Page 40 of As You Crave It

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CELIATOOKTHE last bite of her deep-fried ice cream and put down her fork. Her meal had been amazing, and she was pleased to have found a new favorite restaurant in Miami. Reid was telling her about his new girlfriend, Lila, when Celia almost gasped as Quin put his hand high on her leg. He’d touched her under the table, his fingers tracing lines on the sensitive skin of her thigh. Unable to fully concentrate on Reid’s story, she just let herself focus on Quin’s fingers as he carried on pleasant conversation. Under that long tablecloth, she parted her legs for him and allowed him to swirl his fingertips up her parted legs. When he reached the crevice at the top of her thighs, she could feel his body tense and his touch still as he made contact with her bare flesh.

He cleared his throat. “I think it’s time for us to get out of here,” he told his siblings. He kept his fingers on her, and she thought she might pass out from his touch. He raised his free hand to signal the server.

Celia tried her best to hold on to her hormones as Quin and Reid fought over the bill. But Quin won the argument by throwing a couple of bills hastily on the table. They stood. And even though their dinner had been pleasant, it had lasted several hours, and all Celia could think about now was going to bed with Quin.

“It was great seeing you guys. I hope now that I’m back in town, I’ll see you again.”

“Definitely,” Gemma said. “Let’s do lunch sometime.”

“Yeah, let’s do that. I’ll get your number from Quin.”

“Good night, guys. See you tomorrow.”

With Quin’s hand on her lower back, they left the restaurant. She was barely able to walk; each step increased the delicious pressure that was building deep inside of her.

“That was a lot of fun,” Celia said as they made their way back to his car. “I forgot how great your brother and sister are.”

“They’re okay,” he said, laughing. “I’m glad you had a good time.” He turned the ignition of the car and the engine rumbled to life. He took off up the street. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

“Which part?”

“That you want me to take you to my place.”

She nodded. “That’s what I want.”

A couple of minutes passed in silence, with nothing but the purr of the engine and the tires gliding over the road filling the interior of the sports car. The vibrations from the engine matched the constant thrum of desire that drummed through her bloodstream. She tried not to, but she wanted Quin so much. When he pulled the car up a long driveway, her eyes widened appreciatively at his house. “Nice place.”

“Thanks,” he said, driving into the garage and parking his car between a black Land Rover and a Harley-Davidson. They got out of the car and he came around to her side. He held out his hand to her. “Come on.”

Her hand felt so small in his as he led her into the house. Through that one touch, she could feel his strength, his warmth, and she wanted to follow him everywhere. Thankfully, he had no intention of letting go of her hand as he showed her around the house.

The place was large, and designed in a masculine but elegant fashion. “I knew Rexford Rum was doing well, but this place is really spectacular. The interior designer alone must have cost a fortune.” Celia knew it was generally rude to talk money, but this was Quin. There was a time when they’d talked about everything.

“We are doing well, but I got lucky. The seller was extremely motivated, and I got a really great price on this place. As for the designer, I did it myself.”

“Really? It looks great.”

“Well, I have exquisite taste,” he said, slanting his eyes down at her.

Quin gave her the tour of all the typical spots—kitchen, dining room, man cave. Enough of that, she thought. Show me the bedroom. But instead he stopped them in the living room. “Have a seat,” he told her. “Why don’t I get a bottle of wine?”

“Sounds good.”

“Any preference?”

“No, whatever you choose is fine.”

She sat on Quin’s plush couch, kicking off her shoes and pulling her legs up under her. The room was masculine—all clean lines, no clutter, comfortable.

When he came back to the living room, he was holding a bottle of wine in one hand and the stems of two glasses in the other and walked over to the couch. “Cabernet sauvignon good?”

“Love it.”

He smiled and pulled the wine key from his pocket and deftly removed the cork from the bottle and poured two glasses. He sat back and pulled out his cell phone, then tapped the screen a couple of times.

“What, am I boring you already?”

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