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And there she went again. Problems and scenarios going round and round inside her head, intensifying her morning (or rather all-day) sickness but not making anything clearer. That was why she needed the advice of Aunt Bossy. Decision made, she shoved the envelope into her purse, switched off the lights in the office, as she was the last to leave, and then headed outside into the cool January evening to her car.
* * *
Quinn poured himself a measure of his family’s finest bourbon, grabbed the large yellow envelope he’d collected from the post office today, then took it and his drink across to the couch. He dumped the envelope on the coffee table, picked up his television remote with his free hand and aimed it at his big-screen TV. As the picture came to life and the sounds of tonight’s basketball game filled the room, he sat down and leaned back into the couch, taking a long sip of his drink.
Ah. His family might drive him insane sometimes—arguing about what was best for their little empire—but there was no doubt about it, they knew how to make good whiskey.
It was Friday night, and while usually he’d be out on the town with the guys, carousing or actually at a game, he hadn’t been in the mood for either of those options tonight. At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, maybe he was getting old.
Shaking out the contents of the package, he picked up the first letter and started to read about a woman who felt like she was playing second fiddle in her husband’s life to her mother-in-law.
Marriage—how many letters about marriage problems did he receive? Those and neighborhood disputes were biggies. And while he might not have any professional qualifications to fix such issues, he had an innate talent for telling things how they were, and this woman needed to take her husband’s balls in hand and give him an ultimatum.
He chuckled, looking forward to writing that letter. What had started as a dare six years ago when his friend from school was interning at the paper had become a large, important part of Quinn’s life. No one, aside from his friend, who had since moved on to a much bigger newspaper in Seattle, knew that he was the writer behind the popular Aunt Bossy column. All his exchanges with the local paper were anonymous and that was the way he intended it to stay. He could just imagine the ribbing he’d get if his older brothers ever found out about his secret side business, not to mention what women might think of it, but strangely he enjoyed this gig and felt like in some bizarre way he was doing good in the world.
He took another swig of his bourbon and picked up the next letter. He was halfway through reading about a woman who found herself unexpectedly pregnant, when something about the wording gave him pause. He went back a few lines and read it again.
I slept with someone I shouldn’t have—a sexy devil-may-care playboy who hasn’t had a steady girlfriend in as long as I can remember. And I’ve known him all my life.
No. It couldn’t be. He chuckled out loud at the absurdity of his thought, tossed the letter aside, took a sip of his drink and began to read the next one. But he read the first sentence about five times before he tossed it aside and went back to Pregnant with Mr. Wrong.
The paper starting to shake in his hand and his heart beating a mile a minute, Quinn read her letter again, over and over, and the more times he read it, the more he began to feel as if he knew the writer. Personally. Intimately.
His gut tightened as he thought back to that night in the warehouse when he and Bailey had consummated a relationship that wasn’t meant to be. Although Pregnant with Mr. Wrong didn’t go so far as to say she’d been engaged to the “good” brother, her descriptions of what happened fit his and Bailey’s situation to a T. Was the devil-may-care brother with commitment issues him or was he being paranoid?
He wasn’t offended by this label, as some might be—such an accusation would be true and he had good reasons for the way he was—but if it was him, there was a much bigger issue in play.
Bailey was pregnant. With his baby. He was going to be a dad. Something he had never planned on being.
His rib cage squeezing in around his heart, Quinn picked up his glass again and downed the rest of the contents. If he wasn’t in such a state of shock, he’d have gotten up and walked the short distance necessary to refill it, but his brain was too full with this news to send such messages to his legs.
A baby. He and Bailey had made a baby.
Or had they? How could she be certain it was his? How could he be so certain this letter was from her? They’d had sex one time—granted it had been more explosive than anything he’d experienced before—but they’d used a condom. It hadn’t broken, and he was pretty damn sure it hadn’t been out-of-date. Didn’t most people take months to get pregnant, even when they were actively trying?
This question was quickly forgotten as more of the letter sank in. In his heart of hearts he knew the letter was from her, which meant Bailey believed the baby was his and she wasn’t sure whether she should tell him or not. His fist tightened around his glass and he hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall, scattering glass all over the carpet. Now he had a mess in his house to clean up as well as a mess in his life.
But who the hell did Bailey think she was, even contemplating keeping him in the dark?
She might be the incubator, but if he was the sperm donor, as she appeared to believe, no way was she going to cut him out of their baby’s life. So what if he prided himself on being the life of the party? So what if he didn’t believe in the institution of marriage? So what if he’d made a decision long ago that commitment to a woman wasn’t for him? That didn’t mean he would shirk his responsibilities and it wasn’t her right to decide he would. He thought of his brother Lachlan’s ex-wife, who had walked away from her son—he would never, could never, do that, and it riled him that had he not read this letter, Bailey might have made that decision for him.
What made her think she would be a better parent than he would, anyway? His dating history had no bearing on this issue.
Enraged, Quinn stood. Abandoning the other letters and the broken glass, he strode toward his front door, where he grabbed his leather jacket, helmet and motorcycle keys before storming out of the house. Thankfully he’d had only one drink, so he was safe to ride.
The bitter winter wind sliced into his cheeks, burning his skin, as he rode the short distance to Bailey’s apartment block on the other side of Jewell Rock, but consumed with anger, he barely registered it.
Just wait till he saw her. He revved the engine and took a curve fast, suddenly realizing just how much his life was about to change.
Late nights on the town would be exchanged for long nights walking up and down the hallway with a restless baby—he’d been around enough when his nephew, Hamish, was little to know what the future held. He could kiss goodbye to sleeping in on the weekends, and perhaps he’d have to exchange this bike for a more family-friendly vehicle, something that had room for car seats.
His chest tightening at the enormity of it all, he slowed the bike in front of Bailey’s town house and parked. Fueled by a weird cocktail of fury and fervor, he strode toward the building, ready to confront her—to find out if it were true that she was pregnant with his kid.
Moments later, he lifted his fist and rapped hard on her front door, tapping his boot on the floor as he waited for her to answer. That wait seemed like an eternity, but after a few minutes he finally heard footsteps approaching, and then the door peeled open. Bailey stood there in pink flannel pajamas, her eyes and mouth wide-open, as if he were the last person she expected to see, and her hair wet, as if she’d just stepped out of the shower.
“Quinn?”
If he’d had any doubt in his heart that Bailey was pregnant, one look at her eradicated that possibility. She looked utterly exhausted, yet at the same time she glowed. Bailey with her pale skin, cute button nose, sleek black hair and luscious curves had always been beautiful in a classic kind of way, but in this moment she took his breath away. He couldn’t think of any woman as gorgeous as she was and something shifted inside him.
“Quinn?” she said again. “What are you doing here?”
He opened his mouth to tell her that he knew and to ask her what the heck crazy game she was playing at. But the words caught in his throat as two awful thoughts struck. Confronting her would expose Aunt Bossy, but more important, did he really want his baby to be welcomed into the world by feuding parents?
His mind drifted to his niece and nephew. Or, more to the point, to his sweet niece, who because of her parents’ bitter divorce was shuffled between her dad, who lived in Jewell Rock, and her mom, who lived in Bend, while her twin brother lived permanently with his dad. Quinn didn’t want that conflicted life for his kid. He wanted only the best for his baby and that meant two parents, all of the time—even if that went against all the rules he lived by.
He rubbed the side of his jaw, racking his mind for a reply. However angry he might be at Bailey, however misguided she was, he understood one thing. And that was that her intentions were honorable—the desire to love and protect their baby. Two minutes ago he wouldn’t have considered marriage if someone had offered him a billion dollars, but now, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes as she stood in front of him, imagining the new life growing inside her, he wanted to love and protect their baby, as well. And the most logical solution was getting married so they could parent one hundred percent together.
But Bailey had made it clear in her letter that she wouldn’t marry the Quinn she knew simply because they were going to be parents.
So, it was his job to show her the side of himself she didn’t know—the side that knew, if he was given half a chance, he could take care of both her and their baby.
Bailey’s glare, followed by her attempt to shut the door in his face, reminded him he’d been staring at her, possibly for minutes. He put his foot out to stop the door closing and summoned his most charming smile. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Chapter Two (#ucd0fecc5-dcbd-5824-a2ce-88865f3ead67)
What the heck was Quinn doing on her doorstep on a Friday night? Bailey wondered. Didn’t he have someplace better to be? Like a bar, hitting on anything with a skirt.
Her heart thrashed wildly at the sight of him, wearing faded jeans, a long-sleeved white T-shirt and a leather jacket that should be an illegal combo where he was concerned. His hair was mussed up from his helmet, which only amplified his sex appeal. Her mouth went dry and her grip on the door loosened as he nudged it open again with his boot-clad foot and hit her with a smile that left her dizzy.
And what had he just said about a proposition? She couldn’t voice any of these questions because her tongue had tied when her eyes locked with his dark, dangerous gaze. Not dangerous because he would ever physically hurt her, but because when she looked into those big brown pools of seduction, it wasn’t only her heart that quivered.
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 tiny voice in the depths of her mind tried to tell her that getting naked with him wasn’t a good idea, but Bailey ignored it, helping Quinn by shrugging off her jacket as he pushed it down over her shoulders. The blouse she’d been wearing for work came next. Their mouths parted as he whipped it over her head and she shivered momentarily as the cool evening air hit her skin.
Not a word was said between them. Not a thought to where they were and who might happen to stumble upon them. Instead, Quinn dipped his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth. Despite the lace of her bra, she bit down on a shriek as he twirled his tongue around her bud, the sensations shooting right to her core.
“God, Quinn.” She reached out to steady herself on his shoulders as he took her other nipple and gave it equal attention. With each flick of his tongue, he drove her a little more insane, a little more desperate. She wanted him, she needed him. Not just his mouth on her, but all of him, inside her.
She reached her hand out and slid it down the front of his trousers. He groaned as her fingers closed around the prize, his warmth and hardness only increasing her desire. She was wet for him, her knees shaking, her toes quivering and her breath coming hard and fast in anticipation.
He snapped his head back up and kissed her again, simultaneously raking her skirt up to her hips. Unsteady on her feet, she leaned back against a whiskey barrel for support and spread her legs, desperate for his touch. And Quinn gave her exactly what she wanted. He hooked one finger beneath her panties and slid the finger inside her. All it took was a few deft strokes and his mouth back on her nipple, and she was panting like she’d never panted before.
As the pressure built up inside her, all she could think about was having him. “Do you have a condom?” she whispered.
In reply, he conjured one out of his back pocket and held it up. Of course Jewell Rock’s chief Casanova would carry a condom. While she snatched the little foil packet and ripped it open with her teeth, Quinn yanked down his trousers. Smiling like someone about to win the lottery, she reached for his naked erection and rolled on the protection.
Then, also grinning, Quinn lifted her atop the barrel and removed her panties, dropping them to the floor beside them. Desperate, Bailey wrapped her legs around him and anchored her hands on his shoulders, her head falling back as he thrust into her.
* * *
“Bailey? Bailey?”
She blinked her eyes open and shook her head, shooting up into a sitting position at the sound of Quinn’s voice. He was perched on the edge of her coffee table, only a foot or so away from her, holding out a large glass with white liquid inside. How long had she been out cold?
Long enough to have a sordid dream.
Her cheeks burned and she hoped he couldn’t read her mind.
“What is that?” she asked, her tone perhaps a tad accusatory, but having Quinn so close set her on edge. Awareness and guilt warred within her.
“It’s a vanilla milk shake.”
“You made me a milk shake?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice as she reached out to take it from him, careful not to let their fingers touch in the exchange.
He cocked his head to one side and smiled that toe-curling grin. “Well, you said you didn’t want coffee. I couldn’t find the ingredients for hot chocolate and you don’t like tea, but of course you had ice cream.”
“You remembered I don’t like tea?” The surprises just kept coming.
He nodded, his gaze trained on hers. “Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends remember each other’s likes and dislikes.”
She swallowed. Friends? Was that what they were? Friends with benefits? Friends who accidentally made a mistake and slept together? Friends who just happened to have conceived a baby?
“Thank you,” she managed and then took a sip of her drink. The cool sweetness slid down her throat. The man was not only hot and good in bed, but he could also make a mean milk shake.
“Did you make one for yourself?” she asked, leaning back into the couch, trying to look relaxed—even though she felt anything but.
“No. And I won’t keep you long. You look exhausted.”
“Jeez, thanks. Way to make a girl feel good.”
“Looking exhausted is not mutually exclusive to looking gorgeous, not where you’re concerned, anyway.”
Her insides heated at his compliment, but common sense immediately reminded her that sweet-talking was simply Quinn’s way. It didn’t mean anything. “Why are you here, anyway?”
He cleared his throat, and dammit, even that sounded sexy. “Well...um...” She’d never heard him sound anything but confident before and this stammering was strangely endearing.
“Yes?” she prodded, wishing he’d just spit it out and leave. Somehow, while she’d been dating and then engaged to Callum, she’d managed to control her attraction to his younger brother. But now that she and Quinn had done the horizontal mambo, she couldn’t be within twenty feet of him without remembering how explosive they’d been together. Even the thought of how he’d treated her afterward, even the thought of his baby inside her wasn’t enough of a cold shower.
“You probably know it’s my mom’s sixtieth birthday soon?”
