Perfect Pairing (28 page)

Quinn melted into her embrace, her lips pressed into the crook of Hal's neck as she murmured, “Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I want to be with you too.”

Hal's chest, which had been warm before, seemed to ignite with a swell of fireworks larger than any they'd seen in Boston. “Well, okay then. I hear admitting it is the first step.”

Quinn kissed her cheek and whispered, “So, what are we going to do now?”

“Well, we . . .” She didn't really know. She'd never been here before,
and she got the sense Quinn hadn't either, and still it felt like something should come next. “I think we could . . . eat dinner?”

Quinn laughed. “Eat dinner?”

“What, did you mean something more? 'Cause I don't really know. I mean, the whole wanting-to-be-with-someone-who-wants-to-be-with-me thing is new. Should there be flowers or paperwork?”

“Paperwork?”

“I don't know. You're the banker. I'm just a chef, hence the dinner.”

Quinn caught Hal's face between her palms and touched their foreheads together before kissing her lightly on the mouth. “You're not just a chef. You're the perfect chef. And dinner with you sounds like perfection.”

“Perfection,” Hal repeated.

Yes, maybe that's what they had found.

“You just like making me admit I was wrong,” Quinn said as she fought the urge to lick her dinner plate clean.

“It is one of my new favorite hobbies,” Hal said before she popped the last spear of asparagus from her plate into her mouth. “What, are you admitting to being wrong about now?”

“I'm going to ignore the implication there might be more than one thing on the table at the moment and say I shouldn't have doubted your resolve or your skill when it comes to food.”

“You shouldn't doubt my skill or resolve when it comes to anything,” Hal said in that lower register her voice often took when the subject turned intimate.

“Right again. I'm sorry I did.”

“It's okay. As I said earlier, I misread you too.”

“How so?”

“You're not a soulless corporate raider.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky me, too.” Hal grinned and leaned back on the bench seat. “I was pretty upset with you most of the time for the first few weeks after we met. You just wouldn't go away.”

“Did you really want me to?”

“Yes. Or at least I thought I did, but honestly if I'd really wanted to get rid of you, I could have. I kept leaving the door open, and I hated myself for that, but I couldn't seem to stop.”

“You didn't leave the door open very wide,” Quinn said, remembering all the bartering and back channeling she'd had to do. “You were awful surly.”

“I was, wasn't I?” Hal grinned. “I even bordered on rude.”

“Bordered on?”

“Maybe I crossed the line a time or two, but I never could push you out.”

“Why were you trying so hard?”

“You mean aside from the fact that you were pushy and bossy and nosy, and that you'd inserted yourself into my personal business and tried to make me into something I didn't want to be?”

Quinn smiled and took another sip from her wine glass. “Of course, other than that.”

“I don't know. Maybe I just always knew you had the power to wreck me when you left, and I wanted to get that part over with.”

“Hal.” All the air left her lungs with that one name.

“It's okay. It's not your fault.”

“It's not yours either, you know?”

Hal nodded and looked out across the water toward the setting sun. “It doesn't really matter whose fault it is. But I think it was never really
you
I worried about. I saw in you everything I'd never let myself be. You wanted something, you admitted it, you went after it, and you made no apologies along the way.”

“It's the only way I know. Being passive never got me anything but disappointment. I learned early that other people only ever let me down. If I wanted something, I had to do it myself, and I had to do it all the way.”

“Funny, I learned the same lesson about being disappointed in other people, but instead of going after the things I wanted on my own, I just learned to stop wanting them. I cultivated contentment like other people cultivate gardens. I worked every single minute on learning to make what I had be enough.”

Quinn frowned at the thought of Hal giving up parts of herself, her dreams, her goals, her desires because she didn't think she had any chance of achieving them.

“Don't feel sorry for me. In a lot of ways, I think I got the better end of the deal.”

“How so?”

“Just look at your life, Quinn. You work all the time. You never let down your guard. You never just enjoy the moment.” Hal's tone was not hard or judgmental so much as sad. “You're fighting to hold onto the idea of a distant future and putting so much pressure on yourself to build the world in your image. When do you ever get to enjoy anything for what it is?”

The sailboat rocked gently in the wake of a larger vessel trolling by as Quinn let Hal's words sink in. Oddly, she didn't have the urge to defend herself. Seeing Hal's freedom, her friendships, the easy way she moved through the world had already made it clear to her what she'd been missing. Sitting here now in the most beautiful spot she'd ever seen with an amazing woman so close that they had nothing between them but the shared desire to be together, she couldn't help but doubt the importance of the future she'd worked so hard for.

“We've both had the same problem and handled it in opposite fashions only to find out we've both been doing it wrong.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Here, apparently,” Quinn said, her smile breaking through once more. “And here doesn't seem such a bad place to be.”

“No,” Hal agreed. “It sure doesn't. Go figure. All of those things we put ourselves through, and all the things we put each other through, and we both end up together and happy in exactly the same spot. Seems like there's a lesson in that somewhere.”

“Probably.”

“Any idea about what it might be?”

She thought for a moment, then pressed her lips together. “Maybe it's one of those things we're not capable of putting into words yet.”

“Is it something that can be put into action?”

“Maybe.”

“Could it be put into action by me doing something I really want
to do?” Hal asked, “something I've never let myself want with anyone else?”

“I suppose, so long as I'm open to living in the moment along with you.”

“Are you?”

She didn't even hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then I want to make love to you, Quinn. I want to hold you all night. I want to wake up tomorrow knowing that wherever we have to go, we'll try to get there together. I want more than a roll in the hay—or the sailboat cabin, as the case may be.” Hal smiled nervously. “I want to know you and please you and be close to you. I want to let myself need you and open up to you and have you open up to me, too.”

Quinn couldn't speak through the emotion gathered in her throat. A proposal like that didn't fall anywhere in her five-year plan, and yet she'd never encountered a more beautiful detour. She nodded, and taking Hal's face in her hands once more, kissed her soulfully. God, she wanted her so badly, in all the ways she'd just mentioned and more. She wanted her tonight and tomorrow, here and back home. She wanted her inside and out, and she wanted to never ever outgrow the wanting.

The kiss wasn't hurried. For the first time, the possibilities between them felt as vast and endless as the water around them.

Chapter Eighteen

Hal relaxed into the kiss, tasting salt and wine as she explored the corners of Quinn's mouth. She had the time and the inclination to get to know every part of her. She kissed the edge of her lips, then moved across her cheek and back to the tip of her nose. The fire between them didn't roar or lick at her flesh so much as it spread slowly, like the orange glow of the setting sun fanning out across the harbor. She lifted her fingertips to lightly trace the strong line of Quinn's jaw. She ran her thumb softly along her lower lip and smiled as Quinn kissed it, then caught her hand and kissed the top of each finger. Quinn placed another kiss in the center of her palm, then a slower, more sensual one on the soft skin of her wrist. Hal couldn't tear her eyes away.

Quinn continued her deliberate progression up Hal's arm. Remnants of amber sunlight lingered on fair skin as Quinn drew patterns only she could follow across Hal's neck and into the hair at the base of her scalp. Her fingers swirled there, tangling them together in a precursor of things to come, things so much more than any physical touch could cover. They'd intertwined before, fingers and legs, and yet this coming together couldn't have been predicted. Maybe this new connection couldn't even be named, which made it all the sweeter to feel. The essence of their combined intentions settled in her chest, curling like a warm mist through her limbs.

Hal kissed Quinn's shoulder around the worn collar of her own T-shirt as she slipped her hand under its hem. She relished the way her fingers played slowly over the slender curve of her waist. She wanted to settle in that curve and camp there for days. She wanted to rest her head there, to sleep, to dream and awake again to its perfection.

She drew a small circle with a light touch around the subtle indent between Quinn's ribs and hip as she whispered, “I want to kiss you right here.”

“We better go down below.”

“Below that spot on your body, or below deck on the boat?”

Quinn's light laugh danced from her lips. “Yes.”

Hal groaned against her skin before leaving that spot, then pushed herself up and reached for Quinn's hand.

“You're so deliciously chivalrous. You know that?”

Hal pulled her close again, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You like chivalry?”

“I didn't want to. I wanted to refuse your hand when you tried to help me out of the truck. Then that day at the food wholesaler when you put yourself between me and those roughnecks trying to check out my legs? God, you were just so damn protectively possessive. You could've kissed me right there. I would've melted for you,” she said. “I would've hated myself, but I would have melted.”

“I'm sorry I was too recalcitrant to see what I had right in front of me, but if we're being honest, you could've had me that first night at Larkin Square.”

“No.” Quinn shook her head, then rested it on Hal's shoulder. “You hated me.”

“I wanted you. If you'd come for me instead of my name recognition, you could've had me.”

“And what about now?” she asked, her voice low and close enough her lips brushed Hal's neck when she spoke. “What can I have now?”

Hal leaned back enough to meet her eyes. “Everything.”

Quinn shuddered in her embrace and sighed as Hal pushed open the cabin door with her foot. “Your cabin, m'lady.”

Quinn smiled and, taking her hand once more, pulled her through the low door, pausing only long enough for Hal to kick it shut before leading her toward the bed. Stopping just at the edge, Hal caught her and turned her around. Their mouths found each other again, easy, naturally, as if they were meant to be together every bit as much as they were built for breathing or speaking. Her hands went easily to Quinn's hips once more. This time, though, they didn't stay there.
Running them up like a cellist drawing a bow across the arc of the strings, she played the beautiful instrument of Quinn's body to its highest notes. Pushing her shirt up as she went, she skimmed her hands across Quinn's ribs, over the swells of her breasts, and, breaking the kiss as little as possible, lifted the shirt over her head.

Hal's sharp intake of breath stemmed from the increased canvas of alabaster skin to caress, to explore, to paint with fingertips and lips. She wanted the whole of this breathtaking vista spread out beneath her. Easing Quinn back, she cradled her head in her hand as she lowered her body softly to the pillow. Quinn caught hold of Hal's shirt as she settled onto the bed, then pulled it up the length of her torso before dropping it to the floor.

“God, you're so beautiful. It almost hurts to breathe when I look at you like this.”

Quinn started to shake her head, but Hal stilled her with another kiss. There would be no room for denial tonight. This was about more than getting what they wanted in a moment. This was about acknowledging truths that went so much deeper than either of them could go on their own. She enjoyed every second of the kiss and the implicit acceptance of Quinn's opening to her before she moved lower.

Quinn's fingernails played in her hair and across the bare skin of her back as she kissed down along the swell of her breasts, over the ridges of her ribcage, and down the open plane of her stomach to the only remaining barrier—her shorts. Hal had been here before, but familiarity did nothing to stem the rising tide of excitement tapping out a rapid rhythm with her heartbeat. Flipping open the button, she kissed the sweet, smooth skin below before lifting up to hook both hands into the khaki waistband.

Sinking both feet into the mess of sheets, Quinn arched her hips up, allowing Hal to slip the shorts down her thighs, then along the length of her legs. With a little flourish, she tossed them aside but didn't release her foot. She kissed the tip of her big toe, then down along the graceful arch of her foot before moving up along her ankle. Resting it up on her own shoulder, she started forward once more. She ran her lips like a feather across smooth calves and felt the
muscles contract as she reached the bottom of Quinn's thigh. She slowed her progress and lifted her eyes as Quinn began to twist with anticipation.

Quinn bit her bottom lip, and Hal felt it as if those teeth had sunk into her own. She felt her desire as it built, passing between them, one and the same. She kissed the delicate skin again, inching closer to home, with her eyes still locked on the blues that beckoned her. Quinn pulled her in, lifting her hips off the bed and tightening the hold of her long leg across Hal's back.

Hal could smell her now, amber and wine, with a heavy undercurrent of desire. She could see the plea in her eyes, feel it curling up to her swollen lips. She would not make her say it tonight. She didn't need her to. She would grant every request before it had a chance to be voiced. Lowering her head, she took Quinn and gave herself with everything she had in her.

She'd thought she wanted all of this woman before, but suddenly she understood she'd only craved the surface of what she had to offer. Now she wanted more than sweat and skin. This desire went so much deeper than simple release. She wanted to feel Quinn move against her in the night, to taste her lips coated with coffee in the morning, to sit across from her at every meal, to know her fears and to be the one to soothe them. She wanted to be everything together that the world had denied them on their own.

Quinn's legs trembled and fell from Hal's shoulders as her head sank deeply into the pillow. She didn't need to see Hal. She felt her, and in more than just the amazing places she was currently touching her. This was more than a total body experience. She felt Hal all over her, filtering through her mind and encircling her heart. She would've thought a connection like this would dull her senses or detract from their raw physicality, but her breath came shallow and ragged, their emotional connection heightening the others.

She sank her fingers into Hal's thick, dark hair, massaging, holding, and still reaching for more. She needed her. She rose on the wave of
sensations Hal stoked in her, like their boat on the incoming tide, and suddenly it was too much, too high. A strangled sob choked out her cry, and she could only clutch at Hal's shoulder. Grasping her arm firmly, she pulled her up, reading the question she couldn't answer in those dark eyes. She drew her along the length of her own body and arched up to meet her.

“Hal,” she finally gasped, pressing on her back and feeling her instant compliance as the fullness of Hal's weight settled against her, anchoring them to one another.

“Yes,” Hal whispered hoarsely as she worked her hand between their bodies, “I'm right here.”

And she was, right there, right where Quinn needed her to be. A sudden rush of gratitude overtook her, just the latest in a long stream of unexpected emotions Hal inspired. They moved against each other now, rocking, regaining their rhythm slowly, sensually as Hal pushed inside. Quinn gasped and dug her nails into the knot of muscles flexing across Hal's back. It wasn't enough. Need swelled in her again, but this time it would not overwhelm her or leave her helpless. Hal had met every need, even those left unspoken, and she would fill this one too.

Taking hold of Hal's hips, she pulled her forward, hard and close, forcing her deeper inside while giving her the chance to reach for the same kind of contact. Finding her voice, Quinn managed to rasp out, “I have to touch you . . . now.”

Hal straddled her leg, using her thigh to maintain pressure on Quinn while opening herself to her. Quinn worked her hand between them, aching, searching, finding. They writhed, no longer paced or coordinated, but complete. Hot breath against sweat-soaked skin served only as physical evidence of internal needs being met and fulfilled, symptoms of a cure.

“Hal, yes,” she cried out, “stay with me.”

“I'm right here,” Hal whispered as her hips slid forward again, connecting them both. “Together.”

“Yes,” Quinn said again as her muscles strained against the divine pressure coursing through them. “Together.”

Hal shook as her back bent into a breathless arc. “Now?”

The question provided its own answer, and Quinn caught Hal's mouth once more as the waves of release shook through them both. They held tightly to one another, still secure as the world around them spun. The lights flashed and the sea rolled beneath them, but even in that moment, Quinn knew she was seeing more clearly and standing more securely than she ever had. And as the air returned and their bodies subdued, she felt nothing slipping away.

“I said, ‘damn, what's next?'” Quinn rolled along with Nate Dogg and Warren G as Cheesy Does It lumbered onto Interstate 90 just outside of Boston.

“You have some mad rap skills,” Hal said, glancing over at her as she bounced in the sunlight streaming through the large windshield. She practically shimmered, a vision of gold and sapphire in one of Hal's plain blue T-shirts, with her hair down and flowing across her shoulders.

If not for the dull ache in her muscles, she would've wondered if last night had even happened. She'd had sex with other women. Some of them had even been beautiful, but none of them had ever grabbed hold of her heart the way Quinn had. None of them had seen all of her. None of them had even tried to capture the parts of her Quinn now held, and most importantly, none of them had ever stayed so wonderfully connected so long after the night had passed them by.

They'd both been studiously sweet this morning. Quick kisses as they packed up their things. A little hug as they walked down Commercial Street one last time. A gentle squeeze of the hand as they got on the road, and small smiles stolen from focus that should've been spent on the traffic getting off the Cape. Neither one of them seemed ready to process the weighty subject of what had transpired between them, but neither were they quite ready to surrender to their inevitable reentry to the real world. More than two hours into the drive, they remained stubbornly playful—hence, the old-school hip-hop dance-party bass in the truck.