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On his third round, he spotted her coming from the kitchen. She stopped and leaned against the archway to the living room to adjust her shoe and whisk a strand of hair off her face.
Maybe she had gone outside for air. Maybe she too was jonesing for a smoke. Not that he remembered her smoking when they were in L.A.
Before he reached her, a couple he didn’t recognize approached, the woman’s arms out to hug her. Leigh and a few others gathered near him to wait.
“Well, that was a success.” Leigh’s short silver hair bounced in satisfaction as she turned from watching Quinn with her piercing blue eyes to face him.
“You outdid yourself. But she looks tired; I think she might need some space.”
“She’s had nothing but space for the last year—this was good for her. She needs to get back to some semblance of normal.”
He was glad Leigh was whispering and that Quinn was busy with the couple so she couldn’t hear this.
But before he could answer, the couple walked away, and Leigh stepped forward, hugged Quinn, and pulled back. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Quinn forced a smile. Nothing above the tip of her nose budged.
She opened her mouth, presumably to respond, but Leigh’s question must have been rhetorical because she kept right on going. “Do you have a few minutes to talk after everyone leaves? We should get that proposal to Nely this week.”
Nely. Nely Mayano, head of an imprint at Devon, Quinn’s publisher.Man, Leigh, give her a break.
“I know.” Quinn rolled her lips in on themselves like she was holding back. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. It’s late. You’ve already done a lot. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
“That’s okay, finish saying goodnight.” Leigh gestured to the queue that had formed. “You forget—I know this place like the back of my hand.”
He doubted Quinn forgot after how Leigh had led that little house tour for the rubberneckers.
When the last pair left, he went to her. “I’m going to take off, too. Look, um . . .”
He planned to tell her if she needed anything to please call him, but how many men had said that to her with different intentions since it happened?
How many men had said that to her tonight?
“I hope what I said earlier didn’t upset you.”
She shook her head efficiently, once to each side.
“Okay, good.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and felt his shoulders shrug. What could he offer that wasn’t one more inadequate cliché?
As he stumbled to speak, she drew close and tipped up on her toes as if she wanted to tell him a secret. She took hold of his elbows for balance, each thumb molding perfectly into the crook, the pressure of her fingers warm on the back of his arms.
His ear tingled as she whispered, “I sent your driver away.”
2
FEVERISH DANCERS
Afew straggling guests chatted by the front door and she ushered them out, locking the door behind them. He followed her to the kitchen, and his cock stirred when she told the catering crew they could leave. “It’s late. I’ll finish up tomorrow. Really, it’s fine. Thank you so much.”
The back entrance opened and closed, and then they were alone.
She went to the living room, paused, and crossed her arms as she turned back toward him. “Drink?”
He cleared his throat. He needed something. “Gin and tonic?” Neat would be better, but he wasn’t sure what she had in mind. Best to keep his head clear.
She nodded and strode to the carved antique wooden bar against the wall, the only old piece of furniture in the room. It fit, though. The house was contemporary and eclectic, comfortable in that casual, beachy style.
There was no mistaking the owners had money, but they didn’t flaunt it. Harris was a highly respected attorney, appointed a judge some time before the movie. And Quinn, well, she was Quinn Layborn, and she had sold millions of books.
