All the Right Places (RILEY O'BRIEN & CO #1) Read online

  Shifting closer, he bracketed her body against the island with his arms, enveloping her in his heat. He nuzzled his nose behind her ear before flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin of her nape where several curls nestled. She shivered at the rough wetness, imagining it on other parts of her body.

  She sensed his hands near her head moments before he pulled the chopsticks out of her hair. He made a low noise in his throat as it fell in a tangle of curls down her back—a deep growl that made her nipples harden and her knees tremble.

  “Damn,” he said hoarsely.

  Swiftly, he turned her in his arms. Grabbing her around the waist, he hoisted her easily onto the island, making all her lovely fruit and vegetables roll to the floor.

  Ignoring the produce carnage, he immediately wrapped his big hands around her rear and pulled her roughly toward him until his erection was wedged between her legs. He was long and hard, and she wanted to press against him.

  Cupping her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes. “I tried,” he said mysteriously.

  She opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but before she could get the words out, he slid his hands into her hair and brought his lips to hers.

  • • •

  He’d tried to keep his hands off Amelia. In fact, Quinn had silently lectured himself the entire walk back to Riley Plaza.

  She works for you. Do you really want to be one of those bosses? But then his wicked alter ego had whispered in his ear, She’s not officially your employee. She’s a business partner. As a business partner, you can touch her as much as you want and anywhere you want.

  Since a very specific part of him had agreed with his clever alter ego, he’d switched gears. She’s a key part of Riley O’Brien’s future success. You don’t want to endanger the company. That had done the trick because he would never do anything to jeopardize the legacy his ancestors had entrusted him with.

  He’d been ready to say good-bye to Amelia and her produce, no harm done. But then she had stepped on the escalator in front of him, just like the day they’d met. Only this time, it had been so much worse because her stretchy black pants clung to her ass so tightly he could see the cleft between her sweet cheeks.

  He’d had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and running his fingers along that enticing crevice, from top to bottom. He was desperate to trace it . . . desperate to cup her mound and feel her heat.

  The short trip to his car had allowed him to gain a small measure of control, but then she had brushed up against him in the kitchen. He’d gotten a waft of her scent, so deliciously sweet that his lust made his vision hazy. When he had realized she wanted him, too, his control crumbled like a cookie in the hands of a toddler.

  Now that he had his mouth on hers, he was torn between devouring and savoring. He ran his tongue against her bottom lip before sucking gently. She gasped, and he darted his tongue into her mouth. The taste of her was better than he’d imagined, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

  He slanted his head to delve deeper into her sweetness, holding her captive by weaving his hands into her fragrant hair and tilting her head back. When her tongue met his, he sucked on it lightly. It felt so good he increased the suction, and she moaned loudly.

  Lust slammed through him as she wrapped her legs around his hips. Pushing up his shirt, she grasped his back just above the waistband of his Rileys. Her fingernails dug into his skin, the dual pain and pleasure of her touch sending a tingle up and down his spine.

  Bright lights exploded behind his eyelids, and blood rushed through his veins, heading straight to his cock. He was sure he’d never been so hard, the buttons on his fly pressing painfully into his length.

  He fed her several deep, wet kisses before pulling back and trailing his lips down her neck. He gently bit the tendon where her neck and shoulder met. She whimpered, and he soothed the small bite with his tongue.

  “I’ve been thinking about this since I first saw you,” he breathed against her skin.

  He leaned back to look at her, his balls tightening at the sight of her obvious arousal. Her eyes were shut, her cheeks were flushed cherry red, and she was breathing in short pants.

  The low neckline of her purple T-shirt contrasted beautifully with her opalescent skin, and the tops of her breasts were dusted with those delicious brown-sugar freckles. He could think of nothing else but putting his mouth on them to see if they were as sweet as they looked.

  He dropped openmouthed kisses on her skin, licking and sucking in some places, before trailing his tongue down the valley between her breasts. He’d fantasized about getting his face in her cleavage since that first day in his office.

  Grabbing the hem of her T-shirt, he pulled it over her head. He was so glad the lights were on because he wanted to see her. His breath caught in his throat at the first view of her firm breasts. They were encased in aqua-colored lace that played peekaboo with her nipples. He cupped the plump mounds through the stretchy lace before reaching between them to unclasp her bra.

  Her breasts spilled out of the lace cups, the nipples puckered with arousal. They were pale pink, and he knew they’d taste just like cotton candy.

  Dropping his head, he pulled one into his mouth while his hand played lightly with the other. As he rolled her pebbled nipple over and under his tongue, he realized he’d been right: they were sweet and feather-soft.

  “Your nipples taste like sugar,” he rasped.

  She moaned again, palming his head and pressing his face against her breasts. Releasing her nipple with a soft pop, he brought his attention to the other one, sucking it into his mouth. After several delicious swirls of his tongue, he bit down gently on the tip, making her jerk and pull him even tighter against her.

  He burned to be inside her, and as he moved his hand toward the waistband of her pants, he heard a loud thud. Looking down, he saw the coconut water he’d bought lying on its side on the floor, fluid leaking from a puncture on the side of the carton.

  “Shit.”

  His curse opened Amelia’s eyes, and she turned her head to see what he looked at. Glimpsing the mess on the floor, she whispered, “Coconut water, too?”

  Since his brain was still in nuclear meltdown, and his cock was hard enough to drill through the Earth’s crust, it took him a moment to answer. “Yeah. The woman at Williams-Sonoma told me that most juice recipes call for it, so I put it on my list. . . .”

  Amelia shifted on the hard countertop, and he forgot what he was saying. Her bra still hung off her shoulders, her breasts displayed delightfully to his gaze. When she saw where his eyes had settled, she blushed, and he watched in fascination as color swept across her chest, shading the pale curves of her breasts a dusky pink.

  Grasping the edges of her bra, she deftly clasped it before lowering her gaze to the floor. He assumed she was embarrassed, so he focused on cleaning up the spilled coconut water. As he knelt down to pick up the carton, he heard something that made his heart skip a beat.

  “I think you bruised them.”

  He lurched to his feet. Jesus, was I too rough with her?

  Moving in front of her, he gently grasped her shoulders so he could peer down into her face. “I hurt you?”

  “What?”

  “You just said they were bruised. How badly did I hurt you?”

  The thought of injuring Amelia, even accidently, made him sick to his stomach, and nausea rose in the back of his throat. She stared at him blankly before bursting into nearly hysterical laughter.

  “Oh, Quinn,” she choked out between her giggles. “I was talking about the fruit that fell to the floor.”

  Chapter 15

  Amelia grabbed the remote and increased the volume on the big-screen TV in the penthouse’s living area. The weather segment was coming on next, and she wanted to see if it would be a good day to fly.

  After Qui
nn had left the penthouse last night, she’d decided to go home for the weekend. Her schedule was fairly empty because she had wanted to spend some time today on the first draft of designs for the new line of accessories.

  She had planned to stay in San Francisco through the weekend, but she really needed to get away from here. To be more accurate, she needed to get away from Quinn, a.k.a. her biggest almost-mistake.

  She was running, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. No, she was ashamed about something else—the fact that she’d been half-naked and moaning on the kitchen island.

  If she hadn’t been so appalled by her behavior, she might have been quite in awe of herself. She’d never had an adventurous sex life. In fact, calling her brief and meaningless carnal experiences a sex life was grossly inaccurate, and it was kind of nice to know she could lose herself to passion.

  But losing herself to passion with Quinn was unacceptable. Not only did he have too much influence over her career; she lied to him every time she looked at him or spoke to him.

  She knew a lot of people had sexual relationships with coworkers, colleagues, and other assorted business partners. She had never wanted to go down that path, and she didn’t know if she admired or pitied the people who were willing to risk their professional lives for a little nookie, no matter how good it was.

  She wanted her relationships to be free of conflict and lacking in drama. She’d had too much of that as a child, and the word “boring” didn’t mean the same thing to her as it meant to other people.

  More important, entering into a personal relationship with Quinn while she worked behind his back was abhorrent to her. It was something her mother would have done, and she didn’t want to commit that kind of character suicide.

  Plopping down on the leather sofa, she tucked her feet under her as she stared at the TV screen. Why was the news anchor talking about penguins? Who cared about penguins? Where was the weather?

  She pulled one of the decorative pillows to her chest, her nipples peaking when its softness brushed against them. “Dwight David Eisenhower,” she muttered.

  Her body had yet to recover from the extreme arousal Quinn had ignited last night. Even though she knew it was stupid and selfish, she wished he’d finished the job before the coconut water had fallen to the ground.

  She knew Quinn was just as shaken as she was by what had happened on the kitchen island. He’d said only one thing before he had skedaddled from the penthouse: “Coconut water is really sticky.” To which she had replied: “It has more potassium than a banana.”

  She was so glad they’d tackled that awkward conversation. Uh-huh.

  Finally the weather came on, distracting her from thoughts of Quinn. The forecast was clear so there was no reason to dillydally.

  Rising from the sofa, she made her way to the kitchen to grab some juice. As usual, she had made it first thing when she’d woken up. She liked for it to chill in the fridge while she answered her emails, showered, and dressed for the day.

  Today, however, she was still in her favorite pajamas, which were printed with bacon and eggs. Ava Grace had bought them for her, a gift of whimsy from one pragmatist to another.

  She had just poured herself a glass of juice when she heard a hard knock on the door. It was still early, just a few minutes after eight o’clock, and she froze, worried it might be Quinn.

  She had no intention of letting him inside this penthouse ever again. In fact, she preferred to limit their interactions to locales where it was unlikely she’d end up topless.

  A quick look through the peephole revealed Teagan on the other side of the door. Relieved, she opened the door, greeting her with a smile.

  “Want to come in? I was just about to have some juice, and I’m willing to share.”

  Teagan wrinkled her nose. “It depends on what kind of juice. Ava Grace told me that you drink beets, and if that’s what you have on tap this morning, then, heck no, I don’t want any. If you’re talking about normal juice, then, yes, thank you, I’d love some.”

  She laughed. “No beets, I promise.”

  Teagan followed Amelia to the kitchen before hopping on one of the barstools. She looked expectantly toward Amelia.

  “Hit me,” she said, slapping the bar like she was in an Old West saloon.

  Amelia poured another glass of juice and slid it along the countertop to Teagan. Her blue eyes, which were so much like Quinn’s, widened as she took a tentative sip.

  “This is really good,” she praised before taking a larger swallow.

  “You shouldn’t have doubted me.”

  Teagan frowned. “You made this? How?”

  She pointed to the juicer in answer. She had placed it next to the sink so she could admire its sleek lines.

  Teagan stared at the stainless steel appliance. “Where did that come from?” Her eyebrows rose. “Did you bring that thing all the way from Nashville?”

  “Of course not.”

  Amelia was hesitant to tell Teagan where the juicer had come from. Surely she would wonder why Quinn had given her a gift.

  Left with no other choice, Amelia disclosed the source of her newfound joy. “Quinn gave it to me.”

  “My brother?”

  She sighed in exasperation. “Yes, your brother. Is there another Quinn lurking nearby?”

  Teagan frowned. “How did he know you’re a juicing fanatic?”

  “We talked about it.”

  Teagan’s face cleared. “Oh, I get it. His assistant usually orders the welcome gifts for our guests, and Quinn probably told him to get you a juicer instead of the usual wine basket. Jeff always signs Quinn’s name on the card.”

  Her pleasure in the juicer diminished. But her spirits rebounded when she remembered Quinn had mentioned talking with a woman at Williams-Sonoma.

  “Quinn picked it out, not his assistant,” she blurted without thinking. “And he gave the juicer to me in person.”

  She had a naughty image of what else he’d given to her in person.

  Teagan’s mouth fell open in shock. “He picked it out,” she repeated. “I find that hard to believe. Quinn wouldn’t know a juicer from a food processor. Cal’s the chef in our family.” Her eyes narrowed. “He gave it to you in person? When?”

  Amelia wanted to kick herself for inviting more questions, but she had no choice but to answer. “Last night. He dropped by the penthouse.”

  Her face burned as she recalled what she and Quinn had done amid all the fruit and vegetables. She had no doubt a mediocre comedian could make all kind of jokes out of that scenario, starting with “What happens when you mix fruit and sex? A fruit cock-tail. Get it?”

  Too bad she wasn’t laughing.

  “Did you have juice for dinner?”

  “No, Quinn invited me out, and we went to a pizza place a couple of blocks away,” Amelia admitted.

  It wasn’t a secret that she and Quinn had shared dinner. Plus, Teagan would have found out anyway.

  Teagan studied her for a moment. “Why are you still wearing your pajamas? You’ve been at work every day this week before eight.”

  She looked down at the granite countertop. “I’ve decided to fly home for a few days.”

  When Teagan didn’t reply, Amelia looked up. “I’m coming back,” she reassured her. “I’ll be back in the office on Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest.”

  Teagan had a speculative look on her face that she found slightly alarming. “I thought you planned to stay here with no breaks.”

  Amelia could feel her face turning red. Could she look any guiltier?

  “Yes, but I changed my mind.”

  “Does Quinn know you’re flying back to Nashville?”

  “No. I didn’t even think to ask him if it was okay.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  Amelia could have sworn she saw a ti
ny smile on Teagan’s glossy lips before the brunette jumped down from the barstool.

  “I need to run. Thanks for the juice.”

  And she was gone before Amelia could reply.

  • • •

  “You’re here early.”

  Quinn looked up from his monitor to see Teagan standing in his doorway. “So are you.”

  Entering his office, she took a seat in front of his desk. She crossed her legs, giving him a glimpse of her thigh through the slit on her dress.

  He quickly averted his eyes. It was too early in the morning for an accidental flashing from his younger sister. He might go blind.

  “How long have you been here?”

  He checked the clock on his computer screen. “A couple of hours.”

  “Me, too. We must have come in about the same time.”

  Despite the early hour, she looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as his dad liked to say. Her dress, which was the color of a ripe apricot, was the perfect foil for her dark hair. It brought to mind Amelia’s claim that she didn’t wear orange or any color in the orange family. He figured apricot fell into that category.

  He knew he looked like shit. Or, to quote his dad again, he looked like bear shit after a long hibernation. Last night he’d stuck around the penthouse long enough to help Amelia clean up the mess before making a quick exit.

  He couldn’t even remember what he’d said to her. And if she stood in front of him right now, he didn’t know if he would ask for forgiveness or demand a kiss.

  He hadn’t made it home until nearly midnight, and he’d been way too hyped up to sleep, so he had watched ESPN for an hour. When that hadn’t worked, he had gone for a punishing run, finally stumbling up the stairs to his Victorian around two in the morning.

  Unfortunately, the long run hadn’t cleared his head. Nor had it exhausted him enough to prevent an erection as soon as he slid into bed and his mind drifted to Amelia. He’d finally given in, wrapping his hand around his cock and moaning her name when he came.

  At the memory, he rubbed both his hands over his face. Propping his elbows on his desk, he rested his head in his hands.