Page 3 of His Forgotten Colton Fiancee
He admired how the motion lifted her breasts beneath the flannel T-shirt. “You.” West reached out and tugged one of her corkscrew curls. It bounced back. “And triacetone triperoxide.”
Quinn’s forehead wrinkled. “What? It sounds like something my father would take for a hangover.”
He laughed. “It’s a bomb, sweetheart. TATP. Favored by terrorists. They call it Mother of Satan because it’s so volatile to make and you risk blowing yourself up.”
“I can give you something much nicer to think about.” Her smile widened as she crooked a finger at him.
Forget the Motherof Satan. Here was pure heaven. Guilt flickered through him. Quinn didn’t know his real purpose in coming to Red Ridge—to find Demi Colton, the main suspect in the Groom Killer case, who’d fled town months ago right after being initially questioned. Or that he’d been assigned to investigate Quinn and her half brothers to see if they knew where their half sister, Demi, was hiding.
I’ll tellher. Soon.
And then her mouth met his and he forgot about all else.
* * *
Food costs and sex.
Quinn Colton tried hard, and failed, to keep the smile off her face as she bounced down the stairs leading to Good Eats, her catering shop. Sex with West was always fantastic, but this morning added a special, delicious urgency to their lovemaking. Certainly the sex was better than theinventory waiting for her downstairs, along with the stacks of bills for the latest restaurant order.
Thirty years old and in love. Never thought this would happen. Certainly not a whirlwind romance and a lifelong pledge in only three weeks. But her heart knew that West was the one meant for her. They were made for each other.
Quiet and strong, and handsome and rugged as a movie star.Her heart thumped a little bit harder each time he was around.
It hadn’t been love at first sight. More like love at first fight, she thought as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Quinn unlocked the door—her private entrance into the shop—and then locked it behind her. The door opened to her storage area. She skirted two heavy sacks of whole-grain flour and frowned at the mess on the floor.Last week she’d reluctantly laid off Jeb Plimpton, the teenager who swept up and kept her store tidy. More things on her to-do list, when right now all she could think about was adding West to the list, permanently.
West was a muscular, intimidating guy who scowled. Except around her. From the moment the tall, black-haired man with the chocolate-brown eyes had first walked into her shop, sparkshad jumped between them. In his low, gravelly voice West had told her he wanted to order a meal to go.Something resembling red meat that isn’t that green sprouts froufrou food I heard you’re known for. Fresh roadkill will suffice. Don’t take it personally, sweetheart.
She’d set a kale smoothie in front of him and told him he needed “foo foo” in his tank because he looked like fresh roadkill.Run over twice. With a backhoe. And he should not “take it personally.”
Instead of sneering, West had laughed.
Her smile grew broader as she recalled that deep, grudging laugh. It had sent a tingle down her spine and a curious desire to coax more from him. She headed into the shop.
Austin Jones was already in the kitchen, lighting the gas range. Tall and wiry, he had been her bestfriend for ten years, ever since they met while taking cooking classes at the local college. They’d partnered in business together when she’d opened Good Eats, but Quinn remained the principal owner.
“Morning, sunshine,” he greeted her as he straightened and headed over to the counter, where a batch of fresh arugula waited. Austin began chopping and dicing, and snapped his chewing gum.
Quinn wrinkled her nose. “How can you chew that obnoxious stuff? If you’re craving apple pie, bake one.”
Austin patted his flat stomach. “Have to watch the waistline. This may not be dessert, but tastes as good. Apple gum. Besides, I need the wrappers.”
Right. Quinn picked up the foil swan her friend had made. “Future Christmas gift?”
“Don’t knock it. If business keeps going downhilllike this, you’ll be lucky to get one.”
As she scanned the kitchen, her smile wilted like the greens she’d had to toss yesterday. “What happened to the Bernstein order? Shouldn’t you get that ready?”
“Canceled. They called this morning and said they were headed home early.”
Oh dear. The Bernsteins, summer visitors to Red Ridge, always hosted a huge end-of-summer bash for one hundredand fifty guests. For the past five summers, Good Eats had been their caterer.
“There will be other summer parties.” Quinn hoped she sounded more buoyant than she felt.
Yesterday they’d had to throw out nearly a case of fruit that had spoiled. Their main business came from healthy fruit and veggie smoothies, but she couldn’t keep paying bills for long on over-the-counter items. The cateringend of her business had slid into the red with the Groom Killer on the loose. The news that someone was still murdering grooms before their weddings hadn’t been good for her wedding catering business, either.
Bracing her hands on the counter, she stared at the slim list of catered orders for the week. Quinn had counted on the Bernstein order to make payroll and pay for next week’s wholesaleshipment of vegetables.
“How are we going to survive like this?” Austin gave a deep sigh, putting his hand to his chest.
