California Man - The Author's Cut Edition (22 page)

"A triumph! A full-scale bloody triumph! Did you hear them? God, but I love the theater." His smile was big enough, deep enough to damage his face.

When family and friends of the cast surged backstage, the noise level tested the sound barrier. Awash in accolades, Emily, overwhelmed, moved away from the crush. When she looked back, she saw Quinn moving toward her. His smile was bigger than Granger's, and his eyes were bright with pride and pleasure. Without conscious thought, she went toward him. He wrapped her in his arms and rocked her.

He hugged her hard, whispered in her ear. "It was terrific. Absolutely terrific."

Without warning tears came—a gush of them—and she clung to him, burying her face in his chest.

"I'm... so glad... you're here." She sniffed and sobbed the words.

"Where else would I be?"

"I don't... know." God, she was clutching him with the tenacity of a kitten on a tree limb. Still choking out her words, she lifted her head. "I can't... stop... crying and I... don't know why. I'm so... happy." She knew she should pull away but couldn't. This moment needed Quinn. She needed Quinn. Just a little longer, she promised herself as she pressed her body against his.

He cupped her chin and grinned into her tear-streaked face. "Tears of happiness. The best kind." He pulled her back to his chest.

Paul came up beside them. "The play was wonderful, Emily. You're a talented lady. If you can tear yourself away from this big guy, I'd like to hug you myself."

Emily managed to pull herself away from Quinn. "You mean that? You really liked it?"

Paul reached for her hands, pulled her forward, and gave
her
the promised hug. "I mean it. Any writer who can get people to laugh and sniffle a bit—in all the right places—is a true genius in my book. I loved it. And the cast was remarkable."

When Emily stepped back, she continued to hold his hands, and said, "Will you tell them that? Praise from a professional, and such a famous one, would mean so much to them."

Paul responded with a happy nod. "Where do I start?"

Emily reclaimed her right hand and brushed away her tears. "With Granger. Let me introduce you. He'll be thrilled. Thank you so much." She lifted eyes, still silvered with tears, to Quinn. "Will you come, too?" She offered her free hand.

* * *

When a beaming Gina joined them, Emily introduced the California threesome to Granger, Betsy, and the rest of the players. She was right. They were thrilled. The visiting celebrities lent rare panache to a Salt Spring Island opening night.

When Quinn saw Emily puzzling at Gina's open, friendly attitude, he took her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Don't look so surprised. Gina knows how to work a crowd, any crowd. It's her business, and these people are her paying customers. At least she hopes they'll be."

Emily nodded as though she understood, but Quinn could see she didn't. He couldn't imagine Emily "working" a crowd for any reason.

Emily studied Gina, couldn't believe this was the same woman who was sneering at the production not twenty-four hours ago. Amazing how she adapted so easily to a new situation, new people. Gina circulated through the buzzing throng, bedazzling and charming every last one of them.

The woman was a chameleon. Emily visualized the tables being turned, with her trying to impress a strange crowd in Los Angeles, Quinn's town. She shuddered at the thought. Even if she did manage not to faint from fear, she wouldn't handle it with a tenth of Gina's skill. Emily felt a grudging admiration for the beautiful woman. She might not like her, but she wished she had half her poise and charisma. Quinn needed a woman with that kind of self-possession.
Maybe they'd even get back together when he went home...

Ignoring the hot blast of jealousy tearing through her at the thought, she compulsively gave Quinn's hand a possessive squeeze.

He squeezed back and looked down at her. "Tired?"

"Very."

He wrapped an arm around her. "Is there a cast party?"

"At Granger's," she said, cuddling closer to him.

"Don't you want to go?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Want to go home?"

She nodded. Something in the way he asked brought moisture to her eyes. Emily Welland and Quinn Ramsay would never have a home—at least not one together.

After another flurry of congratulations and a round of goodbyes, they were at the door. Paul and Gina not far behind.

"Coming back to the house for a drink?" Paul asked, glancing between Quinn and Emily.

Gina was looking at Emily as though she'd never seen her before. There had been no exchange between the women all night, and now Emily forced her lips to smile when she caught the woman's curious look, but was glad to turn back to Quinn when he said, "No. Thanks. I'm going to take Emily home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"It's okay, Quinn. I have my car here. You go with your friends," Emily piped up.

Quinn's jaw tightened. She couldn't be certain but it looked as though he was grinding his teeth. She'd never seen him look so angry. His words, when he answered, were modulated to sound normal. "I said I'll see you home, Emily. I think we have a few things to discuss." His eyes, black under the pale light in the parking lot, brooked no argument. He turned to Paul. "What time are you two leaving?"

"Around noon. Come for coffee before we go?" Paul asked.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be by around ten or so. Right after I check out of the hotel."

Hotel? Quinn was staying in a hotel?
Emily shot him a glance.

Quinn was leading her away when she heard Gina's low voice. She assessed Quinn boldly before turning to Emily.

"You are a lucky woman. He will make you a wonderful
marito.
If there was anything I could do to change that, I would. But," she shrugged, "as I cannot,
buono fortuna."
She paused, then added, "Your play. It was good. Perhaps someday you will write beautiful words for me."

Emily only nodded, surprised but oddly pleased by Gina's praise. At Quinn's side she walked in silence to the car. "What's a
marito?"
she asked, getting into the Rover.

"A husband," he answered with authority while giving a lift to her elbow. With no added comment, he closed the passenger door and walked around to the driver's side. He turned the key in the ignition, then looked at her. "That word bother you?"

"No... Yes. I mean it's not as if we were—" She stopped, not knowing where to go from there. She thought of all the crisp witty lines she'd written for her play—but couldn't think of one for herself.

"Go on." Quinn tossed her another glance before turning the ATV onto Upper Ganges Road. "It's not as if we were what?"

"Were that... serious... or anything." She wanted to make sure he understood she had no illusions about their relationship. Yes, he'd said he loved her, but that was here—on Salt Spring. In his world their island love would live as long as pansies in the desert.

Quinn jerked the car to the side of the road, slammed it into park, and glared at her. Then, with no preamble, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. His mouth, at first angry and impatient, quickly softened to a seductive warmth. Emily fell into the heat of it and warmed her soul. Her arms slid to his neck, her fingers to his dark hair, and her heart to heaven. When his head moved to her throat, he took a deep breath. She wasn't sure she wanted him to speak. What she wanted was for him to hold her forever.

Leaving one hand resting at the base of her throat, he leaned back against the door never taking his eyes off her.

The seriousness of his gaze made her squirm.

"I think it's time you told me what's going on with you," he said.

"Nothing. Nothing's going on."

"Nothing! Is it
'nothing'
that's made you as skittery as a park squirrel since Paul and Gina arrived? I don't think so. Level with me. Tell me what's going on in that too busy, too smart head of yours."

Silence pressed itself between them. He waited, while Emily's head spun with words—all of them useless. Finally, she said, "It's done between us, Quinn. It's... over. We need to say goodbye."

Her words hit Quinn like shrapnel, leaving him too stunned to answer.

"We had an understanding, remember?" She lifted her head in a show of strength. "You were going to help me with my, uh, problem and leave. No commitments. That's what you said, and that's what we agreed on."

"Maybe we did. But that was then and this is now. I love you, Emily. I haven't made any secret of that. And I think you love me, too."

"Island love, not real love. We got off track, that's all. This, uh, relationship of ours was about... sex, not love. We knew that from the beginning."

"You think what's between us is just sex?"

"Not 'just' sex. Very good sex... amazing sex," she stammered miserably. This conversation wasn't going the way she intended. She couldn't think what to say to take the hurt from his face the pain from her own cowardly heart.

Quinn stared at her, his expression pained, then vacant. Without a word he started the vehicle and pulled back on the road. Did she truly believe their lovemaking could be reduced to "good sex?" He knew they were long past that. If he were truthful, he'd known from the first time he kissed her. Obviously she hadn't. He'd been so sure his own feelings were shared. He cursed himself for his own ego, but if she thought he was giving up, she was wrong. Stone cold dead wrong! He needed a plan, a surefire way to make Emily see how great they'd be—together.

By the time they pulled into her driveway, the heavy silence between them was a bottleneck of confused thoughts, pained emotion, and unspoken words.

When Quinn stopped the car, he didn't bother to turn off the ignition. He didn't plan to stay and sure as hell didn't expect to get asked. It was Emily who turned the key off. When the quiet of the night entered the car cab, she found her voice.

"I didn't mean that, Quinn. About it being only sex." She watched a muscle twitch in his jaw. She resisted touching it with a soothing finger. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"That's okay. It's always good to know I'm a satisfactory stud."

"Oh, no! Please don't think that."

"What am I supposed to think? And don't give me any of that affection crap."

"It's not that I don't care for you. I do. I tried to tell you that before Paul and Gina arrived. You've made a real difference in my life. You've... empowered me in a way I would never have believed possible. But even now, I can't—"

"Finish it, Emmi. No more faltering. Say what you have to say and go in the house. Let's get this over with."

She looked at him, eyes pearlized with tears. "I can't make it in your world. And you can't make it in mine." Emily dropped her eyes and rubbed her palms over the top of her thighs.

Quinn stared at her long and hard but didn't speak as he considered her words. The beginning of hope unfurled near his heart, lending an uneasy calm to his next words. He cupped her face in his hand and claimed her eyes.

"Just tell me one thing. Do you love me?" He watched, and when she tried to turn her head, he wouldn't let her.

"Answer me," he demanded.

"Yes! Yes, I love you! I love you so much I can't stand it. But what good is it? It would never work. I couldn't cope with your blindingly brilliant life-style, fast talk, fast cars, fast people. The pace is wrong for me. And you? Here? It's unthinkable. You'd go crazy. You must see how impossible it is?"

He raised two fingers to her lips. His heart was beating hard enough to break his ribs. She did love him. The rest was chopped liver. This was the opening he was looking for. His body said move. Get this woman where you can hold her.

"Let's take a walk."

In a second Emily's door was open, and Quinn, her hand firmly in his, was leading her into the moonlight.

They were on her beach, standing near her thinking log before he spoke again. Fighting for reason, Quinn pulled her against his long frame. "I did hear you right. You did say you love me?"

"Yes, I love you, Quinn. More than you can imagine, and I won't do anything to ruin that.
I won't
."

"Then marry me," he demanded.

Emily gasped in surprise. "Marry you? Didn't you hear anything I said? We can't get married."

"Why not?"

"It would be like a marriage between two different life forms. That's why." She pulled herself from his arms.

"You mean all that crap about where we'll live." He gave her a probing look. "Ever hear of the word "compromise"? You're right, though. I couldn't live here, not right now anyway. But I love this island, and I would want—hell, I probably need—to come back to it for long periods and often. As for L.A., after I sell my business and get the foundation up and running, I don't need to live there. But for the next year or so, it has to be home base. In a business sense, I'm connected there, and those connections will be necessary to get the foundation well established. After that," he shrugged, "We can live anywhere."

"Foundation? I don't know what you're talking about." Emily's confusion showed clearly in her upturned eyes.

"I would've told you sooner, but between your play, James's race, and my, uh, guests, the right time hasn't presented itself." He reached for a tendril of her hair, coiled it idly around his index finger, then dropped it. "Remember when you came to my place and I fed you burnt meat and a raw potato?"

When Emily nodded, he said, "Let's sit." The sat on Emily's thinking log.

Quinn went on, "That night, you sensed I was worried about selling Action Sports because I had no solid plan for the future." He leaned down, picked up a flat stone, and began flipping it in his hand like a coin. "I do now. And I owe it to James. The amount of pure heart he put into those games reminded me what sports are really all about. And today—seeing all those other kids, giving their best and more... It was competition at its best, its purest. Every kid there was a winner. I'd forgotten that kind of dedication—that kind of feeling—existed." He tossed the stone to the ocean and turned to her.