CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Quinn~
They ate their impromptu supper in the kitchen. Moira seemed to enjoy his mother’s cooking. Mom had staff in Seattle, and a high-powered career at Drake Investments, but on West Haven she liked to be domestic.
The kitchen had big windows like the family room, but its windows were still overhung by the deep porch roof. And still the multi-paned originals, unprotected by the winter storm windows and shutters, which the caretakers had removed for the summer.
He left the California blinds open so that they could see the ocean sparkling beneath the moon. Except that tonight there was no moon. White horses were racing toward the shore as a storm blew in. He was used to that. The weather in the San Juans was variable and storms went with the location.
Lightning split the sky. Thunder cracked immediately overhead. Rain drummed loudly on the porch roof. Moira’s eyes grew round. “Where did that come from?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Where does any of our weather on West Haven come from?”
“Is this your doing?” she demanded crossly.
He laughed. “Nope. Can’t blame this on dragons. That is not part of our talents. This is just another West Coast storm.” The gale rattled the Victorian window glass.
“How am I going to get home?” she fretted.
They had both driven from the colony in their SUVs, so that all the fairy paintings could be transported at once. He peered out into the night. Despite the depth of the porch, water streamed down the glass of the kitchen windows. Lighting flashed. Thunder rolled loud enough to shake those wet windows. Moira flinched.
“This will probably blow itself out,” he said. “It’s too intense to last long.”
“Maybe. Mind if I check the forecast?” she whipped out her cell. “Dang. I have no service.”
He pulled his phone out. Nothing. “Me too.” He stood up. “Would you like seconds? Because I think we should clean up before the power goes out.”
Moira didn’t want any more. She carried her plate into the kitchen and looked around. There were two full-sized dishwashers to cope with the load of an extended family, but Quinn didn’t think there would be electricity to run them tonight. He filled the sink with hot water.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“Put the leftover pie in the fridge. There’s plastic wrap in that drawer. This won’t take a moment,” he shouted over the thunder. “Can’t you do that teleportation thing and get yourself home if this keeps up?”
She shook her head. “Not really. It would take too much energy. I’d literally have to sleep for a week.”
“Oh.” He rinsed the dishes and stuck them in the rack. Began to wipe the counters. “I’ll take the rest of the pie back to Willow Cottage with me.” Probably in the morning.
The lights flickered and then came back on. A warning. Moira looked a little white. Was she afraid of the storm, or of him?
“Let’s sit by the fire again,” he suggested. “Do you like board games?”
“Board games?”
“Yeah.” He herded her toward the family room. “This is a screen-free retreat,” he said. “There’s no TV. No internet. No video games. But we can play cards, or Scrabble, or Monopoly.”
“That’s what your family does here?” her voice was as disbelieving as her face.
“Yup.” It was true. All day they flew together, sailed together, fished together. In the evenings, they played games. Board games, charades. Sometimes they told stories or read aloud. “Poker?” he asked hopefully.
“I don’t gamble,” she said primly.
The lights flickered again. Twice they blinked back on before going dark. There was firelight in here, but with his dragon vision he didn’t need it. Moira was huddled in on herself, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. But the fire was still going. It could go for days. The natural gas cylinders were large and full.
“You’re perfectly safe from me,” he informed her, trying to be reassuring. His voice sounded gravelly even to him. In the dimness her fragrance was even more of a draw than usual. All evening he had felt an intimacy created by bringing his woman to his family’s home.
But he could be strong. He sat down dead center of the couch facing the fire, and put his feet up on the big slab of glass that protected the polished burl walnut base of the coffee table from damage. He patted the leather cushion beside him. “Get comfy. Nothing you don’t want is going to happen.”
Moira perched at the far end of the couch at a right angle to his. “I’m not ready for anything to happen,” she said. Her eyes were large and luminous and very gray in the firelight.
How could he reassure her? “Do you want to try to drive in this?” He pointed at the windows where the rain ran in streams. Lightning lit her frightened face. Thunder growled.
“It’s as though the storm is directly over us and stalled,” she whispered.
“Yes. I think it would be dangerous to take the Old Coast Road.” He stalked over to the game cupboard and looked at the shabby boxes inside. Normally a light would go on when he opened the doors, but not this evening. “What’s your fancy? An old favorite, or something new?”
She approached cautiously. Like a fawn coming to drink beside a predator. “Like what?”
He remembered the light on his key chain and flicked it on.
“I’ve never heard of half of these games,” she said. She began to laugh. “It’s a hoard of board games.”
“We use them all,” he said defensively. It was true. All the boxes were mended and fragile with age.
Moira smirked and ran pink-tipped fingers down the boxes. “Rack-O?” she said. “What’s that?”
He pulled the box from the stack. “Good choice. It’s an oldie but goodie. Simple, but requires strategy.” He closed the doors again and turned off the penlight.
This time he sat on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.
Moira cleared her throat. “Wouldn’t the games table be better?”
“Too far from the fire to see.” Besides she was cold and jittery. Her agitation felt like a gut punch. He desperately wanted her to feel happy and secure in his company. But this cozy evening apparently was not to her taste. Or he wasn’t. Why couldn’t he read her? The closer he got, the vaguer his instincts felt. Was fate laughing at him?