Start Me Up. Victoria Dahl
Creek assumed she was a lesbian because she didn’t date much and she fixed cars for a living. She’d actively encouraged this belief in Aaron’s case, because she’d grown tired of him stopping by after his last river run of the day to show off his tight neoprene package. Especially after the time she’d caught him rearranging his goods to offer his best side just before he’d stepped into the garage.
Lori shuddered at the thought and watched Aaron’s pretty blue eyes drop lower to check out her chest. She crossed her arms.
“Aaron, listen. Please. I will never sleep with you. And I will never sleep with anyone else in front of you. Nor,” she interrupted when he opened his mouth to speak, “will I sleep with someone you know and then tell you about it. Is that clear enough? Just drop it, all right?”
“But…” He looked confused, not believing even a gay woman wouldn’t want to sleep with Aaron, god of the hot river guides. A deep crease of thought appeared between his eyebrows. “But I thought we were friends.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
He shrugged, all traces of thinking gone from his face. “Whatever. Just call me if you ever decide to switch teams.”
“I…” There was no reasoning with a man who was such a bizarre combination of nature boy and gigolo. “I’ll see you later.”
He winked and turned back to the work of unknotting a thick poly rope. Lori’s eyes wandered to his ass, and he must have expected just that, because he turned his head and caught her looking.
“Reconsidering?” he offered in a smooth purr.
“No! I just…” With a growl, she spun and stomped off toward the narrow path that had been worn through the grass, Aaron’s laughter fading behind her. She didn’t want anything to do with that man’s ass, but no one could help but stare at the two perfect globes of muscles perched on top of his bulging thighs. How much time did he spend working out anyway? And how long did it take him to pour himself into that suit every morning? Jesus, she’d seen the hollows on the sides of his ass cheeks.
He’d be perfect for a fling. “If only he weren’t Aaron,” she muttered to herself, then the words hit her brain and she stopped dead in her tracks. A pebble pressed against the ball of her foot so hard that she felt it through the sole of her shoe. But she didn’t move.
Aaron was perfect for a fling because he was Aaron. He was young, hot and eager. He’d do anything she asked him to. And there was absolutely no danger of it developing into something deeper. Perfect.
And not the least bit tempting.
Not like Quinn.
She pressed her weight harder to her right foot until the pebble felt like a thorn. Her thoughts of Quinn held firm, unaffected by the pain. She wanted him. And she needed the distraction, really needed it. This thing with her dad, it could go on for months. And she had nothing—nothing—to distract her. Except Quinn and his offer.
Lori lifted her foot and kept walking, keeping a close eye out for any sign of bears ahead. If it were springtime, she wouldn’t be out at all. In the spring, the bears were not only hungry, they had baby bears to protect. “Eek,” she muttered.
The river rushed and roared beside her, always louder than she expected despite that she’d grown up two hundred feet from it. Once it hit Grand Valley it was a wide, smooth ribbon, but here it jumped and dropped and boiled, finding its way through sharp rocks and steep ledges. It was a little like her life, actually. Boring and calm one minute, chaotic as hell the next.
But if her life was going to be chaotic for a while, maybe she should enjoy the ride.
So Quinn wouldn’t be a perfect fling. He was too familiar. Too nice. Too smart. But he was right about one thing, he’d be better at a fling than he’d ever be at a relationship. Lori could vividly remember walking into the girls’ bathroom at a varsity basketball game to find a beautiful blond cheerleader weeping loudly into her hands.
“He never calls. Ever! And last night my parents were gone for the night, and he didn’t even show up. We were going to do it and he didn’t even remember!”
“Quinn’s just like that,” her friend had assured her.
“He hates me!”
“No, no! He’s so smart, RaeAnne. He’s got so much stuff to think about. College. Basketball.”
The cheerleader’s sobbing had grown louder, and Lori had hustled out, wide-eyed.
Smiling at the trail, she hauled herself over a fallen pine tree and jumped to the packed earth below. She’d been stunned by that conversation at the time, just the idea that Quinn—sweet, quiet, big-brother Quinn—could make a cheerleader cry. Could make a cheerleader cry about wanting to do it with him. What a strange and disturbing idea that had been.
And now here she was wanting to do it with him. Not crying over him, at least, but certainly confused. It felt strangely natural, as if that moment in that high school bathroom had been the first point on a meandering trail that led to an inevitable affair between Quinn Jennings and Lori Love.
But maybe it was a terrible idea, inevitable or not. Maybe it would end with her crying in a bathroom somewhere. Maybe she’d even be wearing a cheerleader’s uniform at that point. Just a lonely, kinky mess, wearing a short skirt and no underwear as mascara ran down her cheeks.
Her laughter bounced off the rock wall on the far side of the river, as if to confirm her decision. Sex with Quinn was a good idea, even if it turned out to be a bad one, because her nights would be spent pacing around her house, leaving angry messages for a forgetful lover, instead of tossing and turning and worrying about an investigation she couldn’t control.
She didn’t want to think about what might have been done to her father, didn’t want to imagine that someone had stolen his life and all her plans. So until Ben called to tell her his suspicions were unfounded, Lori would think about Quinn instead.
Q UINN GLANCED at his watch, then back to the road that led in a straight line from his condo to his office. It would be a busy day, but he felt as relaxed as if he’d just checked out early on a Friday afternoon. An hour swimming laps would do that for you, but it was more than just the loose exhaustion in his muscles. He finally had the vision he’d been chasing for Brett Wilson’s new home. The two-acre lot halfway up Aspen Mountain was flat and perfect for building…aside from the fact that Brett wanted a view of his favorite ski run from his living room. A ski run that sat on the wrong side of a jagged wall of granite.
“Buy another lot,” had been Quinn’s first suggestion upon walking the land. The builder had insisted that Brett Wilson would pay a premium if Quinn could make it work.
Quinn would be collecting on that premium now, though it had been the challenge of the project that had driven him to take it on rather than the money. He’d spent days turning possibilities over in his head, but the swimming had finally unlocked the puzzle for him, as it often did. Something about the rhythm and the echoing solitude worked like meditation for him.
He was picturing the cantilevered jut of the suspended living room when his cell rang. The sound tossed a sudden thought into his brain, where it exploded like a white-hot cherry bomb.
It might be Lori.
“Holy crap. ” Quinn scrambled to grab the phone, but the front wheel hit a slight buckle in the shoulder of the road, and when he jerked the car back onto the blacktop, the phone skittered away.
“Shit.” He’d forgotten to call her. “Shit, shit, shit.”
He pulled into a lot, threw his car into Park and dived across the seat to grab the phone.
“Hello?” he nearly shouted.
“Good morning, Mr. Jennings.” The cool voice of his office manager flowed across the ether. Jane. Just Jane.
Collapsing