Could she handle the cavalcade of colorful characters decorating Quinn’s past? No way would she be anyone’s substitute player. Never again.
He seemed to tune into her shift. “Anything wrong? You’re thinking so hard I’m afraid you’re gonna blow a gasket. Oh shit. I’m sitting over here eating like a pig. Mom would be appalled. Is that it?” He laid his fork down and leaned back.
“No, no. You’re fine. Keep eating.” She flapped her hand at him.
He gave her a skeptical look. “Then what just slammed into you? Something I said? Did?”
Damn. He wore a forlorn look. Might as well just throw it out there. No reason not to be honest here, especially since this probably isn’t going anywhere anyway. “Ah … I’m not sure why, but my mind detoured to your phone.”
When he gave her a quizzical look, she added, “Your hookup phone.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “It’s been off for weeks.”
“Aren’t you checking messages?” she blurted.
Confusion must have shown all over her face because he leaned forward with an indulgent smile. “No, and I’m not going to. Because I don’t give a fuck. Before I shut the damn thing off, I sent everyone a text saying I was off the market.”
Her body turned boneless and nearly slipped off her chair, though her insides were jumping for joy. “Why did you tell them that?” She tipped the wineglass to her lips to have something, anything, to do and realized too late it was empty.
Attentive host that he was, he refilled her wineglass. Then he took her free hand in his, twining their fingers. The feel of those calluses on her skin made her belly dance. “Because it’s true. I’m choosing to be unavailable.” His voice was low, earnest, and his eyes, all warm chocolate, held hers. “Though there’s one person—she’s the only exception—I’m completely available for. But even if she doesn’t want me, I’m done playing the field. That okay with you?”
Sarah downed another sip of wine, willing her short-circuiting brain to begin firing on all cylinders again. Who says you’re not good at this stuff, Sparky?
His thumb caressed the back of her hand. “You know, of course, that you’re that person. I have no idea when or how it happened, but it did.” He shrugged as if this needed no further explanation. Truth was, she wouldn’t comprehend if he did elaborate because her mind was reeling. In the midst of her twisting thoughts was the notion she had no business starting up a relationship with anyone new.
“But I just broke up with … And Gage … And …”
“Yeah, I get it. I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t want to pressure you, so if this is too much too soon, just tell me to back off. But I plan on sticking around until you are ready. In the meantime, feel free to use my bod as much as you’d like.” He gave her a devilish, dimpled grin.
She couldn’t say anything because an inferno began raging inside her, ready to combust in her core and burn her into an ash heap.
Chapter 29
Who Invented Morning and Why?
Sarah’s eyes shifted back and forth. Had he gone too far, revealed too much? Too bad he couldn’t have taken a crash course from the fictional duke in how to say the right things in the right order. He’d have been the first to sign up because, Jesus, he didn’t want to fuck this up, but her expression told him he probably already had.
He continued stroking the back of her hand. She hadn’t told him not to, hadn’t flinched under his touch, and her skin felt too good to stop. “You okay over there?”
She straightened but didn’t pull her hand away. “Fine. Just … processing.”
An inner sigh of relief eased his shoulders. “Well, while you’re processing, I’m going to clear these dishes and get dessert.”
He rose and began stacking plates on the tray. Following suit, she stood beside him, her shimmering hazel eyes riveted on his. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
He leaned down and kissed her. “You don’t need to say anything. Except maybe, ‘What’s for dessert?’”
She wrapped her hands around his arm, rested her head against his shoulder, and laughed. This version of Sarah was not the prickly porcupine he’d been sidestepping these past few months, and he stood still, taking her in. It occurred to him she was letting down her barriers, showing him her well-guarded, well-disguised, innermost self. And damn, he loved it. He wanted more.
“I don’t think I can eat another bite right now, but tell me what’s for dessert.” Her voice held an amused lilt.
You. “Something I can’t pronounce, but it’s chocolate.”
“That’s all that matters.”
He hoisted the tray, hovering it at his midsection to hide the very obvious effect her touch, her voice, her scent had on him. His boxers did abso-fucking-lutely nothing to contain the problem, but still, he had to chuckle inside as he veered toward the kitchen. What was a first and should have been all kinds of weird—the two of them, nearly naked, eating a romantic dinner in his bedroom—hadn’t felt weird. Instead, words like comfortable, simple, and nice came to mind. He pictured the cleaned-up version of the story he and Sarah would tell their kids one day when they asked about their parents’ first date.
Whoa. Where had that come from? Quinn had never given any thought to a family before, but somehow that didn’t feel weird either—which was weird. Maybe with the right partner … What the fuck was going on with him? Lost in unraveling the answer to that particular question, he unloaded the tray and stacked the dishes in the sink.
When he returned to the bedroom, Sarah lay on her side in the middle of the bed, facing away from him with her eyes closed and the sheet tucked under her arms. Missing were the
