes a bit of patience, I'm good with that.

* * *

The next day, after he'd spent some time coaching James he walked back to Emily's house. She was in the bedroom packing. "Miss me?" Quinn asked wrapping his arms round her from behind.

She turned in his arms and put hers around his neck. "You've only been gone an hour," she teased. "But I'll admit to a touch of jealousy. What is it between you and James anyway?"

"The bonding of two jocks. What can I say?"

"If I take up a sport, would you coach me, bond with me, the way you do with James?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do. Coach you—in the most beautiful hotel room Victoria has to offer. Tonight. As for the bonding, that takes two, remember." He kissed her nose. "But before anything, I need to grab a shower before we catch the ferry. Okay?"

Emily nodded in the direction of the bathroom. When he went in and closed the door, she sat heavily on the edge of her bed. She rubbed her arms where his hands had been and sighed.

Tonight was too far away.

There must be something she could do. Their time was so precious, so short. Her heart started to pound, an alternating rhythm of fear and excitement.

Could she do it? Dare she do it?

Aggressive, that's what he kept saying. She stood up and started to take off her clothes. Aggressive was what he'd get.

She dropped her T-shirt on the floor and closed her eyes and did some seriously deep breathing.

Goodbye, shy Emily.
She headed to the bathroom.

Quinn felt her before he saw her. His shock was quickly replaced by excitement when he felt her shower-slicked arms wrap around him and her trembling body against his back. He knew she'd crossed a boundary to come into the shower. Her pounding heart was testament to that. He turned and smiled down at her, making no secret of his own pleasure.

"This is much better than showering alone." He pulled her close and ran a hand down her back. The heat came strong and fast. He leaned against the shower wall, pulling her with him.
Slow, Quinn, take it slow
. Right now, at this moment, he could have moved with a speed that would have scared the sap out of her. He had to take it easy.

"You feel good, lady, damn good." His voice was rough velvet as he kissed her wet hair and smooth throat.

At his words, the touch of his hand, she relaxed. She knew then that she'd been terrified he would reject her. Instead he'd welcomed her. She nestled against him, relishing the feel of skin against skin as the shower pulsed against her back. His body was sleek with water and soap, and she ran her hands up the tight muscles of his forearms. So firm. So strong. He was magnificent.

At her touch, Quinn leaned his head back against the shower wall and closed his eyes, give her freedom to explore him. All of him.

Pulling back to look up at him, she spread her fingers to run her hands flat-palmed through the damp hair on his chest. The curly hair veed to the level plane of his stomach, and she followed that vee downward. When Quinn tensed, she stilled her hands, then veered off to run them down the sides of his thighs. She raised dazzled, dreamy eyes to his as she brought her questing palms back to the expanse of his chest, lightly skimming his nipples. His hands, until now resting at the curve of her waist, dug into her softer flesh.

"Emmi..." he started but didn't finish when her pink tongue flicked first at one flat nipple, then the other. A lick. A taste. A nibble when she took one between her teeth. He was letting her play with him, and she was taking maximum advantage of it, growing more... aggressive and courageous every second.

His voice darker and richer than she remembered, he said, "Do you know what you're doing?"

She lifted her head from his chest, tried to breathe. "Not exactly. What am I doing? Tell me."

"You're raising my temperature at a rate of fifty degrees a second, and I think you know it."

And whatever control Quinn had convinced himself he had was falling under the onslaught of her soft questioning hands.

His hands moved down to her buttocks, and he pulled her to him, his erection hard and strong against her. He half expected her to draw back, instead she pressed into him and insinuated her hand between, getting it as far as the crease at the top of his thigh, perilously close to the source of Quinn's control problem.

"That's it," he gasped. "Let's get out of here." He reached past her and turned off the shower.

When the shower was off, she took his face in her hands and stilled him. "I don't want to wait. I want to make love to you—now."

If Emily didn't see the raw need in his eyes, he knew she'd hear it in the huskiness of his voice when he answered, "We do that, we're going to disappoint a lot of people."

Her headed tilted in question.

He took a large white towel from the rack, and began drying her, rubbing down her back to her wet buttocks. "First, there's the hotel reservation. We said we'd be there by seven." He was drying the back of her thighs, moving the towel downward. When he reached her calves, he started up again, taking the inside route.

"We can sleep on a park bench," Emily murmured, swallowing visibly. He slipped the soft towel through her legs, bringing it to the sensitive juncture of her thighs. With aching slowness he dried her there before turning her to face him.

"Then there's dinner," he went on. "You know how maitre d's can be when you show up late."

His teasing stopped when he looked at her breasts, full and high, lustrous with shower water.
Beautiful...
He dropped the towel, cupped her breasts; they were perfection in his hands.

Not content to hold, he explored, moving his hands until a bud from each breast touched the center of each palm. Gently, softly, barely keeping contact with her nipples, he rotated his hands. Watched as she closed her eyes, let her head fall back. He felt her knees give way and when she sagged against him, he came undone. He needed her, all of her, against him, under him. Her hands all over him. His all over her.

"Let's get to the damn bed," he growled, more to himself than her. He stopped long enough to retrieve a flat silver package from his shaving kit, before picking her up and carrying her out of the steamy bathroom. His words of a few days ago came back to him. Words about him stopping anytime she said so.
All he could do now was pray he wouldn't have to live up to them. Not now with blood raging through his veins with such unholy force his muscles ached. Not now, when he was so hot his flesh was melting. Now all he wanted was to be in her, so far, so deep he'd touch her center.