Bailey's Irish Dream (4 page)

“But apparently you’re a one-drink girl.”  He reached behind him and grabbed two mugs from the dish drain.  “Anything else I should know about you before meeting your parents tonight?”

Oh, God, she’d almost forgotten.  Her parents would be at her place in a matter of hours.  “I suppose I should write down some personal things about me, and maybe you should do the same.  Although since you’re really supposed to be Stanley, and I’ve already told my parents all about you--or him, rather--then I guess you don’t have to.  Unless, you think it would help.”  She was rambling, but couldn’t stop.  “Do you have a pen and paper?”

“First drawer on your right.”  Quinn filled the mugs with steaming hot coffee.  “Cream and sugar?”

“Yes, please.”  She watched as he took a sugar bowl from the cupboard and a paper carton of half and half from the refrigerator and pushed them toward her.  Quinn ignored the sugar, but poured a hefty amount of cream in his mug.  “Cream, no sugar,” she said as she wrote it on the paper and etched it into her memory. 

He picked up his mug and walked around the breakfast bar into the main room.  “While you’re making your list, I’m going to take a quick shower.”

Bailey wished she had a toothbrush, but decided as soon as Quinn was done in the bathroom, she’d at least wash her face and use some toothpaste and her finger to clean her teeth.  In the meantime, she sipped at her coffee and went to work on her list.

* * * * * * * * * *

As soon as Quinn emerged from the steamy bathroom, Bailey asked if she could freshen up.  While she was behind closed doors, he used the opportunity to change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.  The one room apartment didn’t allow for much privacy. 

Seeing her list on the counter, he picked it up and scanned through it.  “Cat’s name is Jade,” he read.  “Mother’s name is Mimi, Dad’s name is Doyle, they’ve been living in Belfast for the past two years.  Sister Kaitlyn and husband Mark live in Chicago.”  He’s an attorney, she’s a mom, Bailey had written beside their names.  

He fixed himself a second cup of coffee and went back to the list.  “Sister and hubby have three point five kids; Dillon, eight, Patrick, seven, Kelly, five and one on the way.  The attorney and Fertile Myrtle have been busy,” Quinn murmured.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Quinn said, looking up from the paper.  She’d combed her hair and scrubbed the remains of last night’s make-up from her face, giving her skin a healthy pink glow.  Soft wispy bangs swept across her forehead, making her look much younger than her twenty-eight years, and the wrinkled, green, halter dress suddenly looked out of place on her trim, lithe body.

Smiling, she came toward him.  “I thought of a few more things.  I don’t know if it will help much, but my dad hates being called ‘old man’, and he hates when people don’t laugh at his jokes.  And my mother gets dizzy very easily.”  She lifted a shoulder.  “Do you have any questions?”

Quinn glanced quickly at the list again.  “Well, there’s certainly plenty of information about your family here, but what about you?  For instance, what do you do?”

“Do?  What do you mean?”  She set her shoes on the floor, and her purse on the bar, then slid onto the seat.

“I mean, do you jog?  Do you like to cook?  Do you always pick up strange men in bars?”  The last question had slipped carelessly from his tongue.

Folding her arms in front of her, and looking at him defiantly, she said, “No, no and
no
.”

“Just curious.  I’m supposed to know you pretty well, aren’t I?”  Quinn drained his mug. 

“Yes, and you’re right.  I’m sorry.”  She dropped her arms and relaxed her shoulders.  “Fire away, Mr. Quinn.  Ask me anything.”

“It’s just Quinn,” he said.  “So, what did you and what’s-his-face do when you were together?” 

“Stanley,” she said.  “Stanley Ernst Davenport.” 

Stanley Ernst Davenport.
  How in hell was he supposed to impersonate a guy with a name like that? 

“We did the usual things people do together,” she added, her face and neck suddenly flushing.  “Well that’s not entirely true.  I mean, Stanley and I weren’t sleeping together, if that’s what you wanted to know.”

“That’s not--What I’d meant was, did you go to dinner?  The movies?  Play cards?  What?”  Quinn swallowed hard, leaned a hip against the kitchen counter and tried to keep his eyes off her lips, and her breasts.  “Why weren’t you sleeping together?” he asked suddenly, already regretting it.  What business was it of his?

  “Stanley didn’t believe in pre-marital sex.”

“Why the hell not?  What was wrong with him?”

“Nothing.”  She cleared her throat and averted her eyes.  “Stanley used to play the piano for me,” she said, changing the subject.  “He’s a concert pianist.  I don’t think I mentioned that before.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 
A concert pianist.
  Already Quinn had no use for the guy.  Surely he wouldn’t have to learn how to play the piano by tonight, would he?  Nah.  She’d said dinner.  Nothing more.  After she refused his offer for more coffee, he gathered the dirty mugs, put them in the kitchen sink, and rinsed them.  “Anything else we need to rehearse before tonight?”

She grew pensive, bringing her forefinger to her temple.  “Well, there is one more thing.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking over his shoulder.  “What is it?”  He picked up a dish towel, dried his hands and tossed it aside.

“The fact that we’re virtually strangers could be a dead giveaway to my family.”  She shrugged one shoulder briefly.  “So, I thought, maybe we should get to know each other a little better before tonight.”

“I thought that was what we were doing.”

“I didn’t mean psychologically.  What I’d meant was,” she said pausing momentarily, “that we should get to know each other in a more . . . physical way.”

Quinn’s eyebrows shot up.  “How physical?” he asked, anticipation and dread filling his senses at the same time.

A faint light twinkled in the depths of her eyes.  “Maybe we should kiss and touch.  Couples who are engaged to be married usually feel comfortable kissing, touching, holding hands, that sort of thing.  A person’s body language can say so much.” 

Quinn swallowed hard.  “Uh, huh.” 

Chewing on her bottom lip, her gaze implored him.  “I’d hate for you to touch me during dinner tonight and then have my family sense my awkwardness.  They’d know right away that something wasn’t right.”  

He hadn’t thought about that.  She was pretty smart.  “You’re right.  That wouldn’t be good.” 

“So, what do you think?” she asked, moistening her lips.  “Do you want to give it a try?”

“Sure.”  The word had escaped before he had a chance to stop it.  Of course, he wanted to kiss her.  He wasn’t a fool.  But rather than move around the bar, he stayed where he was, watching her as she squared her shoulders and sat up straight, her eyes growing huge with anticipation.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you want me to come over there?”

“No!” he said, clearing his throat.  “No, I’m coming.”  He was behaving like a nervous teenager, and he had no idea why.  It was just a kiss.  Something he’d done hundreds of times, maybe thousands. 

Rounding the corner of the breakfast bar, he came to stand in front of her.  Leaning forward he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her gently . . . slowly . . . thoughtfully.  Her lips were silky smooth, and he felt the flutter of her thick lashes against his cheek.  The faint traces of some exotic perfume clung to her skin and worked its way into his system. 
Jasmine
, he thought, reveling in the scent. 

When he broke away, Bailey’s eyes opened slowly, and she smiled.  A pulse beat at the base of her slender throat.  “That was pretty good.  Do you think we should try it again?”

“Most definitely,” he groaned, reclaiming her mouth, and burying his hands in her silky hair.  Raising her arms she rested her hands on his shoulders.  Quinn forced her lips open, and with his thrusting tongue explored the recesses of her mouth, tasting and teasing her. 

Moaning softly, the pressure of her hands grew firmer until she dug her nails into him.  Occasionally her knee brushed his thigh, giving him a jolt, and her small breasts were crushed to his chest.  He wanted to touch them in the worst way, but Quinn didn’t think that’s what she’d meant by “kissing and touching”.  Feeling his jeans tightening in front, he knew he should stop before things got out of control.  His lips left hers to nibble at her earlobe.  “Do you think that was enough,” he whispered, “or should we go for broke?”

With the palms of her hands, Bailey pushed at his chest.  “No,” she gasped, “that was definitely enough for me.”

Quinn gazed into her eyes, then stepping away from her, he dragged his hands through his hair.  The more distance between them the better.  He dropped into the leather recliner and watched as she scrambled off the stool and stepped into her white strappy sandals.

“I should really be going.  I have a million things to do today before my family gets here.  And since I can’t cook, I have to order something for us to eat for dinner.”  Looking flustered, she picked up her handbag, forced a smile and headed toward the door.  “Well, it’s been . . . fun.” 

“Not so fast,” he said.  “I have no idea where you live.”

She spun around to face him fully.  “How silly of me.”  She rattled off her address.  Bailey lived in one of the beachfront houses on the peninsula.  She inched backward toward the door, then suddenly her face lit up.  “I just had an idea.”

Hopefully, it involved more kissing.  And maybe touching this time.

“Stanley’s house is next door to mine, and I have a key.”  Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “It only makes sense that you sleep there tonight . . .”

Quinn raised a hand.  “I don’t think--”

“But you have to.  Mom and Dad will be expecting you to go home after dinner, and--Well, they might get suspicious if you just drive off somewhere.”

“We’ll see.”  Blowing out a long breath, he stood.  “Why don’t you let me take care of dinner tonight,” he offered. 

“I couldn’t ask you to--”

“You didn’t ask.  I offered.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling and twisting her fingers together.  “That would be such a relief.” 

“And, Bailey, if it’s any consolation, I plan to pay back the money, with interest.  Consider it a loan.”

She looked surprised.  “But what about the deal we made?”

“A loan.  I insist.”

“Okay.”

They made a plan for later, and then Bailey took her leave.

After she’d gone, Quinn tried to erase that kiss and the taste of her lips from his mind.  He’d never planned on getting involved with the lady.  It was a business deal, nothing more.  Not that they
were
involved.  Still, that kiss . . .

“What the hell did I get myself into?” he muttered. 

* * * * * * * * * *

Quinn was a lifesaver, Bailey decided.  He’d shown up a few hours ago armed with two bags of groceries and an expensive bottle of wine.  He’d been in her kitchen ever since.  If it weren’t for him, she’d be re-heating the contents of paper cartons right about now.

“Mmmm,” she said, sweeping into the kitchen, recognizing the scent of fresh garlic and dill.  “It smells delicious.” 

“Thanks.”  Quinn glanced over his shoulder as he picked up a wooden spoon.  “I hope everyone enjoys it.”  He was dressed in faded blue jeans again, which seemed to be his trademark.  Stanley would have worn a suit and tie to meet her parents for the first time, but since Quinn wasn’t supposed to make a good impression with her family--other than the meal he was preparing--she decided his attire was perfect. 

“I’m sure they will.  What are we having?” she asked, trying to peek around his massive shoulders as he stirred the contents of a pot.  It had a spicy aroma. 

With his back to her, he said, “Roasted red pepper soup, tossed salad with honey Dijon dressing, poached salmon with dill sauce, twice baked potatoes, and green bean almondine. Oh, and my famous key lime pie for dessert.”

Bailey couldn’t believe it.  “Wow!  Where did you learn to cook like that?” 

He turned away from the stainless steel stove and faced her.  “First from my grandmother, and then my mother.  My parents used to own a little Italian restaurant downtown.”

“Italian?  I thought you were Irish, like me.” 

“Half.  My father’s Irish, and my mother’s Italian.”  He picked up a dishrag, stuck it under the faucet and began wiping off the white tiled counters where he’d been working.  Bailey watched with interest the way his muscular arms and narrow hips swayed with his movements.  “The pie is chilling, the potatoes are in the oven, and the soup’s done.  I just need to toss the salad and cook the fish and beans once everyone arrives.  Give me half an hour’s notice before you plan to eat.”

“Okay.  You’ve been in the kitchen since you got here.  Would you like to take a break?  I could show you around the house.”

“Sure, in a minute.”  Reaching across the counter Quinn grabbed a Far Niente Chardonnay from the wine chiller.  “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion.”  With a corkscrew he began working at the cork and pulled it free with a pop.  “Would you like some?”

“No way,” she said, shaking her head back and forth.  She needed to be alert when her parents arrived.  Besides, she’d had more than her limit last night.

Bailey watched Quinn pour a small amount of the golden liquid into a glass.  He swirled, sniffed and tasted it.  Seeing his lips on the edge of the glass, a shiver spread through her, her mind burning with the memory of his drugging kiss.

“Cold?” he asked, running his eyes down the length of her.  She suddenly felt naked and had an urge to put on a snow suit, or something equally protective against his penetrating eyes. 

“No, I’m fine.  Ready?”  Without waiting for his answer, she spun away from him.

* * * * * * * * * *

In the living room the first thing that caught Quinn’s eye was the expansive wall of windows.  Working his way past the white baby grand piano, he stood in front of the glass and stared out at the lake.  “Nice view.”  

“Thanks,” Bailey said.  “I love watching the sun set from this room.”

Quinn turned back around, taking in everything.  White leather sofa, white chairs, white walls.  Even the silk floral arrangements were white.  Everything except for the oriental carpet covering the hardwood floor and a few stained glass pieces scattered about the room.  “I take it you like white?”

She looked around the room as if she were seeing it for the first time and frowned.  “Do you think it’s too pristine?”

“Maybe a little.  It’s pretty, but it looks . . . untouchable.”  The room reminded him of something he’d seen in a magazine.  And people didn’t really live in those rooms, did they? 

He especially liked the cathedral ceiling, the floor-to-ceiling fireplace, and the way the balcony to the upstairs faced the living room. 

“There’re three bedrooms upstairs,” she said, following his gaze.  “Plenty of room for my family to stay.”

Quinn nodded.  “This is nice,” he said, fingering a stained glass lamp with two dragonflies woven into the pattern.

Bailey’s face lit up.  “Do you really like it?”

“Absolutely,” he said, examining the fine detail again.

“You can have it.”  Quinn eyed her suspiciously, but before he could question her motive she said, “I can make another one.”

“You made this?”  Quinn looked around the room, scoping out the other colorful items he’d seen.

“Yes.  I made all the stained glass pieces in this room.”

Nodding, he said, “I’m impressed.”

“Would you like to see my studio?”  When Quinn said yes, she wove her way back through the kitchen and out the service door to the garage. 

On one side of the two-car, air-conditioned garage was Bailey’s Porsche, but the far side was clearly her domain.  Looking up, he realized he’d never seen a garage with a skylight before.  There were several long tables loaded with glass in every color of the rainbow.  Lining the “studio” walls were numerous finished pieces decorating the shelves along the back.  Lamps, clocks, candy dishes, vases, and dozens of sun catchers in assorted shapes and designs.  She had enough inventory to open her own shop.

“Have you ever thought about selling some of this stuff?”

She beamed.  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.  Yesterday I asked Gwen to find me a storefront.”

Quinn nodded.  “That sounds like a plan.”  Staring at her, he found himself wondering what she was all about.  A talented woman who was afraid of disappointing her mother.  And she’d wasted all that time on the three men who had dumped her.  Unless there was a side to her he hadn’t seen, those guys had to be nuts.

“Well, let’s finish the tour,” Bailey suggested, heading for the kitchen door and interrupting his thoughts. 

Quinn followed her into the house and down a hallway, watching her backside with interest.  He liked the way the cinnamon colored sheath she wore hugged her shapely hips.  Stopping in front of a doorway, she said, “This is my bedroom, but there’s not much to see.”  She turned around as if to leave.

“Let me be the judge of that,” he said quickly, easing past her and into the room.  The first thing he noticed was the scent of Bailey’s jasmine perfume permeating the air.There was an antique sleigh bed covered with a down comforter.  White, of course.  The bed looked soft and inviting.  A white, long-haired cat, lying in the center of the bed, must have thought so too.  It raised its head and glared at him as if he had no business being in the room. 

“That’s Jade,” Bailey said to Quinn.  “Say hello, Jade.”  The cat promptly turned its head away.  “She’s shy until she gets to know you.”

Quinn suddenly had a vision of Bailey lying naked on top of the covers.  He tried to erase the picture from his mind, telling himself he’d probably
never
see her naked.  In fact, after tonight he’d probably never see her again.  Period.  Naked, or otherwise.  “Are you bored yet?” Bailey asked. 

Quinn turned to face her.  “No, not
at all.”

Her hand went to her hair and pushed it behind her ear.  “There isn’t much more to see, unless you get excited about laundry rooms.”

I’d like to see you.  Naked.
  He moved close enough to smell her perfume.

Her eyes widened.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I thought maybe we might pick up where we left off this morning.  For your parents’ sake.”  He gave her a devilish wink and ran a finger down her bare arm, smiling when she shivered.  “We could use the practice, don’t you think?”

Bailey’s eyes burned with wide-eyed innocence as she focused on his face.  She swallowed nervously and said, “Maybe you’re right.  One more kiss might help ease the tension.”

It was all he needed to hear.  Pulling her roughly to him, Quinn swooped down on her mouth and forced her lips open with his thrusting tongue.  The sweet taste of her made the blood pound in his brain.  Refusing to stop at one kiss, he let his mouth linger, tracing the soft fullness of her lips with his tongue before devouring her mouth again.