And any kind of visceral reaction to this guy was a bad idea.
Yet here he was, standing before her looking hotter than any man should have a right to, and she was standing before him wearing her favorite old pj’s that had seen better days, feeling as if she might collapse from exhaustion at any moment. She hoped she didn’t have sauce on her chin from the pizza she’d all but scoffed.
Maybe this is a nightmare, she thought as her hand drifted up to wipe her face. Maybe in her early-pregnancy fatigue she’d come home, collapsed on the couch and fallen into a deep slumber that had led her straight to him. Since the news of the baby, her thoughts had never drifted far from him, no matter how much she tried to direct them elsewhere.
She pinched herself. It hurt, and Quinn frowned down at her odd behavior.
“Are you okay?” He reached out a hand and laid it gently on her arm.
Bailey flinched, not because it didn’t feel good—damn her hussy hormones—but because she couldn’t let down her guard. She and Quinn hadn’t spoken since that awful day after Thanksgiving, and she couldn’t think of any logical reason for his sudden appearance now. Unless...he knew.
Her errantly beating heart stopped altogether for a few long moments. A chill spread over her at this impossible thought. No. She hadn’t told anyone except the doctor in Bend (where she’d chosen to go in case anyone in Jewell Rock saw her at the hospital) and the local paper’s advice columnist. She thought of the letter she’d scribbled and hastily posted yesterday afternoon—Aunt Bossy might not even have it yet, and it certainly hadn’t appeared in the paper, so... She needed to take a chill pill before Quinn suspected something was off aside from the awkwardness that already simmered between them.
“I’m fine. You’re just the last person I expected to see.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and stared at him expectantly, trying to channel the look he’d given her when he’d all but thrown her out of the warehouse. “Did you say something about a proposition?”
“Are you going to ask me inside?”
She swallowed at the thought of being alone in her apartment with all six feet of Quinn McKinnel. He was without a doubt the sexiest of the five McKinnel brothers—that was quite a feat—and he knew it. From the way he swaggered when he walked, to the way he wore that leather jacket like leather had been invented for him, to the way he smiled at all the local ladies...he knew it.
Callum had always joked that whenever Quinn stepped into the tasting room at the distillery, their sales hit the roof. He just had to smile at a potential female buyer and they fell over their own feet in their hurry to buy McKinnel’s famed whiskey.
Maybe he’d changed his mind? Maybe he was looking for a hookup? Desire curled low in her belly at that ridiculous thought and she almost laughed out loud. He might be all about no-strings-attached sex—he’d made that clear in those few postcoital moments—but she could never be that girl. Especially not now there was another little person involved. Her hand went to her stomach instinctively; she didn’t even notice until his eyes followed it.
“Are you not well?”
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She snapped her hand back and stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. The last thing she needed was one of her neighbors seeing him and starting rumors.
Quinn raised one sexy shoulder as he stepped inside and shut the door behind them. He was so close she could smell the well-worn leather of his jacket and just a hint of whiskey. All the McKinnels smelled of whiskey—not in an alcoholic I’ve-drunk-too-much kinda way, but in a way she guessed folks who worked and owned a distillery would. Quinn managed the warehouse, which, because he was hands-on in every aspect of his life, she guessed involved a lot of heavy lifting and manual labor, just one of the things that contributed to his muscular physique.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asked, trying to lure her thoughts from the way he’d been hands-on with her, and hoping he’d decline and simply get to the point about what was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until the morning. Or couldn’t be conveyed in a telephone call.
He smiled. “You look tired. How about I make you a drink? What do you want? Coffee?”
Befuddled by his offer, she shook her head. “No, if I drink caffeine at this time, I’ll be up all night.” And I’m steering clear because of the baby. The last month had been torturous without her morning coffee hit, not to mention her midday and afternoon ones. Lack of caffeine on top of the dreaded morning sickness made every day difficult.
“I’ll see what I can find. You go sit.” And Quinn actually put his hands on her shoulders, swiveled her around and gave her a light push in the direction of her lounge room. Despite the layer of flannel protection, awareness skittered across her skin at his touch.
Bailey could already hear him clattering about in her tiny kitchen by the time she flopped down onto the couch. Her eyes landed on a pile of magazines on her coffee table—three copies of Vogue and one about pregnancy. Sheesh! She leaned forward, snatched up the magazine and shoved it under the cushion on which she sat. She’d picked it up yesterday on her lunch break and had been careful to keep it in her bag so no one at the hotel where she worked saw it, but she hadn’t considered the need to hide things in her own home.
As she took deep breaths in and out, she glanced around for anything else that might give her state away. Thank God the pregnancy test kit was long gone, and when Quinn saw the empty pizza box in the kitchen, he’d likely just think her a lazy glutton. If she didn’t slow down on the eating front, she’d be the size of a cow by the time this baby arrived.
She needed to spend less time eating and more time tidying her apartment, she thought as she took in the chaos around her. Her apartment, which was normally neat and ordered, was anything but that right now. Exactly like her life. How had everything gone so downhill so quickly?
Hopefully Quinn, who hadn’t been inside in a long while, wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Tapping her sock-clad feet on the carpet, she frowned as a noise like the blender started up in her kitchen. What on earth was he doing in there? While part of her wanted to get up and go check, her eyelids felt so heavy and the couch was too comfortable. She curled her legs up beside her and...
* * *
“He’s always working. He never wants to spend any time with me. We’re supposed to be getting married in under two months and he can’t even find the time to talk to me about it.” Bailey hated crying, hated sounding so needy, but now the words were spilling from her lips, and she couldn’t seem to stop them.
“He’s a fool,” Quinn said, sliding his hand up her neck and into her hair. He twisted her head so they were looking into each other’s eyes. The way he looked at her sent ripples of awareness through her, and for a second she forgot what she was so upset about. All she could think about was how close he was and how good he smelled.
“You’re gorgeous, Bails,” he whispered, his hot palm still resting against her bare neck. “Don’t let anyone ever make you feel otherwise.”
Her nipples tingled as she wished his hands on them, as well. Then, as if he were a genie granting her every desire, he leaned forward and kissed the lone tear that, in her rage and upset, had trickled down her cheek.
He pulled back, and their eyes met again as he licked his lips, tasting her on them. They stared at each other a few long moments, Bailey’s heart was pounding so hard she’d have sworn he could hear it, as well. And then he dipped his head and kissed her again. This time full on the lips. All notions of right and wrong flew out the window. All Bailey could think about was how amazing Quinn’s lips felt on hers.
He dropped his hands to her ass and pulled her tighter against him, kissing her like she’d only ever dreamed of being kissed. Having been neglected of late, her hormones stood to attention, begging her to up the ante and kiss him back.
A