Is that an invitation?
Do you have to ask?
He slowed to a stop at an intersection near the marina and glanced at the headlights slung low across his rearview mirror. The headlights of a sassy red roadster. He’d known, before he pulled through Geneva’s gate, that she’d follow him here. He’d seen the heat and the bafflement in her dark eyes, and he’d understood she couldn’t leave things the way he’d left them. Unfinished, untidy. She liked things organized and beautifully arranged, and he liked that about her.
There were a great many things he liked about her, in spite of the pinprick twinges that came with admitting that fact. He knew he’d be safer if he continued viewing her as an irritant or an adversary, instead of…however it was he was beginning to think of her. He’d have to finish those thoughts, the sooner the better. And if they led to bad intentions, well, he’d have to let her know about those, just as he’d promised.
For now, he’d prefer to deal with whatever it was that was arcing between them tonight. He turned along the waterfront, pulled to a stop to unlock the gate, and then jounced about twenty yards into the Tidewaters site.
He stepped out of his truck and closed the door, waiting for the timed lights to switch off and plunge him into the uncertain darkness of the fog-draped, moonlit night. Waited for the low growl of Tess’s roadster to click to a stop, for her to stretch one of her long legs to the ground as she exited. She’d worn a pair of those black, high-heeled shoes tonight, the ones with the lethal-looking points at the toes and the sexy curves along the heels. She’d wobble a bit as she crossed the gravel-lined yard, making her way toward him, but it wouldn’t trip her up. She never lost her footing, no matter how tough the terrain.
Maybe he’d kiss her for the first time here, where they were on equal ground. Maybe he’d put his hands on her, sliding his fingers beneath the soft wool of her sweater and the thin straps of her pretty dress to skim them along her warm, womanly skin, with the silent bay as their slick, inky backdrop. Whenever he thought of her, the image was done up in tones of gray and black. Plenty of black, like the sweep of her hair and the suits she wore and the thin frames of the designs hanging on her office walls. Of the shadowy emotions she summoned from deep inside him.
Maybe she’d put her hands on him-those narrow, soft-looking palms, those long fingers with their slick, painted nails. He was getting hard thinking about it.
And chilled, standing here, anxious for her to get out of her car. He tucked his hands in his pockets and stared at the neon dots of streetlights reflected on her sloping windshield like a glittering constellation. Maybe she was thinking of what they’d say to each other before he pulled her into his arms. And what they’d say after he let her go.
He wasn’t going to find out. The roadster roared away from the curb, raced down the street and swerved around the corner, heading into the heart of town.
She’d left him standing in the cold night air, waiting for her to make a move, thinking about kissing her.
“Damn.” A guy had to admire a woman who could give as good as she got.
AFTER CHANNELING his frustrations into a long bout of paperwork in his lonely office trailer and making a stop at a twenty-four-hour grocery store, Quinn quietly let himself into his apartment. Rosie sat on the sofa beside a snoring Neva, the television remote in one hand and a murderous expression on her face. “Finally,” she said.
He checked the clock on the book stand. Ten-fifteen. Over an hour past her bedtime. “Why are you still up?”
She flicked a glance at Neva. “Who’s supposed to make me go to bed?”
“It’s a school night. You know the rules.”
“It’s a work night, too. Guess you had a lot to do.”
“Sorry I’m late. How long has Neva been asleep?” He carefully shifted the bag of groceries in his arms as he moved toward the kitchen, uneasy about waking the older woman.
“Since about ten minutes after you left.” Rosie turned off the television and plunged the room into semidarkness. “I could have been doing anything. I could have walked out the door and disappeared. I could have been halfway to Oregon by now.”
“I’m glad you aren’t.” He set the bag on the kitchen counter and pulled out the milk and cheese to put in the refrigerator. Yes, he was late. Again. And disappointed to discover that Rosie still thought about going back to her mother.
What did he expect? He was hardly ever here for her. Less than usual, lately. But what could he do about it? This Tidewaters job was their best chance to begin a solid future together. He’d have to try harder to make everything work out.
Try harder. Work harder. God, how much more could he do?
As much as he needed to do. There was no other choice.
He returned to the front room and stopped near the sofa, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad you didn’t leave,” he said again. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
Rosie shot him a nasty glance. “She doesn’t even realize you’ve walked in. We could have been murdered, both of us.” She tossed aside the remote. “Some babysitter she is.”
“She’s all we’ve got.”
Neva snorted and shifted, listing to one side. “Lucky us,” Rosie said.
Quinn leaned down to flip the switch on the table lamp and gently placed a hand on Neva’s shoulder. “Neva.”
“Mmm. Umm? What?” She licked her lips and straightened. “Oh, my. You’re back. Must have dozed off.” She yawned hugely. “What time is it?”
“Just after ten.” He extended a hand and helped her up. “Want me to walk you to your place?”
“Down the hall? Don’t be silly,” she said around another yawn. “I won’t get lost.” She waved away his thanks, but she accepted the roll of bills he pressed into her hand as he let her out the door.
“Where were you?” Rosie’s tone was more hostile than ever.
“I told you. I had a meeting. And then I stopped by the site to do some paperwork.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Quinn shoved a hand through his hair as exhaustion settled over him like a suffocating quilt. “We’ll discuss it in the morning.”
“That’s what you always say, and then we never do.” Rosie crossed her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”
“Of course I-”
The news. She must have watched Gregorio’s version of the day’s events on TV. And suspected her father would use a late-night business meeting as a cover while he headed out to ease his latest troubles with something alcoholic.
He closed his eyes and dug deep, mucking through the dregs of whatever had propelled him through the long day, searching for patience and enough energy to get him past this final crisis. And then he settled on the sofa beside her, in the dark, longing to reach for her hand. Craving the comfort of a simple, uncomplicated, freely given touch. It had been so long, for both of them.
She was only a child, but because she was his child, she’d had to do a lot of growing up ahead of schedule. And because she was his child, and because he wanted her in his life, it was time for him to share that life with her. All of it, the good and the bad.
The dregs, if that was all he had to offer.
“I wanted a drink today,” he said, “but I dealt with it.”
He waited, but she didn’t respond. She sat very still, her pointy chin angled close to her chest, as if she were staring at the hands folded in her lap. Her little-girl profile was outlined in the dim light, and she looked too young and fragile to deal with what he had to tell her.
“There are still times I think that would be the easiest way to deal with the crap I have to put up with,” he said. “To take a drink-just one drink-and shut it all out. And God, I want that drink so bad sometimes I don’t see how I can make it through the next minute without tasting the burn. But then I think of you, and I know you’ll be here, waiting for me, and it keeps me straight.”
He swallowed and struggled to get the spit down his tight throat. A different kind of burn there was making it hard to force out the words. “You’re the biggest reason I have for keeping straight, Rosie. I know that’s a lot of pressure to put on you, but that’s how it is.”
“Then you mustn’t have thought I was a good enough reason before. You didn’t even-”
Her voice broke, and she smashed her lips together and dashed her knuckles over her face. He noticed the glint of moisture smeared on her cheek, and he wanted more than anything to reach out and pull her into his arms and hold her until the pain disappeared. But he couldn’t do that for her, not now. Right now it was more important to listen to what she had to say, even though he knew it would probably flay them both wide open.
“Say it, Rosie. You can say anything. There’s nothing you can say that’s any worse than what I’ve said to myself, a dozen times.”
“You didn’t try before. You didn’t love me before.” Her voice rose, thin and keening. “You don’t love me now. Not really.”
“At times like this, when I come home so late, I’m sure it must seem that way.” He shook his head. “But you know-deep down inside, you know only part of that’s true. Tell me you know that, Rosie. Tell me the truth.”
Her chest rose and sank with jagged, silent sobs, and he couldn’t stand it any longer, couldn’t wait any longer. He reached for her, and the fact that she was hurting enough to let him wrap her in his arms made his throat ache so bad he thought he’d die. “Rosie, Rosie,” he crooned as he stroked the back of her head and her tears soaked the front of his shirt. “I do love you. So much. More than anything. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”
He waited until she’d relaxed and slumped against him, exhausted by the late hour and the emotional storm. He ran his fingers through her hair and wondered if he should arrange for it to be trimmed. Maybe he could take her out to lunch this weekend, add in a little shopping and a trip to a beauty parlor. Did beauty parlors take little girls as customers?
He could ask Sylvie, he supposed, when he stopped by to check on Ned. Or Tess-he’d ask Tess. She’d love having one more opportunity to tell him what to do.
Rosie sniffed. “Are you going to send me back?”
Quinn squeezed his eyes shut, dreading the next question. But he had to ask. He owed it to Rosie. “Do you want to go?”
She didn’t answer at first, and he felt as though the rest of his life hung suspended in the silence. “Sometimes,” she said at last.
He blew out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you for being honest about that.”
“Do you want to send me back sometimes?”
“Never.” He straightened and drew her back so he could look her in the eye. “I want you to stay with me, Rosie. Not just for a while, while your mom’s making up her mind about what to do with her life. I want you to stay with me for good.”
He cleared his throat, as nervous as he’d been when he’d asked her mother to marry him. “Will you stay with me, Rosie? I know it’s been hard making this move, leaving your friends and your school. And I know it’s tough being so far from your mom. But I like having you here. I’ve got plans-good plans-for us both.”
She sniffed again and ran her hand beneath her nose. “What plans?”
“A house. I’ve been saving up for a house. I want you to have a big yard and a room for watching TV with your friends when they come over.”
“Could we have a swimming pool?”
He smiled. “I suppose we could plan for that, too.”
“Could we have a dog?”
“Didn’t I mention a dog?” He pulled her into another tentative hug, elated when she didn’t stiffen or resist. “I’ve been wanting one of those, too. For a long time.”
“Remember Banjo?” She yawned. “Could we get one like Banjo?”
“Sure.”
