Seduced By The Single Dad

He said, “First, I want to see you.”

A soft gasp. “Okay.”

“All of you.”

“Okay.”

He took her big pink shirt by the hem. “Raise your arms.”

She obeyed without hesitation. He lifted the shirt up over her head, past the pink-painted tips of her fingers and tossed it away. Her hair settled, so shiny and thick, spilling past her shoulders, down her back, over her breasts. She let her arms fall back to her sides and gazed up at him expectantly.

Impossible. Chloe Winchester, naked to the waist, standing right in front of him.

He cupped one fine, full breast in his hand and flicked the pretty nipple. His breath clogged in his throat, and the ache in his groin intensified. “You’re so damn beautiful, Chloe.”

“I...” She didn’t seem to know what to say next. Which was fine. He was getting one night with her. And it wasn’t going to be about what either of them might have to say.

He leaned close again, because he couldn’t stop himself. He stuck out his tongue and licked her temple. She moaned. He blew on the place he’d just moistened, guiding her hair out of the way and whispering into the perfect pink shell of her ear “Take off those little shorts.”

She whipped them down and off in an instant, so fast that he couldn’t help smiling. And then she stood tall again, completely naked in front of him, an answering smile trembling its way across her mouth. “Quinn?”

“Shh. Let me look.”

She widened her eyes—and then she shut them. And then she just stood there, eyes closed tight, and let him gaze his fill.

Touching followed. How could he help reaching for her? She was smooth and round and firm and soft. And she was standing right in front of him, Chloe Winchester, who had starred in more than one of his wild and impossible sexual fantasies when he was growing up.

He pulled her close again, wrapped his arms around the slim, yet curvy shape of her and pressed his lips into her hair. “Beautiful.”

She lifted her face and gazed up at him. “You, too, please.” He must have looked confused, because she added, “I want to see you, too.”

He chuckled and stepped back. “Yes, ma’am.” It took about ten seconds. He kicked off the mocs, reached back over his shoulders and pulled his shirt up and off. He eased the sweats over his erection and pushed them down, dropping them to the floor and stepping free of them.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, Quinn...” She reached out and ran her palm over his belly and then over the series of tats that covered his left arm. And then she touched the one for Annabelle, the angel’s wings and the green vines, the trumpet flowers and his little girl’s name, written right where it should be written, over his heart. “I never thought...you and me. Like this...?”

“Hey. Me, neither.”

“Life can be so awful.”

“Yeah.”

“But then there are surprising, magical moments—like this one, huh?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He turned and shoved the tangled sheets and blankets out of the way. And then he took her by the waist, lifted her and set her on the bed. “Lie down.”

She obeyed, stretching out on her side with a sigh. He went down to the mattress with her. He kissed her, tasting her mouth for the first time, finding it as sweet as the rest of her. Her tongue came out to play and for a while, they just lay there, on their sides, kissing and kissing, as if nothing else mattered in the whole damn world, nothing but his mouth and her mouth, the scrape of white teeth, the tangle of tongues.

One night they had together. He wanted to stretch every second just short of the breaking point, enjoy every touch, every sigh, every soft, tempting curve. He wanted to share her breath and the tender, urgent beat of her heart.

After he kissed her mouth, he kissed her everywhere else, too, taking forever about it, getting carried away, using his teeth as well as his tongue. He knew he left marks, marks he soothed with softer, gentler kisses. She never once objected when he used his teeth.

Far from it. She gasped and cried out her pleasure, clutching him close, telling him “Yes” and “More” and “Again, Quinn. Oh, again...”

He gave her more. More strokes, more kisses, trailing his mouth down the center of her, biting a little, trying not to be too rough, opening her, dipping his tongue in. He pushed her legs wide and settled between them for a long time.

She came twice then, as he played her with his mouth and his hands. She had his name on her lips, over and over. He loved that most of all: Chloe Winchester, calling his name as she came.

After that second time, when she was boneless and open for him, he rose to his knees between her spread thighs. Ripping the first condom off the strip, he took off the wrapper and rolled it down over his length, easing it into place nice and tight. She stared up at him, dazed and flushed and softly smiling.

“Quinn.” She reached for him. “Please...”

And he went down to her, taking most of his weight on his arms. She slipped her hand between them, closing those slim fingers around him. He was the one groaning then, the one calling her name.

She guided him in. He sank into her slowly, carefully, little by little, stretching her and the moment, making it last. She felt so good—better than anything he’d ever known, soft and welcoming, and a little bit tight.

He varied the rhythm, watching her face, matching his strokes to her pleasured moans, her hungry cries. Somehow he stayed with her, until she went over for the third time. After that, there was no holding back. He was rough and fast, and she clung to him, nice and tight, all the way to the peak and over the edge.

She cradled him close then, stroking his shoulders and his arms, whispering “So good. Just right,” laughing a little. “Who knew, really? Whoever would have thought...?”

“Beautiful,” he said. “Never would have guessed.”

They must have dozed for a while.

He woke to find her sleeping peacefully, one arm across his chest. He’d been hoping that maybe they would have time to play some more.

But it was later than he’d thought. The clock by the bed said 5:05 in the morning. The first glow of daylight would be bleeding the night from the sky all too soon. The houses in their neighborhood were spaced far apart, built to conform to the shape of the land, with plenty of big trees between them. He might make it down the hill in broad daylight with no one the wiser.

But why take that chance? It was nobody’s business, this one unforgettable night they’d shared.

With care, he eased out from under her arm. She sighed and rolled to her back, but didn’t wake. He slid from the bed. Before settling the covers over her, he stole another long glance at her and got struck by a last hot bolt of pure lust at the sight of the faint marks he’d left on her perfect breasts, her pretty belly.

They would fade soon, those marks. He tried not to wish...

Uh-uh. Never mind. One night. That was the deal.

He pulled on his clothes and went out the way he’d come in, noting that she hadn’t rearmed the alarm on the wall by the slider when she led him inside.

Good. That meant he didn’t have to wake her to go. He locked the slider and then went out through the front door, which he could also lock behind him, thus securing her inside.

He ran around the side of the house and then on down the hill.

At home, he got the spare key from its hiding place under the stairs and let himself in. The house was just as he’d left it. Silent and dark.

He stepped inside and shut the doors with barely a sound—and found Manny, his former trainer and longtime business partner, sitting in one of the big chairs by the moss rock fireplace. The old fighter switched on the lamp beside him. He wore a knowing grin on that roadmap of a face. “Hey, Crush. Where you been?”

Quinn locked the doors. “Since when are you my mother?”

Manny rumbled out a low laugh. “You and that gorgeous uptown blonde up the hill? I never had a clue.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Quinn headed for the stairs.

Manny watched him go. “She’s a fine one. I find I am lookin’ at you with new respect.”

“Night, Manny.”

“Got news for you, Crush. It’s tomorrow already.”

Quinn just kept walking. Manny’s knowing cackle followed him up the stairs.

* * *

Chloe was sound asleep when her alarm went off at seven.

She woke with a smile, feeling thoroughly rested and a little bit sore. If it weren’t for that soreness and the small, already-fading red marks and bruises on her breasts and stomach, she almost might have been able to tell herself that the night before was all a dream.

Not that she wanted to deny what had happened. It had been glorious. She’d loved every minute of it.

As she sat up and stretched, yawning with gusto, she couldn’t help wishing she hadn’t told Quinn that she only wanted one night. Because he was remarkable. He’d given her hope that love and passion and tenderness weren’t all just some fantasy, some bright, naive dream that could never come true.

She would love to spend more time with him.

But she let her arms drop and her shoulders droop with a sigh.

No. They had a deal and she would stick by it. He’d been great and the sex had been mind-blowing. Now she knew for certain that there were better lovers out there than Ted. She would be grateful for that and eventually, maybe, she’d find someone who made her want to take another chance on forever.

She got ready for work and then had breakfast. The house phone rang just as she was heading out the door. Probably her mother. She’d check her messages later and call her back then.

As she was pulling out of the driveway, her cell rang. She slipped the SUV into Park and checked the display. With a sigh, she gave in and answered. “Hi, Mom. Just on my way over to the showroom.”

“But it’s not even nine yet,” Linda Winchester complained. “You have time to stop by the house. Let me fix you some breakfast.”

“I’ve already eaten. And I have to get the shop opened.”

“Sweetheart, it’s your shop. You’re the boss. No need to rush over there at the crack of dawn.”

“Come on, Mom. A successful business doesn’t run itself.” Not that Your Way Interior Design was all that successful. Yet.

“I hardly see you lately. We need to chat.”

Chatting with her mother was the last thing she needed. They hadn’t been getting along all that well since Chloe’s divorce. And it had only gotten worse after she returned to Justice Creek. Linda knew what was right for her only child and she never missed an opportunity to lecture Chloe on all she’d done wrong. And somehow, whenever they “chatted,” her mother always managed to bring up Ted and the perfect life Chloe had thrown away. “Mom, I’ll have to call you later. I need to get to work.”

“But, sweetheart, I want to—”

“Call you tonight, Mom.”

Her mother was still protesting as Chloe disconnected the call.

She drove to her showroom and unlocked the doors at nine, an hour before most of the businesses on Central Street opened. She had a good location and an attractive shop, with neutral walls and sleek, modern cabinetry and red and yellow accents to give it energy and interest. Her motto was Your Space, Your Way. She had attractive displays, and plenty of them, lots of table space for spreading out samples. And she was trained in every aspect of home design, from blueprints up.

Her website looked great and she stayed active on Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter and Tumblr. She kept a blog where she gave free tips on great ways to spiff up your living space. During the school year, she ran a workshop right there in her showroom for high school students interested in interior design. She contributed her expertise to local churches, helping them spruce up their Sunday school rooms and social halls. And she worked right along with the other shop owners in Justice Creek on various chamber of commerce projects.

Still, it took time to build a business. Chloe had found a real shark of a divorce lawyer who’d put the screws to Ted and got her a nice lump settlement, which Chloe had asked for. The onetime payout was less than monthly alimony would have been in total, but the last thing she wanted was to be getting regular checks from Ted. With the settlement, she’d been able to cut ties with him completely.

She’d tried to spend her money wisely. She loved her house, which she’d redone herself, and she was proud of her business. But the past couple of months, she had more to worry about than putting Ted behind her and whether or not there might someday be love in her future.

Chloe’s nest egg was shrinking. Your Way needed to start paying its way.

That day, as it turned out, was better than most. She had steady walk-in traffic. A new couple in town came in and hired her to do all the window treatments in the house they’d just bought. She scheduled three appointments to give estimates: two living room redesigns and a kitchen upgrade. When her assistant, Tai Stockard, a design student home from CU for the summer, came in at one, Chloe sent her to the Library Café for takeout paninis. It was turning into a profitable day and they might as well enjoy a nice lunch.

Chloe went home smiling—until she remembered she owed her mother a call.

“Come on over for dinner,” her mother coaxed. “I’ve got lamb chops and twice-baked potatoes just the way you love them. We’re leaving for Maui tomorrow.” Chloe’s mom and dad would be gone for two weeks, staying at a luxury resort where her mother could enjoy the spa and the lavish meals and her father could play golf. “I want to see you before we go.”

Chloe went to dinner at the house where she’d grown up. It wasn’t that bad. Linda managed not to say a single word about Ted. And it was good to see her dad. An orthodontist with a successful practice, Doug Winchester had a dry sense of humor and never tried to tell his only daughter how to live her life.

By nine, Chloe was back at home. She got ready for bed, settled under the covers with the latest bestseller and tried not to let her mind wander to the question of what Quinn Bravo might be doing that night.

* * *

Quinn heard the soft whisper of small feet across the tiled floor as he stared out the window at the single light shining from inside Chloe’s house. “Go back to bed, Annabanana,” he said softly without turning.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“The monsters are very noisy. And I’m not a banana. You know that, Daddy.”

“Yes, you are.” He turned and dropped to a crouch. “You’re my favorite banana.”

Dragging her ancient pink blanket and her one-eyed teddy bear, Annabelle marched right up to him and put one of her little hands on his shoulder. “No, I’m not. I’m a girl.”

He leaned closer and whispered, “Ah. Gotta remember that.”

“Pick me up, Daddy,” she instructed. “Get the flashlight.”

He wrapped his arms around her and stood. She giggled and hugged his neck, shoving her musty old teddy bear into the side of his face. He detoured to the kitchen, where he got the flashlight from a drawer. Then he returned to the living room and mounted the stairs.

She didn’t object as he carried her up to her room, set her down on the bed, flicked on the lamp and then pulled the covers up over her and the stuffed bear, smoothing the ancient blanket atop her butterfly-printed bedspread.

“Closet,” she said, when he bent to kiss her plump cheek.

He went to the closet, pushed the door open and shone the light around inside. “Nothing in here.”

“You have to tell them,” she said patiently. “You know that.”

He ran the light over her neatly hung-up dresses and the row of little shoes and said in his deepest, gruffest voice, “Monsters, get lost.” He rolled the door shut. “That should do it.”

But Annabelle didn’t agree. “Now under the bed.”

So he knelt by the bed and lifted up the frilly bed skirt and shone the light around underneath. “Holiday Barbie’s down here. With her dress over her head.”

The bed skirt on the other side rustled as small hands lifted it and Annabelle appeared, upside down. “Oops.” She snatched up the doll and let the bed skirt drop. “Okay, tell them.”

“Monsters, get lost.” He gave a long, threatening growl for good measure. On the bed, his daughter laughed, a delighted peal of sound that had him smiling to himself. “So, all right,” he said. “They’re gone.” And then he got up and sat on the bed and tucked her in again, bending close to press a kiss on her cheek and breathe in the little-girl smell of her. Toothpaste and baby shampoo, so familiar. So sweet. “Anything else?” he asked, suddenly worried about how she might answer, recalling Chloe’s wise advice of the night before. She wants to know it’s not her fault, whatever happened that you and her mother aren’t together and her mother isn’t in her life...

Annabelle shook her head. “That’s all.”

He felt equal parts guilt and relief. Guilt that he wasn’t as good a father as Annabelle deserved. Relief that he wouldn’t have to tackle the tough questions tonight, after all. “You know there are really no monsters in your room, right?”

She nodded slowly. “But I like it when you scare them away.”

He got up. “Sleep now, princess.”

She beamed at him. “Princess is good. Not banana.”

“Close your eyes...”

“I want a princess room. All the princesses. Snow White and Cinderella and Mulan and Elsa and Belle and Merida and—”

“Time for sleep. Close your eyes...” He heard Chloe’s rich alto again, as though she whispered in his ear. She wants to know that you love her. “I love you, princess.”

“Love you, Daddy.” With a little sigh, Annabelle closed her eyes. He turned off the light and shut the door silently behind him on the way out.

Back downstairs, all was quiet. Manny had gone to Boulder for the night to visit his current lady friend. Quinn took up his vigil at the wall of windows in the living room. Up at Chloe’s the light remained on. He could see it glowing through the pale curtains that covered the slider in her bedroom. He pictured her, wearing that big pink shirt, propped up against the pillows in her bed, with her laptop or maybe a good book, which she would read effortlessly, turning the pages fast to find out what would happen next.

And then, well, after last night, he couldn’t help picturing her other ways—like, say, naked beneath him, moaning his name in that low, sexy voice that drove him crazy. He told himself it was a good thing that Manny wasn’t there to watch over Annabelle if he stepped out.

Because climbing that hill again?

Way too much on his mind.

* * *

“Crush, I gotta say it,” Manny grumbled. “I’m disappointed in you.”

It was Friday night, five nights since the one Quinn had spent with Chloe. Annabelle had been tucked safely in bed, the monsters chased away. Quinn and Manny sat out on the deck having a beer under the clear, starry sky. Quinn took a long, cool swallow and said nothing.

Manny wiggled his white eyebrows. They grew every which way and he never bothered to trim them. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why?”

Quinn gave a low chuckle. “We both know you’ll tell me anyway.”

Manny snorted. “Yes, I will. I’ve spent over a decade makin’ sure you learn what you need to know. No reason to change now.”

Quinn only looked at him, waiting.

Manny announced, “Romance is like everything else worth doin’ in life. You gotta follow up, put some energy into it, or it goes nowhere.”

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

“I’ll give you a hint. Chloe Winchester. Only a fool would pass up his chance with a woman like that.”

“That’s given that he had a chance in the first place.”

“See there? That’s defeat talkin’. Quinn the Crusher, he spits in the face of defeat.”

“Quinn the Crusher retired, remember?”

“From the Octagon, sure. But not from life. Last time I checked, you still got a pulse.”

“Leave it alone, Manny.”

Manny did no such thing. “A woman like that, she lets you in her house in the middle of the night, you got a chance. You got more than a chance.”

“You need to stop sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Somebody’s likely to break it.”

“Won’t be the first time.” A raspy cackle. “Or the second or the third.” Manny swiped a gnarled, big-knuckled hand back over his buzz cut and then took a pull off the longneck in his other fist. “I will repeat. Momentum is everything.”

Quinn got up from his deck chair and headed for the French doors. “Night, Manny.”

“Where you going?”

“I’m halfway through A Tale of Two Cities.” He had it in audio book, and tried to get in a few chapters a night. Little by little, he was working his way through the great books of Western literature.

Manny wasn’t impressed with Quinn’s highbrow reading. “It’s just dandy, you improving your mind and all, but a man needs more than a book to keep him warm at night.”

There was no winning an argument with Manny. Quinn knew that from years of experience. “Lock up when you come in.” He stepped inside and shut the doors before the old fighter could get going again.

* * *

The following Monday, Chloe was selling new carpet to Agnes Oldfield, a pillar of the Justice Creek community and a longtime friend of her mother’s, when who should walk in the door but Manny Aldovino? Quinn’s little girl was with him, looking like a pint-size princess in an ankle-length dress with a hot pink top, a wide white sash at the waist and a gathered cotton skirt decorated with rickrack in a rainbow of bright colors.

Chloe ignored the fluttering sensation beneath her breastbone that came with being reminded of Quinn, and greeted the newcomers with a cheery “Hi, Manny. Annabelle. Have a look around. I’ll be right with you. Crayons and paper in the hutch by the window treatment display, in case Annabelle would like to color. And there’s coffee, too.” She gestured at the table not far from the door.

“Sounds good,” said Manny. He winked at Agnes. “How you doin’ there, Agnes?”

“Mr. Aldovino.” Agnes gave Manny an icy, dismissive nod. She’d always been a terrible snob and she looked down on anyone she didn’t consider of her social standing. Also, Quinn’s father’s first wife, Sondra, had been Agnes’s beloved niece. Agnes thoroughly disapproved of Quinn’s mother, Willow, and of all of Willow’s children. Now Agnes pointedly turned her back on Manny and said to Chloe, “Please continue, dear.”

Agnes’s attitude could use adjusting. But Chloe reminded herself that she needed the business and she couldn’t afford to offend a customer. She sent Manny an apologetic smile and waited on the old woman, who wanted new carpet for three rooms. She’d already settled on a quality plush in a pretty dove gray. Chloe accepted her deposit and gave her the number to call to arrange a time to have the spaces measured.

In her eighties, Agnes always dressed as though she’d been invited to tea with the Queen of England. She adjusted the giant, jeweled lizard brooch on her pink silk Chanel suit and said, “Thank you, my dear.”

“Have a great day, Agnes.”

The old lady sailed out the door.

“Wound a little tight, that one,” Manny remarked drily once Agnes was gone.

With a sigh and a shrug, Chloe joined the old man and the little girl at one of the worktables. “Now. What can I do for you?”

Annabelle glanced up from coloring an enormous, smiling yellow sun. Chloe saw Quinn in the shape of his daughter’s eyes and the directness of her gaze. Really, the little girl was downright enchanting, with that heart-shaped face and those chipmunk cheeks. Chloe felt a bittersweet tug at her heartstrings. Annabelle reminded her of the children she should have had.

But after that first time Ted punched her, having kids had never felt right. And Ted hadn’t really cared about children anyway. He wanted his wife focused on him.