All the Right Places (RILEY O'BRIEN & CO #1) (15 page)

He moved his lips back to hers. “This is what you need,” he whispered against her mouth before kissing her again.

Sliding his fingers under her panties, he parted her slick folds with the tips of two fingers, dragging them gently against her flesh until he reached her clit. He circled it tenderly, flicking his fingernails against it. She moaned loudly, the sound reverberating through his body.

“This is what you need,” he repeated hoarsely.

She panted against his ear, hot little gusts of breath, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was on the verge of coming just from the feel of her pussy against his fingers. She was so hot and silky, and he wanted to unbutton his fly and go into her so deeply he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

He shifted his hand to plunge two fingers into her and pressed his thumb on her clit. She jerked against him, gasping softly.

“That feels so good,” she breathed. “More.”

He gave her what she wanted, thrusting his fingers into her again and again while circling and flicking her clit with his thumb. She began to ride his hand, and he knew she was close when she threw back her head and dug her nails into his back.

Pressing hard on her clit, he pushed deep inside her. With a raspy cry, she came apart. He fed her a deep kiss as her pussy squeezed and convulsed around his fingers.

Resting his face against the hollow of her throat, he waited until her pussy had stopped pulsating before removing his fingers and tugging her panties back into place. As she pulled her hands from his jeans, he leaned back to look into her face. Her eyes were slumberous, her lips plump and rosy.

She ran her hand through his hair. “You got your hair cut.”

It was not what he’d expected her to say, and it took him a moment to formulate a reply. “I wanted to look good when you saw me again.”

“You always look good to me.”

He leaned in and kissed her softly, sucking gently on her lower lip before pulling back. “Obviously, you look good to me, too.”

She laughed huskily, wiggling in a silent demand that he let her down. He complied, watching as she adjusted her skirt and retied her blouse. She kept her face averted and fiddled with her neckline for a moment.

Her body language warned him that he wasn’t going to like what she’d say next. He tensed, knowing he was about to do battle.

“Quinn, we can’t do this again.”

Reaching under her fiery hair, he settled his hand on the back of her neck. He pulled her to him, forcing her head to tilt so he could see her face.

“Why not?”

“It’s too risky. We’re business partners, and we should keep things professional. If anyone found out, it could blemish our reputations, maybe even the reputation of Riley O’Brien & Co.”

“I know the risks, Amelia. I’ve considered them, and I still want to see where this goes.”

She swallowed deeply. “I can’t.”

“We can handle a personal relationship without jeopardizing our professional relationship,” he replied, his voice cajoling. “Give it a chance.”

“No.”

Her voice was resolute, and he dropped his hand. She immediately stepped away from him, and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from jerking her back to him.

“I don’t understand. I’m damn sure you want me as much as I want you.”

“Please.” Misery filled her face, and his heart pinched a little. “Please just accept my decision.”

“Are you saying you want to forget this ever happened? That you want to go back to the way things were before?”

She nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

“Forget it,” he said curtly. “My life moves forward, not backward.”

She turned her face away without replying. After a moment, he forced his feet to move forward, taking him out of the workshop and away from her.

Amelia grabbed her towel and wiped the sweat off her face. The barre exercise class was kicking her butt, and she knew she would feel some pain tomorrow.

Even though the instructor was a meanie, Amelia was glad she’d decided to come to the class. It had helped take her mind off what had happened with Quinn in the workshop yesterday.

She had discovered barre exercise shortly after moving to Nashville. The classes combined ballet, Pilates, and yoga and provided a low-impact, high-intensity workout.

After only a few minutes of her first class, Amelia had known she’d found the exercise that would work for her. She was convinced it was the only thing standing between her and a butt that would require its own zip code.

One of the first things she had done when she’d arrived in San Francisco was search for a barre studio. The instructor for her class at home wasn’t nearly as demanding as the one who currently shouted out orders like she was in charge of an all-female army.

Amelia had the fanciful thought that the instructor was punishing her for the deplorable lack of self-control she’d
shown with Quinn. She knew she deserved some form of castigation for her behavior.

She had been so close to escaping the workshop without making the situation between them any worse. But then he’d touched her, pressing his hard body against hers like he had in so many of her X-rated fantasies, and she’d just combusted.

Boom!

Her face burned when she thought about how she’d attacked Quinn, jumping into his arms, squeezing her legs around his lean waist, and grabbing his hair. When he had given her the best orgasm of her life, she’d rebuffed him and kicked him out of the workshop. She was such a horrible person, a liar and a user and an opportunist all rolled into one short, freckled body.

Mercifully, her thoughts were diverted when the tough instructor signaled an end to the class. Eager to get back to the penthouse and take a shower, she quickly gathered her bag, mat, and water bottle.

She was ready to leave when she saw a voicemail on her mobile phone from someone with a 323 area code. Recognizing the number as Los Angeles, she pressed the button to listen to the message, holding the phone to her ear as she left the studio.

“Amelia, it’s Gary Garson. I need you to call me. Cherry won’t need any of the pieces you designed for her. We should probably talk about compensation since you’ve already done some of the work. Call me.”

Her stomach dropped to her toes, and she came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Cherry had dumped her. No, she corrected herself, Cherry’s manager had done the actual dumping. It didn’t really matter, though, because the result was still the same.

One of the other pedestrians on the sidewalk bumped into her. “Get out of the way,” he snarled before stepping around her.

Forcing her feet to move, she stumbled toward the edge of the sidewalk where she leaned against one of the glass storefronts.
Why didn’t Cherry want her designs? Had they been that bad?

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to suppress them.
All that work for nothing. What did I do wrong
?

She tried to pull in a deep breath, but it felt like something was crushing her chest. Probably disappointment.

She had been so excited to work with Cherry. She had wanted it too much, and she should have known it wouldn’t work out. She wondered if the singer had found another designer, maybe someone she liked better or someone who had the training and experience Amelia lacked.

She looked down. She still clutched her phone, and she dropped it into her shoulder bag. Pushing away from the storefront, she started the trek back to Riley Plaza.

As she walked, she was swamped with doubt about her design abilities. Cherry had only wanted ten designs.

Ten simple little designs.

Amelia hadn’t been able to deliver. Well . . . that wasn’t entirely accurate. She had delivered. Cherry just hadn’t liked what she’d done.

She shook her head in disgust. She couldn’t even do a small project like Cherry’s. How was she supposed to create an entirely new line of accessories for Riley O’Brien & Co., not to mention the redesign for the women’s division?

She was an idiot for thinking she could do it. And the O’Briens were even bigger idiots for hiring her when they should have chosen someone far more qualified and established.

Her best course of action was to sit down with Teagan and bow out of the projects. She was not the right person for the job, and she didn’t want to mess things up for the company. And most important, she didn’t want to mess things up for Quinn, whose commitment and devotion to his family company could not be doubted.

She had conflicting emotions at the thought of not working with Riley O’Brien & Co. The overwhelming one was relief, even if that relief felt remarkably like despair.

Yes, she was relieved to let go of the pressure involved in such huge projects. And if she wasn’t working on them anymore, she wouldn’t be forced to deceive Quinn. She wasn’t ready to think about how that could change things between them.

Amelia managed to make it back to the penthouse without running into anyone she didn’t want to see, which was just about everyone. Once inside, she dumped her bag and exercise mat on the sofa and grabbed her phone to call Gary.
He picked up immediately, as if he’d been on the phone all morning.

“Amelia. Thanks for calling me back so quickly.”

“I’m sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“It’s no problem.
I’m
sorry we won’t be using your designs.”

She clenched the phone in her hand. She needed to know what had gone wrong, but at the same time, she was afraid to hear it.

“What happened? Did Cherry not like them?” She hated that her voice sounded so pathetic and wimpy.

“No, she loved them. You wouldn’t believe the noise she made when she received the FedEx with the sketches.”

She was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I’m confused. If she loved them, why doesn’t she want me to finish the pieces?”

Gary sighed gustily. “The little twit is pregnant, if you can believe that bullshit,” he said, his voice full of disgust. “The news leaked last night. Someone in her gynecologist’s office blasted it all over the web.”

She gasped. She hadn’t heard anything about it, but she could understand the gravity of the situation. Cherry wasn’t a teenager anymore, but her pregnancy would certainly damage her squeaky-clean image. The media would probably brand her a slut, and she’d end up losing millions of fans.

When she didn’t respond to his bombshell, Gary continued. “Cherry decided not to do the cover for
Allure
because she’ll be showing by the time it comes out, and her label wants to postpone her tour. They’re afraid ticket sales will be way down.”

“For what it’s worth, I think she made a smart decision about
Allure.
And I’m sure the label is just thinking about money, but being on tour has to be stressful. It can’t be good for a pregnant woman.”

“That’s the only smart decision she’s made lately because she wasn’t smart enough to use birth control,” he snarked, and she chose not to comment on that inflammatory statement. “How am I supposed to manage the situation when she won’t tell me who the father is? Maybe she doesn’t even know.”

Gary’s voice had thickened, almost like he was crying. He’d been Cherry’s manager since she was thirteen years old, and he probably saw himself as both a protector and surrogate father figure since her father had died well before she’d become a celebrity.

“I’m sorry, Gary,” Amelia said.

She felt bad for him and for Cherry. A baby might not wreck the singer’s career, but it would definitely put a dent in it.

He cleared his throat. “You’ve been great to work with. Maybe you can do some new designs for Cherry once the baby’s born and things are back to normal.”

She could tell he had doubts things would ever return to “normal,” but she assured him she’d love to work with him and Cherry anytime they wanted. They discussed how much Amelia should be paid for her work, and she named an amount she thought would be fair.

He let out a rough chuckle. “Cherry may be an unwed mother, but she’s a rich one, Amelia. I think you deserve more than that.” She heard him shuffling paper in the background. “Where should I send the check? I heard you’re in San Francisco doing a big design project. Do you want me to send it there?”

She wasn’t sure where Gary should send the check. Before she’d talked to him, she had been dead set on resigning the Riley O’Brien gig.

Maybe she had been too hasty in thinking she couldn’t handle the accessories line and redesign for the women’s division. Her shaky self-confidence had received a big boost when Gary had said Cherry had loved her designs. Not only was Cherry a known fashionista; she was also part of a younger demographic segment that Riley O’Brien & Co. wanted to target. Moreover, Gary had been sincere when he said she had been great to work with.

“Send the check to San Francisco,” she directed Gary. “Let me give you the address.”

•   •   •

Quinn stared at the numbers neatly presented in Sam Sullivan’s report. He’d stopped by the older man’s office to
continue their discussion about new real estate opportunities, and for what seemed like the first time in days, he was focused on business instead of Amelia.

After he’d left her in the workshop earlier in the week, he had made sure he wouldn’t run into her. He’d worked from home that afternoon, and during the rest of the week, he hadn’t ventured any higher than the second floor of Riley Plaza. For added security, he had come in late and left early so he wouldn’t chance an accidental meeting in the elevator.

He knew his avoidance tactics were slightly ridiculous. But he still hadn’t recovered from Amelia’s crushing rejection.

He had replayed the scene in the workshop over and over, and he didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. How had they gone from Amelia’s orgasm, which he was pretty confident she’d enjoyed if her moans were anything to go by, to him raging out of the room, physically unsatisfied and emotionally raw?

He cringed inwardly at the memory. He had almost begged Amelia to be with him.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He’d never begged a woman for anything in his life. Well . . . that wasn’t entirely true. He begged his mom to make his favorite meal of beef stroganoff and lemon meringue pie whenever he visited. But other than that . . . no begging.

He had no reason to beg, damn it! There were three and a half billion females on the planet. Surely he could find one who fired him up like Amelia Winger. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d been with plenty of women, and not one of them had managed to make him feel the way she did.

Between his college girlfriend and Luna, he’d had a few short-term relationships, but nothing serious. When he had first come back to San Francisco, he had been focused on carving out a place for himself within the company, and when he returned to school to work on his MBA, his personal life suffered greatly. There was no way he could have juggled graduate school and a serious relationship. He didn’t know how people with families handled it.

He had always put Riley O’Brien & Co. ahead of his personal life, even when he was with Luna. She hadn’t been his
priority, and she’d known it because he never pretended otherwise.

Lately, though, Quinn had started to think that spending every waking moment of his life worrying about the company was not healthy. Actually, it was kind of pathetic.

Cal had Saika and Valerie, for now at least, and Teagan had . . . well, he didn’t know about Teagan. His sister was downright secretive about her private life. He used to joke with Teagan about her mysterious love life, but she had mastered the art of the deep freeze and employed it at will. She’d been employing it a lot lately. In fact, she had been frosty with him for a few months now.

Her teasing, always razor-edged, was even sharper and had an underlying anger that confused him. He’d asked Cal about it, and she treated his younger brother the same way.

Her attitude bothered him.
A lot.
There was no one he loved more than his little sister, and he didn’t want her to be unhappy.

“What do you think?” Sam asked.

Quinn scowled when he realized he’d gotten distracted—again. Running his hand through his hair, he rubbed the top of his head in frustration. He gave the report a quick look, noting the list of expansion opportunities was pathetically short.

“Sully, this list isn’t complete, is it? Please tell me it’s not.”

With a laugh, Sam leaned back in his chair, making the abused office furniture squeak in protest. He linked his hands behind his head, the movement forcing his blue dress shirt to stretch over his small Buddha-like belly.

“Sorry, son, but it is.”

Quinn eyed Sam for a moment. He was not a body language expert, of course, but even he knew Sam’s position indicated a high level of confidence and a feeling of power.

It made sense Sam might subconsciously feel authority over Quinn since the older man had known him all his life. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when Sam hadn’t been around. Sam was one of his dad’s oldest and closest friends, and for most of Quinn’s life, he had called him Uncle Sully.

“So what are we looking at? A maximum of five new department stores for the entire U.S.?”

“That’s right.”

Riley O’Brien & Co. generated the majority of its revenue from jeans sold in department stores. The stores were almost always located in regional malls, although some department stores now had stand-alone locations.

The company had distribution agreements with the big department store operators, allowing them to sell Rileys and receive a percentage of the sale. In most instances, Rileys had their own sections, a space of the store dedicated exclusively to Rileys. The company leased the dedicated space, paying rent to the department stores.

“We’ve relied on department stores to provide expansion opportunities for years. I don’t think that strategy is going to work anymore, Sully.”