In Too Deep (12 page)

“I was a walking advertisement for a ninety-eight-pound weakling when I was in high school.”

“A runt, hmm?”

“Yeah.”

“But you grew.” The satisfaction in her voice made him feel ten feet tall.

“Not until after my eighteenth birthday. Before that, I was barely taller than you.”

She grinned at him. “
Was
being the operative word here. The next time there's a casting call for soap commercials, you should apply.”

“And here I thought you wanted me for my mind.” He reached for her, finding the clasp for her bra between her breasts. He was acutely aware of the lace brushing his knuckles as he worried the fastener open, then cupped her breasts with his hands.

“I like that, too.” There was a catch in her voice and her gaze was on his hands touching her. He looked, then, discovering she was as small and delicately made as he'd suspected. Light gilded her body, searing his mind with images he'd carry with him until the day he died.

He came back for another kiss and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tightly as he needed to be held. Sensation replaced thought and in the next moment only one thing mattered. Having her bare. Somehow they got off her jeans and undergarments, then his.

In a haze of need and fractured memory, he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh searching for that softest skin that he'd found last night before touching her intimately. Ah, there it was, smoothest silk beneath his thumb.

She touched him on the same place and he shuddered, completely at the mercy of her tender exploration.

And higher, he brushed the curls that protected her. Even softer.

Her fingers skimmed his groin. So close. Not close enough.

His intimate touch of her silkiest flesh took him under when she quivered against his hand. Another time he was going to spend hours playing with her. But just now…

Her fingers closed around him…right there…in the way he liked best.

He kissed the nipple beneath his cheek, then pulled it into his mouth. The flesh in his hand throbbed, and his own arousal did the same against her palm.

She whimpered and fell backward on the bed, her delicate arms surprisingly strong, and she urged him closer, then
closer yet. He positioned himself above her, reveling in the touch of her skin against his from thigh to chest.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to slow once again, taking time to frame her face with his hands and to push her hair away from her face. She smiled for him, then, and no one had ever been more beautiful.

“You're killing me, you know,” she whispered.

“That's the whole idea.” He lowered his body enough to tease them both with the intimate touch they each craved. This time, he wanted to watch her expression as he slid into her.

“Soon, Quinn.”

Instead of complying, he kissed her and discovered the same rapture he'd had before. Then he gave her a little more of what they both so desperately wanted.

“Oh,” she breathed against his mouth.

“Enough?” he teased gently.

Her eyes were nearly wild when she looked up at him. “You know it's not.”

And then he sank into her the rest of the way, absorbing everything about this instant. The catch in her voice, the way her eyes dilated, the aroma of her body and their arousal. Beneath him, she felt so impossibly small.

Last night she had felt so wonderful. She felt even better now. He savored everything, noticed everything. She was soft, achingly tight, sheathing him in the most tender embrace. When he was buried to the hilt, they both stilled. She sighed as though nothing had ever felt better. He knew, because nothing had.

“You're okay?” he had to ask.

“Uh-huh,” she breathed against his neck, wriggling beneath him and making him even more aware of her soft sheath hugging him so tightly he could forget to breathe.

Then she found his mouth with her own, her kiss searing him all the way to his soul. She moved that fraction of an inch that invited him to move with her.

He did, and she immediately climaxed, trembling so
greatly in his arms that he could only gather her closer, the endless kiss spiraling him ever deeper. When her spasms subsided, their pace went from languid to pounding. Like a man desperate for air, he clawed his way toward release that thundered through his body and was ever beyond reach.

She arched beneath him and he realized that she had climaxed again, her ragged breathing making him slow their pace, each stroke taking him to places he'd never been. And there it was…rushing toward that final, deep chasm where his blood roared in his ears, where all his emotions poured through him and rushed to the precipice. He fell into her, spent and empty and lost, and somehow
home
because of the amazing woman in his arms. His embrace tightened, and he decided he never wanted to be anywhere else.

Somehow he forced himself to shift to the side so he wouldn't be so heavy on her. She seemed as reluctant to give up touching him as he was, and she curled close, her hand coming to a rest on top of his thundering heart.

Wide awake, he watched the light shift inside the cabin as the sunset faded. Their breathing slowed, and he watched her watch him.

Within minutes he knew they were going to do this again, but their touches remained languid. With a finger he traced the curve of her cheek, moving from one freckle to the next, pausing now and then to kiss her. She traced the outline of his ear, then followed some imaginary line down his arm. A nonsexual touch that shouldn't have made him hard, but it did.

He pressed his lips against each of the freckles he had traced on her cheek, ending at the corner of her mouth. Her breath caught and she stilled as they both waited for him to finish the contact. Waiting was unbelievably erotic, a game he discovered that he liked. Her breath merged with his as she laced her fingers with his. As the anticipation stretched taut, she touched her tongue to the bottom of his lip, and he was gone.

Fusing his mouth to hers, he lifted her over him. Relin
quishing control to her and rewarding himself with the pleasure of touching her breasts and sliding his hands across her body, she sank over him and began to move despite the shudders that racked her body and the convulsions that squeezed tightly around him.

Nothing had ever been more exciting or satisfying than the knowledge that his body gave her pleasure. Again, all thought was swept from his brain and he rode a towering wave toward completion, knowing that when it crested, he'd be lost in the undertow…he was, and somehow, it didn't seem to matter.

 

When the looming outline of Mike Ericksen's boathouse came into view a couple of hours later, Lily snuggled closer to Quinn, where he once again held her between the wheel and himself. “Do you want to stay the night?”

He pressed a kiss against her temple even as he shook his head. “You okay about that?”

“I have to be, huh?” She tipped her head against his shoulder so she could look at him.

“You don't want to have me in the house when your daughter gets up or ask me to sneak out before she awakens.”

“You're right.” The invitation had been an impulsive one, and she had to admit to herself that he was right.

The house beyond the narrow dock and the boathouse came into view. The lights were on inside. Since Rosie had said that she and Ian would bring Annmarie home, Lily wasn't surprised.

Quinn throttled down, and eased the boat toward the dock with the same skill he'd shown in everything he'd done this evening.

“I could make some coffee,” she said.

“I should take Milt's boat back,” he countered.

She nodded toward the house. “You're just worried about explaining to my brother-in-law why we're so late.”

Quinn's eyes were bright as he gazed down at her. “I have
the feeling he knows.” He looked toward the house, then shut off the motor, as if he'd come to some decision. “I'll walk you to the porch.”

She put her arms around his waist. “Or you can kiss me right here.”

He grinned. “I can.” And he did. “I'll still walk you to the house.”

“Promise me one thing,” she whispered against his mouth. When he didn't answer, she added, “Don't tell me that I need to forget about this.”

He smiled back, but it didn't reach his eyes. “That would be sort of like telling the tide not to come in tomorrow, wouldn't it?”

“Exactly.”

“So we'll play this out.”

As commitments went, his wasn't much of one, but she sensed it was honest.

Lily helped him tie the boat up to the dock, and they walked hand in hand to the house. Since he'd promised only to see her to the door, he surprised her when he followed her into the mudroom. Swamped with memories of last night, she squeezed his hand, then called, “I'm home.” She took off her jacket and hung it on one of the pegs.

When there was no answer, she called again, “Rosie? Ian?” Seeing movement in the living room, she headed toward the door. “Hey, you guys.”

The man standing at the window of the living room wasn't her brother-in-law. A cold knot of fear expanded in Lily's chest and she backed up a step, coming to a stop against Quinn's reassuring presence.

Cal Springfield turned from the window. “Do you have any idea how stupid not locking doors is, Lily?”

Lily pressed a hand against her chest. “And you might have answered when I called instead of scaring me half to death.”

“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked.

“Same as you,” Cal said. “Checking on Lily.”

He was dressed in a sweat suit and athletic shoes. If she had still been living in California, she would have assumed he'd been out for a run.

“As you can see, she's fine.” There was no mistaking Quinn's tone for anything other than what it was—territorial.

Cal opened his mouth to answer just as Lily heard the door to the porch open.

“Mommy, guess what?” Annmarie called from the kitchen.

“In here, sweetie.” She gave Cal a long look. “You've got some explaining to do. Even around here, most people don't barge in—even if the house is unlocked.”

Annmarie ran into the kitchen, her face lit in a smile. “Aunt Rosie said that I get to help when the baby comes.” Her smiled grew wider when she saw Quinn. “Hi, Mr. Quinn.”

Behind her, Ian and Rosie followed, and Annmarie continued to chatter about the various tasks required to care for an infant.

“What are you doing here, Springfield?” Ian asked, echoing Quinn's question, adding, “I didn't see a vehicle. How did you get here?”

“I was out for my run,” Cal said. “It's not that far.”

“In daylight,” Quinn said.

Annmarie tugged on Lily's hand. “Mom, I'm trying to tell you about all the stuff we did today.”

She smiled at her daughter and from the corner of her eye watched Quinn and Ian close in on Cal much as they had this morning. Had that been only this morning?

Quinn nodded his head toward Lily. “Must have been important to make you come all the way out here.”

At the same time Annmarie was saying, “We had the most fun. We made baby clothes and planted little baby trees in the greenhouse and played with little baby kittens.”

Rosie caught Lily's eye and grinned. “Her very fave.”

“Don't I know it.” She chuckled. “Go get ready for bed now, sweetie.”

Annmarie did, though she continued to dally, stopping first to give Rosie a lengthy good-night hug followed by another with Ian, then Quinn. By then, Cal had picked up his jacket from the back of the sofa and was putting it on.

“You never did tell me what was on your mind,” Lily said.

“Finding your door unlocked so anyone could come in got me distracted,” he said.

“I'm duly warned,” she responded.

“And I'm going to Anchorage, then Juneau for a few days. I have some things to check out there.”

Quinn's scowl deepened. “You walked all the way out here to tell her that?”

Cal gave him an easy smile in return. “Kill two birds with one stone—get a little exercise and see Lily, too.” He glanced at his watch. “And I do need to be going.”

“I'm headed that direction,” Quinn said. “You walked out—you can sail back.”

“I don't mind—”

“Now that it's dark, you never can tell what you might find on the road,” Ian said. “Skunks or—”

“Bears?” Cal asked.

“Every now and then,” Ian said blandly.

“Let's go,” Quinn said, heading toward the kitchen and waiting for Cal to precede him through the door. “See you tomorrow, Lily.”

“Yes.”

Ian crossed the room and dropped a kiss on Lily's cheek. “Cal's advice about locking up—it's good advice, little sister.”

Rosie rolled her eyes as Ian snagged her by the hand and led her toward the door.

“There he is, in protector mode, again,” Rosie said. “And before I get the full scoop on your date.”

Date? Lily hadn't thought of her time with Quinn as a date, but she supposed it was.

“You can talk to her tomorrow,” Ian said, and then threw
over his shoulder her nearly exact words to him of this morning. “Lock up, Lily.”

She followed them to the mudroom and watched through the window. Cal and Quinn were on board the powerboat; she watched as it moved away from the dock. A second later Quinn throttled up the motor and the boat sped away from the shore in a wide arc. Ian and Rosie climbed into his big pickup, and as they drove out of the driveway, he beeped the horn once.

As instructed, she locked the door. Then she felt for the house keys in the pocket of her jacket hanging in the mudroom. Locking the door was a habit so deeply ingrained, she hadn't given it up after moving back here. As a child, the doors had rarely been locked. As an adult in California it had taken only one theft to teach her the lesson that you didn't leave doors unlocked.