Kate Hoffmann - The Mighty Quinns - Ian

Her father was a proud man, even after he’d been beaten down by life. Marisol had tried to make his life more comfortable, but he’d refused all help. And her mother had put him out of her life the day he’d been convicted. Marisol had been left to keep the shreds of her family together.

“So what do you think?” Marisol said. “It’s a nice space, no?”

“I don’t understand why you moved out of the city, Mari. What is out here but a bunch of bourgeois suburbanites who buy their art to match their sofas?”

That’s what Marisol had thought when one of her patrons had first offered her the chance to have her own gallery. But after yesterday’s encounter with the village police chief, she’d been forced to alter her opinion of Bonnett Harbor. A shiver prickled her skin and Marisol rubbed her arms, making a note to adjust the air-conditioning in the gallery. But even she could admit that her reaction had nothing to do with the room temperature.

Ian Quinn had been invading her thoughts from the very first moment she’d seen him yesterday. How many times had she sat at a stoplight and glanced over to look at the driver beside her? Hundreds, probably thousands. And how many times had that driver been a man who’d been the embodiment of every fantasy man she’d ever had? Only once.

After she’d driven off, Marisol had been certain he would follow her, certain that he’d felt the same intense attraction. And when he hadn’t, she’d accepted the fact that her imagination had been playing tricks on her. Perhaps the stress of opening the gallery and working until all hours of the night had made her delusional.

But after his visit yesterday morning, Marisol knew the attraction was very mutual. In truth, it was more than just an ordinary attraction. When he was near, her body seemed to tingle with anticipation, as if indescribable pleasures were just a heartbeat away.

Marisol had always been quite comfortable with her sexuality. Through her art, she’d made a careful study of the male anatomy, but she’d also enjoyed the pleasures of a man’s body whenever the urge struck her. She’d had lovers in the past, some of them for a night, others for a much longer time. But she’d kept to one philosophy—sexual attraction, especially one as strong as she felt for Ian Quinn—deserved to be satisfied.

“Mari? You’re not listening.”

She sent her father an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I have so much on my mind. What were you saying?”

“I was asking what this place has that the city doesn’t.”

Besides Ian Quinn? “Well, Papi, right across the bay is Newport. I have several clients who summer there and they’ve promised to introduce me to their friends. And Sascha is still showing my work at her gallery in SoHo. I’m just expanding my clientele. Besides, it’s quiet here. No distractions.”

No David, she thought to herself. He’d been the sole reason she’d had to escape New York. What had begun as a wildly passionate affair had ended horribly. They’d moved in the same social and business circles so it had been nearly impossible to avoid running into him—and his new paramour, a twenty-one-year-old Brazilian model, lithe and leggy, and completely brainless.

He was supposed to have been the one, the man she could spend the rest of her life with, a passion that would never die. David Barnett was an art dealer and their careers had meshed perfectly, as perfectly as their bodies and their hearts had—or so she’d thought. She’d come home one day and found the Brazilian naked, in their bed, with David. And just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Now, as Marisol looked back on it, she wasn’t sure whether she’d loved David at all. Maybe she’d just been swept away by the need, by the way he touched her body and piqued her desire. Perhaps she’d confused those feelings with something deeper and more lasting.

She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. She’d learn to separate desire from emotion. And what better way than to test herself on Ian Quinn? He had almost everything she could possibly want in a lover—he was tall and dark, sexy and charming. It remained to be seen whether the sex would measure up, but that question could be quickly answered the next time they met.

“You’re right,” Hector said. “I should get back. It is a long drive.”

They silently walked to the door, then stepped out of the cool interior of the gallery into the humid night. Marisol threw her arms around her father’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks. “Drive safely, Papi. And call me when you get back. I’ll be working all night.”

She stood on the sidewalk and waved as her father drove off in his battered old car. It wasn’t until she turned to go back inside that she noticed the shadowy figure standing beneath a nearby streetlamp. Her Manhattan instincts kicked in and she hurried back to the door, ready to step inside and lock it behind her. But then she recognized the tall, lean form and the perfect profile.

“Are you spying on me, Mr. Quinn?” she asked, hitching her hands on her waist.

“I was just out for a walk,” Ian replied as he approached. “I couldn’t sleep.” He nodded toward the street. “So, you had a date?”

“Is this part of your job? To know everybody’s business in this town?”

“I’m paid to keep an eye on things,” he said, his gaze lazily raking her body.

Marisol felt a delicious shiver rush over her. She knew that look, that simple way a man had of acknowledging sexual need. Her immediate instinct was to rebuff the advance, to protect herself from the hurt she’d suffered at David’s hands. But she was most curious to see where this all might lead. Perhaps sex with Ian Quinn would be exactly what she needed to forget past mistakes. “On me?”

He nodded. “Now that you live here, yes.”

“Would you like to come inside?” she asked with a coy smile. “I can offer you a drink. It might help you sleep.” He paused for a long moment and she thought he might refuse. The invitation was so obviously transparent.

“All right,” Ian finally said. He followed her inside, then walked with her to the back of the gallery. A modern couch, upholstered in a pale green fabric was set against the back wall. Two armchairs that Marisol had purchased in New York were positioned across from it.

Ian sprawled on the couch, resting his arms across the back, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “So this guy you were kissing. Is he someone you’ve been seeing for a long time?”

“You might say that,” she replied. He was awfully nosy. Was he simply doing his duty as police chief or was he already jealous? “He’s my father. He drove out from the city to have dinner with me and to see the gallery.”

“It’s late for him to drive back.”

“We’re both night owls,” she said. “And he hates the traffic so he does his best to avoid it.” She wandered back to the small kitchenette and grabbed a glass, then retrieved a bottle of Scotch. “Is this all right?”

Ian nodded and Marisol poured him a glass, then sat down next to him on the sofa. “Why are you really here, Mr. Quinn?”

“I told you, I couldn’t sleep.”

Marisol took a sip of his whiskey, then handed him the glass. He really was stunningly attractive. His hair was dark, nearly black, but his eyes were a deep blue, a color that was a mix of azure and cobalt. She stared into those eyes, trying to memorize the exact hue so she might replicate it with her paints later.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and Marisol watched as he contemplated kissing her. But when he looked up again, she found herself overwhelmed by the prospect. One kiss and it would be all over between them. Choices she had now would be lost forever. She already knew the effect his mouth had on her and couldn’t imagine what his touch might do.