All the Right Places (RILEY O'BRIEN & CO #1) (28 page)

Amelia tripped over the rug in the foyer in her rush to get to the front door. “Rutherford Birchard Hayes,” she muttered as she balanced on her tiptoes to peer out the peephole.

When she saw who stood on the porch, she stumbled back from the door and then reared up again to look into the round hole. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

Quinn!

Her heart stuttered, and she sucked in a surprised breath. Grabbing the doorknob, she yanked open the door at the same time he pulled open the screen door.

Her face cracked with a huge smile, and they stared at each other for a heartbeat before she threw herself at him. He dropped the garment bag he held over his shoulder and caught her, stumbling backward and grunting as her body barreled into his.

Hugging her to him, he buried his face in her hair. He laughed softly. “Well, I guess that answers my question if you’re happy to see me,” he said, rubbing his big hands up and down her back.

She nodded, nuzzling her face against his chest and pulling in a deep breath. Oh, she had missed his scent and the feel of his hard body against hers.

He wove his hands into her hair and tipped her head back. Leaning down, he kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Damn, I missed you,” he said before placing his lips against hers in a gentle kiss.

She wanted to tell him eight days wasn’t that long to go without seeing each other. Military spouses went months without seeing their loved ones. But she couldn’t force the words from her throat because every one of those eight days and nights had dragged by even though she’d been busy with work.

Pulling back from his kiss, she bent down and picked up his garment bag from the ground. “Let’s go inside. It’s kind of cold out here.”

He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “That’s because you’re barefoot and wearing a robe, Juice.”

Amelia looked down in surprise. In her excitement to see Quinn, she’d forgotten she wasn’t dressed. The glint in his dark blue eyes told her that he hadn’t overlooked that fact.

Taking the bag from her, he ushered her into the house. He threw it on the mission-style bench in the foyer and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her a little bit.

“Are you naked under that robe, sweetheart?” he asked huskily.

She clutched his shoulders and nodded slowly, feeling a little bit shy. He let her drop to the floor and reached for the tie at her waist. She placed her hands on top of his to still his agile fingers.

“I’m so happy to see you.” She bit her lip. “But what are you doing here? I have to get ready for Ava Grace’s awards show. The hair and makeup girls are going to be here soon.”

“I know. I’m going with you.”

“You are?” she asked, her voice high and breathless.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“But how?”

“I called Ava Grace last week and asked if she would help me surprise you. She arranged a ticket to the show for me, and here I am.”

With a loud squeal, she threw her arms around him,
squeezing tightly. She was thrilled, and not just because she got to enjoy his company. She couldn’t wait to see his face once she was all dressed up.

She had no illusions about her looks, but a fabulous dress could do a lot for a short girl with a big butt. Plus, she’d seen the way women looked at Quinn. He drew the eyes of every female from nine years old to ninety, and she’d like to feel equal to his good looks for one night, at least.

He laughed at her exuberance, scooping her against him with his arms under her behind. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

“How long can you stay?”

“How long do you want me?”

Before she could answer, Quinn bunched her robe in his hands and palmed her bare behind. His hands were warm, and suddenly, all she could think about was how hot and hard the rest of him was.

He turned toward the wall and backed her up against it, pressing his jean-covered erection into her. “Where’s your bedroom?” he rumbled against her ear.

Just then, the doorbell rang. He dropped his forehead against hers with a heartfelt groan. “I seriously regret stopping for that Starbucks coffee because I could have been here ten minutes earlier,” he muttered. “And trust me when I say that I would have used that time wisely.”

She snickered as he loosened his arms and let her slide down his body. “You think you would have lasted ten minutes?” she asked. “I wouldn’t have.”

He grinned. “I know.”

She lightly slapped his chest in mock offense before turning toward the front door. “Wait,” he directed, hooking a finger in the belt of her robe. “I need a place to hang out while you primp. And I need a shower.”

“You can use the guest room. It has a TV and an attached bath. Down the hall, first door on the right.”

He patted her rear before grabbing his garment bag and striding away. Opening the door, she greeted the hair and makeup girls and then ushered them into the house.

She was lucky Jasmine and Selena had been available this
evening. They were fast and fabulous, and they knew how to make the most of Amelia’s curly red hair and fair skin.

“By the time we’re finished with you, you’re going to feel like a completely different woman,” Selena promised as they traipsed up the stairs to Amelia’s bedroom.

Three hours later, Amelia definitely
looked
like a completely different woman.

Her sapphire-colored dress floated around her feet. The vertical ruching at the waist minimized her midsection, while the contrasting diagonal ruching on the bodice elongated her torso and emphasized her breasts before draping over one shoulder and leaving the other bare.

It was a beautiful dress. The color drew attention to her hair without turning it orange and made her skin look creamy instead of pasty. The strappy silver sandals with their stiletto heels and crystal buckles were the perfect complement.

Jasmine and Selena had left right after they helped Amelia into her gown. She had stayed in her room, though, hoping she could regain some of her earlier excitement.

A strange mood had swept over her while Jasmine had piled her curls into an elaborate updo adorned with crystal pins. She’d looked into the mirror above her dresser and had seen someone she hadn’t recognized. Someone with flawless makeup and artfully arranged hair.

Minutes later, she had slipped into a nine-thousand-dollar dress and twelve-hundred-dollar shoes. When she had glimpsed herself in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she’d felt like a princess in a fairy tale. The air had seemed to sparkle and shimmer around her body.

She’d stared at herself, and her strange mood had intensified. Everything seemed so unreal. The dress, the awards show, Quinn. The word “unreal” had echoed in her head, and she’d started to dissect what it meant.

Unreal meant imaginary, dreamlike, fantasy. It was the
opposite
of real.

“Juice, the limo’s here,” Quinn called from downstairs. “You need to get a move on.”

Amelia stared down at her freshly manicured hands, the nails painted with shiny scarlet polish. No matter how
different she looked, she was still the same woman. She wasn’t a princess, Quinn wasn’t her prince, and her life wasn’t a fairy tale.

Even she knew princesses were honest and brave. Most of all, they always got their happily ever after.

Amelia wasn’t honest, and she wasn’t brave. If she were, she would have told Quinn about Teagan’s project. She would have admitted her involvement in a scheme that could end up costing him the CEO job.

And no matter how much she wanted happily ever after with Quinn, she knew that wasn’t reality. When he found out she had been working behind his back, he would end things between them—she was absolutely sure of it.

“Amelia, are you ready yet?” Quinn asked through the door. “We really need to go.”

She clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to go to the show. She wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and fall into a dream where she had never deceived Quinn.

But she couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—disappoint Ava Grace by not showing up on her big night.

Grabbing the jeweled clutch that matched her dress, she opened the door. “I’m ready. Do you have . . .”

She lost her train of thought when she got her first look at Quinn in his suit. Except for the launch party when he’d worn a blazer, she’d never seen him in anything but Rileys and a casual shirt.

The finely woven black wool suit coat outlined his broad shoulders and emphasized his lean waist, while the matching pants were just tight enough to show some definition in the crotch and thigh area. The bright white of his dress shirt set off his dark hair and made his blue eyes glimmer.

She looked down at his feet. Cowboy boots, of course. She would estimate this particular pair cost several thousand dollars, more evidence he lived in a different world than most people, her included.

While she’d checked him out, he had done the same to her. “Amelia,” he said hoarsely before clearing his throat.

Raising her head, she looked into his face. Her strange mood had morphed into something that felt remarkably like grief, and a horrible pressure filled her chest.

He stepped toward her, touching a loose curl that rested on her bare shoulder. “There are so many things I want to say to you,” he murmured, rubbing the strands between his thumb and forefinger. “But I’m going to start with this: we’re late.”

Quinn opened the fourth cabinet door and finally found the drinking glasses. He grabbed one and pressed it against the water dispenser in the fridge’s door, filling it to the brim.

Leaning against the granite island, he took a big gulp. Champagne always made him thirsty, and he’d had more than his fair share of the bubbly tonight, even though Ava Grace hadn’t won the award for Best Female Artist.

Amelia had already made her way upstairs, and as he took another drink, he let his gaze wander over the farmhouse’s kitchen. He smiled when he saw a shiny juicer on the counter next to the sink and several pots of herbs on the windowsill above it.

Her personality was stamped all over this house, and he wondered how he was going to convince her to move to San Francisco. She loved living in Nashville, and more important, Ava Grace was here.

He might have to think about splitting his time between the West Coast and Tennessee. It wouldn’t be ideal, but if it was the only way he could be with Amelia, he would make it work.

Placing the glass on the island, he rubbed the back of his
neck with both hands. Amelia had been subdued all evening. Although she’d seemed fine when she had gone upstairs to get ready, her mood had been as dark as her dress when they’d left.

At first he’d attributed her silence to nervous excitement. He had expected her to relax after Ava Grace had performed and the winner had been announced, even though she had been disappointed her best friend had lost.

But after the show had ended and they’d done the after-party rounds, she had remained quiet and withdrawn. He couldn’t figure out what had happened.

Maybe she was upset he hadn’t complimented her when he’d first seen her all dressed up. There were a lot of words he could have used to tell her how beautiful she had looked, but the first thing that had popped into his head was
mine
, followed quickly by
I love you.

Prior to Amelia, he hadn’t realized how possessive he was. In fact, he’d always considered those guys kind of pathetic and insecure. At worst, he had wondered if they knocked around their women at home.

But Amelia brought out all kinds of new emotions in him. Some of them, like the possessiveness, were surprising. His overwhelming desire for her was another surprise. It didn’t matter how often he got her naked; it wasn’t enough.

She seemed to want him just as much. Her obvious delight when he’d arrived had given him hope that she felt more for him than just lust and casual affection. Her admission that she’d thought about him while they’d been apart had given him a boost of confidence to tell her that he loved her.

But now . . . well, now he wasn’t so sure. He knew she was a lot more reserved than he was, so he didn’t expect her to be effusive or clingy. But all evening, he’d had the impression she would rather be anywhere else but with him at the awards show.

He was worried. And there was also a part of him that was a little resentful, a tiny bit angry. He felt powerless, out of control, and he wasn’t used to feeling that way.

He didn’t like it.

Flipping off the kitchen light, he headed upstairs to Amelia’s bedroom, his sock-covered feet silent on the wood surface. He hadn’t had the opportunity to see her bedroom earlier, and
he was more than a little curious about where she slept in her bacon-and-egg-printed pajamas.

As he pushed open the door, his breath seized. Amelia was hanging up her dress in her closet, and she stood with her back to him wearing nothing but a cream-colored bustier, matching thong panties, and her heels.

Blood rushed from his head to his cock so quickly he felt dizzy. He shook his head, more than a little annoyed by his unruly body.

He should be exhausted from the long flight and the excitement of the awards show. But his body said otherwise. In fact, it told him it wanted her.
Several times.

She turned her head, the sparkly pins in her hair catching the light. When she caught sight of him, her eyes widened. He wondered what she saw in his expression.

Hunger? Possession? Love? Probably all three.

As he walked toward her, he pulled the tails of his dress shirt from his suit pants and removed his cufflinks, placing them in his pocket before beginning to unbutton his shirt. He wanted his skin against hers.

She turned to face him, and he barely managed to hold back a groan. The bustier pushed up her breasts, and because it was almost sheer in the front, he could see her nipples through it. The tiny triangle of material masquerading as panties barely covered her pussy, and he could see the shadow of her red curls.

He shrugged off his shirt and grabbed the hem of his undershirt to pull it over his head. Throwing it to the floor, he placed his hands on her hips and drew her toward him.

She braced her palms against his chest, and he shivered a little at how cool they were against his hot skin. She caressed him, running her fingers lightly across his nipples.

“I’m sorry for not telling you how beautiful you looked tonight. You took my breath away. I was speechless.”

The corners of her lips tipped up. “I don’t believe it. You always have something to say.”

“That’s true. Do you like what I have to say?”

He laughed softly when she blushed and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I hope you’re not too tired because I want to spend the rest of the night inside you. Loving you.”

She shuddered against him, and he pulled back to stare down into her face. Her eyes were dark and shiny, like she was on the verge of tears.

With a frown, he cupped his hands around her face, his fingers edging into her thick hair. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Shaking her head, she pushed his hands away from her face. He let them drop to his sides, and she stepped away from him.

“We need to talk,” she said.

The expression on her face and the tone of her voice warned him that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. His heart began to pound, and he broke out in a cold sweat. His knees were a little shaky, and he searched the room for a place to sit. The bed was the obvious choice, but he didn’t want to sit there.

An overstuffed chair occupied the corner, and he sank into it, propping his leg on his knee and settling his hands on his thighs. She hadn’t moved, and he nodded, a silent demand for her to talk.

She swallowed and looked down. “Quinn, I . . .”

She looked up again and drew in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. It seemed unlikely she planned to profess her undying love, and he waited, praying she wouldn’t end things.

He shifted and something poked his upper thigh, just below his right butt cheek. He squirmed, and whatever it was jabbed into him. He grunted, and she looked at him quizzically.

Leaning over to reach beneath him, he found what poked him, a hard piece of metal. As he felt around it, he realized it was an article of clothing—jeans from the feel of the material.

Gripping the denim, he pulled until it came loose. He placed the jeans in his lap and leaned back before looking down at them.

They were a dark indigo wash with white contrast stitching along the seams, and he turned them over to see what had stabbed him. Several small metal studs decorated the pockets, and he ran his finger over them and then across the pocket flap where the Rileys logo was sewn into the material.

Looking up from the jeans, he caught Amelia’s eyes. “What are these?”

•   •   •

Quinn held a pair of jeans in his big hands, but they weren’t just any pair of jeans. They were one of the new pairs she had designed for Teagan.

The secret was out . . . just when she’d finally mustered the courage to tell him about it.

Quinn tilted his head. “Amelia?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a tortured gasp. She shot him a pleading glance, and he stared back at her with narrowed eyes.

“What are these?” he repeated.

She massaged the tense muscles of her throat with the tips of her fingers, and finally she was able to squeeze out a single raspy word. “Jeans.”

“I can see that. But we don’t manufacture any Rileys that look like the pair I’m holding. Where did they come from?”

His question made her tremble, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I made them in my workshop . . . I designed them.”

Late last night, she’d brought them back to the house so she could try them on. She had wanted to check the fit and see how they looked on a real woman instead of a tailor’s pants form.

His eyebrows shot up. “You did?”

“Yes.”

He seemed intrigued rather than incensed, and the tight knot of panic inside her started to unravel. Maybe Teagan had been right when she predicted that Quinn would react more favorably to the redesign if he could see the goods.

“Are these the kind of jeans you think female consumers want?”

“Yes. They’re stylish and upscale enough to be considered designer denim. They could be dressed up with a jacket and heels. Or they could be casual with a sweater and flats.” Her anxiety made her babble. “They probably wouldn’t look that great with tennis shoes, but a nice pair of sandals would be okay. And boots, of course. Everything looks good with boots. Well, not an evening gown.”

He brought the jeans close to his face as he inspected them, paying close attention to the seams. She had incorporated elements from traditional Rileys including the rivets and black pocket tag.

“They fit differently, too,” she added, gesturing toward her hips. “They’re made for a woman’s body . . . one with hips and a booty and even a little bit of a belly. Part of the problem with the old design is that you have to be shapeless to look good in them.”

He traced the shape of the hip and outer-thigh area with the tip of his finger before bringing his attention back to her. “I really like these,” he murmured. “I thought your accessories were impressive, but these are awesome.”

Amelia shook her head in disbelief. His reaction was the exact opposite of what she had expected. Had Teagan somehow misconstrued Quinn’s feelings about the women’s division? Had their deception been unnecessary?

Had she agonized for weeks over
nothing
?

“Did you design anything else?”

She nodded. “About twenty different styles of jeans. And I also designed some skirts, dresses, shirts, and jackets.”

She had worked hard to come up with some really unique designs including a suede jacket with leather pockets and a denim minidress. She also had made a few pairs of jeans from colored denim. Her favorite was a pair of coral-colored skinny jeans with a low-rise waistband and triangular back pockets.

His eyes widened. “When did you have time to do all that work? It must have taken hundreds of hours.”

Since she had returned home, she’d spent nearly every waking moment working on the redesign. She’d sketched and sewn until her eyes were blurry and her fingers were stiff and sore.

He carefully folded the jeans before placing them on the arm of the chair. “I’m sure Teagan told you that I didn’t support her idea to partner with you for the accessories. I doubted your design talent. I thought you were only popular because of your connection to Ava Grace.”

A little dart of pain pierced her, but she tried to ignore it. “Yes, she told me.”

“I was wrong about you, and I knew it the moment I saw your boots. You’re exceptionally talented. We’re damn lucky to have you, and I’m impressed you took the initiative to expand your work beyond the scope of accessories.”

“You’re not mad?”

His eyebrows shot up. “
Hell
,
no
, I’m not mad. I’m excited to see your other designs. Maybe you can model them for me . . . show me how good those jeans look on a woman with a sweet round ass.” He tilted his head. “Why would you think that I’d be mad, Juice?”

“Because you made it clear during our first meeting that you thought the women’s division was a lost cause. You said it was a short, skinny branch on the Riley O’Brien & Co. tree.”

“It is a short, skinny branch. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think it’s time for it to grow into a big branch . . . maybe the biggest branch on the tree.”

She gasped. “You do?”

He met her in the middle of the room and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. “Yes. And I’ve been thinking a lot about you and me, too.” Tightening his hold, he drew her closer to him. “I think we make a good team.”

“A good team?” she echoed dumbly.

“Yes. Don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, which was good because she was speechless.

“Together, I think we can make women fall in love with Rileys again,” he continued. “If you’re willing, I want you to head up the women’s division. Your work to redesign the jeans proves how much you care about Riley O’Brien & Co. and how much you care about me.” He dropped his head to kiss her, his lips warm against hers. “You’re perfect for the company, and you’re perfect for me.”

As Amelia stared into Quinn’s eyes, she realized that everything she had ever wanted was within her reach. She could have her chain of boutiques. She could have a high-profile design job with one of the most iconic apparel brands in the world. She could have an extraordinary man in her life and in her bed.

She could have it all as long as she kept her mouth shut about her deal with Teagan. She could have it all as long as she continued to lie to the only man she had ever loved.