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“Sure, Tipton & Tremaine.”
“Do you work with them?”
Quinn shook his head as the salad plates arrived. “Most of my clients are individual home owners. Big developers want too much of a say in the design. I prefer to work from scratch. It’s more fun.”
Shit. “So you don’t work with developers at all?”
“I worked with a few when I was first starting out. It’s a good way to get your name out there. But now I only pick up projects with Anton/Bliss. They do some really great work on small, upscale developments.”
Anton/Bliss?That was one of the names Helen had given her. Jackpot! “So are you working on anything for them right now?” She took a bite of spinach salad and tried to look casual.
“No, not really,” he answered, and the bubble of hope growing in her chest deflated. “I’ve got my hands full with about a dozen builds going on right now. Summer is busy as hell, of course. And then there’s my personal project, which is taking more time than I…” His gaze slid down to her chest. “Um, Lori?”
“Hmm?” Well, what had she expected, some grand revelation that, yes indeed, he was working on a top secret project for Anton/Bliss involving the very land that Lori had inherited from her dad?
Quinn cleared his throat. “You’ve got salad dressing on your, ah, chest.”
Worried she’d ruined her new dress, Lori glanced down, only to find that her linen dress was safe. But a tiny drop of honey dressing clung to the rounded top of her cleavage, slowly sliding its way toward the very low, very wide V of her neckline. Lori caught it with her finger and raised it to her lips, licking away the dressing before it occurred to her that she was in a nice restaurant and not The Bar.
“Oops,” she said around her finger. Cringing, she looked up at Quinn, thinking she’d better apologize, but his expression stopped her.
Lids heavy, hazel eyes blazing with heat, he watched her mouth, watched her slide her finger out. His gaze narrowed even more. She licked her lips and his own pressed tight together. When she wiped her hand on her napkin, his eyes fell back to her cleavage.
Lori forgot all about Anton/Bliss and decided her attention would be better spent concentrating on eating. Fast.
* * *
GOODLORD, LORILOVEwas a sex object. Who could’ve known?
Her dress was cut down to a very interesting place, the wide V showing off the barely rounded tops of her breasts, and leading Quinn’s brain on an intense analysis of whether or not she was wearing a bra. If she was, it was constructed of a little scrap of nothing, and he very much wanted to know what that nothing looked like.
He’d managed to carry on a conversation all through dinner, answering all her questions about the cities he’d visited in Europe. But then she’d excused herself to use the restroom, and Quinn had been treated to the sight of her walking away, bloodred heels pointing the way to pale, delicate calves. Her thighs would be even paler. And her ass…
“Okay,” he breathed. Time to get it together or he’d be nursing a hard-on through dessert.
But, damn, she was cute.
If he were reasonable, he’d just accept this for what it was: a sex gift dropped, almost literally, in his lap. But he wanted to know the why of it. Why him and why now? She hadn’t answered the question about Molly’s books.
Quinn crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned to the side to peer into the compact red purse she’d left on the floor. Here was a clue that she might temporarilylooklike a character fromSex and the City, but she didn’t act like one. She’d left her makeup behind. Good. He liked the natural pink of her mouth. Such a relief after the gobs of shiny gloss Tessa had worn. Not even bubble-gum flavored or anything. Just sticky.
Earlier, he’d spotted the spine of a book that didn’t quite fit into her purse, and now that Lori was away, he couldn’t resist plucking it out to spy.
It really was one ofthosebooks. Erotica, Molly called it. Quinn winced at the giant, naked pecs of the oiled-up muscleman on the cover and flipped the book over to scan the author names. No Holly Summers, Molly’s pen name, thank God.
Eyes widening, Quinn quickly read the description of the first story. “Wow.”
A plain librarian hires a coldhearted private investigator to investigate her own past. But the ex-cop refuses her money…and demands more intimate payment for all the long, hard hours he’s put in.
Blinking, Quinn scanned the other four story descriptions, managing to be shocked by each one in turn. He’d been happy to hear about Molly’s success as a writer, but he’d studiously avoided any and all details about her work. Clearly, that had been a wise idea. But as long as she hadn’t written any of these…
He thumbed open the book, and began to read. Halfway through page three, a lightning-fast hand darted in and snatched the book from his fingers.
“What are you doing?” Lori hissed.
“Research.”
“Research?”
