Page 37 of Quinn, By Design

“What’s the ratio?” He sounded winded. “Fifty-fifty, forty-sixty?”

“Right this minute, I’d say seventy-five percent desire to twenty-five percent gratitude.” She rested her hand on his aroused cock. “You deserve one hundred percent desire.”

“I can work with the current odds.” He flexed against her hand.

“Never sell yourself short.” Lucy pressed a kiss to his cheek.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Niall was listeningfor the doorbell on Monday morning with a randy adolescent’s mix of trepidation and raging hormones. The saner part of him worried that loneliness had streaked past good sense, and both of them needed to take a step back. The baser part of him was primed for a quick hello, a few of Lucy’s enthusiastic kisses, and then for nature to take things from there.

The optimist in him wallowed in the vindication in her wordsdon’t sell yourself short. Unlike Sinead, Lucy genuinely liked his work. The realist in him was recalling the instant he’d thrown a drop cloth over the mirror he’d been finishing Friday night.

Avoiding a conversation about my work?

Avoiding a conversation about what I’m doing with the pieces I’m making?

He hadn’t wanted to place her in a difficult position when they were bumbling their way from suspicion to friendship. Friendship demanded a bit more honesty than he’d given her so far. She had an analytical mind and would take about two seconds to work out Niall was committed to more work than would fit into a standard day.

And another two seconds to ask why he wasn’t selling his own work to pay down debt. If Niall told her about the exhibition, she might tell him to stop his work for her, and she needed the funds to feel safe.

He wanted her to feel safe. End of argument.

“We arrived together,” Lucy explained, standing back. Her smile was tentative, while Kate barrelled through the door.

In the split-second Niall had before his sister-in-law walked into his arms, he tried to read Lucy’s expression. Was she embarrassed Kate had found her in paint-spattered overalls with a plait half undone down her back, or was she embarrassed at nearly coming apart in his arms a few nights ago? She’d called a halt, and although every cell in his body had screamed a protest, he’d let her go. His promise she was in control was part of that. Her smile widened, the haunted look absent. She gave a provocative wiggle as she sidled past, and the movement went straight to his groin. He stifled a groan.

Memo to self: this relationship is too important to stuff up with a quick tumble.

“Your niece wants a hug.” Kate slid an arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. Catching his wrist with her free hand, she flattened his palm against her belly. The baby kicked. “She’s frisky this morning.”

“That’s because she’s a he.” He grinned down at her and kissed her forehead. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Ambush,” Kate muttered, stepping back. “Necessary because you’ve stopped visiting.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make dinner last night.” Niall should have anticipated a visit and taken evasive action.

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