Feather light, her hands trailed down my chest, her fingernails scraping my n**ples just the way she knew I liked it. I closed my eyes, groaning softly and growing hard at her touch.
A pounding fist came at the front door, and Quinn’s hands stilled. “Tell me it’s not Saturday morning.”
“It’s not Saturday morning.”
She burrowed further into my chest, unable to open her eyes to greet the early hour. “You’re lying,” she mumbled.
“I don’t lie.”
The lips she currently had pressed into my neck curved in a smile. “You have a tell.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Everybody does. That’s what you told me.”
Rolling Quinn over, I pinned her arms to the bed and ground my h*ps into hers, making sure she knew I was hard and I wanted her.
“Except me. Did I forget to mention that?”
I touched my lips to hers and smiled against them as she strained upwards into my touch, making me harder if that was possible.
The pounding at the door came again.
“Dammit, Quinn! I know you’re awake,” came the muffled yell.
“Will you forgive me if I strangle Lucy, weigh her body down and let her sink to the bottom of the ocean?”
“Are you kidding?” she groaned into my neck. “I’ll supply the cement bricks. I know exactly where I can get some.”
She was, of course, referring to the leftover blocks from our newly constructed rendered fence. We’d moved into Coby’s house a year ago. During that time, to much protest by Evie, Mac, and even Quinn, who rarely protested about anything, I bought us a dilapidated four bedroom house in Manly Vale. I liked to think I was smarter than Jared though, and our renovations were undertaken over the six months we lived at Coby’s house before we moved in.
“Maybe we can just pretend we’re not home,” I said with a small degree of hope.
Quinn rolled from beneath me, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed she sat up, looking back at me over her shoulder. I loved Quinn’s back. Seemed an odd body part to fall in love with, but her hair was short enough I could see the delicate line of her neck and it led down a creamy satin expanse of skin to an ass I never got tired of watching or holding in my hands. I frowned because in this instance she was wrapped up like Fort bloody Knox, and I couldn’t see anything, making this a really shitty start to my day.
“That didn’t work the last time we tried, remember? You’re the one that bought a house just two blocks away from where Rick and Lucy bought their house.”
“Maybe we can play the blame game. She’s your friend.”
Quinn raised a brow as she dragged her sweet, delicious body out of bed. “Our friend.”
I reached out to drag her back, but she danced from my reach and waggled the ring finger of her left hand, diamonds glinting every which way in the morning light. My lips curved in a smile of pure male satisfaction at the sight, even while she was smirking at me. “We joined forces in case you forgot. Everything became ours. Including Lucy.”
That was true. Quinn was now my wife, and I never got tired of introducing her to everyone that way. Mrs. Valentine. This is my wife, Quinn Valentine. It suited her, being mine. The wedding, according to Quinn, was going to be nothing like Jared and Evie’s. Theirs had blown out to major proportions. It hadn’t helped that Evie was now being recognised wherever she went. Magazines wanted scoops and access to her private life. Quinn didn’t want the show. She tried to rope me into it by asking what I wanted, but I wasn’t stupid. Whatever she wanted was what I wanted—as long as she was happy. That wasn’t the right answer apparently. According to Mac, I needed to have an opinion. So I asked Mac what Quinn wanted. Mac told me she wanted a quiet wedding, close family only. So I told Quinn I wanted a quiet wedding. “You don’t want a big wedding?” she’d asked me with wide eyes. I looked helplessly at Mac. I thought the problem was fixed. Had Quinn changed her mind and wanted a big wedding? It was all too hard. It seemed to be universal that when we told women we wanted whatever they wanted, they didn’t believe us, but it was true. Our lives were happy when they were happy. Happy equals happy. Simple math. Women liked to complicate it by dragging algebra and long division into the equation.
In the end we had our quiet wedding. Jared stood on my right and Lucy on Quinn’s left. Quinn had daisies wound through her pinned hair and a white lace dress that flared out to her knees. She was simply perfect.
Propped up on one elbow, my focus immersed in her, she peeled off the pink robe and replaced it—entirely too quickly—with her jogging gear. She propped a leg up on the corner chair, the one that was great for flinging all my clothes on, and started lacing up her shoes before furrowing her brow at me in worry.
“Are you sure you’re gonna be—”
I cut her off. “Yes! We’ll be fine.” A kitchen cupboard opened and then slammed closed and my brows flew up in disbelief. “You gave her a key?”
She shrugged. “Just for emergencies.”
Sighing heavily, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Scratching idly at my chest, I said dryly, “I can see how this morning’s jog could constitute an emergency where Lucy would need to breach the premises.”
Her eyes tracked the movement of my hand as it rubbed lazily over my chest and my lids lowered a little. “See something you like?”
“Quinn! Hurry up,” Lucy yelled from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.
I stood up and waved her away when she hesitated. “Go. The sooner you leave, the sooner I get you back. Take your phone,” I added. Never could be too careful.
“I can take care of myself, you know,” she called out over her shoulder as she left the room.
“Not unless you find a few stray chairs along the sidewalk to whack people over the head with as you jog on by,” I called back teasingly.
Lucy must have heard me because she let out a shout of laughter then it followed with a muffled “ouch.”
“Are you sure you got this on your own?” Quinn called out from the front door as I shuffled towards the ensuite.
“Yes! Just relax!” I yelled back.
An hour later, Quinn returned to chaos.
I was sure I had it. How hard was it supposed to be?
It was just unfortunate the yard had yet to be renovated along with the house. With the light rain this morning over the mud pit that constituted our backyard, Rufus had broken through the back door and trekked it all through the gleaming timber floors. Shaking his fur, mud spatters covered various cream painted walls throughout the house.
Breakfast had seen me go through four different cereals until the favourite of the day had been chosen, leaving milk and flakes scattered on the bench, floor, and breakfast table, along with the dishes from my eggs on toast. Cartoons blared at dangerous levels from the television, and a trail of toys littered the living room floor. Stuck indoors, the decision to move on to forts had been made. That involved shifting the couch and dining chairs to create tunnels and covering them with all the plush blankets Quinn kept for guests.
Quinn chose that moment to return—shutting the front door just as I got too vigorous demonstrating how to kick a soccer goal, broke the blinds, and watched them crash to the floor. What was I supposed to do with it raining outside?
Sam let out a giggle.
Quinn’s mouth fell open as she stared.
So did mine.
Sam hadn’t uttered a word the entire week we’d been taking care of him. At three years old, he’d watched his father overdose and die and his mother almost follow. She was in the hospital, but it wasn’t looking good for her. Sam was the first kid in our care since we’d signed up as foster parents six months ago—the first thing we did when we moved into our Manly Vale home. The process had taken that long. Six months of paperwork, screening checks, home interviews, training, and home inspections.
It was looking likely that Sam may be with us for a while. Quinn and I had talked about adoption, but we knew we had to be able to establish a stable, long term relationship so the process might take some time. Though with the possibility of Sam’s mother being mentally unstable, the Supreme Court could move proceedings along that much faster. We wanted to be free to love Sam without the fear of having to let him go. Sam was endearing and hesitant and little, just like Quinn, with his choppy short blond hair and dark hazel eyes. It would take time and love and stability for him to be able to use the voice that was shocked right out of him. I’d been encouraging him to draw his feelings with pictures, but just now, his giggle was the first sound we’d heard.
Quinn cleared her throat and looked at me. Immediately I knew the mess and the damage to the blinds was already forgiven. I grinned. We talked about the fact that when Sam started to verbalise again we were not to make a big deal of it so that he’d feel comfortable.
Even with the emotion running riot across Quinn’s face, I could see her force a smile through imminent tears, put her hands on her h*ps and say, “Well. What a mess, huh?” and it made me so f**king proud of her.
Sam giggled again.
Later that morning, closer to lunch, we arrived at Jared and Evie’s house for the Sunday barbecue. They’d finished renovating five months ago and I was honestly surprised with how well Jared did. I’d taken one look at the house and thought it would have been better to drive a bulldozer straight through the middle of it. The two story structure was painted weatherboard in stone with white trim and lush green lawns and hedges. I saw Quinn eyeing the landscaping with frustration.
“Must be nice to have a lawn,” she murmured longingly. “The soft scratchy feel of grass between your toes. The smell of freshly mowed lawn on a warm afternoon.” She opened the passenger door of the Subaru and sucked in a lungful of air for effect. “Pretty flowers making everything…pretty. Space to kick a soccer ball without tearing apart a clean house.”
“You know we can’t do anything until the excavators come in and start digging for the retaining wall.” Out of the car, I unbuckled Sam’s car seat and settled him on my hip. With a wink at Quinn, I beeped the locks and we walked up the driveway. “You can always come over here when you feel the need to be at one with nature.”
She snorted, juggling a cooler of beer and container of biscuits baked this morning while I cleaned the chaos, and rang the bell. Someone yelled to “come in.”
“If I did that, Jared would tell me I had to mow the lawn or weed the gardens for the privilege.”
Through the door, Mum ran towards us as though we’d been schlepping lost through war torn Afghanistan for a year and returning home alive had been doubtful.
“Mum,” I warned when she kissed both Quinn and I on the cheek and reached immediately for Sam. Sam burrowed into my chest, latching his little arms around my neck.
Undeterred, Mum smiled wide at him and asked him if he wanted to go for a swim in the pool. Not looking at her, he shook his head.
“I’ll take him swimming later if he wants to, Mum.”
“Okay.” She sighed, taking the bags from Quinn as we walked further into the house. “Did you bring him something to swim in? I was at the shops yesterday with Mackenzie and saw the cutest little boardshorts. They were on special. I had to buy them.”