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Not when she was his every fantasy come true.
Quinn brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, unable to stop drinking in her incredible beauty. She’d thanked him for being a part of her solo honeymoon, but the truth was that he should be thanking her for saving him from a night of living in his own head, going over and over all the things he needed to accomplish by the end of the week.
What was it about her that had his heart taking notice and his mind taking a reprieve from work?
All he knew for sure was that it felt surprisingly natural to press a soft kiss to her forehead and to whisper, “Good night, Shelley Walters. Thanks for making it a surprisingly good one.”
Chapter Three
WHAT WAS I thinking last night?
Shelley squinted at the sunlight peeking in through the blinds and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow, wishing she had a toffee-flavored coffee from her café. She needed a gallon to come out from under this hangover fog. She’d had only a couple glasses of champagne, but for a lightweight like her, that was easily more than enough. She kicked her feet to get whatever was scratching them off, but every kick abraded her skin. As she flung the covers off and found a smattering of sand in the sheets, pieces of last night started to come back into focus.
Quinn.
Pictures came to her, one after the other, of the most beautiful man she'd ever set eyes on—blue eyes, dark hair, and a gorgeous chest—along with a vague memory of the two of them walking across the beach to her cottage, where she put her arms around his neck and—
Oh God.
I kissed him!
She bolted upright, eyes wide as the memory of a perfect—and shockingly hot—kiss suddenly hit her as clear as day. The delicious taste of his mouth, wonderfully sweet and fiercely possessive all at once. How he'd gripped her hips and pulled her closer, so close that she'd gasped at the pleasure of being pressed up against such hard, hot muscles. She'd never experienced such an intense, sexy kiss before, one that she'd never ever wanted to end.
But had it ended? Or had their kiss turned into so much more?
She’d been skinny-dipping when he’d found her, but the rest of it was a little too vague for her peace of mind right now.
She might have been considering getting a little bit wild last night...but this was way too wild, even for her.
Holding her breath, she looked down at her thighs and closed her eyes as she slid her hand up her hip under her dress to feel for her underwear.
Oh no. I’m not wearing any.
No, no, no.
Scanning the room for clues, she jumped from the bed. Her head throbbed and the room swayed. She grabbed ahold of the bedpost for stability. She never drank much, and a hangover was not something she was used to dealing with. Nor did she want to deal with it.
Following a trail of sand into the living room, she tried to put the pieces of last night together. She touched her hair, which was a sticky, sandy mess, just like her dress. She had nothing on beneath her dress. But she didn’t have any recollection of his body over hers or his hands on her skin.
Shelley looked at her hands, the memory of his firm chest against her palms finally resurfacing. Surely if they had gone to bed together, she’d have some memory of more than one incredible kiss and her hands brushing briefly over hard muscle. Something told her that making love with Quinn was something no woman could ever possibly forget. Not when one look, one touch, one kiss had been enough to melt her insides.
No amount of champagne could have made Shelley forget her breathless awareness to him. She'd never felt anything like it before, a wanting that had instantly taken her over right from the first moment she'd set eyes on him. Wanting that shook her even now with its intensity as she replayed the previous night with greater and greater clarity by the minute.
She opened the front door and inhaled the chilly sea air. Too bright. Shading her eyes, she crossed the deep porch and sat down on one of the rocking chairs beside the small painted table. When she’d arrived at the cottage, she’d imagined having breakfast at this table, but food didn't sound at all appetizing right now.
Her eyes finally landed on a bottle of Motrin, a carafe of orange juice, and an envelope with her phone lying on top of it.
She picked up the bulky envelope, peeked inside, and felt her cheeks heat up as she withdrew her thong. Her hand instinctively covered her face, and she didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. She was almost afraid to read the accompanying note...
