“And one of your biggest customers.” She felt a pout coming on, damn it. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t waste any emotional energy on Quinn this week, but she wasn’t having much success with the resentment part of the bargain.
“That’s right,” Jack said. “Wouldn’t hurt to let him know just how much Keene Concrete appreciates his business.”
She glanced toward the office trailer where Quinn stood with a clipboard, paging through a thick stack of papers. “I guess I could tolerate his company for one evening.”
“Big of you,” Jack said. “And safe. Charlie says he’ll probably turn me down. He’s got a daughter waiting for him at home.”
“He does?”
She didn’t understand why the thought of Quinn as a parent should knock her off balance. She’d heard a few vague references to his divorce-bitter, was her impression-and more than one person had mentioned something about a kid. People in Carnelian Cove discussed each other’s business; they always had. But few of them, it seemed, had much to say about Quinn-maybe because he had so little to say about himself. Or anything at all, for that matter.
Still, she’d assumed his daughter was living with her mother.
Jack tossed his gloves in the truck’s cab. “Must be tough running a business and taking care of a kid all on his own.”
“Women do it all the time.”
“Tough for them, too.”
He leaned a shoulder against his truck in one of his casual poses. “You don’t like him much, do you?”
“Quinn?” Tess shifted the bags in her arms. “Define
“At all.”
She shrugged. “Personality conflict. No, wait-that can’t be it. He’d have to have a personality for that to cause a problem.”
Jack shook his head. “I sure do feel sorry for the guy.”
“Because he has to work with me?”
Jack avoided answering her question by flicking a fingertip affectionately down the tip of her nose. “Maybe we’ll discover he has a personality at dinner tonight.”
“If he agrees to come.”
“Leave it to me,” Jack said as he climbed into the cab, drenching his words in his thickest South Carolina accent. “I’ll talk him into it.”
The mixer’s engine roared to life, and Tess stepped back as Jack pulled away. If anyone could persuade Quinn to be sociable for an evening, it was syrup-tongued Jack Maguire.
She turned and continued toward the foundation forms, pausing near a plank-and-sawhorse table to hand steaming cups of coffee to Phil and Ned. As she chatted with the men and set down the bakery bag beside the cardboard coffee carrier, she noticed Quinn look her way, fixing that laserlike gaze on her as if he were locking on target.
What would it be like to be the object of that startlingly acute focus in bed?
She rubbed her hands over her arms and wandered toward the southwestern corner of the foundation, where his crew had begun the pour that morning. With every step, she was aware of those piercing blue eyes tracking her movements, making her skin tingle with a prickly sensation that had nothing to do with the chilling breeze blowing in off the bay. Would Quinn manage to be pleasant tonight, if he came to Charlie’s house for dinner? Or would he stare at her across the table, upsetting her stomach and torturing her with a different kind of hunger?
She wasn’t sure she wanted to discover whether he could be relaxed and charming. She was having plenty of trouble dealing with him here, in a work setting, where she was supposed to be in control. As much in control of the situation as she could manage, considering she’d spent most of her time trying to avoid him.
This was not how she normally conducted her affairs, business or otherwise. This was no way to get a building constructed the way she wanted it, and it was no way to maintain the upper hand in a personal relationship-if they were going to have one.
She turned to face Quinn, meeting and holding his stare, before he frowned and lowered his gaze to the paperwork in his hands. Score one for Roussel.
It was a silly game, and suddenly she was tired of playing it. Tired of keeping score. It was time to take charge of the situation. She could begin by being relentlessly reasonable and charming this evening, whether Quinn liked it or not.
TESS SAT at Charlie’s kitchen table at seven-thirty that evening, slicing bread for bruschetta. Her friend stood at the sink, cleaning potatoes to bake in the microwave. “Did you hear that?” asked Tess. “Did you?”
“If you’re going to complain again about your stomach growling,” Charlie said, “I’m going to cram this potato in your whiny mouth.”
“Never mind, then. Just ignore the starving guest in the corner. The one who’s helping prepare the meal.” Tess heaved a theatrical sigh and sawed through another length of sourdough. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Two minutes since the last time you asked.” Charlie wiped her hands with a dish towel and crossed the room to gaze through the window. No doubt she was checking on Jack, who’d been sent to scrub the grill under Hardy’s supervision. “Quinn can’t help it if he’s running late. He had to arrange for dinner and a sitter for his daughter, and he said he wanted to swing by the site to check on things again on his way here.”
His daughter. Tess struggled for a moment, caught between stubborn pride and curiosity. Only for a moment. “How old is she?”
“Quinn’s daughter?”
“No. The sitter.” Tess rolled her eyes. “Is she in elementary school? Junior high?”
“Elementary. Nine? Ten, maybe?” Charlie returned to the sink and picked up another potato. “You know, you could always ask him when he gets here.”
“It doesn’t matter. What?” Tess asked when Charlie’s mouth twitched up at one corner. “What are you thinking?”
“That you have this strange and complicated thing for Quinn.”
“That’s absurd. The man’s a walking minefield.”
“I know. That’s why you’re attracted to him.”
Tess sighed again and reached for the mozzarella. “I hate to be so predictable.”
“It’s better than being complicated.” Charlie dumped the potatoes on a baking dish. “Or touching off an explosion that might maim a couple of innocent bystanders.”
Tess set aside the knife. “You don’t approve.”
Charlie’s lips pressed in a thin, straight line. “I like you both. I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”
“Why would I get hurt?” Tess began to arrange the sliced bread on a cookie sheet. “I’m the one in charge in this situation, and Quinn knows it.”
“I’m not talking about the work.”
“You can’t seriously be talking about anything else.” She drizzled olive oil over the slices. “Because there isn’t anything else worth discussing. And there won’t be.”
“All right. Fine.”
“I don’t go looking for complicated, you know.” Tess stole a sliver of cheese while Charlie wasn’t looking and popped it into her mouth. “I prefer to love ’em and leave ’em on friendly terms. It’s so easy with the easy men, the guys who are looking for an uncomplicated time with an uncomplicated woman. I just get bored sometimes with the same old, same old. I like a challenge every once in a while.”
Charlie’s frown deepened. “Which makes me think you’re suddenly interested in a certain difficult single father.”
“Which makes me wonder why you invited us both to dinner tonight.”
“Jack’s idea.” Charlie leaned an elbow on the counter and watched Tess layer thin cheese and tomato slices over the crushed herbs and sea salt she’d sprinkled on the bread. “Although we both figure you know what you’re doing. If anyone knows how to handle a challenging professional relationship with a complicated, attractive man, it’s you.”
“Nothing like a little pressure.”
Charlie grinned. “What are friends for?”
Hardy raced around the side of the house, barking with his stranger-near-the-gate voice. Seconds after, Jack strode inside and grabbed the platter heaped with steaks. “According to the alarm dog, our other guest has arrived,” he said on his way back toward the patio. “I’ll get these started and be right in.”
“I’d better get the door,” Charlie said.
“Wait.” Tess pushed the baking sheet into her hands. “Stick this under the broiler and set the timer for a couple of minutes. Then go see if Jack needs any help outside.”
“What are you up to?”
“I’m going to handle the uncomplicated social duties and answer the door.”
Tess smiled as she passed through the high-wainscoted dining room, noticing Charlie’s attempts to improve her surroundings. The antique oak table looked fairly presentable tonight, set with china instead of the usual paper plates. The front room’s walls had been freshened with a pretty sage green and the windows hung with new tab curtains. A group of large throw pillows did their best to dress up the dull brown sofa.
Tess straightened the hem of her sweater, testing and rejecting a few snotty greetings as she neared the door. But then she remembered her intention to be charming, and she plastered a cordial expression on her face to hide her misgivings about the evening’s possibilities.
As soon as she opened the door, her negative attitude evaporated. Quinn stood in the center of Charlie’s tiny front porch, a bottle of wine in one hand and a grocery-stand bundle of pastel-blue irises in the other. He treated her to one of his long, penetrating looks, and she stared right back, noting the shower-damp hair curling at the ends, his freshly shaved jaw and a trace of some woodsy cologne. In his faded chamois shirt and worn leather jacket, he looked as sinfully delicious as a dark chocolate truffle with a buttercream center.
“You changed,” she said.
“Not entirely.” He edged past her, into the front room. “I’m still the same thorn in your side I’ve always been.”
“The flowers are beautiful.”
“They’re not for you,” he said when Tess reached for them.
“I figured.” She gently pried the ribbony blooms from his grip. “I’ll put these in water for Charlie. She’s got her hands full.” She glanced up at his shuttered expression. “Thoughtful of you.”
He grunted in response.
“Hey, Quinn.” Charlie walked into the room wearing one of her sunny grins and wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for the invitation.” He handed her the wine. “Stan Kessler recommended this.”
“Then I’m sure it’ll be great. Thanks.” She studied the label. “I guess I’ll go ahead and open this. Let it breathe awhile. We can have it with dinner.”
“None for me,” Quinn said. “Thanks, anyway.”
“Okay. More for Jack and me.” Charlie glanced at the stems in Tess’s hands, and her grin widened. “Flowers?”
Quinn cleared his throat. “They’re for you.”
“Did Stan recommend these, too?” Tess asked sweetly.
Charlie shot her a warning look.
“They’re great.” Charlie said. “Thanks, Quinn. What can I get you to drink?”
