name for a boat.” Cal made a production of fluttering her eyelashes. “Or did you name it after me?”
He grinned. “You wish I did. Nope, it was pure coincidence.”
“Honestly, she’s stunning,” Cal stated, looking around. Quinn followed her gaze. The sleek lines of the sixty-five-meter yacht were echoed in the minimalist furniture and cool white, grey and beige. Sometimes he thought it a little stark...
“It needs some color. Some bold prints, some bright cushions,” Cal said, echoing his thoughts. Despite their long time apart, they still thought along the same lines.
“She’s beautiful and bigger than your last yacht. How many does she sleep?”
“Ten on the lower deck. The master cabin is aft with a walk-in wardrobe and spa bath and there’s another full cabin forward. Two small cabins midship There’s another smaller, cozier lounge...that’s where I watch TV, wind down. Two decks, one off the main bedroom and another entertainment deck with a Jacuzzi.”
“Impressive. I want to see it all. When did you acquire her?”
“About a year back.” Quinn ran a hand down Cal’s hair and her curls wound around his knuckle. The smell of her shampoo wafted over to him and he wondered when Cal’s hair had turned so soft and silky. So damned girly. Cal shoved her hands into the back pockets of her skinny jeans and arched her back. The white silk T-shirt pulled against her chest and Quinn noticed her small, perky breasts and that she was wearing a lacy, barely-there push-up bra.
He rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable. Right. Enough with that, Rayne.
Quinn rubbed the back of his neck as he walked across the living area to the kitchen. He opened the double-door fridge and peered inside, hoping that the icy air would cool his lascivious thoughts.
“Water?” he asked, his words muffled.
Cal shook her head. “No, thanks.”
He slammed the fridge door closed and cracked the lid on the water bottle before lifting it to his lips.
“How is your dad?” he asked, remembering why she was back in the city, back home.
“Okay. The triple heart bypass was successful. I went straight from the airport to the hospital and spent some time with him. He was awake and making plans so I suppose that’s a good sign.”
“I’m glad he’s okay.”
“He’ll be fine. Stressing about when he can get back to work.” He saw the worry in her eyes, heard fear in her flat tone. “The doctors said he won’t be able to return to work for a couple of months and that sent him into a tailspin.”
“He had the operation a few days ago. Maybe he should relax a little. The foundation won’t grind to a stop because he isn’t there.”
The Adam Foundation was the wealthiest charitable organization in Canada, funded by the accumulated wealth of generations of her Adam ancestors. Money from the Adam Foundation allowed an ever-changing group of volunteers, and Cal, to travel the world to assist communities who needed grassroots help.
Cal bit the inside of her lip and her arched eyebrows pulled together. “He’ll need somebody to run it until he’s back on his feet.”
“Is that person you?” he asked, annoyed by the spurt of excitement he felt. God, he and Cal hadn’t lived in the same city for ages and having her around would be a very nice change.
“Maybe,” Cal replied, unenthusiastic. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Quinn frowned as he tried to work out why Cal felt so ambivalent toward the city they’d been raised in. It was beautiful, interesting and eclectic, but Cal only came home when she absolutely had to. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that her husband had been killed when the light aircraft he’d been piloting crashed into a mountain to the north of the city around four...no, it had to be five years ago now.
She’d married the same week she turned twenty-four and, thanks to their massive argument about her nuptials—Quinn had loudly and vociferously told her that she’d lost her mind—he’d missed both her birthday and her wedding that year.
“Does the press corps know you are home?” Quinn asked, changing the subject. Like him, Cal had a hate-hate affair with the press.
“Everyone knows. They were at the airport and at the hospital.”
“Remind me again where you flew in from?” It had been a couple of months since they last spoke and, while they exchanged emails regularly, he couldn’t recall where her last project had been. Then again, Cal—as the troubleshooter for her family’s foundation—jumped from project to project, country to country, going where she was needed to ensure everything ran smoothly. She could be in Latin America one week and in the Far East the next. Cal collected frequent-flier miles like politicians collected votes.
“Africa. Lesotho, to be precise. I was working on a project to counter soil erosion.” Cal nodded toward the center island of the kitchen, to his landline and cell phone. “Your cell rang and then your phone. Mac left a voicemail saying that he and Wren and Kade were on the way over to discuss today’s train wreck.” She tipped her head and narrowed her amazing, blue-black eyes. “What trouble have you landed yourself in now, Q?”
Quinn heard Mac’s and Kade’s heavy footsteps on the outside stairs and lifted a shoulder. “You know what they say, Red—the trouble with trouble is that it starts off as fun.”
* * *
After greeting his best friends—who were also his partners, his colleagues—and Wren, the Mavericks’ PR guru, he gestured for them all to take a seat and offered drinks. While he made coffee, Cal was hugged and kissed by his friends and asked how she’d been. It didn’t matter how infrequently they saw her, Quinn mused, she automatically slotted back into his life and was immediately accepted because Mac and Kade understood that, just like they did, Cal had his back.
Quinn delivered mugs of coffee and sighed at their doom-and-gloom faces. He could deal with their anxiety—Mac and Kade constantly worried that he’d kill himself chasing his need for adrenaline—but he didn’t like their frustration and, yeah, their anger. His teammates and their head of publicity were pissed. Again. Not necessarily at him but at the situation he’d found himself in.
He tended to find himself in a lot of situations.
Hell, Quinn thought as he pushed his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair and gathered it into a knot at the back of his head, here we go again.
“Make yourself some coffee, bro. You’re going to need it,” Mac suggested, leaning back and placing his booted foot on his opposite knee.
“I’ll do it,” Cal offered.
Though he appreciated her offer, Quinn shook his head. “Thanks, Red, but I’ve got it.”
Quinn ran his hand over his thick beard as he walked around the island into the kitchen to where his coffee machine stood. He picked up his favorite mug, placed it under the spout and pushed the button for a shot of espresso. The machine gurgled, dispensed the caffeine and Quinn hit the button again. He wanted whiskey, but he supposed that a double espresso would have to do.
“So
