on her tongue.
She had to get out of his bedroom. Now. Before she did something stupid like slapping her mouth on his. Her libido wasn’t gently creeping back; it was galloping in on a white stallion, naked and howling.
Maybe getting hitched wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever had. She should backtrack, tell Quinn that this was a crazy-bad idea, that she’d changed her mind.
“Okay, let’s do it,” Quinn said. “Let’s get hitched.”
Oh, damn. Too late.
Three weeks later...
Cal, yawning, stumbled up the stairs, her eyes half closed and her brain still in sleep mode. A cool wind from an open door whirled around her and she rubbed her hands over her arms, thinking that she should’ve pulled a robe over her skimpy camisole and boy shorts. Coffee time, she decided.
Cal looked to her right, her attention caught by the silver-pink sheen as the sun danced on the sea. Maybe she wouldn’t go back to bed. Maybe she’d go up onto the deck and watch the sun wake up and a new day bloom.
“Morning.”
Cal screeched, whirled around and slapped her hand on her chest. Quinn stood in the galley kitchen, a pair of low-slung boxers hanging off his slim hips, long hair pulled into a tail at the back of his neck. Oh, God, he was practically naked and her eyes skimmed over the acre of male muscles. His shoulders seemed broader this morning, his arms bigger, that six-pack more defined. She—slowly, it had to be said—lifted her eyes to his face. Her heart bounced off her rib cage when she realized his eyes were on her bare legs and were moving, ever so slowly, north. She felt her internal temperature rocket up and her nipples pucker when his eyes lingered on her chest. When their eyes met, she thought she saw desire—hot and hard—flicker in his eyes and across his face. But it came and went so quickly that she doubted herself; after all, it wasn’t like she’d had a lot of experience with men and attraction lately. Lately, as in the past five years.
Her libido had picked a fine time to get with the program, she decided, deeply disgusted. It was a special type of hell being attracted to your fake husband.
“Do you want coffee?” Quinn said as he turned his back to her. Cal heard an extra rasp in his voice that raised goosebumps on her skin. His back view was almost as good as the front view—an amazing butt, defined and muscular shoulders, a straight spine. There was also a solid inch of white skin between his tanned back and the band of his plain black boxers.
Cal placed her hand on her forehead as she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t attracted to him, that she was being ridiculous. She forced herself to remember that she’d seen him eat week-old pizza, that he was revolting when he was hungover and he sounded like he was killing a cat when he sang. She told herself that she’d never felt even marginally attracted to him so whatever she was feeling was flu or pneumonia or typhoid.
Her libido just laughed at her.
“Red, coffee?”
Quinn’s question jolted her back and she managed to push a yes through her lips. Cal crossed her arms over her chest and felt her hard nipples pressing into her fisted hands. Dammit, she needed to cover up. She couldn’t walk around half-dressed. Cal looked toward the salon and saw a light throw lying across the back of one couch. She quickly walked across the room to wrap it around her shoulders and instantly felt calmer, more in control.
Less likely to strip and jump him in the kitchen...
“Here you go.”
Cal turned and smiled her thanks as Quinn placed a coffee mug on the island counter. Keeping the ends of the throw gathered at her chest, she walked toward him and pushed her other hand through the opening to pick up her cup. She took a grateful sip and sighed. Great coffee.
“I’m surprised to see you up and about so early,” Quinn said, turning away to fix his own cup.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Cal replied.
Quinn lifted his mug to his mouth and gestured to the short flight of stairs that led to the upper deck. “Let’s go up. It’s a nice place to start the day.”
On the deck Cal sat down on the closest blocky settee, placed her coffee cup on the wooden deck and wrapped her arms around her bent legs. She turned and watched as Quinn walked up the stairs, cup and an apple in his hands. He’d pulled on a black hooded sweatshirt and disappointment warred with relief.
Quinn sat down next to her, put his mug next to hers and took a big bite from his apple. They didn’t speak for a while, happy to watch the sun strengthen, bouncing off the tip of the mountains on one side and the skyscrapers on the other.
She’d forgotten how truly beautiful Vancouver could be. And sitting here, feeling the heat radiating off Quinn’s big body, she enjoyed the quiet. When they decided to marry, they’d stepped into a whirlwind of their own creation. Between dealing with the press, her responsibilities to the foundation and the beginning of the new hockey season for him, they had barely touched base since their quick Vegas wedding. And, despite her moving into the guest cabin downstairs, she hardly saw him.
That could be because he was already gone when she woke up and the nights when she knew he was in, she made a concerted effort to be somewhere else.
Cal had the sneaking suspicion that he was also avoiding her and wondered why. She knew what her reasons were—she’d prefer that he didn’t realize that she lusted after him, that she spent many nights in her cabin imagining what making love with him would be like. She didn’t want to complicate this situation, make it any more uncomfortable than it already was and, man, it was complicated enough already.
Cal lifted her cup to her mouth, the diamond in her engagement ring flashing despite the still-low light. Then again, at ten carats, the ring could be seen from space.
“How are things?” Cal asked Quinn, noting his tired eyes. “I haven’t seen you since we attended that art exhibition two nights ago.”
“Where we spoke to the press more than we spoke to each other,” Quinn said, his expression enigmatic.
Cal shook her head, disgusted. “I expected some interest around my return, but this is ridiculous. And, if I’m out alone, they’re always asking where you are.”
“How do you answer?”
“I say that you’re at home, naked, waiting for me to ravish you,” Cal joked, but, instead of laughing something indefinable flashed in his eyes. Cal felt her mouth dry up. She waved her coffee cup and brushed the flash of whatever that was away. “I tell them that we both have very busy lives, that you’re working.”
“Well, that’s the truth. I do little else but work. It’s the start of the season and I have a young team who need extra practice.”
“I saw that you have some new players on board. They any good?”
“If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be there,” Quinn replied. “I might not take much seriously, but I don’t mess around with the team.”
Cal lifted her eyebrows at his touchy tone. Quinn was normally easygoing, tolerant and charming. Hearing him snap was always a surprise. She understood his frustration. Quinn didn’t function well when he was bound by rules, when he felt like he had clipped wings. Wren, the Mavericks’ PR whiz, had carefully choreographed every aspect of their fake marriage, from the leaked photographs of their quickie wedding to their appearances on the social scene. Someone having that much control of his personal life would rub Quinn raw.
Their marriage grounded him, but Quinn desperately needed to fly. Unfortunately, he’d been flying too close to the sun for far too long. “It’s not forever, Quinn. You’ll be rid of me before you know it.”
Beneath his beard, Quinn’s white teeth flashed. “Honey, I saw more of you