Seduced in September (Spring River Valley Book 9) (4 page)

Why had she decided it would be a good idea to have three drinks last night instead of her customary one? (Or had it been five?)

Oh, right. Because she’d been with Quinn, dancing, kissing, making silly sexy promises to each other, and she’d needed the liquid courage to keep her from running away in shame the moment his back was turned. Hmm, his back. She vaguely recalled leaving some scratches there in the throes of passion. She wondered if he—no, she wasn’t going to do that to herself. She wasn’t going to think about him, because the terms of their bargain were not to expect anything more from last night than exactly what it was.

Fortunately, the dog food didn’t require a can opener because the whirring noise would have rattled her teeth loose. The four aspirin she’d swallowed with her orange juice this morning had just begun to take the edge off her hangover, but the effects of her bout with those very evil spirits still lingered. Her friend Lydia, the maven of organic living, would have a fit if she knew Lily hadn’t properly hydrated and anti-oxidized before going on her end-of-summer bender. Good thing Claudia was the only one of Lily’s friends who knew she’d stumbled out of a cab and into their shared apartment at five after seven this morning looking like something the cat dragged in.

Fortunately she’d been spared a lecture from Claudia because she’d managed to pretend she felt fine, and after a steamy shower, a shot of orange juice and aspirin, and an organic oatmeal cookie, she’d breezed back out on her way to Aunt Maddie’s to feed Ricki.

His mistress would be home in two days, and Lily’s obligation to care for the obnoxious little furball would end. With any luck, her headache would be gone by then too.

She plopped an unappetizing pile of “Sirloin nibbles” into Ricki’s bowl and set it down for him. Mercifully, his barking ceased, replaced by satisfied slurping and the jangle of his nametag as it banged against the edge of the metal bowl.

Lily leaned on the counter and held her head in one hand. Lesson learned, she decided. For once in her life she’d gone completely off the deep end, and while it had been a night to remember, she had no desire to repeat it any time soon. “How do people do this kind of stuff every— ahh!”

Why had she chosen a spicy Caribbean beat for her ring tone? The jaunty tune nearly scared her out of her sensible shoes (the miserable stilettos had gone out in the morning’s trash). Clutching the edge of the counter with one hand, she retrieved her phone from the pocket of her shorts and flipped it open to check caller ID.

A tight knot formed in her stomach when Quinn’s name appeared in brightly glowing letters on the tiny screen. How…why? Why would he be calling her so soon? Scratch that, why would he be calling her at all after they’d both agreed—

You left him your phone number, dummy. He probably thought you wanted him to call you.

Didn’t you? Really, want him to call?

Electronic kettle drums still beat in her palm. If she didn’t answer soon, the call would go to voice mail, and then she’d have to face the dilemma of whether or not to call him back.

After a deep, cleansing breath, she answered, making her voice as cheerful and noncommittal as she could. “Hi!”

“Hey! Good morning, sunshine.”

“Good morning.” Her face blazed. How could he do that with just his voice? How could he make her remember every sweaty, lusty moment of the night before in such vivid detail just by saying good morning?

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh…pretty good. You?”

“Amazing. I hope you had a good time last night.”

“Oh, I definitely did.”

Ricki had finished his breakfast and was staring up at her, shiny black eyes bulging. He either expected a second course or he was waiting for the entertainment portion of his meal. She shooed him away and turned to face the refrigerator. “How about you?”

“The best. I was disappointed that you were gone when I woke up.”

“Oh, yeah. I had…to feed the dog.”

“Oh, you have a dog?”

“No. My aunt’s dog. She’s away visiting her daughter, and I’m…pet sitting.”

“Ah. That’s nice. Uh…I was thinking since last night went so…well, maybe we could do it again.”

“It?” Her heart thumped. They’d done “it” quite a number of times. Why was she surprised he’d want a repeat?

“I mean go out. Maybe have less noise, less…booze this time. It might be fun.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Wasn’t this exactly what they’d decided wasn’t going to work? She’d made the analogy last night that he was a sports car and she was a covered wagon. He’d either leave her in the dust in a relationship or she’d slow him down to a crawl. The only reason last night had worked was because she was turbo-charged and utterly sick of trundling along in the ruts others had left before. She had wanted to fly along the highway and watch everything blur as she whizzed by, if just for one night.

“Come on. Didn’t you have fun last night?”

A little too much fun.
“Of course, but…I thought we agreed it was just,
you know
.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t do it again. Not ‘it’ exactly, but just hang out. Right?”

Slippery, slippery slope.
Why wasn’t she putting on the brakes? Why was she licking her lips and thinking about “it”? And why on earth was she saying, “Okay. Sure.”

“Perfect. What about tomorrow night? We could get dinner?”

A date? How had the conversation gone last night? He’d said he was tired of dating, and she’d said she totally understood where he was coming from, and they’d both agreed no one needed messy, complicated relationships that began with dates. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

“Awesome. What time’s good for you?”

“How about seven? You can just pick me up at work.”

Silence followed her suggestion. “Quinn? You still there?”

“I…amm…
sshhhhs
.”

“What’s wrong?” It sounded like the call was breaking up.

“Can you hear me?
Shhhshshss.
”

“A little. The connection went bad…” She heard a few disjointed words after that, lots of static and something about a tunnel and no bars. Either he was in a tunnel and had no bars, or he was digging a tunnel and didn’t want to go to any bars.

“Call…me…
shhhhshhshsh
….back…” was the last thing she heard before the line went dead.

“Okay,” she said, then cringed when she realized he hadn’t heard. She searched recent calls and found his number, but before she could hit dial, the phone beeped. Low battery. Damn. She’d forgotten to put the phone on the charger when she…oh, right. She hadn’t come home last night, she’d come home this morning. Crap.

“The number. Don’t die before I get the number.” With Ricki still weaving in and out between her feet, she rummaged in Aunt Maddie’s junk drawer for a notepad and a pen. She found an old match book and a golf pencil and decided they would have to do. As the glow from the phone display faded, she jotted down Quinn’s cell number.

Ricki yipped and ran to the back door where he danced a very specific jig. “Okay, okay.” Lily let him outside and, grateful for the relative peace, grabbed the landline and started to dial. A voice in her head that may have been her conscience asked her if she really knew what she was doing. She hesitated before the final digit. A date with Quinn would break all the rules she’d broken last night all over again and more so. No cops, no firemen, no EMTs, no doctors, no nurses. Anyone who worked in or around the hospital was off limits because when the relationship tanked—and they all inevitably did—how could she sit at the ER reception desk and smile cheerfully as an ex-lover passed by day after day? It just made sense to keep her personal life very separate from her professional life.

So last night she’d blurred the lines between them, and today was supposed to be about clarifying all that blurriness and putting everything back in the right boxes. Work was work. Dating was dating. The two didn’t mix.

Despite that logic, her finger descended on the last digit of its own volition. She closed her eyes, bit her lower lip, and prayed she wouldn’t regret it.

Quinn’s plan was genius. A little fake static and some mumbo jumbo about losing bars while going through a tunnel was all it took. As soon as she called him back, he’d know her name.

He couldn’t believe hearing her voice hadn’t jogged his memory, but then again, she probably sounded different over the phone. He recalled a sultry, breathy sex voice whispering things in his ears that had curled his toes. What he’d gotten this morning was obviously her “I’m playing it cool” voice. That was okay. He’d used the same one.

So why hadn’t she called back yet? He stared at his phone, lying innocently on the bed he’d just made. This time when it rang the sound wouldn’t kill him. A glass of tomato juice, two aspirin, and a piece of dry toast had settled the pulsating of his brain and made him feel marginally better. A hot shower had helped a lot, allowing him to think clearly enough to pull off the static trick as soon as she’d mentioned picking her up at work.

Since he didn’t know where she worked, he’d had to think fast. Once he saw her name, he could figure out the rest, he just had to wait for her to call back. Or better yet, he could suggest a different place to meet. That made even more sense. Why hadn’t he just done that in the first place?

Ring, dammit. Ring.

Finally, muffled by the comforter, the phone rang. He scooped it up and hesitated just long enough not to seem too anxious then focused his gaze on the caller ID where the name Madelyn Moriarty appeared.

Madelyn…it seemed like sort of an old-fashioned name for a woman who, he recalled, was the epitome of fast forward. But it was charming. Maddie. Her name was Maddie. The rest of it seemed vaguely familiar. He knew someone named Moriarty…not just the villain in the Sherlock Holmes novels. How did he know her?

No time for guessing games. He answered before the call went to voice mail. How would that look if he told her to call him back and he didn’t answer? “Hey, I was starting to get worried.”

“Sorry, I had to let the dog out.”

“What kind of dog?”
Oh, super smooth, Preston. Small talk? Really?

“A Pomeranian. He’s terribly cute and awfully friendly and monstrously needy.”

“Sounds like a charmer. He’s lucky to have you to take care of him. Uh…so about tomorrow night.”

“You haven’t changed your mind?”

“No, of course not. I was just thinking, why don’t we meet somewhere instead? Like Colette’s. You know, go back to the scene of the crime?”

She was silent for about twenty seconds
, during which time he started to think he might have somehow blown it. “Okay, that’s fine. We said seven, or rather we were saying seven when your phone cut out.”

“Seven is perfect.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then, Quinn.”

“I can’t wait, Maddie.” There. He’d effortlessly slipped her name into the conversation and everything was right as rain. Except it wasn’t.

“Did you just call me Maddie?”

Uh oh.
“Um, Madelyn?”

“Madelyn is my aunt.” Her tone hardened. “You don’t remember my name, do you?”

“Of course I do. But more importantly, I remember we had an amazing time last night, and I’m dying to see you again.”

“Really? What do I look like then?”

“Umm, you have gorgeous blue eyes.”

“Go on.”

“And…uh…” He thought about the scent of lilacs, but that wasn’t what she’d asked. “Long blond hair…”

“Not bad, now, what’s
my
name?”

“I was a bit drunk last night.”

“Too drunk to know who you were sleeping with?”

“I…hey, I’d know who you were if you’d stuck around this morning, or if you left your name on the note. Who just leaves an anonymous phone number?”

“Maybe someone who doesn’t want to be identified.”

“So you have regrets?”

“After this conversation, maybe I do. You know, I almost didn’t call you back. Now I wish I hadn’t.” She hung up, loudly.

The noise served to remind him his hangover was only partially mollified by the aspirin and tomato juice. He winced and rubbed his forehead.
Real smooth, Preston. You had to push it by saying her name.
The wrong name. Who was Madelyn Moriarty? And more importantly, who was her niece?

* * * *

After letting Ricki back inside, Lily sat at Aunt Maddie’s kitchen table for a long time, arms crossed over her chest, staring at the phone on the wall. Now it all made sense why Quinn had called her. He’d just wanted to find out who he’d been with last night, since he had no idea. She taxed her brain, thinking back through all the highlights of the evening and realized he hadn’t actually said her name at all. She assumed he knew her because she saw him all the time at the hospital. All right, if she was being honest with herself, she’d assumed he knew her because
she knew him
and had worshipped him from afar for quite long enough. She’d congratulated him when he saved lives, and she’d cried for him when everyone feared he might lose his own after the disastrous Stanton house fire last spring. It seemed so foolish now to think that she’d only imagined he was as aware of her as she was of him.