told anyone about the wedding?”
He squinted at her. Her hair was mostly piled up on top of her head, a long coiled strand clinging to her damp shoulder. “Nope.” He reached out and tugged the curl gently, straightening it. It bounced back when he let it go.
“It’s just, I know Port Douglas, and there’s something going on. I can smell a press photographer a mile off.”
He blinked as her words sunk into his brain. “You think I tipped off the press?”
She reached out and touched his knee, leaving a wet patch, but Quinn’s indignation faded fast when her movement stirred up the bubbles and a very pink and pert nipple peeped out of the froth.
“No,” she answered. “I just think there’s something going on, something not quite right.”
He bit back the words before they tumbled from his mouth. “With us, you mean?” Where the hell had that thought come from? Whatever he did, he could not get into a deep and meaningful conversation after half a bottle of cognac. He dipped his hand into the steaming water and rubbed his face. “I probably deserve suspicion.” After all, he had blackmailed her about the wedding in the first place.
When you thought about it, he deserved to be hung, drawn and quartered for all the lies he’d told, all the secrets he withheld. Layer upon layer of secrets. Just when he’d decided he might take a chance on her, look ahead a little—kapow! And then kapow again. First Sir John, and now Jake. What next? And however could he justify it to her?
She looked up at him thoughtfully. “I didn’t think you would contact the media. I just …” She sighed and reached to the side for a sponge, her knee bending up out of the water. “I just so want this day to be perfect for Ryan and Jessica.”
Perfect? Quinn knew what was perfect. A smooth pink knee foaming with bubbles. He felt hard as a rock suddenly and licked his dry lips. “Jake,” he croaked. “The press will be after Jake.”
She looked up at him, a relieved smile forming on her delectable mouth. “You think?”
“He attracts attention wherever he goes. You planning on finishing that?” He nodded at the sponge resting on her knee. The thought of it was attracting all sorts of attention in all sorts of places.
“What was he doing here, anyway?”
Quinn reached out and took the sponge from her hand, his fingers digging into its soft porous depths. “Business. Lift your leg.”
“My leg?” Dani hesitated, probably expecting a more expansive reply to her question about Jake’s unexpected visit.
Quinn’s eyes shifted to hers, challenging her. He had business in mind, all right. Funny business.
And he didn’t want any more questions—or any more guilt.
Holding her gaze, he moved his hand into the water and soaked the sponge. Sultry understanding glowed in her eyes. Forget Jake. A trickle of steamy sweat slid down his temple. Forget Blackstone and the press and the shares. Forget life-altering secrets. The swish of streaming water filled his ears as her shapely, heat-flushed thigh rose up from the foam, and then her calf and foot flexed prettily. Quinn caught hold of her foot, washing it while she squirmed.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking, may I change my mind and come to the wedding, after all?”
The little smile that curved her lips warmed him. “I’d like that,” she said slowly, watching as he dipped the sponge and stretched her leg out. “I’ll set it up tonight,” she promised.
Quinn stroked the back of her calf and thigh with the sponge. Water dripped down his forearms and onto his thighs and he thought he must be one sick unit because the warmth and wetness of it only fuelled his desire more.
“Exactly how long do I have to get you clean before you go out?”
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