Knock Me Off My Feet (26 page)
"I'll change over with Tinley at the TV studio and we'll get some dinner."
She grinned at him. "Sounds good, Quinn."
"At my house."
"Sounds real good."
He leaned closer to her, and she had to close her eyes because he had so much power over her. He whispered roughly in her ear, "Do you think you'll have time in your schedule to be thoroughly ravaged this evening?"
She produced a tiny squeaking sound and turned her face away.
"I'll take that as a yes."
With Audie safely on her way, Quinn returned to the squad room, where Stanny-O sat, waiting.
"'Lassie'?"
he inquired, slowly stroking his goatee and grinning.
"'Sweet Audie
'
?"
Stanny-O strolled over to the edge of his partner's desk and held up Audie's untouched coffee cup. "You know, she really should have had some of this, Stacey. The woman looked exhausted."
* * *
He stood in the shadows of the WBBS studio and watched her. Her head was tilted demurely and she glowed in the perfect pink jacket, discussing the secret to keeping a kitchen garbage disposal smelling clean and fresh.
It was something Quinn knew she didn't give a rat's ass about and never would, and it cracked him up.
He chuckled quietly, shoved his hands in his pants pockets, and wondered if he was already totally, irrevocably, in love with Autumn Adams.
There she was under the studio lights—everything he needed and nothing he'd ever imagined, all rolled up into one gorgeous package.
He could see the peek of her sweat socks and running shoes behind the long anchor desk and watched as she nervously tapped one foot against the floor. Quinn's gut twisted. She was his. This disorganized, accident-prone lapsed Presbyterian was all his, and he could hardly believe his good fortune.
"And as always, thank you, viewers, for another wonderful week of handy comments and suggestions," she said.
Kyle Singer shot a dazzling smile into the camera. "And thank you, Homey Helen—we'll see you again next Monday. In the meantime, don't go away,
Chicago
—we'll be back with more news right after these messages."
Quinn watched onetime suspect Kyle Singer kiss Audie on the cheek as she unclipped her microphone. An hour with Kyle was all it had taken to convince Quinn and Stanny-O that he was harmless—and as gay as you could get. He had no interest in Audie beyond friendship.
Quinn watched her carefully step off the platform and chat with a producer, all Homey Helen from the waist up and all Autumn Adams from the waist down. Her legs looked long and strong and she stood casually with one hand on her hip—like a jock, Quinn thought.
In his reverie, he was nearly lulled into thinking Audie would make it across the studio without tripping. Then she turned abruptly, smashed into a production assistant, and grunted in surprise as they both went sprawling.
Quinn helped the women to their feet and walked Audie out through the lobby.
"If you keep this up, you're going to end up in a body cast."
"That ought to make things challenging for you."
"That's one challenge I don't think I want," he said.
"I warned you I was a spaz." She turned toward him as
he
opened the front door and smiled down at her. He was one fine-looking man, this Stacey Quinn, all neatly pressed and self-assured and grinning—and he was
her
man. He'd said so.
She'd felt it.
"Whaddya say we go home and freshen up my garbage disposal, sweet thing?"
Audie laughed hard and swung her arm lazily around his waist, feeling her stride match his down the sidewalk. He squeezed her shoulders.
"Wanna drive my Porsche?" She tossed him the keys and sidled over to the passenger door.
"You planning on taking your clothes off in the car again?"
"Nope. I can wait until we get to your place."
When they got to his place, Quinn handed her a cold beer and told her to relax out on the deck while he cooked. She did as she was told, realizing with a sigh that she could get used to this. She took down her hair, removed her jacket, kicked off her shoes and socks, and let her head sink back against the chair cushion.
The next thing she knew, Quinn was crouched in front of her, patting her knee.
"What?" She bolted to attention.
"Dinner's ready. You fell asleep. I think maybe I wore you outlast night."
"Oh." She blinked, trying to focus on Quinn, her eyes opening wide at the sight of the table. "What's this?"
"Dinner." When Quinn stood up, she saw he'd donned a bright green barbecue apron that read: "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, You Know Something's Cookin'
."
"Nice apron."
"Thanks."
He went around to the back of her chair and pushed her closer to the table, then pointed to the serving dishes.
"Grilled salmon with a warm dill sauce. Saffron basmati rice. Mixed green salad with blue cheese, pears, and caramelized almond vinaigrette. I hope you like it."
Audie was quiet for a long moment, trying to keep her mouth from hanging open. Then she looked at him casually spread out in his chair right next to her, in his apron, a satisfied grin on his face.
"You're incredible, Quinn. Thank you for this. You're the only man who's ever cooked for me."
He chuckled and began to help himself to large amounts of food. "I seem to be a lot of firsts for you, Audie." He didn't look at her. "I hope you're OK with that."
She just stared at him, still trying to wake up, still trying to put all this in perspective. He had no idea how true that statement was.
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Stacey."
One corner of his mouth curled up in delight. "It's my pleasure."
Audie served herself some of everything and thought about that statement. "It really is, isn't it? You get pleasure out of cooking and doing things around the house, don't you?"
"Yes." Quinn was chewing and obviously enjoying the fruits of his labors. "My mother taught me to cook. She taught me to take pride in making things organized and clean so that people could be at ease and happy in our home—you know, hospitality. I think that's why I need to have things in order before I feel
free
to enjoy myself."
Audie closed her eyes in pure bliss. "My God, Quinn. This is delicious."
"Thank you."
"So." She took a sip of white wine. "Hypothetical situation here. Let's say we're done having this delicious meal and we go into your messy kitchen, but I start taking off my clothes right in front of the dishwasher."
Quinn raised his eyebrows. "This is purely hypothetical, of course."
"Of course. So, would you just walk around me to load the dirty dishes or could you let everything sit while you make wild passionate love to me?"
Quinn chewed and narrowed his eyes at her. "How much time would that take, exactly?"
"So it would bug you."
"Yes, it would bug me." He took another mouthful. "I take it that kind of thing wouldn't bother you much."
Audie giggled. "Well, first off, I don't cook. You realize I don't cook, don't you?"
Quinn raised one eyebrow. "I saw the penicillin ranch in your refrigerator, woman."
She snickered. "Oh, yeah, there's that. But even if I did cook, I could easily leave the kitchen till the morning if
you
were
standing naked in front of
my
dishwasher."
"This is good to know," he said, taking another bite of salad. "It may ease your mind to know we'll never face that dilemma, because I always clean as I cook."
Audie's head popped up. "Huh?"
"Clean as I go along. I wash what I can while the food cooks and soak the rest after I serve. I put the utensils and measuring cups in the dishwasher. I clean off the counter. That way, when the meal's over, it only takes a few minutes and I can go enjoy myself with a clear conscience."
Audie stared at him. "Wow—I think I read about that in a Homey Helen column once."
Quinn laughed and enjoyed watching her eat for a moment. "I'm just curious, Audie, and I don't want to piss you off, but didn't any of this stuff ever rub off on you? I
mean,
didn't you ever see your mother do any of this around the house?"
Audie went very still, and Quinn wanted to kick himself for asking that. He didn't want her to be sad tonight. He wanted her to relax and have a good time.
She put her fork down and turned to him. "The truth is Helen didn't have much
time
for me, even before she and Marjorie started the column. Everything had to be just so—the meals, decorating, cleaning, entertaining my dad's business partners—I always felt like I was in the way.
"Then when she started the column, she hired Mrs. Splawiniski to cook and a whole parade of cleaning ladies to do everything else, and I don't think my mother ever set foot in our kitchen again unless it was to oversee the latest remodeling project or give instructions to the caterers."
Quinn stopped chewing and stared at her.
"So the answer is no. My mother never taught me to cook and never showed me how to make people feel welcome because she didn't have the time—she was too busy telling the rest of the world how it was supposed to be done."
She picked up her fork again and took another bite of fish. "This has got to be the most delicious thing I've ever tasted in my life."
"Was there anything at all you liked about your mother?"
Audie stilled again, then shrugged. "I admired her for being a successful businesswoman. I admired her going for what she wanted in life."
Quinn leaned back in his chair and studied her. Though he thought he knew her fairly well by now, the initial question he had about Autumn Adams was still the one he couldn't answer—why didn't she just bag the Homey Helen routine and do what made her happy? Why didn't
she
go for what she wanted in
her
life?
"I've decided I'm not going to sign the syndication renewal, Quinn." She looked up at him, her toffee-brown eyes wide and hopeful. "I've decided to quit the column and try to go back to the
Quinn reached over for her hands and held them between his. "I think that's great."
"Really?"
"Really. I've been sitting here trying to figure out why the hell you haven't done it sooner."
Audie laughed softly. "Because I've been a wimp and a fool, Stacey."
"That's not—"
"It's true. I think I've been spending the last year trying to earn the love of a dead woman. Pretty pathetic, huh?"
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, it is pretty sorry."
"I meant I'm sorry you had to go through that." Quinn stroked her hands gently. "So why now? Is it the letters that made you finally decide?"
"No." She looked right at him. "It was you."
Quinn blinked his eyes as if he'd heard wrong, and his hands quieted. "Me? How do you figure?"
She wasn't sure if this was the time to say this. She wasn't sure if there would ever be a right time, because this was going to be another one of those firsts Quinn had mentioned.
"Because being with you these last few weeks has reminded me what it feels like to be happy. Now I want more, and I can tell you that being Homey Helen isn't the way to get it."
Quinn was watching her carefully, his eyes focused on her face, and Audie knew he was waiting for her to continue.
"And I realize that nothing I do is ever going to make her love me, because she's gone. If I want to be loved, I think I should stick with living people. The odds are better."
He pulled on her wrists. "Come here to me."
"The kitchen's not clean."
She landed with a thud against his chest, and his deep laughter rumbled through her. He leaned her back into the crook of his arm and kissed her, pressed her close, and he tasted like caramelized vinaigrette and sweet lust, and Audie was powerless against the slam of desire she felt for him.
"How much happiness and love do you think you can stand, woman?" His lips were on her throat and his hands were pulling her silk shell from the waistband of her running shorts.
"I couldn't begin to tell you, Quinn," she said through the giggles. "We'll just have to experiment." She began unbuttoning his shirt.
"I thought you said I was the most aggravating man you ever met in your life. So how can I make you happy?" His hands were sliding up and down the front of her blouse, and her nipples stiffened with each pass of his palms. He leaned forward and began to nibble at her through the slippery fabric, his mouth leaving little wet marks all over the front of her.
"Oh, God, that was weeks ago—now you just make me completely insane." She gasped. "Especially when you do that."
