THIRTY MINUTES LATER Sienna seemed calmer, the sisters had viewed the color and style choices in the bridesmaid dresses and now had to make a decision. Courtney knew which one she wanted, but it wasn’t up to only her.
“Your mother has settled on a pale pink wedding gown,” Betty told them. “She said your choices are white, ivory, a darker pink or black.”
“Black,” Sienna and Rachel said together.
Courtney nodded. “Black.” White or ivory would be too weird and dark pink, well, given what had already been ordered for the wedding, no one wanted to go there.
“So black dresses in similar styles, but slightly different?” Betty asked.
They all nodded.
“Excellent. Let’s see what we have.”
They walked back to the racks of bridesmaid dresses. She showed them various options. They settled on a designer that had three dresses in the same fabric. They were similar, with just enough variation to keep things interesting.
Each of them took a dress into a changing room. Courtney had barely pulled off her jeans when her phone chirped. She glanced at the message.
“Uh-oh.”
“What?” Rachel called from her room.
“It’s Mom,” Courtney told her. “She wants to know if we have a DJ request list.”
“Do we?”
“Last I heard, we weren’t using a DJ.”
“We are now,” Sienna said from her room. “I know a great guy we use all the time at fund-raisers. Want me to get in touch with him?”
“Yes, please.” Courtney replied to her mother. They were texting now. Not speaking all that much, but there was communication. She supposed that was an improvement.
She pulled off her T-shirt, then slipped on the dress. As soon as it settled on her, she realized her bra wasn’t going to work at all, so she removed that, as well.
“I’m going to need a strapless bra with this,” she said.
“Me, too,” Sienna called.
“Me, three.”
Courtney’s dress was simple. It had a fitted sweetheart bodice, with spaghetti straps. The skirt followed the shape of her body through her hips before falling to the floor. The fabric was flowy without being overwhelming. The cut was flattering and comfortable.
She stepped out of the dressing room. Her sisters did the same. Sienna’s dress was a wrapped bodice, strapless style, while Rachel’s was an off-the-shoulder style. They were all long and fitted to the hips. The black fabric emphasized their blond hair and fair coloring.
The three of them stood on the low dais, in front of the large mirror. Sienna tossed her head.
“We look good.”
“We do,” Rachel agreed, her tone slightly bemused. “I have a great body. I need to appreciate that more.”
“Modest much?” Courtney teased.
“Hey, I’ve been suffering in a muffin-less world. Get off me.”
“Girls,” Sienna said. “Let’s play nice and take a moment to admire us.”
Courtney thought of the high heels Quinn had bought her. While the color wouldn’t work, knowing she had them made her want to buy a pair for this dress. This bridesmaid gown deserved killer heels.
Betty walked in and clapped her hands together. “You’re more stunning than I’d imagined. Impressive. If you don’t order those dresses, I’m going to be disappointed.”
“I think these are the ones,” Sienna said. “You both agree?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I want this one,” Rachel said, turning so she could see herself from the side. “I can’t remember the last time I felt hot. I think it was before I had Josh. This is great. Do you think it would be tacky to wear this dress to work after the wedding?”
They laughed, then stepped down and went back into their dressing rooms.
Courtney pulled on her jeans and felt decidedly less glamorous than she had before. Funny how she’d never thought much about clothes before. They were something she wore, but nothing to care about. But those stupid high heels had changed everything. Or maybe it was just the way Quinn looked at her when she wore them.
Her phone rang. She picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Courtney? It’s Jill Strathern-Kendrick. I’m officiating at your mother’s wedding?”
“Of course.” She couldn’t think of a single reason for the judge to be calling, unless... “Is there a problem?”
“I hope not. You know I’m pregnant, right?”
“Yes.” Courtney held in a groan. Was Jill going to have to be on bed rest or something?
“It seems my due date has changed. The doctor just moved it up a couple of weeks.” Jill gave a strangled laugh. “It’s, ah, technically the day of the wedding.”
“Yikes. That’s not good.”
“I wanted you to know, in case you wanted to make other plans. But to be honest, I was more than two weeks late the first time, so there’s no reason to think I won’t be late again. It’s your call. I’ll totally understand if you want to get someone else.”
Courtney hesitated. “Mom really wants you to perform the ceremony. She’s known your dad forever. He was very nice to her after she lost my father. I’ll talk to her about it, but I’m going to say we’re hoping for the best where you’re concerned.”
“Oh, good. I’d love to be the one to officiate. Your mom is a real sweetie. I plan to be there.”
“That’s great. Thanks for letting me know, Jill.”
Sienna and Rachel walked into the dressing room.
“We heard,” Sienna said. “What are you going to do?”
“Talk to Mom, even though I’m sure she’s going to want to keep Jill. I’ll check around for a backup person in case Jill goes into labor. It will be fine.”
Sienna smiled at her. “You really do have all this under control, don’t you?”
“I’m trying.”
“No. You’re doing a lot more than that.”
* * *
Quinn and Joyce sat out in the shade on the patio of her bungalow. It was midafternoon, with the temperature near eighty. A light breeze off the ocean kept them cool, as did the crisp Washington chardonnay she’d poured. There was a plate of fruit and cheese, along with two very attentive dogs waiting for anything that fell.
Joyce sat on a chaise with her wrapped foot propped up on a pillow. Sarge sat on her lap, watching every bite she took. Pearl had staked her hopes on Quinn. She’d positioned herself in front of him. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to refuse those big brown eyes.
“When do you close on your building?” she asked.
“The end of the week.” There were advantages to paying cash. “Wayne has contractors lined up to give bids. We should be able to start construction by the end of the month.”
He was going to say more when he saw Maggie approaching. He knew from what Courtney had told him that their reconciliation had been halfhearted at best. While he understood that Maggie was still smarting from what she’d found out, he was Team Courtney all the way.
He started to stand, but Joyce put a hand on his arm. She didn’t say anything, but he heard the message all the same. She wanted him to stay in case things got difficult. Maggie gave him a quick smile, then turned her attention to Joyce.
“I just found out about your accident. How are you?”
Joyce waved her into a chair. “I’m fine. It was a silly thing and I’ll be up and about in the next day or two. I’m lucky it was just a sprain. At my age, you don’t want to break a bone.”
“No, you don’t.”
Quinn poured Maggie a glass of chardonnay and passed it to her.
“Thank you.” She took a sip. “I wanted to talk to you about Courtney.”
“I thought maybe you did.” Joyce gave Sarge a piece of cheese. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to say what I did. I shouldn’t have pushed Courtney like that. It wasn’t my secret to share.”
Maggie’s mouth turned down. “What I don’t understand is why she had a secret in the first place. She’s my daughter, but she’s so much closer to you than to me.” Her lower lip trembled. “Everything was so difficult after Phil died. I know I focused on work, but I thought the girls were fine. I never meant to hurt them.”
“You got through it,” Joyce assured her, her tone warm. “Maggie, you had a high school education and minimal training. You lost your husband, your house, and had three young girls to raise. Look at all you did and where you are now.”
“But at what price? Maybe if I’d paid more attention to my girls, they wouldn’t hate me so much.”
“Now you’re being silly. No one hates you. Courtney’s doing everything she can to make your wedding wonderful. It makes her happy to see it all come together.”
Maggie’s expression turned hopeful. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
Quinn gave Pearl some watermelon, then stroked her long, silky ears. Not that anyone was asking him, but in his opinion, everything about this conversation was wrong. If Maggie was so upset, why wasn’t she talking to Courtney or her other daughters rather than Joyce? And what about all Courtney had been through? Where was the regret for that?
He remembered what she’d told him about being held back twice and the fact that her mother had barely noticed. How she’d moved out when she turned eighteen rather than face being the freak at school. He recalled the tattoo on her lower back, how it was a promise to herself. She wasn’t going to give in. She was going to keep fighting.
But he didn’t say any of that. He wasn’t part of the conversation.
“Did she mention we’re going to have a DJ?” Maggie asked.
“No. That will be wonderful.”
“I’ve been thinking about the decorations. Don’t you think it would be nice to have some kind of blooming tree brought in?”
Quinn fed Pearl some cheese. He needed the distraction to keep from rolling his eyes. Apparently, Maggie’s pain was fairly short-lived.
“Trees are difficult to move around,” Joyce mused. “But what if we did something that offered the same kind of visual interest? Just the other day I was talking to someone about Astrantia. It’s so beautiful. We could pair it with cherry blossoms.” She turned to Quinn. “Be a dear and get my laptop. I want to show Maggie what an Astrantia looks like.”
He stood and kissed her cheek. “I live to serve.”
She laughed. “If only that were true.”
* * *
“You know I’m busy, right?” Courtney said as Quinn let her into his bungalow. It was Sunday and technically she wasn’t on duty, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t busy. “The wedding is getting closer by the day.”
“Time does march on,” he murmured, shutting the door behind her.
“Ha-ha. There’s some new weird flower combo I have to find and get delivered. Apparently, my mother and I are now speaking, even though we never had anything close to a reconciliation talk. Suddenly, there are texts and phone calls. She wants cake pops.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Like at Starbucks?”
“Yes. Little round cakes on a stick. Pink, of course. The tablecloths are pink and copper, so of course we need copper chargers on the table.” She glared at him. “Do you know what chargers are?”
“Decorative large plates you put out before the dinner. Then they get taken away before anyone eats. It’s very confusing. Your point being?”
“I’m busy! Why am I here?”
He’d texted her and asked her to stop by. Not that she wasn’t happy to see him. He looked good, as always. Faded jeans, an untucked gauzy white shirt rolled up to the elbows. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and the faint stubble looked nice. Sexy.
Don’t think about that! She didn’t have time for sexual daydreams, let alone actual sex. There were about five thousand things on her to-do list.
“And the shoes,” she added.
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve ordered our bridesmaid dresses. They’re black, which I like. But because of you, I keep thinking I want to wear high heels. I can’t wear the blue ones. So I’m going to have to buy some. This is Los Lobos. Where am I supposed to buy a pair of nice black heels?”
He walked toward her. “They’re not ‘blue ones,’” he said with air quotes. “They’re Saint Laurent suede pumps. I’ll buy you black heels. Maybe Jimmy Choo.” He reached around her to lock the door.
She was both intrigued and stressed. “I don’t have time for sex.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “Good. We’re not going to have sex. Come here.”
He led her to the chair by the sofa and told her to sit. She saw a tray on the end table with a couple of small bottles with narrow tips, a washcloth and liquid in a bowl.
“What are you up to?” she asked as she took her seat.
“Henna.”
“Huh?”
He pulled a rolling stool over from the corner and sat down, then wiped the back of her hand with the cloth. “I’m going to do a henna design on the backs of your hands.”
He could have said he was heading off to Jupiter and she wouldn’t have been any more surprised. “Why would you do that?”
He glanced at her, then returned his attention to her hand. “Why not?”
Honest to God, it was a question she couldn’t answer. “Did I mention being busy?”
“You did. Think of this as a mental vacation.”
He picked up one of the small bottles and began squeezing the thick liquid on her skin. He worked quickly, creating a swirly design that was both simple and beautiful. More impressive, he was doing it freehand, without a template or a picture or anything.
“You’ve done this before,” she said.
“A few times. I like to be creative from time to time. I’ve designed a few record covers. It’s a nice change.”
She watched as he took the design past her wrist. With all she had going on, it was kind of nice to just sit for a few minutes.
“What do I have to do to this?” she asked.
“Nothing. Once it dries, you brush off the henna and the design remains. Depending on your skin chemistry, it will last around ten days, maybe longer.”
“Fun.”
He finished with her right hand and rolled the stool to the other side of her chair to start on her left. She closed her eyes as he worked. The past few nights she’d covered the late shift on the registration desk and then had cleaned rooms in the morning. The wedding was only a month away and there were a thousand things to do.
“Joyce showed my mother some flower I have to find, along with cherry blossoms, which are not, by the way, in season. But does that matter to anyone? Of course not. Oh, and she found napkins that match the texture on the wedding cake. I get to order those, as well.”
“You’re busy.”
“I am. What about you?”
“Things are good.”
“How’s the boy band?”
“Annoying Wayne.”
She smiled. “Which you enjoy.”
“I do.” He tapped her knee. “I’m done.”
She opened her eyes and looked at the swirling and curved lines covering the backs of her hands. “It’s beautiful. So how long does it take to dry?”
“Two hours.”
“Two hours!” She came to her feet. “What part of ‘I’m busy’ wasn’t clear to you? I can’t sit here for two hours.”
He smiled as he rose. “You’re going to have to. You can’t get anything on the henna or it will be ruined. You don’t want a smudge on the pattern, do you?”
“Are you insane? I have to go and do things.”
“Sorry. I guess you’re stuck.”
He didn’t sound sorry at all.
She glared at him. “If I didn’t have henna on my hands, I would so hit you.”
He grinned. “But you do and you can’t. Two long hours. Whatever are we going to do?”
His tone caught her attention before the words sank in. When both connected in her brain, she felt her insides start to melt.
“Quinn,” she began, not sure if she was annoyed or impressed. Probably the latter, she admitted, but only to herself. “Seriously, the time thing.”
“You’re stuck. That’s my bad. I’m going to have to make it up to you.” He looked her up and down. “How should I do that?” He reached for the front of her jeans. “I know.”
He unfastened her jeans and worked on the zipper. She reached to push him away, remembered her hands and was able to only stand there awkwardly as he lowered her jeans to the floor. She stepped out of them. Her panties followed. She was naked from the waist down, in the living room of his bungalow. It was a very strange afternoon.
He pushed her clothes to the side and moved close, then cupped her face. She had only a second to brace herself for the impact of his kiss before he claimed her.
She parted the second his mouth touched hers. Their tongues tangled as heat and need surged through her. The awkward thing went away, and anticipation took its place. This was Quinn, she thought hazily. Whatever else might be going on in her life, she trusted him, trusted them. Being with him was exciting and challenging and satisfying, but always, always safe. Whatever happened, he would have her back.
He moved his hands down to her shoulders, then lower onto her hips. They settled on her bare butt, where he squeezed her curves.
“If you’d rather, I can get you a magazine.”
She laughed, then leaned in and nipped his bottom lip. “I think you’ll be more interesting.”
“If you’re sure. I have the latest issue of Rolling Stone.”
“And while that’s tempting, I think this is better.”
He moved his hands to her belly, then drew them to her breasts. He brushed his fingertips against her tight nipples. Even through the layer of her bra and T-shirt, she felt his sure touch. Tension and fire flowed from her breasts to her groin and back.
“Sit,” he told her.
She sat on the chair. He knelt in front of her and shifted her until her butt was barely resting on the edge of the cushion. He pushed her thighs apart, exposing the very essence of her to him. He rested his hand flat on her stomach and pressed his thumb against her clit.
The pleasure was instant. She sank back against the chair and closed her eyes. Whatever he was going to do to her, she knew it would be magical. She was simply going to go along for the ride.
Quinn didn’t disappoint. He continued to rub her clit until he had her moving her hips in time with his actions. She spread her legs wider still, knowing there would be more and wanting it all. She felt him shift, but she didn’t look. She wanted to be surprised. For a second there was nothing, then, without warning, he pressed his warm tongue against her swollen center.
She gasped as tendrils of pleasure radiated out from her core. Her toes curled, her thighs tightened and she let her head fall back.
The man knew what he was doing, she thought as he circled her a couple of times before settling into a steady rhythm that had her hips pulsing in time with his ministrations. He licked and sucked until she was gasping and reaching for her release. At the same time, he pushed two fingers into her. He moved them in tandem with his tongue, then curled them so he could stimulate her G-spot.
Courtney grabbed on to the arms of the chair and dug her fingers into the fabric. Her entire body was focused on the places he touched and the ecstasy he promised. Her muscles tightened, her breathing quickened as she pushed toward her release. It remained tantalizingly out of reach until it suddenly exploded, causing her to shudder against him.
She felt herself pulsing against his fingers. He rubbed her clit from underneath even as he moved his tongue back and forth. She came and came for what felt like hours as every ounce of pleasure drained from her.
When she was done, she lay there, legs spread, eyes closed. She couldn’t do much more than try to catch her breath. She heard movements and a rustling sound, then felt his hands on her thighs.
She opened her eyes in time to watch him push into her. His erection was huge, his expression intense. He pushed in, then withdrew. She shifted so she could wrap her legs around his hips. He shoved his hands under her T-shirt and massaged her breasts.
He pushed in and out, finding a fast road to his release. At the same time, he lightly pinched her nipples. She was so sensitized from all he’d done before that she found herself arching into the contact, wanting more and more.
She started to reach for him, remembered the henna, then grabbed the arms of the chair.
The combination of him filling her and his fingers and thumbs on her nipples was pushing her closer. “Harder,” she gasped, not sure which she needed more of, then realizing it didn’t much matter.
He shoved in deeper even as he squeezed her nipples more tightly. She came again with a shriek.
He pumped in and out of her faster and faster, carrying her on her orgasm until they were both gasping for air. He dropped his hands to her hips, held her still and pushed in one last time before climaxing himself.
They stayed like that—him inside her, his hands on her hips, while they caught their breath. His eyes were dark, his gaze direct. They watched each other. It was as if having just shared physical intimacy, now they wanted an emotional connection. She let herself get lost in looking at him.
“You okay?” he asked.
She smiled. “The henna thing really works for me.”
He grinned. “I had a feeling you’d like it. We’ll have to try it again sometime.”