All the Right Places (RILEY O'BRIEN & CO #1) (14 page)

Amelia flipped through the fabric swatches Riley O’Brien & Co.’s procurement department had provided. She wasn’t happy with the selection, but she wasn’t sure if the swatches were truly inferior or if she was just cranky from traveling. Even though it was Tuesday, it felt like Monday because she’d wasted an entire day flying back from Nashville.

Pulling a swatch from the rack, she studied the floral pattern. She might be a little cranky, but this fabric was a lot ugly.

Amelia approached design in two distinct ways: she either drew inspiration from a person or relied on a specific material to guide her. With the Riley O’Brien accessories, she wasn’t sure if she should design her pieces with an eye toward the people who would wear them or if she should find materials she loved and then create designs to show off the materials.

She knew she approached the design process differently than other designers, and she blamed it on her lack of formal training. Without question, nearly every other designer she had ever known possessed more training and experience than she did.

It made her deeply insecure, and although she recognized
she had talent, she wished she had a degree or an apprenticeship to back it up. And though she knew it was pathetic, she always felt inferior to people with fancy degrees from expensive universities.

Earlier in the year, she’d applied to the Savannah College of Art and Design in Georgia to attend its fashion design program. She had thought the school was her best choice because Savannah was close enough to Nashville that she’d be able to visit Ava Grace regularly.

She hadn’t told anyone about her application, so the disappointment had been hers alone when she had received notice she hadn’t been accepted to the program. She hadn’t really been surprised. Her academic background was unimpressive, according to the school’s dean, and that was a kind description.

In truth, her high school grades had been atrocious. She liked to think they would have been better if she hadn’t spent most nights fending off horny truck drivers while working as a waitress.

Despite her poor grades, she had learned the basics of her trade in high school. Because of the school’s rural environment, the curriculum emphasized agricultural, vocational, and technical programs, and all students had been required to take courses that would help them find a job once they graduated.

At the time, she had been uninterested in all the courses. She hadn’t wanted to be a nail technician, a mechanic, or a ranch hand, so she’d picked textile design and management by process of elimination.

Moving to the next clothes rack, she flipped through more leather swatches. She wasn’t a fan of the grain, texture, or color.

Three strikes and you’re out
.

She stepped back from the racks and returned to her worktable. There were at least seven hundred fabric and leather samples in the workshop, and she’d found three swatches she liked. Maybe she hadn’t been specific enough when she’d talked to the woman in charge of finding and buying materials and supplies.

Amelia wondered if it would be possible to visit some
textile suppliers and fabricators. She wanted to slap herself for not suggesting it sooner because touching and feeling was a much better way to approach the process.

At the thought of touching and feeling, her mind made a sudden detour from textiles to Quinn. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since that night in the penthouse, and she was torn between relief and regret. She’d never met a man who appealed to her more, and that scared her since he was so tangled up in her career goals.

Ava Grace had been right when she’d said Amelia’s behavior was out of character. Because her mother had been so promiscuous, Amelia had gone the opposite direction, determined to be very cautious and deliberate in her sexual relationships.

She hadn’t even considered having sex until she and Ava Grace had shaken the Texas dust from their boots. Once she’d arrived in Nashville, though, she’d carefully evaluated potential partners.

She had settled on Derek Jacobson, one of the young attorneys who worked for the entertainment law firm that represented Ava Grace. After several dates, she had told Derek she was a virgin and that she’d like for him to be her first lover. She’d made it clear her virginity was just a nuisance, and that he shouldn’t read anything into the fact that he’d be her first.

Ava Grace had warned Amelia that her approach wouldn’t work. She said guys were more than happy to use women, but they didn’t like being used.

Her best friend loved being right, and in that instance, she’d been dead-on. Derek hadn’t even driven Amelia home after her explanation. He’d left her at the restaurant.

When she had identified another prospective sexual partner, she hadn’t said anything about her virginity or her lack of experience. That’s why the encounter had been so painful and embarrassing, for her partner, not for her.

“I hope you don’t think this means anything,” he’d sputtered while she was still naked in his bed. Her ego had taken a bit of a beating at his obvious dismay.

Since her first sexual experience had only been so-so, and she hadn’t even had an orgasm, she’d decided to give it one
more go. Ava Grace had set her up on a blind date with a guitar player who had “long, capable fingers,” according to her best friend, and she had found out just how long and capable those fingers really were.

The sound of the workshop door opening and closing interrupted her musings. The tall racks of swatches surrounding the table made it impossible to see her visitor.

“I’m over here,” she called.

Hard, heavy footsteps headed her way, and her heart began to pound. Her palms dampened at the thought it might be Quinn.

She turned toward the footsteps just as Quinn’s dark head poked around the closest rack. Her spirits lifted at the sight of his handsome face, and she realized she’d missed him.

How is that possible?

“Hey there,” he said, stopping about three feet away from her.

His Rileys were so old and so worn they were nearly white with faint shadows of blue along the seams. The hem and pockets were frayed, and there were worn patches in some very interesting places. His brown cowboy boots looked just as worn as his jeans, conforming to the slope of his foot.

He’d topped his ancient Rileys with a sweater patterned in thin stripes of light gray, navy, and orange. It clung to his broad shoulders, outlining his muscular arms, and she recalled how easily he’d lifted her to the kitchen island.

She was desperate to shape those muscles with her hands and run her fingers over his chest. She hadn’t had the opportunity that night in the penthouse, and she squeezed her hands into fists to keep from reaching out.

Pulling her gaze from his chest, she immediately noticed he’d gotten a haircut. The shiny, dark strands were cut close to his head in short layers around the back and sides and a little longer on top, and she wanted to run her fingers through the thickness. She didn’t know if it was the haircut or the fact that she hadn’t seen him in four days, but his eyes looked bluer, and his cheekbones seemed sharper.

As she stared at Quinn, he smiled slowly. “I’m glad you came back. I’m really happy to see you.”

She was unable to look away from his mouth as those beautiful lips shaped his words. When she didn’t reply, he cleared his throat.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened in the penthouse. I wanted to talk about where we should go from here.”

Realizing she had barely grasped a word he’d said, she jerked her eyes from his lips only to fall headlong into his deep blue gaze. He shot her an alert glance, stepping closer to her.

She could smell him, and his scent was no longer unfamiliar to her. She recognized it on a cellular level, and she knew she would be able to identify him in a room full of other men even if she was blindfolded.

Amelia could feel herself unraveling. She had to get herself under control. She’d promised Ava Grace she would stay away from Quinn. But here she was . . . alone with him in a room that offered plenty of privacy.

Ava Grace’s voice echoed in her head,
Amelia Deanne Winger, you know better!

Walk away! Just walk away from him.

•   •   •

Quinn looked closely at Amelia’s face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her dark brown eyes were glazed. She hadn’t said a single word to him since he’d entered the room, not even hello.

“Amelia.” He touched her arm lightly. “Sweetheart, did you hear me?”

Shaking her head slightly, she took several steps away from him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said,” she responded coolly, her face closed and lacking the animation and warmth he’d come to expect. “Can you repeat it?”

She looked at him, but it felt as if she looked through him. He realized she was sending a clear, albeit silent, message. She had no interest in getting involved with him, and she would barely tolerate him professionally.

“It wasn’t important,” he said, his voice sounding like he had swallowed gravel.

Disappointment swamped him, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to pursue a woman who was clearly not interested. Hell,
he’d never had to chase a woman in his life, and he wasn’t going to start now.

Amelia nodded. “Okay. If you didn’t need anything, I’m going to just . . . go,” she said, stumbling over the last few words.

As she moved toward the door, he got a good look at her clothes. “What the hell are you wearing?” he barked.

She spun around to face him, and he pointed at her short denim skirt. It ended several inches above the enticing dimples of her knees, and she’d paired it with a gauzy, cream-colored top with a drawstring around the neck, a brown leather vest, and brown cowboy boots.

He didn’t understand how she could look so cute and so sexy at the same time. There should be a law against that kind of thing.

She looked down in confusion. “What?”

“You’re wearing a skirt with the name of my number one competitor stamped on your ass. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Her pink mouth dropped open, and she reached behind her as if she wanted to cover the logos. The movement pushed out her chest, outlining her breasts and the hard little points of her nipples against the cotton.

Aggression flooded his veins. He had the ridiculous thought that if Amelia wanted to brand herself with someone’s name, it damn well better be
his
name. He felt like pulling her down across his lap, jerking up that damn skirt, and spanking her sweet round cheeks right where his competitor’s logos were located.

Before his mind could even think about what to do next, his body moved toward her. When she saw him coming, she pivoted and darted toward the exit. He reached her just as she opened the door, slamming a palm against it and forcing it closed with a bang.

Her lush little body was sandwiched between him and the door, and he crowded even closer until she had to turn her head to the side to keep from smashing her nose. He put his mouth to her ear.

“Don’t
ever
wear another piece of denim that doesn’t have my name on it,” he growled.

She gasped. “Riley skirts don’t even exist.”

“Say ‘Quinn, I won’t ever wear another piece of denim that doesn’t have your name on it.’”

She pushed back against him, trying to break his hold, and all that wiggling made him hard. He ran one of his hands down her side to her behind until he reached the logo on the skirt.

He squeezed. “Say it.”

She let out a tiny squeal. “Quinn O’Brien! What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

He was breathing hard, and his brain felt like mush, but her words finally penetrated. When they did, he dropped his forehead against the door next to her face and let his hands fall to his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.

He took a deep breath, the sweet smell of her hair flooding his lungs. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You make me crazy. I don’t know why, but you do. I do crazy things when I’m around you. I say crazy things that I . . .”

He let his sentence trail off, backing away from her so she could turn around. She looked up at him and licked her lips before pulling her bottom lip under her front teeth.

“I make you crazy,” she said, somehow making it sound like both a question and a statement. The overhead lights in the workshop made her eyes sparkle and her skin glow.

He nodded. “Yeah. You really—”

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because Amelia launched herself at him, fisting a hand in his hair and pulling his mouth down to hers. She devoured his mouth, and he moaned against her lips.

God, she tastes so good
.

He wanted this woman like he’d never wanted another, and he was going to take what she offered. Hooking his arm under Amelia’s butt, he pulled her against him. The movement raised her tiny skirt, and she spread her legs and wrapped them around his waist.

With his mouth still sealed to hers, he stumbled toward the door until her back pressed against it. He shoved his hands under her skirt, gripping the smooth globes of her ass. Her panties had slipped into the crease between her cheeks,
and he followed them until his fingers met in the damp crevice.

She gasped against his mouth and pulled his head back so she could look into his eyes. “I need to stay away from you.”

“No. That’s not what you need,” he said roughly before giving her another deep kiss.

He couldn’t get enough of her mouth, and he sipped at her lips until they were both breathless. Drawing back, he sucked in a lungful of air before nuzzling the corner of her mouth and moving toward her neck.

She turned her head, arching her neck to give him access. He licked the silky skin below her ear before trailing his tongue down her throat until he got to the top of her breasts.

Using his teeth, he undid the drawstring tie on her shirt. The edges of her shirt gaped open, revealing freckled breasts encased in a lacy, flesh-colored bra. He ran his tongue across the top edge of the bra, taking time to suck on her smooth skin.

“Oh, God, Quinn,” she moaned.

Letting go of his head, she slipped her hands under his sweater. She ran her fingers across his back before delving under the waistband of his Rileys. They were cool against his hot skin, and he broke out in goose bumps. She dipped her fingers into his boxer briefs, tugging him closer, and he ground his denim-covered erection against her.