In an achingly tender move, she reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead. Another smile—a secret one for only him—and his heart squeezed.
“What are you thinking?” He’d never asked a bed partner that question in his life. He’d never cared enough. But with this woman, he wanted to know her most intimate thoughts.
She played with his hair, sending pleasurable chills down his neck and spine. “I’m thinking that we still have a dinner to eat.”
His stomach silently rumbled. “Hungry?”
“Mm-hmm, but I’m not feeling very motivated to get out of bed just yet—”
“Don’t move.” He pushed her back against the pillows. “Sit back, relax. I got this.”
Sarah watched Quinn pull on his boxers and leave the bedroom. She could watch that body move every minute of every day. Lying on the bed, she stretched her limbs like a contented cat in a patch of sun. All of her still tingled from their combustible, animallike lovemaking. Oh my God, when had it ever been like that? Never. Ever.
Wow!
The tempest that had been the joining of their two bodies reminded her of makeup sex on steroids—except they hadn’t had a fight and they’d never had sex before. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and surveyed the messy piles of clothing. The scene mimicked the explosive quality of their whole encounter. Sarah had always been aware of the passion simmering below her surface, but she’d never unleashed the beast before—not completely anyway. Never had she felt safe enough. But Quinn had not only tapped it, he’d released it and matched it. And then some. He’d taken her hard and fast, and her body had climbed to new heights she’d never known existed.
You underestimate your power, Sparky.
She picked up his crumpled white shirt and slipped it on, pulling in the scent of his aftershave and him while she haphazardly fastened buttons. Her eyes caught on the cockeyed placement of her discarded sandals, and she giggled aloud at the memory of his blazing eyes when her heels were the only thing she wore. She slipped those on too and headed to the bathroom.
When she emerged, Quinn was nudging the bedroom door open. “Dinner?” In his hands was a huge tray piled with plates of mouthwatering food. Tucked between them were silverware, napkins, and wineglasses … and two lit votives.
“God, yes! I’m suddenly starving.” She scrambled toward a large table that occupied a sitting area, cleared it, and he set the tray down, which was when she noticed he wore a barbecue apron with the picture of a man’s body in a loin cloth—à la Tarzan—showing off a cartoonish muscly chest and abdomen.
“Um, what’s with the wardrobe change, Sparks?”
He yanked two wine bottles from roomy pockets and held them up with a wide grin. “Had to improvise so I could bring everything in one trip.”
“Is that … your apron?”
“Nah. Found it in one of the pantries.”
She stifled a laugh. “Well, you need to take it off. This cartoon’s got nothing on the real deal.”
Waggling his eyebrows, he put the wine down and took off the apron, then scanned her from head to high-heel-sandaled foot. His eyes lit, and his dimples deepened. “I like your look—a lot—but maybe you should take yours off too.”
With a chuckle and a head shake, she began unloading the tray. “No, I’d get too cold.”
He came up behind her and snaked his arms around her middle, pulling her close, placing a shiver-inducing kiss at the base of her neck. “I can keep you warm.” His voice was dark and sexy and flowed over her like the filling in a hot lava cake. Sinfully delicious, gooey, warm.
She melted against him. “I know you can, but we’ll never eat. Which would be a shame, by the way, because this all looks incredible.”
He released her with a butt pat. As she arranged the plates, he pointed. “I took a chance on what you’d want and ordered a few appetizers to start. That’s tuna tartar, steak tacos, shrimp cocktail—”
She barked out a laugh. “Is there an appetizer you didn’t get?”
He quirked a smile and walked her through the salads, entrees, and sides. He’d ordered enough to feed an entire team, though after witnessing him massacre plates of food for the last few months, she had no doubt he’d polish all this off too.
“White wine okay to start?” He began pouring. “I thought we’d pair different wines with the different courses.”
Wha—? Yet another surprise from the man, and she found herself entranced. “I didn’t know you were a wine connoisseur, Sparky.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. And I might have taken a crash course at the liquor store today.” After filling his own glass, he raised it to her. “To Sunshine.” He clinked his glass to hers, and they each took a sip.
“What do you think?” he asked after she’d had a nibble of shrimp cocktail. “Did my wine coach do a good job?”
“As far as I’m concerned, he gets an Aplus-plus.” And so do you, you overachiever.
He paused between bites and pointed his fork at her. “Glad to hear it.”
Dinner conversation flowed easily, naturally, and she bubbled with laughter as he regaled her with stories. He talked with his hands, and she found herself fascinated with his expressions and gestures. A megaphone blared in her head: “Quinn Hadley, man of many talents: wine expert, interior decorator, storyteller, passionate lover.”
She’d quit eating a while ago, but the passionate lover was in the midst of a foodgasm over a rack of lamb. The groaning reminded her of the guttural noises he’d emitted while they’d been burning up the sheets.
An unpleasant memory meteored into her head. The man is packed, Dory had blathered in the bathroom. Yeah, Sarah had to agree, but damn it, Dory had been there first, and the realization jabbed at Sarah’s soft spots. And how many others besides the fish? How many women in his other
