a pass, right?"
"Definitely a pass," he agreed and reached for his backpack.
Quinn spread a blanket on the dry grass. They were in Ruckle Park, just above a tiny cove lined with arbutus and sky-hugging Douglas firs. The beach below was marked by outcroppings of rock and a strip of sand left wet and swollen by the retreating tide. The sun shone fully now, and the grass was bright and warm.
Emily smoothed the end of the blanket and eased her beaten body wearily to its surface, thinking maybe she hadn't passed after all. Her legs, not fully recovered from the bike ride, were screaming at their unfair treatment. I guess going from zero to a total of seven hours of exercise is pushing my luck—but damn it, I should be able to keep up. She envied Quinn, who looked more as if he'd had a short walk in the park than a three mile trek over hilly, wooded terrain, and vowed never to get so out of shape again.
"Can I help?" she asked when she noticed him rifling around in his pack for their lunch.
"No. It's okay. Lean back and relax."
Happy enough to follow his instructions, she lay back, and closed her eyes, letting a woozy sense of fatigue slacken and ease her complaining muscles.
Quinn dug into his backpack, then spread their lunch out on the blanket. "I think I've got everything. Chicken, salad, and—" He dug deeper. "Juice. I'm starved. What about you?"
No answer had him glancing down at her. Lying there with her eyes closed, she looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen her. He watched her tongue move over the pale fullness of her bottom lip, moistening it, as she took a deep, satisfied breath. Her hands were above her head. For the first time since they'd met she looked open, unfolded like a flower reacting to the power of the sun.
Vulnerable was the next word jumping into his mind. Emily had been in his head since last night. It had been difficult to stop with one kiss—and not something he was used to. He'd wanted her then. Hell, he wanted her now. Easy enough to figure that out. Figuring her out? Not so easy. And until he did, best he be damn careful. Take this slow...
He brushed his knuckles across her cheek; surprisingly, she didn't jump at the touch. So he shifted some stray tendrils of hair off her forehead. A clear high forehead. Soft, soft skin . Her eyes opened slowly, all languid and soft—until she realized he'd was watching her. Instantly, she tensed.
"It's okay," he said, running the back of his hand slowly down her cheek, before reaching the curve between neck and shoulder. He rested his thumb lightly on the pulse of her throat. He felt her swallow—hard, her tension turn to rigidity. But she didn't push him away. It was as if she were facing some kind of test. Whether it was of him or her, he didn't know.
He bent his head to the hollow of her throat, kissed her there, keeping his hands on safe territory, determined not to frighten her. Easy. Easy...
Quinn's lips were warm, his breath barely a whisper against the taut cords of her neck, yet Emily lay paralyzed. She beat back her familiar urge to jump and run, fought against the residue of her own fears.
She didn't want to run from Quinn; she wanted to trust him. When his lips moved from the base of her neck to below her ear, she rolled her head to expose the contour of her throat, and let herself savor the quick inhalation of his breath in response. A swell of heat moved through her, a slow, creeping tide lapping at and eroding her restraint, gently, insistently. Quinn untied her hair and ran his fingers through it. Lifting it from her nape, he kissed her first behind her ear, then below it. When his hands tightened on her shoulders, and he lifted his head, Emily's throat was burning along the path taken by his lips. When she looked at him, it was with eyes blind to anything but the blueness of his gaze.
"I want to kiss you, shy Emily. Very much." There was no smile in his eyes, only an odd intensity, a male ardor unknown to her. His pupils were dark
"Definitely a pass," he agreed and reached for his backpack.
Quinn spread a blanket on the dry grass. They were in Ruckle Park, just above a tiny cove lined with arbutus and sky-hugging Douglas firs. The beach below was marked by outcroppings of rock and a strip of sand left wet and swollen by the retreating tide. The sun shone fully now, and the grass was bright and warm.
Emily smoothed the end of the blanket and eased her beaten body wearily to its surface, thinking maybe she hadn't passed after all. Her legs, not fully recovered from the bike ride, were screaming at their unfair treatment. I guess going from zero to a total of seven hours of exercise is pushing my luck—but damn it, I should be able to keep up. She envied Quinn, who looked more as if he'd had a short walk in the park than a three mile trek over hilly, wooded terrain, and vowed never to get so out of shape again.
"Can I help?" she asked when she noticed him rifling around in his pack for their lunch.
"No. It's okay. Lean back and relax."
Happy enough to follow his instructions, she lay back, and closed her eyes, letting a woozy sense of fatigue slacken and ease her complaining muscles.
Quinn dug into his backpack, then spread their lunch out on the blanket. "I think I've got everything. Chicken, salad, and—" He dug deeper. "Juice. I'm starved. What about you?"
No answer had him glancing down at her. Lying there with her eyes closed, she looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen her. He watched her tongue move over the pale fullness of her bottom lip, moistening it, as she took a deep, satisfied breath. Her hands were above her head. For the first time since they'd met she looked open, unfolded like a flower reacting to the power of the sun.
Vulnerable was the next word jumping into his mind. Emily had been in his head since last night. It had been difficult to stop with one kiss—and not something he was used to. He'd wanted her then. Hell, he wanted her now. Easy enough to figure that out. Figuring her out? Not so easy. And until he did, best he be damn careful. Take this slow...
He brushed his knuckles across her cheek; surprisingly, she didn't jump at the touch. So he shifted some stray tendrils of hair off her forehead. A clear high forehead. Soft, soft skin . Her eyes opened slowly, all languid and soft—until she realized he'd was watching her. Instantly, she tensed.
"It's okay," he said, running the back of his hand slowly down her cheek, before reaching the curve between neck and shoulder. He rested his thumb lightly on the pulse of her throat. He felt her swallow—hard, her tension turn to rigidity. But she didn't push him away. It was as if she were facing some kind of test. Whether it was of him or her, he didn't know.
He bent his head to the hollow of her throat, kissed her there, keeping his hands on safe territory, determined not to frighten her. Easy. Easy...
Quinn's lips were warm, his breath barely a whisper against the taut cords of her neck, yet Emily lay paralyzed. She beat back her familiar urge to jump and run, fought against the residue of her own fears.
She didn't want to run from Quinn; she wanted to trust him. When his lips moved from the base of her neck to below her ear, she rolled her head to expose the contour of her throat, and let herself savor the quick inhalation of his breath in response. A swell of heat moved through her, a slow, creeping tide lapping at and eroding her restraint, gently, insistently. Quinn untied her hair and ran his fingers through it. Lifting it from her nape, he kissed her first behind her ear, then below it. When his hands tightened on her shoulders, and he lifted his head, Emily's throat was burning along the path taken by his lips. When she looked at him, it was with eyes blind to anything but the blueness of his gaze.
"I want to kiss you, shy Emily. Very much." There was no smile in his eyes, only an odd intensity, a male ardor unknown to her. His pupils were dark
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