Читать книгу The Mighty Quinns: Tristan - Kate Hoffmann, Kate Hoffmann - Страница 11
ОглавлениеLILY SAT ON the front steps of her cottage, her arms wrapped around her knees and her gaze fixed on the drive leading out to the main road. It was 3 p.m. and she had been waiting for Quinn’s arrival since nine that morning.
“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself. Why not just go about her business as if this were just any other day? Today, she’d already walked down to the bathhouse and taken a shower. Then she’d sat on the end of the dock and combed through her hair before heading to the dining hall for breakfast. Lunch was followed by a short trip to her studio before she decided to give up entirely and focus her attention on the road.
What if he decided not to return? If her suspicions were correct and he was a lawyer pretending to be a writer, then he’d have every reason not to come back. His lies could easily be exposed, especially if he couldn’t produce a manuscript.
“Hey, Lily. That’s a pretty dress. Are you going into town?”
She forced a smile as Bernie Wilson shuffled up. Bernie was the only working author that lived at the colony, and at forty-five, he was also the only man even remotely close to her own age. He’d somehow taken this simple fact and twisted it into a belief that they were destined to be together.
Bernie wrote science fiction and made a decent living with his craft. He certainly didn’t need to live at the colony, but he’d been spending his summers on Fence Lake for the past eight years and in that time, had become their most successful resident.
“I heard someone new is moving in,” he mumbled, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
Lily nodded. “Yes. He’ll be arriving later today, I think.”
“Where’s he going to stay?”
“There’s an extra bedroom in Finch’s cabin. He’ll stay there until we can get one of the cabins on the peninsula cleaned up for him.”
“I spotted a yellow-bellied sapsucker today,” Bernie said. “Right over there, on the point.”
“Yeah, they’ve been around,” Lily said. She stood up and brushed the dust from the front of her dress. “I’ll see you later, Bernie.”
“Are you coming to critique group tonight?”
“No, I don’t have anything to read. And Violet is doing some scenes from Othello with Billy tonight. She’s probably going to want my help setting up the stage.”
“Sure. No problem. Maybe next week.” He turned to walk away, then stopped. “You write really nice poetry,” Bernie said.
Lily smiled. “Thanks, Bernie. I should probably get to work on my painting. Bye.”
She hurried off in the direction of the tree house studios, the sound of harp music drifting on the humid morning air. Evaleen Deschanter, a folksinger, sat on the porch of her cabin, plucking on the harp strings as she sang a tragic ballad of ill-fated lovers.
“Hi, Lily,” Evaleen said, smiling slyly as she came closer. “I hear we’re getting a new member of the colony today. Violet says he’s quite a handsome young man. I can hardly wait to meet him.”
Gossip raced around the colony like wildfire in a dry field. Lily usually barely paid attention to it, but now some of the attention seemed to have turned toward her. This man could possibly be the enemy and everyone was delighted to let him in the gate.
Lily shook her head. “He’s very charming. I expect he’ll be very popular with the ladies.”
There were twenty-one artists who spent part or all of the summer at the colony. Fourteen of them were women and Lily was the only one who hadn’t yet celebrated her sixty-seventh birthday. The seven men were all over seventy, with the exception of Bernie, who was in his mid-forties. Lily had accepted the fact that she was spending her days and nights in a veritable retirement community. But now that was all about to change.
She passed three more artists and they offered her the same pleasant greeting and hopeful wishes. By the time she climbed the narrow steps up to her studio and dropped the trapdoor on the tree house, she could barely hold her temper in check.
The studios had all been built on stilts overlooking the lake. Of all the spots in the colony, her studio was where she felt most herself. Screened on four sides, it caught the summer breeze and it was just cozy enough to hold everything she needed for her painting. The trees blocked views of the other studios, so privacy was never an issue. She could cry, she could sing, she could tear off all her clothes and dance around and no one could see.
Lily raised the shutters to let in the light. Afternoon sun filtered in through the leaves on the trees, and she found a spot of light perfect for her work. She grabbed an abstract painting she’d recently begun and set it on an easel. Then she pulled up a stool and sat down, studying the painting for a long moment.
She’d never been a very good judge of her own work, but this painting seemed to be something special, a step ahead for her.
There had been moments in the past few years when she’d felt this way, as if she’d opened a door or discovered a new window and found something wonderful inside. But it hadn’t been often, and she usually found herself in front of a blank or disappointing canvas wondering what she was doing with her life.
Lily was lucky that she had money from her family to support her. Still, she wanted to believe that her work was headed somewhere. Maybe when this piece was done she’d finally feel she was a true artist.
It was easy to lose herself in her work, and before she knew it, an hour had passed. Her hands were covered with paint and there were rags that she’d used to wipe her brushes tossed about the floor. The painting now looked more focused, a new layer of color adding a deeper meaning. But she couldn’t help noticing that the color was very similar to that of Quinn James’s hair...
The sound of a bell ringing caught her attention and she stood up. Without telephones or a public address system, the camp relied on a single brass bell, mounted next to the door of the dining hall, to call the residents for a meal or to assemble for a meeting. There was only one reason to ring it at this time of the day. Their new guest had arrived!
Her heart skipped a beat and Lily felt a wild sense of anticipation. She hadn’t been able to put Quinn out of her head since the moment he had left the day before. Now that he was here, she had a better chance of figuring him out. Was he a wolf dressed in writer’s clothing? Or was he just a charming guy who enjoyed flirting with a single woman?
Until she knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, she reminded herself to maintain her distance. But she would at least greet him along with the others. She climbed down the stairs and ran along the soft dirt path that led back to the main lodge.
When she reached the clearing, she noticed a large crowd had already gathered. Lily made a quick count and smiled to herself when the number matched the total number at camp. “I guess we’re all excited,” she murmured.
Lily slowly approached the group, her gaze on the man removing his bags from the trunk of his sports car. He was dressed differently today. His dress shirt and tie had been discarded in favor of relaxed shorts and a faded T-shirt. Sunglasses still hid his eyes and his thick, dark hair was covered by a baseball cap.
She moved to stand beside Aunt Violet, knowing that the eldest sister would be the one to make the official welcome. And as she had so many times over the years, Violet made a lovely little speech celebrating the event and introducing Quinn James to the entire group. After a quick round of applause and individual introductions, the group wandered off and Quinn was left with just three others—Violet, Lily and Finch.
Lily held out her hand. “It’s good to have you here, Quinn. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thanks, Lily.”
A long silence descended between them and Lily continued to smile, waiting for Violet to chime in.
When she didn’t, Lily said, “I need to get back to my work.” She held up her paint-stained fingers. “I’m having a—a breakthrough. Very exciting. Perhaps I’ll see you this evening?”
“I was hoping that you would show Mr. James around the colony,” Violet said.
“I thought Finch did that yesterday,” Lily said.
“I only gave him a very brief tour,” Finch explained.
“And I’ve asked Mr. Finch to drive me into town to pick up a few things for tonight’s performance, haven’t I, Mr. Finch?”
The elderly man looked back and forth between the two women, then finally nodded. “Yes, you have, Miss Violet, you certainly have. And yesterday I just gave Mr. James a quick tour. My cabin, the dining hall. There’s much more for you to show him, Lily. I’ll just carry Mr. Quinn’s bags up to the cabin and then fetch the car.”
“Don’t worry,” Quinn said. “I can take care of that.”
Lily’s heart was beating so hard she was certain everyone around her could hear it. She swallowed hard. “Fine, let’s go, then.” Lily turned to Quinn. “Ready?”
“Lead on,” he said.
She picked up a pair of his smaller bags, then pointed in the direction of Finch’s cabin. “This way.”
As they walked, Lily tried to come up with something to say to him, but her mind was racing with thoughts of their first encounter and the attraction that had pulsed between them. “I hope you’re ready to live in rather primitive conditions,” she said. “There’s a sink in each cabin, but no en suite plumbing. For that, you have to go to the shower house just down the hill. Or pee in the woods, which most of the men do.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“There are screens on all the windows, but you’ll need to lower the shutters to keep the rain out. Some of the evenings can be chilly, so I hope you brought some heavy blankets.”
“I thought I’d go into town and buy whatever I needed,” he said. “Heavy blankets. I’ll put that on my list.”
When they reached the cabin, Lily pulled the door open, and stepped back to let him inside. The interior was cozy, the walls lined with windows and shabby furniture scattered about. Finch worked at a small desk by the window that he’d covered with papers and books. “You can take the empty bedroom. And we’ll find you another spot to work. One of the tree house studios is empty.”
“Tree house? That sounds like fun,” he said, setting the bags down on the floor.
“They’re not really tree houses, but...well, you’ll see.” She smoothed her hands over the front of her dress. “Is there somewhere else you’d like me to take you? I’m not sure how much Finch showed you yesterday.”
“You combed your hair,” he murmured. Quinn took a step toward her.
Lily quickly stepped back, her hand fluttering to her neck before she ran her fingers through the thick waves. “No. I—I mean, yes. I don’t always look like a—a wreck.”
He took another step, but this time, Lily held her ground. “I like your hair all messed up,” he said. Quinn took another step. He was close enough to reach out and touch a strand of hair that had curled on her temple. With gentle fingers, he tucked the curl behind her ear.
“It gets a little wild with the humidity,” she murmured.
Lily held her breath as he closed the last bit of distance between them. His gaze was fixed on hers and she knew he was about to kiss her. Every instinct told her to run away, to escape before he lured her into his trap. But she couldn’t contain her curiosity. It was just a kiss. And though she wasn’t sure who he was, Lily certainly knew who she was—and who she wasn’t.
She wasn’t the kind of girl who could be swept away by a stranger who might or might not be her enemy. She wasn’t the kind of girl who would let a simple kiss alter her judgement. She wasn’t—
His hands snaked around her waist and he pulled her against him. A few seconds later, his mouth came down on hers and she was drawn into a deep abyss of sensation. Her body felt weightless, her knees like they were ready to collapse. And when they did, she sank against the hard muscle and bone of his chest.
He drew back, his eyes scanning her face, trying to gauge her reaction. But Lily was still reeling from the aftereffects of the experience.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that since we met yesterday.”
“You have?” Her voice was breathless and she felt her cheeks warm. Fantasies of being seduced by him had been teasing her for the past twenty-four hours. But now that the reality was looking down at her with a tempting smile, Lily realized that she was in danger of getting in over her head.
“I should go,” she murmured. “And let you get settled.”
“Would you like to come into town with me?”
Lily shook her head. “No, I need to paint. You know how it is. When things are going well you don’t want to stop.”
He bent closer and dropped another kiss on her lips. “Seemed things were going very well there just a few minutes ago.”
Lily nodded. “Don’t forget to buy food in town. We all make our own meals except for Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons. Then we have a potluck and everyone is assigned a dish. And please don’t ever kiss me again.”
With that, Lily turned and hurried to the door. Such strange sensations were running through her body, she thought as she pulled the screen door open. The temptation to stay and see what else might happen was nearly overwhelming her common sense!
She ran down the path toward her studio, but instead of climbing the steps to the loft, she turned toward the beach. Lily reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, discarding it on the small strip of sand at the water’s edge.
As she waded into the lake, the cool water hit her naked body and immediately calmed her nerves and erased all those unfamiliar sensations that his kiss had caused. She kicked her feet, diving down until she stroked the sandy bottom, then she popped up to the surface and raked her hair back as she stood.
This was what she’d have to do if she expected to cool her libido and survive the summer. She’d have to take up residence in the middle of Fence Lake.
* * *
TRISTAN STOOD AT the edge of the path, his gaze fixed on the naked woman splashing in the lake. Apparently, Lily wasn’t aware of his presence and he felt a bit guilty for watching her. But she seemed to live her life by a different set of rules—rules that didn’t include underwear...or inhibitions...or the ability to keep from saying whatever popped into her mind.
He’d never been quite so intrigued by a woman, and his lawyerly instincts wanted to delve deeper, to find out what she was all about. He’d always been adept at reading women, at navigating past what they wanted him to think in order to get to the truth. Most of the women he’d known were just illusions, a pretty web of carefully crafted lies and wishful fabrications sprinkled with an undercurrent of cool and calculating greed. Once he’d stripped away the pretty wrappings, he lost interest.
But with Lily, there were no wrappings. What she presented to the world was pure and true and he found that endlessly intriguing. She hadn’t tried to turn herself into every male’s fantasy. She wore no makeup, her hair wasn’t straightened or teased or sprayed, and from what he could tell, she hadn’t had a single surgical enhancement.
Instead, her skin was kissed a golden brown by the sun and her nose sprinkled with freckles. Her hairdresser was whatever breeze blew by that day and she chose her fashion not to flatter, but to provide the greatest amount of comfort.
His mind wandered back to the kiss they’d shared. When he kissed a woman, it was usually a prelude to seduction. But with Lily it had been more about curiosity than anything else. She had tried to create distance between them, but he sensed that there was more to her feelings than she revealed. It wasn’t just a simple flirtation that could be fed by a kiss or a caress. She was holding something back.
A glint of light flashed in the woods, drawing Tristan’s attention away from Lily. Through the brush, he saw the figure of a man, hunched down, binoculars trained on her as she swam.
Cursing softly, Tristan emerged from the bushes and started toward the voyeur. But the guy caught sight of him and disappeared into the woods. Tristan didn’t pursue him. It was obviously someone from the colony, and it wouldn’t take Tristan long to figure out who.
As he walked to the shore, he snatched up her discarded dress, then whistled through his teeth. Lily immediately stood to face him, her naked breasts exposed and gleaming in the morning light. Tristan expected her to sink back down into the water, but she didn’t. Instead, she tipped her chin up and stared at him with defiance in her eyes.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to come out of the water and put your clothes on,” he said.
She dipped down and then rose again, tipping her chin up as she stood and smoothing her hair back. “I want to swim,” she said. “I need the exercise.”
“You need to put your clothes on before anyone else comes looking. I just chased off one Peeping Tom, I don’t want to have to chase off any more.”
“Who appointed you my protector?”
“You apparently require one,” Tristan said. “So I guess I’m your guy.”
With a curse, she started toward him. As her naked body began to emerge from the water, Tristan held out her dress and angled his gaze away.
“What’s wrong with you?” she muttered. “Are you going to melt if you catch a glimpse of a naked woman?”
“No,” he said. “I just thought you’d enjoy your privacy.”
“It’s just a naked body,” she said. “The same as any other naked body. I have all the proper parts, so there’s nothing of interest to see.” Lily snatched the dress from his hand, but when he finally turned, she hadn’t bothered to put it on.
With a curse more vivid than hers, Tristan grabbed the dress, shook it out and then held it over her head. He tried to keep from looking as she raised her arms, but the sight was impossible to ignore. A surge of desire washed over him and he fought the temptation to toss the dress aside and strip off his own clothes.
He could almost feel her naked body against his, skin to skin, the soft flesh of her breasts pressed to his chest. His fingers twitched as he imagined running his hands along her torso, smoothing his palms over her hips and backside.
“Are you sure you’re a writer?” she muttered, the dress falling over her until her damp body was once again covered.
Tristan sucked in a sharp breath. Had he given himself away already? “Why?”
“Most of the writers I’ve known haven’t been prudes.”
“Like I said, there was a guy watching you from the shore. He had binoculars. Who can say what his intentions were?”
“That was Bernie.”
“Bernie, the science fiction guy? The one I met this morning.”
Lily leaned over and twisted the water from her dripping hair. “Yes, Bernie. He’s harmless.”
“You don’t mind that he watches you?”
“He hasn’t seen many naked women in his life. He’s kind of shy and I suppose he’s curious.”
Tristan laughed. “So you’re doing him a public service by letting him gawk?”
She shrugged, droplets of water glinting off her dark lashes. “I can’t search the woods every time I want to go for a swim.” Lily started toward the path, her bare feet kicking up sand and dirt until they were covered in both.
Tristan strode after her. “Why did you run away after I kissed you?”
“Because unlike Bernie, you’re not harmless. In fact, I think you’re a very dangerous man, Mr. Quinn James...if that is your real name.”
Tristan bit back a curse. It was clear she was suspicious of him. But how deep did that go? Was it just his romantic interest that made her wary? Or did she suspect the level of his deception? “Lots of writers use pen names,” he said.
“Published writers,” she countered. “Is Quinn your real name?”
“It is,” Tristan lied. He knew what she meant and he also knew he was twisting the truth to suit his own purposes. But in the end, he could freely admit that Quinn was his real name.
“And why did you kiss me? Would you like to try the truth on that question?”
Tristan grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop, spinning her around to face him. He wasn’t sure he could put an answer into words. Right now, standing here with her just inches away in a dress that clung to her wet body, he had an undeniable need to draw her into his arms and put his mouth to hers once again. But that would hardly put her suspicions to rest.
“It seemed like the only thing to do,” Tristan said in a soft voice. “I couldn’t help myself.” He shook his head. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Do you understand what that kind of beauty does to a man?”
Lily stared at him for a long moment, then laughed. It wasn’t a nervous laugh or even a sarcastic laugh. She clearly considered his statement ridiculous.
‘“Beauty is not found in the face. It’s a light in the heart.”’
“Who told you that?”
“My aunts. It’s from the poet Kahlil Gibran. My aunts raised me to believe that true beauty was found inside me and had nothing to do with my outside appearance.”
“Well, this might shock you, but they were wrong. You’re beautiful on the outside, too, Lily, and it’s about time someone told you that.”
“I’ll alert the media,” she muttered. “News flash—another beautiful woman in the world. I’m sure they’ll want to rush right over and get the story.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? Your mother or father?”
“I didn’t spend a lot of time with my parents. During the school year, they sent me to a very strict Catholic boarding school where mirrors and all beauty products were banned and conformity was enforced. And in the summer, I lived here with my aunts, where I was encouraged to let my spirit run free.”
“Wow,” Tristan replied. “That must have been some childhood.”
“Not all of us were blessed with perfect parents. Mine didn’t have children, they produced heirs.”
“My parents weren’t Ward and June Cleaver, either.”
Lily frowned. “Who are Ward and June Cleaver?”
“From Leave It To Beaver. Nick at Nite? It’s an old television show.”
“I think I saw that once.”
“Once?”
“Or twice. We didn’t have American television at boarding school. And the aunts never allowed a television here in the colony. I don’t remember beavers in the show.”
“No, that was the name of their son,” Tristan explained.
“They named their son Beaver? That’s just cruel. I hope he changed it when he got older. Although I suppose some might not mind it. Beavers are very intelligent and industrious animals. Finch’s spirit animal is a beaver. Mine is a wren. I suspect yours is probably a wolf.”
She started along the path again, but this time, Tristan didn’t let go of her hand. “I’m beginning to think you and I must have been born on different planets.”
“Are your parents aliens?”
This made Tristan laugh. “My father was.”
“Tell me about them,” she said. “They couldn’t have been worse than mine.”
“That’s a story for a different day,” Tristan said.
They had reached a small building, set on stilts, and Lily stopped. “This is my studio,” she said.
“Are you going to show it to me? I’d like to see your work.”
Lily hesitated, and for an instant, Tristan thought he might have won her over. But she stymied him again. “That will also have to be for a different day,” she said.
It was very clear from the look on her face that this was meant to be “goodbye,” but Tristan wasn’t ready to let her go. He needed some excuse to see her again. It unsettled him that he hadn’t quite gained her trust. “Do you have any plans for dinner tonight? We could drive into town and find a place.”
“I usually eat here,” she said.
“But you’re a nonconformist. Take a risk and have dinner with me.”
“I know we’re the only two people of our age here at the colony. And it’s only natural that we should hang around together. But I think it would be best if we just tried to be friends. We can sit together at the performance tonight, though, and I’ll treat you to a lemonade.”
Shakespeare and lemonade? Tristan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a chaste date. His usual dating itinerary consisted of drinks followed by no-strings sex. Or dinner followed by no-strings sex. Occasionally, lunch followed by— Tristan stopped himself. He suspected that he wouldn’t be adding Othello and sex to the list later that night.
“Othello would be interesting,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”
“I assure you, it will be much better entertainment than that Beaver show you watch.”
“It’s a date,” he said, leaning in to steal one last kiss.
But Lily caught him before his lips met hers, pressing her finger against his mouth. “It’s Shakespearean drama. And that’s all.” She started up the stairs. “Oh, and if nudity is a problem for you, then you should probably stay locked in your cabin on Saturday nights after sunset. That’s when everyone goes for a skinny-dip. It’s a tradition when the weather is still warm.”
“Everyone?”
“Well, the older folks. I usually leave them to their fun. It can turn into a bit of an orgy. Of course, I’m sure the ladies would be thrilled if you joined in.”
Tristan gasped. “You don’t mean that literally, do you?”
“There’s a lot of sex that goes on here,” she said. “And none of it has to do with me.” With that, she spun and crawled up the steep stairs. “I know you’re looking up my skirt,” she said. “Stop it.”
Tristan turned away and started down the path toward his cabin, confused. He’d had a lot of experience with women, enjoyed a lot of different relationships. But what was going on with Lily was beyond his experience. One moment they seemed like intimate friends and the next, they were snapping and sniping at each other and she was pushing him away. It was the damnedest thing, Tristan mused. And he was determined to figure it all out before it drove them both over the edge.
* * *
THE LATE AUGUST sun had disappeared below the horizon by the time everyone started to gather for what Violet was calling a “petit divertissement.” Over the course of the summer and the early fall, the inhabitants of the Fence Lake artists’ colony produced all sorts of entertainments, from musical revues to modern dance spectacles to productions of classic plays.
For tonight’s performance, Lily played her part by standing at the door and passing out programs she had designed at Violet’s behest.
Tonight, Billy Chadwick-Farnsworth, an elderly British playwright and sometime actor, had planned to stage scenes and soliloquies from Shakespeare’s Othello. Billy had been coming to Fence Lake for as long as Lily could remember. During the winter months, he returned to England to live with his daughter in Bath. But this year, there was gossip around the camp that he might decide to stay and pursue a newfound romance with Violet.
Little romances seemed to crop up every summer. Usually they were short-lived, and Lily didn’t expect this one would last long. Violet, though passionate about love, was far too independent to handle living with a man for more than a few weeks. A month had been the longest Lily could remember her staying with a man, and that had been with a sculptor who did all the cooking and cleaning.
Lily smiled to herself as she remembered her first romance at the camp. A handsome young photographer had wandered in one day, looking for a place to stay as he traveled across the country. She’d been nineteen. The passion between them had been instant. He’d stayed for a month before walking out of her life forever.
The thought of him brought a flood of bittersweet memories, but she had never regretted the affair. When she had passion in her life, her artistic talents came alive. Her emotions were the fuel that produced stunning work that she never seemed to be able to replicate on her own.
Could she allow herself the same indulgence with Quinn? She was older and wiser now. As she approached her twenty-eighth birthday, she knew that the time for passionate affairs was beginning to end. Her aunts had always told her that passions waned as wisdom grew. The older one became, the more difficult it was to forget the past and trust in love.
What if Quinn James was her last chance to produce truly great art? Each of her aunts had experienced that kind of love and spoke fondly of the men who had served as their muses.
Her last lover had been a Frenchman, two years ago. The affair had fueled an intense period of work. It had been a memorable summer, but she’d never completely surrendered her heart to him. Even as he’d walked out of camp, she’d known that another man would appear someday.
What if Quinn was that man? The one who would finally allow her to call herself a true artist? Then again, she’d never had to worry that any of her previous lovers were actually snakes in the grass. Could she be Quinn’s lover without trusting him?
“What are you frowning about?”
He stood behind her and Lily felt his hands slip around her waist.
“Nothing,” she lied, turning to face him. “What are you smiling about?”
“I’m happy to see you again. I’ve spent all evening looking forward to this.”
Lily pressed a program into his chest, pushing him away. “I thought you came here to work. If you spend your time thinking about me, how are you going to get anything done?”
“Maybe you inspire me,” he said. “Maybe you’re my muse?”
“That line has been used around this place far too often. More like I’m your amusement.”
“You are amusing, Lily. I have to admit that. So if you’re my amusement, what am I to you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps you’re my Kryptonite.”
Quinn frowned. “You’re familiar with Kryptonite, but you don’t recognize the Cleavers?”
“I read a lot of comic books when I was younger. And we’ve had several graphic novelists here in camp.” She saw Bernie approach and Lily held out a program to him.
“I saved a seat for you in the front row,” Bernie said. “When you’re finished with the programs you can sit there.”
“Thank you, Bernie,” she began.
“Thank you, Bernie,” Quinn interrupted, “but she’s going to sit with me. I’m surprised you’d choose the first row. Aren’t you the kind of guy who likes to observe from a distance?”
Bernie’s face turned red and he hurried back to his seat.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Lily said. “He’s not a bad guy. And I’m sure there’s a woman out there for him. It’s just not me.”
“Exactly. So there’s no reason for him to watch you swimming in the lake, especially when you choose to do it naked.”
“Oh, you’ve gone from Kryptonite to White Knight. How wonderful.”
Violet appeared on the small stage and the house lights slowly dimmed. She wore a flowing dress made of iridescent ivory silk and chiffon with a beaded bodice. Her gray hair was loose and fell in waves down her back. A jeweled headband covered her forehead. She looked like something out of a Rudolph Valentino silent movie with her dark eyes and deep red lips.
“Come on,” he whispered, taking Lily’s hand and pulling her toward the door.
“I want to stay and watch,” Lily protested.
“We’ll be back before it’s over,” he assured her.
Lily refused to move until Billy launched into one of Othello’s soliloquies. She glanced over at Quinn, knowing exactly what would happen when they were alone. He’d kiss her again...and again...and maybe again. And suddenly, it wouldn’t be enough. She’d need more.
Lily groaned inwardly. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t surrender to him until she was sure he wasn’t a secret enemy infiltrator. To do that, she had to get a look at his novel. “Let’s go,” she whispered.
They snuck out the back, running away from the light that spilled off the wide verandah on the low log building. When they reached the beach, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Lily’s blood warmed and her heart began to race as her fingers tangled in his soft hair.
He wore a scent so tantalizing, she wanted to bury her face in the curve of his neck and inhale deeply. His mouth tasted of cinnamon. She experienced him with every sense she possessed.
He seemed to be enjoying the same experience. His fingertips skimmed over her body, splaying wide against the small of her back before circling her waist. His tongue delved deep and when he cupped her breast in his palm, Lily moaned softly.
“There’s something I want,” she murmured.
“Anything,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, his breath warm against her throat.
“I want to read your novel.”
Her request caught him by surprise and he frowned. “My novel? Now?”
“Yes. Do you have a copy?”
“Back in my cabin,” he said.
“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the path.
“It’s five hundred pages long. You won’t be able to read it in one night.”
“Then I’ll take it with me.”
“I only brought one copy.”
“We have a photocopier in the rec hall. I can make a bunch of copies.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go back and watch Othello?”
Lily stopped and faced him. What was that? Four excuses? Or was it five? “Is there some reason you don’t want me to read your work?” He gave her an uneasy smile. He was hiding something and Lily intended to get to the bottom of it. “Is there even a novel?”
“Of course there is,” Quinn said. “Why would you think there wasn’t?”
“I’m not sure. But I have to wonder if you made it up. Just to get an invitation to the colony.”
“So I could get to know you better?” Quinn nodded.
“Perhaps,” she said. “What other possible reason could you have?”
“I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.” This time, he grabbed her hand. Lily had trouble keeping up with his long stride and when they reached his cabin, she was out of breath.
Quinn opened the door and ushered her inside. The room was lit by an old stand lamp next to Finch’s desk and another smaller lamp on a table at the end of the sofa. Neither one of the lamps provided enough light to read by. “There’s better light in my bedroom,” he said as if he could read her mind. “I bought a new lamp this afternoon. And my manuscript is in there.”
Lily drew a deep breath and gathered her resolve. Just entering his bedroom would be fraught with peril, but she had to find out if he was a writer. If there was no book, it was proof that he had ulterior motives for being at the colony. If he was, then perhaps she could indulge in the kind of wild affair that she needed.
She slowly walked into the dark room. He came in behind her and she closed her eyes, waiting for him to touch her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her again. She’d come to crave that first rush of desire, that moment when she lost touch with reality and surrendered to his taste and his touch.
How easy it had been to accept this addiction. And like all addictions, she knew her need would only grow with time. Already, a simple kiss was no longer enough to satisfy her. Now she wanted his hands on her body or his body pressed against hers, or—
Lily sucked in a sharp breath as the light flipped on. He stood next to the bed, a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. Slowly, he pulled back the mosquito netting that was strung around the bed. “Why don’t you take this and get started. I’m going to walk back down and watch the show.”
“You can stay,” she said.
“That would be far too much temptation for me. I imagined quite a different scene when I invited you into my bed for the first time. I’ll come and get you before the grand finale.”
Lily took the manuscript from his outstretched hand. “All right. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“I hope you like it,” he said.
Lily looked at him for a long moment. “What?”
He nodded toward the papers she held. “The novel. I hope you like it.” With that, Quinn turned and left the bedroom.
Lily drew a deep breath as she stared down at the cover page. “Legal Tender.” There was no author name. She crawled onto the bed and pulled the mosquito net around her, then adjusted the two pillows. “Let’s see what kind of writer you are, Mr. Quinn James.”
From the very first line, the story captured her imagination. It began with a crime so cunning and complex that Lily immediately found herself invested in the victims. Strangely, it was a crime without a hint of violence. Instead, it tore apart the fabric of a dozen peoples’ lives, putting them through a hell that they never could have anticipated.
The scenes were gripping and emotional, each one leading to the next so it was impossible to stop reading. Every chapter ended in an emotional or a physical cliffhanger, and each one built the conflicts to a crescendo.
Lily was stunned at how tight the writing was. His style was simple, yet vivid, tiny details adding to the narrative. Flowery prose was almost nonexistent. As a romance developed between the main characters—a female law student and a private detective—Lily was impressed by his handling of both characters’ inner voices.
Often, it was easy to tell if a book was written by a male or a female, simply by the way they wrote about the opposite sex. But Quinn had a real knack for getting inside a woman’s head and knowing how and what she thought.
