sadness that could suddenly creep into her voice. She’d haunted him, awakened him with emotions he was certain he was no longer capable of feeling for anyone other than his son: the inkling of joy, the tingle of anticipation.
He pursed his lips before speaking and Rae felt her stomach tumble.
“I know it’s not cool to just show up, but I was thinkin’ about you. About last night and—”
“It’s okay. Come in,” she said so gently it sounded like a lullaby to Quinn’s ears.
He stepped past her, and the thoroughly male scent of him reached out and caressed her, stroking her body like a tender lover. She almost moaned.
Quinn stepped into the foyer and turned to face Rae, who still stood in the archway.
Soft curves defined the pale blue cotton pants that hung low on her rounded hips, exposing a warm brown belly, with faint traces of the child she once carried. The white band that covered her breasts only drew his attention to them—full, ripe. His manhood jerked, as aware as he. Quinn turned away.
Rae tried to collect herself. But the back of him was just as alluring as the front. His locks, bound in a black band at the nape of his neck, cut a path down the center of his back, in sharp contrast to the white T-shirt that barely contained the cut of hard muscle. The black jeans hugged him in all the right places, outlining the solid thighs and long, slightly, bowed legs. Her nipples stood at attention. Slowly he turned toward her.
“I was just getting myself together.” She laughed nervously, feeling a sudden pulse between her thighs. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” She headed toward her bedroom, stopped, turned, and collided with his unwavering stare. For an instant she forgot what was on her mind.
He smiled slowly. “Nice…place.”
Rae swallowed. “Thanks. Would you like something to drink before I dash off?”
“If it’s cool, just point me toward the kitchen. I’m pretty handy.” He grinned, flashing perfect teeth and that killer smile that graced his book jackets and CD covers.
“Second door on the right.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
She watched him saunter toward the kitchen before making a mad dash to her bedroom.
An audible sigh wafted around Rae as she shut her bedroom door behind her. She closed her eyes. Quinn Parker was standing in her living room. Now what was she going to do?
She glanced up and caught a peek at her disheveled self in the dresser mirror. “Oh, Lawd!” She jetted off to the bathroom.
After a lightning-fast shower with her favorite bath gel, some oil spritz for her short twists, a dash of lip gloss for her mouth, she was almost ready. She pulled on an African-print wrap skirt that she tied at the waist, and a sleeveless tank top in burnt orange that matched the bold bronzes, emerald greens, and sunshine yellows of her ankle-length skirt. She dabbed some China musk body oil at her wrists and the pulse at the base of her throat.
Rae spun toward the mirror, didn’t dare look too long, certain that she would find some flaw, some fault. She hauled in a breath, made a silent vow to play it cool, then stepped back into the front room, fully expecting her surprise guest to be hovering around anticipating her return.
Quinn was missing in action.
Then she heard sounds coming from the kitchen. She eased toward the door, a serious frown on her face, trying to imagine what in the world he was doing.
When she arrived at the threshold, she was taken aback to see Quinn moving comfortably around in her kitchen as if fixing breakfast in her space was something he always did.
He’d prepared a tray of toasted bagels and another with jelly, vegetable cream cheese, and butter. Somehow he’d found her glass carafe—a wedding gift she thought she’d lost—and filled it with orange juice. The scent of brewing coffee assaulted her senses, and her stomach shouted out in hunger. Rae wasn’t sure if she should be pissed off at his audacity in just taking over her kitchen, or totally charmed by his thoughtfulness.
She folded her arms, her braless breasts resting comfortably on them. “I see you found everything you needed.” She rested her right hip against the frame in the doorway.
Quinn glanced over his shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind. I figured after the late night—” he shrugged “—maybe you took your time about movin’ into your morning.” He smiled slow and lazy. “Hungry?”
Rae felt the grin spread helplessly across her mouth. “Starved.”
“Have a seat. Breakfast is served.”
Amusement danced in her eyes as she took a seat.
“Are you always this considerate, or is this a new millennium come-on?” Rae quizzed over bites of bagel lathered in cream cheese.
Quinn hooked his legs around the spindles of the kitchen stool as he leaned over the counter to refill his juice. He chuckled halfheartedly. “Tell ya the truth, I don’t know. I guess I’d like to think I am a considerate guy. No doubt. Isn’t that what you women want these days?” he taunted playfully. “Rugged on the outside with a soft center.”
“So this is just some fancy come-on,” she teased in return, reaching for a bagel and brushing the tips of Quinn’s retreating fingers.
Their gazes found each other for a hot instant.
“I guess it’s been a while since I did anything for anyone else, or since I cared enough to bother.” He lowered his gaze, shielding himself from her.
Understanding that kind of aloneness, the depths to which it could pull you, momentarily sealed Rae’s lips. She wanted, as always, for her words to matter. Not give him a pat response from the plethora of self-healing dictums.
“I was working on a new piece,” Rae said gently, steering them away from the dark waters. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Sure.”
They left the remains of their late breakfast and went into the living room. Lovingly Quinn’s eyes roamed across the smooth wood surface of the magnificent piano, the only piece of furniture in the cavernous room. His mouth nearly watered in appreciation for the beauty—knowing the kind of sound that could be drawn from it. To him, playing piano was so much like making love to a woman. You had to know and understand each and every key and what it was capable of doing if touched just right—the high and low notes, the trills that could be emitted with several well-placed finger strokes. It was too intimate, too personal, and he wanted to be neither.
Quinn noticed the pile of body-size pillows stacked in the corners. He walked over and made himself comfortable, half sitting, half reclining like a satisfied cat.
That did it, Rae realized. If there was anything to convince her that this was a man after her soul, Quinn’s behavior sealed it. Everyone who’d crossed her threshold always commented about her lack of furniture, the echo in the room, her lackadaisical attitude about “fixing the place up.” Not Quinn. He was just as at home as if it had been his. He looked as if he belonged there.
Rae stepped over to the baby grand and took a seat. She glanced over her
