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MOLLY FINGERED THE tiny enamel charm hanging on a short gold chain just below the hollow of her throat. She imagined she could feel the delicate image of a swan embedded in the surface. “Thank you for showing me the swan,” Quinn had said that night on her deck.
Thank you for showing me what it feels like to be in love, she thought. Even if it couldn’t last. Even if he didn’t return her love.
It was July 31, nearly 1:00 a.m. Molly had packed what she could. Last-minute items such as her bedding and toiletries would have to wait. She had to be out of the house by noon. Her friend Claire, whose boyfriend lived in Boston, had given Molly a lift to the Cape on one of her trips to visit him. Claire was due to swing by and pick her up in the morning for the trip back to New York.
Restless, Molly grabbed a plaid wool stadium blanket from a half-packed carton and trudged down the stairs. Outside, the night air was cool and heavy with mist. Clouds obscured Cygnus and the other constellations. She slung the small blanket over her shoulders and strolled barefoot the short distance to the beach.
The rough road surface soon gave way to the cool caress of sand. She was going to miss this place. For the rest of her life she’d never be able to think of it without wondering where Quinn was, what he was doing, who he was with, whether he was happy. She wished that for him and more: happiness and love and, yes, the attainment of each and every one of those momentous fiscal goals he held so dear.
Molly veered to the right onto the stretch of beach bordered by the field of tall grasses, alive with the trilling of crickets. She steered clear of the handful of beach houses to the left, instinctively shunning human contact. The tide was in and water lapped gently at the shore.
Something sharp scraped her toe and she bent to retrieve a small scallop shell. She peered at the tiny object by the meager light of the waning crescent moon struggling through cloud cover. She rubbed her fingers over the ridges on both sides, the nick at the bottom. Then she hauled back and chucked it into the bay.
Quinn hadn’t come back to her. After three days Molly was forced to admit she’d called this one wrong. She’d thought all he’d needed was breathing space, a little time to cool off. She’d been so certain he’d felt what she had: the sharp, sweet thrill of discovery; the simple rightness of being with each other.
Should she have left with him? Three days earlier she’d known in her heart the answer was no. He needed time alone. It was only when he didn’t return, or even call, that doubts began to creep in. Perhaps she should have forced the issue, after all, planted herself in his car and made him take her with him whether he wanted to or not.
No. She was through barging into his life. If he wanted her, he’d have let her know by now.
She could have told Quinn about the Ad Today article two weeks earlier when she’d first started working on it, but she’d feared that would only muddy the waters at a time when they were trying to come to grips with their feelings for each other. Although she’d begun to realize that Quinn and Phil were different in every way that mattered, Quinn’s continued insistence on secrecy had told her his career still took center stage. It came before everything else, including her.
Molly had needed to know that if and when they made love, it would be because Quinn had opened his heart to her unreservedly, come what may, not because he was relying on the trump card of her tell-all article to keep Phil Owen from wreaking havoc.
And indeed, on that wonderful night when Quinn had shared himself with her, with no mention of Phil or his career or keeping anything under wraps, Molly had felt whole for the first time. Cherished.
When he’d thrown it back in her face the next morning, she’d given him the benefit of the doubt. She’d assumed he hadn’t meant his bitter words, that he was just worried for his career.
It had been three days. He’d meant them.
He truly did resent her for bringing Phil’s wrath down on his head, as unfair as that was. She’d tried to tell him about the article then so he’d know he had nothing to fear from Phil, but he’d been too angry to listen.
Molly stopped walking and pulled the blanket more securely around herself. She stood listening to the crickets and the breeze sighing through the tall grass beyond the berm of sand. From here no houses were visible, no lights. The late hour and damp chill meant the beach was all hers, for which she was grateful. She doubted she could summon up her usual gregariousness tonight.
She looked back the way she’d come and was surprised to see she’d counted her blessings too soon. A lone figure emerged from the gloom, a dark silhouette. Someone trying to decide whether this was a good night for a stroll on the beach, she supposed. It isn’t, she wanted to yell. Go away. I was here first. She sensed him returning her stare, picking up on her inhospitable thoughts, she hoped.
He began to move, not away but toward her. Irritation flared for an instant until she recognized the fluid, long-legged stride. Even in the dark and at a distance, Molly knew Quinn’s walk.
Her emotions rioted. Quinn’s presence could mean everything or nothing. He’d returned for some forgotten item, she told herself. It had nothing to do with her.
She watched him approach, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. The skimpy moonlight gave no clue to his expression until he was standing right in front of her, close enough to touch.
What she saw then made her breath snag. She felt his intimate gaze like a caress on her hair, her mouth, her eyes. He lifted his hand, slowly, and brushed a fingertip across her eyelashes. “Tears?” he said, his voice heartbreakingly gentle. “Ah, Molly...”
She drew in a shaky breath. “You came back. I—I didn’t think...”
He smiled with his eyes, those seductive gigolo eyes that she could stare into forever. “No, I didn’t think. Or I thought too much, I don’t know. I let my ego get in the way. Maybe Phil and I are alike.”
“No. You’re nothing like him, Quinn. I should’ve seen it right away, but I was, I don’t know, wary.”
“Who could blame you?”
Speaking of blame... “You’re not still angry with me? For Phil finding out and all that?”
“Molly.” He framed her face in his hands. “I never thought that was your fault. Those things I said. I didn’t mean them. I was... I didn’t mean them. I should’ve tossed you into the car and made you leave with me. My gut told me not to, but I wish I had.”
A watery chuckle escaped her. “We both made the mistake of listening to our instincts.”
“I’m an idiot,” he said.
“Say it louder. I want everyone to know.”
He threw back his head and yelled, “I’m an idiot! Quinn Marshall is an—”
Molly clapped her hand over his mouth. He kissed her palm and twined his fingers through hers.
“I used to think getting on the wrong side of Phil was the worst thing that could happen,” Quinn said. “Then it happened and I realized that as long as I had you, nothing else mattered.”
Molly bit her lip against a sob of joy and relief. Quinn draped his forearms over her shoulders and tipped his forehead down to hers. They stood that way for several minutes, drinking in each other’s nearness and warmth. Finally Molly had to ask.
“Why did you leave? I mean, I know you had to leave because Phil kicked you out, but why did you stay away?”
He kissed her forehead. “I thought you were going to take Phil back.”
She could only gape at him, speechless.
“I told you, I’m an idiot. Then I started making calls, lining up job interviews, and a very interesting story began to emerge. It seems my Mellow Molly has been quite enterprising.”
“‘Mellow Molly’?” She rolled it around in her mind, then nodded in approval. “Go on.”
“Many of the industry people I talked to had been contacted by a charming and delightful young woman working on an article about Phil Owen for Advertising Today. And get this, the reporter freely admits she was once engaged to the guy, and somehow she gets all these people to share every smarmy detail of their dealings with him. I knew I couldn’t be the only one to see that blowhard for what he is, and I was right.”
“You reap what you sow.”
“Word is, the article was killed. Then it turns out Phil never followed through on his threats to ruin me. You see how an interesting scenario begins to take shape here, one even an idiot like me can’t fail to recognize.”
“What might that scenario be?”
“Mellow Molly has learned the gentle art of extortion.”
She shrugged. “He threatened the man I love.”
Quinn sought her eyes in the dark. He took a deep breath. “You beat me to it. I wanted to say it first.”
She smiled. “I didn’t, like, actually say it, though, did I?”
“No, come to think of it.” He brought his lips to her ear and nuzzled aside her hair. His breath was hot, but it was his words that warmed her to her core. “I love you, Molly.” He kissed her ear, her temple. “I love you so much it scares me.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “Doesn’t scare me at all.”
She felt his answering grin. He cupped her face and brought his lips to hers, and the feel of him, the taste of him, made her stupid and clumsy. She slid her arms around him, and the blanket started to slip. She made a grab for it, but he caught it first and snugged it around her.
“Is there room under this thing for two?” he asked.
In answer she draped the blanket over his shoulders and was instantly rewarded. His arm snaked around her back to pull her against him while the fingers of his other hand pushed through her hair and tipped her head back for a kiss so deep, so possessive, it was just as well he was holding her up.
“Three days,” he growled, pressing hard, fast kisses to her face, her throat, stealing her wits. “I don’t ever want to be away from you for that long again.”
Molly didn’t notice he’d managed to unbutton her denim shirt until she felt cool air on her breasts, followed by Quinn’s toasty hands. She groaned in helpless pleasure. The zipper of her jeans was next while she struggled to yank his sweatshirt up and off him. They tottered, off balance, as jeans, underwear, and Quinn’s shoes were kicked away.
Then he was there, pressed full-length to her, hot and hard and wonderfully impatient, the silky steel of his erection twitching against her belly. She savored the spiraling tension in her own body, a thumping drumbeat of need growing louder and louder, drowning out everything else, everything that wasn’t Quinn.
The night sky spun as he lowered her to the ground, the sand coarse and bumpy under the blanket. She never had a chance to catch her breath, with his hands here and his mouth there and her body arching and opening and she was ready so ready and she needed him now.
She told him so, panting, pleading, with no shame at all because this was Quinn and her deep need began and ended with this man.
He kissed her mouth. “Trust me,” he whispered, and kissed a path down her body.
She whimpered and clutched him even as his hands came under her knees to open her wider, even as his hot breath and hotter mouth wrenched a startled cry of pleasure from her. He parted her with his fingers, tasted and teased her with eager delight. He did things with his supple lips and long, strong tongue and gently scraping teeth that she’d never even imagined. Dimly, through the haze of her gathering climax, she recalled Quinn describing himself as “inventive.”
He raised his head. “I sure as heck am what?”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” She pushed his head down. “Don’t stop!”
Molly felt him chuckle as he pressed one last deep, intimate kiss to her drenched flesh. He moved with stunning speed and suddenly he was inside her, deep, deeper, and she could only thank heaven Quinn loved her because the wild, guttural sounds she was making might have scared off a less devoted man.
One of his hands cupped the back of her neck while the other slid under her bottom to lift her. Her body coiled tighter with each long, powerful thrust and suddenly her orgasm was within reach, hovering like some great bird—a swan, she thought—awaiting only the merest signal to alight and carry her off.
She smiled, and Quinn smiled, understanding, and he abandoned all restraint. She welcomed his rough, hammering strokes, met them, matched them. The swan touched down and she took wing with it, soaring out of herself even as an explosion of sensation rocked the deepest core of her.
Afterward they lay in a torpid heap, their hearts galloping in tandem. Molly sighed, a deep, cleansing exhalation. She stroked Quinn’s back and kissed his closed eyelids. He emitted a satisfied little grunt and offered a blind kiss that landed on the side of her nose.
Something wet plopped in her eye and she blinked. She felt a drop on her arm and one on her foot. “Quinn, it’s raining.”
He responded with an incoherent mumble. She tried to lever herself up, but the deadweight on top of her wasn’t budging. She pushed at him, chuckling. “Quinn! It’s starting to rain. Get up.”
His eyes drifted open and he smiled lazily, and she wondered if anything had ever looked as sinfully provocative as this man’s smile. Even when those first few drops turned into a steady light rainfall, he resisted her attempts to rise.
“You should be more laid-back, like me,” he drawled, pinning her arms as she laughed helplessly, squeezing her eyes shut against the rain.
Abruptly he came up on one elbow. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“We didn’t use anything.”
“Oh. Wow,” she said. “I didn’t even think about it.”
“Me, neither. That’s never happened to me before, Molly, that I got so carried away I forgot protection.”
“Well, at least it’s not my fertile time.”
He kissed her and got up, gathering their clothes. “There’s no time that’s a hundred percent safe. I’m sorry.” He pulled on his underwear and chinos, his expression thoughtful. “I wouldn’t be, though. If you got pregnant. Sorry, I mean.” He sighed. “I’m not saying this very well.”
Molly went to him half-dressed, heedless of the cold rain. She held his face in both hands and made him look at her. “You’re saying it just fine, Quinn.” She brushed her thumb over his lips and he kissed it. “I love you and you love me. How could a child of ours be anything but a blessing?”
He stroked her bare upper arms. “I didn’t mean to lay this on you so soon. Didn’t want to scare you off.” He took a deep breath. His hands tightened on her arms. “I want to marry you, Molly.”
Her heart swelled, stinging her eyes, stealing her voice.
He said, “I know you were burned once. I won’t rush you.” He smiled and tenderly touched her belly. “As long as there’s no reason to. But those are my intentions. You have a right to know.”
She opened her mouth to speak.
“And before you ask,” he said, “I’m not signing any prenup, so don’t even think about it.”
“What, I’m supposed to trust you with my vast holdings?”
“I’ve discovered I’m kind of old-fashioned when it comes to marriage. For better or for worse, we’re in it together. Besides, a prenup might backfire on me.” He gave her a wry grin. “After all, you’re the one who’s gainfully employed.”
“No job yet?”
“I’ve only been at it a few days. I’ve gotten a couple of good leads, but nothing solid.” He pulled his sweatshirt down over his rain-soaked head. “What a pompous jerk I was, preaching at you about your money situation, and here you manage to nail this fabulous position without setting foot off the Cape.”
“I recall a ferry ride to Nantucket.”
“Are you always so literal?”
She snarled in frustration, trying to push her arms into her rain-soaked shirtsleeves.
“Don’t bother,” Quinn said, commandeering the shirt and enveloping her in the damp, gritty blanket. “It wouldn’t stay on for long, anyway.” He slid his feet into the deck shoes and wrapped an arm around her back.
They retraced their way down the rain-washed beach and trudged up the sandy incline to the parking lot. The house came into view, the windows of the top floor glowing in welcome. On impulse Molly made a dash for it, leaving Quinn holding the blanket.
Naked from the waist up, she sprinted through the parking lot and straight down the middle of the road, laughing at Quinn’s outraged bellow as he raced to overtake her with the blanket. As if anyone were likely to see her bare bosom in the rain-drenched middle of the night!
She stopped and did a little victory dance right there in the center of the road, twirling in the rain, whooping with glee. Quinn didn’t bother with the blanket, he simply slung her over his shoulder and marched across the yard, gravely enumerating those parts of her that were for his eyes only, now that they were engaged.
“We are?” she asked the small of his back, not quite ready to agree and put him out of his misery, eagerly anticipating days or even weeks of Quinn’s inventive brand of persuasion.
He kicked open the front door and stalked up the stairs. “Practically engaged, then. Close enough.”
Mellow Molly decided she was going to enjoy spending the rest of her life scandalizing the man with the gigolo eyes.
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